#Maybe there are several reasons why the people tried to discourage me to play this-

[virgothozul]

I-

hum.

#That 21 one questions meme #I don’t know if I should feel sorry yet. #Maybe there are several reasons why the people tried to discourage me to play this- #Have I ruined the thing for you ? #If so ; I’m moderately sorry ; also it’s never too late to unfollow -you know that right ? #I have forgotten many many things. But a few - probably meaningless or barely relevant - things seem a little clearer to me. #I hope this year will go ok. I don’t want to completely lose my mind. That’s my single wish right now. #these tags make less and less sense. #Don’t you find it easier to organise ur thoughts this way tho ? Little entries of words. #disco elysium #I need to say; I’m only day2 but if something ANYTHING happens to Kim .. #I’ll gun everyone down in this hellhole

[vtoriacore-rbs]

tw. ed + whatever the fuck is wrong w me in general. id actually advise against reading this but this helps get things off my chest.

me slipping back into old ed habits bc my intrusive thoughts actually ended up triggering me 💀💀💀 i went on a 2 day fast and only had mineral water and i feel both proud and horrified that ive allowed myself to do that so now im eating healthy things to kinda make up for it but anyways i weighed myself too even tho i said i wouldn't. like i know i shouldn't feel happy over the fact i starved and weakened my body on purpose but it feels nice to stick to something and actually have some discipline back in my life.

had a breakdown too earlier for no reason (altho im on my period so maybe that's why, fuck you uterus btw there is no us only u someone remove this thing PLEASE). like bro some bitch in college also was telling me how she was losing weight and she deadass told me that my ribcage sticking out was so aesthetic and it just enabled me, we only spoke 3 times before that and im pretty sure she has an ed too bc she kept trying to get my measurements??? she also said she'd sacrifice two of her ribs to get a waist like mine and i know she meant it as a compliment but i wanted to cry and felt low-key ashamed like i hate when people point out my physical appearance and i was stretching i didn't even mean for my shirt to go higher up it was so uncomfy. it's weird tho cause when i starve myself i feel happy abt it but when other people point it out and praise me for it i get really mad. maybe it's bc i discourage eds and im very pro-recovery but anyways that was a weird comment™ i think it played into the breakdown. she tried grabbing my wrist several times and i told her to stop trying to touch me but she wouldn't stop either and was like "just for a second please" like i felt so icky bc of that too like bitch hands off before i retaliate <3 so yeah now im trying to eat again but honestly i feel like im gonna throw up bc i didn't eat for 2 days lmao and the entire day today i felt so dizzy. like yesterday was fine but today ?? no. my muscles hurt so bad so im gonna have a 50g protein shake too ugh im so tired. gonna try get up to 1000 kcal at least and make the deficit up over the weekend bc my stomach physically hurts when i try to eat (but this strawberry yogurt bangs even tho im half full already).

ive been slipping back into an ed mindset over the last month tho even with my binges and i just wanna look ill enough for one of my doctors finally tell me im underweight enough they didn't even acknowledge i was severely underweight 3-4 years ago that felt so humiliating and now im thinking along the lines of "i need to be a better anorexic" even tho its fucked up and like im trying to just snap myself out of this mindset but it's not working so im gonna have to get a therapist potentially. bc i don't want my organs and bones failing but at the same time, i wanna make sure doctors take me seriously this time and maybe it'll be a fucking reminder to take eds seriously. it actually pisses me off hos insensitive some doctors are about eds and the fact they indirectly fucking allow it sometimes too like. just bc im not in a critical condition and only like 3/4kgs underweight doesn't mean i don't have an ed or that it isn't "severe enough" smh this annoys me so much.

if you read it up to here don't worry ill be fine, a bitch always pulls thru and these are just momentary lapses in judgement im not letting mental illness win im too fucking good for this (<- motivating myself kinda feel better after writing this NGL).

[mooncorebunny]

Sea of Creativity

We've all got cool ideas and plans to tell stories, draw artwork, produce games, something that ends up reaching numerous people and get many kudos for having created something a little bit meaningful. (I guess we wouldn't be on tumblr if we hadn't had that wish at some point.) And we've sure tried to produce stuff, some of which isn't even half bad.

But there's no payoff. After months or years of work, if we're even able to stick with it that long, it gets maybe a dozen likes if we're lucky. Or just the echo of our own release announcement bouncing back and forth. If a lot of our self-worth has been tied to our creative output, finding that validation is not forthcoming naturally leads to questioning that self-worth, and thence as far as "why am I even trying anything".

There's a stereotype about any amateur writer at some point realising they're not going to write "the great American novel", a depressing but pragmatic realisation that allows them to focus on making the most out of however life is working out for them. I'll never be one to discourage realism or practicality, but it'll be a sad life that doesn't allow itself room for creativity too. However, expectations are best tempered.

I guess Maslow's hierarchy of needs has been criticised for various reasons, but I still like it as a tool for understanding the general shape of human needs. For optimal happiness, needs from all categories should be met. Weightings between categories vary individually and over time.

In our western societies, our basic physical needs are pretty universally met. (Although capitalism is working on that.) Psychological needs revolve around social relationships, broadly a desire to feel like an appreciated part of a herd. And a need for self-actualisation manifests in wanting to create things and becoming more than we are. A failure to meet various needs can lead to stress, desperation, loneliness, and depression. (There are of course many other ways to end up with unhappy states.)

Creating something artistic is great for fulfilling the need for self-actualisation - creating stuff for its own sake. But it's very unlikely to satisfy social needs, so if we don't already have a sense of belonging and esteem from somewhere else, being creative won't fix that loneliness. This is where a reality check may be useful. Even if we can't fix the problem, at least we'll know which need is the problem. And we can detach the expectation for social prestige from creative pursuits, making them enjoyable and worthwhile in their own right.

I am more of a programmer than a content creator; that is, I will spend a ton of time writing game engine code, but when it comes to actually making game content, I will procrastinate the project to death in short order. Nevertheless, I have several fun game ideas that I'm a little sad I'm unlikely to get to explore. And, when younger, I had hoped for some recognition for having made a cool game or song or webcomic. Or at least a nifty text adventure...

However, in order to get recognition, my creations would have to stand out. And as I look around, I realise that humans are amazingly creative in every possible field, and modern digital and networking tools enable that sea of creativity at an unprecedented scale. This is not a bad thing at all in my book - it's impressive how much creative effort my fellow humans are able to put out. (A greater belief in the good humans can do is good for the soul.)

I can't deny it was a bit demoralising at first, when I was browsing through GOG's list of new games and it hit me just how many of those damn things there are. (Or, looking through Fitgirl's repacks site for stuff that's not on GOG.) I mean, who is creating all these games?? And, more importantly, who's playing them? If I created one, who would even notice it? There are literally a dozen new games being made every day, not all of them published, and it's not possible for a single person to even try every new game, there are so many. So it's reasonable to assume that the total playership of these beautiful work of art games that their creators poured their hearts into probably typically measures in the dozens, hundreds of people at most. Not to mention all the shovelware that casual game developers put out, who actually have some marketing in place to buy attention.

Having a business degree, and having worked around the game industry, and having read indie developers' thoughts on game publishing, I can safely conclude that I will never make a game that nets me fame. More specifically, I think I understand the scale of development collaboration and marketing effort required to have a chance at publishing a famous game, and I don't think it would be worth it for me. Creating a game is fun - designing and executing an impactful marketing strategy for it is very much not.

The same applies to other artforms. There are more talented artists offering commissions than I can shake a stick at. The internet has been bursting at the seams since the 90's as even more try their hand at writing. For any single individual to stand out in that is not going to happen.

And that's fine! Creativity is a need, and a well-optimised person fulfills that need for its own sake. There is no way for that creativity to fulfill other, social needs. So seek contentment by whatever other means possible. And keep creating reasonably-sized works and ensure you have a circle of acquaintances who will appreciate it. Our works may be small and seen by few, but we're still adding to the total sum of human culture and anyway it's fun to create.

#creativity #self worth #fulfillment #self actualization #validation #maslow's hierarchy of needs #game development #writing #music #artwork

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 227: Scenes from a Party, p10

(or, The Tale of Queen Angie, p5)

Wh-what…what is she doing? Leading me back here, away from everyone at the party? A-and…why am I letting her, letting her take me to the dark shadows of this back hallway, letting her press me up against the wall?

“It’s too bad all the private rooms back here got locked, or occupied,” Angie said, with a dangerous, energized smile growing on her face, “I wanted you, cutie, all to myself….” We were behind a clothing rack, on which spare uniforms for the servers hung, and just near an emergency door. I eyed the “EXIT” sign above it; it flickered, and I could have sworn I heard it latch. “…but I guess this’ll do.” She played with my collar, idly, with the fingers of her right hand...

Though the throbbing dance music from the floor was just a short distance away, we were alone. Totally alone. I was nervous, and I had reason to be. This girl, Angie, was a new hire for the accounting office of my practice and had been flooding me with private, racy messages, photos and videos all week. Why? What did she think she was doing? Draw my eye? Trying to snare me, sleep her way to a better job?? I’d done my best to ignore her, discourage her, but despite my protests she’d continued to send them, and I’d been concerned from the beginning that a moment like this was coming.

It unsettled me to think that I regretted, now, not having told Melissa about it. The moment, here alone with this young woman while the others celebrated reminded me of my first episode with Rina, almost four years ago at our Christmas party. There were glaring differences, though. For one, this girl, Angie, was now bigger than me, and her part as the aggressor was clear. And also then, with Rina, I was being unfaithful to Sheryl, my wife. But now, rather, goddamn me…now I felt untrue to…to…

“I-Isn't your, uh, boyfriend here?” I was able to manage, coming up with anything I could think of to diffuse this situation. Sudden flashes of what had happened last weekend with Marisela, Amelia and Randi unnerved me, set my pulse to jump. I didn’t want this, here, to turn into another ra-…whatever that was. I couldn’t have that happen again, at the hands of another one of my young, preternaturally developed employees. And Angie was big enough, physically outweighed me enough, to - if she wanted - force herself on me. We were in a public enough place, sure, not too far away from others, but still…the mere idea of it. I needed escape. “Didn’t I see him, uh…?”

“Who? AJ?” she scoffed, “He’s my ex.” Though she sounded flippant the question, I could see, threw her off a touch. “But, yeah. I think I saw him drift in with those construction monkey buddies of his…”

The guys from the dance floor: Red, Moustache, the other one.

She twirled several locks of her long, dark hair in the fingers of her left hand. “He’s nothing to me now, total dead end. I deserve someone better, more accomplished…maybe an older guy,” she continued, sparing nothing in the way of innuendo, “I've outgrown him, and he knows it. But, yeah, he still gets jealous…”

That just added to the many reasons I should not be here. I had lots of excuses to be looking for an out; the chance of getting beaten to a pulp was a big one. “S-so, uh, shouldn’t we like, uh..?”

But Angie had two pretty big reasons of her own keeping me here, planted in place, stuck up against the wall of this dark hallway with her right hand as she shoved those reasons just under my face. “Haha worried that If he caught us like this he might kill you?” she laughed. Angie had big teeth, gums. Thicker in the waist, strong hips.

“We’ll, uh, y-yeah, k-kinda…” I tried a chuckle; it sounded nervous.

“Sssshh shh shh don’t worry about him - we can still talk,” she smiled, her voice dropping, her smile becoming conspiratorial, “We’re just talking, right? Just two people…talking.”

“y-y-yeah…” I was, uh, nerv-

“Are you nervous?” she asked, with the sympathy of the amused, “Don’t be nervous. I don’t bite.” She bit, her lower lip. And she looked down at me. “Awww you look so scared and so…little.”

I felt it, I felt myself wince.

“Ooo you don’t like when I say that? Hm?” she chuckled, cooing a purr, “When I say that you’re little?” Gears looked to be turning in her head.

“N-no it’s, uh, just th-“

“Or maybe you like it?” she continued relentlessly, with a naughty lilt, “Being told that?”

“L-like i-“

“Are you shrinking?” she asked, now with a giggle, “I’ve only been here a couple weeks but the girls say you’re shrinking. You do seem smaller than everyone else. Is that true?”

“I-I-I, uh…I’m not shrinking,” I insisted, sounding too defensive, and - if I’m being honest - lying through my teeth, “I think it’s…it’s just all these super-high heels you girls are wearing now…“

“Oh is that it…?” she laughed, delighted by the state she had me in, straightening herself up in front of me, peering down, haughty, “It does seem like a lot of the girls are going through a little…I dunno, growth spurt. You must have noticed…”

Why does she seem to be talking like she knows more than me about something?

“wH-at..?” I squeaked, hearing the adolescent crack in my voice, “wh-what are you talking about?” I knew exactly what she was talking about.

“Oh c’mon,” she snorted, reaching out with her left hand now to brush hair from my forehead, “You’ve noticed. Like…have you seen Cici tonight? I saw her pulling AJ away from the bar - I think they’re in one of the private rooms here - she looked as tall as him…”

“Oh…” I answered, “Cynthia?” From scheduling? With a guy?

Angie, I think, saw my expression, wanted to see my reaction. Of course I’d been aware of the changes in Cynthia over these past few, uh…weeks? “So what’s up?” she asked, biting her lower lip again, eyes watching mine, “You’re a doctor. Why’s she getting so big?”

“Well, uh, yeah,” I agreed, heart racing, feeling my cock, already thickening with the intimacy, start to - oh no - swell further, “Cynthia does look more, uh, s-s-statuesque these days…”

Angie cocked her head, and I saw the change in her eyes. Suddenly, she was tired of talking about other girls. Or maybe she thought she’d been saying too much.

“So, do you like my dress?” Angie asked, as she shoved her big, half-bare tits at me. They nearly threatened to pop out of her racy red dress.

“Careful… “

“W-what?” What was that? Another woman’s voice? Quiet, hissing in the air just above us, but clear. Was that for real, or in my head? Whatever it was, Angie did not seem to notice and just pushed me in closer, her right hand on my left shoulder, more firmly to the wall. Taller than me by nearly eight inches in her heels, her healthy bosom was all but in my face.

“I asked…” Angie repeated, sharply, her smile curling her lips as she saw she once again had my attention, “…if you like my dress.” With that the fingers of her left hand dropped to her collarbone, to lazily trace the generous inner curve of her left breast slowly down, down, down. I couldn’t help but watch, entranced, as she casually slipped one finger up, under the big bulge of boob. “I wore it especially for you,” she said, holding her finger there, as if warming it, “I know you like tits, and thought you’d like a nice, big pair to look at, if we got some time alone together…” She paused, watching me stare at her tits, smiling in glee. “…like, now, for example.”

“What’s the worst that could happen..?”

There it is again! Another woman’s voice, clearly. This time different, younger - but disembodied, still, in the aether above us. Am I going crazy??

“Dr. J?” Angie asked, maybe noticing my confusion, inching her bosom closer to my face while at the same time sliding, finally, her finger from the warm space beneath her breast and reaching up, to find my jaw and cup my chin, directing my gaze to her chest and placing that finger just under my nostrils.

Ohh….

…jesus.

“Do you like this perfume?” she purred, smiling again as she felt me shiver, as she pushed her finger all but up into my nose. That smell, that familiar smell, pulled right from her skin, from the dark crevice of her underboob and presented to meeee….ahhhh. It was ubiquitous, in this place, had filled the air of the club. But now, here, concentrated like this, it brought a jolt to my bones, and immediately I felt myself start to really stiffen. “They gave it to us new girls, a bottle, a little present,” she continued, “I’m wearing it, but some have already started making it themselves, I hear.” She watched my eyelids fluttering as I breathed in her scent, as I stared dreamily at her big left breast, now just inches from my face. “Maybe I will too, soon,” she added, then breaking into giggles, “then I’ll be totally irresistible..!”

Angie shifted slightly, twisting her shoulders just so, causing another enticing ripple and jiggle to wobble through her cleavage. I couldn’t help it, like my eyes were drawn in.

She smiled, a hungry flash of her teeth. “Or…maybe I’m already irresistible, doctor…”

“Uhhh…A-Angie…” I stammered, still unable, best I tried, to pull my eyes away. My heart was racing. Why was I so weak?!?

“You know, it’s not polite to just stare,” she said, “here, have a feel-"

At that, she suddenly grabbed my wrists, one in each hand, and planted my palms on either side of her big tits. With her own hands she held them there, making me feel the swell of her warm softness. Immediately but half-heartedly I tried to pull them away, but she held me firm. My hands sunk in, partly, as she had me squeeze them together. I watched her cleavage bulge, burgeoning up towards me in the bodice of her dress.

“There you go, how’s that?” she purred, chuckling at me, “Big, huh?”

Oh god yes big.

“Maybe later we can get your face in there,” she said, with lewd promise, as she drew a deep breath to swell herself further, “or something else that might f-“

“There you are-!!” I heard, suddenly, to my left.

Randi. Amelia. Marisela. A hand on my shoulder, a hand on my wrist. Wrenching me away. Angie gasping, as Amelia’s nails flashed.

“Ow!”

“We’ve been looking for you…”

“Hey..!” Angie exclaimed, “That hurt!”

“Food’s on…”

Pulled away.

“Let’s get you something to eat…”

================================================

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#growing into the job

[justcourttee]

It’s More Than Just a Game Pt 1

@qualitypeacepainter sent me this wonderful idea for a Daminette Volleyball AU. It will definitely have several parts and I am so excited to write it so I hope you enjoy and I hope it’s something like what you had in mind :)

“So this is what a tournament looks like?” Marinette inhaled deeply “Do you smell that Nino? Air Salonpas. It’s so satisfying.”

She didn’t bother waiting for his response, she knew he was only here for her sake. Nobody could match her excitement for this day. It took her weeks, but she finally scrambled together a makeshift team so that she could enter at least one volleyball tournament before her middle school days were over. They had exactly three days of practice, but it didn’t matter.

Marinette was here to win.

“There are a lot of good teams here, please don’t get your hopes up Mari.” Adrien reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder as if he were attempting to pull her back down to reality. “Nino and I only know the basics, this isn’t anything like baseball.”

“Yeah Marinette, I know you gave us all a crash course, but this is way different from basketball.”

“And soccer!”

Her teammates all shared the same discouraged look on their faces. They knew how hard Marinette trained. Every day after school, she’d set to herself, pass to herself, spike at the school wall while the basketball team practiced. She was always helping them out, so the least they could do was help her form a team, but volleyball was something none of them knew much of.

“You guys worry too much! You’re all super athletic and the best friends a girl could ask for. There is absolutely nothing that could get in our way-”

Her sentence was cut short as a yell of excitement echoed through the gym. Instantly her eyes locked on the source of the commotion. Gotham Middle had entered and the crowd’s excitement was all focused on them. The teams around them begin to whisper, passing drills stopping as everyone took the chance to size up the competition.

“-it’s the King of the Court-”

“-I thought they weren’t entering this tournament-”

“-we’re so screwed-”

It was as if the world was crashing down around her. Marinette knew all about Gotham Middle. They were always featured in Sports Weekly as the top school in the volleyball world. In fact, there was even one student who was being scouted for the US National team. The King of the Court, Damian Al Ghul Wayne.

“I-I think I need to use the bathroom.” Marinette clutched her stomach, her face paling the longer she stared.

“Are you okay?”  Nino tried to offer her a hand to steady herself but she simply waved him off, stumbling past him to the hallway, her eyes dazed.

It’s just one team. It’s not like they would have to play them first. Of course, they would have a warm-up game, something to get her team in the groove. Yeah, there was no doubt in her mind. She came here to win, not worry about some top-ranked school.

Slowly she stood up, taking a few deep breaths, the bathroom door a mere ten steps away.

“I’ve never even heard of Dupont Transfer Middle.”

“Apparently it’s some French school that sends students wanting to study in America. It’s like a prep for American high school. They spend their eighth-grade year there to perfect their English and take any courses that wouldn’t transfer over.”

Marinette glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, standing in front of the water fountain were a couple of members of Gotham Middle. The only reason they would be concerned with her school would be..no..fate wouldn’t be that cruel right?

“They barely have a six-man team, they don’t even have a libero. Did they actually think they had a chance?”

“Hey!” Three sets of eyes turned in her direction, instantly wavering her nerve. “Don’t underestimate us.”

As if on cue, her stomach lurched once more, taking any confidence she had with it. The Gotham players shared a glance before busting into laughter.

“Is she serious? I think she is.”

“Is that the captain label on her uniform? Maybe we should show her some respect.”

Instantly, they all straightened, mock saluting her before dissolving back into a fit of laughter. Marinette wanted to give them a piece of her mind, but her stomach refused to let up.

“Hey, benchwarmers. It’s time for the warm-up. Quit wasting time.”

The three silenced, their face a mixture of fear and awe. Who could command such respect? The coach? The manager? Marinette’s eyes strayed to where the voice came from, her stomach immediately dropping.

“The King,” she slapped her hand over her mouth, hoping she hadn’t said it loud enough to offend the guy in front of her. He didn’t even glance in her direction, his fierce glare completely focused on his teammates.

“Right away sir. Kasey, fill up two more.”

Damian Wayne. He couldn’t have been more 5’7”, but compared to Marinette’s 5’1”, she was in awe. It was impressive how he could command so much respect with just one look. She watched as he turned, taking a few steps toward the gym before pausing once more.

“Relax James, you act like we’ll need a lot. Just look at our opponent.”

It was as if they completely ignored his warning. Their giggles only enraged Marinette.

“What did you sa-”

“Did I stutter? Quit wasting time. You’re barely benchwarmers, quit acting as though you’re good enough to look down on your opponent.”

Marinette watched as they all paled, gathering their bottles before rushing back into the gym. None of them dared to make eye contact with him. Marinette released a chuckle of her own. He might be terrifying, but he really wasn’t a bad guy. Marinette relaxed as she stood, a friendly smile tugging at her lips.

“You know, I was just about to say something to them myself.”

His glare shifted from his retreating teammates to where she stood. Instantly she felt a shiver down her spine.

“You’re not even physically ready to sit the bench, don’t talk as if we’re on the same level. What are you even doing here anyway? Making memories? This is a tournament for people who are serious.”

“I am serious, my team is serious. We’re here to win and that means we start by defeating you.”

Damian took a step forward. Suddenly those six inches felt a lot taller than they were. Marinette fought with herself to not move away.

“You say that like it’s so easy.” The waves flowing off of him made her want to shrivel up, but her anger anchored her feet.

“I may not look like much, but I can jump. Really high. I will jump over any wall your team puts in front of me.”

He simply scoffed, only fueling her rage. Everyone always underestimates her, she hated it. She just wanted to be taken seriously in the sport she loved.

“You will simply be a stepping stone on the way to our championship.”

Before she could even respond, Damian turned his back, returning to the court, leaving her fuming in her spot. She wanted to declare war, rush him and take him out before he could even step onto the floor, but her stomach had other plans. Gripping her gut, Marinette turned to the bathroom, her face paler than before she left the gym.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Dudette! You were gone for like twenty minutes. It’s our turn to use the court. How do we warm-up?”

Marinette scanned the other side of the court to where Gotham Middle stood huddled, occasionally glancing back at her teammates. All except one. Damian stood alone, his arms crossed, his eyes closed. If she didn’t know any better, she would think he was meditating.

“Let’s work on passing. It’s something we all struggle with and I think we’ll really need it with this team.”

Five minutes passed and as they lined up for the beginning of the first set, Marinette’s eyes locked onto his from across the court. She already had a fire burning when she stepped into the gym, but it was as if he threw coal at her until she was ablaze ready to annihilate anything in her path.

“We will win.”

Her teammates shared a look of skepticism, but none voiced their concerns. They didn’t have to. It had only been ten minutes, but the score was already 12 - 0. The only one drenched in sweat was Marinette. The energy for the rest had been drained after the first service ace.

“Nino! Set me up!”

They were barely keeping the ball in the air with iffy passes that they were sure the ref was only letting slide out of pity. Nino was the only one who could decently set. It was nothing compared to the flawless and quick sets the King was serving on the other side, but Marinette could care less. All she wanted, was a chance to hit the ball.

His set was shaky, the ball wobbling as it flew, threatening to fall out of the sky at any moment. But to her, it was perfect. On instinct, Marinette jumped, her palm connecting to the ball. A satisfying thud came from the other side of the court as the gym silenced, trying to process what had happened.

“Did they just score?”

“Forget that, did you see how high she just jumped? She must’ve been a foot over the net!”

The whispers got louder until a single clap echoed from the crowd leading to another and another. As her feet touched the ground once more, Marinette immediately shot Damian a smug look. His mouth hung agape, his eyes a mixture of anger, and did she catch a hint of admiration? It was even more satisfying than the sound of the ball hitting the court.

“Why didn’t you get that?”

Marinette flinched as he turned on his teammates, his face fuming.

“Dude, you were in shock too! We didn’t think they had-”

“This is why you don’t underestimate anyone, ever. You give every team 100% of your effort.”

Damian turned back to the net, his eyes narrowing in on her. It took everything in her not to crumble as she picked up the ball, tossing it to Adrien. She had a kill. Her first one in a tournament and not even the terrifying demon behind her could stomp on her moment.

“Okay, guys! Here’s our chance. Let’s turn this around.”

Her excitement spread through the court, each of her teammate’s risking a smile. Their fire may not have been as bright as hers, but it was finally starting to shine through.

“You’re right Marinette. We can’t promise anything flashy like the King over there, but we will get you the ball. No matter what it takes.”

This was the chance she was waiting for, the chance to motivate her team. Now that she had their attention, she didn’t want to waste one second of it.

.  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“It was a close game Marinette. Please don’t be upset.”

Marinette waved off her friends, her smile tight.

“They won in two sets and we barely hit double digits both times, but it’s okay guys, really. Thank you so much for helping me out. I’m going to stay for a while, so go on without me. I wanna watch some more matches.”

Her friends shared a look of skepticism, but one by one they slowly stood, all leaving until she was the only one left. Marinette sighed as she stood herself, working up the courage to step back into the gym.

