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ladystanden · 2 years

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camden has a reality check... {primadonna au}

[Part 1]

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Camden lifted her rose gold sunglasses, squinting to get a better view of the school in front of her.

It looked fairly small, as far as schools went. The orange-red coloured bricks unlocked a very specific memory of childhood that Camden had long buried.

Her heeled boots clacked against the pavement as she made her way to the entrance. She went to grab a guest pass and meet with the students participating in the musical and their teacher, Miss Angeria Van Micheals.

Once she arrived at the joint gym and auditorium, it was pure, unadulterated, drama-class chaos.

The kids were all bouncing around the gym floor as if they’d all eaten pixie sticks for lunch. Camden gathered that they were trying to interpret some sort of animal - a kangaroo, perhaps? or maybe a pack of gazelles, she wasn’t exactly clear on that.

A few of the students stopped and broke out into whispers when they noticed her presence.

“Let’s settle, now.”

A warm yet firm voice made the students reassemble and take a seat on the floor together, revealing a woman standing behind them.

She was tall and slender, with a strong presence that commanded attention but was equally as inviting. Her gray shirt was tucked into dark wash jeans, with a burgundy cardigan on top that dramatically swished as she gestured to the kids. Her lips were painted a red that matched and were curled into a bright smile.

“As you know, this is the biggest production our school has ever put on. The art department has decided to look for some support, which is why-”

“-Is it true you were on Broadway?!”

A young girl eagerly blurted the question, unable to contain it any longer.

“Yes,” Camden replied with a diplomatic nod, “I was in the ensemble of Anastasia, and was able to tour with them before moving on to a few Off-Broadway roles.”

This spurred even more excited whispering amongst the group. Camden would be lying if she said it didn’t fuel her ego at least a little bit.

“Are you really here to help us?” Another student asked. He stared into Camden’s soul with intensely hopeful puppy-dog eyes.

“Well-” Camden faltered.

In retrospect, she should not have been caught off-guard by the candidness of these kids. Especially considering they were theatre kids.

“I’d certainly like to observe for a little while-”

“-Whatever happened to raising our hand before speaking?”

Miss Van Micheals gave her students a disapproving click of her tongue, stirring laughter in all of them. She seemed like the type of teacher who had playful rapport with her class, the kind who knew how to keep things lighthearted. In Camden’s own experience, those were pretty rare to find, which made her all the more impressive.

“I see you’re all warmed up, so why don’t we show our guest what we’ve worked on so far?”

The kids all scrambled for the door that Camden presumed led into the wings, the sports flags on the wall flaring out as they ran past.

Now, she was alone with the teacher. Luckily, Camden had plenty of experience turning on the charm: this introduction should be a cakewalk.

“Miss Van Michaels! I’m so happy I could be here today, it’s lovely to meet you.”

She extended her arm for the woman to shake, who did so with much more gentle poise than she was used to from stringent casting directors.

“Likewise,” She replied in an accent that rivaled Camden in its charm. “The kids call me Miss Angie, though, so I’d use that around them. Makes things less formal that way.”

“Of course.” Camden agreed, fighting the instinct to rock on her heels.

She was no stranger to audition nerves, but she didn’t know why she was getting them here, considering this wasn’t an audition.

The teacher led the way to a set of fold-out chairs behind a rickety table in front of the stage.

“I’m sure this isn’t as glamorous as what you’re used to, but we make due here.”

“It’s certainly - unique, but it’s sort of quaint, you know? In a hodge-podge, eclectic sort of way.”

This was certainly the first auditorium Camden had been in that had basket ball nets attached to the walls.

She slowly took a seat, unconvinced that the chair wouldn’t snap out of place and send her tumbling to the floor.

Angeria pulled out a pristine copy of the script, setting it between the two of them. She also grabbed a notepad which made Camden realize she probably should’ve brought something to take notes.

Using her phone did not seem like the right course of action.

So, she (cautiously) leaned back in her chair, ready to absorb whatever the students were about the showcase.

They started from the beginning of the show, with its opening number: Miracle.

There was no music yet, so the kids spoke the lines instead of singing them. The only set piece was another shaky folding table with a measly dollar store tablecloth thrown on top. The choreography consisted of simple touch-step moves, most of which were out of sync.

Actually, a lot of it was out of sync. The chorus where everyone had to overlap was an off-beat nightmare of children screaming their words, the formations were so clunky that Camden couldn’t tell who was supposed to be playing a child or a parent, and the two poor ensemble members tasked with carrying the table to the back of the stage struggled with it even as Mrs. Wormwood went into her sad lament of being stuck in the hospital.

Ah yes, the most common hospital decor. Balloon tablecloths.

Camden was thankful when the actress playing Matilda popped out from underneath the table, because it meant everyone else had to freeze while she delivered her sad-and-therefore-much-quieter solo part.

Everyone broke out of their characters directly after the last line. To Camden’s surprise, the woman next to her burst into thunderous applause.

“You’ve made so much progress!” She beamed.

If that was the case, Camden felt lucky to have been absent from the last practice.

All of the kids shifted their gazes to Camden, their eyes expectantly waiting for feedback.

How was she supposed to approach this? Lie and say that it was Sondheim levels of masterful?

“It… it’s an alright foundation,” She forced her face into a gentle smile, though it was hard when she was still recoiling from the piercing noise. “You all have so much… passion, it was… explosive.”

A few of the kids scrunched their noses, forcing Camden to elaborate.

“Maybe there’s a way of…. controlling the explosion a little more, so to speak? I’m not sure if you’ve learned the core principles of counting in time with the beat, of cheating out to the audience-”

“Miss Angie’s taught us all about those things.” The student playing the party entertainer piped up matter-of-factly.

“Right,” Camden’s jaw tightened, “All I meant was that… maybe some more practice is in order.”

The kids didn’t seem satisfied with this. They fidgeted in their places on stage. Which was another fundamental of theatre they hadn’t quite grasped, might Camden add.

“Can we set up the stage for the Wormwood’s house? I’d like to start blocking the next scene. If you aren’t in it, please find a partner and go over your lines together.”

The teacher’s directions broke through the tension coating the air, which Camden was thankful for.

Little did Camden know, Angeria had been stewing in a tension of her own.

The stern expression that settled on Angeria’s face startled Camden to the point of wanting to go and hide under the table with Matilda.

“Listen, I don’t know what PR company sent you here, and frankly, I couldn’t care less.”

“I’m sorry…?”

Camden failed to see what had earned her this reaction: it’s not like she was the one who sang in the chorus of screeching banshees.

“From the moment you walked through the door, you’ve made it abundantly clear you have no respect for what we’re trying to accomplish. If you think you can just waltz in, get on your high horse about technique, and use that to get on the media’s good side, then you can leave right now.”

Was she not here to be another set of eyes? To, you know, help?

Why were her valid notes being painted as a bad thing?!

“These kids don’t need criticism from some disgraced broadway performer who doesn’t care enough to learn their names. They need support. Not to be robbed of their confidence just so you can feed your own self-importance.”

It’d been a long time since Camden had been treated this way. Angeria’s brown eyes cracked in a fury that cut Camden to the core.

“That’s - that’s not what I was trying to do,” Camden stuttered, though she hadn’t pondered the possibility for long enough to know if that really had been her goal.

“I understand that they need support - that’s why I got into theatre, too.”

Angeria didn’t respond: she just stuck her nose higher in the air and turned her attention back to her students. She started blocking the next scene, leaving Camden to fester in her shame.

Shockingly, shame is not a fun emotion to experience. Without Angeria glaring daggers at her, it was easier for Camden to stave it off. To let it morph into something else.

Rage.

Who did this teacher think she was to hurl such awful insults at her? Camden was donating her own time to this production, and instead of being grateful, she was being condemned for it.

News flash: this show was a complete mess so far, and was on course to become the laughingstock of the city.

Maybe the news articles about the headache-inducing Matilda show would eclipse the ones slandering Camden. That was fine by her, let this ship sink for all she cares!

Camden did not speak two complete sentences the rest of the rehearsal. She saved her choice words for when she got back to her apartment, and furiously swiped into Deja’s contact.

“Hey Cam,” Deja greeted cheerily, “How’d it go today?”

“Deja!! Why would you do that to me, why the hell did you-”

And then she choked the rest of her words back.

Here she was, screaming at her agent over the phone. No, her friend. But with how terrible she’d been treating Deja lately, could she even call her that?

Deja was only trying to help. It’s not like she could have possibly known what the teacher would say to her.

And this tantrum over the phone was clear proof that Angeria’s words had some truth to them.

“I’ve…” Camden’s voice lowered to a whisper as realization set in, “I’ve been a bitch, haven’t I?”

Despite the prior yelling, despite deserving a harsher retort, Deja only responded with a gentle: “That bad?”

Camden collapsed onto her bed, groaning into her pillow.

“I’m sorry,” She tried to say, but it ended up coming out all muffled against the fabric.

Somehow, Deja seemed to understand.

“Hey, I don’t want you to get down on yourself. Just because you’ve been all tunnel-vision lately does not make you a bad person. You aren’t.”

Camden didn’t know what to believe anymore. All she knew was that she couldn’t trust herself, not after this downwards spiral she’d been blind to up until now.

“I know you said it wasn’t all rosy, but I still think this experience will be good for you, even if the first day was a little… trying.” Deja offered.

“I’ll be banned if I set foot in there ever again,” Camden let out a self-deprecating laugh, “I’m surprised they didn’t have me thrown out when I so ignorantly decided to call their auditorium a ‘unique hodge-podge’.”

Camden was so out of touch, that she literally thought that had been a compliment.

“It can’t hurt to try, right? If I know anything about you, Cam, it’s that once you set your mind to something, you’re unstoppable.”

Angeria’s earlier words echoed in Camden’s mind.

They need support.

Camden made about a million fatal flaws during that first rehearsal, but the biggest was that she failed to gain anyone’s trust. Why shouldn’t they think she was just there for her own benefit?

“I don’t want to bog them down… can I really help them while I’m also trying to dig myself out of this hole?”

“It doesn’t have to be a one-way street: the production can help you, and if you keep an open mind, you can do the same for it.”

Deja’s peptalk managed to draw out one emotion from the neverending vortex of feelings Camden had endured today.

Motivation.

“I think you’re right.”

Though Camden couldn’t see her, she was sure that Deja’s lips had contorted into a large Cheshire smile.

“Finally!” She joked.

Camden laughed along, but it was restrained.

“Are… we good?”

“Of course we are,” Deja reassured her, “I’m here for you, Cam. Even more so now that you’re ready to listen.”

Now that she’d had a reality check, Camden was willing to heed Deja’s advice.

She just hoped it wasn’t too late.

#lady camden #angeria paris vanmicheals #deja skye #primadonna au #💎

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christian-perspectives · 2 months

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Are You Religious Or Spiritual?

Religious people often refer to themselves as righteous people. This post will examine the difference between a religious person and a righteous or spiritual person. I have come to call not those who think they are righteous, but those who know they are sinners and need to repent. Luke 5:32 Read that verse two or three more times and let it sink in. What Jesus said in that portion of scripture affects a large portion of the people who attend church today. When I think of the term “a religious person,” my mind goes to two different types of people. The first one deals with the setting in which Jesus made this statement about the religious. Earlier that day, Jesus saw Matthew, the tax collector, working in his booth. The Lord did something that none of His other followers expected. Later, as Jesus left the town, he saw a tax collector named Levi sitting at his tax collector’s booth. “Follow me and be my disciple,” Jesus said to him. So Levi got up, left everything, and followed him. Luke 5:27-28 Matthew’s positive response may have also shocked those following the Lord. Anyhow, that night, Matthew held a banquet in his home and invited Jesus as the guest of honor. Of course, Matthew also invited others from his circle of friends. You guessed it, his guest list included fellow tax collectors and others he rubbed shoulders with. This infuriated some of the religious leaders. They were appalled that Jesus would hang out with such people, let alone eat with them. They complained using some very strong language. But the Pharisees and their teachers of religious law complained bitterly to Jesus’ disciples, “Why do you eat and drink with such scum?” Luke 5:30

Two Types of Religious People

The Pharisees and teachers of the law define the first type of person I see as a religious person. They considered themselves above the law and right below God. They flaunted their superiority over everyone to the point that people feared them instead of respecting them. Even today, some religious leaders demand respect because of their position. Jesus didn’t have time for these religious people. He boldly expressed what He thought of them. In Matthew 23, we can read about an encounter He had with such leaders. Check out verse 25. What sorrow awaits you teachers of religious law and you Pharisees. Hypocrites! For you are so careful to clean the outside of the cup and the dish, but inside you are filthy—full of greed and self-indulgence! Matthew 23:25 Secondly, my mind goes to a larger segment of people when I think of a religious person. This type of person attends church fairly regularly and goes through the motions of Sunday worship. At the end of the service, they feel good about themselves. I once heard a person say this when walking out of the church. “Well, I gave God my hour for this week.” These religious folks will often get involved in the social aspects of the church. But only if they can fit them into their busy calendars. Again, these activities make them feel good. Paul said; Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. Ephesians 2:9 I would never discourage anyone from attending church or participating in outreach. Unfortunately, these religious people feel their “religious activities will get them to heaven.

