#I hate internet school with a burning passion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dieaverage · 4 months

Text

ROSE-COLORED BOY — eddie munson x female reader

chapter four — wildfire

word count: 3.1k+

PREVIOUS | NEXT

author's note: well, hello, and happy new year!!! we are soooo back, my dear little phone friends. i am, slowly but surely, finding my feet on this wonderful corner of the internet, spreading my nonsensical agendas as i go along. i seriously think if i had discovered it sooner i would either be cured of all my mental preoccupations, or be infinitely more insufferable, there's actually no in between. alas, we are here now, and if you are reading this, thank you and sorry. rose-colored boy is my little passion project for the time being, it's my first proper writing attempt in a long while and admittedly the first time i've ever actually written with an audience in mind, which is as exciting as it is terrifying! this will not be perfect, i fear if i continued striving for that, i never would've gotten here. i am just very appreciative of the fact that anyone has taken an interest in any of what i have to say. anyways christ let me stop yapping before i scare you off entirely, here's chapter four, i sincerely hope you don't hate it, and my inbox is wide open for any thoughts you might have :)

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

The realities of the night before thrashed around in your skull, restoring that acutely fixed pressure point on the bridge of your nose to its former glory as you lay under the homely duvet Joyce had undoubtedly purchased especially in anticipation of your indefinite residence. Part of you hoped, willed, that if you remained there long enough the weighty fabric might consume you whole.

Three gentle taps on the bedroom door immediately ravage any such wishes.

"Good night?" Your lifting of the covers from over your preoccupied head wasn't even necessary to discern the amused smirk across Jonathan's face as he posed the question to the outline of your evidently worse-for-wear frame. Blame it on the alcohol. If only it were that easy.

An unimpressive "Go... away..." is all you can bear to muster up in response. Jonathan wasn't exactly a persistent individual, though your ability to dismiss left even more to be desired. You were not worming your way out of this one, had you been sure you even wanted to.

"So, Hawkins' amenities not up to scratch anymore, city girl?" his attempts to press further poorly masqueraded by the feeble quip.

"He was there." The breathy and shockingly extracted revelation has you sinking impossibly further into the mattress.

"Oh." Some lessons in the art of acting would not go astray here, Jonathan. For a boy who concealed what was, by all accounts, a debilitating crush on Nancy Wheeler for the better part of your middle school careers, the least he could do was make his apparent surprise relatively conceivable.

"Which you already knew, I'm guessing."

Every Wednesday, he'd said. They played there. Every. Single. Wednesday. You dreaded to think how many of those Jonathan and the others had attended. Even more so, how many you'd missed. A sudden throb to your head extricated you from making such calculations.

"So.. did you, uh- you guys talk?"

There it was. You wondered now how much your run-in had been by chance and how much by orchestration. And I would've gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for you meddling kids!, it being your decidedly unresolved dealings with the Munson boy. Or something of that variety. An indiscernible exhale of breath through your nose before answering leaves Jonathan feeling suddenly vulnerable to the very real potential of one of your brutal outbursts. He wondered if he should have armoured up before entering the lion's den. Or at least came bearing gifts (coffee).

"We did."

"Oh, r-really?"

"Yeah! Well, he did, mainly. Wielding profanity-driven throwing knives at me, scolding me for my lengthy absence as if I was some wayward kid and he was my designated custodian. And I mean, I stood there and took it, because, yeah, if we're being honest, maybe I probably deserved some of it. But yeah. A talk was had." A beat. "He's still a fucking prick, though."

Jonathan erupts in uncertain laughter. "Come on, Daph, you know it's all a front. Cut him some slack. You broke his heart."

Those final four words stung as they sliced into your skin, carving out an inescapable pit in your stomach.

"Don't." Your wavering voice an instant traitor of your otherwise assaultive tone.

"Don't what?"

"Say shit like that!" If looks could kill, Jonathan would be well on his way to the nearest ICU. "You never had any idea about our- f-friendship, none of you did. Or what happened to it, for that matter. So, please, Jonathan, because I didn- just- please don't tell me that." The newly impuissant expression on your face troubled Jonathan, as well as what vaguely resembled watering eyes creeping up on you as you now sat so that your wearied body directly opposed his from the other side of the bed. He rarely saw you so... unguarded. It was unsettling.

The thing is, you knew you were wrong. You knew they knew far more than they were willing to admit, or you, willing to accept, about the intricacies of your relationship with Eddie. You knew that he would have confided in them after you left, of course he would have. They had become his best friends as much as yours by the time you, and certainly him, had graduated.

"M'sorry, Daphne."

You extend your arm to Jonathan, placing a reassuring hand on top of his.

"No. My mess." You assure, attempting an equally assertive wink that admittedly lands far less convincingly than you had intended it to.

"It doesn't have to be."

"Jonathan..."

"Look, I'm about to meet Nance for a story we're covering, and we could really use your expertise, Miss Quindlen. She's going to be so stoked to see you."

One exasperated sigh later. "Meeting where, exactly?"

Waves of guilt came crashing over you as soon as Jonathan's car began barrelling down the gravelly entrance of Forest Hills, knocking the breath out of you in their wake. The autumn sun casted an unnerving shadow over the rows of trailers, though your eyes only cared to fixate on one, conveniently fronting what had once been the Hargrove residence, a detail you had never wished to dwell on after that night.

Nevertheless, it appeared you would not be provided the luxury as Jonathan clunkily advanced toward the cul-de-sac, ushering Nancy's infamous Mercury into view, which was stationed adjacent to the antichrist's former dwelling. The deadly silence interrupted by an uncomfortably audible gulp from your place in the passenger seat encouraged Jonathan to state the reassuringly obvious, "Oh, look, she's already here." Not that it assured you of anything other than your escalating sense of dread.

It wasn't just Nancy, but the entire ragtag, it seemed. Well, bar one overbearing, shaggy head of hair, the realisation of which depleting what little wind remained in your sails. His truancy did little to quell your nerves now, as you still faced plenty of bodies deserving of apologies and explanations and more apologies. Great to be back, right?

Maybe.

"Holy shit, Daphne!?!" A combination of suitably juxtaposed mousy curls and fiery red locks came tunnelling towards you, engulfing you in their respective embraces, and unless this was a dismal stab at inducing asphyxiation, they were... happy to see you?

You broke away slightly to plant two affectionate kisses on the foreheads of the Henderson boy and Mayfield girl, causing an uncontrollably winsome blush to paint across the face of the former. The use of descriptors such as 'boy' and 'girl' no longer felt applicable as you took a moment to study their matured faces which beamed undeservedly at your own. They were growing up, just as Will was, once more propelling the heart-rending reality he had so relentlessly driven home for you last night. Time had not stopped moving while you were gone. If anything, it had passed with excruciating acceleration.

The animated pair parted to allow for the emergence of the bashful boy young man who stood watching you unsurely.

"Hi, Lucas." You greeted him with a warm smile which was swiftly returned, silently alerting you that it was safe to approach, and you did, wrapping him in a tight hug before his waggish counterparts rejoined the gladly received envelopment.

"Okay, okay, enough. Before one of you pop a rib." You meant it jokingly for the most part (because if it wasn't yet clear, if there is one thing you revel in it is deflecting candour with humour), but the last year had chipped away at you, eroding what little strength you had managed to hold onto over the years. You couldn't help but wonder how much more it would take for the self-appointed castle to come crumbling down.

"Oh, come on, you've got a few good years left in you." Your innately self-destructive train of thought was broken by a breath of the archetypal Wheeler ribbing you had missed so deeply, fracturing what remained of the already steadily thawing ice as she, finally granted her turn, brought you in for a hermetic hug.

"Nance..." Your shallow breath escaped into the nape of her neck, those nettlesome tears threatening to cascade once more from the tactility of your best friend.

"Hey, stranger."

Return to Hawkins had proved... tumultuous. You felt as though the last twenty four hours had provided an abundance of furore to the otherwise motionless existence you'd led the last six months. Hell, the last four years, if you decided it a fitting time to get candid about your not-so-recent escapades (alas, shocker, you didn't). You knew you could, and would, rhapsodise the time you spent away from the oppressive clutches of Hicksville, USA to anyone who expressed a polite interest, whether for their sake or your own, that much you still weren't certain. But, perched on the hood of the Wheeler's family car, having successfully progressed past the exchanging of niceties and safely onto that effortless display of camaraderie between five faces which beamed at you with such unshakeable adoration that you only reciprocated tenfold, it felt right. More so than any superficially meaningful feat you would anecdotally preen yourself over should you run into an old classmate, educator, failed prosecutor, shaggy-haired Forest Hills inhabitant... I digress.

You were thankful for the many details the timely reunion had inadvertently clarified for you, sparing you the cumbersome burden of having to prod various members of your long-established friend group for the answers outright; you felt this would shine an unnecessarily dazzling light on your prolonged physical (and consequently, emotional) departure, like that one precarious addition who always finds themselves interjecting group discussions with a pitiful, "Wait, who are we talking about? When was this?".

You listened intently as Max recounted, while under the doting enclosure of the Sinclair boy, the belligerent marital breakdown that had occurred between her mom and the enigma that was Neil Hargrove, and how the latter had retreated to California, his contemptible offspring following not long after. He realised there was nothing or no one left in town worth entertaining, or terrorising, Billy always had a seemingly difficult time differentiating between the two. The Hargrove men, having left in a considerable hurry, left what countless ends they had loose, one of which being the grotty trailer Max now resided in with her mother in an attempt to combat their increasingly precarious financial situation. Divorce settlement, Max quipped, yet your heart all but broke at her revelations. From the moment you had formally met her, not two weeks into your entanglement with her now ex-step-brother, you fell head-over-military-inspired-boots in love with her, a love almost as vehement as the detest you had come to cultivate in your core for him. You were the older sister she never wanted, but now that she had, realised she no longer wanted to live without. Although you had never allowed her to realise the full extent of how he had treated you, she knew you were the only other person who clinically understood the layers of atrocity that encompassed Billy Hargrove, aching to be pulled apart, and the only one who cared enough to shield her from them. God, how she had missed you.

Nancy, not at all to your own incredulity, had become in all but name the incisively industrious editor-in-chief of Hawkins Post, and I mean, seriously earned it. You recollected the, what were for you, vexatious years she spent interning for the newspaper in high school, watching as she waited hand and foot on the corroding cadavers that were ostensibly Hawkins' answer to Walter Cronkite. Jonathan was her "right-hand man", as such, though you noted he had been self-appointedly so long before he ever found employment as the Post's resident photojournalist, and a decent one at that, swiftly silencing the plethora of nepotism allegations.

In fact, the only notable absences now were that of who you had christened Dumb and Dumber, formerly known as Steve and Robin (or Robin and Steve, potayto, potahto), who you were sure were still more inseparable than Siamese twins, an impossibility you had taken immense pleasure in declaring time and time again when they had clumsily arrived in late to another of your diligently scheduled shit-talking investigative journalism sessions. "Seriously, one of these days I will have to take a gander at those medical records to ensure the two of you possess entirely independent urinary tract organs."

Your gaze lingered on Dustin, who was looking particularly orphaned, as you recalled the long-standing custody war Harrington and the agonisingly captivating trailer-park-occupant-who-must-not-be-named had undergone for him, an unwanted twitch of your lips threatening to upturn into a, shudder, smile as you did so. The boy must have caught sight of your relatively decipherable stare, offering in return what he intended to be an innocently posed question to the larger part of the group.

"Hey, uh, has anyone seen Eddie?"

The commotion of an infernally on cue entrance ruptured the previously tranquil autumn's day in rural Indiana as it came barrelling out of the opposing trailer in a beeline for the curly headed boy, tackling him to the ground in one brisk motion. His congenital theatricalism put the entirety of that diffident dorp to utter shame. For you, it only had the effect of sending your already taxed circulatory system into overdrive. Like, you felt your heart may as well have been protruding from the caverns of your oesophagus like a particularly vigorous cuckoo clock, and he hadn't even noticed your newly limp frame draped across the Mercury, because, well, just a woeful case of tunnel vision, our Eddie.

"Jesus, Henderson, what are you doing down there, you'll catch your death." He teased as he aided the teenager off the ground, regaining his own composure as he did so, placing two firm, distractingly calloused, silver ring-clad hands on either of his shoulders, comically unaware of the fact your paralysed figure silently loomed over him as the rest of the group watched on impotently. The entire sequence felt painfully pulled out of the best worst horror comedy you've ever seen, like, some hardcore House shit. "Come on, do I got some shit to unpack. You'll never fucking guess who's back in t-"

Thwack!

Thank you, Nancy!

"OW!-n..." As he turned to scold the unidentified Wheeler finger which made sweet, unimpeded contact with his occiput, effortlessly penetrating the dense mane guarding it, the penny dropped. This realisation felt weightier, though, so maybe it was like, I don't know, a quarter or something.

Nut brown M&Ms for eyes attempted to sear an aperture into your own. You'd never thought two orbs you had once so fondly likened to the sugar-coated dragée chocolate confectionery could strike yours so... contemptuously.

And yet, try as they might, their arsonist tendencies were no match for your imperishable glare, an intimidatory tactic you had mastered down to a fine art. He may as well have been trying to set alight Fort Knox with a couple of particularly dull flint stones, a bundle of damp twigs and a dream, and even that would have proved more lucrative than dismantling the penitentiary that was home to your irremediable obstinacy, one nauseatingly formidable glower at a time.

Without as much as a nictate of concession, your address signalled elsewhere. "Your story, Nance. You were saying?"

If he had seriously expected you to be the one to waver in this glorified staring contest, perhaps your departure had been even more cataclysmic than previously thought. A remedial all-things-Daphne-Byers workshop was gravely due, and you were all the more gratified to deliver it.

"Uh, t-, the story, right! Follow me."

Slinging a soothing arm around your farthermost shoulder as she delicately turned your backs on the ungainly group, Nancy breathed a sigh of relief at the timely ejection from the increasingly uneasy atmosphere clouding the Mayfields' front lawn like a hazardous fog. Suddenly she contemplated whether she might have had a vocation as an EOD specialist, having comfortably defused the ticking time bomb that was your seething indignation.

Out of earshot, and into a Wheeler-led cross-examination.

"Do you want to talk, or shall I?"

"About the story, I mean, it is your story, right?"

"Daphne."

Sigh.

"Fine, Nancy, please... put me out of my misery then."

Not that she ever required the invitation, but it was a nice gesture nonetheless.

"Well, let me preface by saying - that was a cold war level standoff, like, holy shit, that was Siberian; and look, by all means, stop me if I'm overstepping," A laughable suggestion, in all honesty, because were you hell about to interject the visibly metastasising fire behind her impassioned cobalt orbs as she geared up for a good ol' fashioned Nancy Wheeler lacerating, which was more like a mild reprimanding, but still not worthy of engulfing the little patience you had left in order to test her own, "but I care about you, and I just feel like too much shit has happened to let the two of you prolong this glorified lovers' quarrel, don't you? It's had four years to run its course, Daphne, surely that's long enough."

"Look, Nance, you are barking up the wrong tree, in fact, you're in the completely wrong fucking forest. Christ, despite the widely verbalised certitude that I haven't stepped foot in this town since I was seventeen, everyone sure as shit wants to berate me like that was only yesterday. I'm an adult, Nancy, as are you now, as is he if the laws of evolution are anything to go by, and if and when he decides to trade in that whole angry-at-the-world outsider shtick he's had going on since high school for an operational backbone, he knows where to find me."

A beat.

"You know I love you, Nance, so much. Which is precisely why I don't wish to concern you, or be concerned, for that matter, with such... juvenile shit anymore, okay? I'm past it, and so are you."

"Maybe. But they're not." The grin she sported as she cast a heedful eye on whatever scene you so fiercely wished to keep your back on was so sickeningly saccharine it coerced any residual irritation out of your enervated bones and onto the sparse communal lawn your eyes were suddenly so fixated with. The collective Forest Hills landscaping ability left a great deal to be desired.

Alas, dissociation only topped the lengthy catalogue of conditions the clinical pragmatist that was Nancy Wheeler had no time for, quickly adjourning your pensive state to guide you back to where a concerned triad remained.

A couple strategically placed sinkholes would not go amiss.

The coterie was noticeably short of one stocky techie and his tachophobically challenged psuedo-dad-who-stepped-up, presumably taking cover nearby while the latter sought a suitably girthy tree trunk to unleash his stifled wrath on. Or to light one up under, whichever impulse prevailed.