“I told you it was useless.”

Marinette glanced over her shoulder only to meet an annoyingly familiar face blocking the entrance.

“Don’t you have something better to do than gloat oh glorious king?”

“Tt, I only wanted to point out that your jump was impressive, but volleyball is not a sport that you can get by with athleticism alone. You set yourself up for failure.”

It was Marinette’s turn to scoff as she brushed past him, intent on not speaking another word.

“A piece of advice for you. Drop volleyball while it’s all fun and games for you. High school has no place for a foreigner with no talent.”

“I’ll beat you.” Her voice was soft but cold. Damian didn’t speak a response, but he didn’t move either as if he were taunting her to continue. Marinette turned her head until she had a full view of his scowling face. “Whether it be when fall comes and my team smoothers yours or even if it takes ten, twenty, no fifty years, I will destroy you King of the Court. All I have to do is be the last one standing, right?”

He didn’t respond, only offered her a small grunt before exiting the doors. Her eyes followed him until the bus doors closed and Gotham Middle pulled out of the parking lot.

“I will get better, just you wait Damian Wayne.” Marinette took a step forward, her eyes zeroing in on the match in front of her. High School was only three months away. Three short months to make her declaration a reality.

She smiled, the fire in her eyes stirring with a deadly glint. 

“Next time we meet, I will destroy the King of the Court.”

Permanent Tag List:

@ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @heaven428 @long-lost-peace @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava @iamablinkmarvelarmy @seraphkitty @clumsy-owl-4178 @pawsitivelymiraculous @mialuvscats @leagrey @smolplantmum @animegirlweeb @glitterflowercat @ladybug-182 @maskedpainter @remy-289 @redbullgivescaswings @icerosecrystal

#maribat #daminette #volleyball au

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, Chapter 4

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10. Tutoring

When Marinette entered the bakery to help Adrien complete the handfuls upon handfuls of special orders, he could tell she was on a mission. He really liked the strong set of her posture and determined glint in her eye whenever she got that way, which meant he’d have trouble ignoring that distraction and keeping on top of the schedule.

“So,” she began, turning her fiery look towards him. “I think I’ve made a decision.”

Adrien raised a brow. “What?”

“About the fashion world.”

“You have my attention.” After all, she’d been researching non-stop for over a month, now. He’d seen how much it was wearing on her. At the moment, she looked revitalized.

“I need you to be my own private tutor for a moment.”

Adrien couldn’t help but grin like a cat that got the cream. He sauntered up to her, striking his best pose. “Oh? Just what am I gonna be teaching you, milady? And is this really the place for it?”

Marinette’s expression fell flatter than a crepe. “Adrien.”

“Hint taken,” he said, straightening himself up. “What am I teaching you?”

“I want every story you have to tell,” she said. “You may not have been a designer, but you first hand witnessed your father’s fashion empire and were involved in several different sides of it. I want to know your own personal experience with everything. Good, bad, ugly, right, wrong; I want to know.”

His mouth set in a hard line. “I… I wouldn’t mind it,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But fair warning: I’m biased.”

“That’s what I want to know, too,” she said. “The fashion industry is extremely competitive. And from the data I’ve seen, there’s plenty of people who go in with high hopes, only to get chewed up and spit out. What are your dark secrets? What am I actually looking forward to if I go in?”

Adrien frowned. He had plenty of stories to tell, that wasn’t the issue. What was the problem was the likelihood they’d discourage her from pursuing fashion any further. And if she did end up wanting to go into fashion, he didn’t want to crush any hope she currently held.

But looking at her now, he realized he wouldn’t be able to tell her no. She had a determination in her eyes that was both sexy and frightening. That look warned that she was on the verge of a decision, and whatever she chose would be ultimate and final.

Part of him loved that fire in her, and part of him wished he had half the gumption she did.

“Okay,” he relented. “But before I do, can you promise me that you’re not basing everything off what I say? That it will only add to all the other research you’ve done.”

She nodded resolutely. “Promise.”

He sighed. “Well,” he said, giving her a sheepish smile. “Guess the question now is where do I even begin?”

 11. Truth or Dare

Marinette had come to her decision, and no one would sway her from it.

The tales Adrien had told her were mostly along the lines of what she expected, while there were others that more strongly leaned towards “that’s pretty good,” and still others that crossed into “that’s really bad” territory.

So, after that evening, the question she had faced herself with was not “could I handle this?” but rather “do I want to do this?” and “do all the potential benefits out way all the negative?”

But really, that brought her back to “what do I even want out of life?” because her answer changed everything…

Which make her realize that maybe she wasn’t so resolute in her decision after all.

She was almost nineteen. By now, most of her classmates had plans for the future they were all pursuing. She had thought she’d had plans, but when they all crumbled beneath her feet, she found herself lost, wondering around the Land of What-Do-I-Do-Now?

“Marinette!”

With a squeak, she practically leapt five feet into the air at the sudden voice right beside her. When she realized it was Adrien, she leaned against the bakery table with a heavy sigh. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“Someone was lost in thought.”

“Yeah! And the last thing you do when someone is lost in thought is purposefully surprise them by suddenly appearing right beside them. Jerk!” With a hint of a smile, she took some of the flour on the table and flicked it at him, knowing that if she did, he’d wipe that apologetic look of his face and loosen up a bit.

“Hey!” He turned away, but not quick enough. Flour dusted his perfect jawbone and perfect collar bone and perfectly fitted t-shirt. But it was the perfect smile that he wore that made the rest of the heaviness she felt on her shoulders disappear, even if only for a moment.

“Don’t do that again,” she warned, her voice not really holding any bite in it.

“No promises,” he said with a chuckle, dusting the flour off him. “That was a pretty cute squeak, princess.”

She just sighed. There was no getting him off the name by now so she’d just learned to roll with it. “I am not cute! I am fierce.”

“Yeah, like a little fluffy Papillion.”

She gasped, flicking even more flour at him. He laughed again.

“Is the bread in the oven yet, Marinette?” her father called out, bringing her back to reality.

“Almost!” she cried, quickly hurrying to score the tops of the loaves on the last pan before hurriedly sticking all the pans she’d made in the oven. “Done!”

“Thank you.” That was when her papa reappeared. “The fridge is clean now, so I’m off.”

“And I’m on,” Adrien said with a grin. “There’s only a couple special orders to handle tonight, right?”

“Yup. You’ll finish those in a flash.”

Adrien beamed. “Perfect. Got to love when my days are easy.”

Her papa chuckled. “Can’t disagree with you there. Being a baker is more fun when you don’t have too large an order burden.”

“Exactly,” Adrien agreed, already tying on his apron.

After Marinette saw her papa off, leaving just her and Adrien in the kitchen, he sidled up to her. “Let’s play a game.”

She quirked a brow at him. He looked way too mischievous at the moment. “You just got on shift, and you want to play a game?”

He was positively beaming. “Yup.”

Although she shook her head, she didn’t mind it. She enjoyed running shifts with Adrien or just hanging out with him in general. But she knew that if they started up, she was the one who’d have to keep them on track for the night. “Start in on something first. Unless you wanna be here all night.”

“Point taken.” Immediately, Adrien set to work weighing ingredients and then mixing up a dough.

“So,” he said as he worked. “Truth or dare.”

Marinette dropped the bench scraper in her hand, less out of shock and more out of annoyance, as she shot him an incredulous look. “Are you kidding me?”

“No.”

“You want to play truth or dare? Now?”

“Yup. Just for a couple rounds.”

Little red flags went up in Marinette’s mind as she studied the overly happy blond. “Why?”

“Because I want to. Now! Truth or dare?”

She should shut this down before they got into trouble, but she had the feeling he’d tease her for it if she did. And she was not going to give him the chance. “Which one do you want me to pick?”

Adrien turned to study her a moment. “Dare.”

“Truth, then,” she countered with a grin.

“Yes!” He pumped his fist in the air. “I was banking on that.”

This time, she almost did drop the bench scraper out of shock. “What?”

“I know you,” he twittered, grinning like the idiot he was. “I know you. You weren’t going to give me the satisfaction of picking what I wanted; you never do. So, I just played you like the cheap fiddle you are.”

Marinette tried to look offended. She really did. But it was hard when her cute, idiot coworker was doing a happy dance. That, and she rather enjoyed this banter they always had. “Excuse you, who are you calling a cheap fiddle?”

“You, princess.”

“Oh really? The kazoo is calling me a cheap fiddle.”

“Kazoo?”

“Kazoo.”

He pantomimed being stabbed through the heart, and while he tried to keep the smile off his face, she could tell he was struggling. “Ahh, the ice princess is so cold. The light is fading. Limbs. Growing. Cold.”

She failed suppressing a laugh, turning and hiding her growing grin behind her hand. He was such a dork.

Adrien seemed to pull himself together, laughing along with her as he went back to measuring more ingredients. “Okay, okay. Back to the topic at hand.”

Marinette calmed herself, but her smile refused to budge. “Okay, you were asking me truth.”

Adrien came to stand right across from her. He reached across the table, grabbing her hands and pulling them closer. Her smile was gone now, and so was Adrien’s, as their combined hands rested in the middle of the table. “Scale of one to ten, how much do you trust me?”

Her cheeks and neck and chest flushed red as she stared into his green eyes. “W… what brought that on?”

His grasp on her hands tightened. “I just want to know.”

That was a lie. Or, at least only a half truth. He had a different reason for asking that specific question. She knew it. She could tell. Eight months of working together, and she’d come to be able to read this man like a book.

When had they gotten so close?

She took a breath to clear her mind. She’d probe him later, or maybe their little game would give her the answer she was looking for in that regard. But for now, she quietly responded, “A solid 8.5.”

Adrien paused, taking in those words before slowly nodding. “8.5,” he murmured. “I’ll take it.”

With that, he pulled his hands away. Marinette felt the loss immediately, but there wasn’t anything she was willing to do to make them come back. Not yet, anyway.

And would her heart calm down already? The way it was racing made it hard to think.

“Truth or dare?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Truth,” he answered.

“How many secrets would you say you’re hiding from me right now?”

A loaded question, Marinette knew. But she just had a feeling, an inkling, that she knew the exact number. One for what he was hiding now, and one… if he had feelings for her.

It wasn’t the first time that thought had popped into her mind. She’d had her suspicions for a while now that his flirty banter wasn’t just out of good, playful fun. And maybe she was reading into it too much, but she felt like he’d been more… touchy with her lately. A fist pound here, a pat on the shoulder here, a playfully light punch to the arm in the heat of their teasing; things like that. And if not touching, then he seemed to like being close. And and and…

And was she wrong, or did when he ask her ‘truth’, he purposefully make it that intimate?

Do you like me, Adrien? Or am I jumping to a conclusion?

And to I like you in return? Or am I mistaking our friendship for something more?

Because I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to get hurt by you.

But…

It might be too late for that.

“Like…” Adrien began after a moment’s pause. “Define secret.”

“Something that you do not, in the near future, intend to tell me or would be comfortable in telling me.”

Adrien pursed his lips. “How will you know I’m being honest about the number?”

“I trust you 8.5 out of ten, right?” she softly reminded. “A number that can go up or down at any time.”

That got Adrien to wince. “Yeah,” he murmured.

There was a long pause, one Marinette wasn’t sure he was going to break.

“How far is ‘near future’?” he finally asked.

“Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it does.”

She paused. “Then answer how many secrets are on the line here.”

“Only one.”

“Only one?”

“Something I am not comfortable telling you or don’t intend to tell you in the near future, per your words, yes. Only one.”

Her brows knit together. Only one? Which meant… either the thing he was hiding now or the feelings. It was one or the other, but not both. “So…” she said, trying to hide her disappointment. “Are you saying that you intend to tell me this sometime in the future? But don’t know when in the future that will be?”

His brow knit together nervously, before he played it off with a warbly smile. “I’m pretty sure I answered my truth, already, princess.”

She frowned. Technically, he did, in an odd, roundabout way that somehow left her with more questions than answers. “Fine. How about we just drop this already?”

Part of her didn’t want to drop it. Part of her wanted to be able to pull another truth out of him. She wanted… needed to know which secret he was hiding. But she wasn’t sure her heart could handle it if it wasn’t the secret she wanted it to be.

“One more round,” he quickly begged.

Marinette quirked a brow but surrendered without fuss. “Fine. Dare. What are you gonna make me do now?”

He grinned. “I was hoping for that.”

“Why?”

He stopped the mixer, then came over to her and once again leaned in close. “I dare you… to come to New York with me.”

Marinette was frozen. She blinked her eyes several times, and her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth.

Eventually, she found the words to say. “I’m sorry, repeat that?”

 12. Seatmates

It had been a month since Adrien had gotten the pleasure of surprising Marinette with a trip to New York.

After Marinette had asked him for his stories of the fashion world, Adrien had been so worried that she’d walked away with the determination to surrender her former dreams, and that made him feel too guilty to handle. So, breaking the unspoken vote of confidence she’d placed in him, he’d talked to her parents.

He hadn’t divulged everything, just the bare essentials necessary to get them to understand. Mr. Dupain had seemed surprised, but the information didn’t seem to have caught Mrs. Cheng off guard. It made more sense when she admitted she’d been suspecting something was up for a while, and this had confirmed it.

So Adrien had told them what he wanted to do: give Marinette’s dreams one last encouraging push by taking her to fashion week. His original plan had been for it to be Paris’ fashion week, but he’d been keeping tabs on Chloe and her whereabouts as well as taking into account that Marinette had been barred from several Parisian schools. If she wanted school to be a reality, she wouldn’t be in Paris, meaning it might be beneficial to take her outside the country. It would give her the chance her to explore and stretch her wings in a way staying inside France would not allow.

With her parents’ blessings on the idea, Adrien had started planning. And then had come the fun part of surprising her with it.

The roller-coaster of emotions she’d gone on after his dare had been a joy to watch. Disbelief to doubt to shock to excitement. She’d been so expressive that Adrien had found himself falling even harder. And when she’d agreed to let him take her to New York—which took no small amount of convincing—he’d been over the moon.

However, there was one thing about that day he couldn’t forget. Mostly because it hung of his head. Marinette had only remembered by the end of her shift that she still had one last round of truth or dare.

“Dare,” he’d answered. It was only fair.

She’d seemed relieved almost at that. And with her words, he understood why. “I dare you to let me save my dare for another time.”

After recalling the way she’d tortured him by cashing in her last favor by making him clean out the deep, dark crannies of the freezer and storage room, he had been hesitant about this one. Even if she had repaid him for that torture with the best dinner he’d eaten in months, he still couldn’t forget the devious sparkles in her eyes as she cashed in that favor. It made him worried for just what kind of dare she would make him do.

Hopefully it wouldn’t be too bad. After all, he was taking her to New York. She wouldn’t be cruel, would she?

Quietly, he scoffed. No, this was Marinette. She could be downright devious if she wanted to and make him think he was okay with it.

A weight on his shoulder called him out of his reverie. They’d been watching a new anime he’d downloaded on his computer for the plane ride. When they started, Marinette had seemed intent on watching it, but at the moment, it seemed his seatmate was too tired to keep it up.

“Hey,” he whispered, gently shaking his shoulder.

She took an earbud out but didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“Do you want to just watch this later and sleep now?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Okay.” He paused the anime, then shut his computer screen.

Marinette shifted just enough to take out her earbuds, but then she was back to leaning against his shoulder. “This okay?” she asked, her groggy voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s fine,” he assured even though his heart protested. It was a little too okay with him. “Get some sleep.”

With one last hum, Marinette fully settled against his side, and within a little while, she was out.

Adrien sighed, leaning his head against Marinette’s.

“Truth or dare?” she asked, voice quiet.

“Truth,” he answered, going back to the mixer to turn it off.

“How many secrets would you say you’re hiding from me right now?”

He let his eyes drift closed at the memory. If only he had the courage to go for it. But this was the girl he considered to be his closest friend, and he wasn’t ready to take that plunge quite yet.

I really like you.

If she didn’t feel the same, he was sure they could go back to almost normal in time, but there would always be that rift.

A small, bitter smile suddenly crossed his lips. Here he was, trying to encourage her to follow her dreams or at least press forward to take a chance, and he was too much a coward to take his own advice.

What a hypocrite.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #adrienette #AdrinetteApril2021 #Fluff #Fluff and angst #Yeah I make you hurty #Just a little #I'll fix it soon #i promise

[jayz4dayz]

5 for Meariri?

Of course! This was a lot of fun to write! 

Prompt: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?”

Jealousy 

It was hot. Hot and sticky and miserable. Truth be told, Mary wished Kirari would have chosen a less humid location for a getaway. Technically, Mary wasn’t even supposed to be there considering this was a student council event. She wasn’t fond of a single person on the council aside from Ririka, who was the only reason why Mary agreed to go in the first place.

She just couldn’t say no to Ririka who was so excited to go and was happy to invite her to come along. Besides, sharing a hotel room alone with her girlfriend and relaxing without the burden of school work for a few days didn’t sound like a bad idea at first. Anyone would have jumped at the opportunity to go on an all expense paid trip to an exotic tropical island in another country with their significant other after all.

What Mary wasn’t prepared for was the blazing hot sun, humid weather, and having to shop for a new bathing suit and temporary clothes with Ririka because their luggage got mixed up with someone else's at the airport.

What she certainly wasn’t prepared for was the overly flirtatious clerk at the swimsuit shop who was all too eager to help Ririka find a perfect fit. Ririka was oblivious, of course, and didn’t understand that the young man was heavily flirting with her. But Mary knew and it was starting to piss her off the longer his eyes greedily awaited for Ririka to exit the dressing room in a bikini she had picked out.

“I don’t know, it looks a little tight in the bust,” Ririka said shyly from the dressing room.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you come out? Then I can see if you need a bigger size or maybe take your measurements,” the man grinned, reaching for the handle of the door.

“Um, no. I think the fuck not,” Mary stopped him in his tracks. “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.”

The man raised a brow at her. “Alright, ma’am. See if your friend needs a bigger size then.”

Friend. The word made Mary bite her tongue for she wanted to say she was much more than Ririka’s friend. It left a bitter taste in Mary’s mouth as she grumbled, walking into the changing room.

Almost instantly, her sour mood shifted the moment she saw her girlfriend shyly holding her arms as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. The bikini was an aquamarine color and fit her body near perfectly. It showed off her well toned stomach and seemed to fit in all the right places. She was stunning as always, only now even more so.

Ririka smiled slightly, blushing when she saw Mary’s wide-eyed expression. “H-how do I look?”

“Hot,” Mary breathed out. “I-I mean you look great!”

“Thank you, love. Do you think it shows off too much of my body though?” Ririka asked, lowering her arms.

To Mary, it didn’t show off enough. Not that she’d ever admit. However, it was revealing enough that she knew people would definitely look twice if they walked past Ririka. It was hard enough for her to keep her own eyes off of Ririka, but perhaps that was only because she was her girlfriend. Besides, Ririka was going to be wearing this bathing suit for one reason and one reason only: to swim. It was either this or a wetsuit, which both Kirari and Mary discouraged her from doing since the ocean water was relatively warm and it would have just been a hassle.

“Would you like a one piece instead?” Mary snickered.

Ririka pouted. “Well, not really. I kind of wanted to get a tan.”

“Babe, you don’t tan. You burn,” Mary scoffed. “And this’ll mean you’ll need to put on extra sunscreen.”

“Hm, maybe you’re right. I’ll just get a one piece,” Ririka agreed, beginning to strip down.

“You could get both,” Mary suggested. “One for the beach and one for the pool at the hotel or for other occasions. That is if it’s in our budget.”

Ririka grinned. “Money’s not an issue, so I think I will! Thank you, dearest.”

Mary maintained her tsundere attitude, rolling her eyes when Ririka briefly pecked her lips. However, she failed to hide her blush or the smirk that made its way onto her face from the sudden affection from her lover.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just hurry up so we can meet the others at the beach spot,” Mary chuckled.

Ririka’s hand intertwined with Mary’s and she grinned as they walked along the sandy sidewalk. Seeing Ririka smile warmed Mary's heart; she rarely saw her girlfriend smile. She was used to seeing the creepy smile of Ririka’s mask, something Mary was grateful Ririka left behind for this trip.

Mary received several glances from onlookers, which she normally wouldn’t pay any attention to. Until she realized they weren’t staring at the two of them, they were staring at Ririka. She was in her two piece and Mary supposed that and Ririka’s platinum hair drew a bit of attention. She protectively held her girlfriend close to her, scowling at whoever stared at her for too long.

Ririka paid no attention to that or the people who looked at her. She only smiled brighter, thinking Mary was only being extra affectionate to her which she’d gladly accept. She’d never deny it since Mary typically only showed her affection when they were alone or occasionally when they were with friends.

“Clingy today, hm?” Ririka teased.

“Maybe,” Mary grumbled, her cheeks reddening.  

Ririka recognized that tone of voice. Mary was greatly irritated by something. What it was, Ririka couldn’t figure out yet. It was hot outside and she knew how much Mary hated hot weather, but soon they’d be in the cool, soothing water of the ocean. So she didn’t dwell much on the thought.

Once they arrived at the location, they were greeted by Kirari and Sayaka. Kirari immediately handed her sister a bottle of sunscreen, to which Ririka began to complain. The two started to bicker while Sayaka insisted for Ririka to apply sunblock. The conversation bored Mary, so she walked over to an empty area and took her beach towel out of her bag. She laid it across the sand before sitting down, watching sea birds dive into the ocean.

Eventually, Ririka walked over to Mary in defeat, plopping down on the towel. She laid her head in Mary’s lap and pouted, looking up at her.

“Riri, you’re gonna get sunscreen on my jeans!” Mary laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair out of Ririka’s face.

“Kirari put too much on me,” Ririka cringed, trying to rub the whiter areas on her arms that still had sunblock on it. “I don’t burn that badly.”

Mary snorted. “Yeah you do. Even worse than I do.”

“Whatever,” Ririka groaned. “I want to swim eventually. Maybe I’ll see some fish.”

“Nah, chances are you’ll only see Midari trying to drown,” Mary replied. “If you’re lucky, you’ll see Yuriko-senpai drown trying to save her.”

Ririka looked out at the shore, seeing Midari chasing Yuriko with a dead or perhaps horrifyingly still alive sea jelly as the poor girl shrieked and tried to evade her. “Hm... or Yuriko will try to drown Midari herself.”  

“Yeah and Midari would probably let her,” Mary snickered as she too watched Midari torment Yuriko. “Maybe that was her plan all along, the damn masochist.”

“I don’t know,” Ririka sighed in disinterest. “Will you go swimming with me?”

“Later maybe. I don’t wanna get covered in sand if I can avoid it,” Mary responded curtly. "Besides, then I'd have to change out of my jeans which I really don't wanna do."

Ririka grinned, wrapping her arms around the blonde’s waist. “Do you want to just stay like this for a while then?”

“I can get used to this,” Mary smirked in agreement.

And so they did, enjoying the ocean breeze and each other’s presence. For a while at least, until Kirari and Sayaka returned. Mary only glared at them as they approached, hoping they were only coming over to grab something from their bag or that they’d walk right past them.

“We’re playing badminton,” Kirari announced with her signature sly smile, wrapping her arm around Sayaka.

“That’s nice. Have fun, I guess,” Mary raised a brow at them in dismissal.

Sayaka’s face was bright red, regardless of her efforts of trying to remain in her professional Secretary persona. “T-the President is referring to the four of us.”

“Tch, I’m not playing against her. She never plays fair for gambling or sports,” Mary scoffed.

“Your incapability in athletics is no excuse for accusing me of not playing fair, Saotome,” Kirari faked a pout that made Mary’s blood boil.

“We’ll play only if I choose who’s on each side,” Ririka chimed in. “And Mary is very athletic, Rari. Her flexibility is impeccable.”

Mary’s face felt hot as Ririka winked at her, catching on to the double entendre. “T-thanks.”

Kirari pursed her lips. “Very well then. I have no issue with this.”

Ririka grinned and looked at Sayaka who was still practically attached to Kirari by the hip. “Sayaka, are you alright with being my partner for this?”

Mary instantly felt a stab of betrayal and she could tell by Kirari’s sudden shift in expression that the feeling was very much mutual. The younger twin squinted at the blonde, silently voicing her displeasure with this sudden arrangement. Mary shot back a sinister glare with just as much venom.

It was clear neither were expecting Ririka to choose Sayaka. It would have been less surprising had she chosen Kirari, even. Perhaps this was all for Ririka’s entertainment, knowing that Kirari and Mary would rather eat sand than pair up together for anything.

Sayaka gave Kirari a look of panic to which Kirari gave a slight nod, kissing Sayaka’s forehead before releasing her. Sayaka’s expression immediately softened.

Sayaka gave a light smile. “I would be honored to be your partner, Ririka-san.”

Jealousy tugged at Mary’s heart. She despised feeling jealous of Sayaka, someone she knew followed Kirari around like a lost puppy and devoted her life to her. Maybe it was because she knew Ririka shared the same face as Kirari that made her feel like Sayaka was some sort of threat. Mary of all people knew that Ririka and Kirari were two very different people, regardless of their similar features. Yet it still got under her skin.

“Now that it’s settled, I’m going to ask Runa to be the score keeper,” Kirari spoke up; her tone was bitter.

Mary sighed, getting up and dusted off the sand from her legs. She watched as Kirari and Sayaka walked towards the volleyball net which she was sure they were going to use for their game.

Ririka smiled mischievously at her to which Mary responded with the roll of her eyes. “Was it really necessary pairing me up with Kirari?”

“Of course it was,” Ririka nodded. “You said you wanted things to be fair. Had Kirari and I been on the same side, there would be an unfair advantage since the two of us are unstoppable at pretty much every sport. Had I paired us with each other’s significant other, all of us would be distracted. This pairing assures that Kirari won’t try to cheat because you’ll be there to catch it, though I’m not sure how she could cheat in badminton. Regardless, this will be a good way for the two of you to work on your team work skills and maybe help you bond with each other.”