The Church in Laodicea

Jesus dictated a letter to John to deliver to a group of people just like them. These folks went to the church in Laodicea and thought they were okay with the Lord, but they weren’t. I know all the things you do, that you are neither hot nor cold. I wish that you were one or the other! But since you are like lukewarm water, neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth! Revelation 3:15-16 The people Jesus wrote to felt they could care for themselves and their needs. In other words, they didn’t require anything from the Lord. They depended on their religious activities. You say, ‘I am rich. I have everything I want. I don’t need a thing!’ And you don’t realize that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked. Revelation 3:17 Then, He advised them to turn to Him because He has everything they need. The Lord continued by telling them why He gave them this advice. I correct and discipline everyone I love. So be diligent and turn from your indifference. Revelation 3:19 The question in the title of this article asks if you’re religious or spiritual. What I mean by spiritual points to the fact that you’ve accepted Jesus into your life and are living for Him. If a person finds them self basing their Christianity around their Sunday morning church attendance, then they are religious. I could have found myself in that very state.

I Changed from Religious to Spiritual

In my younger days, I loved attending church and involvement in church activities. Church was my life, and I was as religious as one could be. But my life was changed in church also. Let me tell you why I would never discourage anyone from attending church. Because this bonafide, self-proclaimed do-gooder had an encounter with the Lord in a church service. I allowed myself to go into a church where the Holy Spirit was moving, and I got in His way. He brought me along with him instead of moving me out of His way. In an evening, Jesus revealed Himself to me, and I realized that I was a sinner and needed Him. He cleansed me of my sin, and I transformed from a religious person to a follower of Jesus. The Lord told the church in Laodicea that He loved them. Then, He went on to say that He was waiting for them. Just like I found Him waiting for me that night when I accepted Him. Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends. Revelation 3:20

Jesus wants to Celebrate the Victory with You

When we turn from being religious by giving ourselves to Jesus, we trade our carnality in for the spiritual. When that happens, the Lord celebrates our victory with us. Those who are victorious will sit with me on my throne, just as I was victorious and sat with my Father on his throne. Revelation 3:21 Lord, thank you for removing the religious spirit from us and celebrating the victory with us. Check out these related posts on getting your life right with God - How To Be A Remnant Of God - Jesus Is The Ultimate Sacrifice For All Eternity - Receiving Salvation In The Lord Is Made Easy - Who Can Be Saved? - Born Into The Family Of God Read the full article

#BibleStudy #Devotions #Evangelism #Luke

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kingsvk · 4 months

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Ivan King Kráľ - interview (December 2023)

How are you doing? How does it feel having this epic retrospective album come out?

IVAN KING KRÁĽ - Retrospective 1993 - 2023. This is the title of a personal digipak CD compilation - release date October 31, 2023 by Sliptrick records (LTA). This compilation charts my 30 years on the music scene as a composer, keyboardist and lyricist. I have been present at everything important that has happened on the Slovak metal scene. I have influenced bands like Protest, Editor, Mystic Death, Galadriel, Lunatic Gods, participated in recording of their debut albums as a member of the band or as a guest. Over time, these names have become legends. With my music project King SVK, I keep the imaginary metal flag flying.

When I recall the events of the past, I realize how deeply they have affected my being. I know that the past was not an illusion and through the present I will draw from it the knowledge, strength and inspiration to shape a successful future. It is wonderful to become aware of yourself, your words and actions - your SELF. To evaluate whether dreams, desires have come true. The past must therefore be seen as a stepping stone.

2. Where did the idea originate? It reminds me of how I put together my "favorites playlist" of musicians and all their works.

Exactly. Something similar is going on with this compilation. The goal was not for me to become a collector of my own CDs, but for my work over the last 30 years to be sorted out by the fans, or made known to the general public.

3. Let's start with the Protest song, "Abandoned Love," this was such a unique album, the artwork as well- what was it like being a part of this?

The term - artwork is very apt - it describes a lot. Since the beginning of my career I have been trying to make valuable material within music. Protest was created in 1989. Death metal and keyboards - this combination is fascinating. We were influenced by bands like The Gathering, Nocturnus. CD What For Name, When Hunanity Is Dying... (1995) was one of the first in the death metal genre in Slovakia and for some time the best seller on Metal Age Productions (SVK). The lyrics of this song were written by me. The band managed to release 3 studio albums.

4. How did you come to guest on the debut full length for Galadriel?

It's an interesting life story. It was 1994 and I was working as a teacher at the Secondary vocational school of polygraphy in Bratislava - Rača. This was attended by a then 16-year-old pupil Dodo Ďatel (vocal & bass guitar). We talked about music and became friends. He mentioned to me that he founded the band Trojan Warrior, which he later renamed tolkien's GALADRIEL (1995). Spontaneously, the decision to collaborate was made. I helped my friends considerably by playing the keys. Also with valuable advice during the recording & mixing of the songs. Empire Of Emptiness (1997) was released on Unknown Territory (UK). The band has released 7 studio albums. The musical direction was doom - dark metal.

5. Mystic Death was more of a change in style, with the black metal sound what was it like working with them?

I like black metal and I try to incorporate its elements into King SVK's work even today. When I heard that the agile Metal Age productions label is planning to release an album by another Martin band, I was intrigued. I had created sequencer intros at that time and I was wondering how to use them. When I offered the guys to use them, the deal was immediately done. During rehearsals we adapted everything as needed. I helped a lot in arranging the songs. Some of the songs were long, the riffs were pointlessly repetitive. That's why they were edited - shortened. The Voices Of The Obscure World album was released in 1997. I remember Blackmoon's review in Spark magazine (CZ). He shouted in amazement: "This is food! Great keyboards, those melodies!" Big Boss, frontman of ROOT, had this to say about the band: "In my opinion, MYSTIC DEATH is the only band from the CS scene whose music sounds like black metal." The album has not been surpassed to this day and has become a cult hit. However, the main reasons for the band's break-up were: personal problems and lack of time to devote to the band. Track Deathbreath In The Northen Sky is included on the exclusive compilation Ivan King Kráľ - Retrospective 1993 - 2023 at https://kingsvk.bandcamp.com/.

6. Let's discuss Editor and their place in Slovakian thrash metal history. Why was "Escape" chosen as a cover?

The beginnings of EDITOR (1988) were marked by Thrash metal, Hardcore and the band was one of the pioneers of this musical style in Slovakia. Only Milan "Doctor" Jakubík (vocals) remained from the original line-up. The group has released 8 studio albums to date. Metallica's cover song Escape was exclusively recorded in Shaark studio, Bzenec for TAGA records (CZ). It was released as a compilation CD, as a tribute to Cliff Burton - 10 Years After... (1996). I participated in the recording as a guest musician and friend of the band. Escape is one of the underrated tracks, this version makes a fresh impression. It is part of the exclusive Ivan King Kráľ - Retrospective 1993 - 2023 compilation at https://kingsvk.bandcamp.com/.

7. I was always a fan of Lunatic Gods and appreciated the original sound and creativity of the band- how did you help establish their career and get them going?

While recording Inhuman & Insensible (1996) in the studio, it began to dawn on us that an unusual record was being made. We put the energy from our fans into further work and the second album, Sitting By The Fire (1998), was born. As time went on, differences of opinion surfaced among the band members as to what direction the band should take in the future. I was pushing for a radical move upwards, but this was not met with understanding. I was disappointed. I felt at the time we had a chance to break into the metal elite. In 2000 I left the band after 7 years. The decision was not easy. The band has released 8 studio albums. Today L.G.'s work is oriented towards Slavic folk-metal. There are two original members. The drummer Martin 'Marthus' Škaroupka (Cradle Of Filth) is an interesting addition.

8. You worked with Pavel 'Hirax' & Fero 'Psycho' in different bands please inform our readers what it was like collaborating with them?

Yeah. I must commend you for this knowledge. These bands were Editor, Protest and Bestialit - Lunatic Gods. Hirax (guitar) & Psycho (drums) were self-taught and inseparable friends from the Priekopa housing estate in Martin. They came from a bunch who were fans of metal music and together they used to buy records of metal bands. In the 1980s they used to go to stock exchanges and buy vinyl records. Hirax wrote about this time and the different experiences - he published a book: Always ready! I put together an internet project: The history of Martin's metal in interviews (1985 - 2010).

The musical collaboration with the two of them was good. They took me in and together we plunged headlong into making music. Gradually we got better and better. We had a good momentum going, we were great together. Personally, I wanted to make punchy, fast songs with keys: something in the style of Slayer. Hirax, on the other hand, had a plan to start making complex, multi-minute epic songs (he liked progressive rock - a band from Brno, Progres 2). In 2000 we had a difference of opinion on this issue. Today Hirax has his own band called RAMCHAT (Pagan death metal). Psycho is no longer musically active, he lives a solitary civilian life and carries his soul with him in a leather bag.

9. Then of course we have the King SVK albums how would you describe your work and the sound you have established?

The album New Aeon was not made in haste. A lot of time and effort was devoted to the arrangement of the songs, sound direction and mixing. The songs from this album have the potential to win many fans. All the reviews for the album have been fantastic. The album was released on CD by Sliptrick records, an Italian label based in Latvia, on 22 October 2019. The possibilities to work with the sound are great, guitarist Norbert Ferencz has a lot of credit for the final sound version. We want to continue to be original in this.

10. I love the New Aeon album- have you written new songs since its release? When will you have new music coming out?

New Aeon is a great album and to top it will be a challenge. There are 10 original songs and 2 covers by Death: Voice Of The Soul & Crystal Mountain. The themes of the lyrics will deal with Greek mythology, WW2. The new, 4th in line album will be released in 2025. It will be preceded by a single with a music video. I'm currently in talks with singer Tim 'Ripper' Owens as a guest vocalist. Hopefully a deal will come together and he will agree to collaborate.

11. Looking back on your career - what are you most proud of? What is your biggest accomplishment so far?

I've performed at big festivals, e.g. Dynamo North Power Jam Litoměřice (1998). I have played 200 live shows with Lunatic Gods and Metal Hammer CS magazine named the best metal band in the Czech republic and Slovakia (1997). To date I have a total of 9 full-length albums with various bands. With the King SVK project I am constantly going up in quality.

12. To conclude the quote from Nikola Tesla: "Everything is light. And think of this: The man who ever existed did not die."

#kingsvk #Ivankingkráľ #Ivankingkral #metal

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letterstojori · 5 months

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12.4

Dear Jori,

Its been awhile since I have written. Though I guess not that long. Can you believe it is already December? We had a few messages back and forth but you dont seem to be in the biggest hurry to reply. Maybe you dont want to talk to me at all. Am I a reminder of a heart that you broke? I could keep making excuses that you might not be on discord that often or whatever. But I know deep down that if you wanted to reply more, you wouldve replied already. I messaged you Saturday morning? Its been two days. I am starting to just think im delulu.