The commotion of branches and various other forestry debris contorting under unfamiliar feet from the opposite end of the trailer park perimeter broke your readily resurfacing agitation.

"Nancyyy, hey, we got something!"

Gracelessly floundering out of the shadowy woodland that inundated the Hawkins landscape, none other than your knights in regrettably shining armour, Dumb and Dumber incarnate, Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley.

If your memory served you correctly, and it always did, they were essentially sinkholes of the charismatic variety, anyway.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳

taglist <3: @yelyahpfa @avalon-wolf

#rose-colored boy #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #we're so back

43 notes · View notes

pears-trinkets · 2 years

Text

I watched a tiktok some days ago where OP was talking about their art variating in quality according to what they were drawing. Like for example when they were doing commissions quality plummeted and they'd ragequit because it was so frustrating even if they wanted to make it work but when they were drawing fanart for a series they loved it would be on a completely different professional level

And then they explained how they talked to a friend about it and the friend asked them

"Well are you passionate about art or are you passionate about the media you're drawing?"

Which sounds so simple and obvious but I literally needed it to be spelled out like that for it to click??

I feel like some kind of spell has been lifted a bit since then? I dont know

But all my life I was passionate about art itself and was only drawing TO DRAW but then with the internet and fandoms (that bring community and more engagement thats passionate in itself) but also art school and pressure to make a living out of it and to not get lost in the algorithm I was actually mad at myself why I couldn't draw fanart and capture that fanart vibe etc as others could but it was literally just not my main thing and wouldnt be sustainable longtime on its own

And I've literally burned myself out doing that and ever since I thought I'd use series and fanart like a crutch to get myself going again because I couldn't even imagine doing it on my own without any help but I've been actually doing myself a disservice with that?

I was trying to mend my problem with anime and movies and books and games but that's not what was broken to begin with

Its just such a different approach to everything to think "I'm getting my passion, love and joy for art back" and "I'm getting my passion for the media I love back through fandom and their passion I can piggyback off of" and how it makes things work from within and I feel stupid for thinking like that

Because at the end of the day it comes down to you and having to sit with yourself while drawing and how that's making you feel

And now it absolutely makes sense how so many people I knew were doing art but actually hated it and talked negatively about it and had no fun in art itself because they just wanted to contribute or show their love to a fandom but didnt enjoy doing it through drawing

And why we couldn't really connect because of these different approaches because while I was like DRAWING DRAWING DRAWING they were CHARACTER ABC CHARACTER ABC CHATACTER ABC

I dont know

It has been such an impactful thing I thought I might as well share it for anyone who needs it

The creator on tiktok is @ almostzander and they also concluded that it was an audhd hyperfixation problem and I'm still letting that simmer a bit in my head because I think that everyone experiences this on some level like just doing something for the wrong reasons to put it simple but I also think we are definitely more deceptive to that!

(this is me letting it simmer)

#audhd #drawing

158 notes · View notes

tarabyte3 · 1 year

Text

The Devil Makes Us Sin

Fandom: Luther, Luther: The Fallen Sun

Pairing: David Robey/F!Reader

Chapter 2/? (9.9k words)

->start at chapter 1<-

AO3 Link

Summary: Your life isn't perfect, and you don't enjoy moonlighting as a camgirl for so many repulsive men, but you need the money and it's yours. You're getting by just fine. You're content.

At least you thought you were. Then you get a strange text message. And you aren't sure if you're horrified or intrigued.

Warnings: Explicit rating, smut, stalking, spying, blackmail, manipulation, dubcon, dubious consent, Dom/sub, sadism, masochism, unprotected sex, oral sex, masturbation, mutual masturbation, choking, dirty talk, praise, humiliation, possessive love, yandere, minor description of gore, minor description of violence, murder, discussion of murder, shame involving sex work, light shaming of sex work, emotionally abusive mother, troubled mother/daughter relationship, fear of abandonment

A/N: I am having more fun than I probably should be writing this fic. New minor warning in the tags, but note that the troubled mother/daughter relationship and emotionally abusive mother tags are more prominent in this chapter!

Work title is from "Paradise Circus" by Massive Attack. Chapter title is from "Go to the Limits of Your Longing" by Rainer Maria Rilke. Text divider 1 is from William Blake's Pity. Text divider 2 is from Hans Melming's Earthly Vanity and Divine Salvation. Collage quote is from NBC's Hannibal (2013).

Chapter 2 - Let everything happen to you: Beauty and terror

You spend the rest of the day, and the next day after calling into work, pacing a circle in your living room and thinking about all the things he said to you—about you.

First and foremost: What would you do if you quit and ran?

Move? Get another office job?

No. Absolutely not. That's what the shitty voice in your head that sounds like your mother says you should do. But what do you want to do?

You can't remember the last time you really wanted anything. God, have you really become so miserable? You hadn't even noticed. You thought you were fine. Maybe your life hasn't turned out the way you'd expected, but it isn't horrible and you get by. Now, standing on the outside of yourself and looking in, you realize the only real joy you've had in years is insulting men on the internet. While you sit in your panties.

So what do you want?

You wanted to go to art school when you were younger, but your mother had put an end to that dream when you told her.

"Very few artists ever make it big or earn a living for themselves," she'd said, "and you aren't talented enough to be one of them."

So you'd gotten a business degree at university instead and hated every moment of it. For a salary that isn't even that impressive, especially for living in London. All so you could work for entitled, boring men that make inappropriate comments, take passes at all the women, and never face any consequences for it because it's a good ol' boys' club. Bunch of pricks. You hope that place burns. In fact, you're going to walk in and quit tomorrow. And it's going to feel so fucking good.

Unfortunately, you also stopped painting. After your own mother's repeated dismissal of your eighteen-year-old self's dreams and passion, whenever you picked up a paintbrush or a pencil, you felt horrible. Nothing you painted felt right again. Your confidence was gone. That spark. So now you don't even own any art supplies. You don't like the reminder.

You do still go to art museums and galleries and shows in the city, though. Walking through them as a child is what made you fall in love with it in the first place. She may have taken away your desire to create any yourself, but she could never destroy that love, try as she may.

Art has always been something you've connected with better than you ever have with people. It's effortless. Even parsing through the depths of the most complex and visually abstract piece is less complicated than trying to navigate personal relationships. Because art asks nothing more of you than what you are willing to give.

Maybe you could try painting again for fun. The second bedroom could be a studio now that you no longer need it for filming. And you could get a job at a gallery because that, at least, would be something you enjoy, and you wouldn't have to worry as much about the pay. Or—

You could go to art school.

The thought makes you stop pacing.

Loads of people go back to school later in life nowadays. Especially for the arts because, after years of experience out in the world, they realize they want to follow their dreams instead. You wouldn't even have to be successful, but you could be happy.

For once in your goddamned life, you could be fucking happy.

Because of him.

You go back to pacing.

Is that what he meant when he said he could offer you more than just money? He could give you the opportunity to finally live—though that circles back around to the money, too. It creates the opportunity, after all.

Except you know it was more than that. He was offering you the opportunity to be seen. Something you don't have because there's no one that knows the real you. Not really. They would think you were horrible. You know from experience.

Sometimes you think you're horrible.

But he saw you. Maybe not all of you, but a surprising amount from such a small glimpse. What would he see if he could look deeper?

Would he still want to look? Or would he eventually be repulsed, too?

You go to stand in front of your laptop, which you keep powered down and closed now. You also unplugged your webcam, closed your blinds, and put little pieces of tape over both of your phone's cameras because you're convinced that's how he knew every time you were ready to block him. He was watching.

You don't think it can stop him from finding some way to keep tabs on you, but it'll slow him down. You wonder if that will amuse him or annoy him. Probably amuse him.

And why the fuck do you care? Why are you thinking about him at all? You don't even know who he is. Plus, he blackmailed and threatened you, for fuck's sake! You should be phoning the police! At the very least, you should never think about him again.

But you do. You think about him a lot. Because he could be almost anyone behind that anonymity, and the mystery and possibility are…interesting.

He clearly has money. He's smart and irritatingly perceptive. 'Don't forget he has a talent with technology apparently,' you think wryly—which is a massive understatement. He has to be some kind of tech guy, right? Who else can hack into all of your personal devices, track down phone numbers and addresses, uncover your passwords—which you've now changed as well, and poke around your bank records? So through the most basic deduction, you know that much at least.

But is he attractive? Funny? How old is he? Does he have hobbies that aren't stalking you? And can he carry on a conversation when he isn't hiding behind a screen? God, if he turned out to be just like other men and you had to listen to him prattle on, you might give up and join a convent for the vow of celibacy alone.

And, though you shouldn't even be having this thought, you can't help but wonder if he's good in bed. Would he get you off, or does he last thirty seconds and then roll over and fall asleep? You think that's a fair thing to be particular about. You're not about to waste your time only to never have an orgasm. You've done that plenty of times in your life already.

You should be worried that he's a serial killer and you're his next victim or that he's planning to keep you chained up in his basement or sell your organs on the black market. But if he wanted to do that, you'd already be dead because he's been watching you for months and you hadn't a clue. He's had plenty of opportunities.

Unless this is part of a game.

You could always find out. He told you the link would stay active. You aren't sure if you want to click on it again, but you don't not want to.

No. It's too soon. Before you make any decisions, you should get your affairs in order because you have a former life to wrap up first. And you should give yourself time to process. To work through the fear, the anger, the curiosity, and, most of all, why it aroused you. Not just physically, you acknowledge, but mentally as well. There was something in your verbal sparring that appealed to you as much as it appealed to him.

You want to know why. You want to understand the part of yourself that feels almost neglected now. Withered from disuse—from hiding behind the lie, as he might put it. And you can't face him again until you do because going back to him with your eyes wide open feels important. There can be no half measures.

What if you dive in and realize you've made a terrible mistake? That seems far more complicated than just walking away now while you have the chance. So if you click that link again, you want to be sure.

Then why do you keep finding yourself standing in your spare room and staring at your computer?

You close your camgirl account without any warning or final stream. Once you realize you never have to do it again, the thought of doing it even one last time is nauseating. There aren't many hoops to jump through, which surprises you. And hitting that confirmation button feels so amazing, you almost text the mystery number to say thank you. Almost.

Unfortunately, the month isn't even half over yet so you're immediately flooded with refund requests. They paid for a full month, after all. You roll your eyes as your phone starts vibrating with email notifications. Too bad for them that you read through the terms and service and know the website's refund policy. So you take one last pleasure in hitting decline on every single one.

You also quit your day job.

You walk in two days after your experience with the mystery man—late, holding a takeout coffee, and wearing jeans and sunglasses—and hand your notice to your boss. He uncomfortably asks why you're leaving the company, and you smile and tell him you found a different opportunity. When he asks where, you take more pleasure in declining to answer and taking a noisy sip from your cup.

You plan to spend the rest of your time there doing absolutely nothing except scrolling through your phone or looking up art schools on your work computer. Hopefully they'll tell you that you don't have to finish up your two weeks just to get you to leave. You could've simply walked out without giving them notice at all if you really wanted. But after a single day of watching your boss squirm as he tries to figure out how to handle you, you know you made the right decision.

Now you need to make a few more.

You also learn something about yourself. You learn the thing that's been missing and why you enjoyed being so openly cruel on camera. You have been hiding behind a lie.

More specifically, you've been denying a simple truth to them and to yourself: You're better than all of them, and you take extraordinary pleasure in reminding them.

It feels good to finally be yourself. To stop pretending to care about all of the bullshit you've never cared about. Office politics, your so-called friends' newest drama, news that someone is getting married or having children, the latest show people are watching, sports, the weather, or the endless updates about small changes in people's lives. God, last week your coworker got a new car and would not shut up about all of the features. Oh, does it connect to Bluetooth, Sharon? Can you make phone calls from your steering wheel? How fascinating, please tell me more about how difficult it was to choose between a slate grey or tan interior, I'm sure I still have some will to live tucked away that you haven't drained yet.

Up until now, you've made yourself small. Palatable. You pretended to be normal. To want some of the same things everyone else wants so you fit in because you could hear your mother's voice in your head saying, "What would people think?" You bit your tongue so you didn't tell them to please just shut up. So when you finally got the chance to be honest on stream, you relished it.

Because before you were afraid that if you gave in to your darker impulses, you would take it too far. That it would turn you into a monster. You realize now they're the ones that are afraid. They can't wait to tear a woman down. To insult her, call her names, or to degrade her in hopes that will allow them to keep power over her. You were only worried about becoming a monster because you were told it was monstrous to be yourself. To know what you want and to take it. Especially when it's something you shouldn't want in the first place. Something improper.

Well, you're finally starting to figure out exactly what you want.

That evening after work, you sit in front of your laptop.

You haven't opened it yet. You're just sitting there, contemplating doing so because you want to know how it feels to consider taking the next step. If even doing that feels wrong, then you have an answer. That would make your decision easy.

But it doesn't. You reach out to rest your hand on top of the lid and have to stop yourself from opening it. One step at a time. To be sure.

You do that several more times throughout the evening before giving up.

You wake the next morning almost two hours before your alarm—because you had planned on sleeping in since you no longer care if you're late for work—and head straight to the other room. You slept like shit. All night you tossed and turned and fought getting up to pace more circles or to stare at your computer. Because you wanted to see how it felt to go further.

You frantically wrench open your laptop, desperate to finally know, and then you're staring at the black screen. There are smudge marks and some dust visible on it in the morning light filtering through your window. They mar your reflection as it peers, manic and disheveled, back out at you.

It still doesn't feel wrong.

How far can you go before it does? You press the power button.

It takes forever to boot up. Or at least it seems as if it does because your computer isn't that old. You're reminded of how it felt the last time you did this. How your heart had pounded out of fear. It's pounding now, but out of anticipation and impatience. When the login screen finally pops up, you have to retype your password because you hit the keys too quickly and make a mistake.

The sight of your desktop is a relief first because at last you'll have more of an answer to sit with. Then you feel…nothing. Well, no, not nothing. Just an absence of the fear and revulsion you had been looking for. There is definitely something there—nameless and building in your stomach, and crawling its way into your chest.

You move the mouse pointer around the screen. Out of habit, you open Instagram. You manage to scroll for about thirty seconds before you sigh in disgust and take the steps to fully delete your account. Then you go through the rest of your social media and delete or deactivate all of those as well. There isn't a single thing on any of them you care about enough to save. It's freeing in a way you hadn't expected.

You find yourself moving to open your inbox before you finally tell yourself no, that's plenty far for now. You've pushed this enough for one go. Besides, it's six thirty in the morning. You don't even know if he's awake, and you still have work—as much as you don't care about that part. It puts an expiration on doing it now and you don't want to feel rushed.

Instead you get up, go take a long shower where you sing to yourself for the first time in years, and take your time getting ready. You're going to wear a low cut top and a high slit skirt today, which are against the dress code like the jeans were, just to really get under their skin.

You leave your computer on and open. You also plug your webcam back in. You know it's going to send a message, and you want him thinking about what that could be.

Day two of work is just as satisfying as day one. More so because so many of them are flustered by a bit of cleavage and thigh. As if they've never seen either before. You briefly imagine wearing a high collared Victorian dress and scandalously baring your ankle while they gasp and clutch at their chests.

They still don't say anything, but you catch your boss and a few of the other various managers watching you resentfully from across the open floor over the half walls of the cubicles—you didn't even have a full cubicle for an office. How depressing is that? You give them a little wave and a wink back, and it sends them scurrying off.

On your way home, you get a takeout because you think you've earned a curry, and you grab a beer from your fridge. Then you kick off your heels and flop onto the couch. You don't turn on the TV because there's nothing that will entertain you as much as reminiscing about the last few days.

Well. Almost nothing.

You set the half empty takeout container down on your coffee table, the distraction and enjoyment of it suddenly gone. Because now you're thinking about him and your laptop again. You know it's still turned on in the other room, not twenty feet from you. All you would have to do is go in there, open your email, and click the link. It would be that simple.

You made sure it was that simple this morning, you realize.

You get up from the couch, but instead of heading to the spare room, you go to the bathroom. Then you examine yourself in the mirror to make sure you don't have curry stains on your lips or chin. Your makeup is still fine because, well, you did basically nothing at work all day so there's no need to mess with it. Plus, if you have a fresh face of makeup, he'll know you touched it up beforehand. For him. And you can't have that.

You have your hair pinned up, though, so you take that down for something more casual and less office professional. You also undo the top button on your already low dipped blouse. If you move a certain way or lean forward too far, the cup of your bra is visible. It's a wine color that stands out against the champagne of your shirt. You hope it'll be enough of a distraction to throw him off, even for a moment.