It made sense at least, but the last thing she wanted was to be on the same team as Kirari Momobami. Hell, she would have rather been paired with Sayaka and accepted whatever loss they took if the twins dominated in the game. She couldn’t have cared less about victory or loss seeing as how she didn’t even want to play in the first place.

Being paired with Kirari complicated things. She knew how competitive Kirari was and she did not want to hear Kirari’s constant complaints and reminders of how shitty of a player Mary was if she didn’t put any effort into the game.

So Mary was trapped, and very much frustrated with the whole situation. All she could really do was sigh and grin and bear it for the time being. It was just one game after all. How bad could it be?

Mary severely underestimated just how competitive Kirari was and Ririka for that matter. Her girlfriend was right in saying that she and Kirari would have absolutely had an advantage had Mary been paired with Sayaka. In all honesty, it looked more like the twins were going against each other rather than all four of them.

Mary and Sayaka couldn’t keep up with how fast Ririka and Kirari were. Their speed and accuracy was almost inhuman; Mary and Sayaka more or less gave up and just watched the twins compete. It’s not like they were able to attempt to score anyway; Kirari and Ririka were always quick to beat them to it.

Because of the twins rarely missing a hit, the game stretched on far longer than Mary wanted. Both sides were tied and still needed several more points to win. Even Runa looked like she was growing bored, scrolling on her phone since she knew this game wasn’t going anywhere.

The only good thing about this was that Mary got to watch her lover sweat and see those beautiful muscles go to good work. She looked so beautiful, even like this. Her eyes had a fiery tint to them, glowing from her competitive spirit. It made Mary's core burn with desire.

Ririka was panting heavily by the time Runa called for a break so the twins could catch their breath. Mary and Sayaka were hardly breaking a sweat, not that they had a reason to anyway.

“Sayaka and I haven’t scored a single point, so I don’t understand why you didn’t just ask Ririka to play with you,” Mary commented.

Kirari panted, tying up her hair that had long since fallen out of its braids. “I’m beginning to regret not doing so. You haven’t been very helpful.”

“Because you won’t let me hit the feather thing!” Mary shouted in defense.

“It’s called a shuttlecock, heathen,” Kirari huffed. “And I know you’d likely intentionally miss and allow the other team to score so you can get this game over with.”

“Honestly at this point, yeah,” Mary confirmed. “I just wanna be done with this and spend the rest of the day with my girlfriend.”

“Well I refuse to lose in front of Sayaka,” Kirari muttered. “So you’re sorely mistaken if you believe I’ll concede to defeat so easily.”

Mary sighed. “If I make an effort to help you win, do you think the game will end sooner?”

“Perhaps, but if we lose even after you give your all, you know I won’t let you hear the end of it, don’t you?” Kirari smirked.

“I expect nothing less and I really don’t give a shit,” Mary grumbled.

“Oki! Let’s resume!” Runa shouted in a clearly faked cheerful tone. “But I’m changing things up. The team to score the next point wins!”

“Why the sudden change of rules, Runa?” Sayaka asked.

Runa sighed. “I’m tired of being the scorekeeper and I wanna go swimming, so let’s get this over with.”

That news was music to Mary’s ears. Now that it was just one point she had to worry about, her mood finally turned competitive. She wanted to end this. She wanted to win this not just to keep Kirari off her back, but to impress Ririka as well.

Everyone got into position. It was Ririka’s turn to serve and Mary didn’t keep her eyes off of her. Ririka glanced over at Mary, giving her a quick smile before serving. Kirari was quicker than Mary, hitting the shuttlecock back onto the other side. Mary rolled her eyes and watched as Sayaka hit it next, sending it towards her.

After sending it back and forth several times, things became rather intense as now all four participants kept their eyes glued on the shuttlecock flying through the air. Mary knew Sayaka was expecting her to always send it to Ririka, so she decided to catch the violet-eyed girl off guard.

Thwack. Sayaka and Ririka watched as the shuttlecock glided through the air. Mary watched as if it were in slow motion as Ririka ran to hit it and surprisingly didn’t miss. However, she crashed into Sayaka in the process, falling on top of her. It wouldn’t have been as bad had Ririka not accidentally placed her hands on Sayaka’s breasts, making the entire scenario all the more awkward. Both Mary and Kirari watched with wide eyes, completely ignoring the fact that the shuttlecock had already landed in their zone.

“O-oh my god, I’m so sorry, Sayaka!” Ririka squeaked and instantly lifted her hands, her face turning bright red from embarrassment.

“That’s… that’s…” Sayaka couldn’t even finish her sentence for she also was too embarrassed.

Mary snapped out of her gaze when she heard laughing next to her. She snapped her head towards Kirari who looked all too amused by this.

“Ara, ara, what I would give to be in my dear sister’s position right now,” Kirari grinned cheekily.

"Does that not make you even a little bit mad?" Mary hissed.

Kirari chuckled. "Of course not. I find this to be quite amusing."

"Of course you do," Mary growled.

“Ririka-chan’s team wins!” Runa announced, startling all of them. Apparently they had forgotten she was there. “Game over! Finally.”

“Good,” Mary grumbled, storming off away from them.

She heard somebody call out after her, but she paid no attention to it. What happened was a complete accident, she knew she shouldn’t have felt angry or jealous. The fact that it happened to Sayaka and not her was perhaps what made her the most upset. But she knew she had to let it go. It was a stupid thing to be upset over.

She plopped down onto her beach towel with a huff, glancing towards the crashing waves in the distance. She saw Midari’s arms wrapped around Yuriko’s waist as they allowed the water to rush past their knees. Mary wished that was her with Ririka right about now. Perhaps not in the water, but instead in the comfort and privacy of their hotel room.

“Are you alright? You looked really upset,” a familiar voice said from behind.

Mary slightly turned her head and her face softened upon seeing her girlfriend. “Yeah, I’m alright. I’m just tired.”

Ririka knelt down, her cerulean eyes full of concern. “Are you sure there’s nothing bothering you? You can talk to me, you know.”

‘Yes, the fact that I haven’t had a damn minute alone with you yet today and people left and right have been looking at you in a way only I should be,’ Mary wanted to say.

Mary shook her head. “Like I said, I’m tired. Don't worry about it. Do you still want to go swimming?”

“Of course!” Ririka grinned. “The badminton game really made me hot so I want to go cool off. Are you going to join me?”

“Maybe I’ll dip my toes in,” Mary smiled, hoping to lighten the mood. “But don’t push your luck.”

“Alright, I’ll see you there then,” Ririka said softly, kissing the top of Mary’s head.

Mary watched Ririka walk over to the shore before wading her way into the water. She chuckled when she saw her dive into a wave and move her platinum hair out of her face when she returned to the surface. She looked happy. Seeing that made Mary happy. Though her day hadn’t gone as planned in the slightest, she was at least relieved Ririka was having fun. She rarely got a break like this and genuinely had fun. School work and helping Kirari run their psychotic family was stressful enough on top of maintaining their position as top gamblers. Ririka deserved a chance to breathe and be herself for once.

Mary got up and rolled up her pant legs before walking over to the shore. She noticed that Ririka had swam much deeper into the water, but wasn’t too concerned. She shivered slightly when the cold water touched her feet, but it was refreshing nonetheless. It was hot anyway, so it felt nice.

She stood there for a moment enjoying the breeze and the shifting sand beneath her toes, finally feeling calm. That is until she saw a lifeguard run past her and into the water. She was swimming closer and closer to where Ririka was which caused Mary to panic.

All she could do was anxiously wait and watch as the lifeguard tugged Ririka parallel to where they were until they reached the shore. Mary sprinted to them, still in a panicked state of mind. Ririka held onto the lifeguard’s arm, her face red either from exhaustion or embarrassment… or because the lifeguard was very attractive.

“I-is she okay? Is she hurt? What happened?” The blonde asked frantically.

The lifeguard gave a friendly smile. “Your friend got caught in a rip tide, but she’s alright now.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Ririka stuttered in embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it,” the lifeguard assured her. “Just be careful swimming in this area of the beach. Alright, beautiful?”

That was it. That was the comment that made Mary nearly lose it. It was too much. With all that had already happened, the flirting from the clerk earlier, the looks from people on the street, Ririka falling on Sayaka, and now the attractive lifeguard flirting with Ririka, Mary's jealousy had finally gotten to a point where she was about to snap if she didn't get so much as a minute alone with her girlfriend.

“Thanks for saving my girlfriend, ” Mary said in the nicest tone she could, emphasizing on the word 'girlfriend.'

“Just doing my job,” the lifeguard nodded. “You two have a good day now!”

Mary crossed her arms, trying her hardest to not let her inner emotions show.

“Mary?” Ririka asked with caution. “You okay?”

Mary huffed, looking up at her. “Yes. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” Ririka smirked.

Mary’s face turned bright red. “No! I just...yes. A little.”

Ririka knew that was an understatement. She took a step closer to her lover, looking down at her. Mary was pouting and refusing to look at her now. Ririka placed a hand on Mary’s cheek, turning her face to look at her.

“You know I only have eyes for you,” the platinum haired girl whispered seductively.

“I-I know that! I’m not doubting your loyalty or anything! I just don’t like people looking at you the way I do,” Mary admitted, placing her hand over Ririka’s lovingly.

Ririka chuckled. "There's so much irony in this situation."

Mary raised a confused brow. "Huh?"

"You think I don't get jealous whenever someone looks at you with lust in their eyes? There are girls and boys in school including in our friend group who I know would give anything to be in a room alone with you," Ririka explained.

Mary was all too aware of her popularity at Hyakkaou. Heck, every Valentine's Day she received love letters from people she'd never even met. Being a top gambler had its perks, but Mary didn't necessarily consider that to be one. Especially now that she was no longer single and had to reject people instead of just brush them aside.

"Our friend group? Who?" Mary asked with a bewildered expression.

"Ryota," Ririka said softly.

"Okay, Suzui doesn't count. He gets flustered around everyone. Remember how much he blushed when he saw you without your mask for the first time? He's just a bundle of awkwardness," Mary explained with a scoff. "Who else?"

Ririka hesitated. "Yumeko."

Oh. Now that Mary could understand. Yumeko was a touchy person by nature, but she was different around Mary. Perhaps it was because she had feelings for her or maybe it was because she was close to Mary. Whatever the reason, Mary could see why Ririka could be jealous of her.

Mary rubbed her neck awkwardly. "Yeah, okay. I can see that. I've never had feelings for Yumeko though."

"Really?" Ririka asked with wide eyes.

"I care about her and all, but she has a hard time with boundaries. You always respect my boundaries and care about how I feel. Even today, you checked in on me when you felt like something was wrong," Mary blushed.

"And something was," Ririka nodded. "Communicating is important, my love. Without talking to me about these things, our relationship wouldn't be solid. We agreed from the start to be honest with each other about everything, right?"

Mary smiled fondly. "Right."

"So be honest with me now. You haven't gotten what you've wanted all day," Ririka sighed, placing her hands on Mary's hips. "What would you like to do now? What do you want?"

Mary licked her lips and breathed out. "You."  

"I'm all yours," Ririka whispered.

Ririka's eyes sparkled with desire. Her eyes fluttered shut as she pulled Mary close, pressing their two lips together. Mary smiled into the kiss and the world around them fell away. All they could hear was the crashing waves behind them. It was a moment, a single blissful moment that felt like a lifetime. Kissing Ririka always had that affect, like she was the only other person in the world.

The two broke free for air and pressed their foreheads together.

"I want more," Mary panted. "Somewhere alone with you. Do you think we can go to the hotel?"

"Hm, perhaps. Though the rental car is closer, don't you agree?" Ririka smirked.

The heat between Mary's legs grew more prominent now and had this been any other time, she would have obliged. But she wanted absolute privacy with no risks of being intruded.

Mary shook her head. "No, I want to be alone in a room with you. I need you, Riri."

Ririka grinned, briefly kissing Mary's lips once more before holding her hand, gently tugging her to walk away with her.

"Then what are we waiting for?"

#kakegurui #mary saotome #ririka momobami #mary x ririka #meariri

[chrisevansgoodgirl]

light of my life, fire of my loins. be a good baby, do what i want.

summary: requested: Andy Barber gives me such strong sugar daddy vibes I haven’t watched the show but he just looks like the kinda guy who would spoil the shit outta someone

warnings: smut everywhere. and you know, sugar daddy shit, so. also, doesn’t make a lot of sense. I have a lot more that I actually wrote, I just wasn’t sure where I was going with this. so...prompt sugar andy daddy if you want more???

word count: around 10,400

pairing: andy barber  x reader

a/n: anon! I want you to know that I started working on this as soon as you requested it! I just wanted to make sure I really got sugar daddy andy down and that it wasn’t steve rogers that I was writing. I am so sorry bc you definitely deserved this a very long time ago! if there are any typos, I apologize, I just needed to get this posted before work.

When you met Andy, you had been juggling three jobs, gaining more debt than you would probably ever be able to pull off even with a degree, fairly sucky grades caused by how much you worked, resulting in stress, anxiety, all that great shit that comes along with being someone in America that dares to want to pursue higher education.

After a few months dating Andy, you had one job that you only kept for autonomy reasons, shrinking debt, excellent grades, and truly, no stress at all. Instead of spending a night waiting tables at the restaurant near the campus, where disgusting men would flirt with you because you were on the clock and literally could not leave, you were in a tiny ass dress, covered in diamonds, drinking champagne, and trying not to be too obvious about the cum dripping down your thighs.

Obscene was often a word that you played with in your mind whenever you were with Andy. Your outfits were indecent because he loved seeing as much of your skin as he possibly could. Your behavior was shameless, you showed up, you laughed, you hung onto him the entire night with the smuggest of smiles. Your willingness, especially in public, was vulgar, the way you let him touch you in front of everyone. Salacious. Indecorous. Immoral. Debauched.

These parties that he took you to were only half of it. According to his son, Jacob, Andy hadn’t been one for socializing before the divorce. He claimed that this was something new his father picked up, something that he theorized was the consequence of loneliness. You figured that you also fell under that category. These people weren’t actually his friends and you weren’t actually his girlfriend.

Andy wanted a distraction and you were just fucked up and high-maintenance enough to be perfect for the job. Getting into the swing of things had been quite the task at the start, much to your surprise. Who didn’t want a gorgeous man to spoil them? Apparently you, if your earlier behavior was any indication.

You had started this with wanting to be as professional as possible. When you had pictured how this would look, it was you listening to him speak whenever he wanted, you would respond when prompted but it would be short, succinct, and your main concern would be maintaining your physical attractiveness. You tried to think of him as your employer, you were his employee, and that meant that there needed to be respect and boundaries. You pictured a lot of pretending. Pretending to laugh, pretending to care, pretending to enjoy his company, pretending to come.

You had also thought you were going to smart. This wasn’t some stupid Lifetime movie and you had dreams and goals and if you played your cards right, this man could put you on a sure path to reaching all you had ever hoped to accomplish. At least, that was what you were telling yourself when you’d had the mental quandary: were you a prostitute?

Thankfully, both phases of resistance had been dropped—possibly around the first time he went down on you. You were no expert, but “professional” probably barred him from fucking you in about 90% of his chosen locations. And whether you were a “prostitute”, an “escort”, a “hooker”, or whatever other demeaning word anyone could come up with, was another unimportant matter. Anyone could call you anything, at the end of the day, you had money.

It was supposed to be clean, a black and white exchange where you showed up and he paid you. At any point, you could step on the brakes, he could step on the brakes—something you had once found relief in, but was now a source of insecurity, not that you would ever tell him that. He didn’t need to know about your life, what you wanted to do after school, who your friends were, your shaky relationship with your parents, the reasons why someone like you wanted to enter this relationship.

But he asked about those things because rules seemed to either not exist to him, or they just weren’t meaningful. And you hadn’t felt pressured to answer or anything, if that was the case, you would have just lied. The fact of the matter was that eventually you told him these things because you didn’t mind him knowing about your life.

He was not supposed to be kind or smart or interesting. He was not supposed to be a good guy. Clearly, he didn’t get the memo. There should be an official organization that lets men know you can’t just be perfect and spoil someone if you look anything like Andrew Barber.

It was the middle of April in Massachusetts and that meant it was still just a little too chilly for the slinky slip Andy had picked out for you, but that was what all the champagne was for. You were buzzing and it wasn’t just that you were getting drunk. Summer was approaching and he often spoke about all of the things he wanted to do with you now that you had more free time and he gave you these looks and you could just get lost in his eyes and plans even though you knew better.

You had been doing this long enough that people had finally stopped staring. The first few times Andy brought you, they were blatant and downright rude, but it wasn’t like you could do anything about it. Despite the disproportionate wealth shared amongst this group, it wasn’t too often that someone brought along a much younger woman that they were undoubtedly paying. Most of these men were married and either brought their wives along or tales of their affairs.

The rich people here treated this like an elite group, so when people like you were around, not everyone was welcoming. The other few women that had similar situations to yours were kind enough and tried to get to know you better—shared experiences create great friendships, right? Andy didn’t think so, he discouraged any type of communication and claimed that it was because they didn’t tend to stick around long. You theorized he just didn’t want you spending time with anyone that wasn’t him.

The woman across from Andy, Francesca, had been around for as long as you could remember. She had long, dark brown hair, flawless eyebrows, a great jawline, and an even greater ass. She was a few years older than him and several older than you.

You often pondered just how much more interesting than you she was. See, she had never hidden that she was attracted to him, but Andy seemed oblivious. You couldn’t tell if he actually was or was just pretending not to notice. You told yourself it was deeper than just the age, that there was another, much different reason that he wasn’t interested in her.

But, of course, you couldn’t ask. You couldn’t talk to him about other women because that was teetering on the edge of possessiveness and jealousy. Those were two of the few luxuries that you would be denied. Romance would not be found here, just a lot of mutual lust and understanding.

She laughed at something he said, pulling you back into the moment. As you sipped on your champagne, you returned to your favorite activity at these parties: people watching. You were starting to pick up on some of the drama and whatever blanks were left at the end of the nights, Andy usually filled them for you.

There were certain types of men that always bred the most scandalous scenarios. Those are the same few men that had only just recently stopped trying to buy you away from Andy by offering you more money than he was paying you. Yes, technically, that was what you were here for, but Andy was not like these men.

For starters, most everyone in attendance was a lawyer. They followed the model of: the worse the job was, the better the pay. Unlike them, Andy didn’t represent sleazy, rich rapists or murderers. That was just the start of the differences. He didn’t get so drunk that he caused a scene at these parties, he didn’t touch drugs, and he wasn’t going through some tragic midlife crisis that he was trying to placate with cars or women.

When you looked back at the pair, Andy was texting and Francesca was eyeing your hand around the glass were sipping from. She was looking at your rings—oh, your rings. You loved your rings.

Originally, you’d thought you weren’t going to ask for or accept anything stupid. You just needed your bills paid, your rent, your car. You wanted to be able to eat more than once a day. Andy quickly realized that you wouldn’t ask, if he wanted you to have something, he was just going to have to give it to you.

(On your very first date, he’d given you a diamond bracelet. You had been stunned, maybe even a little uncomfortable. It was hard to accept such expensive items from strangers. However, you did like it and wore it almost every day even though it made no sense with most of your outfits. You’d simply grown fond of it because it had come from him.)

(On the fourth date, he gave you a three-strand diamond necklace that strongly resembled a collar. You adored it, not the way you adored your rings, but it still gave you butterflies whenever he would clasp it around your neck and then kiss the skin directly under it. These were things that he’d called gifts, but you recognized them for what they actually were, signs of ownership.)

The first ring had been a reward. You’d made it through midterms, so he took you to the jewelry shop that’s on the way back to your apartment from his house. After three hours and a lot of wine—you’d needed to be drunk the first few times you knew he was spending money on you—you left with the tiara ring for your pinky finger. It was a loud piece of intricate curls on top of and underneath a row of tiny hearts. This ring was the most special, the first, you rarely ever took it off—only for school.

The second had been an apology. He’d convinced you to spend the night at his house even though he knew you really didn’t want to. He had kissed your neck and your face and had two of his fingers inside you, he had whispered all the things he still wanted to do to you that night. Around two in the morning, you’d gone to get water from the kitchen. You were in a pair of panties and one of Andy’s shirts that you didn’t bother to button up. That was how you were dressed when you met his son for the first time. Two days later, you had the butterfly ring in its spot at the base of your index finger. It was gaudy and expensive but did little to quell your anger and humiliation. You loved it, nonetheless.

The third had been an anniversary present. This relationship had reached its 100-day mark, he took you to his favorite restaurant, the same one he had taken you to for your first date. Which wasn’t romantic at all, there were a lot of terms being discussed. This time had been much different. He asked you for your hand and slipped the ring onto your third finger without a word, he merely eyed the only empty finger with the unstated promise that that finger would soon have one as well. It was this huge oval cut diamond that covered the width of your finger, atop two bands of smaller but still fairly large identically cut diamonds.

A little less than three weeks after that, it had been…well, you still weren’t quite sure what the fourth ring was. It wasn’t often that Andy didn’t drive you. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, you had only one class so he would drop you off and pick you up during his lunch break so you could get coffee together. On Wednesdays and Fridays, you had more than one class so he would drop you off and he would pick you up when he got off work.

One Wednesday morning, your first class had been canceled so you ended up driving yourself. Andy took Wednesdays and Fridays as his early days off because he didn’t want you waiting in the library too long after your final class let out, so those had become the simple nights when he would come over to your apartment even though he really didn’t like it there—you figured he was struggling with the urge to buy you a much bigger apartment, one that would probably coincidentally be closer to his house as well.

You had made the plan to cook dinner that night so before heading home, you drove to the grocery store… Fortunately, no one was hurt. Unfortunately, at your place just in front of the stoplight, a car in the turn lane drove right into your car. Honestly, it wasn’t a big deal considering your life of absolute privilege and you just wanted to get the whole thing over with.

Andy wasn’t quite as level-headed. The other driver was a middle-aged man so Andy felt no reluctance in throwing a fit. You had been torn between being humiliated that he was fussing so much over you, flattered that he cared, angry that he was treating you like you were a fragile vase, or maybe just a little turned on because he was so angry.

That night, instead of your place, he took you to his house and spoiled the hell out of you. He undressed you and kissed you everywhere, he bundled you up in one of his sweaters and a throw blanket, sat you down on the bed, and made you hot chocolate. You were not allowed to lift a single finger. That was the first night you spent at his house, and since Jacob wasn’t there, Andy didn’t hesitate to fuck you for hours and make you scream as loudly as he wanted you to.

The next morning, when you woke up, the black velvet box was set on the pillow between you and him. He was propped up on the headboard with his laptop and the clock on his bedside table was saying that it was well past noon. Clearly, he decided to stay home from work and if there wasn’t jewelry in front of you, you would have given him a lecture.

It was a princess cut diamond—which he would later explain with ‘you are my princess’—with a double halo and a diamond-encrusted band. It was smaller than all the rest but somehow just went perfectly.

You weren’t bragging, at least not in a petty way. It was just that any time you noticed someone staring at your hand, you couldn’t help but try to draw more attention to it, or the other jewelry Andy showered you in.

You supposed that maybe that meant something, maybe during your little back and forth a few hours prior when he had accused you of being spoiled, he was onto something. Regardless, the only person who could be blamed for that was him.

You almost got lost in the diamonds on your hand when Andy reached out to you, pulling some hair over your shoulder. You looked up at him, he was smiling softly. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you ready to go?”

He really didn’t like these parties; he was always the one that wanted to leave and would slyly place the blame on you. You were tired, you weren’t feeling well, you had a tough week and you just wanted to go home. You never minded because it wasn’t as if you got anything out of these parties either, and if that was the easiest way to pull him out of there, so be it. It was Sunday anyway, he had to work tomorrow and you had to go over your weekly schedule with him before the night was over.

“Sure.”

It started as a quiet drive, just like it always did, but then he placed his hand on your thigh. You glanced at him, arching an eyebrow. He simply smirked and kept his gaze on the road. You opened your legs wide, guiding two of his fingers inside you. “Can you feel your cum in me?”

“Not enough.”

“You’re the one that made me stand for almost an hour.”

“I’ll fill you up again before you go to class tomorrow.”

You snorted. “Lucky me.”

He shot you a look. “Oh, you don’t like it?”

“Never said that.”

“Well, if you don’t, I don’t need to—”

“I was kidding,” you whined.

He gave you a look, pretending he was unconvinced. “You’ve had an attitude all night.”

“You spanked me,” you reminded. The memory, the sore feeling on your ass whenever you sat down, had kept you wet all night. “Hard.”

“You talked back.”

You had because you wanted him to spank you. The first time he had, it was quite the discovery. It was after a drink, after you were feeling a little daring. He told you no, and you really hated when he did that. You couldn’t even remember what you had said, but it was bad, it was enough to get your skirt torn down, you bent over his knee, and well, the rest was a blissful blur.

This time it was because he was in a mood. You were getting dressed and he was watching you and that always meant something. You weren’t sure what exactly, but there were a few things you picked up on with Andy. When he wanted to be in control, he didn’t necessarily just want you to submit completely. When he gave you a look, you knew that he wanted you to fight just a bit. So, he told you to wear a specific dress and you refused initially. Cue the spanking. After your whole body felt hot and flushed and your legs were shaking and your cunt was dripping, you obliged, and he was so damn smug about it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, because my fingers are inside you and you want me to make you come.”

“Well…yes.”

He laughed and you couldn’t help but smile. You loved the sound of it. Andy so rarely laughed but you took it to mean that he felt comfortable enough around you. “If you can be patient, I’ll fuck you when we get home.”

Home. His home. Whatever. “And if I can’t?”

“Then you’re going to have to wait until the morning and I might not feel like letting you come. Deal?”

You nodded. “Deal.”

But he didn’t play fair. He drove slower than usual, fingers still buried inside you, and he moved them. A lot. He tried to cover it with stupid things, like driving over a pothole or making a sharp turn. If you moved your hips once, just barely, you lost. So, you sat there, completely still, gripping the seat like it was a lifeline.