Life has been a little interesting these past few days. Last Friday was quite a day in the life of an ALT. I wish I documented it. I had 3 scheduled classes that day but because of one teacher being absent and then one class taking tests, I had 0 classes that day. But I made the most of my time. I went to a science class for the 1st period. I have never just sat in an academic class before. Like I have gone to music class or pe but never an academic class. Mr. Shouji is nice though. Then I went to a cooking class the first years had. They were making salmon and some vegetable soup. After that I attended a meeting the third years had for high school but I didnt really undrestand it so I got bored and left. I went to get something to snack on at the conbini and then I went back. Might have watched some TFT or something. Had lunch with some of the kids. 1-2 class but for some reason they made them be quiet the whole time it was kinda boring. THen they had a presentation in the gym with a guest speaker about anti drugs. I didnt really understand much of it either but I got the gist of it.

Spent a lot of time playing tft and got to dimaond over the weekend.

And then I did lesson plans for a lesson that I taught today. It was about the difference between see, look, and watch. It went well for one class but the other class, there was barely any participation and a lot of disrespect/talking. Idk. Low key had to tell the kids off in the nicest way possible but it was quite disheartening.

I am starting to think that maybe I should just stop writing you letter. And fully detatch. Because I guess I never really did. And now that a lot of time has passed, it should be a lot easier. And now that I see how little you care, maybe it'll be even more easy.

-Bearbear

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martaonthemove · 2 years

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#161 Improv Comedy Classes an Avenue to More Playfulness, Creativity, and Better Communication.

Welcome back all! Today I am going to be exploring more into my new found passion of Improv comedy classes and why I am here to tell all of you, to try one out in your own hometown.

On episode 158 I delved into some deep content about facing your fears and sitting with discomfort. I directly referenced Phil and I pushing past our awkwardness and joining Improv classes. It turns out I wasn't quite done with the subject, and in fact will probably record another podcast about how to make meaningful relationships as you age, which Improv will be involved in that discussion as well. What can I say... When I am into something... I am INTO it. :)

Aside from being a fun activity to participate in, Improv has helped me personally communicate better with others, and myself.

My brain feels sharper than it has in years, and Phil and I's communication has improved A LOT. We always considered ourselves great at talking, but have realized over the years that you can be great at talking, but NOT at communicating.

We talk over one another. We blame and judge. We get defensive. We assume and project. I am sure we are not the only ones. When you are with someone for a long period of time you develop habits, and patterns. These habits became apparent to me when we started taking Improv together and began working through some practices and games. We weren't listening outside of class as well as we could have been.

Improv helped us pause and instead of waiting for our turn to speak, to really listen to what the other was saying. It also revealed long standing patterns of blame. If we were in a scene together, we instantly fell into "Well, you didn't do this." or "Why are you blaming me? You weren't there either!." Sort of scenario. Those negative emotions were easy to access as we built our pretend world for a scene. For example- A married couple at a furniture store that can't agree on a couch. Normal, right?

Let me be clear here in saying that Improv comedy classes didn't entirely solve our problems. I am not saying it is therapy or a replacement for therapy. It just offered a lovely way of actually PRACTICING how to communicate better. You learn from therapy and discover how to better communicate. You may notice your own patterns or you might read concepts from books on how to shift the way you communicate. You read it, but to actually put these good habits into practice in a fun way allows you to shine light on where they pop up and strengthen better communication muscles so that you deeply know it.

It was shortly after our Phil and I's first few classes that we began to unfold. The blame game disappeared. We were listening to one another AND then most beautiful thing happened naturally...

We were playing again. Truly playing. This past year with the death of my sister Nina has been a rough one, and I have actively been rediscovering how to play and find joy. Life is hard. It is dark, and it can sometimes be easy to stay dark. It is hard to be playful after tragedy, but man is it needed. We began being lighter and not just in class. The affects lingered on throughout the week and seeped into our days and evenings, and we could not wait until the following week to play again with our new found friends!

At least for us Improv classes are pure childlike joy. It is like camp for adults!

Wanna try it? Let's chat with a veteran on the show! I am excited to announce that I have a guest for today's show, something I haven't had in over a year and a half! Feels good to speak to another human on MOTM.

On today's episode I bring on Justin Borak. Justin is an Improv teacher and actor, and has worked in Chicago for several years performing in shows at Second City, iO, and the Annoyance. Some popular and prestigious Improv hot spots around the country.

I am so excited to chat with him about how he thinks Improv spurs creativity and playfulness, how he thinks Dungeons and Dragons blends so well with Improv Comedy, and how inclusive it is in different cities. We also discuss how diverse of a crew you get when you join a class. Age, race, all walks of life join in these classes and it is a delightful way to expand your perspective and friend group. We also walk you into your first improv class and tells you what to expect, so you don't have to be nervous.

This is me trying to break down what happens in a typical class for all those who are curious but are really scared to walk into something crazy. It is harder to write, so listen to the episode to get a better idea.

A Typical First Improv Class-

You sit in the chairs waiting for everyone to arrive. Maybe you say hi to someone, maybe you don't. The instructor introduces him/herself and they have everyone then stand in a circle and play some games.

Most of these games are typical icebreaker games. Remembering people's names, passing the red ball around, Zip, Zap, Zop. They are games that are played and learned very quickly and intended to warm you up, to allow you to get comfortable so that you soon realize you are just having fun like you used to do when you were a kid. No pressure or expectation, only fun.

After that they may explain how Improv works, you might do some quick short practices with others. One of my most favorite practices the instructor lead early on - It was myself and another classmate on stage. The instructions were that we were making a bed together, and we couldn't talk until the instructor tells us to. We start and just begin to act out making a bed. Folding sheets, fluffing pillows, etc.

The real subject of this scene isn't the bed though it is the relationship between the characters and what is going on. What is their relationship to each other. Is the body language angry, happy, sad?

I liked the exercise because when you begin Improv it is hard to find words. Silence is easier and it relaxed me. It allowed me to use my body to express how I was feeling.

On your first class you may also start to delve into something called Monologue Deconstruction. I like to think of this as basically storytelling time. The audience throws out a word. Say "Beach." and one person comes forward to tell a story that relates somehow to a beach. Trying to add in as much detail as possible. Then from this story and the details, the classmates start to create scenes.

That is about it, folks. Sound scary? It shouldn't. I have honestly found the most easy going people to be in my Improv classes. Everyone there is showing up to have a good time and learn some fun and funky new skill.

Creativity sparks because everyone is showing up for one another to build the best scene possible. It is the ultimate co-op game where everyone wins.

You ready to try it? YOU SHOULD! Better yet, bring your partner, friend or family member along with you and watch your communication start to evolve and your playfulness ignite!

Yoga Sailing Retreats for 2023 Registration is OPEN!!!

Thailand- April 8th to the 15th

Croatia August 26th to the 2nd

Sardinia and Corsica- Sept 2nd to the 9th. - 2 spots left!

Don't miss out on your chance to sail with me next year because I am not sure if I will be hosting sailing retreats in 2024 or 2025.

ALSO if you can't roll with me overseas this year, stay local! My friend Elizabeth Craig and I are hosting a women onlyTransformation Retreat near Pittsburgh. Sept 8-11th. Registration is now open and Early Birds Registration ends on June 30th. This retreat is for the awakening woman, and we want you with us. Choose from a 2 or 3 day retreat for your busy schedule.

This episode is sponsored by Steel City Improv.

"Steel City Improv Theater teaches and performs Long-Form improv comedy. In long-form improvisation, a group of improvisers take one suggestion from the audience and perform an entirely made-up show, complete with multiple scenes, characters, and ridiculous spectacles, bound only by its creators' imaginations.

Steel City Improv Theater (a.k.a. the SCIT), teaches Applied Improvisation. The SCIT knows that improv classes make you more than just funny. By applying the principles of improv to your life, you can become a better parent, mentor, entrepreneur, employee and friend. Improv teaches you to deal with the unexpected in life. You become a better listener, more positive person, and improve your ability to truly live in the moment.

Steel City Improv Theater’s philosophy is best summed up in three words: “Listen. Commit. Play.” The SCIT combined the best practices from improv training found at New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles improv theaters into the SCIT Philosophy. Listening can be a hard skill to master, but, by staying in the moment can open up a world of possibilities. Accepting others’ ideas is difficult, but committing to our own ideas can be an even bigger challenge. With improv training, we learn to break through the inner critic that normally stops us. With a sense of play, we find an endless sense of possibility and inspiration. When our teammates have that same sense of imagination, it makes the word “failure” seem less scary and more exciting.

For a safe space to step out of your comfort zone, come listen, commit, and play at Steel City Improv Theater!"

Check out this episode!

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thecarnivorousmuffinmeta · 3 years

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Bella and Beauford (your version of Beau) are twins, similar features (brown eyes), similar chip on their shoulder, similar flowery language, and Ed can't read either of their minds and both smell like grade A beefcakes. Both move to Forks. What kind of mess do you think will go down? 030 Does Eddie boi get the harem he's never wanted? How much can we destroy the B&B team self esteem? Find out on today's episode of the What if Muffin chronicles~! - Sw

Beauford is a reoccurring guest star on this blog.

Think Bella directly plastered onto a boy: absurdly pretty, still clumsy, still terribly introverted and awful socially, and smells like heroin to one Edward Cullen.

With that, onto your question

The Rules

To set some ground rules that are set in the post, I'm presuming both, somehow, are Edward's singer. Now, given that it's Bella and Beauford (fraternal twins), I'd say this is highly unlikely. Singers are rare, and Charlie and Renee don't notably smell like high quality heroin to Edward. More likely, Bella would be the singer, and Beauford would just smell generally nice (but not murder all of Biology nice).

It's also unlikely they'd have the same exact gift, or a gift that expresses itself in the same manner, blocking Edward out of their minds.

But the rules are set, both are Edward's singer, and both have Bella's absurdly powerful gift.

They're for all intents and purposes the same fucking person that somehow got stuffed in two different gendered bodies. The real genesis of this AU: Renee was abducted by aliens while pregnant and her unborn child experimented on. Beauford is, in fact, Bella's identical twin. Beauford is actually Bella's male clone grown in the womb.

After Bella and Beauford reach sexual maturity they'll be beamed back up into space and put into a zoo on Traflamador. (Except not because that would derail this post... The test pilot on Traflamador blew up their planet before Bella and Beauford could phone home. It's not important.)

Bella, Beauford, and the Time Before Forks

Bella and Beauford are probably frightfully codependent for a few reasons that go by the name of Renee. Renee's still out to lunch parenting, and it falls to Bella and Beauford to take care of adult responsibilities from a very young age.

Bella and Beauford come home from school to an empty house, are the ones to go grocery shopping, pay the bills, pay the taxes, do the laundry, pretty much anything that has "adult responsibility" stamped on it.

As a result, they don't really have time to make friends with kids out of school, and they quickly realize that they're the only ones they can depend on in their lives. More, they're the only ones who get each other on any level.

They're both social outcasts, both not what their mother wanted, both have to deal with their mother, and if they ever get in trouble then it's their sibling that they're going to call. Because no one else will ever be there.

I imagine both Bella and Beauford cling to each other tightly with both hands.

Which, of course, makes things weird.

There's getting along with your twin sibling then there's... only getting along with your twin sibling.

Bella and Beauford have lunch together, by themselves, every day in Phoenix. They partner together on everything and are very displeased if they're forced into a group project with anyone else. They participate in all the same activities and if one isn't allowed to do it then the other quits (yes, Beauford tried to get into ballet class, when Renee put her foot down Bella quit right then and there). They wear each other's clothes, if they can't, then those clothes never get worn (Bella never wears the few dresses in her closet). They actually remember their made up secret twin language and lapse into it accidentally from time to time. They're anxious when they're not in the same classes and meet up after every single class to walk down the hallways together. Rather than have any friends, most of their free time is spent at home reading the same books in the same room. They don't even talk about how amazing Heathcliff is, because they know the other knows.

I imagine they channel such the twins from The Shining. Absurdly good looking, beautiful, kids but good god what is wrong with them?

The Decision to Move

When Phil enters the picture seriously, he's not just a new boyfriend, Bella and Beauford sit down to discuss their options. Neither is quite sure how they feel about Phil.

He's awfully young, but he seems to be good for Renee, and is actually capable of paying his taxes (unlike Renee). He can probably be depended upon not to run off and to make sure Renee is taken care of.

However what about Bella and Beau?