Once you're satisfied with your appearance, you make your way to the bedroom. But before you sit down, you toss the annoying, frilly pillows off the bed and into the hallway—you have to resist tossing them out the window—and you throw the blanket on there instead. It looks less ridiculous that way and more like an actual bed someone might sleep in. It also helps you feel like you're truly moving on from that chapter of your life.

Finally, you're in front of your computer. You've been looking forward to this part all day because it's a crucial step. If you can do this and still be okay, you know you're ready.

It takes one click to pull up your inbox.

You pause and wait for some kind of revelation or sign, but none come. There's only the same eager curiosity you've been struck with the past few days. The familiar anticipation of knowing. You want to sit with it a minute, just in case it takes a bit to creep up on you. So you clear out the spam and gleefully deny a few more refund requests in your second account first to tidy everything up. Then, with nothing left to distract you and no more excuses to put it off, you open the email.

The address it was sent from is a random series of letters and numbers. You hadn't noticed that before, you only wanted to know what the message said. You wonder if it's even a real email address. Whether he took the time to make it, carefully crafting each step as he set the snare for his trap. And here you are, stepping right back into it—assuming you had escaped it at all.

The link stares back at you.

You hover over it, only to find that you're nervous. How can you be nervous? You weren't even nervous the first time. Scared and angry, yes, but not this. This is something else. But is it enough to stop?

Absolutely not.

What's wrong with you? Why are you second-guessing yourself now? You want this. At the very least, you want to know more. So why deny yourself? You said you were done doing that. No more letting other people's standards and expectations control you. You take what you want. Who cares why?

'Because he did see you, that's why,' your mind supplies before you can stop it. That flutter in your stomach returns. With a strange rush of confidence, and before you can second guess yourself again, you click the link.

When the site loads, you half expect him to already be there. But he isn't. So you sit there, alone in the chatroom, staring at your own face. After a few moments, you check—and recheck—your hair and makeup. Then you berate yourself for fretting. You're better than this, even though you know your appearance is one of the few weapons in your arsenal that you can use against him.

Eleven minutes pass. Each one feels longer than the last. You want to get up and pace some more to let off your nervous energy, but you don't want him to show up and see you panicking. It would start this whole thing off on the wrong foot. Namely, with you at a disadvantage.

Just when you start to think you've made a mistake and a complete fool of yourself because he's not going to even show up, that black square appears in the corner with an electronic chime.

You stare at it, wide-eyed.

You hadn't really thought past this part. You were too focused on simply preparing yourself to click the link. Now you aren't sure what to say. So you wait again, only to be accompanied by silence. The chat box sits empty.

He's waiting for you, you realize.

No. He's trying to force you to give in and speak first so he has the upper hand.

So, he likes to be in control, then. Makes sense, given how all of this started in the first place. Now the only question is how in control he likes to be. Because the thought isn't necessarily unappealing.

"Hello," you finally say quietly.

I wasn't expecting you back so soon.

You can feel his smirk through the text. Oh right, he's infuriating. You scowl at your screen. "First message and you're already making me regret this."

Come now, I think I'm allowed to savor an I told you so, given the circumstances.

"Yep, this was a mistake." You move to grab your mouse and close the window.

I can make it up to you.

That makes you stop.

"And how are you going to do that?" You ask with suspicion.

Ask me a question.

"Any question?" You lean forward and rest your folded arms on the desk, intrigued and not bothering to hide it. That's why you're here, after all. To learn more about him. You can see your bra peeking out on the screen, and you hope now he's feeling something other than smug.

Within reason.

"Aha, there's the catch. Can't have me getting too clever, can you?" You tap your finger on the edge of your keyboard as you consider what you want to ask. You know he won't do something like turn on his camera or show you his face, and most of your other questions about him will require more trust first. So what will he give you?

"What's your name? It seems only fair I know that at the very least since you know so much about me."

Interesting question.

My name is David.

"David?" You repeat out loud, surprised.

Yes.

"Hmm. I wasn't expecting David."

What were you expecting?

"I don't know. Something unbearable like Reginald or Bertram. David is so…" You wave your hand in the air as you search for the word.

So what?

"Unassuming." You tilt your head. "Are you unassuming, David? Someone that everyone looks at, but no one ever sees?"

See, you are very clever.

"It's one of my better qualities, David."

I enjoy hearing my name on your lips.

"Oh, do you?" You cock an eyebrow.

If I were there with you, I would like to see what else I might enjoy from your lips.

You surprise yourself by blushing.

Clearly you might enjoy it, too.

"Is this how you think you're going to win me over? Saying filthy things to me? Because I can get back onto my stream for that." You try to sound unimpressed rather than flustered.

Not at all. Saying filthy things to you is just a bonus. Especially when you blush so nicely for me.

"You caught me off guard, that's all."

I'm sure. Not that I want to seem ungrateful, but why are you here?

"Well, my life didn't implode, which means you kept your word."

I did.

"Not that it would have mattered anyway because I quit both of my jobs, deleted all of my social media accounts, and, frankly, I realized I don't give a shit what my mother thinks." In a lower voice you add, "In fact, you might actually be doing me a favor there."

Did it feel good?

"It really did." You want to groan and relish in it because you've never felt this free before. It was marvelous. You just don't want to do so in front of him.

I'm glad. Do you trust me now?

"Absolutely not," you laugh. "But I suppose I'm…"

I intrigue you.

"I wouldn't go that far, but you have my attention. Now I want to figure you out."

Not because of the money?

You bite the inside of your lip as you consider how to respond. "I thought about that a lot, actually. And the answer is no, not because of the money. If it had been a factor in my decision at all, I wouldn't be here."

So you're here to satisfy your curiosity.

"Among other things." You give the camera a heavy lidded glance.

Sounds promising.

Will you leave when you're satisfied?

"I suppose that depends on how satisfied I am." A coy grin tugs at the corner of your mouth.

Then maybe I shouldn't satisfy you at all.

"Oh no, you'll definitely want to avoid doing that. Or else I might get bored and leave anyway."

Ah. We can't have that, now, can we?

"No we cannot." Then you grimace and ask, "You don't talk about things like sports or politics by way of conversation, do you?"

No.

"No interest in keeping up with the lives of acquaintances or the royal family?"

No.

"Thank god," you sigh in relief. "I'm done politely listening to people blather on so that would have been a deal breaker."

Lucky for me, then.

You really have had an exciting few days. I must say, this new confidence suits you. You look lovely.

"Thank you." You let out a genuine smile. "I feel like I can breathe for the first time in…well, a while. I suppose I have you to thank for that."

You do, but I must admit it was not a selfless act. I wanted to see you like this and I am enjoying the fruits of my labor.

"Only like this?" You intend for it to sound teasing, but anticipation bleeds into your voice.

For now.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest. "Can I ask you more questions?"

Of course. As long as you understand I may not answer them yet.

"That's fine." You shrug. "What you choose not to answer will be telling enough."

Very clever girl.

"Okay, next question," you blurt out to avoid blushing again, only to realize you didn't have a question ready. So you ask the first thing that comes to mind. "Are you rich?"

Yes.

"Yeah, that one seemed fairly obvious." You glance up at the camera. "How rich?"

I thought you weren't here because of the money.

"I'm not! I'm simply curious. And just because I don't care about it doesn't mean it's not a part of who you are."

Be honest. You're a little bit interested in the money.

"Fine," you say begrudgingly. "It's on the list of perks, but it's at the end. It wasn't a factor in why I'm here, and it won't affect how this turns out. How's that?"

Better. You know I enjoy your honesty.

So what's at the top of the list?

"Well, it was whether or not you would eventually bore me to death, but that doesn't seem to be a pressing concern."

I'll take that as a compliment.

What about now?

"I suppose now it's figuring out what you look like. Though I should be asking whether or not you're a dangerous man since you stalked and blackmailed me."

Now there's a question.

Well, go on. Ask me.

"Alright," you laugh. "Are you a dangerous man, David?"

Yes.

You blink in surprise because you weren't expecting him to just say yes. "How so?"

Where's the fun in that? I thought you were going to figure me out.

"It was worth a shot," you mumble to yourself. You adjust in your seat as you think of how to rephrase the question. "Are you dangerous to me?"

There's no response for several, very long, concerning seconds.

Would you like me to be?

You blush again, your face growing warm as it creeps over your cheeks. "I can't answer that."

Why not?

"Because I don't know what dangerous means."

Then I guess you'll have to find that out, too, won't you?

"It might be a little difficult when you're just text on a screen."

I don't have to be.

"Does that mean you'll turn your camera on?" You perk up in your chair.

No.

"What about your microphone?" You add hopefully.

Not yet.

You sag back into your chair, disappointed, but not surprised. "Then we continue to be at an impasse, don't we, David?"

You're still saying my name.

"I'm getting used to it. Would you like me to stop?"

No.

You lean in towards the camera, pouting your lips, and let your eyelids go heavy as you stare into the lense. "Is it getting you hard, David?"

Don't do that.

"Do what?" You ask innocently.

Talk to me like I'm just some man watching your stream.

"I thought you might like it."

I don't. I only want to hear those things when you mean it.

"How do you know I don't mean it now?" You flutter your eyelashes.

Remember, I can hear the difference.

"Fine," you sigh, your expression and body language immediately returning to normal. "Then I don't know what else to do here."

Ask me another question.

"Alright." You tap your chin in thought. You know you need to regain some power here because so far you've been doing more reacting to him than you intended. How can you throw him off balance? "Have you ever touched yourself while watching any of my streams?"

No.

"I find that surprising," you say with a hint of skepticism.

Why's that?

"Because you went to all this trouble of stalking me and blackmailing me. I assumed that meant you really enjoyed my streams."

I did enjoy your streams.

"But not in the way most men do." The disbelief is still evident in your voice.

It wouldn't have been to you, would it have? It would have been to the lie and, therefore, not particularly satisfying.

"True. But I thought you saw me anyway."

Seeing past it and seeing you without your mask are two very different things.

"Okay. So you don't get off to me."

I didn't say that.

"Oh," you breathe out. As if this is a shock to you. But as he said, suspecting and seeing him confirm it are two very different things. "What do you think about when you do?" You purr as you lean in close again, suddenly very interested in his answer.

Do you really want to know?

"I'm curious, remember?"

I think about you when you were angry and begging.

You lick your lips before you can stop yourself.

Only on your knees for me.

Then you swallow hard. Because that paints a descriptive picture of what he likes. You can see it clearly, and you would be lying if you said there wasn't a responding swell of dampness in your panties at the thought of it.

"Are you touching yourself right now?"

Would you like me to be?

Would you? Is that something you want? Because it occurs to you that you could have it if you want it. You could have him sliding his fist around his erection and moaning for you if you so choose.

"Not really." You give a dismissive shrug, both for him and yourself. And it's not a lie. The thought is appealing and you think it's something you want eventually. But you aren't ready for it yet. Not until you know more about him first. After all, he could be anyone behind that screen. It's both a blessing and a curse. "I don't think you would anyway. Not yet."

Why not?

"Because if you did all of this just for a wank, that would be so very boring. And you aren't that, are you?"

No. I'm not.

But you had to think about it.

"I did," you admit. "When I don't have to think about it first, then I'll give you your show. And my answer will be much different."

I look forward to stripping you of your hesitation.

You notice the word play and give the camera a quick, amused smirk. "You'll be wanting to answer more questions for me then."

Ask.

"Speaking of shows. Do you make a habit of watching cam girls?"

No.

"So just occasionally, then?"

No.

You stare at his responses in confusion. "How did you find me if you weren't scrolling through the website?"

Call it luck.

"They used me in an ad, didn't they?" You scowl.

If I said yes, would that satisfy your curiosity?

"You know it wouldn't."

Then we'll stick with luck.

"Infuriating," you huff. "Will you at least tell me eventually?"

Someday. But not today.

"Alright," you relent. "Because I'll be honest, I really am terribly curious. And I want to know what it was that gave me away."

That second part I can answer.

The first stream I saw, you told your audience that they were lucky to even see you on camera because in person you would never give any of them the time of day. Then you took a deep breath. To everyone else it may have seemed like you were gasping in horror at your own words, but I saw the shudder. The roll of your shoulders. The pleasure. You weren't horrified, you were delighted. That was the moment you had my attention.

You remember that stream. You remember the exact feeling he's describing. How you fought to seem contrite afterwards and arched your breasts towards the camera in hopes no one noticed.

But he noticed. He was there.

"And what was the moment you decided you wanted me?" You whisper, unsure whether your microphone even picked it up.

When you did the same thing the next night.

I thought you were very attractive, of course, but you were never more attractive than in that moment of truth. I wanted more of it.

So I looked.

"You didn't just look. You watched me," you say accusingly.

I did.

"When I was vulnerable and didn't know I was being watched."

Yes.

"Doesn't that make you feel…bad?" You finish lamely. "Or guilty? Even a little?"

Do YOU feel bad now knowing that I did?

"I…" You trail off. You did feel awful in the beginning. It made you sick with fear. How could it not? But now? After the last few days—after talking to him—do you still feel bad? "I'm not sure."

Because I don't.

"You should."

And you should probably still be angry and afraid, yet here we are.

Annoyingly, he has a point there. So both of you are a little fucked up then.

"I have another question." You consider the camera. "Why didn't you just approach me or hit on me in the usual way? Why blackmail me to get my attention?"

You've already said yourself that you find the usual things boring.

"I didn't mean stalking!"

Didn't you? You like the attention, even if you only learned about it afterwards.

'He's right again,' you think. You do like knowing that he was looking. That you've finally been seen by someone that likes what they see. Someone that understands. Which also gives you the answer to his earlier question: You don't feel bad about it, either. Not anymore.

God, so maybe more than a little fucked up.

"Okay, maybe I do. But I think this is more than that. Perhaps you feel confident through the screen in a way you aren't in person."

That's a good guess.

"Am I right?"

No. I simply enjoyed doing it this way and watching you squirm.

"Asshole," you mutter. "It had a very high potential to blow up in your face."

I disagree.

"What if I didn't watch that video of myself? What if I'd just blocked you?"

I would have sent it from a different number with additional threats.

"And if I still refused? Would you have gone through with it?"

I knew I wouldn't have to.

"That," you cross your arms, "is not an answer."

And yet it's my answer. I knew you wouldn't deny me.

You scoff in disbelief. "Are you unaccustomed to hearing the word no?"

People say no to me all the time.

"You really don't like it, though, do you?"

No. Do you?

"Of course not," you laugh. And you're surprised to hear that it's genuine rather than sarcastic.

I can't imagine people telling you no very often.

You laugh a little harder. "You need a better imagination, then."

Even men?

"Well," the laughter trails off and you glance down at your desk, "I'd have to ask something of them first. I don't often. It's usually not worth it." You look back up. "You've told me no several times already."

For now.

There's a flush of heat in your belly that works its way between your legs and up to your neck. How does he keep doing that? No face. No voice. Yet somehow you keep ending up moments away from rubbing yourself against the seat of your chair.

"What about you? Do women tell you no, or are you so rich and handsome that they throw themselves at you?" You tease.

You wait, but there's no answer and you start to regret the question. You wonder if he's self-conscious about his looks and that's another reason he's doing this, or if you were right about his confidence when he isn't behind a screen.

"You don't have to answer that." You straighten up and your expression turns apologetic. "It was a clumsy attempt at flirting and to learn more about you."

No, they don't.

"Oh." You fidget uncomfortably for a moment. "If I'm being honest, that's actually a relief."

Why a relief?

"Because the type of men that would say yes to that question are usually intolerable. Besides," you shrug, "there are other important qualities to have that aren't looks. Like being intriguing, for example."

I can hear when you're lying.

"How am I lying?"

Looks are important to you.

"Of course they are. I never said they weren't! Only that there is more to attraction than just looks."

Would you still consider me if I were unattractive?

"Well." You stop to think about your response. You know you have to choose your words carefully in case this is a sensitive topic. "I can't promise anything because I don't know what you look like, but I will say if good looks were all I cared about, I would have an actual dating life."

I believe you.

"Does that mean you don't think you're attractive?" You tentatively ask.

Oh, I never said that. I just said women don't throw themselves at me. I'm far too busy.

"You…" You snap your mouth shut in anger. He was fucking with you. To see how you would react, and you actually felt bad for a moment! "God, you're infuriating."

You like it.

You do. There's a slick heat inside of your underwear that betrays exactly how much you like it.

"And you seem to be trying awfully hard to find the limit of that statement." You scowl.

I happen to like pressing your buttons.