Upstairs, you waited for him to make the rounds. Jacob wasn’t there, thankfully, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been there earlier. Andy went around every door and window and made sure they were locked.

In that time, you got undressed and waited for him. You had a couple of red marks across your ass that you could see in the mirror on the opposite end of the bedroom. He always liked seeing your skin marked up in some way if he was the reason.

When he entered the room, you were sitting on the edge of the bed. “Stand up.”

You quickly did so, turning your back to him so he could see your ass. His palms lightly felt along the marked skin there. “It doesn’t hurt.”

He rarely asked, but you found that he fucked you better when he knew for sure. You just started letting him know and it seemed he trusted you enough to voice any boundaries you had if he ever crossed them.

One hand slowly trailed up your spine and slid across to your shoulder. He pressed you down quickly and you caught yourself on the mattress with both hands. You could hardly stay still as you heard his belt and zipper.

He easily pushed into you, body flush against yours. He let you adjust around him, staying perfectly still as he leaned over you and kissed your back, neck, and shoulders. Andy didn’t move until you angled your hips and pressed back a little more, whimpering nonsense.

This was so unlike the two times earlier. In the closet, after he spanked you, he sat you on top of his lap and made you ride him. At the party, in the bathroom, he stood you in front of the mirror and gently fucked you until he had filled you with his cum. This was fast, rough, and maybe a little detached if you really thought about it.

Andy took your waist in both hands and held you in place as he pounded into you relentlessly. Slapping skin, your soaking wet pussy, the bed banging against the wall on his particularly hard thrusts, these had become noises you were more than used to, noises you had grown to crave. Being with Andy was never supposed to be like this, but you didn’t have a single complaint.

You buried your face in the blankets, hands clutching tight at the sheets around you as your muffled screams filled the room. You knew he was close when his hands began to wander. One carded through your hair and pressed you down more, the other moved under you to reach your clit.

“You were such a good girl in the car.”

Your response was unintelligible, but yes. You had been more than just good. You had waited for him even though he was being a tease, and now, you wanted what he owed you. Which he didn’t deny you, not for a second.

He made you come. Once. Twice. Maybe three times. But after that, it was all just nonsense, satisfying, endless nonsense. He was still holding you by the hair, but he’d turned your head so you could breathe, and he was still circling his fingers around your clit.

Your back arched, allowing him in deeper—one of the tells of your approaching orgasm. You felt your pussy tighten around his fingers and began begging him to let you come. Even in this hazy, fucked-out state, you wanted to please him, you wanted his praise and approval.

He gave you permission like he always did and fully intended to fuck you through it. He only paused because he felt you spilling down his thighs, felt the wet sheets against his skin, heard light drops on the hardwood floor. Fuck.

He pulled you against him immediately, your sweat-slicked back to his chest. One arm draped across your chest, the opposite hand wrapped around your neck. You were watching him, eyes clear with curiosity. “You just squirted, princess.”

You blinked and attempted to voice your confusion. Problem was, his hips were still moving. You had no time to recover and there was no chance your brain had at making sense of anything in that moment.

“It was fucking hot and you’re going to do it again.”

Needless to say, you skipped classes the next day.

Andy liked to celebrate the monthly anniversaries.

He was big on creating traditions, you assumed that was just that part of him that had been hardwired to crave a normal family. He hadn’t told you much about his life and you didn’t want to pry—his dad wasn’t around and his mom had been but she died when he was pretty young. He shared this only after he asked about your parents.

The most personal he had ever gotten with you was one night when he had intended to take advantage of your drunk and thoroughly fucked state, obviously convinced that you wouldn’t remember the question in the morning. Do you believe in love?

It was weird given the setting and that you and Andy simply didn’t talk like that. It was dangerous because this could never be more than it was. You were both only allowed feelings of lust, maybe even obsession, but nothing of the usual sense. And Andy was so strict and controlled, you were surprised he would cross any sort of line.

You tried to play it off, tried to tell him that you had more important things to worry about. He didn’t like that response. He pressed because he was just like that, his career was all about pressing and sometimes, he brought it home. You ended up telling him that you viewed marriage as a waste of time. Your parents divorced, all your aunts and uncles, even the younger friends who got married out of high school were on the fast track to messy court dates and vicious custody battles. You also pointed out his situation. If someone as perfect as him couldn’t stay married, no one could.

It was then that he told you the happiest moments of his life were carving pumpkins or decorating the Christmas tree with Jacob. He had loved Valentine’s Day with Laurie, he was the one that had always insisted on doing something. He even looked forward to the smaller holidays, Independence Day, Memorial Day, any day that got Jacob out of school and him an extra day off so they could have a cookout in the backyard.

It wasn’t his intent, but it had sort of created a barrier between you two. You wished he still had his family even if that meant never meeting him. He was that kind of man, a good man, and you could tell that it weighed on him every day that he no longer had his perfect family.

He’d never pictured his life like this, a failed marriage, a child separated between his parents. He never would have entertained the idea of needing someone like you. He didn’t say that last part, but you knew. Sometimes, it was just in the way he looked at you. You feared he would grow to resent you one day, but you always tried to push that thought far away.

Regardless, the distance was there and he realized it even if he didn’t say it. There was also the matter that school had just let out meaning you had zero excuses for saying no to him when he proposed the trip to New York that would coincide with the 7-month mark of your relationship.

You’d never been and you’d always wanted to see Moulin Rouge on Broadway. He’d decided to drive to New York because you had once made the mistake of telling him you hated airports. It was a short road trip, one you weren’t entirely unwelcoming of. Especially not when he kept his hand on your thigh most of the time. It was late when you made it to the hotel and surprisingly, he had no issues with you diving straight into bed.

The morning was quite different. The hotel window had a perfect view of the city and he felt inclined to fuck you against it as soon as you both woke up. Then, he wanted to take you shopping. For nearly two entire days, he spoiled the hell out of you. Anywhere you wanted to go, he would take you. Anything you glanced at, he wanted to buy it for you.

On the night of the show, he finally took you to Victoria’s Secret. You’d seen pictures of it before, but you had not anticipated how beautiful it would look in person. You went crazy, you took him to the fitting room and tortured him on every single floor with both clothing and lingerie. Several hours had been devoted to teasing him and he let you know that after the show, you would regret your decisions.

Before you managed to get him back to the hotel so you could get ready, he needed to spend another awful amount of money on you. There was a jewelry shop just down the street from Victoria’s Secret and he couldn’t let you leave the state—as he claimed when he saw you frown—without at least one diamond.

You wanted nothing, but you knew the chances of him allowing that were nonexistent. So, you told yourself to keep it small, but one thing that had become a harsh reality since you met Andy: you were a sad, pathetic victim to larger, shinier diamonds. You immediately fell in love with a short string of sizable heart-shaped diamonds, the one larger heart dangling in the center is what had caught your eye.

Regardless of this terrible habit you had developed—this feeling that you craved, the pure joy that you got from people knowing that Andy was buying you diamonds—you tried to protest when he caught you staring. You just wanted a bracelet, really. He rarely ever gave you bracelets.

Instead, he sent you off to get coffee. You knew exactly why that was. He often got rid of you when he was about to make decisions that he knew would make you feel bad. You wanted to refuse, but what was better? Blissful ignorance or sitting there just watching him toss out the money for that necklace?

Learning what Andy liked at Starbucks had been a process. He didn’t like his coffee sweet so that eliminated 90% of the menu. His home coffee was some brand you’d never even heard of, the shops he went to were all nearly older than him. He liked cappuccinos with extra espresso, but he preferred the straightforward coffee he would get anywhere else, so he claimed. However, you knew he liked pumpkin spice lattes. You planned to prove it the day they released them for the year.

When he came out, the bag in his hand was much larger than one that would be used for just a necklace. He smiled at the horrified look you shot him and claimed that he was given a great deal for the entire set.

While you were getting ready for the show, you realized that this was the most normal you had felt with Andy in a while. There had been tension that neither of you wanted to address, but this trip was making you realize just how stupid that tension was. One day, this was going to end. It was impractical to think an arrangement like this was going to have a long shelf-life.

Shouldn’t you just enjoy it? Being here with him was fun. You liked the city and all the noise and bustle. You also liked being with him away from home and the lives you two had created long before you met one another. This was just you two, isolated together. Normally, you couldn’t ask that of him. He had his job and he was a father and you understood that completely, but you liked this.

During the show, Andy whispered to you several times. He couldn’t wait to be fucking you. He couldn’t wait to taste you. He couldn’t wait to hear you scream and cry and beg. He placed your hand over his lap just so you could feel how hard he was.

Back at the hotel, and maybe it was because of all that he had said, you didn’t want to tease. Almost immediately, you stripped completely naked—fuck all of that expensive lingerie, apparently.

He finally gave you your diamonds. He started with the necklace and you couldn’t even be upset. It fit you so well, you loved seeing it against your skin, you loved seeing how he looked at you while you were wearing it. Then, he gave you the matching bracelet. You had said you wanted a bracelet, right? You couldn’t complain. The earrings, you told yourself, were fine because you didn’t have a pair of diamond earrings yet.

You felt weighed down by these diamonds but not in a bad way. You felt tied to him, owned like you were one of his prized possessions. It was temporary, you reasoned, so was there any real harm in that? He watched you climb off the bed he had ordered you on mere minutes ago, arching an eyebrow as you lowered to your knees before him.

Andy rarely had the patience to let you go down on him, despite loving the feeling. Mostly, his main source of pleasure came from the things he could make you feel. He also couldn’t understand what you got out of letting him fuck your mouth. You weren’t much of a fan before Andy, you could admit since you had a total of zero pleasant experiences, but you felt that this was your only way of spoiling him.

It was nonnegotiable tonight, you would throw a fit if needed. You looked up at him for a moment, almost asking for permission. But not quite, maybe more for compliance. His promise was made by unzipping his pants for you and then letting his hands fall to his sides.

You took him out of his pants and opened your mouth. Staring up at him again, you took as much of him as you could. He was fine until he felt you gag, then his jaw set and his hands became fists.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Moaning around him, you slowly pulled back. One of his hands disappeared in your hair before you could get too far. He had to keep you there for a moment, attempting to calm himself down because he could tell how much you wanted this.

He brought his hand forward, touching your cheekbone. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He slipped his fingers under your jaw and thrust his hips forward gently. He didn’t go too deep and it was at a torturous pace that he pulled out. This man’s control was one of the sexiest things about him. It made him seem so powerful and stable and that was what you craved more than anything in this world.

“Touch yourself,” he directed.

Your hand dove down, two fingers instantly burying inside your pussy. You moaned loudly around him and he cursed again.

“You want me to fuck your face?”

You nodded as well as you could.

He nodded, taking another deep breath. His hold under your face tightened just a bit, thumb and fingers pressing into your jaw. He didn’t thrust, instead, he moved you with his hand. Each time he brought you down on him, he made sure to choke you a little because he knew you liked it.

By the time he was close, your jaw was sore, made worse by his tight hold, your ribs hurt from how hard you had been gagging, the back of your throat was testament that he had lost it a couple of times, and went a bit harder than he meant to. Your entire hand was wet, your thighs shaking and your hips still rolling.

He told you to come with him, told you he wasn’t going to until you did. You pressed the heel of your palm down on your clit and fucked your hand harder. Andy brought you down as far as your throat would allow and held you there, moaning as you attempted to swallow around him.

His hand slid down to your neck and he began to squeeze when he knew you were close, hips moving fast and sloppy. You placed one hand on his thigh to keep yourself balanced, turning your gaze up to him once more.

You felt him start to spill down your throat. He moved harder, hips jerking and cock slamming into the back of your throat each time. The cum that was in your mouth was now beginning to slip out from the sides of your lips.

He pulled out before he was done, one hand in your hair to angle your head back, his other hand stroking his cock as his cum leaked out along your jaw and neck. “God damn, you are fucking gorgeous.”

You stared at him as the tip of your tongue came out to the corner of your mouth where you felt some of his cum.

Immediately, he pulled you onto your feet and shoved you back onto the bed. He was on top of you instantly, using his fingers to collect his cum off your skin so he could feed it to you. As you laid there, licking his fingers, he brought his opposite hand down to your pussy.

“I love feeling your cunt after you’ve just finished.” He teased you several times, just dipping the tips of his fingers in before he pushed two inside you.

You whimpered, lips closed around his fingers. Once he pulled them out, your mouth was free to speak, which was rarely ever a good thing when you two were in bed. “Well, are you going to get inside me, or did you need a minute?”

He arched an eyebrow—it didn’t bother him when you joked about his age, but he pretended it was grounds for true punishment. “Maybe I need several minutes, I guess I just have to keep you coming until then, huh?”

You hummed in protest.

He brought his hand up to grab your jaw, wet fingers pressing tightly into your skin. His lips hovered over yours as he asked, “You’re such a fucking brat, you know that?”

You smiled. “Yes.”

He scoffed. “You’re shameless. I don’t know how you got this bad.”

But he did know, and he would do whatever he possibly could to ensure that you would just get worse. Andy’s success was measured by your bratty episodes. It showed how comfortable you had become with him but also just how much you wanted him.

For the record, you weren’t accusing Andy of being some evil mastermind who had planned this whole…ordeal. That would be insane because it would imply a lot of things that you knew were simply not true about him. He wasn’t a bad person, he was actually one of the best that you had ever met.

But…he was a lawyer. He had picked up some bad habits that came along with that. That meant, that though he didn’t plan this, he was enjoying it thoroughly. In short, you were accusing him of being an opportunist.

The first time you met Andy, he had brought Jacob to that hellhole of a restaurant you used to work at. So, technically Jacob knew you, but he was on his phone the entire time and they were low-maintenance customers, so he’d maybe seen you for a total of 5 minutes over their 2-hour stay. Andy did come back and bring Jacob several times, but it was always the same. He never paid you any mind, and why would he?

So, when you “met” him, half-naked and covered in bruises and bites—something that still made you glare at Andy if you thought about it too much—Jacob already knew you. He just didn’t know you. And after that one encounter, you couldn’t imagine what he thought of you.

This made you realize just how worried you were about how temporary you knew you were. Andy hadn’t said anything so you wondered if Jacob just didn’t tell Laurie. You wondered if she would even care if he had told her. Maybe Andy did this all the time, maybe she just couldn’t be bothered because they weren’t married anymore. You had no idea because Andy rarely spoke to you about Jacob and never spoke about Laurie.

Your grand solution was just trying to avoid Jacob at all costs. Mostly, you were successful, and Andy didn’t seem to mind, per se, but he did not encourage it. He loved his son and he didn’t want part of his life to be completely unknown to Jacob, but you kind of did.

It was one terrible morning when you were a bit hungover from the night before and Andy was making breakfast. He’d just set down a plate of pancakes in front of you, kissed you on top of the head because you were letting him baby you, when Jacob came in, so you didn’t even have an excuse to leave. It would be pathetically clear what you were doing. Were you seriously scared of a 17-year-old boy?

Yes. But you could pretend you weren’t, and you would pretend. There was no other choice. It wasn’t until you were all sitting down for the world’s most awkward breakfast that Andy’s phone rang. He often got calls in the morning and you never minded. Until then.

You shot him a threatening look that he clearly didn’t take seriously. He excused himself and with each step further away, your desire to suddenly die increased.

There was more painfully awkward silence and you wracked your brain for ways to fix it. You could ask him about school, his plans for the day. But that was the easy part. How were you going to word the question casually, unforced? You didn’t have to think on that much longer because he decided to speak first.

“Is my dad your, like, sugar daddy?”

And before you were subjected to having to respond, his friends showed up. Which was great because you couldn’t have formed a response if your life depended on it. But that shock had well worn off by the time Andy returned. He was throwing out apologies and explaining that he was being given an update on one of his cases. He seemed unaware of your silence until he realized Jacob was gone.

“Where’s Jake?”

“He left with his friends.”

“Oh.” He sat down at the table and you glared. “Come on, I didn’t know he was going to be here—”

“He just asked me if you’re my sugar daddy!”

“Well, I am.”

“You are not.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Then what am I? I pay your bills, I buy you things, in return, you spend most of your free time with me. What does that make me?”

You were mad but not about the idea that he was your sugar daddy. Of course, you’d played with that phrase a few times, but it seemed so unrepresentative of your relationship. At least, to you. He clearly saw it that way, and maybe you weren’t even mad about that.

You might not have been mad at all, maybe just scared. You knew that Andy was in love with his ex-wife still and he always would be. She was this terrifying person that you’d never met that essentially held the cards to your life. You figured that if she expressed any anger towards Andy’s relationship with you, that you would be gone. You would have to go back to your life before, like when the carriage was a pumpkin. And the scariest part of that was not that you had no money. It was that you two would just be done as if you never even happened at all.

“Your boyfriend?” he pressed.

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he warned.

“I’m going home.”

“No, you’re not.”

Once more, you rolled your eyes. You pushed away from the table and stormed out of the kitchen and to his bedroom.

He came in moments later after you had thrown his shirt on the bed. You were in nothing more than a pair of panties as you searched for where he’d tossed your clothes the night before. He shut the door and locked it, but you refused to respond to his tactics to make you talk.

“Get on the bed.”

You scoffed incredulously, turning over your shoulder to him with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

His hand wrapped around one of your arms and he spun you back to him. You set your hands on his chest to push him away, but he pulled you in so tight that you couldn’t move. He kissed you like it had been years since he last did so, in reality, it had been a little over an hour. It was demanding and fast, he left you no room to protest, but it wasn’t like that mattered because with each passing second, you were giving in.

His free hand slid down between your legs and you broke the kiss to moan. Your head fell back, your body pressed closer to him. It wasn’t a surrender exactly, just a promise that you would get over it and never bring it up again.

But then he said, “Call me daddy.”

You froze, turning your head back to him. “What?”

“Call me daddy,” he repeated. “You want to come? Tell daddy how to make you come.”

It was just a matter of time before it was brought up. Unbeknownst to him, it was on your mind. Unbeknownst to you, it was on his. He hadn’t been the kind for it, then he met you. There was something primal inside him that was triggered when you would whimper and whine, when you were choking on his cock and staring up at him with your beautiful eyes, when you were crying his name. And sometimes, it didn’t completely sound unlike daddy. When you were breathless and fucked good, and nearly mindless. Sometimes, it was close enough that it made him wonder what it would be like.

And you’d been curious too. Ever since he spanked you the first time. You saw Andy as this powerful, good man. He was perfect and didn’t even know it. But all of that was what everyone could see. There were these dark parts of him that made you wet just thinking about. You would never tell him, but once, just one time, he was busy and couldn’t see you one weekend. Meaning you had to take care of yourself. Your dreams were vivid and filthy, and you might have called him daddy in one…so, yeah.

“I’m not going to touch you if you can’t follow orders, princess.”

It took you a moment to find your voice, especially with the way he was looking down at you. “I…don’t know…” It felt weird, like you were admitting this terrible secret. You were aware he had asked you to, but it still felt wrong. Kind of.

“Well,” his fingers slid over you again, a teasing touch that was too light for any real relief, “do you want daddy’s fingers?”

You nodded.

“What about daddy’s cock?”

“Yes.”

“Or maybe daddy’s mouth?” He kissed your forehead first, then your cheek, and finally all over your neck. “Hmm?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want.”

“You know what I want,” he pointed out, pulling back to look at you. “Tell me what you want first.”

He was not letting you out of this and did you actually want him to? Andy was a complete daddy. He spoiled the hell out of, almost literally got off on taking care of you, and he was a kind, beautiful man who had no problems fucking you like he hated you.

“Will you eat my pussy, Daddy?”

Wordlessly, he sat you down on the bed and pushed you onto your back by your shoulders. His eyes on yours, he took you with his mouth over your panties and any doubts you had about this just faded away.

Your breath was shaking as he held you down, his hands gripping your arms tight. You draped your legs over his shoulders and pulled him closer. He pressed his tongue flat against you each time he licked up your aching cunt. “Oh, god,” you blurted out when you felt him at your clit.

He turned his head, nipping at your thigh. It was a prompt.

“Daddy,” you breathed, and he returned his mouth to you. “Daddy, please.”

He hummed. What are you asking for?

“Please, take them off,” you begged.

His fingers slipped under the band of your underwear and he tore them into pieces, without any skill whatsoever, as his tongue sought out bare skin. You’d heard several tears by the time his tongue was inside you.

You arched your back and grabbed a hold of his hair with both hands. He almost instantly took your hands and held them down to the bed again. “Daddy, don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Please make me come.”

He pulled your clit between his lips and you knew that you weren’t going to last much longer. You knew this was your biggest loss so far. He was never going to let you forget that you’d come up here throwing a fit, trying to push him away, only to beg him to eat you out.

Your hips rolled against his face, he seemed surprised for a moment, but he moaned against you, so you kept doing it. “Can I come, Daddy? Please?”

He hummed again, a confirmation.

When you moved instead of waiting for him, you could feel his beard. That was the only reason you kept canting your hips up to meet the swipes of his tongue that were toeing the line of being too good.

He let his tongue drop down to tease your entrance, earning a frustrated whine from you. Your clit wasn’t neglected for long, you felt the tip of his nose hovering just right there. So, if you were to move, if you bucked your hips just right, you discovered quickly just how to get the right kind of pressure there.

Andy loved every second of it, he loved the smell of you and the taste of you, and he knew he was never going to be a better position to indulge in both. You were wild even though he was pinning you down, you were hardly ever this desperate, this upfront with your desire. It was the sexiest thing he ever witnessed.

You finished on his tongue and he let no drop of you go to waste. He was selfish in the way he ran his mouth along the oversensitive parts of you. Before reality had even made its way back to you, he’d placed you on your knees before him. Your body was moving without your brain, like pure instinct. Your mouth opened for him before you even knew you were on the floor and you took him in as deep as you could.

He took a handful of your hair and held you in place, hips slowly, gently moving back and forth. You were gagging around him but he was letting you get used to it, telling you that you were such a good girl, reminding you how well you knew how to suck his cock, how you’d always been so good at it.

He didn’t want to come in your mouth, he just wanted to get close. He threw you down on the bed just as soon as he’d gotten you back on your feet and then he was on top of you. His hand wrapped around your neck as he slotted his hips between your thighs.

His eyes locked on yours, he slowly sunk into you. It was damn near painful the kind of restraint he was using, how he was denying you that fast kind of fucking he knew you loved. He pulled back, using his knees for balance, and kept his hold on your throat.

His thrusts were too gentle, several agonizing times, until you were squirming and whimpering. He didn’t seem concerned with what you wanted then, he merely kept his eyes moving over your body.

“Andy,” you complained.

He tsked. “Baby girl.”

“Daddy,” you corrected instantly. “Daddy, please. I need you to fuck me.”

Instead, he leaned back down and kissed you. He started at your mouth and then moved to your jaw. His hips barely moved, just enough to keep you on this edge of murderous rage. Seriously? After what you just went through? He wasn’t going to fuck you to make it up to you?

He sat back again and tightened his hand when you opened your mouth. It was the nicest way he was ever going to tell you to shut up, but he was telling you to. You were too scared to show any signs of disobedience at this point.

He pulled out and you whined unintelligibly. You received nothing more than a brief ‘hush’ before he was laying down next to you. He was on his side, propping one of your legs over his hip as he slid back into you. He lifted you up so you could lay your head on his bicep and used that arm to grab your opposite thigh, pulling it out to the side so you were completely open for him.

“Daddy,” you mewled. You couldn’t keep doing this, you needed to come. You needed him to make you come. He dragged his cock out and then shoved back in, earning a strangled yelp from you. You brought both hands up to hold the forearm that was still pressed between your breasts.

It was then that he started this horrible pattern of fucking you hard, hard, until you were just about to come. You would be shaking, begging like you never had before, promising you would never talk back to him again, and then he would just stop.

He never denied your orgasm. If anything, he just threatened to, didn’t follow through, then made weak threats that he would next time. It was a nice routine and you weren’t sure why he wanted to ruin it.

He told you to leave your thigh where it was and then brought that hand up. He started at your mouth, he ordered you to close your lips around his fingers. He was choking you still and now gagging you and you were abruptly lightheaded. He’d never given you a safe word, you were sure he never intended to go too far. The idea that he might, though… Ugh.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth and they were soaking wet because he didn’t give you the chance to swallow. He dragged them down your body, stopping to pinch one of your nipples painfully until you gasped, and then down to your pussy.

Tears filled your eyes immediately as he pressed his fingers down on your clit. He kissed the side of your face several times before stating, “I can’t keep giving you what you want if you’re going to be such a brat, baby.”

“I’m not being a brat,” you protested.

“You’re not?”

“No.”

“Okay,” he scoffed. His fingers began to rub circles into you.

You shot him a desperate look. “Daddy, please I need you to make me come.”

He arched an eyebrow, hips still but hand moving. “Oh, you need me to?”

“No one else makes me come like you do.” It was clear that you were just saying anything you could think to make him give in. True? Yes. But were the words sincere? Not at all, and you didn’t want him to know that. Yes, you liked spending time with Andy, you even loved fucking him, but this was not a relationship. It was an arrangement first and you had to protect yourself.

He rolled his eyes at you. “Transparent.”

You let your head fall back into the pillow with an exaggerated sigh. “Please?”

“No.”

You looked at him instantly, eyebrows pulling together. “What?”

“No,” he repeated slowly.

He’d never just told you no. Maybe in a roundabout way, he’d talked his way through the fact of no, but never once had he just out and said it. You had no idea how to reply. After all, he was in charge here. If he said no, did you have to accept it?

He brought his fingers down to where your bodies were connected and pulled out completely. He dipped his fingers into you at the same time he was easing his cock back in.

You bit down on your lip, willing yourself to relax. He was always a tight fit, even without the addition of two of his thick fingers, even on those weeks when he fucked you every day, numerous times a day.

“You’re okay,” he promised. “You can take it.”

You tried spreading your legs even more, hoping that would make him easier to take.