With Bella and Beau going to school, they can't travel across the country every few weeks following Phil. Now, in theory, Renee could abandon them to follow Phil. This wouldn't make much of a difference in their daily lives (might, in fact, make things easier in a way as then Beau/Bella can just handle all the cooking rather than Renee even attempting to). However, Renee would never want to admit she's been leaving her kids to their own devices for years, and would feel horribly guilty to leave them behind.

As it is, they've already told Renee she can go on and travel with Phil and she refused, stating she had to be there for her kids.

There's also that Phil keeps trying to bond with Beau especially. As if he thinks it will be easier to bond with the teenage stepson vs. the stepdaughter. That hasn't been going well, Beau would like to avoid that if at all possible.

On the other hand... Forks, wet, cold, and being the children of the police chief's runaway bride.

Ultimately, the pair come to the same decision Bella came to in canon. They want their mother to be happy, feel desperately like third wheels, and if making Renee happy necessitates going to Forks then to Forks they shall go.

At least they'll have each other, and in the end, that's all that really matters.

Arriving in Forks

Bella and Beau arrive in Forks and receive the same reception they would otherwise. But more so. Holy god, the high school population says, it's the Cullens 2.0.

Eerily pale, beautiful, siblings, who are both sensitive intellectuals (and are also weirdly incestuous acting). All the guys want to date Bella and all the girls want to date Beau (some vice versa but they're not admitting that in a public high school in 2005).

The guys (Mike, Tylor, Eric, etc.) aren't all that thrilled by Beau's presence, he's major competition and day one is attracting all the attention. However, they see him as a way to get an in with Bella, he can set them up on a date and put in a good word. If they become his best friend, they have an excuse to go to his house, where Bella will be.

The girls (even Lauren who was initially very pissed off about Bella's sudden popularity) are much the same. Bella's overrated, but good god, that beautiful brother of hers. If they become Bella's best friend, they can have sleep overs, and might be able to see Beau without a shirt on. No matter Bella's stuffy personality, that hot brother is worth it.

Lunch that first day, as a result, is even more awful than it was in canon. Bella and Beauford, while generally oblivious about themselves, are very observant when it becomes to the behavior of others regarding their sibling.

They have an emergency meeting in the truck after school and come to the same conclusion: Bella/Beau, this entire school of hicks wants in your pants. Dump them all.

Both Bella and Beauford end the day supremely annoyed but reconfirm their commitment to this Forks plan. Beau predicts than in six months they'll be losers again and they'll go back to having lunch by themselves.

But what about the Cullens?

Edward, The Cullens, and Biology

As in canon, both Beauford and Bella notice the entrance of the alien procession into the cafeteria and ask "what the fuck?"

Nobody's thrilled about answering, because no one wants to lose Bella/Beauford to the Cullens of all people (the girls sigh with relief as, at least for them, all the lady Cullens seem to be dating one of the other guys. Beau is safe. The possibility of Edward/Beau is one they dare not contemplate in those five seconds.)

Still, Jessica reluctantly gives the run down. These are the Cullens, they moved in two years ago, are absurdly wealthy, beautiful, and supposedly not actually related. They're all dating each other. No, seriously, they are. Except the hot ginger, Edward, but don't bother because he's an ass.

Both Bella and Beauford think Jessica doth protest too much about Edward and internally give the Cullens the same bisexual Bella ranking: Rosalie, Edward (after a bit of thought), and then the rest of them.

Edward, for his own part, notes that he can't seem to hear either's thoughts. Weird. He concludes that the pair are highly overrated and he can't believe the school's so agog over the pair of them. Stupid teenagers.

Then Biology happens.

The pair open the door and good god, Edward Cullen is a demon. Luckily for them, they have each other. There may be an open seat next to Edward Cullen but Bella and Beauford go "NOPE". You see, teacher, we always sit together. No, really, we ALWAYS sit together.

The teacher is weirded out but it's so weird he actually has nothing to say to that. There's only one immediately open seat anyway, and two new students, so they're clearly in trouble with seating arrangements anyway. So he says, "Um, sure, go sit with Angela I guess." Angela is now in an overcrowded table with both Bella and Beauford, her original partner gleefully goes to sit with hottie Edward (then is in dismay sitting with Edward because this guy looks terrifying today). The twins, throughout Biology, are staring down Edward Cullen.

Edward, of course, has smelled the scent of the gods and is going through his personal hell on earth. He devises his many schemes of how he's going to murder Biology before he can get to the pair of them (Angela, for the record, gets smashed into a wall for the honor of being in Edward's way). Then, he doesn't know which he'd start on, he can't tell which scent comes from which. He tells himself he'll toss a coin, heads the boy goes first, then tails the girl.

Still, thinking of Carlisle's sad, disapproving, face as Edward massacres a room filled with children allows Edward to hold on through Biology. He'll murder them after school. Then of course he's able to clear his head and flees to Alaska.

In the meantime, thanks to being hyperaware of their sibling, and now having someone to talk to and confirm their suspicions with: Edward Cullen is Ted Bundy. This guy is creepy, dangerous, and in that moment it looked as if he was going to kill one or both of them. Bella/Beauford would be alright, though disappointed, if they were murdered then left in a dumpster. But their sibling die and meet that same awful fate? Not ever allowed to happen.

Bella and Beau have the world's most tense drive home and tense night taking turns taking guard and sleeping in the same room. Every time one questions if they're, maybe, just maybe, a little paranoid about this, the other confirms that "NOPE, THAT DUDE WAS SCARY".

They can't tell Charlie, he wouldn't believe them and they have no evidence, but when Edward tries to climb through their window maybe one of them will get in a good hit with the baseball bat (they won't, they're both debilitatingly clumsy).

The next day, to their confusion and relief, Edward Cullen isn't at school. He's not there the day after that either, or the day after that...

Beau and Bella start to relax, if only a little bit.

Edward, Alaska, and the Prodigal Son Returns

Edward in Alaska calms down and goes through the same thought process he did in canon. He keeps picturing the twins' faces, his obsession beginning to blossom, and convinces himself that he can't let these unremarkable humans get in the way of his life and his family.

After a week of brooding, much to Carlisle's horror, Edward returns to Forks and goes straight back to school. Specifically, he wants to do damage control with the twins and see just how much they actually noticed.

This goes worse than in canon.

First, Edward has to approach their shared table with Angela like a loser. There, Bella and Beau clearly don't want to talk at him, at all, and both clearly vividly remember exactly what happened last Biology class.

Edward barely gets a word in before he has to go to his seat. When he notices Bella, Beau, and Angela get their lab done as quickly as him (thanks to Bella and Beau), he tries again.

Bella and Beau both ask to go to the bathroom. (Yes, teacher, at the same time. Don't question this.) They don't come back. Edward, after ten minutes, also goes to the bathroom. He finds the pair in their giant, red, truck in the parking lot, deep in conversation (trying to figure out what the fuck is up with Edward Cullen).

He approaches them again, being as charming as possible. This has the opposite effect. Directed towards only them, Beau/Bella would probably let this slide. Directed towards Beloved Sibling, their "DANGER, WILL ROBINSON" sirens are blaring in their head. Beau floors it, and the pair tear out of the parking lot as fast as the truck will take them, they're telling Charlie they're taking a sick day. What will they do next Biology class? FUCK IF THEY KNOW.

Edward, standing in the parking lot with his mouth open, feels very very embarrassed and ashamed. He is a man eating demon and these two are perfectly aware of it. The rest of the Cullens find him there not long after, they find this both sad and hilarious.

Bella and Beau Get Hit by a Van

Well, this would all be well and good. Edward tells himself that if the pair are so determined to avoid him then he'll just avoid them. Problem solved. More, the pair don't seem to be chatterboxes, there's no weird rumors spreading about Edward Cullen or his siblings. At least, no more than usual.

Instead, it seems that everyone's trying to ask the twins to the dance, and are very confused when the twins say that they're going with each other. Sibling policy. You see. (They don't see, nobody sees, this is weird.)

Then it happens. Bella nearly gets hit by a van, Edward saves her, with Beau as a full not-concussed witness. FUCK. Bella and Beau travel to the hospital, Edward driving along behind them, and then after Carlisle checks Bella out they have their awkward talk.

Bella wants to insist that Edward was clearly the one who saved her, with his strange superhuman strength, but thanks to twin telepathy (which either is actual telepathy or is just reading twin body language, who even knows) knows that Beau wants her to shut up. They say nothing, the truth isn't important.

Instead, Beau states that he was the one who pulled Bella out of the way, Bella's just confused. Edward stares at Beau like he's an alien. Beau just smiles, thanks Edward for his concern, then throws Edward out of the room.

Bella and Beau madly discuss that Edward's clearly not human. More, while he saved her life today and that was very noble of him, neither has truly forgotten how he was in that first day of Biology. More, did you see him now? He clearly wanted, desperately for Bella to not remember what happened. He crushed that van like a pretzel, what if they told him that they saw him? What would happen to them? Beau doesn't want to take chances, not even for the truth, and in retrospect Bella doesn't either. Now is not the time to look gifted horses in the mouth.

Given Bella's injured, Beau's on full guard duty that night.

Meanwhile, the Cullens have their vote. It's even more dramatic, because instead of just one innocent, injured, witness, there's two witnesses and one was completely uninjured. Carlisle is utterly appalled that Rosalie genuinely suggests murdering them both so she doesn't have to move. He's more appalled when Edward reveals that he believes the twins may believe that Edward... wishes them harm for having witnessed his heroics.

Because the irony being that the twins are right, the family is voting on this very issue right now. And what does that say about all of them?

Thankfully for Beau and Bella, the vote goes very similarly to canon. Jasper's not convinced until Alice has her vision.

And she drops the bomb. Edward's in love with Bella, Beau will be Edward's best friend and Bella Alice's, and both Bella and her brother will be turned and join the coven.

(Now, what Alice doesn't tell Edward is that, actually, Edward's in love with them both. It's safer to say that Edward's in love with the woman, as that's what Edward will far more readily accept. Throwing Beau into that mix would just make things very messy, if Alice wants her best friend and Edward's happy ending then she has to be smart about this.)

The family has a similar reaction. Carlisle gives his, "Well, alright then" and the family doesn't move. Edward, in despair and self-hatred, heads to the Swan house to see sleeping Bella for himself.

And lo and behold, Beau has been waiting for him. Beau tries to smash Edward's face in with a bat. Unfortunately, a) Edward's a vampire, b) Beau misses.

Beau and Edward end up talking, man to man, while Bella is sleeping. Edward decides that, yes, oh woe, he is in love with Beauford's sister and confesses as much (while also confessing that he might, you know, actually be dangerous). Beau suggests that Edward stay far away from his sister.

No, there's nothing Beau can do to stop Edward. Yes, he is just a pathetic human even more pathetic than most, but he promises that he will make Edward and his family's life hell on Earth if Edward ever thinks of assaulting his sister.

Edward protests he would never, Beau points out that Edward just climbed through his injured sister's window in the dead of night. Edward... tries and fails to explain away that one.

He actually does succeed in that he explains that Bella was in danger from... his siblings. Edward had come to protect Bella, to make sure none came to harm her. It's not necessarily his siblings' fault, it's complicated but... Well, Edward was trying to be somewhat noble.

Then something strange happens. Edward finds himself fascinated by this Beauford Swan. Such courage in the world's weakest, no most delicate, body. Look at those eyelashes, his big dark eyes, his perfectly shaped features. This boy is beautiful, as beautiful as his sister, and just as courageous as she is. And look at him now, nobly facing down a demon he knows he cannot win against for the sake of his sister.

How virtuous.

Edward tells himself that what he's feeling is kinship and admiration for Beauford Swan. Bella could not have a worthier brother. Edward leaves with the promise that he'll respect Beau's wishes (Beau doesn't believe that for a second).

The next morning, Beau tells Bella that Edward's the world's biggest creep and that the Twin Watch is not stopping anytime soon. They're going to need to make a big purchase of coffee.

Edward and His Torment

As in canon, Edward decides he should nobly stay out of Bella's life. He'll see if either twin really does talk (they don't) and then he'll ignore them until they disappear. They will forget him.