"I noticed." You give a small, irritated huff through your nose. "You know, I also can't help but notice I've been doing most of the talking here. It's your turn to ask me a question."

That seems like fair retaliation.

There's a brief pause while he, presumably, thinks of something to ask you.

What was the source of your hesitation earlier? When I asked if you wanted me to touch myself.

"I want to know more about you first," you answer matter of factly.

Why?

"For several reasons. It's a very vulnerable position for me to be in since you can see me and I can't see you, so I want to trust you before this turns into that."

What are the other reasons?

"The more I get to know you, the more interested I might be. And the more interested I am, the more I'll want to take my clothes off. Just for you. Doesn't that sound so much better than a halfhearted strip tease?" You give the camera your best enticing look. "I think it does."

I agree. It does.

"Besides, didn't you promise me that you would make me want to touch myself for you? So make me, David. Give me more to work with."

You should be careful with what you say. Or you may accidentally ask for something you haven't thought through.

You blush and shift in your chair. "How do you know I'm not completely aware of what I'm asking?"

Because you wouldn't ask me to make you if you were.

You have to bite your lip to stop a whimper that nearly makes its way out of your mouth. You also have to fight back your initial instinct of looking into the camera and repeating, 'Make me, David.' You know that's pushing it, though. For now. But god, do you want to.

"Point taken," you force out through the tension. "Why do you ask, anyway?"

I wanted to know how I can remove that hesitation. Now I know.

"Eager, are we?" You tease.

Yes.

Can you blame me? The thing I'm impatient for is you.

"God, David," you gasp. "I think it's you that needs to be careful with what you're saying."

I know what I'm saying. But for your sake I will.

"Thank you," you exhale in relief. Your control and conviction can only take so much, and your grasp on them is weakening. And he knows it.

Does it bother you that I want you?

"Not really. A lot of men want me."

No they don't. They want your body. I want you.

"I still don't understand why."

I see something in you that mirrors something in me.

"You see yourself in me, do you?" You give the camera a teasing, seductive smile.

You're very good at that.

"At what?" You ask innocently.

Using flirtation as a means of misdirection when you're uncomfortable.

"How am I uncomfortable?"

Because you want to know what I see and that scares you.

"You think you could tell me truths about myself that I don't already know?" You raise an eyebrow.

No, it's not that.

"What would scare me then?"

That you want to hear it from me.

You mentally shake off the immediate denial because you know he's right. You want to know exactly what he sees. You want to hear your own truths from him because it's thrilling. And because if he knows and he's still here…

"Fine. Maybe I do because I'm curious just how much you really see."

I've seen quite a lot.

"Try me," you challenge.

Do you have many friends?

You frown and glance down at the top of your desk. "Not many."

Why not?

"Because...I find it difficult to get along with most people, I suppose. What does this have to do with anything?"

I'm getting there.

Would you like to know why you don't?

"This should be good." You lean back in your chair. "Go on."

You've always felt different, and it makes connecting with other people almost impossible. You try, of course, because you get lonely. Humans are social creatures, after all. Either you feel nothing towards them and they annoy you, or they keep you at arm's length once they start to see the real you.

How old were you when you started faking it, I wonder? When you realized they don't like who you are when you aren't wearing the mask. I bet you were young when you learned to never take it off. That's why you found it so easy to lie on camera and why you were so good at what you were doing. You've been doing it most of your life.

You sit with that for a moment.

You expect it to hurt because, objectively, what he said should be painful and it is lonely. But you're already fully aware of the truth, and you know he wasn't just saying it to be cruel. You asked. That's like being upset with a mirror for showing you your reflection.

Though you suspect he still hoped you would squirm when faced with it because he likes making you squirm.

"I found it easy to lie to those men because I don't care about them or their feelings." You sneer at the thought. "They were a means to an end. And I can't connect with people because I find the things they care about to be mind numbingly dull. Unfortunately that usually means themselves."

And in the beginning you said you weren't that interesting.

"Is that how you feel then?" Your voice softens. "Lonely."

Yes.

"I guess we're both in excellent company." You mean for your accompanying smile to be lighthearted, but you can tell that it doesn't meet your eyes, and a hint of your own loneliness weighs down the corners of your mouth.

I certainly think so.

Do you want to know what else I see?

"Yes," you reply without hesitation.

It's not just that those men were on the other end of the camera, is it? Or that they're men. You've always felt a deep disgust for everyone around you, and the camera gave you an outlet. The money may have been the reason you started, but that was the reason you kept going.

You raise your eyebrows, impressed. "Interesting. And devastatingly accurate, as usual. But do you want to know a secret?" You lean in close and stage whisper, "I already figured all of this out."

Did you now?

"I did." You give the camera a smug smile and lean back in your chair. "I've been doing some self reflection since our last chat. Couldn't have you catching me off guard all the time."

Clearly.

"Now, that doesn't mean I don't want to read what you have to say. I still like knowing just how much you see."

I'll keep that in mind.

Did you figure anything else out about yourself? Because if you did, I want to hear it.

"I figured out that I've been denying myself the things that I want because I felt bad for wanting them. And the only reason I felt bad is because I was told I should."

And what is it that you want?

"Well, that's the question, isn't it? I'm still attempting to work that out." Then in a lower tone, "But it's becoming clearer to me."

I would offer my assistance, but you seem to be doing a wonderful job of peeling off those layers on your own.

But I also wouldn't object to helping you take them off if you asked me to.

"Are you serious?" You give your camera an astonished look. "I'm merely unraveling the thread you pulled, David. None of this was possible without you. You've helped me finally see myself so clearly that at first I was worried I only wanted to come back here because, between that and the money, I felt like I owed you something. But now I realize it's because I want you to keep pulling. I want to see what's underneath. What I've been denied—what I've been denying this whole time. And maybe…" You trail off, suddenly unsure because you almost let slip something vulnerable that still scares you.

If he saw you, would he still want to look? Or would he upend your life only to leave when you became too much?

Maybe what? Don't stop now. I want to hear what you were about to say. And I want to hear the truth.

You take a deep breath in hopes that, in doing so, you'll find your courage.

You don't, but it's too late anyway. You've shown him a seam that's still neatly stitched. You can't pretend now that it was nothing because he'll latch onto it, and you can't lie to him because he'll know. As scary as it is, all you have is the truth. And he asked for it.

"Maybe for once someone won't be repulsed by what's there." Your voice sounds so weak. You hate feeling this exposed. Leaving yourself open like this is just an invitation for someone to hurt you—actually hurt you, like slipping a knife into a gap in your armor. Now you may as well be handing him the knife, too. But you push past that panic and fear, and hold tight to the truth. "Maybe…maybe I've been hoping you won't be."

You're practically fidgeting in your chair with anxiety as you wait to see if he draws blood with his response or plunges said metaphorical knife between your ribs. And to your surprise, his response comes rather quickly.

Do you think I would be here if I'd seen anything in you that came close to repulsing me? It's your disguise that I find repulsive. It's that you had to wear it at all that repulses me. I am restraining myself from tearing it off of you. I've only ever wanted to see more.

Repulsed?

How could I find such a perfect creature repulsive?

Oh.

"David," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. "God, I…I don't know what to say."

Your heart is pounding against the walls of your ribcage, but no longer in fear. Not even in arousal. It's relief. Gratitude. Thrill. Anticipation. The desire to hear more of anything he has to tell you gnaws at your belly. You're starving for it.

That you even believe a single thing about yourself could be repulsive only strengthens my conviction that the world is full of monsters that hide behind their civility and their self-righteousness. They tell themselves they're better than us when the only difference is we're honest.

"But I haven't been honest, have I? Not always."

You are now.

"I'm trying to be," you correct him.

You've wanted to be this whole time. Do you think you would have embraced so many truths about yourself so quickly if you hadn't?

"That's a fair point." You lit a flame under your entire life with only the slightest encouragement from a complete stranger that was blackmailing you. To say that you've yearned to be free of it—to be yourself—would be an understatement. Now that fire is spreading and you don't even care enough to watch it burn. Not when you can look to him instead. "I have wanted it, I just never realized I did. Until you."

See? The money never mattered. It was just a means to an end, too. This was always my gift to you.

You let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. "Who are you, David?"

What happened to wanting to figure me out?

"That's still the plan, but I realize now I may have bitten off more than I can chew."

Don't worry, I won't let you choke.

Unless you want to.

You don't stop the pained moan that comes out of your mouth as you're tossed from feeling something approaching tender straight back into arousal. "My god, I'm getting whiplash," you mumble to yourself.

He doesn't say anything and you don't expect him to. His silence betrays how smug he's currently feeling just fine.

There's a moment of quiet then, and you glance around the room, willing yourself to calm down so your mind isn't trying to drag you in two directions at once. As you do so, your eyes catch the clock on the wall. You quickly do a double take and then look at your computer to confirm the time is correct. Because you're surprised to discover nearly an hour and a half has passed. It felt like ten minutes.

"My god. Is it really past seven?"

It is.

"I can't recall ever having a conversation where time just flew by. Usually it drags and I can't escape fast enough." You shake your head. "You know, being around people has always been exhausting and I couldn't figure out why. It's because wearing the mask is exhausting, isn't it? I was dedicating so much effort to not letting it slip and I didn't even realize. With you it's…different. I'm still worn out, but only because learning to keep it off is also exhausting. Just, you know, in the same way going to the gym or accomplishing a task that requires labor is. It's a rewarding ache."

It gets easier. Like with anything, the more you practice, the better you get.

"You speak from experience."

I do.

"How long?"

About fifteen years.

"Fifteen years?" For a brief moment you wonder how old he is, but you aren't sure if he'll tell you more than his name yet. You file it away for next time. "And you just…live without it? Do whatever you want?"

Oh, I still wear it occasionally, but it's tactical now instead of habit. It can be a very useful tool.

"I hadn't considered that," you mutter.

Sometimes it's also necessary for survival.

"Survival?" You recoil in surprise. "Jesus, how could that be necessary?"

The world isn't kind to people like us. Besides, isn't that what you've been doing this whole time?

"I always thought it was just a way to fit in, but I suppose that was its own form of survival."

See? You learn quickly.

"It helps when you're being hand fed the answers, but I appreciate the compliment nonetheless."

You should give yourself more credit. You're quite clever, remember?

"Not something I'm used to doing out loud," you shrug. "I'm sure I'll develop the muscle memory soon enough."

You will.

"So…are we winding down? Is that what's happening here? Because otherwise I don't usually have conversations about the clock."

Why? Is it your bedtime?

You know he's teasing, but you can feel how heavy your eyelids are getting. You were serious when you said all of this wore you out, even if you find yourself not wanting to go. "No, but it could be. I am getting tired."

Do you have an early morning?

"Not really. I technically still have work tomorrow, but I've done nothing except scroll through my phone and mess around on my computer since I gave my notice.."

How rebellious of you.

"Hardly," you chuckle. "I've been hoping they'll get annoyed and tell me they don't need me to stay the whole two weeks."

Couldn't you simply walk out on your own?

"Oh, I could. Doing it this way is so satisfying, though. They're furious, but what are they going to do? Fire me?" You grin. "No, they can only bite their tongues and watch it happen."

Then by all means, scroll away. Wouldn't want to come between you and your satisfaction.

You blush and look up at the camera from beneath your eyelashes. "You wouldn't?"

No. Your satisfaction comes first.

"Fuck," you hiss. At the same time you think, 'At least I would get that orgasm.' And that thought causes a potent swell of lust to pool between your thighs. Your breath hitches. "Now I really do think I need to go before I do something I might regret in the morning."

Would you?

Regret it?

You stop to consider whether or not you're ready—if you've learned enough—only to discover you no longer know the answer to that question. Which probably means…

You hesitated.

"I did," you sigh, disappointed, even as you remind yourself it's the right thing to do. And a good rule to hold yourself to.

There was more conflict on your face than introspection this time.

"Then you already know how I'm feeling."

I'll get you there.

That confidence that bothered you just a few days ago is now thrilling. "You'd better. You promised, David."

It's a promise I not only intend to keep, but will enjoy keeping.

"Good." You give your camera a wistful smile. "Last time I couldn't wait to close this window. Now I'm reluctant to go. That should probably concern me."

Does it?

"No. It doesn't."

Good.

"You're feeling quite pleased with yourself right now, aren't you?"

As a matter of fact, yes I am.

Because I'm once again savoring an I told you so.

"Infuriating," you sigh, but without the irritation this time.

Take the remainder of the evening to rest and do some self reflection, as you called it. I'm sure you have plenty to mull over before next time, and I'm eager to hear what new truths you uncover.

"You know I will. Especially the rest part."

Good. I wouldn't want to wear you out too soon.

"Don't worry, I have excellent stamina." You give the camera a wink. "Goodnight, David."

Goodnight.

Before you leave the spare room, you pick up your phone and peel the tape off both of the camera lenses. In doing so, you also quickly learn that tape was a terrible idea because it leaves behind an adhesive residue that you're forced to rub off, which takes a minute. You have to keep opening your camera to make sure there aren't any smudges.

Once that's clean, you completely unbutton your blouse, exposing your bra and your stomach. Then you go down to your knees on the carpet, hold your phone high, look up into the lense with a heated, angry expression, and take a selfie.

A selfie of you posing the way he pictures you when he touches himself to the thought of you.

You text it to him with the message: "Some inspiration. No mask."

A good twenty minutes later, while you're in the bathroom brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed, your phone buzzes.

Stunning. I was very inspired.

Fuck. It's going to be another long night and workday, isn't it?

Chapter 3 ->

A/N: Hi. Hello. Yes, Reader needs therapy, stat. Alas, she's not going to go to therapy. She's going to go fuck David Robey, serial killer, instead. Very normal and healthy behavior. (LOVE that for her, though.) Also I cannot begin to tell you how empowering it is to write her. How freeing. I ask you, who amongst us hasn't worn a mask to hide themselves or felt bad for wanting something? Who hasn't wanted to be seen by someone that can't look away? Who hasn't wanted to shed expectations like snakeskin and then go absolutely apeshit? Because I sure have. So I hope at least some of you find this just as empowering to read. This fic is for all of us. (Just maybe don't try to emulate her. She super does need therapy, like, for real.)

#david robey #david robey x reader #david robey x f!reader #the devil makes us sin fic #luther the fallen sun #luther the fallen sun fanfiction #luther #luther fanfiction #fanfiction #andy serkis #x reader

37 notes · View notes

welcometololaland · 1 year

Text

WIP NOT-WEDNESDAY AKA. THE THING IM REALLY EXCITED ABOUT

i am literally vibrating with a need to post this, so have a snippet. I really, really hope people like it because it's my return to loveable, silly Tarlos and I really love how it turned out. Thanks @rmd-writes for the tag!

Carlos knows about TikTok, of course. He might be the oldest twenty-nine year old ever (according to Marjan) or an elderly man stuck in a young, hot body (according to Nancy), but he’s well aware of the social media platform that’s inundated with short videos and the same automated voiceover that makes him want to fling himself off the nearest building. He hates TikTok with a burning passion – not that he’s ever had an account – and doesn’t shy away from expressing that opinion whenever he has to do one of those cyber security school incursions. He knows TK downloaded TikTok once, specifically to watch a dog video on repeat, but then he got stuck on it for days and days until Carlos insisted that he delete it. The app is a nightmare for productivity, and a wasteland of vulnerable metadata, and Carlos won’t be engaging with any of that. Instagram reels are bad enough. He doesn’t click on the link anyway – it can’t be that important – until he gets home and sees TK sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for him. “Have you been on the internet today?” he asks, by way of greeting. “Have you left the house today?” Carlos counters, running his eyes over the AFD t-shirt that TK is still wearing, and the pants he is still not wearing. “Or taken a shower?” “Of course,” TK scoffs, rolling his eyes. “This is a different pair of underwear. I didn’t leave the loft though, because it’s my day off and I’m allowed to do whatever I want. And if what I want to do all day is eat toast and jerk off to videos of my hot as hell fiancé on TikTok, I’m going to do that.” “Did you at least use a plate this time— Wait. What?” TK gives him a look that can only be described as gleeful, and Carlos’ stomach sinks. “TikTok,” TK says, sliding off the counter and slipping his hands into the back pocket of Carlos’ jeans. “Yep,” he adds, making an appreciative noise in the back of his throat, “your ass really is that perfect.” “TK,” Carlos asks, feeling a bit stricken, and stepping back as he remembers that, in the confusion over TikTok, he’s forgotten to lock up his firearm. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I tag @strandnreyes @iboatedhere @goodwaysihope @reyescarlos (@rmd-writes is right to say it - keep writing!) @reyesstrand @everwitch-magiks @three-drink-amy @clottedcreamfudge and @indomitable-love @the-amber-fox

#the fic in which carlos goes viral and he absolutely hates it #the fic in which carlos goes viral and tk absolutely adores it #social media references #911 ls #tiktok #i share carlos' hatred of it and i won't shy away from that

55 notes · View notes

iamhereinthebg · 2 years

Note

is aoi in your AU? Sorry if someone already asked this

hey Anon! Really sorry for the wait I wanted to do quick doodles to illustrate ahah

Thanks for the question and no problem no one asked me already :DD

I didn't know which au you were talking about so I will talk about her in both aus I have eheh

In mysteryfamau:

She is one of the mysteryfam's neighbor living in a house in the commercial alley. She knows Akane since he went to school the first time as Tsuchi's son (in kindergarten when they were around 5), and they have been friends since then.