“Good girl.” He pulled his cock and fingers out briefly before working them both back in simultaneously. “How’s it feel, baby?”

“It hurts a little.”

“But you can take it, can’t you?” He kissed along your cheekbone. “You want it, right? Because you’re my good girl.”

You were nodding before you even truly thought about it. You wanted anything he wanted to give you, in reality. You supposed this was not the exception to that rule.

He continued pulling out and teasing back in, going just a little deeper each time.

Your cunt was aching by the time you propped yourself up on your elbows to see. The sight of him inside you was sinful and delicious.

He felt you flutter around him and kissed the side of your face again. “You like when I stretch you out, baby?”

You nodded. That was exactly how you felt. Stretched. It still hurt but not in any kind of way that you didn’t like. Your cheeks were flushed since he’d been denying you a finish, otherwise, you would be blushing terribly. It was a toe-in-the-water of humiliation, you felt a little objectified, or reduced to a single body part. Again, not something you were opposed to because your mind was fucked up enough that your body would respond ecstatically to anything Andy wanted to do to it.

“Do you want another one?”

You weren’t sure, but that didn’t stop you from claiming you did. You watched the tip of his third finger collect the slick on the base of his cock and slide into you. He began pulling out and gently pushing both fingers and cock back in until he was buried several inches and two knuckles into your pussy.

“You are soaked, baby.”

Part of you hated that. How bratty could you be from here on out if you were this wet for him? If your cunt was literally begging him for more of his fingers? That was the pride part of you. The sick part of you stopped to think about how he had 7 more fingers to fuck you with, if he wanted. “Can I have another?”

He smirked. “I think 3 is enough tonight, princess. I don’t want to hurt you too much.”

“I want all your fingers inside me, daddy.”

He scoffed. “Not sure that’s possible, you’re still so tight. But I do have a little more I can give you.” As he pressed more of his fingers in, beyond that second knuckle which made you gasp and squirm because it burned, he also gave you more of his cock.

You were shaking, hand settling on his forearm once more. “Oh, daddy…I feel so full.”

“And your desperate cunt still wants more?”

“Anything from you, daddy. Can I please come?”

He didn’t answer, his hips merely began moving. He roughly fucked into you as he pulled just so with his fingers to keep you painfully stretched.

You were getting close again. That stinging sensation was starting to fade away with the building pleasure. When he angled his hand and let his thumb massage your clit, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. “Daddy, please.”

“You can’t come.”

You whined. “Daddy!”

“I said no.”

You pressed your hand to his stomach to still his hips, but he paid you no mind. “Daddy, I’m going to come.”

“You better not,” he warned, but didn’t do anything to help you want that. If anything, his hips snapped a bit harder.

“Please stop, daddy,” you begged, voice pathetically small and whiny. You didn’t care how you sounded or looked, you just didn’t want to come without him letting you. You didn’t want to disappoint him. “Daddy, I’m close. Please stop.”

He scoffed, free hand coming up to your face. “You’re such a good girl, you know that?”

You frantically shook your head. You weren’t so good that you wouldn’t come, so really, you needed him to stop.

“You don’t want to come without my permission?”

“No, daddy.”

He pressed his thumb down harder and rubbed faster, earning an unintelligible, sad sound from you. “It’s okay, baby girl, you can come. Daddy wants to feel you coming around his cock.”

You lifted your hand back up to his arm, trying to turn into his body as much as you could. He understood immediately and moved his hold from your neck to drape his arm across you, resting his hand on your back. You set your head in the bend of his neck as you started to come.

He groaned when he felt you get tighter. “That’s it, baby. That’s what I wanna feel.”

Tears were rolling down your cheeks by the time you were coming. Your body had never felt relief so strong. Andy shushed you through it all and told you that you were so good and didn’t stop until he had you filled with his cum.

He let you settle before urging you onto your back. “You okay, baby?”

“Yes, daddy.” You were more than just okay. You were sated and aching, you were exhausted and blissful. It had been a while since he’d spent so much time on you and you felt good, doted on, paid attention to.

He carefully pulled his fingers from your cunt, eyeing your face as he did, but then quickly took your jaw in one hand and shoved the fingers into your mouth. You instantly began sucking on them. “A few things. First, you do not roll your eyes at me. Second, you do not leave the table unless I tell you that you can. Third, do not ever walk away from me. Fourth, when I tell you to get your ass on the bed, you better get your ass on the bed. Are we clear?”

You nodded, speaking around his fingers.

“Glad to hear it.” He slowly extracted his fingers, massaging your jaw with the opposite hand. “When you can walk again, I’ll take you shopping—”

You hurriedly jumped out of bed, rushing for the shower. “I’ll be ready in an hour!”

requests to be tagged:

@onetwo3000​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​

#andy barber x reader #but we all KNOW he's the best sd in existence right???? #let's rate evans characters by how good they'd be as sd's! talk to me in my inbox about it let's go! #love you thank you for reading okay bye #my writing

[carewyncromwell]

Hey hey hey, Cinderella AU time again at last! Sorry to have left y’all on a cliffhanger last time, so I think it’d be kindest if we just jump right in!

Previous part is here -- full tag is here -- Katriona Cassiopeia “KC” (pictured above with McNully in a dress based on this design 💙) belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you enjoy!!

x~x~x~x

There was a very tense silence. 

Then Erika abruptly barreled over to Orion, seizing him roughly by the collar. 

“I knew I smelled a rat, when you first waltzed in here -- ” she snarled.

“Get the hell off of him!”

BAM.

Skye had hurled a punch right at Erika’s jaw. The violent move made Erika take a step back, but she didn’t release Orion -- instead, holding onto his collar with one hand, she proceeded to try to grab Skye. Soon the two were in a full on tustle, with Skye trying and failing to get Erika to let go of Orion. 

“Skye -- ” choked Orion in a very hushed, strained voice. “Lady Rath, please -- !”

“Erika, stop,” said KC sharply. She grabbed Erika’s arm and held it back. “This is no rational way to deal with this -- ”

But Erika seemed unmoved. “This man’s a Florentine royal who disguised himself as a Royaumanian peasant to get close to our Prince. There’s nothing to waffle over.”

Her eyes shot over to Carewyn harshly. “If anything, I’d say you should make sure she doesn’t run off too, for aiding and abetting him.”

Carewyn, who’d been too stunned to properly respond, straightened up abruptly. “What?”

“Don’t play innocent, Cromwell,” said Erika very coldly. “Looking up troop movements in your spare time? Meeting every other day with a Florentine spy? Lying to Prince Henri about where you were going before dashing off to the Florentine border? It’s pretty clear you were in on it all along.”

“No!”

Orion for the first time wrenched sharply in Erika’s grip. His face was unusually pale, his black eyes very wide and anxious. 

“She didn’t know,” said the Prince of Florence insistently. “She never knew -- it was solely my doing, all of it...”

“Just what a spy would say, to protect his co-conspirator,” Erika cut him off. 

Bill and Charlie, however, both swooped down around Carewyn, flanking her like bodyguards. 

“Carey is NOT his co-conspirator!” said Charlie, his arms wrapped around her neck in a protective side-hug. 

“And she wasn’t dashing off to the border,” said Bill, his voice much firmer and lower than Charlie’s, but no less righteously angry. “She was going to see her brother at the war front.”

Andre and KC both looked startled. 

“Brother...?” whispered Andre. 

He looked at Carewyn, but she avoided his eyes. 

“Carey’s older brother is a soldier in the Royaumanian army,” said Bill. “She hasn’t seen him since her grandfather sent him out nine years ago.”

KC looked from Bill to Carewyn, her eyebrows knitting together. “He’s a soldier? But...I’ve never seen the name ‘Cromwell’ on any of my records...”

“That’s why she decided to go!” said Charlie. “She couldn’t find Jacob in your records either...so it’s likely old Charles Cromwell made him enlist under another name or something.”

“Or he just died ages ago,” Erika said bluntly. 

Carewyn’s blue eyes abruptly flared. “No! My brother is out there somewhere!”

She turned to Andre, her eyes more imploring. 

“Andre...I’m sorry for having lied to you -- but I couldn’t afford to let Iris or anyone else in my family know I’m trying to make contact with Jacob, without Grandfather’s approval. And even if my brother’s alive...”

She glanced at Orion. Her blue eyes were welled up with pain, and she had to tear her gaze away, unable to show that much emotion openly. 

“...the War is getting worse. I don’t know what state my brother is in out there now, if the War is as bad as I’ve heard -- I can’t let Jacob suffer out there, not if I can do something to help him!”

“So you thought of sneaking into the Royaumanian army camp completely on your own without even having any means to protect yourself?” said KC, her gaze rather critical as she crossed her arms. “Carewyn, that was not smart.”

Andre too didn’t look happy. “You could’ve told me, Carewyn. I considered you my friend -- I trusted you. There was no reason for you to lie to me.”

Carewyn’s face grew a lot more stoic as she turned her face away, trying to hide the tumultuous emotions in her eyes. Bill, however, strode forward, stepping right between Andre and Carewyn. 

“I know it wasn’t right for Carey to lie, Andre,” Bill said, “but truly, do you think you would’ve been all right, knowing she was running off toward the battlefield?”

“No,” said Andre, “but I would’ve been happy to help!”

“So were we, and that’s exactly why she didn’t tell you,” Bill barked back. “Because she knew how dangerous it’d be out there for herself, and she didn’t want to put any of us in that danger too, especially you. Carey doesn’t ask for help -- she never has. She’s always done things herself, rather than trouble anyone else. She tried to convince Charlie and me to head back several times, when we caught up with her. She gave herself up to those bandits because she couldn’t bear the thought of us never being able to go home to our family again, just because we followed her.”

The eldest Weasley glanced at Orion still in Erika’s grip, his brown eyes narrowing. 

“I may not know what this man’s intentions were, manipulating Carey so that he could get at the royal family,” he said lowly, “but he’s telling the truth. Carey didn’t know he was a Florentine, let alone that he was their Prince.”

“He was telling the truth about a lot more than just that.”

McNully had climbed out of the coach and down into his wheelchair attached to the boot. Gripping the sides of his chair and giving them a sharp twist, he catapulted it off the boot and down to the ground so he could roll over to Orion’s side, facing Andre with a very solemn expression. 

“Your Highness, Orion told the bandits, ‘We do not come seeking trouble’ -- and it’s just as true in this instance. As much as Orion had to keep certain things under wraps, I know him well enough to know he didn’t lie so much as omit key details, and let you all fill in the blanks yourselves. I daresay a good 95% of everything he’s told you and Carewyn is true, if not more.”

Erika snorted. “Doubtful. I’ve never heard of an honest Florentine.”

“Don’t act all high-and-mighty, you -- !” started Skye. 

“Skye, please,” Orion whispered. 

His hands were still clasped in front of him and his voice was still brushed with anxiety, even as he took several deep breaths to try to calm his heart rate. 

“...Prince Henri, the reason I came today was to seek an audience with you,” he said seriously. “I fully intended to go to the castle gates and request a diplomatic meeting, before I saw you with KC and Lady Rath. My deception was only ever a means to that end -- diplomacy and peace. There was no malevolence meant.”

“If you’d wanted to discuss peace, you could have done it honestly,” said Andre, his arms crossed.

“He could have tried, but would you have listened?”

Everyone turned to look at Carewyn. Her voice was low and she couldn’t make eye contact with anyone -- her gaze instead floated just over Andre’s shoulder -- but she sounded firmer than before, more like her usual self. 

“If he had approached the King under his true name, can you really say that your father would’ve accepted an audience with him?” she challenged Andre. “Naturally your father would’ve never allowed you to speak to him -- but would he even have spoken to Prince Cosimo VII? Would any of us have?”

Something uncomfortable flickered through Andre’s expression, robbing it of some of its righteous anger. 

Carewyn broke away from Charlie and Bill, striding right up to stand between Andre and Orion in rather the same protective way Bill had for her. 

“If Orion had come under his real name, we would’ve never danced with him at the Winter Festival,” she said. “Bill and Charlie’s family would’ve never invited him to stay for dinner. KC would’ve never told him that Charlie and I had been gone longer than expected. Badeea would’ve never invited him to sit with us by the bank while she painted. I...never would’ve accepted his help...nor would I likely have helped him.”

Was that shame, in her face? It was hard to say, for it was a shadow that disappeared very quickly. 

“I’m sure we’ve all been judged by what our names are and what families we were born into, but you especially should know full well what that’s like,” said Carewyn, her voice suddenly full of fiery conviction, “considering that from the moment we first met, you actively tried to discourage me from calling you by your real name!”

Andre flinched.

“Carewyn...” he murmured, taken aback by her passion, but Carewyn cut him off. 

“Orion met me last night to tell me that his father was a high-ranking officer who planned to attack the enemy forces with a strategy that could destroy many lives. That’s why I’m here now. I thought his father was in the Royaumanian army, but now it’s clear that he meant to warn us that his own army -- the Florentine army -- means to attack us. Yet Orion came to warn me anyway -- and beyond that, he said how much he disapproved of the strategy and wanted peace.”

Andre’s eyes narrowed upon her face. “Carewyn, he lied to you about who he was. How can you believe anything else he told you might be true?”

“Because good people can still make mistakes!” Carewyn shot back. 

Her voice betrayed a flare-up of emotion, and it made her go very quiet. Then after a moment, she took a deep breath. 

“People make mistakes -- fathers, mothers -- 

People make mistakes,

Holding to their own -- thinking they’re alone.

Honor the mistakes everybody makes, one another’s terrible mistakes...

They could still be right -- they could still be good.

You decide what’s right -- you decide what’s good --

Just remember...

Someone is on your side -- someone else is not.

While we’re seeing our side, maybe we forgot

They are not alone...no one is alone...”

The familiar words seemed to make all of the anger in the air ebb away. Skye looked from McNully to Orion, stunned. Erika, although her face remained as distrustful and hard as ever, felt her grip on Orion’s collar slacking. Orion himself, however, could do nothing but stare at Carewyn over Erika’s arm, his black eyes storms of emotion. 

Andre closed his eyes, his expression becoming more troubled. 

“Andre,” Carewyn said more softly, “I told Orion that if he believed peace between Florence and Royaume was possible that he should talk to you about it. Clearly he took that advice...even while knowing how badly you’d probably react. Even without bringing any soldiers to protect him. And he put himself on the line by coming out here with you to help me. Is that truly the mark of an evil man?”

Andre slowly opened his eyes. His gaze swept from Carewyn up onto Orion behind her. Despite himself, the Prince of Florence couldn’t keep the pained, yet adoring emotions out of his midnight-black eyes as he stared at Carewyn -- like a man who truly had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

The Prince of Royaume’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. Then, finally, he sighed. 

“...Erika, put him down.”

Erika looked up at Andre, faintly surprised. After a moment, however, she did so, though her eyes stayed on Orion beadily. 

“I do not approve of your methods, Prince Cosimo,” said Andre, drawing himself up to full height, “but you came seeking an audience with me, to discuss diplomacy. I shall grant it, but on my terms. I intend to accompany Carewyn to the Royaumanian camp straightaway -- should you wish to speak with me on our journey up, so be it.”

Both Carewyn and Orion reacted with surprise, but for completely different reasons. 

“Andre, you don’t have to do that -- ” Carewyn started. 

“No,” said Orion firmly, trying to keep his voice level despite his urgency, “you and Carewyn must not go anywhere near the war front. It is no place for you, nor anyone -- ”

Andre held up a hand to stop both of them. 

“I’ve made up my mind. If my country’s army is threatened, then I’m obligated to intervene, as their Prince. And besides...”

His eyes landed on Carewyn, growing a bit softer. 

“...I’ll need to know where your brother is positioned, if I’m going to know which battalion to reassign to guard the palace.”

Carewyn straightened up sharply. Andre beamed. 

“Your family needn’t know that Jacob and his battalion were repositioned,” he said almost smugly, “nor that it was for any particular reason. If nothing else...I’m certain your brother would be beneficial to castle security, if he knows you’re working there.”

Carewyn stared at Andre, hardly able to comprehend what she was hearing. 

He wanted to bring Jacob home. He wanted to give them a place in the castle together -- he was willing to do it covertly, so that Charles wouldn’t try to punish either of them...

“Andre...”

Her heart suddenly felt overfull. She had to cover her face in both hands to try to hold in her emotions. It took her a solid minute before she’d forced back her tears enough to remove her hands from her face, and when she did, she immediately strode forward and threw her arms around Andre in a full hug. 

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, her voice very choked and soft. “Thank you.”

Andre’s eyes melted with warmth and fondness and he brought his arms around her in return, squeezing gently before holding her at arm’s length. 

“I hope your brother’s as good of a fashion template as you, Carewyn,” he said with a brighter smile. 

Carewyn couldn’t help but give a choked laugh. “I’m afraid Jacob’s a disaster when it comes to clothes, but...oh, you’ll love him, Andre, I know you will...”

Orion’s expression was still very tense when McNully reached out and took hold of his arm. 

“Orion, I get why you don’t want to go near the war front,” he said seriously, “and obviously you shouldn’t be going into their camp at all yourself...but this is your chance, to talk things over with Prince Henri. We have to get a peaceful road mapped out fast, if we want to convince your father not to use my strategy...”

“Your strategy?” repeated KC, her eyes narrowing critically. 

Everyone turned to McNully. 

“A war strategist strategizes, it’s part of the job description,” McNully said, unabashed. “Though for the record, I intended for it to simply help us capture an army’s worth of war prisoners, not kill everybody.”

“Unlike a certain army who keeps shifting their cannons every day so they can blow up everyone they can without even looking their opponents in the face,” said Skye rather coldly. 

KC crossed her arms. “The goal was to aim for your stores of ammunition, not your soldiers.”

McNully did a double take. 

“Wait -- so you’re the one who came up with that strategy?!” he said. He whirled on Orion, looking incredulous and almost angry. “You made friends with Royaume’s new military strategist and you didn’t tell me!?”

“It must have slipped my mind,” said Orion serenely, but his black eyes betrayed a glint of mischief. “Yes, I remember now...you were remarking about how whoever made that strategy for the Royaumanian army had to be a genius...”

Skye snorted in amusement. “��Remark?’ He ranted about it to me long before telling you, Orion -- McNully was so mad that he was fumbling over his statistics...”

“I fumbled once,” McNully said irritably. “My statistics were therefore 99.9% accurate in that conversation.”

Amazingly, even despite all the tension that had been between them, Andre and the Weasleys found themselves snorting with laughter. Carewyn even had to bite her lip to hold in her own amusement. 

KC raised an eyebrow at McNully, her lips spreading into a smirk. “Well, I guess I can thank you for appreciating my ‘genius,’ at least, Mr....?”

“Murphy McNully,” said McNully at once. Even though he was smiling, though, there was some irritation in his face. “Just called ‘McNully.’ And the name of my opponent in military strategy would be...?”

“Lady Katriona Cassiopeia,” she answered with just as cool of a smile. “Just called ‘KC.’”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” said McNully, but there was definitely a charge of competitive lightning that crackled between them as they stared each other down.

Andre, for his part, was actually smiling mischievously as he moved to remove his horse from the front of Orion’s black coach. “Well, KC, perhaps while we’re escorting Carewyn, you and Mr. -- rather, McNully can have a discussion of your own.”

Both McNully and KC looked taken aback. 

“What?” said KC.

“I would love to talk to Florence’s chief strategist about the in’s and out’s of military protocol, but...well, I just don’t know enough about it myself,” said Andre innocently, though his eyes and voice were much too sassy to be convincing. “So you can do so on my behalf. After all, you are much more versed in these things.”

When KC tried to argue, Andre cut her off with a simple “That’s an order,” and climbed back up on his horse.

“Come on, Carewyn -- let’s get your, Charlie’s and Bill’s horses and be off. We don’t have much time.”

“Wait.”

Everyone looked at Orion. His face was still very pale as he stared at Carewyn.

“If you’re determined to go out there,” he said at last, “then you’ll need some way to protect yourselves from harm.”

He freed one of his own black mares from the front of the coach and climbed on its back.

“Follow me -- Carewyn and I have a friend who I know can help us.”

Once Bill, Charlie, Erika, and Carewyn were all back on their horses again, Orion led the group out of the woods. Skye drove the coach with KC’s steed as well as her own black horse, for McNully would have to ride inside it, and KC (following Andre’s directions) rode with him. Inside the coach, McNully -- perhaps to try to bolster his own slightly hurt ego -- challenged KC to a game of chess to pass the time. Carewyn could hear them bantering over their match on their way up. 

“Well, well! Moving a pawn rather than your Queen -- that’s 99% unexpected.”

“What’s the other remaining 1%?”

“Margin of error.”

“Well, I assure you -- this was not an error.”

“I think I’ll take my chances anyway.”

Andre, meanwhile, rode on his own horse beside Orion a good ways ahead of the others to talk privately. Erika, Charlie, Bill, Carewyn, and Skye all watched them from a distance -- they couldn’t hear what the two Princes were saying, but their discussion appeared very serious. Andre’s posture was oddly stiff and guarded, and Orion’s looked oddly submissive and detached. 

Then, very abruptly, Andre actually started to laugh. The sound startled everyone, Erika most of all.

“What?” said Erika. “What’s so funny?”

Orion looked back at them with a small wry smile. “Merely shoes, my lady.”

“Shoes?” repeated Erika, bewildered.

“Don’t bother questioning it,” Skye sighed tiredly from her spot in the driver’s seat as Orion faced forward again and continued his conversation with Andre. “Orion never stays focused on one thing whenever he’s talking to somebody -- be glad he didn’t randomly start talking about swallows and the color green...”

“Those were brought up too, actually,” Andre said loudly over his shoulder.

He flashed Carewyn an amused look, and Carewyn couldn’t help but smile a bit in return. It really sounded like they were finding common ground...

As the Princes both turned away, though, Carewyn’s smile slid off her face.

Princes...yes. That’s what they both were. All this time she’d thought that Orion might be a magician, or that he might’ve been like her mother and been born into wealth but trying to distance himself from his family -- or even that he was a bit like her, in the way that he’d lived in poverty but now lived in a home that was wealthy. Never had she thought that, in truth, he was the Prince of her country’s mortal enemy...

She knew she should be frightened by this -- betrayed and hurt. But everything she’d said to Andre was true. Instead of feeling distrustful and resentful of Orion, all she could do was feel worse about herself. Orion had lied to her because he was a Prince -- a royal with the humility of a peasant and a wise and gentle heart who wanted nothing more than to bring peace to their countries...who was willing to put himself in harm’s way to do it, who befriended her and the people around her regardless of their ancestry and the War that dictated they should be enemies...

And Carewyn? She’d lied to him because she was nothing but a maidservant. Worse still, she was the penniless, lying, pretentious commoner ward of Charles Cromwell -- a pathetic child who’d sold her soul to her grandfather, stupidly thinking that he’d treat her and Jacob like family, only for him to rip her and Jacob apart and send Jacob off to a War where he would suffer day after day with no chance of reprieve. A prisoner...someone who was chained to Charles’s will for the rest of her life, as penance for her mistake.

When Orion’s lie was revealed, it only served to make Carewyn admire him more. When hers was...Carewyn knew that it would only serve to turn him away. 

“Carey?”

Carewyn looked up. Bill had come up alongside her, his brown eyes very soft with concern. 

“Are you okay?” he murmured. 

Carewyn gave him a smile. “Yes...I’m all right.”

She couldn’t hold his gaze long, so she looked up toward the Princes again.

“...I just hope...they can come together. That’s all.”

Bill looked up at them too, frowning slightly. “Mm...”

Carewyn didn’t have the heart to tell Bill what she was thinking, especially not with Erika, Skye, Charlie, Andre, and Orion all within earshot. She knew he’d tell her that if Orion really cared about her, he’d forgive her for lying...but...

He shouldn’t want to forgive me, Carewyn thought. He shouldn’t be content with what I am. Not when he deserves so much more. 

The memory of the last time she saw Jacob, of him hugging her tightly rippled over her mind. 

“My Wyn -- my sweet Wyn -- ”

Jacob was the only person who Carewyn knew for a fact would always love her, no matter what she did. He’d always been flawed beyond reason, but she never ever had to doubt that. Jacob had helped raise her, and she in return had looked out for him just as much. They were each the one person who they could always depend on...and Carewyn knew Jacob would forgive anything she might have done, however horrible it was or how terrible and pathetic of a person she’d become...

Carewyn closed her eyes, trying to force back her tears. 

Jacob...I need you. I need you here so much.

Maybe she’d be strong enough to accept that she could never be what Orion needed, if she could at least be in her brother’s arms again...

Orion led the others to a beautiful, but perfectly empty valley, perfect for stargazing. Just about everyone was baffled and suspicious, especially when Orion started calling out for a Baroness. It was only when a woman with a pointed black hat with a familiar-looking golden eagle on her shoulder and a beautiful manor appeared seemingly out of nothing that they all understood. 

“Magic,” breathed Andre, his eyes very wide.

Carewyn, however, climbed off her horse and greeted McGonagall warmly. “Baroness -- it’s so good to see you again.”

She reached out a hand to stroke the golden eagle’s feathers, and the bird almost seemed to smile wryly. 

McGonagall actually seemed somewhat surprised by how fair her reaction was. “It’s good to see you as well...”

She held her arm aloft, letting the eagle take off back into the air and toward the manor, and glanced at Orion, her narrowed eyes clearly questioning. “I was not expecting to see either of you again so soon.”

Orion climbed off his own horse, looking very grave. 

“Baroness, I come to ask for your assistance. Carewyn and her companions plan to go into the Royaumanian camp, so as to locate Carewyn’s missing brother.”

“Into the camp?” repeated McGonagall, looking almost stricken. 

She turned to Carewyn. 

“That is far from wise -- the Florentine army has already started making moves to attack. You must stay far away from that place.”

“What?!” just about everyone said, horrified. Orion, the only one who didn’t cry out, had abruptly lost all the color in his face.  