They don't, but they do discuss him. See, after much pondering, the twins realize that Edward truly is a Grade A hottie. More, he's so mysterious and inhuman. In retrospect, his saving Bella's life goes a long way, and for all that he's been... menacing, he's never truly threatened them and does seem intent on protecting Bella. More, he seems to be keeping his promise: he's staying out of Bella's life and he hasn't been back to the house since (he has, but they haven't caught him, Edward waits until they both crash until he can sneak in and stare at them both).

And he's never lied about being dangerous. Their glares soften into pondering glances, wondering just what the truth of this Edward Cullen and his family really is, and wonder what it'd be like to let him into their small, insular, world that no one before has ever managed to breach in the way he has.

Bella doesn't believe he's truly interested in her, despite Beau's insistence, and wonders if he's interested in Beau. Beau, for his own part, doesn't believe Edward's interested in him and insists that he's clearly very interested in Bella.

Reluctantly, the pair conclude that Edward is something likely very dangerous, against Edward's will, but benign. Whatever it was they sensed from Edward that first day, it was not something in his control.

Helping this is Edward enabling the mysterious mystery by breaking. He can't stay away from the twins. He tells them that he's tired of staying away from them, that they shouldn't be friends, that he doesn't want to be friends (but wants to be something hint, hint, wink, wink). Except he's convinced he and Beauford are friends, dual protectors of the angel Bella Swan. If he stares a little too much at Beau's perfect figure then that's because he's the perfect, male, version of his perfect sister.

Anyway, the twins go to Long Beach with the others and the twins are now just too curious. Edward's giving them nothing and they must know. Bella flirts with Jake for information, Beau is appalled that this works, and they hear the cold ones story. That night, they both have the prophetic Slayer dream: Edward is a vampire.

Bella tells Beauford that she knows three things. One is that she's in love with Edward. Beau's not sure how to take that for a second but, being Bella's twin and on the same weird wavelength, he gets it. He's in love with Edward too.

Neither finds it strange that they both confess to being in love with the same demon and that they see no conflict of interest in this.

The pair go to Port Angeles to help Jessica and Angela pick up dresses. (Angela and Jessica aren't sure why a man is coming, but they've learned not to question this twin thing). Bella and Beau ultimately decided not to go to the dance, too risky giving the deluge of invitations they received, and instead they'll be headed to Seattle that weekend. They claim this is not a date, Angela and Jessica just stare.

Due to Beau being with Bella, though the pair get hopelessly lost looking for the book store, Bella doesn't get followed by rapists. Edward shows up anyway, as Alice saw the possibility, and takes the pair of them to romantic Italian dinner. It's weird.

He then drives them home and Bella blurts it out. Edward's a vampire, she and Beau know. Edward has his miniature meltdown and realizes that these pair of siblings forgive him this. Beau, beautiful man that he is, is giving Edward his beloved sister and Bella is giving not only herself but her wonderful brother's hand in friendship.

Edward invites them both, that's right, them both, to the meadow. Neither thinks this is strange. And when they get there. Boom, it's over, any chance to question this is gone. Both Bella and Beau are seduced by Edward's sparkling chest and his quotes about lions.

He rests his head on Bella's chest but puts his right hand on Beau's. They sit like that. For hours.

The Cullens (Again)

Well, this went from weird to fucking weirder. It was weird enough when Edward became obsessed with this rando teenage girl. Now, it turns out that Edward's a horn dog panting after bisexual twins, clearly intending to romance them both at the same time.

Carlisle dearly tries to have an intervention. He sends Esme to do it, as in canon, this doesn't work (Esme is perfectly fine with Edward's twincest fetish and thinks it's wonderful).

Alice tells a dubious Jasper that Edward and Beau are just friends. Jasper doesn't believe her, but he's not sure what to even say.

Emmett is desperately holding in Edward sandwich jokes. Desperately.

When Beau and Bella are invited to the house (together of course), the entire family has no idea what to say to them. At all. They don't know how to process this. Rosalie is actually there this time, because somebody needs to warn these two about what Edward really wants, but then they're too weird.

It's all just too weird.

And... the rest of canon happens.

The baseball game occurs, James dies, Victoria's not sure which Swan she should target and so she targets them both anyway. They're in the same damn place so it makes 0 difference.

Bella and Beau joint hallucinate Hallucination Edward, somehow, and get even weirdly more codependent in their zombie fugue state. This tanks their popularity as now there's no denying the incest. Bella and Beau don't care.

Bella and Beau reach out to get Jake to build them the motorcycles. Jake doesn't necessarily want Beau around, the dude's weird and getting in the way of Bella time, but alright. Bella and Jake's friendship doesn't take off because Bella's codependent on Beau.

They do learn about the wolves though thanks to Jake's crush on Bella. Jake never realizes that he's coming in third place not only to Edward Cullen but to Beauford Swan. He thinks he has a chance. That poor boy.

Bella and Beau jump off the cliff together, convinced they weren't committing suicide.

Alice returns, gets Bella and Beau to go to Volterra, because Edward has to see that they're both alive. There's a joyful reunion, Aro is really weirded out by this whole damn thing and has a five second pause after touching Marcus' hand. "Well." he says afterwards, "You and your brother are close. I see."

They get to go home, Aro insists they turn. Eclipse happens. Edward proposes marriage to Bella. Neither Beau nor Bella are thrilled (mostly about the marriage and also about the question of how the twin enters this equation) but ultimately Bella accepts. Bella and Edward marry publicly.

Beau is invited for the honeymoon. Edward, Bella, nor Beau question this. Everyone else does. A lot. On Isle Esme, the three confirm their commitment to each other: they have a secret marriage. Edward and Beau are both convinced they're not in a relationship. Bella and Beau are convinced they're not incestuous.

Sex is had by... someone. Unclear who.

Bella gets pregnant, this seems to confirm Edward must be the father but... Bella and Beau are both very strange, almost alien, and very gifted. There is some red in their hair. Questions the Cullens dare not speak aloud are thought, Edward doesn't seem to notice.

TL;DR Basically, the books still happen but Edward is cuckolded and enables twincest.

...

I did not see this one coming guys. I swear. I did not.

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luvnami · 3 years

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𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - wahh it’s here! can’t believe my brainrot of osamu teaching a cooking class turned into this long fic lol... i hope you enjoy it!! it was fun crafting the story with my beta readers and i put a lot of effort into it!!! itadakimasu <3

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @forgetou @amjustagirl (muacks 2x) + tq to everyone who helped me with the banner!!

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - you’re suna’s younger sibling, food, heartbreak, angst but happy ending, mentions of stabbing (joke), kita dances to ‘ice cream’ by selena gomez and blackpink, mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood (brief), suna beats (redacted) up

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - miya osamu x gn!reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - you fall in love with miya osamu once more, but you’re afraid of getting hurt again.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5535

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢

1. Cook the rice according to your rice cooker, then transfer the cooked rice to a separate bowl to cool it down.

“What ya want t’do is scorch the soy sauce.”

The class presses themselves against Osamu’s workbench as they scribble down notes on their recipe printouts. Their lips purse to ooh and aah at his cooking skills, though you’re pretty sure that they’re more interested in how his biceps flex when he flips the wok with a trained flick of the wrist.

You stand at the very edge of the group. It’s better than getting close with a group of hungry housewives, really. If grocery store and department mall sales have ever told you anything, it’s to never get in the way of what a seasoned housewife wants. Unfortunately for you, you haven’t learnt the way of being a homemaker just yet.

You’re unemployed, right in the middle of a month and a half-ish long transfer between jobs. You currently stay at your brother Suna’s place — which is really just an apartment filled with dirty laundry overflowing from its seams.

Turns out Suna himself is a bit of a gossip. He told Kita who told Atsumu who told Osamu that you’re stuck at his place 24/7 with no friends or entertainment in the lovely city of Nagano. It’s just mountains and trees as far as the eye can see all around — and there’s only so many hikes you can take each week.

“Why don’t you take a cookin’ class?”

“Cookin’?” Your face screwed up in confusion. “ What for?”

“So that you can actually pull your weight around the house and make me something to eat.”

You chucked a pillow at his head and began to list all the things you did while staying at his apartment. Laundry, cleaning the floor, doing grocery shopping (even if it was only instant noodles and snacks), finding his disgustingly sweaty socks under the sofa and many other important chores, thank you very much.

Besides, you weren’t as eager when you saw who was the one that would be holding the classes. With his picture plastered across the front of a pamphlet, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. Years of chasing his dreams and training in a kitchen had done Osamu wonders.

You had half a mind to smack Suna in the head with the yellow, glossy paper, but instead you quietly tucked it into a corner of the guest room to look at later. You were sure Suna hadn’t forgotten your history with Osamu just yet — but perhaps he assumed that enough time had passed to heal your wounds.

Either way, there’s no going back now. That’s how you ended up at Osamu’s ‘Cooking class for homemakers — you can do it too!’, except you aren’t a homemaker. You shift your weight from one foot to the other as the sound of sizzling soy sauce fills the air. Osamu pauses for a while before beginning to mix the rice with the sauce, wielding his spatula and wok expertly like weapons.

“Miya-san, you’re amazing!” someone gushes.

He lets out a bashful laugh. “This is nothing. I’m sure everyone will be able to do this by the end of class today!”

You wonder if he’s ever considered being a teacher. The demonstration on how to make shrimp fried rice is soon over and everyone returns to their benches, eager to try out the recipe. You are no different. Scurrying to your bench at the very back of the classroom, you exchange glances between the printed recipe handout and your tray of ingredients.

“Need any help?”

Osamu’s voice and looming presence makes you jump.

“Woah! Careful there,” he chuckles, his fingers gently prying a knife out of your hands.

Unconsciously, you had raised it in shock when Osamu snuck up on you. The knife now lays safely on the tabletop and you feel the eyes of the entire class boring into you.

“Sorry, Miya-san. I didn’t see you,” you apologise meekly.

“Don’t worry about it, I shouldn't have scared ya like that. And no need for the formalities! You’re my friend’s sister, afta’ all.”

Oh goodness. You half expect the class to pick up their pots and pans and run at you right this moment. You swallow back the half hearted ‘Osamu-san’ that rises in your throat. Your heart trembles in your chest and for a second, the silence that weighs heavily between the both of you turns awkward.

“Miya-san! Could you help me with this please?”

You’ve never been so glad to hear Tachibana’s sickly shrill voice before. Osamu is quick to wave goodbye to you before hurrying over to her bench, a smile still on his face. You breathe a sigh of relief.

You make a mental note to tell Suna that Osamu should just stick to placating those housewives and leave you the hell alone. The last thing you want is to have blackmail spread around the neighbourhood by these gossipy housewives, or worse, have their daughters hunt you down and chop you up into pieces.

Whatever. You’re just here to learn how to make shrimp fried rice and then go home to your annoying older brother. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be here for long. Miya Osamu just happens to be the local heartthrob, the handsome and eligible bachelor chased by anyone single and ready to mingle. You have absolutely nothing to do with someone so popular and good-looking. And for goodness sake, he’s your brother’s high school friend and your… Well, you know.

Your face burns and you pick up the knife again, grip tightening on its handle. You begin chopping at the onions with renewed determination.

(Later on, when you bring back a tupperware of fried rice for Suna, he looks you in the eye and asks “Shrimp fried this rice?”.

You shoot him a glare.

“I fried this rice.”)

2. Prepare all the fillings that you are going to use and set aside, such as pickled plums or tuna mayo. Prepare your seaweed sheets.

What you don’t expect is for Miya Osamu to show up at your doorstep the next day with boxes of food, cartons of drinks and a very noisy brother of his in tow.

“Rin, where can I leave the drinks?” Osamu yells.

“Rin, can I play your PS5?” Atsumu shouts.

You think that they are very different, the Miya twins. Suna takes a minute to finish putting on some clothes (you had answered the door, thankfully. No one wants to see Suna Rintarou in Pikachu boxers) before bursting out of his room.

He’s quick to smack Atsumu’s ‘dirty little setter hands’ away from his precious Playstation, directing Osamu to what constitutes the apartment’s kitchen — a second-hand fridge and the building-installed gas stove that works only if you hit it hard enough. You’re surprised that neither you or Suna haven't died of a house fire or gas poisoning by now.