Aoi in this au doesn't have the same fears and traumas as in canon since her dad left her mother when she was really young. Her mom has a really cool wife now because she deserves it and Aoi has a lovely family (this au is litteraly just me giving the characters a good life and shenanigans tbh) She loves breakdance, and roller-skate. She adores to annoy Akane, like setting him ridiculous alarms or climbing his walls to wake him up early with the worst ideas ever (Akane often ends up getting her into his blanket and throws her in the stairs, they love each other a lot ♥) She still masks her true personnality but she is more the happy-go-lucky-absolutely-everyone-loves-girl at school rather than how she is in the manga, so still popular and masking a lot but not with the same personnality. She is squatting the mysteryfam's house absolutely everyday and Tsuchi isn't even surprised to see her at any meals of the day. She just goes whenever she wants. Aoi also has been Nene's internet friend since she is 13 and she is so happy her friend ends up in the same town as her. She is an absolute menace, really sweet but can say the worst thing ever with a big smile.

In after life city au

If you want more context for this au I advice cheking out this post (and this one for the info about her family)

Aoi lost her childhood friend who went missing at the age of 12 (Akane) and her best friend Nene who died at the age of 15. She is way more sad and angry than in canon and knows some stuff about her family's traditions. She also knows a little about exorcist stuff and has some powers but she never really used them, she only knows because of her grandpa who taugth her for protection. Once Nene dies, she becomes desesperate and goes deep into all those family stuff and hears that a city where the deads end up exists. Aoi gets ready to go there but doesn't know where the gates are, so she researches more about everything, especially about the Minamotos because she knows their family is more important about the relationship between the two shores. When she hears that the Minamoto's sons are going into the afterlifecity she decides to go with them, 'as protection' she says. She wants to get Nene back from the afterlifecity. Lemon is the only friend she has left and he will decide to go with her because he realizes how much she is drowning in her grief about her two friends. He goes as a lil robot (a kinda drone idk lemme be idiot about this) because he has no special blood and can't go there, and is definitely here as her voice of reason.

Aoi is in the city for her own reasons and will cause some problems to the Lords and also to the Minamotos. She hates Kyo with a burning passion.

And that's all for now :DD thanks a lot for this question Anon it made me happy to talk about her ahah ^^

I adore how the two Aoi are just exact opposite of each other in this post lol

#asks #toilet bound hanako kun fanart #tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #akane aoi #aoi akane #yashiro nene #afterifecityau #mysteryfamilyau #jibaku shonen hanako kun fanart #jibaku shonen hanako kun #jshk

27 notes · View notes

vero-niche · 6 months

Note

UNSURPRISING AND BORING??? HAZUGSÁG! TELL ME ABOUT IT ACTUALLY!!!

(context: this ask was sent by my dear mutual after i reblogged a post about what my special interest is, which is films and filmmaking that i called those things)

fjhfjvhnfkc im so sorry for not replying to this sooner, it's been haunting me since that day bc first i was like "i will answer from desktop bc this is gonna be a long one" and then... i didnt. anyway, im just gonna start rambling and hit post at some point when i run out of steam, enjoy 💞

edit: whoops better put All That under a read more lmao

note: by movie/film i also mean animation, tv shows, anime, etc

so, it all started when i was little.... we were living mostly in a small village in northern hungary, no access to cinemas or such but my dad started working at a tv station in the capital when i was like... idk. small

anyway, he had access to The Internet and pirated movies and brough home burned VHS tapes.... i loved fiction ever since i remember and movies were no different. saw a lot of disney and other stuff, mum says i rewatched a lot of them a lot of times.... as an undiagnosed adhd+autism kid these movies were my main source of obsession.

as many in my generation, i grew to love reading a bit later after i saw the first h*rry p*tter movie and read the book but even then and ever since as well my imagination works kinda like a movie. i imagine certain shots and angles, even tho for the most part my imagination is as fuzzy as my thoughts.

also on the part of the audhd, i was basically self medicating with movies. stressed? watch a movie. sensory overload? movie (or later on, music). feeling shit? movie. it kind of works like a factory reset of my brain if the film is good. i guess because for 1,5-2,5 hours i am completely focused on one thing in a way thats not exhausting to me.

during elementary, i was in a friend group that i got in because we were in the same not school related drawing group (rajzszakkör yknow) and basically all 4 of us were a bit too neurodivergent there i think 😄 anyway, somehow when i first got a phone with camera, we started doing little "sketches" (and me with my then best friend separately too). then two of those friends came up with a short movie idea, a mockumentary about the iconic "twin towers" of the town we lived in (and hated). the 4 of us filmed and played all parts, right there in the city, and one of us edited it. it turned out quite.... well, like a shitpost lmao. so, naturally, we got quite hooked but esp me and one other friend (who is now an acclaimed theatre director btw. lol)

anyway, so we did several of these short movies + i did several sketches and other stuff with all kinds of friends in the coming years, all through about mid-high school years...

for several reasons, despite it being the obvious choice, i didnt end up going to film major at uni but chose english studies. i don't regret it, but my place wouldve been at the film major tbh....

anyway, i decided to give up my filmmaking dreams... but yknow, special interests dont wotk that way lmao.

i kept watching movies with a critical mind, such as "oh this shot is good" or "this shot is too long, they should've cut it a few seconds earlier" or "oh, they are using xy technique here" and once you start looking at movies from a filmmaker point of view, theres just no turning back (or off). i think i majorly watch anime in my spare time now bc i analyze what i see less than with live action stuff.

so like. idk what my point here is. i listen to soundtracks of movies i loved, not just the ones with lyrics but the background music too. i love rewatching and dissecting parts. after seeing a new one that i loved i headstraight to imdb to the crew and trivia section, i watch/read interviews, check box office numbers even and stare in awe when they show a special technique or smg they used.

and i mainly always thought "well i just have a passion for it but its nothing that outstanding, right? people look these stuff up when then love smg, right?" well. 😶

then not too long ago i realized im not only adhd but autistic as well. and that the reason why this passion (and need to be involved in the making) never really left, even when i myself gave up on it, is bc its my special interest.

so now im slowly approaching crossroads bc on the one hand i have a stable corporate job with good routines at home. but on the other if i dont "give in" to my special interest i feel my soul will wither. but also im sososcared 👍

in summary:

#ask #mutuals #if you got this far in reading... ily + im sorry + i am bonking you on the shoulder lovingly #and this is only a mere fraction of what goes on inside my g #*head #but my thumb is sore and i keep tapping the wrong keys so. imma stop

3 notes · View notes

blackbloodredpepper · 1 year

Text

Haikyuu Fic Master List pt. 2

Part 1 is just FULL of IwaOi so if that’s what you’re looking for click here

Part 3 is KuroKen and AsaNoya. If you’re interested, click here

We started off strong with part 1, and while there may not be as many for future pairings that I will rec for, trust that there will be a lot.

Hanamaki Takahiro x Matsukawa Issei

Kiss Cam (Pull Me In)

Word count: 4,327

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed

Summary: they sit together in the stands and watch the argentina vs japan match and curse everyone who didnt introduce them earlier because holy fuck

It’s so funny to me that Iwa and Oikawa wouldn’t let Maki and Matsun meet. Great start to this portion of the list.

Would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek <3

Word count: 3,943

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: au where matsukawa issei joins seijou a couple years late and falls in love at first sight. it's much the same on the other end. it takes hanamaki a while to admit it though

This one is love at first sight, fluff, and just cute. It is a common rec if you’re looking for MatsuHana but yeah. Def recommend.

Boyfriend jacket <3

Word count: 3,835

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Matsukawa Issei, self-proclaimed fashion critic, hates the Aoba Johsai school uniform with a burning passion.

The beginning of the punk Matsun hc

face the sun

Word count: 3,317

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Hanamaki cashes in his ice cream date with Matsukawa and it's better than he expected.

Short and sweet, not much more to say about this

Something of a disaster

Word count: 1,405

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: “This is the part where you make a wish and blow.” “Now, let’s not get too hasty—“ “I meant the candles you bastard.”

Cute lil bday fic. I like it and I think you will too :)

Try Before You Buy

Word count: 11,373

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 2/2

Summary: Matsukawa took a deep breath to steady his nerves as he approached, the casual calm façade falling quickly into place as he crossed over the border of Hanamaki’s personal space, planting a ‘friendly’ kiss on his cheek. “Hi there, sweetheart.” He greeted teasingly, a smile appearing on his face as Hanamaki made a soft and rather fake squealing noise and held both hands to his faintly blushing cheeks.“Mattsun, stop, people will see us…!” Hanamaki looked away into the crowd and swatted Matsukawa’s chest with the folded magazine, the open page full of stylishly decorated cakes and sweets.

This one is sooooo good. It’s another one that’s recommended often enough, but this one contains a few and far between bottom Matsun which makes ur better.

who tops? <3

Word count: 1,904

Rating: Mature

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: neither of them want to admit that they are more submissive than the other so they make out to force each other to admit that they're the more dominant one

Mature cuz it gets just a lil steamy but this is a really good one and one that I reread often.

Wingman Watari <3

Word count: 22,481

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 4/4

Summary: It begins as an accident. Watari never planned on setting up all the members of his volleyball team, but, for some reason, it turns out he's the perfect matchmaker.

This is not just Maki and Matsun, there are a couple different pairings listed in the tags, but Maki and Matsun are the main pairing (technically speaking). This fic is so funny and cute and I love the Watari rep :D

Reflex

Word count: 2,308

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Nobody likes to talk about how Hanamaki and Matsukawa met, which is a shame, because they both think it's the funniest fucking thing to ever happen to either of them.

This fic is SO funny. They truly are an iconic duo.

If You Do

Word count: 9,104

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: In which Issei consults the internet for steadily worsening proposal ideas, Hajime has had enough, Tooru is surprisingly the most helpful in the most roundabout way, and Takahiro—well, actually, nobody really knows what Takahiro is thinking right now.

Maki and Matsun are known at this point for their funny fics and this one is no exception. I love their dynamic and the way Iwa and Oiks try to help but fail miserably lmao

This is getting Annoying Fast, Maki

Word count: 2,372

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Hanamaki disease: for an unknown amount of time, Hanamaki Takahiro must go “eyyyy” whenever someone locks eyes with their crush. Thus, of course, it’s going to be pretty damn awkward for Sejioh’s volleyball team.

If most MatsuHana fics are funny, this one is Hilarious. Do yourself and favour and read this one!

Stolen Kisses <3

Word count: 2,649

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: "What brute would steal a maiden's first kiss?" "I'm pretty sure you're not a maiden and that definitely wasn't your first kiss," Iwaizumi deadpanned.

This one is funny! I love it! And it’s cute!

Long Time, No See <3

Word count: 10,000

Rating: Mature

Status: Completed; chapters 3/3

Summary: Hanamaki and Matsukawa broke up just before graduating Aobajousai, and haven't spoken since. A drunken call he doesn't remember, and suddenly the face that haunts him is there once again.

Heavy angst, you know, because it’s a break up/ getting back together AU.

three strikes, you’re out <3

Word count: 1,527

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: "bro, is our entire team gay?" *muffled laughter* "bro" but mattsun and makki fail to realize that they themselves are gay, too

This one is super funny and fun to read! Truly the meme lords being oblivious idiots.

Break A Leg

Word count: 3,681

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: In which Hanamaki thinks he might have a thing for legs (for a certain middle blocker’s legs, apparently).

I really have nothing to say other than it’s short kinda funny, and I like it lol

Foolish Mortals Welcome

Word count: 12,389

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Hanamaki visits a club catering to those that are...hungry for something more.

This one is well written and monster(ish) porn. It’s lovely.

Boiled Frogs <3

Word count: 91,500

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 13/13

Summary: They've always been really close friends, but Hanamaki begins to question how close when Matsukawa begins dating someone else - someone else that doesn't treat him well. When he suspects that Matsukawa may be in an abusive relationship, Hanamaki realizes that opening his best friend's eyes to his situation may be harder than he had ever anticipated.

This is a fic that I’ve only been able to read once. It’s really upsetting as it features Matsukawa in an abusive relationship with an OC and it’s just really hard to read. But this IS a cult classic, which MatsuHana doesn’t get ever, so I think it’s a must read if it’s not too triggering. I also want to say that even though the rating is explicit, all the sex featured is completely consensual. Again, this is a sad fic but it’s so well written and incredibly well done. I really do love it.

Get a Lick of This

Word count: 3,064

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Hanamaki's face pinches in obvious irritation before he opens his mouth. Right there, sitting in the middle of his swollen tongue, is a plain silver bead. The reactions vary greatly: Oikawa gives an awed little woah, Iwaizumi goes a little pale, and Matsukawa...Matsukawa is trying to figure out why he's suddenly sporting an erection.

This one is reallllly good. I do have a thing for piercing AUs tho..

Rated M for

Word count: 10,692

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: “Excuse me,” Hanamaki starts, raising a pen in the air while staring blankly at the packet in his free hand. “Just to clarify, you want me to record a boy's love CD with Matsukawa?”

Voice actor AU? Enemies to lovers? Hilarity? Yes. Good god, read this.

Kiss me Cause you Want to

Word count: 3,216

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: “My ass is a lot of things, and you are definitely not thinking about how heavy it is right now.” Matsu cursed Makki for being 100% correct. “For real though, did you think I couldn’t feel you stare almost every single day during practise?” Hanamaki’s hand moved higher and tangled in Matsu’s soft, slightly spiky hair, ruffling the strands playfully before gripping it lightly. “Can you honestly say you’ve never thought about bending me over and just, I dunno, fucking me into tomorrow?”

It’s alright. I enjoyed it but I’m not as into it as most people were :) well written though

A Cat Brought Good Luck

Word count: 6,575

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: the one where Matsukawa's cat finds itself in Hanamaki's apartment and a love story unfurls because of that

This one is so cute! Pls read it, I’m a sucker for these kinds of fics

This isn’t exactly how I thought I’d be spending my adult years <3

Word count: 7,522

Rating: N/A

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: "I didn't sneeze." The guy looks a bit surprised. "What?" "I coughed." "So?" "Who the fuck says bless you when someone coughs?"

Hilarity ensues. I love this fic with my whole heart.

on the anatomy of crushes

Word count: 2,350

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: A part-by-part dissection of their relationship. Medical school AU.

Med students Maki and Matsun meet on the bus on the way to school. This one feels like there’s a lot of unresolved stuff going on between them by the time it ends but it’s a good fic :)

By the Time We Realized

Word count: 3,531

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: How Hanamaki Takahiro doesn't realize he's a little in love with his best friend until they're already kissing.

Companion piece to an IwaOi fic, this is really just good. I’ve read it a few times and I really enjoy it! There are sexual references in it but other than that the fic is literally just them making out

Morning Glory

Word count: 3,725

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: On their days off, Hanamaki and Matsukawa's mornings follow a sort of routine.

This one’s a pretty common smut fic among MatsuHana fans. If you’re into smut, I recommend!

There’s a Lot of Love in this Place <3

Word count: 3,464

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: It’s not love at first sight. It rarely is. Three (awkward, ridiculous, absurd) times Matsukawa and Hanamaki encounters each other during the semester before something like love actually happens.

Ugh this one is so cute and absurd I love it

What I Like About You

Word count: 3,051

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: I’ll give a bit of a synopsis; Maki enlists Matsukawa to help him confess to the person he likes (it’s Matsun)

[obnoxious clucking noises]

Word count: 3,481

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: On the last night of their last training camp together, Oikawa has a bad idea, Hanamaki goes along with it, Iwaizumi sort of wishes he had better friends, and Matsukawa proves himself to be particularly adept at intimidation tactics.