“B-but the strategy can’t be ready to go already!” stammered McNully. “Putting the troops in their positions without anyone noticing would take at least two full nights -- attempting it without everyone being in their proper place decreases its effectiveness by a good 38%!”

“Effectively or not, they have started the attack all the same,” said McGonagall. She looked from Orion to Carewyn. “I cannot in good conscience let you go out there, in the midst of all those explosions -- ”

“But their strategy aims to wipe out the entire Royaumanian army!” said Andre. “I cannot stand by and let that happen!”

He immediately flicked his reins and prepared to charge off, but Erika abruptly blocked his path on her own horse. 

“You dying out there too would only make everything worse,” she told him sharply. 

“So I should just let all of my men die, in my stead?” Andre demanded. 

He tried to ride around her, but Erika blocked him again. 

“No, we just need to be smart about this,” Erika shot him down very firmly. “I understand you want to help, and I agree with you -- but if you died out there on the battlefield, that would escalate the fighting, not end it. Just look at what happened when we took out Florence’s first Prince. And didn’t you say you were open to talking about peace with Prince Cosimo? If you want to chuck that out the window, fine, but don’t do it without understanding that’s what you’re doing.”

Erika looked from Andre to Orion. Her face was as stony as ever, but not as mistrustful as before. Andre, still looking frustrated, nonetheless seemed to accept that she was right. 

“McNully,” said Erika, “it’s your strategy the Florentines are using. What do you say?”

Everybody turned to McNully. Florence’s chief strategist crossed his arms, leaning back on the seat of the coach thoughtfully. 

“The ‘noose’ I developed would have significant breaks, if it was attempted without the proper preparation,” he said slowly. “The plan was to prevent anyone from getting in or out, so that the Royaumanian army would be unable to get reinforcements or supplies. That would then become a siege that would force them to surrender. With holes in the Florentine lines, though, the Royaumanian army could slip out and, worse, maybe even break our army up into smaller pieces.”

“Therefore making your army even more vulnerable,” finished KC, her eyebrows furrowing. “The fractures would go into all-out war and probably lose all sense of cohesion, which would make it harder to gather the troops back together and stop the fighting...”

McNully nodded shakily. “Casualties and injuries would be high -- anywhere between 40-58%."

Skye’s face had gone as white as a sheet. “But -- but if we lose half our army...!”

She looked at Orion in alarm. Orion knew what she was thinking. King Cosimo had said that this most recent line of reinforcements was the last defense Florence had, unless he wanted to draft all citizens 18 and older, regardless of rank or health. 

“Such devastation on both sides would make peace near to impossible,” murmured Orion. His hands were clasped together very tightly in front of him as he turned back to McGonagall. “Baroness, please -- isn’t there any spell you could cast that might soothe the ire of our armies?”

The Baroness looked upon Orion with a solemn expression. “To cast any spell, I would have to leave my home to the mercy of the armies’ mines and cannon fire. I’m sorry...but I cannot do that.”

“Then I will.”

A tanned young man with a pointed nose, very sharp eyes, and a bandaged arm strode into the room. He glanced at Carewyn, and she gave a light start -- those eyes seemed...

The young man then looked at McGonagall. 

“I’ll craft and cast the proper shield around them, to protect them from the cannon fire,” he said firmly. “Then the Princes could run to their respective sides and convince the armies to stop fighting.”

McGonagall’s eyebrows furrowed. “Talbott, your concentration would be sorely tested in a war zone. One flicker in your concentration would require you to recast the spell all over again -- at which time it might be too late to do so.”

“It may already be too late for us to prevent those casualties at all,” said Talbott, undaunted. “We’ve watched the War go on for years -- I know protecting our home is important, but this protects our home and the country it occupies. And since you’re the only one who can keep the illusions up here for any decent length of time, I have to be the one to cast this spell.”

McGonagall and Talbott stared each other down for a moment. 

“You feel very strongly about this,” McGonagall said dryly.

Talbott glanced at Carewyn, his oddly eagle-like eyes flickering with a wry kind of humor as his hand rested on his bandaged arm. “...Well, I do have a debt to repay.”

Carewyn’s eyes widened in realization. Then her eyes softened. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

“Very well, then,” said McGonagall grimly. “Take your time crafting the shield, my young apprentice -- remember to be very specific in the terms set. All of a spell’s terms must be met, in order for it to work properly.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #cinderella au #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #katriona cassiopeia #bill weasley #charlie weasley #erika rath #andre egwu #minerva mcgonagall #talbott winger #whew! lots of drama! #I'm actually amused thinking about how all of you are probably wondering 'okay seriously how does this link up with the cinderella story?' #'like where's the glass slipper and the ball and the spell breaking at midnight and stuff?' #hehehehehe #you'll see #it's being woven in little by little #it will become clearer I think in the next couple of parts though #according to my personal road map we have about 6-7 parts to go #I mean yeah at the very least we have quite a few hurtles to overcome #will carewyn find jacob? #will orion learn the truth about carewyn? #will the battle be stopped? will it stop the war or will it get worse? #what will charles cromwell do if/when he learns about carewyn's dealings? #will she ever break free of him and her awful family? #and then yeah where does all the usual cinderella stuff fit in? #>D

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

A rant of personal experiences and trying to do something positive with them:

Okay so procrastination is a huge thing in ADHD. Same with memory issues. (Not that these are always present and maybe some people experience both without being ADHD).

So. Here’s an experience I’m just now (at almost 40) realizing was a thing:

Imagine a huge essay/report/project requiring a lot of research and several sources was due in a few weeks. The advice was always to break it down, take notes, and make an outline. It made perfect sense. And maybe it does help some or even most people.

But for some, like me, it was still impossibly overwhelming and breaking it down was worse. The project was often boring (especially if I had to ignore a hyperfixation to work on it) and even if it wasn’t, it still felt like A LOT when my brain was full of TV static and my memory was shit.

It takes a ton of repetition for me to even temporarily remember something and even then, it will likely be gone again in a few days. UNLESS I learn by actually doing something or figuring it out for myself. And my brain gaslights itself like “do I remember that right? No that can’t be right. Let me look it up for the 100th time to make sure.” And I’m WAY more likely to remember concepts or physical processes but completely forget the terms for them or names of things or important dates EVEN FOR MY HYPERFIXATIONS, damnit... Like, I can do a bunch of crafty stuff and even remember some common terms and items but not the less common fabrics or stitch types or tool names. (Yet somehow I could remember the exact location of hundreds of thousands of items of inventory at my craft store job... even if I didn’t know what they were called. But I stocked them and had physical contact with them so I could picture where they were.) The number one overwhelming thing for me about trying to be a pro at anything is trying to remember terms so it sounds like I know what I’m talking about.

Anyway...

Without acknowledging that, I ended up wasting time by trying to schedule research/work in small chunks because every time I stopped then tried to start again, I wouldn’t remember what I did or looked at last time. (Can I also add that this is why being interrupted is infuriating for me? It probably seems irrational to other people but it’s so hard to get focused on something and now my train of thought is derailed, passengers are dead and injured, and it’s going to take who knows how long to revive the survivors?) And maybe that wasn’t so bad the first time because I’d only have to reread one page of notes. But then it would happen a few more times and my focus would be blurred and I’d repeated myself multiple times in the notes and they’d become a mess and look horrible which was distracting and I’d feel overwhelmed by having to reread and now rewrite several pages and focus would be even worse because I did remember some bits and blanked out while looking at those then stay blanked out then I’d have to reread again to catch the parts I didn’t remember.

But.

If I waited until the last minute, when the consequence/reward system overrode how overwhelming or boring the project was, I could burn through it because I was in constant contact with the material and it was all currently on my mind and I could skip writing notes and an outline and go straight to a fairly decent flow-state draft then keep going through revisions and editing all without forgetting WTF I’d researched. And it would be done in so so so much less time with a lot less effort and frustration.

And...

AND

And then there’s the schedule thing and why it DOES NOT WORK for me. If I schedule doing something (or even if someone suddenly wants me to do something right now) and my brain is like, “nah sorry, just static right now,” there’s absolutely nothing I can do to make it work and I’m just going to get frustrated and tired and depressed and discouraged. But if I keep a loose list of things that need to get done and indicate which are priorities, I can look at it and say “yeah. This one seems doable right now.” No I’m not going to get up and vacuum that spot of cat litter at this exact moment but it’s a good idea to do it soon so I’ll add vacuum to the list and probably get it done later the same day. If the cat throws up, that is an immediate priority so I will get up and make sure they’re okay and clean it because my brain does actually recognize things like that as super important. If a bill arrives in the mail, I’ll stop and pay it right away because I know I don’t have to think/worry about it again if I do. But what sucks about that is that society wants and often understandably needs people to work on a schedule. And I just... can’t.

But I’m trying to take this knowledge and apply it, trying to accept that this is how I function. I function based on a system of priorities that get done in order of “absolutely must be done right this second, whether for my own reasons or outside reasons, even if I need to drop other things” to “this is what I CAN do right now.” Not something pre-scheduled. If I need to leave something to the last minute then I’m just going to accept that that’s how it’s going to be and that’s okay. Then I can free up energy and space to do other things in the meantime rather than worry and be anxious and beat myself up because I should be doing the thing and end up hating things I like doing because they’re not what I should be doing and now there’s a negative association with them. No. Screw that. If all I can do today is play a video game then fine. Gonna enjoy it. Because I now know for a fact, from years of experience, that I will do the important things. They just need to wait until I’m capable of doing them. And... if I let myself stop worrying about old WIPs... They get done eventually too. It might take a few years but as long as I don’t actually decide not to do them, they will get done.

All that said... I still want to look into meds because it would be nice to have more of an ability to focus more regularly. I just need to clear up some other medical stuff first and I’ve got appointments already set up for that.

One more thing... I f$&#ing hate the attitude teachers have about doodling in class. It was literally the only way I could focus during lectures and remember anything they were talking about. I could look at what I drew and remember what was being said while I drew it. F$&% every teacher who took away my notebooks or yelled at me for it. Without it, I’d zone out completely. And THANK YOU to the art history teacher and biology teachers I had who not only understood but encouraged it and actually helped me direct it toward the subject matter by suggesting drawing thumbnails of the art or cell structure or anatomy.

#rant #adhd Brain #adhd rant #just my experience #just sharing in case it helps anyone #or is relatable #mo’s rambling and such #am I writing this to procrastinate other things... #??? #yes and no

[writing-gifts]

datura (moth!bruno x butterfly!reader)

—–

A/N: idk what to say so here’s another chapter ft. oblivious bruno lmao

First Chapter || Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Reader is gender neutral!

-----

[Early Fall]

You thought you were at peace with Summer ending but apparently that wasn’t the case. Every time you woke up and it was a little colder than the day before you’d curse the season. It was uncomfortable to adapt to and made you want to stay under your covers longer than you should.

You still tried to see the good in Autumn though. Such as the trees changing from various greens to reds, oranges, and yellows. It was a nice change of scenery. But you quickly remember with that came giant dead leaves almost landing on you, which wasn’t as nice. And these leaves would make the paths you walked extremely uneven. To you every pro had multiple drawbacks.

"I just don’t want to say goodbye to the warm weather, even if the heat would get a little unbearable some days,” you complain to your friend.

"Yeah. It’s going to suck when it gets too cold to fly."

Frowning even more, you pour the bag of grain you’re holding into a storage container. Since it would only be getting cooler from now on Abilene needed to start saving up food and you were helping them.

"Don’t look so down, we can keep each other company during it. By the way, have you started preparing for Winter?" Abilene asks.

“Yep! You know I have copious amounts of nectar stored at all times.”

"Of course, of course how silly of me."

You stick out your tongue at them but stop when you almost spill some of the grain on the ground.

You both continue to work in relative silence but if thoughts could make noise it would be extremely loud. Something has been plaguing your mind recently. Something related to Bruno.

Your crush on the moth had always been there but instead of fading away like you expected, it seemed to have grown exponentially over the Summer.

You put down the bag you just finished emptying. “Hey Abby...”

“Hm?”

You shift slightly from foot to foot, unsure how to bring up the topic. “Um, would it be strange if two different species got together?"

Abilene looks puzzled. “No? I've seen a lot of bugs do it, and honestly you and Bruno aren't that different. Moths and butterflies are probably under the same category."

"W-Wait, I didn't mention anything like that…"

Your friend shrugs, opening up another bag. "Why else would you ask a question that you already know the answer to? I’m guessing your little crush got more serious?"

You rub at your arm, your bottom hands wringing each other. "I thought I just had a crush because of his looks but I spent too much time with him and it got worse!”

"Yea, that's how relationships tend to work."

"Abby this is serious, I don't know what to do!"

They close the bin they just finished filling and look at you. “Maybe just confess?”

You almost roll your eyes. “You know that I can't do that. That’s the sensical thing to do!”

"I guess you're just going to have to suffer then. Unless, he confesses to you."

That gives you pause. You couldn't exactly see Bruno feeling the same way. Was that even a possibility?

"What if he doesn't see me that way?"

"As harsh as it sounds, you just have to accept and respect that. But at least you’ll know and there won't be any ‘what ifs’."

That was true but rejection was a scary thing. Scary enough to prevent you from even trying. And there was always that chance that the confession would ruin your friendship.

Suddenly, you didn't want to talk about this anymore.

“You okay?”

"I don't know...I just need to think a little more on this."

You help more silently from then on. It takes a while before you're done emptying the bags and the filled bins are placed neatly in Abilene’s pantry. And after cleaning up any spilled grains, you’re ready to walk home. Even though you try to reassure Abilene, they tag along to “prevent you from getting distracted”.

By the time you both get through the path between your homes, the sun’s on the verge of setting but you're surprised to find Bruno already waiting by the front steps.

The realization that crosses Abilene's face when they see him has you suddenly feeling antsy. You were not ready for this. You planned for them to meet during the upcoming play.

"Is this The Bruno?" they whisper to you.

Oh god.

“Abby please act normal…”

You both walk up to the moth, although you lag behind your friend.

When you catch up, Abilene’s already introducing themselves.

“I’m glad to finally meet the person I’ve been hearing so often about.”

You squint at Abilene trying to show your disapproval with just your eyes, but they simply return an “innocent” smile.

Fortunately, Bruno doesn’t question their comment. “Well It’s nice that I can finally sate your curiosity.”

“Definitely. But also it’s the perfect time to make sure that ____ is making friends with people with their best interest in mind. No offense.”

You internally groan. Abilene didn’t exactly sound confrontational but you can’t help feeling that from what they just said. If you knew they would act like this you would have avoided Bruno and Abilene meeting at all costs.

You sigh. “I told you he was safe….”

Bruno gives Abilene a slight smile, "It's good that they have someone looking after them. And I don't blame you considering how we met.”

You look at Abilene and for some reason they don't seem as sure as they did a moment ago.

“I've been wondering for a while...” Bruno continues. “Has ____ always liked to stay out late?”

Abilene seems to step out of whatever temporary daze they went into. “Unfortunately, yes. Ever since they were a caterpillar. I don't even know where they picked it up from, but you don't even want to know some of the other things I’ve caught them doing.”

The moth's brows raise and he looks at you, “That’s not very reassuring.”

“Guys”, you interject. Bruno did not need to know about that. Especially after what you said at the pond.

“I don't stay out that late anymore! At least not by myself anyways.”

"I suppose that's true." Bruno says.

“But the fact that you managed to discourage them from doing that is really amazing, you know?”

“It wasn’t easy trust me.”

You purse your lips. Sure you can be stubborn when it came to visiting flowers but were you really that bad? They had to be exaggerating. And you didn't need both your friends calling you out on your bad habits together. At least not in front of your face.

"By the way Abby, when did you say the play was again?” you ask.

"That’s coming up pretty soon actually--in a week.”

"I’m still curious about the ‘supernatural’ element," Bruno says.

You release a breath seeing that your question was enough to change to subject.

"Do you like supernatural stuff? Abby’s surprisingly into it."

“Not necessarily. I’m just wondering what they were planning since it was so vague.”

Abby nods. “I thought they would explain it when the play date got closer but it’s still pretty vague so guess we’ll just have to find out on the day.”

As the conversation continues you feel yourself relaxing. It really wasn't weird or awkward like you had been worrying about. Even if you wanted to pinch Abilene whenever they said something that even slightly implied your crush on the moth.

It doesn’t take long before the sun is gone and it’s dark out.

Abilene glances up. "Well, I’m going to head back now. Don’t want to let it get too late.”

You slightly pout. Now that the initial part of the meeting has passed you didn’t want this to end so quickly. "Aw okay. See ya later, Abby."

"It was nice meeting you. Be safe getting back," Bruno says.

Abilene smiles at you both, “Bye ____, and I’ll be seeing you at the play Bruno."

They turn to leave but they stop and lean towards your ear. “Now I know why you were so desperate to keep in contact with him--very handsome,” they whisper.

You push them in the direction of their home. “Yes goodbye Abby! Get back safely.”

They snicker at you, not moving as quickly as you would like. “I will obviously. Bye!”

Exhaling deeply, you watch them head back through the path you two came from.

“You guys seem like very good friends.”

You scowl still reeling from what that grasshopper said. “I have no friends!”

“What?”

You sigh when you see Bruno’s questioning gaze and open your front door. “Nothing, just come and get your nectar.”

After Bruno and Abilene’s brief meeting you find yourself looking more forward to the play. Fortunately, the next several days pass by quickly and the three of you all meet up at your home before heading there together.

It’s quite crowded when you arrive but you all manage to find a spot together and you sit in between your friends.

Throughout the play, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking over at Bruno to see his reactions. One time you look over and he looks right back, which makes you finally stop, afraid that he had noticed you doing that the whole time. Other than that everything else went smoothly, or as smoothly as a unique play like that could go.

It went on pretty long, starting late afternoon so any bug whether diurnal or nocturnal would be able to attend. Now the last of the sun covers everything in an orange glow and those who need it can make it home safely.

You walk alongside your friends, leaving the open theater area to head back towards your home. It’s only a short while before the three of you are walking along a river bank.

You cautiously watch the running water, your eyes every so often follow the random leaves being carried away.

"I wasn’t expecting that…” you say.

It was a romance story like the poster said but the supernatural part was definitely something new to you.

“When Athan started drinking from the other mosquito--,” Abilene chuckles.

You side eye your usually practical friend. “You were into that...?”

Abilene shrugs, “It’s not the first time I’ve seen or read stories like this. Definitely has a strange allure to it...”

You decide to not ask them to go into detail since Bruno’s here and turn to said moth instead.

“Did you think it was weird?”

“Some parts were definitely strange, especially all the blood drinking, but I enjoyed it overall,” he says.

“Hmm, do you like romance?”

“I guess I tend to lean towards it.”

You nod. “I could tell you really liked the more uhh s-sensual parts?”

You know that sounded off and you can see Bruno wants to laugh but he holds it behind a small smile.

Abilene looks at you with a raised brow. “Why did you have to say it like that?”

“I don't know how else to say it! The sexy parts?!”

You and Abilene fill most of the silence while Bruno mainly listens, throwing in his opinion every once in a while. Eventually he needs to split off from the group to head towards his own home. So you exchange goodbyes and he flies off.

“Bruno looked really happy!”

Abilene’s brows raise slightly. “...He did? He seemed at most content to me.”

“Nah, I think he really enjoyed himself,” you couldn't help the grin on your face. You wanted to do more things like this with your friends.

For some reason Abilene starts smiling at you with a knowing look and you just stare back confused.

“What?”

“Nothing, just smiling.”

You huff. “Come on.”

“Okay, you're so cute right now. I can tell that you really like Bruno a lot and spend a lot of time with him.”

“Oh...”

Was it that obvious? You didn't even say anything strange though, at least you think you didn’t.

“I can't make you do anything but I really think you should embrace your feelings,” your friend says.

“I don't know...How should I go about it cause I’m too afraid to just come out and say it.”

Abilene holds their chin as they think. “Well, perhaps you just need to show him.”

“Like trying to hold hands or something? That seems a bit much--I mean, we did do that once…”

“You held hands already?” They sound very curious.

You wave your hand in front of your face. “He was leading me through the dark, but we’re getting off topic! What do you mean?”

“Just like hints at feeling more. Maybe compliment him more. If you're feeling really brave, maybe offer a hug.”

The idea of hugging Bruno has your heart lurching.

Abilene tries to give you a supportive smile. “Honestly this isn’t my area of expertise but you can’t expect anything if you just wait around. And you don't have to go hard all at once, just start off small.”

You really didn’t want to constantly wonder ‘what if’ in the future so you agree with this plan. “I’ll try…”

It definitely won't be easy though.

-----

The sky had been dark and cloudy since morning and only got darker as the day went on. The pressure drop in the air was obvious but not a single raindrop fell. You just hoped it wouldn’t flood when it finally did decide to pour.

You were sitting on the ground in front of your low table sewing. You had neglected this hobby for baking last season so you decided to finally get back to it since you didn’t expect Bruno to show up tonight. You actually hadn't seen the moth that often since the play. Apparently, Narancia wanted him to stay with him more often and of course parent duty came first.

While focusing on pinning the cloth together that would be a new top, there's a knock on your front door which causes you to tilt your head. You wonder who it was. Maybe Abilene but they rarely came over this late, especially right before rain.

When you walk over to open the door and see Bruno, you immediately give him a questioning look. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to visit.”

“That’s it? But it’s going to rain though! How are you going to get back? What if it rained while you were coming here?”

“It’s fine--”

Suddenly there’s a loud clap of thunder, a bright flash and the stormy clouds finally release the rain they had been holding on to all day. Which instantly soaks Bruno.

You pull him in hastily and shut the door. “Holy crap, are you okay?”

“I probably should have not pushed my luck standing outside like that.” He wipes the fluff on his forearm across his face but it barely helps.

“Ah wait, let me get you something to dry off.”

You run to your bedroom to find a giant towel for the moth.

When you come back into the main room, you hold it out for him to take. He immediately brings the soft towel to his face and you leave again to get some blankets. It wasn’t too cold but it would be best to warm him up to absolutely avoid sickness.

When you come back with some of your fluffiest blankets in your arms, you see that Bruno has removed the golden clips from his hair to dry it. The braid on the top of head has come loose and the strands that once formed it sit slightly wavy atop the rest of his hair.

You suddenly remember Abilene’s advice to be more honest with your feelings but you could barely look at the moth right now. Damn him for not wearing clothes and looking good even soaked.

You finally look away and drop the blankets on your daybed.

“____.”

You turn back towards him.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Uh, yea?”

“If you don’t mind, I need help reaching my wings.”

“O-Oh.”

Why didn't you think of that. Getting back there would take way longer by himself

You grab the towel and move behind him to gently dab at his damp wings, careful not to cause any damage. The towel wouldn't be able to dry them completely but it would slightly speed up the process. They would have to mainly air dry though.

“You won't be able to fly for a while Bruno. Not that you could fly back in this rain anyways,” you say.

“I know.”

You almost want to chide the moth for how indifferent he sounded, but you decide to let it go. Both of you knew you weren’t the pinnacle of careful behavior anyways.

“I’m not going to kick you out, obviously, but I don’t know if you’re comfortable with staying overnight.”

“Why wouldn’t I be comfortable? I would actually really appreciate it.”

“Well, then I guess that's settled then.” You gently touch the wing that's slightly overlapped on top of the other and direct it upwards so you can better get to the bottom one. They felt pleasantly fuzzy. Similar to a cushion you would like to lay your face on or rub your hands all over.

Brunos wings shift slightly under your fingertips. “T-Thanks for helping me dry off.”

You momentarily pause. “You cold?”

“Not much.”

You couldn't tell if he was being honest or trying to pretend but you’re sure you heard him stutter. You shake it off quickly so you can finish trying to get some of the water off his wings. After you finish you lead him towards the daybed.

“I bought you covers to warm up. You can air dry your wings later.”

“But I’m not that cold.”

“I’m hearing that you’re still cold though so I’m not taking any nos.”

The moth sits on the daybed in slight resignation, and you quickly wrap the covers around him, layering him with one after the other. Once you're done, you laugh at his face poking out of the hill of blankets and his antenna being forced down by the wait of the covers.

He furrows his brow, blowing the fur on his antenna out of his face. “Don’t you think these are too many covers?”

You do your best to speak through your laughs. “Better--Better safe than sorry.”

“This is so…” He shakes his head, well the best that he can under those covers, not bothering to finish his thought.

“Don’t worry, you look great like this!” Your laughs finally start to slow and you sit down next to the blanket heap that is Bruno. “If you need anything else just let me know kay?”

The moth moves the blankets to sit on his shoulder instead on top of his head. “I should be okay. Thank you again for letting me stay.”

“No problem. I would have let you for no reason honestly.”

Bruno watched you slide off the daybed onto the floor so you can continue your sewing.

“What are you making?” he asks.

“A top. I want to wear something new for the upcoming cold.”

You pull out a pin from your flower shaped pincushion.

“Actually, do you ever wear clothes? I’ve never seen you in any since I met you,” you say.

“Barely, I don’t really get cold enough that I need to.”

Your lips twist to the side, unconvinced. It’s not like his legs and torso weren’t nice to look at, but part of you wanted to dress him up. You're sure he’d look great. And just knowing his thighs and torso were always exposed made you worried about the inevitable drop in temperature.

“Not even in the Winter? But youre almost completely exposed….”

“I stay mostly indoors during it and I can keep myself warm if necessary.”

“How?”

“I’ll just warm myself up by vibrating.”

You raise a brow. “...Vibrating?”

“It’s not exactly the warmest at night in Autumn so I need to vibrate my wings so I can fly. Do you want to see?”

You didn't want him to take off the covers so you shake your head, “Maybe another time.”

It did sound interesting, however you can't help thinking wearing clothes would be more convenient. Especially when it came to flying since it could get pretty chilly if you went fast enough.

“You must not be very fond of clothing. Or maybe you don’t like them at all?” you contemplate out loud. “Very interesting…”

“Is it really that unconventional to you?”

“It's fine, it’s fine. You can be exposed or whatever,” you say teasingly. “It's not like it's against the rules.”