It doesn’t take long for the other Inarizaki alumni to arrive at Suna’s apartment in a series of doorbell rings. Kita even brings along a large bottle of sake, to which everyone cheers loudly. You don’t understand why they had chosen Suna’s place to have a reunion party. Seriously, wouldn't Onigiri Miya or some other izakaya have been a better choice?

However, there’s free flow of drinks and lots of yummy snacks, so you decide to let the noise wash over you and stand by the food table to pick at the trays of pizza, fried chicken and other finger food. Aran even offers you a drink, smiling sweetly before going off to wrangle Atsumu from trying to initiate a beer chugging competition. Some things just never change, you suppose.

“Having fun?”

You jump and nearly drop the plate of food that you hold.

“You have a horrible habit of scaring people, Miya- Osamu.”

His first name comes out awkward, tumbling off of your tongue as you use a pair of chopsticks to carefully pile back some mentaiko mayonnaise onto a slice of tamagoyaki. Osamu settles into the crook of the kitchen counter next to you with a playful grin on his face.

“Do I really?”

“Don’t forget that the first time you did that, someone nearly got stabbed.”

You pop the tamagoyaki into your mouth. It’s delicious — the egg’s sweetness balances out the salty sauce. You wonder if there’s enough left on the tray for seconds.

“How’s the reunion going?” you ask nonchalantly, and shuffle a few centimetres away from him.

You hope Osamu doesn’t notice that. He does, however, but chooses not to comment on it. He brings up a hand to scratch at his neck, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He’s close enough for you to get a whiff of whatever cologne he’s wearing. Your head spins for a second.

“Oh, none of us have gotten drunk just yet. I’m pretty sure we’ll be playing beer pong or something later on.”

You steel yourself against the urge to look at what Osamu is wearing. Don’t look, don’t look, definitely don’t look. Miya Osamu is, has been, a dangerous man to fall in love with. You can’t afford to-

Perhaps gouging your eyes out would have been a better choice in theory. Even a glance from where you stand beside him is enough to see that not only is he wearing a tight, black T-shirt, Osamu also has a pair of sweatpants on. Is it a sin to wear sweatpants? Probably so, especially with the way it makes your throat run dry.

“Beer pong, huh?” You try your best to mumble somewhat nonchalantly. “Who won the last time?”

“Kita.”

“Kita?!” you gasp.

Even that’s enough to make you forget about Osamu and his stupid (and very sexy) sweatpants.

“Yeah, right? That was the first time he participated. All of us got left drunk in the street, so we decided to do it at someone’s place this year.”

You let out a soft laugh at the thought of a bunch of grown men piled over each other on the road. You don’t particularly like the thought of cleaning up after them tonight, though.

The lack of words between you and Osamu descends into snorts of laughter that trickle in from the tiny living room. Aran throws his head back, drink nearly spilling out of his cup. Ginjima laughs so loud you see Omiomi cover his ears and Suna holds his phone up, filming every second of Atsumu’s defeat.

Osamu opens his mouth as if to ask you something.

“C’mon! Yer killin’ me, Kita-san!” Atsumu yells, socked feet and waving arms trying to match the onscreen character’s movements.

Kita, on the other hand, is scoring perfect marks without as much effort wasted. You giggle to yourself as he moves his hips, shaking them here and there. A small smile quirks his lips upwards as he finishes with a flawless ending move on ‘Ice Cream’, the Just Dance characters fading into oblivion on the screen. Atsumu crumbles to the floor in defeat.

Osamu’s lips form a straight line as he watches you laugh along, raising a hand to cover your mouth. He curses Atsumu’s birth and swallows back his embarrassment.

“Did ya see that, Osamu? Oh- Kita-san is so good at everything!” you gush.

“Atsumu just sucks.”

When you laugh, Osamu thinks something in his chest lurches. Regret makes his head go foggy and leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

3. Place cling wrap over a rice bowl. Place some of the cooked rice over the centre of the cling wrap and make a well.

“No way ya got a love letter!” Atsumu yelled.

“Ya get yer fair share. We share t’same face, why shouldn’t I get some?” Osamu retorted, rolling his eyes.

Suna watched as the twins began to gripe and argue about who was the better looking sibling again. Nothing unusual, really, given how this occurred every odd day of the week.

“S’gotta be a prank. No way someone likes a loser like you,” Suna mused.

In retaliation, Osamu threw him a stink eye. “You two are just jealous,” he sniffed.

The letter had been written on pretty pink paper, all hearts and cute handwriting as his secret admirer asked him to meet them on the roof after school. Not that Osamu wasn’t affected by it, of course. It always rubbed his ego the right way to know that someone preferred him over Atsumu. Though, it wasn’t like he was interested in anyone then. It only took a second before Osamu ripped the letter in half.

“Woah woah woah! Yer crazy! Whatcha gonna do if some pretty girl gave that to ya?”

Atsumu’s eyes widened in shock, almost reaching forward to grab the shreds of letter that Osamu had torn up.

“Does it matter? S’not like I’m interested in datin’ right now,” he replied.

“Seriously? What if she’s like, super duper hot!”

Osamu’s face screwed up. “Are ya a horndog?”

Just as Atsumu was about to shout at his dear brother again, you opened the door to their classroom and hurried in. You had a bento box in hand and a cute pout on your face as you placed it on Suna’s table.

“Rin! You forgot your bento at home again!”

“Oh.” Suna blinked. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, you gotta stop forgetting your things! I can’t be bringing them to you all the time-”

“Hey, Suna.” Atsumu perked up, referring to you. “Would ya go on a date with Samu or me? Me, right? Definitely me!”

Your face flushed with heat. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“‘Samu got a love letter in his shoe locker this morning. Cliche, huh?” your brother said between bites of his lunch.

“Mm, yeah. Cliche,” you mumbled.

You looked around anxiously for any sign of the love letter. Was it in Osamu’s bag?

“Can ya believe he tore it up?” Atsumu laughed.

“What?”

Your heart felt like a stone in your chest as you froze, your blood running cold.

“Yeah! This dumbass doesn’t know how t’appreciate anythin’,” he replied, smacking Osamu on the back of his head.

His twin responded with a muffled growl as he continued to scarf down his absurdly large bento. You fiddled with the cuffs of your sleeves, staring down at your feet. You were quick to bid the third years goodbye as you fled their classroom as an inexplicable ache spread through your chest.

You didn’t focus on your classes for the rest of the day. The fact that Osamu had torn your love letter, written with all your heart and soul as you crumpled draft after draft last night, tipped you over the edge of your fantasies and had you plummeting straight into reality.

“Oi.”

You looked up from your feet, glancing up at Suna. The both of you were swapping your indoor shoes for outdoor ones, but you had absentmindedly stopped in the middle of slipping your right foot into a shoe. It was nearing the time where they closed the school gates, so there weren’t many students around save for the odd volleyball club member.

“What’re you doing? Put your shoes on properly,” he huffed.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, and slammed the locker door shut once you were done.

You walked a few feet ahead of Suna as you approached the school gate. Your head drooped with each step, tears beginning to mist your eyes. You willed yourself to hold it in till you got home, till you were in the safety of your bedroom to start sobbing your little heart out. Suna tugged on your wrist.

“Are you crying?” he questioned.

You shook your head quickly, rubbing your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

“Oi. Answer me.”

This time, his voice was a little softer, yet held a mixture of irritation and anger behind a crumbling wall of apathy. Who had been the one to make you cry?

“It’s nothin’,” you choked out. “Let’s just go home.”

You turned your face to the side as tears continued to roll down your cheeks, muffled cries turning into heartbroken sobs. Something inside of Suna’s head clicked.

“It’s Miya Osamu, isn’t it?”

You had to bite on your lower lip to stop it from trembling.

“That bastard tore up your letter, didn’t he?”

You gave Suna the tiniest of nods. He let go of your wrist and whipped around, eyebrows furrowed together. Not wanting to date was one thing, but treating your confession like dog shit was something else. Fortunately for him, the Miya twins were changing their shoes in the getabako.

“‘Samu!” Suna yelled.

The gray haired male looked up with a face of confusion.

“Suna? Whaddya want-” Osamu wasn’t able to say anything more as Suna’s fist collided with his face.

Atsumu jumped back with a yelp as the both of them crashed to the ground. Your hands flew to cover your mouth.

“Rin! Stop it!” you cried out.

You dashed over, tripping over your own feet as you tried to pull Suna away from Osamu as they traded blows. It took the work of you, Atsumu and Ginjima (who had been unlucky enough to pass by) to tear the two apart, and even then Osamu was still struggling in his brother’s arms to be let go.

“What t’hell, man!” he snarled.

Suna wiped his nose, glancing briefly at the crimson that stained his school uniform. The adrenaline was beginning to run low and pain began to settle into his fists and ribs. His shoulders heaved with each breath, and your hands clutched his shirt.

“Rin. No more, please,” you begged, pressing your forehead against his back. “No more.”

Suna hated the way your voice trembled as you spoke. He didn’t think it was fair for you to bear the burden of pain while Osamu got to walk away unscathed, leaving you broken in pieces. His fist curled up again.

“It’s not worth it, Rin.”

Suna took in a shaky, deep breath.

You were right.

Miya Osamu wasn’t worth it.

4. Put about 1tbsp of the filling of your choice on the centre of the rice and cover it with rice.

A week comes and goes after the annual Inarizaki reunion. You’re still finding sticky stains on the floor, as well as food wrappers tossed behind the sofa. Suna sends the group chat a video of you yelling at all of them while wielding a mop with so much fervour Aran asks if you broke it. Atsumu actually apologises and Osamu offers to come over and help clean up. The entire group chat flames him immediately.

As per last week, you walk into Osamu’s cooking class at 2p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s hot outside, droplets of perspiration rolling down your nape. The cool air-conditioning of the classroom is much appreciated and you don your apron behind the gaggle of housewives. You catch snippets of their conversation as they put their items in the cubbies provided.

“Tanaka-san, did you see the mushrooms that were on sale this Monday?”

“My son is attending this cram school this summer. Here’s the address!”

“My father-in-law keeps complaining about the heat…”

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

“Miya-san!”

Everyone perks up when Osamu walks through the door. They’re quick to surround him, asking how his day had been. You look tired, take this ginseng drink! It really revitalises your spirits! Did you get a girlfriend yet, Miya-san? My daughter is single, you know!

You watch as Osamu walks behind his bench, all smiles and “Is that so, Shigeru-san?”. Polite enough to please them, but not enough to make them think that he actually wants to go on a date with their 34 year-old daughter who’s a tired office worker looking out for potential husbands like a hawk. He lets out a heavy exhale, using his cap with the Onigiri Miya logo on it to fan himself.

“Hot today, isn’t it?” he chuckles.

You think that maybe he’s the one that’s making this summer so warm, especially with the way that his shirt clings to his figure and his flushed cheeks that make him look adorable.

Wait.

You do a double take. Ah, adorable. You must have meant that heart-print apron that Tanaka is wearing today. It is pretty cute, and you wonder if you should ask her where she got it from later on. Definitely not Osamu with his perfect smile that would make anyone’s heart skip a beat, and definitely not when it’s directed at you.

“Gather around everyone! We’re going to be making gyoza today!”

The demonstration goes as usual — Osamu impresses the housewives, they gasp and someone even touches his forearm and asks “How did you get so strong, Miya-san?”. Not that you care, of course. You certainly don’t. What you’re more concerned about is how Osamu manages to make wrapping the fragile gyoza seem so easy.

Your fingers pinch at the thick dough, eyebrows furrowed together. No matter what you do, your filling keeps spilling out of the wrapper and so you’ve opted to try out for a thicker piece this time. Not that it really matters — Suna will be the one suffering from food poisoning if it turns out bad, anyways.

“Ah, yer made it too thick,” Osamu says as he strolls over.

You tense up as he leans over your shoulder, peeking at the chubby gyoza in your hands. You pretend not be affected by how close he is and continue pinching the wings of the dumpling shut.

“They keep bursting,” you sniff.

“Maybe ya put t’much filling?” Osamu suggests. “Here, lemme show ya. Put tha’ one down and grab a new wrapper. Yeah, just like that.”