CLASSIC MatsuHana fic

Texting (with a capital S)

Word count: 2,119

Rating: Mature

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Hanamaki breaks his No Texting In Class rule, and it's all downhill from there.

Same author as the last one, this person really just knows how to write Maki and Matsun’s characters.

a life time of chemistry

Word count: 1,195

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Hanamaki doesn't like chemistry for different reasons - but loves it if only for his lab partner.

Short and sweet

Rainbow Mittens <3

Word count: 1,344

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: “I can’t believe you, you’re a fashion disaster,” Matsukawa huffed, eyeing the yellow monstrosity that was his best friend out of the corner of his eye. “I’m the peak of fashion, Issei,” Hanamaki hummed, sticking his tongue out in response.

I want to own Maki’s rainbow mittens

Parallel Lines <3

Word count: 16,298

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Yesterday night, Matsukawa had told his parents that he was joining math club, which lead to several confused smiles from them as they tried to figure out his change of heart.“Didn’t you say you were allergic to competitive math?” His mom had asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re very supportive of your decision, but-” Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, they’d let it go because no sane parent prevents their child from joining math team, which is intellectually beneficial and looks very nice on college applications. This, in turn, prevents Matsukawa from having to explain that he’s joining- dear god- because of a crush.

Ugh so damn good. You better love it as much as I do.

call me maybe

Word count: 33,689

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 14/14

Summary: Hanamaki texts the wrong number when trying to extort tips out of Oikawa in order to defeat Iwaizumi in arm wrestling, and then continues to text the witty stranger who had answered.

Love wrong number AUs

True Ending <3

Word count: 12,856

Rating: Mature

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: He never really questioned the handsy nature of their friendship, it was just something that felt normal after falling asleep on a tiny couch while watching movies too many times. Who was Hanamaki to say no to cuddles with someone he considered his best friend? The fact that Matsukawa was always a bit cute in the wee hours of the morning was just something Hanamaki would have to file away in the back of his mind…

Omg this one’s so good. Another classic for this pairing it’s just so good

Something in the Water

Word count: 3,794

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Hanamaki went for the sting rays and came out with the sting ray caretaker.

This one’s cute but also has smut

vodka coke <3

Word count: 8,236

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed: chapters 1/1

Summary: He only ever expected one night of sex with one (1) hot as fuck piercing artist. And yes, he got that, but along with it, he got so, so much more.

This is SO good. I literally love it. Omg

Deal with a Devil

Word count: 12,921

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 5/5

Summary: Matsukawa will do anything to pass his classes. Up to and including making a contract with a devil.

This one makes me giggle

Stranger Things <3

Word count: 10,218

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: In 2012, the men’s national volleyball team took home the bronze at the Asian Cup. Tokyo Skytree opened to the public. Also, the dashing Hanamaki Takahiro and painfully cool Matsukawa Issei started a radio show out of Aoba Johsai’s abandoned A/V room and accidentally became the two most popular guys in school.

HOLY FUCK is this one amazing. It’s a classic and I promise you will LOVE it. It’s genuinely just so fucking incredible don’t doubt a word I say. It’s a bittersweet fic but at the end of the day, it’s beautiful

party hardy

Word count: 3,012

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: in which Makki and Mattsun think it's a good idea to sneak into their captain's house when his parents aren't home.

This is the funniest fic in the entire world it literally makes me squeal and kick my feet

My Pace <3

Word count: 1,281

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Matsukawa always thought his life would go a certain way. However, his life changed the minute he met Oikawa Tooru, who introduced him to Hanamaki Takahiro. Who knew Makki would be his better half?

AWWH A/B/O MatsuHana fic? Yes please

Just Drop the ‘B’ Already

Word count: 2,220

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Issei needed a date to his sister’s engagement party, so he asked Hanamaki. As a friend. He thinks.

This one’s sweet and silly

Sure

Word count: 5,135

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Beginning university brings a lot of changes with it. As Iwaizumi and Oikawa deal with going to different universities, Hanamaki thinks about his own relationship with Matsukawa.

Explores their relationship after high school. Really nice and interesting

In Your Dreams <3

Word count: 1,080

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: It is said that you share dreams with your soulmate. Matsukawa Issei dreams of volleyball for the first time when he's ten years old, and he knows that it's someone else's dream.

Oh my god??? This is… so good???

Realizations

Word count: 1,270

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: In which Hanamaki realises that Matsukawa is a werewolf, and has a few other realisations while he's at it.

Monster porn. Again lol. Love werewolf issei

Hang Out, Fall in Love

Word count: 5,689

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: In which Hanamaki's humble medical practice is threatened by an intractable asshole a witch doctor who's just moved into the shop down the street. Medical/Witchcraft AU.

This one is so damn funny. I’m sure if you’re big into Maki and Matsun as a pairing you’ve already read this but if not, it’s totally worth the read!

That’s it for Maki and Matsun! Love this pairing so much! They’re not big characters in the actual anime so a lot of their perceived personalities are fanon instead of canon, but I just think that they’re so funny and such a sweet couple to read about :)

Ennoshita Chikara x Tanaka Ryuunosuke

(not) a protagonist

Word count: 1,436

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Ennoshita and Tanaka go to the cinema. It's not supposed to be a date, but then...

I’ll be honest here, while I love Kiyoko and Tanaka together and am so happy that they become a couple by the end of the anime, but I have a hard time finding fics for them that are actually compelling and well written and Tanaka is my favourite character in the entire show, so this pairing was my next best option. This fic is super sweet and just a cute lil fanfic

Proclamation

Word count: 1,412

Rating: General Audience

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: They both agreed they wanted to tell their teammates they were an item, but Ennoshita was not expecting what Tanaka had in store for the big reveal.

This one is cute and very in character for Tanaka’s personality

Coddling

Word count: 1,458

Rating: Mature

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: The morning after is not as fun as Ennoshita had hoped.

This one is about the morning after sex and I quite enjoy it. We get to see Tanaka’s softer side and I love it

A World for Two

Word count: 2,191

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Their eyes meet and the feeling gets stronger, and Ryuu watches as those gorgeous brown eyes widen a little. He pauses in whatever it is he’s saying before he goes back to his conversation, though he doesn’t quite turn away. Ryuu takes a step forward, completely intent on introducing himself, ready to start down the path of getting to know his soulmate.

Ahhh I love soulmate AUs and this one is so sweet

question for you

Word count: 3,474

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: “Even Nishinoya passed, who couldn’t care less and ticked the first answer at every question,” Ennoshita comments. His hands flatten on top of the table, on each sides of Ryuu’s failed mid-term test. They look so pale, almost as white as the paper between them. They could flatten across a back. “You say that in a way that it feels like an insult,” Ryuu protests, voice weak in his throat. Ennoshita’s fingers dip in, nails scratching the surface of the table. “Good. Feel insulted,” Ennoshita huffs, annoyance thick in his voice. “I know you could pass if you paid attention in class, so do tell, what distracted you so much that you couldn’t tell the correct dates for the second world war?!”

The way this one is written is just, wow. So we’ll written, the characters are in character which is wonderful and even though it’s smutty I just really enjoy it!

Tunnel Vision

Word count: 2,582

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Chikara falls into a pothole while ogling his new neighbour. Instead of taking the hit to his pride, he decides to declare a war on potholes, wherever they may be, using unorthodox methods.

This one is super funny!

Where Tanaka Fucked Up

Word count: 2,905

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Thinking back on it, Tanaka knew exactly where he fucked up. It was probably when Ennoshita stood in front of the club, Kinoshita and Narita on either side, and came out as gay. Like, absolutely terrified, looked a little pale, and Tanaka was kinda worried he might throw up. “So, um, I hope that won’t be a problem for any of you,” he concluded, as if that was the important part. So what if their new captain was gay?

Very light angst, and this one does the characters very well

Just Once I’ll Let Go (because I want to fly)

Word count: 11,476

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 2/2

Summary: Chikara has told his parents that he would introduce his boyfriend the next time he visits them, but his boyfriend breaks up with him before he can do so. With only five days to find a replacement, he ends up hiring a boyfriend for rent. To Chikara's surprise, his fake boyfriend turns out to be the man of his dreams (aka Tanaka Ryuunosuke).

This one is SO well done and a classic in the rarepair community of EnnoTana

Hey it’s OK <3

Word count: 6,946

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 4/4

Summary: Chikara is trying to hide his relationship and sexuality from his parents, but his boyfriend's bentos complicate everything.

A lot of EnnoTana fics center around Ennoshita being insecure or having trouble coming to terms with his sexuality, and tbh this one’s the epitome of those tropes lol

Practice Makes Perfect <3

Word count: 1,850

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Ennoshita Chikara has had a few confessions, but this one takes the cake.

Ennoshita the gay Yoda. This one is SO popular??? Like I never thought in a million years that an EnnoTana fic would have this many hits and kudos lmao

Close your Eyes and Kiss Me <3

Word count: 7,334

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 4/4

Summary: Ennoshita has a crush on Tanaka and is trying to figure out how to deal with it, while also trying to be a good senpai and captain for the rest of the team.

Hey it’s OK is basically the sequel to this one, but both fics can be read on their own. This one is significantly less angsty than Hey it’s OK, at least in my opinion.

And the Words Just Spilled Right Out

Word count: 1,260

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: “What? No!” Tanaka protests, “Obviously I was in love before that but I only just figured it out!"

This one is quite good. Short and sweet.

Here we Are Again

Word count: 8,990

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 2/2

Summary: Ennoshita drops a bomb and Tanaka tries to deal.

This one isn’t bad. I like it :)

I’ve Been Right in Front of You (This Whole Time)

Word count: 1,577

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: When Tanaka receives a letter in his shoe locker, from a girl, confessing her feelings, he is over the moon about it (even though he doesn't even recognize the name of the girl in question). When it turns out that the letter wasn’t meant for him at all, he’s crushed. Meanwhile Ennoshita decides that it’s time to get it over with and tell Tanaka how he feels

Ahhh this one’s adorable and a total classic!

And Call Me in the Morning

Word count: 1,617

Rating: Explicit

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: 'Your moaning sounds like you’re getting slaughtered and now that I’ve made sure you’re not actually dead I could help you with that' au

This one’s just a lil silly goofy

The Naked Apron Dilemma <3

Word count: 1,085

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Ryuu's spent too much time dreaming about his (eventual) relationship, and now that spring has finally sprung, he finds that all of the scripts he thought to rely on are mostly useless.

This one so SO funny guys I def recommend

Definitely Interesting

Word count: 2,101

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Drunken college shenanigans and Narita being Captain Obvious might just give Tanaka the push Ennoshita’s been not so secretly hoping for.

Narita is a sassy wingman

Surprises all Around

Word count: 2,082

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: It's Ennoshita's birthday and Tanaka will make sure that it's the best day ever.

Mpreg is mentioned, this is an A/B/O fic lol

Point of View

Word count: 1,483

Rating: General Audiences

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Chikara spends a lot of time looking at Tanaka.

This one is so good and so damn cute

Absolutely, Yes <3

Word count: 3,819

Rating Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Send help ASAP, because Tanaka Ryuunosuke has the biggest, stupidest crush and he just doesn't know what to do.

This one is really sweet and funny and cute and I love Tanaka

Learning Us

Word count: 42,778

Rating: Mature

Status: Completed; chapters 20/20

Summary: Tanaka Ryuunosuke had a lot to learn - about himself, about Ennoshita Chikara, and that "happily ever after" is rarely a direct path.

This is probably the longest EnnoTana fic that I will recommend, mostly because there aren’t a lot of slow burn EnnoTana fics. I love this one, it’s angsty, it’s slow burn, it’s amazing.

He’ll Never Love You <3

Word count: 11,065

Rating: Mature

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Tanaka was supposed to be rooming with Noya. That was her plan, anyways, because obviously she wanted to room with her best friend when they all went off to college. And as far as she was aware, Noya was totally on board! But then, out of fuck-all nowhere, Noya suddenly declares she’ll be living with her girlfriend Asahi instead. Seriously, where did that come from?

Teeny tiny lil gender bend fic for the soul. It’s been a while, but I remember really liking this fic.

one step, two step <3

Word count: 5,113

Rating: Teen +

Status: Completed; chapters 1/1

Summary: Tanaka's made enough of a mess trying to confess to Ennoshita, he doesn't need his attention-hungry kitten getting in the mix too.

TANAKA AND ENNOSHITA WITH A KITTY CAT

This is it for part two y’all. I hope you all read and enjoy these! I’m starting pt 3 as we speak so sit tight!

14 notes · View notes

eleilinnrallin · 1 year

Text

I am furious at Microsoft right now.

When I was 12, I got my first laptop, my parents downloaded Microsoft Office onto it. So I had Word, Powerpoint, Excel, Publisher, etc. all on it. Didn't need internet, so it was chill that I didn't always have internet connection on the laptop.

I mostly messed around on there. Wrote some stories in Word, made a bunch of stupid things on Powerpoint, experimented with Publisher, used Excel for my middle school Science Fair project (that made states). Nothing too serious, but I got a solid skills foundation.

Fastforward senior year of high school, old laptop dies. I got a new laptop, and so I needed new Office programs.

I hate Microsoft 365 with a burning passion. I tried using it in school, and always ended up resorting back to the programs on my old laptop. Don't like needing internet, don't like the browser format, don't like that it's a subscription payment, etc.

Fortunately, you still can download Microsoft Office and use it. It's less expensive and you don't need 365 to access the programs. Worthwhile investment. So I did, got them onto my laptop. I've been using Word, Powerpoint, and Excel for school for the last year.

I didn't think about checking Publisher. I don't need it often for school, and at that stage I had InDesign from when I went on a Photoshop kick and it was worth it to have the student discount on Adobe things.

Well. Cancelled Adobe because I didn't use the programs. Turns out I need to design something for a class. No problem, I have Publisher, right?

Freaking Microsoft made it so you need to have 365 in order to even USE Publisher.

I now have until tomorrow to either work out a student subscription to 365 (🤮), find and learn to use a different (free) program (😒), or do my work on a school computer on InDesign (🙄).

Because Microsoft is freaking stupid and won't let you access previously free programs that you paid to download just because you don't have their stupid subscription to another format of the program that you don't even flipping use or like.

#microsoft #annoyed #like this is so stupid #on top of that I have too much work for other classes #but this is a group project so I can't just bleb it

11 notes · View notes

ellas-journey · 11 months

Text

🌸 Presentation🌸

Hi! My name is Ella. I’m your local nerd that likes to yell at people about how historical accurate an anime is. But for real I like to merge my two-sided love for the Japanese culture, let me explain. (Be prepared for the long af back story) It all started when I was a kid, and I couldn’t get enough of the pretty cartoons that I was seeing on television. Latter I would find out that they were called anime, and, after getting sick of always watching the same episodes over and over again I would find out that I could watch the episodes that did not air on TV on a magic website called Youtube (on a different language, divided on like 10 parts: and this is how you find out how old I am). Thanks to this I will go on to draw this random anime characters during classes and after classes (every hour I as awake really) and watching everything I could (Back in the times where people would make fun of you). I did choose to pursue an art education. Now, this is where this start to go downhill. My drawing teacher in high school hated anime with a living passion. “It is not art” she said (I would love to go to her and spill some facts to her now). So, she forbids us to draw anime. My love for Japanese culture started to fade (momentarily replaced by Korean culture but let's ignore that little fact for now). I when on to a Fine Arts university, and that's when I found out that some teachers did not mind anime at all. They said “if it’s your thing, it is, but make it even yours” still I’m still healing on the drawing department so let’s move on to the history side of the story. I had a lot of art history curses, including an one full year dedicated only to Portuguese art. Now if you know Portugal was an empire, were cultures got mixed (this is still a heated thing, so let’s more on) but not once did I hear about that. Hybridism. A simple word, and I would be the one founding out by myself because it was triggering me that we only talked about mainland Portugal (that was boring let me tell you) and not once about what happen overseas. One day I had to do a paper about a piece that was from a Portuguese museum, and that’s where I found the thing that would change me: a beautiful Namban screen. What is Namban? Well, Namban art is the art that was produced when the Portuguese were in Japan. U read right. The Portuguese were in Japan. I made that my whole personality. I started to regain my love for Japanese culture again but with an even bigger burning passion. When on to study Japanese history (and I’m trying the Japanese language but God its hard) and did my master’s thesis about that. (Yes, I have a masters I read actual books I'm not going Wikipedia, only sometimes) But there was a moment where I thought that maybe I didn’t know enough to do that. But then I watched Demon Slayer. And on episode 4 when Tanjiro goes to the selection, and the hand Oni ask “What year of the Meiji era are we” and Tanjiro answers “Meiji? We are already on the Taisho...?”. And then I went to the internet and found people confused about the year in which Demon Slayer takes place, cause Tanjiro comes from a village in the middle of nowhere were it looks like ancient Japan and then suddenly you have card and electricity in Yokohama. I realized that maybe, without knowing I started get the Japanese references that would not be easy for a common western viewer. And I realize that I still had lot to learn. And like a normal person that is totally in a mentally stable place (did you get the sarcasm?), I decided to hyperfocus on studying all the history and culture behind Demon Slayer. Mostly for myself, but also to all of those that are also curious and want to learn more. So, this takes us to today, were I finally decided to take this project from my brain-attic and show to the world all the amazing historical references that demon slayer have in the hopes to share all that I learn with Tanjiro & co.