The moth’s brow furrows. “I don't exactly hate wearing clothing, I just dont think it’s necessary for me.”

“I guess that’s true with all your fluff and you probably have a higher tolerance to cold than me. I still think you'd look good in something though. It’s actually pretty fun having stuff to change into.”

You notice that Bruno’s looking at your clothes and for some reason you decide to make a dumb joke. “Are you hungry or something?”

“If you're implying that I want to eat your clothes, then no.” He smirks a bit. “Unless you want me to, then I won’t be taking any bites near you, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Your eyes widen slightly, unsure of what to make of that. Next time you try to be clever you need to be better prepared.

“A-Anyways, maybe I could make you something one day! Do you have any preferences?”

“Maybe something that doesn’t restrict me too much. And doesn’t cover up my fur. It gets uncomfortable during the Summer.”

You cross off anything with long sleeves.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be a typical top…” you say outloud to yourself.

An idea is taking shape in your mind's eye but you're not exactly sure how you’ll go about it yet. You might need to make a visit with your more arachnid than insect neighbor.

“Well for now I’m going to knit you a sweater for winter cause I’m not letting you walk around shirtless in the cold!”

“You know I do actually own clothes right?”

“But you said you barely wear them so I'm still making you a sweater. I'm going to make it so you can remove the forearm sleeves if you want, okay?”

“You can make it however you please. I’ll take whatever you make for me”

You shake your head. “That’s sweet but I want you to really like it too--like it so much that you’ll never want to take it off! So I want to make sure it’s something that would be completely comfortable for you.”

Bruno pulls the blankets closer to him. “I’m sure you’d come up with something good without my input, but if it will make it easier for you then I’m fine with that.”

After asking a few more questions related to the sweater, you continue working on the shirt in front of you while you try to figure out how you'd go about making a sheer piece of clothing. At one point you look over and see that Bruno has fallen asleep on top of all the covers that were previously wrapped around him.

You reach out to feel his wings without really thinking. They’re still wet of course but it was better than before.

The moth shifts in his sleep and opens a tired eye.

“Sorry, just checking your wings. Go back to sleep.”

He shuts his eye. “I’m going to poke at your wings when you fall asleep…” It was impossible to take that seriously with his voice being so groggy.

“I would barely call that a poke,” you roll your eyes when you see his lips form a soft smile. It’s tempting to reach out and pinch his nose but you leave him alone.

The rain continues to be heavy and persistent throughout the rest of the evening, filling your home with a pleasant hum. Once it gets too late for you to keep sewing you decide to leave your stuff on the table, too tired to clean up.

You move to get off the floor and jump when you realize Bruno was awake.

“Have you been laying there quietly the whole time?”

Bruno props himself up to better look at you. “Yes?”

“You should have said something, I would have talked to you!”

“You seemed focused and I didn’t want to distract you.”

You shake your head at the somewhat socially inept but considerate action. “Well I guess I’ll head to bed. Will you be comfortable here?”

“With all these covers and this daybed? Definitely.”

You grin, “I really can't believe you risked the rain to come over here. Did it really need to be today?”

The question was supposed to be mostly rhetorical but the moth still answers.

“Narancia wanted to stay over with a friend so I decided to visit. I knew I could make it if I was quick enough.”

But look at you now silly moth.

“That’s it?”

You were still confused by Bruno’s actions but he continues speaking.

“I wanted to visit you. I finally had a chance to come over and I didn’t want to let it pass by.”

How can he say things like that so easily?

“Oh, okay that’s--Thanks, I’m glad to see you too.”

The Bruno you were looking at right now with his messy hair and completely relaxed posture was almost hard to process. But when his usually serious expression is replaced by something more at ease and soft, your stomach feels weird, like something is fluttering within and you can barely keep eye contact.

“Y-You’re actually really cute sometimes--” You freeze as soon as the words come out of your mouth. It wasn’t an accident, you fully intended to say them but actually hearing them outloud? It was embarrassing.

“GOODNIGHT!” you yell before the moth can speak and quickly walk out of the room, leaving a probably highly weirded out Bruno on your daybed.

#hint: bruno isnt weirded out #i wanna be a worldbuilding master so trying to slowly improve #maybe in a couple years #anyways i hope you guys liked this chapter ^^ #bruno buccellati x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno x reader #reader insert

[nekojitachan]

Hmm, I have no idea what this is, to be honest. Okay, so I know this is ‘what if Jean didn’t go to the Nest, if he ran away from home and stumbled across Neil/Nathaniel/Abram and Mary. And of course I’ve more in my addled head than this. But IDFK what I’m doing. *sighs* It’s been a bit of a crappy week and I’m still trying to focus on writing and at least I got this out.

Uhm, warning for Mary’s and Jean’s parents stellar parenting skills (child abuse but nothing too intense/graphic).

*******

“You will do as you’ve been told! Go pack the suitcase your mother has left in your room, and tomorrow you’ll-“

“No, I won’t! I won’t go,” Jean dared to argue, to yell at his father, confused and hurt by the unexpected news that he was being sent away, that his parents were getting rid of him. “I-“ His arguments were stopped by a harsh slap to his face, the blow just as startling as the pain; he heard Sophie gasp in surprise before his mother ordered his sister to go to her room.

He stood there with his hand pressed to his aching cheek while his father glared at him. ��Go to your room and pack,” the man said, anger harsh in a voice which normally was bland with disinterest.

Jean fought to hold back the tears which threatened to spill down his cheeks, aware that his parents wouldn’t be affected by them in the least. No, most likely he’d only be slapped again, then shoved into his room for being so ‘emotional’.

Once he was inside his room, he heard the hushed voices of his parents as they discussed going to the airport in the morning and something about the Moriyamas, about things being over soon.

They didn’t mention when Jean would come back home.

He tried to do as he’d been told and pack his best (favorite) belongings in the suitcase, but then he caught his mother mentioning something about them moving, finding a better apartment for the three of them. A pain worse than the slap to his cheek made Jean double over when his father shushed his mother and told her they’d discuss it more tomorrow (after Jean was gone?), and then their voices faded as they walked away.

Maybe he really wasn’t coming home again.

It wasn’t… things weren’t always great. There were so many days when his parents left him and his sister to fend for themselves, when he had to feed Sophie (and himself) and get her ready for school. They moved around all the time, too, sometimes to horrid apartments where he and Sophie shared the same bed, and sometimes to very nice apartments. He never really understood what his parents did (and they discouraged any questions), but there were times when they had money and times they didn’t.

Rarely did his parents have any interest in him or Sophie, so it had been a surprise when they’d encouraged him to play Exy. They never attended any of his games, but at least he knew that Sophie was safe when she stayed to watch him practice or play, and his parents seemed somewhat happy when his team won.

He thought that maybe, if he kept improving… but no, all his parents wanted was to send him away, in the end.

The apartment was quiet for the next hour or two; he sat huddled on his bed in misery until he grew bored and got up to look at the suitcase as something to do. Unsurprisingly, it was cheap, poorly made and unlikely to last very long, adding to his suspicions that his parents weren’t expecting him to return. He gave it a sullen kick before he began to sort through his belongings to figure out what to pack. It was while he searched through his small dresser that he heard his sister’s voice; it appeared she wanted to know why he wasn’t joining them as his family went out for something to eat, and was told to shut her mouth.

Jean once more felt that sudden pain and remained as if frozen while the front door of the apartment closed behind Sophie and his parents. He didn’t move for at least a minute, until a sudden resolve made him lunge for his school bag then dump its contents onto the floor. Once it was empty, he filled it with the most important items he’d already set aside to pack in the cheap suitcase; a few pairs of underwear, his favorite tops and sweater, the most comfortable jeans, the pajamas Sophie had gotten him for his last birthday, and a small bag of toiletries. There was a pang of remorse over leaving behind everything else, only partially soothed when he tucked a picture of Sophie into a small pocket of the bag.

He crept out of his room, suddenly fearful that his father might have stayed behind, and let out a slow breath in relief upon finding the apartment empty. Right away, he went to into his parents’ room and looked for the one shoe box in their closet which he and Sophie had discovered one day was used to hide money. The amount changed over time, but there was always some stashed inside of it, and that day was no surprise.

The numerous rolls of bills inside of it were.

Indecisive for several breaths, he finally snatched about half the money and shoved the rolls into the bottom of his bag before he replaced the box then stumbled toward the front door. A tumultuous mix of guilt, panic and exhilaration made his heart race as he ran down the steps, still filled with disbelief over what he was doing and afraid that his parents would return at any moment.

He didn’t stop until he was several blocks away from home, out of breath from running and stunned that he’d dared to run away, to leave Sophie behind. Yet what choice did he have? Stay there and go through with whatever his parents had planned for him?

He might not know exactly what his parents were involved in, but he knew enough that the people they associated with were… well, not very nice. There was a spike of fear for Sophie, but his mother always made sure she was in her room or with friends when those people came by. As much as it hurt, he forced himself onward.

(What else could he do?)

The next few hours were spent wandering the city while Jean attempted to figure out what to do next; would it look odd if he rented a room for the night? Should he buy a bus ticket and go somewhere else? If so, where? Maybe he could go back in the morning and fetch Sophie? But what if his parents (or worse) were looking for him?

Tired and confused, he sat down on a bench overlooking the Old Port; he would have to decide what to do soon for the night. He hugged his bag against his chest and struggled with the urge to cry when he saw an older couple with a young child walk past, appearing to be tourists, laughing and pointing at the seagulls.

What was it like to have a happy family?

His view of them was disrupted by a middle-aged man who approached him with a wide smile on his face. “Hey, I haven’t seen you here before. What-“

“Ah! There you are! I thought we were going to meet at the café!” A young boy suddenly dropped onto the bench next to Jean and nudged him in the shoulder. “You’re buying now!”

“Eh?” Jean barely noticed the man, now frowning and muttering to himself, walking away since his attention was focused on the stranger next to him; he looked at least a couple years younger than Jean and was tiny, barely bigger than Sophie in fact, with a mop of unruly brown hair and light brown eyes. There was a light sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks and upturned nose, his clothes were over-sized and baggy, and he had a large backpack hung over his left shoulder. “Who are you?”

The boy glanced to the left, where the older man had been. “Nobody, really,” he said in a quiet voice. “You need to be careful. Guys like Phillipe jump on newbies like you.” At Jean’s confused look, the boy’s thin brows drew together. “You’re a runaway, aren’t you?”

Jean gaped at the boy. “How did you- who are you?” He hugged the bag even tighter to his chest and flushed with embarrassment when his stomach rumbled in hunger.

“Nobody,” the boy repeated with a sad smile, “but you can call me Lucien.”

Jean frowned as he studied the boy; did that mean that ‘Lucien’ wasn’t his real name? “I’m Jean, and how did you know that about me?”

Lucien shrugged as he slung his bag forward then rummaged through it to pull out an apple, which he offered to Jean; after a moment’s hesitation, Jean accepted it. “You’re out here alone, holding that bag as if it contains your most important possessions. You also have a lost look to you.”

Jean thought about that while he ate a few bites of the apple. “I… my parents… they don’t want me anymore. I don’t know what to do,” he admitted as he stared out over the port.

It was quiet for a few minutes, until Lucien sighed. “No other family?”

“No.”

“Ah.”

They sat there in silence once again, yet Jean was grateful for the companionship, the warmth at his side. They drew a few odd looks, but no one else approached them; it made him feel safe while he once more tried to figure out what to do. Perhaps a homeless shelter?

He was startled when Lucien stood up. “Oh, you’re leaving?” For some reason he felt sad about that, even though he’d expected the boy to go back home at some point.

“Come on,” Lucien said as he tugged at Jean’s left arm.

“What?”

“You going to stay here all night? Have anywhere else to go?” When Jean shook his head to both questions, Lucien made a tsk’ing sound. “Then come with me.”

Jean stumbled to his feet, grateful that he wouldn’t be alone any longer. “Thank you.”

“You’re too trusting,” Lucien chided as they hurried into the ‘old’ section of the city. “We need to work on that. And let me do the talking when we get to the apartment, okay? My mom… she’s strict and she doesn’t like surprises, but she looks after me.”

“Okay.”

Lucien was fast on his feet; despite their height differences, Jean struggled to keep up with the younger boy. It took them over ten minutes to reach an apartment on the fourth floor of a building which had seen much better days, into which Lucien slipped in after undoing several locks. “Mum, I’m home, and I brought a guest,” he called out, almost like a warning.

A small woman with similar brown hair cut into a shoulder length bob and light brown eyes stepped out of the kitchen to give Lucien an intent look before she turned to Jean. She stared at him for a moment before she grabbed onto her son’s arm and dragged him into another room. Confused by her actions, Jean jumped when he heard what was clearly the sound of someone being slapped, then a furious voice speaking quietly. It sounded like a woman’s, and the words were in English.

While he could speak English somewhat well, he couldn’t follow the conversation in the other room, other than a few words – ‘danger’, ‘foolish’, ‘confuse them’, ‘three not two’, ‘no one else’. Jean got the impression that Lucien was arguing for him, and after several minutes, things quieted down. There was another slapping sound, and a few seconds later, the two came out into the sparsely furnished living room.

Lucien’s mother gave Jean a cold look, her arms folded over her chest, while Lucien, his left cheek reddened from the slaps, offered an encouraging smile. “My son tells me that you’ve nowhere else to go.” Her voice was had a slight rasp to it, as if from smoking, and her gaze was sharp as if she missed little. Jean’s impression of her was that, despite her small stature, she was someone to listen to and respect.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She gave a slight nod as in approval for his respectful manner. “My son thinks we should take you in, even though we’re not in the best situation ourselves. Are you truly willing to leave everything behind, to do exactly what I say and not ask questions?”

Jean thought about Sophie… then thought about the cheap suitcase, about all the money in the shoe box, about his parents’ plan to move on without him. “Yes,” he agreed; if he had to leave everything behind, at least it was his choice. “Uhm, I can help out a little,” he offered as he dug into his bag for the money.

There was a slight (very slight) thaw in the woman’s demeanor (what did Jean call her?) when she saw the money; she motioned for Jean to set it down on the small coffee table. “That will help,” she said with an approving nod. “Go with Lucien, listen to what he says since you’re his responsibility now.” She gave her son a stern look while she fetched a coat which was draped over the back of the worn couch. “I’ll be back in a few hours. We’re leaving in the morning.” She grabbed three rolls of money which she stuffed into her purse and left the apartment.

Confused and amazed over what had just happened, Jean turned toward Lucien, who motioned him into a tiny kitchen. “Let’s get something to eat while I explain things to you,” the boy said. “It’s going to be a busy night.”

Jean set his bag down and followed his new friend.

*******

So without being all info-dumpy... Neil argued for Jean to tag along so they throw off anyone looking for them by there being three people/ a woman with two boys not a woman with one boy. Or even hey, a woman with a boy and a girl, not just a woman with one child. Mary (and even Neil, let’s be real) probably thinks that she can dump Jean in a few weeks or something, but yeah, that’s not gonna happen. It’s JEAN.

I figured this is within the first year after they left Baltimore, so Neil is easily swayed by Jean’s big grey eyes. He’s a bit of a softie. Mary is willing to try something different for a couple weeks (ha!) and the money helps.

And no duffel bag yet, the thing would be about the same size as our little Neil. He’ll get one in a couple years.

#aftg #nekojitachanfics #mumbling into the void #jean moreau #neil josten #mary hatford #jean's crappy parents #would this make him jean hatford? #neil as abram #neil as nathaniel #neil and jean growing up together on the run #idfk why my brain does this to me #oh it's raining #very nice

[sigillaria-svt]

Elevator Meetings (Part Two) - Seokmin

Pairing: Musical Actor!Lee Seokmin/DK x Academic!Reader

Word Count: 3,158

Warning: None

Genres: fluff, slice of life, neighbors, innocently heart-struck Seokmin, appearances of other Seventeen Members, Wingman!Mingyu

Part One (Reader POV): [Part One]

Part Three (Reader POV): [Part Three]

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Synopsis: After you watched his stage performance for the first time, Lee Seokmin has started to become closer to you as a neighbor. Ever since then, he has enjoyed your company. How will the rest of his members react when they realize that perhaps Seokmin may be seeing you more than just an ordinary neighbor living a few floors down?

SEOKMIN

Seokmin puts his phone down on the table as the rest of his friends order food. Everyone was there, except for Lee Jihoon who was currently working on making a new song, and Wen Junhui who had gone to China for some business schedules.

Jeonghan looks over Seokmin’s shoulder, ready to tease him as he always does. “Who are you texting with such a wide smile on your face?”

“No one, just a neighbor.” He replies, quickly picking up his chopsticks to divert Jeonghan’s attention to the food.

“When I text my neighbors, I don’t smile like that.” He says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I barely even text my neighbors, to begin with. Come on, there’s really no need to be shy about it. We’re way past the age to be shy over our feelings.”

“Ah, is this the reason why you kept looking at us back at the theatre while you were on stage?” Mingyu says as he turns over a piece of meat on the grill.

“No, no, that’s not it,” Seokmin says defensively. “I swear, she’s just a neighbor. I helped her out when she was having a problem with moving her stuff and simply asked her to come to the play, that’s all.”

Yoon Jeonghan shakes his head, but smiles. He knows that this wasn’t the first time Seokmin had small unconscious crushes on people. In fact, it happens quite often, but it rarely turns into anything serious with all the hectic schedules that Seokmin has as a musical actor. Even when the other guys try to ask him about it, he always innocently says that they were nothing more than just a friend, even when everyone else sees otherwise.

“Alright, alright, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Says Boo Seungkwan, who sits right across Seokmin. They immediately move on to another topic and the rest of the story remains unmentioned for the rest of the night.

Seokmin, on the other hand, can’t help but think about it.

When they get back home to their apartment, he stares at his phone for several minutes. He looks at your contact page over and over, enjoying the sound of your name as it plays over and over in his head.

“Do I really?” He says to himself as he rolls over to his side. He tries to think it over once again. “It’s too early, right?”

“Who are you talking to?” Minghao asks, who happens to be sitting right next to him on the other couch.

Seokmin rolls over to face his friend. “Minghao, do I really?”

“Do you really what?”

“Do I really, you know?” Seokmin put his hands up, trying to express his thoughts in words. Minghao looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. “You get what I mean, right?”

“No, I absolutely don’t.”

Seokmin gets up, deciding that it would be better to sleep this off instead. He thought that perhaps he was just a bit tired; maybe his racing thoughts would be over the moment he wakes up the next morning.

And yet, when the sun rose, the thought had not left him. That’s when he started to go out at the same time of 7 AM each day, even when there wasn’t any work to do at that time to perhaps get the chance to somehow run into you again along the apartment elevators. Each day, Seokmin would return to his apartment, visibly discouraged in the eyes of his members, but not to himself. Around the next week, he tried to look for your social media accounts but found only a single account filled with pictures of plants. He wasn’t so sure if it was you, or if it was just someone who shared the same name.

Seokmin is in the living room, unconsciously shaking his leg as he waits for you to accept his friend request. Mingyu steps out of the bathroom with a towel over his wet hair. Grabbing a drink from the fridge, he leans over Seokmin.

“What are you doing this time?” He asks, used to seeing the sight of a flustered Seokmin for the past week.

“Shh, this is important,” Seokmin says, eyes still glued to the screen.

“You know that she may not be on her phone right now, right?” Mingyu says, taking a sip of his soda. “It’s not like she’s going to respond faster if you stare at your phone like that.”

“Huh? It’s not like I’m waiting for her to respond.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Seokmin puts his phone aside and drops his hands to the pillows beside him. “You’re right, what am I doing?”

Mingyu decides to take a seat next to his friend. The last time he was like this was two years ago, when he started to have a crush on one of the waitresses at a restaurant that they frequently went to. Back then, they went to the same restaurant for 10 days in a row before Seokmin realized that he was attracted to her. Unfortunately, she changed jobs and they have never met again ever since.

It wasn’t that Seokmin didn’t feel anything--it was just that he was a bit slow at realizing his feelings himself.

“What’s her name? What’s gotten you so interested in her?” Mingyu asks, putting one arm over the back of the couch.

“Well it’s not that I’m really interested, I mean, I met her just a week ago, but her name is Y/N. It has a nice ring to it right?” He says with an innocent smile. “Oh, she’s a teacher! Maybe teaches about plants? All her photos are about plants so maybe she’s into that.”

Mingyu simply nods with pursed lips as he takes another sip.

“And well, she lives on the 8th floor below us... and well, she was moving her things on her own.” Seokmin tried to check his phone again, but you hadn’t accepted his request yet. “I mean, who tries to move ten boxes by themselves up to the eighth floor? We had to move it one by one because we didn’t have those wheely things with us.”

Seokmin narrates the entire story of what happened on that day to Mingyu, who responds with the occasional nod or “Uhuh”. Although it was a series of short encounters, Seokmin manages to relay it as if it were more exciting than it actually was.

“So, what do you think?” Seokmin asks once he was finally able to end the entire narrative.

Mingyu shakes his head as he drinks the last drop of his soda. “I think you’re thinking too much and moving too less.” Mingyu lightly taps the empty can on Seokmin’s leg. “Don’t you remember the waitress two years ago? The event host from three years ago? Or even the class president back when we were in high school? What do they all have in common?”

“They were all... girls?” Seokmin tilts his head, trying to understand what Mingyu was trying to get to.

“You all fell for them at first sight but never made a move for weeks until you either forgot that you had a crush on them, or you never came across them ever again.” Mingyu sighs in frustration. “We’ve been through this, come on, give me your phone.”

“For what?” He says while handing over his phone.

“Ask her to have a meal with you. Don’t neighbors eat together every once in a while?” Mingyu replies, quickly heading over to the texting app. He types in two sentences before passing it over to Seokmin.

“Hey, y/n!!! How are you? Do you want to eat out sometime? It’s on me, think of it as a housewarming gift~ ^^ ” Seokmin reads out loud. “No, no, I definitely can’t send something like this. What if she thinks I’m feeling too close to her?”

“We’ll worry about it once we get there.” Mingyu leans over and hits send, all to Seokmin’s surprise. He hurriedly tries to keep the message from sending, but it’s too late.

“Mingyu!” Seokmin whines as he shakes his friend back and forth. He immediately stops when he hears the familiar ding of his phone at the arrival of a new message. “I don’t want to open it! I don’t want to open it!”

“We’ve taken a step forward, we can’t go back right now.” Mingyu grabs the phone and opens up the message himself. “See? She’s totally fine with it.”

Mingyu holds the phone right in front of Seokmin’s face, his eyes quickly going over your reply.

“Sure, when and where?”

▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫ 

Seokmin and Mingyu sit at a table in one of the Japanese restaurants just a few minutes away from SC University where you work at. Seokmin managed to pull Mingyu along with him despite his argument that Seokmin should go alone. After a compromise to pay for his meal in exchange for his company, Mingyu reluctantly sits next to Seokmin.

“You’ll pay for whatever I order tonight, right?” He asks, eyes glossing over the wide menu. “Just asking to make sure.”

“Yes, I will. For sure. Just don’t leave me alone, okay?” Seokmin replies, leaning in and speaking in a small voice. “I’ll even order that cooking set you’ve always wanted.”

Mingyu happily nods, satisfied at the additional offers. Moments later, you arrive at the venue, still bringing along your bag containing your laptop and another set of papers to look through.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late. We had a presentation that went on for a little longer than I had expected.” Y/N says. She takes a seat across the two men, raising her eyebrows as her eyes land on Mingyu.

“Hey, weren’t you at the theatre last week?” Mingyu says, earning a flustered look from Y/N.

She gives him a small wave. “Yes, hello. It’s nice to meet you, again. My name is Y/N, I live a few floors down Seokmin’s apartment.”

“Yeah, I know,” Mingyu says straightforwardly. Seokmin hits his knee slightly, making Mingyu jump a bit. “I wanted to tag along, so Seokmin told me about it. My name is Kim Mingyu, call me Mingyu.”

With an unreadable expression, she nods. “Ah, I see. By the way, Seokmin, are you sure that you’re fine with paying for me? I mean... this isn’t exactly the cheapest place in town, you know.”

Seokmin gives a wide smile. “No, no, it’s alright.” Seokmin hands Y/N a menu from the side of the table. “Really, order anything you like. We eat here a lot, their food is really good.”

Despite Seokmin’s slight awkwardness, Mingyu manages to move the conversation enough to create some small talk about work and life at the apartment. Apparently, Y/N’s roommates had just moved in, and work had gotten busier now that students are starting to pass their outputs for their final requirements. By the time the food arrives, the conversation had become natural enough for it to happen between Seokmin and Y/N without Mingyu’s need to become an emcee.

Sensing the situation, Mingyu decides to hurriedly finish his food and make a random excuse of needing to quickly head over to work. Out of their sight, Mingyu texts Minghao to call him quickly. With the acting skills acquired from years of being Seokmin’s practice partner at home, Mingyu picks up Minghao’s call.

“Hey, Mr. Jeon. What is it?” He says. Seokmin looks over to Mingyu, but his plan to ditch them hasn’t become apparent to him yet. “I’m eating right now, but I guess I could help out a bit. What’s wrong? What? Really? Right now?”

Although he says this, Minghao is completely unaware of the other side of the call. 

“Alright, I’ll be there in a bit,” Mingyu says before quickly turning off the screen of his phone. He gives Seokmin an apologetic look. “Hey, I’m sorry but I really have to go. Apparently, something is going on at work and I need to go there in a rush.”

Y/N gives a nod of understanding, while Seokmin had just understood what Mingyu was trying to do.

“Are you going to be alright? You just finished your meal.” She asks.

“It’ll be fine, my workplace is nearby.” He gets up and picks up the coat that he had laid on the back of his chair. “I’ll see you later at the apartment, Seokmin. So sorry I had to go early this time.”

Seokmin sits there with his mouth open, looking at Mingyu as he quickly moves out of the restaurant. In a few moments, Seokmin received a message from that same friend.