You stiffen as Osamu flours his hands and cradles your hands in his.

“Here ya go. That’s t’much, scoop out some more. That’s it. Now gently…”

Blood rushes to your face as you feel the warmth of his skin seep into yours, his hands rough from years of training and cooking. Scars adorn the tips of his thick fingers and knuckles. You suddenly feel the urge to gently trace them with your thumb, to ask him how he got each one of them.

Would he let you? Let you so close, that perhaps you would be the one to know every single thing about him?

“You did it!” Osamu says cheerfully.

He suddenly pulls away, making you plummet back to reality. A perfectly made gyoza sits in your hands.

“I’m looking forward to tasting your gyoza later on. Now keep trying!”

You’re left dumbfounded as Osamu walks away to help out the other housewives. They stammer and blush when they get too close, but he never holds their hands in his own, never smiles as gently as he does with you.

You place the gyoza on a pan and put the lid on with a little bit more force than what is necessary.

5. Wrap the cling wrap over the rice and squeeze and mould it into a triangle shape with your hands.

You try not to make contact with Osamu after that. Attending his cooking classes becomes a game of cat-and-mouse, where you try to tell him ‘I don’t need any help, Miya-san’ and watch him crawl away in defeat. In fact, you decide to skip the lesson on making hamburgs and instead spend the afternoon watching television.

After all, from what you’ve learnt in the past, Osamu is nothing more than trouble. You think it’s worth the sacrifice now to put some space between the both of you so that you don’t end up heartbroken a second time.

Though, you do feel a little bad. Just a little bit. One day when Suna’s out at training, you hear the doorbell ring and Osamu’s voice ring through the genkan. You hear his feet shuffle by the door and a heavy thump outside before he leaves. You only open the door when you hear his car pull out of the apartment building’s carpark, and find a packed bento lunch for you in front.

You try to pretend that the bunny cut apples and sakura shaped carrot slices don’t mean anything.

“Ah, Suna-san! Where were you last week?” Tachibana titters as you step into class for the final lesson.

“I wasn’t feeling very well,” you lie. “I think I caught a summer cold.”

“Oh dear, that sounds terrible!” the ladies chorus together.

You think they’re probably just glad that you didn’t get in the way of their beloved Miya-san. You tug your apron over your head, and ignore Osamu when he greets everyone. His eyes linger on you for a little too long during the demonstration — to the point that he actually burns the skin side of his salmon fillet.

Osamu skirts around your bench like a nervous puppy when the demonstration is over. You don’t seem particularly keen about talking to him, though the tips of your finger tremble when he finally plucks up the courage to stand next to you. It’s not close enough for your elbows to touch, but close enough that he can whisper to you without anyone else hearing him.

“Hey,” he begins, uncertain. His voice wavers slightly.

“Hey,” you reply, wary of what he might say.

“Are you okay?”

You take a moment to think, tipping the sake bottle carefully to measure out an exact tablespoon of it. He wonders when your hands have seemed so delicate, so small. He aches to hold them in his own again.

“I’m okay.”

“That’s good.”

It’s quiet, again. Just like that night in Suna’s apartment, with all the noise of the reunion going on around you, except this time it's the clanging of pans and utensils, paired with the chatter of many ladies.

“I was thinking…” Osamu stares down at your hands, turning the measuring spoon over so that sake splashes onto the hot pan with a sizzle. “Maybe we could get a drink together after this?”

You cover the pan and watch its surface cloud up with condensation. You hide your shaking hands by digging them into the pockets of your apron.

Osamu swallows. Perhaps he had been too direct with you; scared you off with how quickly he was advancing. Or did Suna tell you to be careful of him? That he didn’t want you falling in love with him a second time? There’s no lie about it, that Osamu had been a grade A asshole back in high school.

But he loves you now; has loved you since then. Would you be willing to give him a second chance?

“Osamu,” you breathe.

His shoulders relax slightly when you don’t call him by his last name.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Your voice comes out timid, scared. Osamu’s heart crumbles at the edges. He wonders if you would hate him if he reached out and took your hands in his once more. You’re both adults, perfectly capable of rational thinking if only your hearts hadn’t gotten in the way. Love hurts, they said. You want to agree.

“We can start it out slow,” Osamu suggests.

“I’m supposed to start my new job next month. I won't be in Nagano for much longer.”

“I’m opening a branch in Tokyo.”

“I’ll be busy settling down. We might not get to see each other often enough.”

“A little is better than nothin’.”

“You’re my brother’s friend.”

“Now, yer just picking at nothing, babe. Didn’t you have a crush on me back in high school, too? That didn’t stop ya, did it?”

Your heart wrestles with your brain, insisting on comfort and that love will always come in the form of someone that isn’t Miya Osamu. You’ll find someone, but will they be better? Will they send food to your doorstep, or send you stupid photos of dogs he saw on the street? Will they chase after you relentlessly for years, will they be Osamu?

A lump forms in your throat and you wonder if this, has been, is love. You tear your heart out from within you and let it cling to your sleeve, as pathetic and scared it is. You don’t mind if it hurts. To never hurt is to never have lived, to never have loved.

By this point, your eyes have misted up with tears and it hits you- You’re about to cry about your crush in the middle of a cooking class attended by middle-aged ladies. You’ve never been more embarrassed.

“Really?” you whisper, looking up at Osamu with glittering eyes.

He ignores the “Miya-san! I need your help!” that rings out in the background. He smiles gently.

“Yeah, really.”

A tear slips down your face. Osamu lets out a breathy chuckle as he swipes it away with his thumb, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

“We’ll talk properly after this, alright?”

You nod numbly. You watch as he hurries off to Shigeru, gasping when he sees how she had completely butchered her fillet. He turns back to you, trying to hold in a snigger.

You giggle.

Osamu thinks he wants to hear that laugh forever.

6. Remove the cling wrap and cover the bottom of the rice triangle with a nori sheet and set aside.

“One extra large bonito onigiri with spring onions!” you cry out from the counter.

Back in the kitchen, Osamu and another part-time worker scoop steaming rice out of large vats and use their hands to mould them into perfectly shaped triangles. A scoop of filling goes in and a strip of seaweed is wrapped hastily around the onigiri before it's sent to you to package. You place the onigiri carefully into a box and slip it into a paper bag with the shop’s logo on the front for a take-away order.

The shop is filled with customers even on a Wednesday afternoon. The clock shows 2p.m., past lunch time, yet you can see a queue that snakes out of the shop and down the alleyway.

Another long day ahead, you think to yourself.

“It’s our turn!” a little girl squeals as she takes the bag from you, opening it up to peer at the huge onigiri inside. “Mama! ‘giri!”

Her mother laughs and pats her head. “Don’t forget to say thank you, Haru.”

The girl turns to you, eyes sparkling. “‘Fank you, Miya-shan!”

A cheery grin almost splits your face in half. Miya-san. Four years on and it still makes your stomach flip whenever you hear that Osamu’s last name has become yours. It was an easy decision for the both of you to get married, really. You had loved each other for years and all you wanted to do in the end was to spend the rest of your lives together.

You quit your office job just before you got married to help Osamu out with the new Onigiri Miya branches. It took some getting used to, but the familiar customers and bright smiles that you see just by serving onigiri each day makes it worth it. It’s tough work, no doubt. But doing what you enjoy with the man you love is more rewarding than it ever could be.

Though, it’s not like your relationship has always been smooth sailing. There are days when you bicker over something stupid (like how you always forget to close the lid of the rice cooker), or when Osamu insists that he isn’t overworking himself (although his eyebags tell otherwise). But love’s a recipe with a few secret ingredients, and you’ve come to master it over the years.

“Come back soon!”

The shop is filled with the fragrant scent of freshly cooked rice and bonito flakes being stir-fried into furikake. Customers perch on tiny stools as they scarf down onigiri of different shapes and sizes, licking their fingers clean. A plush toy of Onigiri Miya’s mascot sits on the counter next to a potted plant that Atsumu bought (which is surprisingly still alive).

A photograph of the third Tokyo branch’s grand opening hangs on the wall. You and Osamu hold up a bouquet of flowers, smiling toothily at the camera, your wedding rings glinting in the sunlight.

“One medium onigiri with tuna mayo, coming right up!”

You jump as Osamu shouts out the order suddenly and you nearly drop the onigiri that he hands to you.

“Woah, careful there,” he chuckles, a hand ghosting the small of your back.

“You have ‘ta stop scaring me, ‘Samu,” you huff and roll your eyes playfully.

Osamu grins at you and the edges of his eyes crinkle up. You place the onigiri safely into its packaging and place it on the counter for a customer to collect, before turning back to plant a kiss on his cheek. Osamu’s face flushes pink and he hurries away, mumbling something about bonito flakes.

Your heart soars in your chest.

Yeah, it has been, will be, worth it.

7. Repeat the same steps as above to use the rest of the rice with other fillings that you prepared.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fic #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu fluff #miya osamu angst #miya osamu fic #osamu x reader #osamu fluff #osamu angst #osamu fic #hq x reader #hq fluff #hq angst #hq fic #hq osamu

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haitanirindo · 3 years

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zukka fics that live in my head rent free!

1. what did you bury before those hands pulled me from the earth (what were you digging) by draco_sollicitus status: complete (18k words) rating: mature pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Sokka is immortal; it's been tested, he knows that he can't die. He's immortal, but he's not quite a god like his sister, Katara. He's immortal, but he's not quite powerful like his friends Aang and Toph. He's just sort of Sokka: good at fixing things, good at playing pranks, good at helping people. When a bet against Toph goes horribly wrong, and an attempt to save him goes even worse, Sokka finds himself the unwilling guest of the Lord of the Underworld. And, strangely enough, every story Sokka's heard about Lord Zuko seems to be ... completely wrong. (Also, he's really handsome. Why does he have to be handsome?)

mythology nerds come get y’all juice. a very good fic. 10/10

2. Where I Want to Be by through-the-stars-to-the-pavement status: WIP (83k words) rating: explicit pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: "'The fog was where I wanted to be.'" Everything is different. The pitch of his voice, his posture. The auditorium goes silent. No one can take their eyes off of him.… He's amazing. Zuko had to perfect the art of acting as a child to survive the horrors of his homelife. When he got older, it was only natural to take his talent to the stage for entertainment and escape. Enter Sokka, a craftsman and set designer with a giant heart who is haunted by plenty of ghosts of his own. A tale of trauma, disability, family, creativity, and love.

this is one of my all time favorite fics. it’s seriously so good and i think about it often

3. Teaching a Heart by @i-write-shakespeare-not-disney status: WIP (114k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Sokka is asked to go to the Fire Nation to teach the crown prince how to sword fight. When he arrives, he's surprised to learn he has to pose as a companion before he can teach the stubborn prince because he rejects every teacher. Far from home and among new customs, Sokka struggles to gain the prince's trust and friendship despite the uncertainties of the customs and dynamics he sees. As he slowly finds answers to his questions, his bond with the prince grows until it becomes something far more ardent than friendship. Doomed as it may be with the prince's approaching wedding ceremony and coronation, Sokka and Zuko find themselves consumed by what they find in each other.

i have no words, i just love this fic and it makes me weep.

4. The Road Between Action and Inaction by @donvex status: complete (17k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Sokka does a shitty k turn in the parking lot across from the bus station, pulls up to the curb where the boy is looking determinedly at his phone, and rolls down the passenger window. “Hey! Which way were you going?” He may die, but at least his conscience will be clear. The guy blinks at him. “Don’t.” Oh, he’s prickly. Or: the hitchhiker au, featuring Sokka and Zuko falling in love without even realizing it.

a classic. roadtrip fics own my ass.