#presentation #history #history research #demon slayer #demonslayerhistory

1 note · View note

slammmbook · 2 years

Text

The geyser bursted into flames because of her, such people are so evil I’m not being paranoid… read it patiently till the very end. I was once at my fav coffee shop and I saw one of her college friends there, I recognised her because I had seen her in her group photos, she made everyone from the society boycott me, it was like total domination, she would intimidate them with her older brother who was 7-8 years older than me, I had/have no friends at all. I would see their pics for years and live through them vicariously because of loneliness, I tried socialising online but I realised how people target loners even there with their friends even guys do that on dating apps… anyway I recognised that friend of her’s but I ignored (I thought she didn’t know me) when I was looking for a table I saw her whispering something to the one sitting next to her about me and they were both mocking and giggling, at that point I understood that she had told her new friends also something and they’d stalked me, now she stalks me with her husband… obsessed psycho.

I know how we tackled the fire, I was 19-20 I still remember seeing the flames and their reflection even in the tiles while leaving the bathroom, I told my mother and we pulled the main switch to immediately shut down the whole geyser with a total power cut to avoid short circuit and then used the hand shower to douse the flames and then we called the building staff for help.

Okay so I wasn’t aware of this but this woman (my so called “best friend” who made my life hell in the previous society where we’d shifted when I was 10, she’s the reason I never had any friends it was because of her envious, competitive & materialistic nature, she turned everyone against me and asked all my other friends to boycott me during our teens with her older brother who was 8 years older than me) She didn’t even spare me after we shifted from there cuz she had internet to harass me and she did that EVEN DURING the PANDEMIC while I was getting convulsions, she constantly stalks me along with this man I wasn’t aware of that but she keeps stalking me, she never EVEN ASKED ME IF I WAS OKAY, she just kept reading everything sadistically so far… I’m glad they saw this post I thought they won’t DARE to stalk me again (they reacted on their profile) but she stalked me yet again and asked him to update his bio because of what I wrote yesterday for Harsh… Nasauti/Nazar maarna bandh nahi karengi? She has so much ill will in her nature she covets everything. Its been like this since childhood, she would keep getting jealous cuz I was a foodie and I would try out diff cuisines and stuff so she made sure I would stop going out & she started obsessively uploading restaurant images, no wonder she gained so much weight. Aur dusro ka cheen ke kha… she would get jealous of my inexpensive “fancy stuff” and keep competing in everything, my mother had to change my school because I scored higher than her and she ruined the whole day by throwing a racket in class, all my other friends started hating her and my mom saw me crying outside the school when no one was around… she was educated never thought she would marry someone like this, she has put a ridiculous ❤️‍🔥 burning heart in her profile FOR him eww which means passion like “Aag laga diya” her friends attented her wedding but they stopped associating with her after that because they too formed a similar opinion. If I knew how she was I wouldn’t have ever been friends with her no offence but I would’ve chosen someone with more class (not monetarily but in general) I wouldn’t have deprecated about her but she just doesn’t stop… like get a life! She saw what I wrote yesterday night and those hearts. I was told that she and another girl from there would literally go through my entire profiles, for hours they would sit and stalk me (when I was 17-19) I thought when we’ll grow older it’ll stop but she keeps stalking. The geyser once bursted into flames while I was taking a shower on the same day she accidentally hearted my pic while stalking and then unliked it (ill will/evil eye) and something tragic happened again, it didn’t stop there, the EXACT same day when she was stalking me with her friend (this time she had come with a part in crime) the pipe bursted on my face which had burning hot water.

Part 2:

What’s shocking or is still a “mystery” is that… it was impossible for the pipe to burst, the geyser bursted and next time even the pipe bursted (I’ve been in such accidents twice because of her)… the pipe which ran through the faucet wasn’t connected to the other line so the plumber said it wasn’t possible for it to have hot water but my mother told him the whole bathroom was full of steam and the water was boiling hot, I covered my face as a reflex action and only my hand was burnt, the plumber kept saying it was impossible for it to get filled with hot water but the fact that it bursted shows that something went wrong… I wasn’t in the shower, I was washing my face this time in the wash basin and the faucet spray bursted right onto my face with piping hot water, like I said thanks to my reflexes I covered my face with my hand and my hand was slightly burned (not much) cuz I was swift at opening the door which was right next to me with my left hand (maybe God saved me) I told my mother I don’t know what happened but it erupted like a volcano lol she went inside and the bathroom was filled with steam and the spray was so hot she couldn’t even touch it.

Part 3: Real life Ghost Story

Another “interesting” fact, remember I had said about being intuitive? So I’m not sure if this happened because of my fear after that horrible incident or because it was actually haunted, ill will or bad vibes/evil eyes can attract more such negative vibes and souls into your life/house, some astrologer (award winning, reputed one) had told my mom… long ago when I was 20 (I had NOT shared anything with her) “You should always keep at least the bathroom lights on because I can feel about her that she has this thing where she can sense them (as in spirits) and she has that power which they are aware of so they get attracted to her.” I had a dream which was really creepy, I saw myself in that bathroom, I was just done with a shower and I was looking in the mirror drying my hair when I felt like someone was staring at me, I saw a raffish looking Indian teenager in the corner of the bathroom, he was white and pale and he looked mortified like a corpse I saw in the mirror to see if his reflection was visible there and it was but he was looking equally scary… why do people believe ghosts can’t be seen in the mirror and if so why do we look in the mirror while chanting Bloody Mary then? I have personally never done that anyway the dream ended there and I had already stopped taking shower in that bathroom, I don’t have a geyser in my own because of that incident I have a different water heating system.

- Zara Sauleh

0 notes

matchboxguns · 2 years

Text

Days #15 and #16: Disease, Matchbox Twenty (2002) and Cinderella, Diana Vickers (2013)

(From an old life. Writing could really be a fun, retrospective exercise.)

But I believe the planets and the stars align When you look into my eyes I pray tonight that we don’t fail Click my heels, got a real life fairy tale

Let us not tell his real name but instead call him Donovan. Fair unblemished skin, clean-cut hair, a polished look. He’s the “chinito” archetype that makes all the ladies – and some of the fellas – fall head over heels with instant attraction. I dare say he is the proverbial Prince Charming – the cool self-assurance, the regal stance, the calm stare - only a tad shorter. He’s an Architecture major, studying at the same school I am. He’s also my roommate.

I only know three things about him since I moved in with the guys: he’s a basketball buff, he’s always glued to his computer, and he’s awfully quiet. He doesn’t really talk much; the only times I hear his voice is when he’s laughing at something he read on the Internet or at some punchline of some movie or TV show or let out grunts of frustration over some game he’s playing. Sometimes I hear him talking to someone over the phone at 1AM, whispering, probably so we won’t hear him, his smiles I can hear even when I’m about to drift to sleep.

He got me good. He got me really fucking good.

The first time I saw him, I was about to leave my bags on their room, as I’ll be moving in the following week. There were two of them – the other guy I’m sharing a room with – and I remember the exact words I said to them. “Hi. I’m your new roommate. I’m just gonna leave my bag and get going.” I tried to smile, try to force myself to have a jovial, agreeable glow. I tried to make a good impression, as I’m always surprised when people tell me I intimidate them or I seem like a jerk with an unbelievable amount of smugness and disrespect.

I saw him look at me when I entered the room, about to leave some of my things there. Well, I saw the two of them look at me, but I don’t care about the other guy. The other guy can trap himself in a burning building and I won’t even hand him a gobful of my sweat. Anyway, that was the first time our eyes met. I swear I could have taken a freeze frame. I can’t remember what he was wearing, but he was sitting on the top bunk of the bed, white earphones plugged in his ears, tap tap tapping on his laptop. His stare. It kept me awake that night. I shied away from that thought at first. I only thought, “ ’Sup, cute guy?” and thought about and did other things. But he left a mark on me.

Feels like you made a mistake/You let somebody’s heart break Now I have to let you go/I have to let you go You left a stain/On everyone on my good days But I am stronger than you know/I have to let you go No one’s ever turned you over No one’s tried to ever let you down Beautiful girl, bless your heart

Every time he’s about to take a shower or just took a shower or every time I see him shirtless, I feel a lot of things. A lot those feelings have to do with some raunchy party going down on my pants, yes, but most of them is fear. I get scared. That I might stare too long and my other roommates would see me eyeing him, or god forbid he catches me looking. He might not be the aggressive type, but I just had to control myself. I still believe this world is not made for people like us, because if it was I wouldn’t be having this problem.

It is a disaster waiting to happen. This is not the first time I liked a guy who didn’t like dicks in a sexual way, and the last time I did it fucked me up and it took me four years to get it out of my system. And it was for a guy I just shared classes with; this Donovan dude I’m gonna be sharing a room from now on. It’s hard enough to suffer the impending apocalyptic experience of unrequited love, but the idea of falling for another man who is straight and probably hates faggots with a passion is just unbearable. Yup, homosexuality is a hard way of living.

Sometimes I imagine Donovan getting mad over some petty stuff, like I how forgot to pick up my wet towel on the floor. We would bicker, he would come to me in a threatening posture, but I manage to push right before he throws the first punch. He gets up, so push him again, but this time he kicks my knee then I fall to the ground. I stand up, burned with anger and annoyance over some stupid wet towel, and I grab him by the collar and shove him against the wall. He grapples my arms, kicks my leg, lets out a grunt of fury. I stare at him, face-to-face, intending to give him a good knuckle sandwich. His expressions change, then he leans over and kisses me. What a dirty thought. What a dirty, dirty thought. It’s disgusting, even for me. He doesn’t deserve any of this I am sure.

The worst thing is, this is going to happen to me over and over again. One day when I’m minding my own business I see a straight guy, and I’ll fall for him, and I start to be filled with angst and fury and red-hot disappointment. It’s Groundhog Day, every day is a repeat of yesterday. It’s One Hundred Years Of Solitude, it’s the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different outcome. It’s no good at all.

If Cinderella was here tonight/I got a disease deep inside me baby She wouldn’t walk out the door leaving you behind/Feels uneasy baby Midnight calling but she don’t care/ I can’t live without you, tell me what am I supposed to do about it? She’d be a fool not to follow you anywhere/Keep your distance from me Because for you, I would lose both, both of my shoes/Don’t pay no attention to me Stay all night, see the light, that’s all I wanna do/I got a disease

He’s perfect. I could stare at him all day dreaming away, and I’d be happier than that time when I finally got a copy of Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina. And trust me, it felt like I was told there are other sentient beings in the universe and we can reach them and talk to them when I got that book. I could go on and on about what color of shirts he likes to wear, how he always looks down as if trying to avoid eye contact, and a lot of other small things I notice about him. But I won’t. I’ll just say he’s perfect, the most beautiful work of art I had the opportunity to see, the one person in the world who can make me stop singing Breaking Benjamin songs and think about love and possibilities and a host of other optimistic bullshit I normally turn away from.

I want to follow him wherever he goes, listen to the music he sings to, know his thoughts, his hopes and fears, peer at his very soul. Most importantly I want to see him writhe in pain and pleasure and hear his soft moans as I enter him. I want first dates, I want holding hands, stargazing while lying on a green field, I want big fights and make-up sex, cuddling on cold, rainy days, I want staring to each other’s eyes and not talking at all, I want all the regular couples sometimes take for granted. I want it all in glorious fucking Technicolor, but I don’t know how to get it without a picture of me looking over my shoulder wishing so hard that no one would stare and yell, “Faggots!”

I am smart enough now to know that I have to let this one go, throw it away in the trash and pretend it never happened, the same way I did with another straight guy I was sure I was in love with. Sometimes when I come home to our room after school and I see him I get filled with rage. At him, at myself, at the entire world. I want to shove him, beat him to a pulp and kick him out of the goddamned building. I want him to stay away from me, to forget he met me, to forget that he ever saw me. I’m clingy and obnoxious and I’m always going to want every inch of him and he’s not going to. I’m always going to be fooling myself by picturing the two of us in bed together, shirtless, skin kissing skin, my arms around him my lips in his ears cradling him to sleep. I’m always going to want to drive away with him in my Gray Porsche towards the purplish orange sunset. It’s no good, it’s no good for my mental health, it’s no good for anyone – especially for anybody who cannot ever truly recognize the harrowing mortality of a love felt towards another man.

So I don’t talk to him, I don’t make small talk. He likes the manly stuff and I don’t, he watches shows I don’t watch, and I can’t think of an interesting ice breaker to smash the iceberg of an awkwardness I’m feeling when he’s around. I just don’t try to talk to him. It’s going to be futile and humiliating on my part and I might look forward to something I know I’ll never get. I saw myself talking and staring at the other guy I fell for way back in college, and the picture was not pretty. I was desperately trying to hide my feelings, but somehow I think some people knew and detested it. It appalled me. I had to get rid of it, of everything. I had to stay away, lock myself in an imaginary quarantine facility.

It’s the oldest cliché that had ever existed: the loved perched high on a pedestal, almost godly, pure, incorruptible, unreachable, and the lover a lowly mortal, unworthy of anything but scorn and disdain, and should be grateful for knowing how love feels like. It’s everywhere: cheesy rom-coms, romantic novels, it was even in Anna Karenina, for god’s sakes (the Kitty and Levin part of the story, which I like way more than the Alex-Anna-Alex love affair).

The lover can’t help but love the loved more and more but he knows that the only things he wants in this world will never be realized, and it’s gonna break him to pieces.

Love. Can’t live with it, can’t live without it. It’s a poison you take to feel alive.

Yeah well I think that I’m sick But leave me be while my world is coming down on me You taste like honey, honey Tell me can I be your honey? Be, be strong, keep telling myself that it won’t take long ‘til I’m free of my disease

Against my better judgment, I still imagine the two of us spooning , especially when I see him sleeping – his body in a fetal position, a small pillow in his stomach, his laptop still on and placed a few inches above his dreaming head. I am certain enough to know that that will never happen, even in the wildest of my dreams, but a small part of me is still secretly hoping, wishing away, overthinking the rare times when we accidentally make eye contact, or secretly hoping that he feels the same way for me, only he feels the same repulsion and got no clue what to do about it so he keeps his mouth shut.

One night I saw him open his small dresser and an issue of FHM accidentally fell from it, and I had a reality check: all I’ve been thinking about all day and all night and all I’ve been obsessing about will never happen. Reality. Grossly, immensely powerful stuff. He was able to slip it back in without anyone noticing – except me, of course. It only happened for a split second, but the memory of it I can’t destroy in a Men In Black fashion. I hope it won’t haunt me for too long.

It feels like I am bound to do the same mistakes, feel the same things over and over again, the same Donovan, but in different names and different appearances, and I don’t know how I can ever handle it. But every time I think about Donovan, all my love and my frustration and my disappointment, I tell myself this:

What won’t happen, won’t happen. Plain and simple. And it’s not because you did or didn’t do something or because someone did or didn’t do something. And it’s not because there’s some elaborate reason the universe is secretly hiding from us, either. It just won’t happen, it’s no one’s fault and there’s nothing you could ever do to change that. It is what it is.

I’m not gonna go out and find a reason, because this is the reason. His gentle indifference. I could live with that. It’s not a lot, and it’s certainly not hopeful. But it’s at least something, a remedy, a-band-aid-over-the-bullet-hole kind of thing. But it gives me peace. And a faint hope that one day, all this Donovan-related ramblings and self-flagellation will be over. That’s all I need, really.

Watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5zttEPcCuQ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=He4vgqumVKE

#soundtrack to your life #matchbox twenty #diana vickers #disease #cinderella #queer longing #again

0 notes

thatlittleegyptologist · 2 years

Note

Hey! I am in high school rn and I really wanna become an archeologist but I have seen so many posts on the internet that say that archeology is not a very good profession. It doesn't pay enough and is not a very respected profession and the work is mostly done overtime with little to no result. Are all these true? What are your thoughts regarding the information given on the internet?

P.s this is not a hate post I was just curious to know from a real egyptologist if these online accusations were true. I personally am very interested in this career path and I wanna become one myself. Was just having second thoughts.

Well, that's some opinions, certainly. I'll caveat this with, I'm not an Egyptologist who deals with archaeology. My specialisms are language/history/culture, rather than out in the field.

Archaeology is a perfectly respectable job. Anyone who says certain jobs aren't worth anything are snobs. Every job is important in its own way, even if people can't necessarily see the value of them to their own lives. To be honest, that's their problem not yours if being an Archaeologist is something you want to do. Not sure where 'takes a long time with little to no result' comes from. Have they not seen the huge discoveries coming out of places like Egypt (210 burials from different time periods at Saqqara) or Mexico (radar imaging showing 500 new Olmec and Maya sites)? We're finding new things every week! Yes, sometimes it's slow going because you have to analyse data, and sometimes that data is wrong so you have to change course. Anyone whose job requires positing hypotheses, and then having to test those hypotheses, will know that sometimes you get it right, and sometimes you get it wrong. So sometimes you're right, sometimes you're wrong, and sometimes you find a body where it's not supposed to be. However, Archaeology can be a difficult profession to get into (same with a lot of academic positions if everyone in academia was being honest with themselves) and depending on your level or what type of archaeology you've chosen to get into it might not pay very well.

Thing is, people coming into archaeology pretty much already know this. It's not something you take up as a job because you want the sweet sweet cash money. You do it because you love what you do, and you love finding out about the culture and history you're excavating. You do it because there's a burning passion to know, to fit together parts of a puzzle that is the past, to breathe life and understanding back into a long dead culture, or to reconnect with the history of one still living. It's about people, how they behaved, and what they left behind that tells us about them. If that's what you love, then you have weigh up in your mind 'do I want to do what I love, knowing that I might not make much money doing it?' or 'do I want to choose a different path where I do something I like much less, but probably earn more money?' That's a decision only you can make for yourself. I, myself, looked at my options at the time and thought 'no I want to go to University for me, and do what makes me happy'. I don't regret this, because Egyptology brings me so much joy. I may not be employed in the field, but I don't regret a single second of the time I spent learning and immersing myself in it.

I'll open this up to other archaeologists who follow me here to give their opinions on this too, since I lack fieldwork experience.

42 notes · View notes

azucanela · 3 years

Text

chapter i

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warnings: cursing.

word count: 3k

summary: the internet is enamored with the idea of y/n l/n and bakugou katsuki, two renowned pro heroes, dating. the first issue? the pair rarely interacts. the second issue? apparently, they hate each other, not that anyone knows about that bit. of course, after one night of many mistakes, the whole world knows.

series masterlist

Y/N’S HEAD IS POUNDING when she wakes up the following day. Her hand coming to rub her temple as she attempts to soothe the throbbing of her own head, the light just barely seeping through her blinds already feels like too much as she rises up in her bed. Blinking a few times, Y/N’s eyes adjust to the light and she sighs, stretching her arms upwards and almost wincing at the sound of her bones cracking.

You’d think that a Pro Hero wouldn’t have such issues, and yet.

Coming to a stand, Y/N hisses at the feeling of her cold floor, frowning before she makes her way towards the hallway and rubbing a hand against her eye. She catches a look of herself in the mirror, hair amiss, makeup that she’d applied from the night before still on— and yet her eye bags seem to have grown. If Y/N is honest, she looks and feels like a mess.

That should be a given though, seeing as she couldn’t even remember how she’d gotten home last night. Though Y/N was sure the news would detail any screw ups she’d made. Sighing as she grabs the TV remote from the coffee table by her couch and clicks the TV on.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” She mumbles out when the TV turns on to reveal that she is in fact the headline, alongside Bakugou Katsuki.

Almost on cue, a set of rapid knocks sound against her door and Y/N already knows who it is, again.

It was an accident, Y/N hadn’t meant to get blackout drunk at a literal Gala filled with several respectable and admirable peers from the Pro Hero world. And she certainly hadn’t meant to speak poorly about one of those peers— well, if she could really call Bakugou that at this point. After all there was a reason she spoke poorly of him.

“He’s an— an ill-mannered, rude, insufferable—” Y/N inhaled deeply as she looked to Lorelai, gesturing her hands vividly as she finally said, “bastard!”

Lorelai stands with a hand pressed against her temple, rubbing it gently as though that would end the headache that Y/N had probably caused with her shenanigans. “I warned you.” She mumbles out before reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone as Y/N continues to drone on about the young man.

“I ran into him and I was filled with complete and utter rage. Did I do a few questionable things? Yes. Do I regret them—” Y/N sighs, bringing her hands to her face as the news plays in the background before saying, “I do.”

If Y/N was honest, she wasn’t remorseful at all, not when it was Bakugou they were talking about. But she was embarrassed, she’d acted out like a child and there was no denying it. As much as she disliked the idea, a public apology was probably necessary and a private one to Bakugou was the least she owed him.

Currently Y/N L/N and Bakugou Katuski were on every headline and front page there were, all because Y/N had elected to get a little too drunk and start talking trash about Bakugou. In the world of Pro Heroes, her word carried a lot of weight, so although it was unprofessional, Y/N had a feeling it was Bakugou’s PR team that was panicking right now.

"You’re trending.” Comes Lorelai’s words, a hand coming to scratch the back of her neck awkwardly as she looks back up at Y/N, “I suppose that’s good.”

Y/N had a feeling the people who shipped her with Bakugou were rather devastated upon finding out that the (non-existent) couple that they idolized yet had zero interaction actually hated one another. “Maybe they’ll stop thinking Bakugou and I would ever enter a relationship now.”

Raising a brow, Lorelai looks up to her, typing away at her phone without looking at the keyboard as she replies, “actually they’re shipping you with Pro Hero Deku. They caught quite a few pictures of you two dancing together last night.” Lorelai’s eyes returned to her screen, squinting as she mumbled out, “the Bakugou shippers are disappointed, but they’re still going strong. Something about… enemies to lovers?”

Y/N groans in annoyance, it was beginning to become abundantly clear that nothing good was going to come of this. Not that she expected such a thing, but a girl can hope. With a sigh, she shakes away those thoughts, pushing them to the back of her mind as she looks to Lorelai, “what are we going to do?”

“I am going to speak with Bakugou’s publicist, and set up a meeting.” Comes Lorelai’s response, bringing the phone to her ear as she made her way towards the door for more privacy.

Y/N looked to her publicist, brows furrowed, “I don’t want to meet with Bakugou.”

Rolling her eyes, Lorelai gestured to the TV as she replied, “we don’t have much of a choice do we?” Sighing, Lorelai stares at the ringing phone before saying, “you can’t let your issues with Bakugou interfere with your career— you two were bound to work together at some point. Whether you wanted to or not.”

Y/N can easily pick up on the underlying words as Lorelai steps out the door, she’s essentially telling her to suck it up. And though Y/N recognizes that she is absolutely and completely correct— that she unfortunately cannot allow Bakugou’s existence to interfere with her career, that doesn’t mean she can’t be upset about it.

And besides, avoiding him had gone perfectly fine up until now. Y/N was still wondering what had possessed him to actually attend a public event. Last she’d checked, the boy hated them with a passion, and most of the time they only further damaged his reputation.

Last night was only more evidence of that fact.

“You’re right.” Comes Y/N’s words, sighing dejectedly as she sinks further into her couch. “Let me know how it goes.” Even Y/N could recognize that there was no other choice, and well— she had to be mature and realistic about this.

Lorelai steps away, and Y/N finds herself glad that she can’t hear whatever it is the woman is saying as she straightens her posture, sitting up as she crosses her legs on the couch to watch the news.

“Famed Pro Hero Y/N L/N was caught expressing her true feelings for Bakugou Katsuki, and they certainly weren’t what fans were hoping for.” The woman on the screen leans back in her seat, moving out of the way to gesture to the screen behind her, as she opens her mouth to speak again, Y/N finds herself grabbing the remote and changing the channel with a glare towards the reporter.

Not that it was her fault, Y/N had a feeling if she had a job with any news station right now, this story would mean everything for her career. But she didn’t, she was a Pro Hero, and she had more important things to do— and even then, weren’t there more important things to report on?

The screen changes, and this time there’s another woman on the screen, a solemn look on her face as she leans forward on the desk with her hands clasped. “As the anniversary of the villain Stain’s incarceration grows near, civil unrest has begun to worsen. With another copy cat killer on the loose, it seem that people have once again taken to the streets to demand his release, or at least a change in his current life sentence for the murder of—”

Y/N shuts off the TV, grimacing at the reminder of her school years. Each year, crime would spike, so more Pro Heroes would set to work around this time. And each year, the number of casualties for Pro Heroes would practically triple because of all the people that tried to target them. This wouldn’t be the first Stain copy cat they’d seen, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Most of them didn’t last this long though, caught by the police by their first attempt ideally, if not then their first kill.

Y/N had lost good friends to people like that.

Exhaling deeply, she comes to a stand, pulling out her phone to see she had several unread messages from Lorelai, all of which were in reference to the current… situation they were dealing with. There were— unsurprisingly— a few messages of concern from Izuku that Y/N can’t help but smile at. The boy had always been too kind for his own good. But what did confuse her were the messages from an unknown number, Y/N’s brows furrowed as she moved to open them.

UNKNOWN ???

It was only a single message, but it still leaves Y/N confused, few people had access to her number, and for some reason she finds it unnerving as she goes to delete the conversation.

BAKUGOU WISHED HE COULD FORGET the chaos that had been the night before. Alas, every moment was burned into his mind, especially that bit in which Y/N had cursed him out while drunk and maybe something about him trying to fight Deku but that wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary.

His eyes open to the sound of his alarm, and like clockwork— Bakugou rises from his bed and when his feet hit the floor he’s slipping on a set of house shoes instantly. He’d always been more of the type to live a methodical, routine like, life. Make the bed, cook himself a healthy breakfast if he hadn’t already meal prepped for the week, take a shower, get dressed, go to work. And then do it all over again.

Bakugou had never felt the need for any spontaneity, seeing as his job provided enough of that. Surprise, there’s a murderer on the loose. Surprise, the murderer targets heroes specifically. Surprise, it's a stain copycat killer. Surprise! He hates Pro Hero Ground Zero more than anything in the world.

The entirety of last night was not the type of surprise Bakugou was used to. Seeing as his phone is ringing as he tries to make his breakfast, and when he looks to see it’s his publicist— well, that isn’t really something out of the ordinary seeing as Bakugou seems to have a different “scandal” every week. But when the calls don’t stop coming...

Last night was a disaster, it didn’t take a genius to recognize that. Just anyone with a phone and some sort of social media, or a tv that had access to the news. Which was basically everyone nowadays. Bakugou liked to think that he had gone through worse, like when they caught him speaking poorly about Deku— although the boy had assured them that Bakugou meant no harm, and Y/N probably wouldn’t do the same.

Yeah, this was a problem.

Bakugou had a feeling that if he hadn’t been the person who hired him, his publicist would’ve cursed him out by now. Regardless, the man in question had remained… kind of calm. He was clearly on the verge of some sort of breakdown, staring Bakugou down like a hawk as he sat across from him— hands pressed together as they rested against his chin. The man had arrived shortly after leaving Bakugou about a dozen voicemails.

“How did you manage to piss off one of the most influential women in Pro Hero society?”

Despite being a newer Hero, Y/N had worked alongside several of the Top Pro Heroes already, probably because of her connections with Pro Hero Hawks and her own Charisma, making her one of the most likable of the next generation. That and the fact that she was regarded as a potential Number 1 Hero given the speed she was rising through the ranks.

Although Bakugou was sure this had damaged her credibility in some sort of way, he had no doubt she’d come back from this, even if he didn’t. After all, he wasn’t necessarily known for his award winning personality.

In response to his publicist’s question, Bakugou finds himself crossing his arms, shrugging before he replies, “beats me.”

Inhaling deeply, his publicist brings a hand to his temple, rubbing it rather harshly in an attempt to end the major headache that was coming on. “You have no idea? None at all—” One of the other PR assistants is standing beside them once more, the guy had been leaving and coming back for a while actually. This time he seems rather anxious though, “and what the hell do you want?”

“Well— well, sir. You see, we’ve been getting a call from—”

His publicist, Haru Ishida, as Bakugou had come to know him, appears to have a vein popping out of his head as he replies, “I don’t care which major news platform wants to hear what we have to say, tell them the same thing—”

“It’s Ms. L/N’s publicist!” The man cries out, hand pressed against the receiver of the phone to keep said woman from hearing their interaction, face flushed red in embarrassment as he stands straighter and adds, “sir.”

Haru’ jaw drops open as he immediately shoots up from his seat, snatching the phone from the assistants hand and bringing it to his ear before swiftly saying, “Haru Ishida, how can I help you?”

Bakugou gives the man a look, “put it on speaker.” He hisses out.

The man does as he’s told and a woman’s voice fills the room, “I think it’s more of how I can help you, Mr. Ishida.” A pause, “I’d like to set up a meeting between our clients. We can discuss more in person.”

“Hell no.” Bakugou says instantly, seeing as his little reunion with his former classmate yesterday had gone very poorly, Bakugou couldn’t really see a world in which another meeting with Y/N benefitted him in any way. Despite this, his words cause Haru to glare at him, opening his mouth to respond only for Y/N to beat him to it.

“Bakugou.” She muses, “both you and Y/N are experiencing blowback from this.” Comes her words, the sound of typing on the other end of the call as she continues, “but you need us more than we need you. I know Y/N will come back from this, with or without you. But can you say the same about your career?” There’s almost a subtle threat if you read between the lines and it leaves Bakugou cursing under his breath.

If Bakugou was right, this was Lorelai Flores, a renowned publicist though she was rather new to the game. As someone who aspired to be the best, Bakugou initially sought her out. She’d rejected his attempts at hiring her of course, which is why he’d ended up with the second best he could secure. Haru, who was currently inhaling deeply as he replied, “that can be arranged.”

“No it cannot—” Haru ignores Bakugou’s attempt at protesting, simply shooting him a glare before returning his attention to the call.

“Fantastic!” The woman exclaims, “perhaps it can be just you and I, Haru. Clearly our clients aren’t inclined to be anywhere near each other. Of course, if all goes well then I’m sure they’ll be seeing each other plenty.” The sound of a pen scribbling against a paper followed by, “pick me up at 7, you have my address.”

The call ends, and Bakugou’s brow is raised as he looks back to his publicist, who clears his throat before saying, “we’ll come to a consensus sir.”

Meanwhile, the PR assistant from before looks to Haru, “fraternizing with the enemy?”

“I can fire you.” Haru hisses in response, eyes narrowing at the boy before looking back to Bakugou as he straightens himself and collects the paper’s before him, “if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for my meeting with Ms. Flores.” He moves to leave, hovering by the door as he says, “by the way, I believe Pro Hero Red Riot is heading this way at the moment.”

Bringing his hands to his face, Bakugou groans, if he had to guess— Kirishima was going to lecture him, again. He finds himself coming to a stand making his way around the couch, he doesn’t bother to meet Kirishima the door since he’s already making his way inside. At the same time, Bakugou is left to watch as the rest of his PR team is exiting his apartment one by one, taking their equipment with them wordlessly.

And so, in comes Kirishima, a bright smile on his face as he calls out, “hey Bakubro!” Arms spread wide as he greets his friend, coming to wrap his arms around him. Although Bakugou doesn’t return the hug, he allows the physical contact.

“Hey shitty hair.” Comes his response, mumbled out as he is finally released from Kirishima’s grip. “What do you want?”

With a shrug, Kirishima, steps further inside Bakugou’s apartment, “I figured you might wanna talk—”

“Don’t wanna talk.” Bakugou interrupts, narrowing his eyes at Kirishima.

Nodding slowly, Kirishima offers him a tight lipped smile, a short silence encompassing them before he says, “but she said some intense stuff so I though—”

“No.”

“I can talk to her?

“Absolutely not.”

With that, Bakugou found himself wondering how this could possibly get worse at this point, of course, his question would soon be answered seeing as things could definitely get worse.

#this is not the end series #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x you #katsuki bakugou x you #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x you #bnha x reader #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha x you

259 notes · View notes