“Fighting :*”

“I hope they’re okay. It seemed like it was really urgent.” Y/N says, picking up a piece of sushi with her chopsticks and dipping it in soy sauce.

Seokmin gives a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I guess that’s just the kind of work that he does.” Now that Mingyu is gone, Seokmin’s thoughts are a mess. “By the way, I sent you a friend request.”

“Oh I’m sorry, did you? I wasn’t really able to check, today was a pretty hectic day. I’ll make sure to check it when I get home.” Y/N gives him a small smile. “Is Mingyu one of your roommates?”

“Yeah, I live with four other people. Well, all in all, we’re a group of thirteen friends that just live in separate apartments in one building.” Seokmin replies, trying his best to brave through the situation. “I know it’s difficult to imagine, but all thirteen of us lived in one apartment at one point.”

For the rest of the night, Seokmin and Y/N talk about anything that could possibly pop into their heads. At first, it was a mumble of random topics with the occasional awkward silence, which eventually turned into an exchange of laughter as Seokmin acts out his best scenes so far. Near the end of the night, it becomes a sentimental talk about work and living away from family members.

“I get what you mean. Throughout my career, I had to live away from my family too.” Seokmin says, taking a sip of water as he swallows his final bite. “Although my family is from the city, I had to move in with the other guys when I was in high school to prepare for my acting career.”

“That’s tough. I can’t imagine living away from my family at that age. I mean, up until now I still call my brother from time to time to ask for help in fixing things around the house.” Y/N purses her lips. “My roommates are always so busy, their workloads are literally two times heavier than mine, so I rarely get the time to go out with friends.”

Y/N looks up at Seokmin with the most genuine look.

“Thanks, for asking me to come out with you today. It helps a lot.” She says, and all of the sudden, Seokmin is completely soft.

“Woah, the mood just went... Well... I just, If it helps you, then I’m happy to help out any time.” Seokmin replies, taken aback for a second time by Y/N’s sincerity. Seokmin checks his watch, seeing that it’s already halfway past 10 PM. “We should get home. The restaurant will close in a bit, anyway.”

She nods in return and the both of you head out, taking the next bus toward your apartment building. For the duration of the ride, both of you stay silent as you sit next to each other. Both of you enter the elevator, tapping both your cards to access the higher floors. When the elevator stops on the 7th floor, Y/N gives Seokmin her final greetings for the night.

“Good night, Seokmin. See you again next time.” She says before finally turning to her apartment door at the end of the hallway.

Meanwhile, Seokmin arrives at his own apartment with an eager Mingyu waiting in the living room, managing to pull with him a tired Minghao. Seokmin stares at him, not sure whether to thank him or to get angry at him.

“So, how was it?” Mingyu asks with a glimmer in his eyes.

“You’re really crazy, Kim Mingyu,” Seokmin replies flatly. “But it was good.”

The two stare at each other before the two of them burst out in jumps of excitement. “I did it, I did it! I can’t believe I did it! Wah, I’ve been holding this in for hours.” Seokmin says, running over to hold Mingyu by the shoulders.

“See? You can do it if you actually try! I’m so proud of you, you’re finally managing to get through it.” Mingyu says, ruffling Seokmin’s hair.

“Is this the reason why you asked me to call you earlier?” Minghao asks with a judging expression on his face. “I swear--”

“Yeah, but it all went well, so it’s good, right?” Mingyu cuts him off in excitement.

“Hey, tone it down!” Boo Seungkwan shouts from his room. “Geez!”

The two men immediately zip, but not without a fit of small laughs and giggles. “Look at you, Lee Seokmin, finally getting over the unconscious crush curse,” Mingyu says quietly, albeit with the exact same excitement.

“Oh man, what am I going to do? My heart won’t stop beating fast.” Seokmin says, trying to calm himself down. “Minghao, what do I do?”

Minghao shakes his head. “So long as you’re happy, do whatever you want. I’m going to head off to bed first, I’ve got a schedule early tomorrow.”

With that, Minghao returns to his room, shortly followed by Seokmin and Mingyu after Seokmin promised to tell them about the other details the next day.

While on his bed, Seokmin receives a notification telling him that Y/N had accepted his friend request. It was then that he found out that although Y/N didn’t post much on her wall, she was rather active on her My Day’s. With a tap, many things about her day pop out, including her meal with Seokmin and Mingyu. The picture was of the two guys eating, with a small “thank you” caption at the bottom.

Seokmin takes a quick screenshot and closes his phone for the night. It was more than enough to lighten his mood, and surely a great memory for him. It was his first time ever making a move after years of never acting upon his feelings for someone.

Some people might see it as a quick rush of emotion, but to him, it was a wave of something new that he wanted to cherish. There was something different with her sincerity--although he heard people compliment him many times throughout his life, it was just then that it felt really, really real to him. At first, Seokmin merely thought of her as admirable in trying to move all her things by herself, but with her sincere words after the stage play, he was hooked. 

For that, he was greatly thankful.

That night, Seokmin slept well for the first time in a long time.

▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫▫ Part Three (Final) : [Part Three]

#svt fanfic #DK #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #DK x reader #Lee Dokyeom x Reader #Lee Seokmin x Reader #Lee Seokmin #Lee Dokyeom #seventeen fic #kim mingyu #I can't believe I'm actually writing fanfic after so many years

[a-crimson-lion]

My Thoughts On Chapter 257 and Why I Think The Bakudeku Dynamic Is Still Fundamentally Broken

[Spoilers and Bakugo-Bashing ahead. Long post. Avoid if you don't want to see.]

Look, I can kind of see why people enjoy the idea of Izuku and Katsuki making up and being friends again after all the crap Katsuki did. Honestly, if Horikoshi had set it up right, I might have been rooting for them, too. Of course, I don't root for it, because I don't see much improvement in the dynamic, especially on Katsuki's part.

Before I get started, remember: if you like the dynamic between Izuku and Bakugo, that's fine. This post probably isn't for you, and that's fine, too. I'm not writing this post to attack anyone personally, but if you feel offended, feel free to ignore this post and go about your day. I'd like it if we could be respectful of one another's opinions. Sound good? Good.

Now, let's begin...

So the big thing in this chapter (257 chapters, dear God...) is that we're finally learning a bit more about the OFA Holders. For starters, we now know the Black Whip user's name: Banjo Daigoro (heads up, the "Go (五)" in Daigoro means "Five," continuing the trend of OFA Holders having their wielder number in their names). We've also learned that Nana's Quirk was "Float" or "Levitation," which makes a lot of sense.

(I mean, Flight is one of the most iconic superpowers besides super strength, and since Nana is Izuku's metaphorical grandmother, it's incredible for her to be using such a by the book super power. Plus, it only compliments her friendship with Gran Torino, another hero with a flight Quirk.)

I'm rambling at this point. As intriguing as the Quirks of the previous holders is, my attention (as well as other readers' attention) was pulled towards Katsuki. Most say that the relationship between Katsuki and Izuku was adorable in this chapter. Others say Katsuki was a gremlin, but they still love him for it.

Well, pardon my pessimism, but if I'm using the phrase right, it looks like I'm gonna be playing devil's advocate.

[Keep in mind, the official translations haven't dropped yet, so this might screw up my analysis a bit.]

There's another meeting about OFA between Izuku, Toshinori, and of course Katsuki. Toshinori talks a bit about how he couldn't find everything for the previous holders, and what does Katsuki say?

If you don't know it then just leave it at that, I'm waisting my precious time on you guys.

There are a handful of other rude/passive-aggressive ways Katsuki could have phrased that. He could have made it sound like "That's nice and all, but could we skip to the important stuff?" But no, even though this information is crucial to Izuku, even though Katsuki has every right to just stay out of the room since the conversation won't benefit him, he says they're wasting his "precious time." Once again, Katsuki is being self-centered, but that isn't anything new.

A little later, Katsuki is taking a loom at the notebook, and he remarks that all the Quirks Izuku got must have been lame. Katsuki is immediately writing the Quirks off just because they aren't upfront with their badassery. Izuku appreciates all Quirks because he wasn't born with one, but Katsuki only appreciates strong Quirks because that's what society and his own self image have taught him up to this point.

Think of it this way: A man with diamonds can't understand why a man is happy with silver, but a man with nothing understands the value of both.

Katsuki's Quirk is admittedly versatile and efficient, and I can respect the work he put into it. However, immediately dissing less flashy Quirk's might be his downfall. Characters like Sir Nighteye don't have "powerful" Quirks, but are still capable adversaries thanks to how they use them in tandem with their other abilities. Foresight might not be a powerful Quirk in a fight, but Nighteye's own strategy, deceivingly ripped physique, and his high-density stamps help round him out as a capable opponent. We've seen Izuku utilize Black Whip in ways which can be definitely declared badass. Even Nana's Quirk can be used in incredible ways, especially considering Izuku's strategy and relentnesses.

Speaking of Nana's Quirk, here comes the part I hate the most...

Lots of readers talk about how Katsuki and Izuku's dynamic has grown a lot since their middle school days. That's not to say the statement isn't true, because there has been some growth, but I feel like most of it is exaggerated. Katsuki and Izuku haven't had an introspection (or at least a meaningful one) on themselves where they've come to grips with their faults and have vowed to change for the better. Izuku doesn't stop to think that maybe Katsuki shouldn't have treated him the way he did since they were kids, because Izuku's more concerned about heroism, mastering OFA, and (ugh) proving to Katsuki that he'll surpass him, being his image of victory. Katsuki hasn't really thought about his actions aside from that one time after the Provisional License Exams that ultimately amounted to nothing. It's been said time and time again by several in the fandom that Katsuki hasn't really changed, and for as much growth (or lack thereof) as he's had throughout the entire course of the series, the statement is not without merit. Case and point: the very first thing Katsuki spits out to Izuku when All Might reveals Nana's Quirk?

I WON!

He's more concerned about his own image and pride then about Izuku's progress. He's already got flight down, so instead of leaving it at that or (highly unlikely) offering to help Izuku figure out the whole flight thing, he decides it's a great thing that Izuku will waste his time learning something Katsuki already knows so Katsuki can make sure he can beat Izuku yet again. He's not adding anything to the conversation, and while Izuku isn't personally bothered, Katsuki's next words are not okay, even if they're relatively tame.

Before you tell me that Katsuki is just trying to encourage Izuku or something like that along those lines, let's take a look at their proceeding dialogue:

T-that's not true! I'll just master it and catch up to you!!

You're just going to panic again! Explode and go to Hell!

Buy I managed to get the gist of Blackwhip, so...

DIE!!

No hesitation...!

...Katsuki is not being encouraging in any way, shape, or form. He's being discouraging; in spite of Izuku's protest, Katsuki insists that Izuku is going to crash and burn once more. Never mind that Izuku isn't bothered by it, what Katsuki is saying is not okay. No one can be the best but him, so no one can improve... including Izuku. Forget about Izuku's previous feats, forget the fact that he learned to use the base Quirk without damaging himself AND a second Quirk in less than a year. As long as Katsuki can pull ahead, stupid Deku won't be able to catch up and he'll prove that he'll forever be the best.

...can you feel my frustration with this character?

And then there are the panels where Izuku looks like he reading the journal, and Katsuki is making a gremlin face while make the "kill" gesture across his neck, and All Might's looking at it like it's something precious. Other people called this scene adorable, but for me, it only proves that Katsuki hasn't changed and WHY he hasn't changed. He still treats Izuku as someone lesser instead of as an equal; he might not be Quirkless anymore, but for Katsuki, Izuku just another extra to surpass. And then Izuku tries to be civil with Katsuki, but... the boy really does not care about him. And then people like All Might don't know the full depth of their relationship and consider this a massive improvement, and see no reason to confront Katsuki or Izuku about their issues.

Seriously, the narrative is so contrived in Katsuki's favor, I'm losing hope that Horikoshi will ever try to fix it properly.

And before you give me Izuku's whole spiel about:

I never thought the day would come where I could speak so naturally with Kacchan.

NARRATORS! CAN! BE! BIASED!!!

Just because Izuku is the protagonist and overall honest does not mean his views/relationship with Katsuki are ultimately well. I'm not saying he's an unreliable narrator, since he hasn't really gone to Delusion City as he's told us the story, but it's very clear that he doesn't give Katsuki's actions too much thought. Him suddenly being able to talk casually with Katsuki is not a major feat: EVERYONE ELSE can casually talk to Katsuki just as well even if his personality is, quoting Denki, "flaming crap mixed with sewage." At this point, I'm just tuning out all the times the narrative tries to claim that Izuku is completely mentally sound, or that Katsuki has made significant progress.

You can keep shouting it from every roof top you want to, but unless you're showing CONSISTENCY, you're not showing substance.

So, TL;DR This chapter continues to push the Bakudeku rival dynamic while instead showing how Katsuki has ultimately barely changed and is continually enabled by other characters and the narrative to continue his behavior because virtually everyone around him has an abnormally high tolerance for his bulls***.

That's all I can write right now. Thank you for reading.

-Crimson Lion (18 January 2020)

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #izuku midoriya #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugou #bnha 257 #character analysis #meta #drabble #long post #anti bakugo #anti bakugou

[polyamorousmisanthrope]

📷I took five minutes to vacuum my closet the other day. It was part of my routine cleaning, no big deal. It was just a quick thing to check off on my cleaning list. I removed some boxes of stuff in the bottom, a few pairs of slippers, and vacuumed. I replaced the stuff and went on with my---

No. I didn't.

No, I looked at the bottom of the closet in a state of shock and burst out laughing.

I have spent a large portion of my life trying to get organized. When I was a child, "cleaning my room" really did mean tossing everything I could think of where to put it in a closet so that it looked tidy when Mom poked her head in. I was the child with the cubby under the desk in grade school so stuffed with papers and junk that it was simply impossible to add or find anything.

This level of disorganization bothered and embarrassed me. It really hurt and made me feel like a failure.

As a teenager, my backpack also became a mess of papers, random items, books, and paraphernalia (no, not that kind. In many ways, I was hopelessly square)

As an adult, it wasn't much better. My desk was full of bills to be paid, papers I didn't want to face, things that were vaguely sentimental but not enough to display anywhere. My closet?

That was still the place where I hid stuff I didn't have a place for but wanted the room at least to appear a little tidy.

How long from a stuffed closet to a tidy closet?

It took about thirty years.

I wasted a lot of that time, though. I addressed it in cycles. "Starting now, I'm finally going to get organized!" I'd spend several hours a day over a few weeks cleaning, organizing, and playing possessions Tetris with my home. After a month or so, know what? The house would look great!

Then, inevitably, the house would no longer look great. I'd clean the kitchen well enough to prevent food poisoning, but more than that? Not so much.

Ever done that? C'mon, it's okay. We all have.

Being tidy over time is all about consistent action.

You can, indeed, get the house clean with heroic effort, just as you can work really hard to train for an athletic event.

The problem comes in when you do something intense for a short period. As I mentioned in my last post, heroic effort is unsustainable.

Several of my favorite housekeeping systems (Flylady and Unfuck Your Habitat) talk about starting very small – shining your sink or making your bed. They are so right!

It's not about getting tidied or organized quickly. It's about developing consistent habits. For a lot of people, that's enough.

But for some…

Executive dysfunction can interfere with consistency.

If you have organizational or distraction issues, habits may not be enough. Autism, ADHD, and a host of other neurodivergent issues centered around executive dysfunction make it hard to do things that seem pretty obvious to the neurotypical person. What? You need to wash the dishes after a meal? No kidding. Go do it!

As I was writing this article, I broke for dinner. Guess what is in my sink right now?

I thought about it, got up, scrubbed the pan a little, realized it needed to soak some more, and sat back down here to write. Sure, sure, I'll get to it after I finish this, no biggie. But if my sink was full of dishes other than that pan, if I had laundry on my sofa, a desk drawer full of unaddressed bills, and my phone beeping that I needed to get up and get my car to the garage to get the brakes done, would I be getting back to that pan in any reasonable amount of time?

*Hollow laugh*

People with executive dysfunction issues can find their problems painful.

Maybe some people laugh and think it's cute to be disorganized. It never felt cute to me. It hurt because I had a hard time doing what I wanted to do. I was utterly desperate to get my life under control. Completely and utterly desperate from the time I was nine years old. That's a heavy load.

Jokes about executive dysfunction aren't cute.

I know the whole "squirrel!" joke about distractibility is mean to make people feel better and okay with themselves. I never wanted to be okay with chaos. I wanted the chaos to stop. It hurt. It interfered with accomplishing what I wanted to. It was exhausting. It used up time I wanted to spend on other things. I wanted a clean canvas so that when I jumped from obsession to obsession to obsession, I could feel like I was using that time intelligently rather than as a distraction from things that were bothering me.

Late fees, court cases, and lost jobs aren't cute, either.

There's an ADHD vlogger that I really like named Jessica McCabe. She's brilliant and adorable, and being a little bit of the manic pixie thing is part of her brand. It gets people to listen to broad issues of executive dysfunction. People will accept and listen to that stuff sometimes and find it palatable if someone is small and young and cute. (She's a LOT older than her looks or mannerisms would indicate, by the way).

So, the brilliant part. Quite sure McCabe knows what she's doing with that because sometimes she drops the adorable thing. The pain of being disorganized or having a hard time directing attention is very, very clear. If she weren't so cute, it would be unlikely as many people would listen to the important things she is saying. There's more to her than cute by a long shot. (And don't get me started on the sexism of it).

But that whole "cute" thing about disorganization. It's not so cute when unpaid bills land you in court. That has happened to me. With money in the BANK, that has happened to me! (Or without money. *shrugs* That, too). It's not cute when you have to buy a car at interest rates that are close to what you'd pay on a credit card. Yeah, that's happened, too. That we're in good financial shape now is a miracle.

There is a cultural narrative of *giggle* *giggle* "I'm so distractable!" to try to ameliorate the pain of being disorganized. Know what? It's not funny. It hurts.

Proscriptive solutions won't work.

I use a Bullet Journal just about with the out-of-the-box method that Ryder Carrol posted in that first video he did about it. I tried it, and it clicked.

Know what wouldn't have clicked? Someone making me do it when I was fifteen.

This is where you, if you have problems with executive dysfunction, might wonder if I can provide an answer for you. Know what? I can't.

I can say, "You need a Bullet Journal." I mean, I'll think it. I wouldn't say it. Know why? It won't necessarily work for you.

What I will say is that you need to find methods that work for you.

"Okay, smartybrat," I hear you cry, "if you can't offer a solution, what do I do?"

Create systems that support you

This is going to look different depending on how you think. Does a beepy reminder go bing! and prompt you to do stuff? Do you like to have a menu of tasks that you choose from depending on how easily they grab your attention in the moment?

What primes you to take action?

What plans have you followed through on (c'mon, you do have some if you're alive past 20), and what about them made you feel good?

My husband doesn't use a Bullet Journal. He plans his day using a calendar app. If there's an interrupt to a task, he'll move it to another free time. When you first try this, I strongly encourage you to multiply your estimation of task time by at least four until you get good at estimating how long something will take. If you have executive dysfunction issues you're struggling with, I'd bet at least a nickel that you're not good at estimating how long things take yet.

What stops you from taking action? Can you remove the interrupts?

A simple example would be to take the dirty clothes hamper's lid off if that's enough to discourage you from tossing your clothes in the hamper. Still, I'm not talking about "Tips 'n Tricks" here. I hate tips 'n tricks! They're like taking a Tylenol when you cut off your leg. You need to extrapolate that to life systems to support how you want to live.

Your system is useless until you define "good enough."

I could skip the next two or three times I need to vacuum my closet, and I wouldn't care. If I get to it every year or so, it's absolutely good enough. "Good enough" means I address my paperwork file once a week and clear it out. I don't have to do it every day unless I feel like it. "Good enough" is walking for five minutes on the hour around my living room until I get my 10,000 steps in. I don't have to walk for three miles unless I want to. "Good enough" is spreading up the bed and tossing the shams at the head. I don't have to bounce a quarter off the damn thing unless I get a wild hare to do that sometimes. Don't give yourself an image of perfection you have to attain, or you'll do nothing.

It's okay for "good enough" to change

Remember how it took thirty years to get to vacuuming a closet? There was a time when that chore wasn't on the "good enough" list, and ya know what? That's fine. Have your "good enough" be slightly, but only slightly, ahead of what you're currently doing if you want to make improvements. Incremental improvements over time, and I mean decades, are pretty dramatic when you look back.

Good enough can stay good enough

My exercise parameters have me getting in an average of 10,000 steps a day as measured over a month. That is never going to change. If the Spirit moves me, I'll do more. But I'm not going to keep raising the bar over and over and over. This is it. I'm good. I'm maintaining.

It takes decades to get your life in order. What small thing will you do today?

#executive dysfunction #adhd

[rsadelle]

Your writing is really good, do you have any tips? I started something but after reading yours and some by others I feel rubbish about it 😂x

Awww, thanks anon! I appreciate the compliment. ♥

I'm not sure I'm the best person to give tips to new writers; I've been writing for a long time and it's hard to look back and see what was helpful earlier. There are some ideas below, and maybe other people will chime in with additional tips or resources.

Write a lot. Writing is a skill, and like any skill, part of how you learn to do it is just by doing it again and again. I will also encourage you here to learn to write for yourself. This means write what you want to write without thinking too much about your potential audience. I know that this is much easier said than done. I have an advantage in that I've been posting fic for over 20 years, which means I come from a time before centralized fan fiction archives, before kudos and likes, and even before websites with comments. Look at the general comments to hits ratio on fic on AO3, and then imagine what it was like when people had to first find your story and then actually send you an email if they wanted to tell you they liked your fic. I learned to post fic knowing that maybe no one would ever tell me that they liked it, and that's a big part of why it doesn't bother me if other people don't like my fic the way I do. The thing I'm probably happiest about having written last year only has six kudos, and that doesn't make me any less happy about having written it. I've also written things that I never even posted, and yet that doesn't make having written them a waste. I don't know how to learn this in a world so focused on kudos and likes, but I do know it's possible to look at your writing that way.

The lesser talked about part of writing for yourself is to figure out a writing process that works for you. There are so many suggestions out there about what a writing process can or should look like, but it only works if it works for you. Try out a bunch of those ideas, certainly, but don't think that any one of them is the one and only way. Writing is also about the experience of writing. There are a lot of writing advice books out there, and I tried reading several of them before I realized that the reason they didn't work for me was that most of them started with the premise that writing is some difficult, torturous thing you have to force yourself to sit down and do, and that isn't how I feel about writing at all. There's effort in writing, certainly, but it isn't a horrible experience. If the way you're going about it is making you miserable, then it's not the right way for you. I don't want to discourage you from writing; I do want to discourage you from doing things that make you unhappy. This is especially true when it's a hobby, because hobbies are activities that we get to choose to do and enjoy.

Remember that you're a beginner. There's a great post I couldn't find with a quick google about thinking about how someone who's been writing for three years could be called a level 3 writer, and one way to combat the idea that you're not good enough is to think about a three-year-old as a level 3 human and remember that just as a level 3 human has a lot of learning and growing to go, so does a level 3 writer. You're not bad at it; you're just new. Again, writing is a skill, and that means you can learn and develop it. I also want to share with you the most important secret about life I've learned as an adult, which I wouldn't have believed as a teenager: it's okay to fail. It's okay if your writing doesn't go the way you want it to or if it's not loved the way you wish it were. That doesn't make you less valuable as a person, and it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you.

Read a lot. Reading is an important part of writing. You can absorb things about writing, or get inspired, or just remind yourself that you love written stories. It can also be helpful to consciously notice how authors do things you do and don't like so you can better understand how writing works. If you read a story or a book and you think, "I really liked that," can you see what the author did that you liked? If you read something you didn't like, can you see what made it not work for you? It can also be helpful to read outside your usual genres. I read a romance novel trilogy of a sort I don't usually read recently, and I found that the part of my brain that analyzes writing snapped itself on and I noticed all kinds of things about the style and structure that I don't necessarily think about in more familiar genres. If this sounds like the kind of thing you learn about in English classes in school, that's because it is. I obviously don't know anything about your age or life situation, anon, but if you're in school, pay attention in your English classes or sign up for one and get some guided practice in this. In my earlier fic writing days, I remember thinking that having done poetry analysis in high school was especially helpful for writing because poetry, more than longer prose works, really forces you to pay attention to word choices. I have also long thought that fan fiction is essentially literary analysis in a fictional form. Understanding the basics of how to pull apart and interpret a text can help you do the same thing when you go to write fic about it.

Learn the rules of grammar and punctuation. This is not an exciting piece of advice. However, I do think it's an important one. These are fundamentals when it comes to the written language. I think a lot about a scene in a book I read years ago where the character is very resistant to learning deportment until someone tells her something like, "You can flout the rules of society, but you have to understand them first." Writing is the same way. Once you understand rules of grammar and punctuation, you can decide how you're going to use, or play around with them, in a purposeful way to get across what you want to get across.

Ask for help. Anon, you already know how to do this because you asked me for tips! This is a hard thing, so kudos to you for starting in on it. There are a lot of ways to go about this: ask other writers you like for their writing tips, ask people for their favorite writing resources, ask people what they like about their favorite books, make friends with other writers you can talk to about writing. A note about asking people to help you in a beta reading way: be clear about your limits and the kind of feedback you want to get. For example, I don't worry much about how people will react to fic after I post it, but I am a delicate flower when it comes to feedback on things I'm still working on. I am a person who has wip amnestied fic because I got discouraged by how hard it would be to fix the things early readers pointed out needed fixing, and who once didn't deal with beta comments for a full two years because I didn't know how to make the story work. Now when I ask friends to read through my fic, I generally have specific questions I ask them, either in the initial email or in notes in the doc itself, which helps me get only the kind of feedback I can really deal with for that story.

Anon, I hope one or more of these things is helpful to you. You're very brave to start writing and to ask for help with it. Good luck in finding a way to an enjoyable and fulfilling writing experience. ♥

#Anonymous #writing #advice #inspiration