5. purrfect for eachother by lesmiserablol status: complete (3k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: “Let me teach you how to be a cat person,” Zuko says. “Learning from the master himself,” Sokka grins. “Alright, this can’t be too hard. Show me what you got.” (because sometimes, it takes going to a cat café four times to realize you're in love with your best friend)

this whole series is adorable, reading it is self care

6. Ashes Inside When You Finish Your Song by @muncaster status: complete (47k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko, aang/katara, mai/ty lee summary: Sokka writes lyrics for his sister’s band. Zuko plays piano and is unnecessarily nice. Fellas, is it gay to write love songs about your friend and his golden eyes? (AKA, a modern band AU featuring The Gaang, crappy software equipment, homoerotic lyrics, and the realization that maybe, if you think about a guy every night before you sleep, you just might be in love with him.)

i think this is the longest one-shot i’ve ever read and it’s so worth it

7. a study in matchmaking by @verdanthoney status: complete (12k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko, aang/katara, bato/hakoda summary: Zuko and Sokka try to play matchmaker, but things don't go exactly as planned.

this fic makes me want to scream, in the best way. it’s so cute

8. A Predictable Story by mindbending status: complete (7k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: "On this night, you shall share a kiss with a great love of your life!” That lying, scummy Aunt Wu predicts a grand romance for Sokka. To disprove her "fortunetelling" once and for all, Sokka decides to spend the night with least romantic person he knows. Zuko.

again, i have no words. this fic is cute as hell

9. that’s murder, buddy by @bisexual-atla status: WIP (14k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: Throughout the streets, on quiet nights, it was rumored the screams of those missing could be heard. Some say the sounds were coming from underground. Where were the young girls? And what was happening to them? Was an evil spirit haunting Gaoling, or something more human? More sinister? My name is Zuko, and you’re tuning into another episode of ‘That’s Murder, Buddy’. Or: Sokka has no idea that his crush is the host of his favorite podcast. (But everyone else knows.)

i love the entire concept of this one, we love oblivious sokka

10. We’ll play hide and seek (to turn this around) by @crosspin status: complete (5k words) rating: general audiences pairing(s): sokka/zuko, bato/hakoda summary: Sokka gave him a sheepish smile. “It’s…well, you see, there’s this boy…” Hakoda sighed and set down the sports section. This was going to take a while. “He works at Barnes & Noble. At the big information desk in the middle. Every Saturday. And I really want to ask him for his number, but it’s super awkward because there’s always this other guy working the information desk at the same time. He’s old, like you. But I have a plan." Sokka’s eyes lit up deviously. “You come with me to Barnes & Noble today when they’re working and distract the old man. And while you have him distracted, I’ll swoop in and get the goods!” Sokka has a plan to ask out the cute boy at the bookstore. Hakoda is a begrudging participant until he meets the boy's beautiful older coworker.

this fic!! this fic! adorable, incredible, magnificent

11. feels like we only go backwards by @oldpotatoe status: WIP (88k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: [Time passes oddly. Between one second and the next, Sokka has the Fire Lord pinned to the wall with his hands around the bastard’s throat. Golden eyes (one gold eye, his mind whispers) widen in shock. “Sokka?” he chokes out. And then he smiles. What the fuck? “Sokka, I—” Sokka slams his head against the wall, once, twice, and the smile wipes off his face. Good. “What,” Sokka bites out, “have you done to my sister?”] Or: An injury leaves Sokka with amnesia. His last memory is of the failed invasion, of leaving his father behind in enemy territory on the Day of Black Sun. Of hopelessness. Rage. But then he wakes up, and the war is over. Suddenly, he must come to terms with the fact that years have passed, and that he's somehow the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador to the Fire Nation. He is also supposedly friends with banished-Prince-turned-Fire-Lord Zuko, of all people. Close friends. Yeah, nah.

if you’ve been following me for a while you know this fic fucks me up beyond belief

12. breakable heaven by @fruitysokka status: WIP (43k words) rating: teen and up pairing(s): sokka/zuko summary: With his twenty-first birthday looming just around the corner, the Southern Water Tribe Elders have decided that Sokka, next in line to be Chief, needs to get married. Sokka does not want that, but he does need to get them off his back until he can figure his way out of it. What better way to do that than to pretend to date his best friend (and newly minted Ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe) Zuko? Seriously, this is a foolproof plan. Maybe one of Sokka's best. Absolutely nothing can go wrong.

this just in: sokka and zuko being oblivious makes me want to yell

this turned out a bit longer than i expected but it also doesn’t even cover all my favorites. i had to stop somewhere, or i’d be here forever. maybe i’ll make a part two someday.

anyway, enjoy!

#cas recs things #fic rec #atla #zukka #cas speaks #text #zukka fics #zukka nation

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medieval-canadian · 2 years

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OOF my first tutorial group was SO low-energy today. that was rough. they’re normally pretty quiet & participate almost exclusively through the chat, which is fine, but today was especially *crickets*. my friend tracy, who is the other TA for this course, wound up cancelling her tutorials this week. so i told mine that we’d be doing what they wanted/would find most useful/helpful, and if what they found most useful was to sign off of zoom and go work on the assignment due this week, or go take a nap or eat a meal, or whatever other things they had going on in their lives, since they’re, you know, human beings with more going on than just this class, then they should feel free to do so (and it wouldn’t negatively affect their participation grade). and about half of them promptly signed off (which was less than i was expecting tbh).

and then i was like, okay, now we can talk about the readings for this week, including the book of margery kempe, especially since i did a lil guest lecture on that on monday. or i had a poem unrelated to the readings for this class that we could practice close-reading on. and so one of them asked, can we talk about kempe. and i was like, sure! what do you want to talk about. and she goes, “just her book.” and i was like, well, yes, sure, but. uh. what about it? and she doubled down and i was like, Y, my love, i need more to go on here. what were your thoughts? where do you want this convo to go? i’m not just, gonna give another lecture, impromptu! and then there were like, two fairly empty comments in the chat. and i ended up monologuing about sex in bmk. so i did end up giving another lecture essentially, lmao.

and then we looked at robert frost’s “the road not taken” (thanks for the idea for this, katarina!), and i wound up monologuing some more. anyway. that was a rough tutorial. next one will almost certainly be better because that group is just raring to go most weeks. just goes to show that for active participation, it’s often little to do with you as a teacher and much more to do with the make-up/temperament of the group (though obviously you should be adjusting to match the needs of each group, which is maybe where i’m failing group 1...)

#personal #teaching #grad school is wild #literature #pedagogy #to be fair this week was particularly bad for this group #usually there is somewhat more engagement #they're really feeling the end of term #i think we only have 2 tutorials left after this!! :o

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jumukus · 3 years

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A3! Translation: Tasuku Takato’s SSR [Straddle a Noble Steed] - Alpha Horseback Archery

Tasuku, Muku, Citron and Izumi joined a horseback archery trial thanks to the tickets Citron received from the neighborhood association.

Citron: Listen up, guys! I've got something good from the neighborhood association.

Izumi: Something good?

Muku: What is it, Citron-sama?

Citron: Book at this, everybody!

Itaru: You mean, "Look at this"?

Citron: Ta-dah! Four tickets to the horseback archery trial!

Izumi: Horseback archery!? You mean, the one where you ride a horse and shoot a bow?

Banri: Never knew there's a trial for that.

Citron: I'll be going on next weekend. Raise your hand if you can join!

Muku: Can I tag along? I want to try horseback archery!

Citron: I knew you'd say that, Muku! It's decided, then~.

Muku: Thank you! I hope I can hit the target with style.

Izumi: I'm sure you can, Muku-kun. You're good at horseback riding, after all.

Muku: Ehehe. I had fun riding a horse back then!

Itaru: I'll pass. I can already tell I'm going to fall from the horse.

Citron: I knew you'd say that, Itaru! It's decided, then~.

Itaru: How about you, Banri? I have a feeling you'll be good at it.

Banri: Haha, yeah, I probably can do it if I try but I have plans next weekend.

Citron: Oh, that's too bad! I wanted to see you doing horseback archery~.

Muku: Same here! Since I'm sure you will look cool doing that, I want to see it!

Izumi: There's nothing we can do since he has plans on that day. Such a shame, though, indeed.

Itaru: Not you all going, "Oh, that's too bad," when Banri could not join but said nothing when it was me. LOL.

Citron: How about you, Director?

Izumi: Huh? Me? I don't have any plans on that day…

Citron: You should join us, then! We have three people with this!

Izumi: What? I'm not really confident I can do it…

*door opens*

Tasuku: I'm home. What are you talking about?

Citron: Oh! To think you're back at this time, this must be good riddance!

Itaru: You mean, "God's guidance"?

Citron: Tasuku! Join us in horseback archery next weekend!

Tasuku: Horseback archery? I don't understand what you're talking about...

Banri: Citron got tickets to a horseback archery trial from the neighborhood association.

Muku: Since he has four tickets, including Citron-sama, Director-san and I will be joining…

Citron: The last ticket belongs to you, Tasuku!

Tasuku: Well, I don't mind. I don't have plans on that day, anyway. You'll be going too, right, Director?

Izumi: Looks like it…

Citron: In that case, the four of us will be going! I'm looking forward to it!

Citron: It's finally the day of the horseback archery trial! I'm so exited!

Muku: Me too!

Tasuku: I've already checked in at the reception. Go change your clothes at the building over there and gather here again.

Izumi: Women's dressing room is over there so let's meet up here again once we're done changing!

Tasuku: Okay.

Izumi: Wow! You all look good in that attire!

Tasuku: Do you think so? Well, that's great to hear…

The person in charge seemed to be having a hard time putting these clothes on me.

Izumi: You're tall, after all, Tasuku-san.

Citron: Oh, horseback archery attire is so cool! This is so exciting!

Muku: You also look great in that attire, Director!

Izumi: Thanks. I'm a lil bit nervous since I'm not really used to wearing traditional clothes.

Muku: Because Tasuku-san wore traditional clothes several times for plays before, you're somehow giving off this dignified vibes in that!

Citron: You look really, really confident!

Tasuku: Thanks. This time I'm wearing a Hakama, though. It's different from the ones I wore in "Die by the Sword" and "Hotel Compass".

It's a little bit hard to move around in this, but it's not like I can do something about it.

Person in charge: Everyone, we are going to start the trial now so please gather here.

Teacher: We are going to start with a horseback riding lesson. Get used to the horse you're riding today while trekking.

Izumi: Put your left foot here…okay.

Muku: What a calm and good kid. There, there.

Citron: I want to run fast! It reminds me of the long ride I took with Pochi back home!

Tasuku: You have a great posture, Citron. It makes sense since you're used to riding a horse.

Muku: The same goes for you, Tasuku-san! You look like a real samurai.

Izumi: I couldn't agree more. It's more impactful since you're wearing traditional attire now.

Teacher: Everyone in this group is talented. Are you all already used to riding horses?

Especially you. That's very impressive of you to sit up straight like that.

Tasuku: Are you referring to me?

Citron: Look at you, Tasuku! The teacher is praising you.

Muku: That's to be expected. Tasuku-san's posture is already good from the start. I think it also has something to do with your strong muscles.

Tasuku: I guess my years of experience on the stage has influenced me in some way. It has become a habit to straighten myself up.

Person in charge: Next, we're going to practice shooting a bow on the ground. This session will be split in two parts with lunch break in between.

Izumi: Whoa…! I never knew bows are quite heavy…!

Tasuku: It's pretty big in size, too. It's taller than me.

Muku: I heard Japanese-style bow is larger than the western-style one, and it can make your arrows fly farther.

Citron: It'll be hard to shoot while riding a horse!

Tasuku: Oh. I hit it.

Izumi: No way. You already hit the mark!?

Tasuku: You can say it's luck, I guess.

Citron: That's still great, though!

Muku: You're so talented, Tasuku-san! I have to do my best too!

Citron: Me too! I won't lose to you~.

Izumi: (Hehe. They seem to be having fun. I have to do my best to hit the mark as well!)

Tasuku: It's finally time. I hope we can do well, just like how we did during practice.

Citron: Tasuku, you also got praised for your archery skill, right!

Muku: While we didn't actually ride the horse during practice, you were still impressive for being able to hit the mark most of the time!

Izumi: Not only hitting the target, but quickly fitting the arrow to the bow is also difficult.

Teacher: We are going to move on to the actual horseback archery now. Try to aim for the mark over there. No need to rush.

Tasuku: No need to rush… Like this?

*shoots*

Muku: Y-You hit it!

*shoots*

Izumi: You hit it again!

Citron: Oh, would you look at that! He hit the center spots!

Teacher: It's so rare for participants to be able to do that. I don't usually let beginners do this, but… can you try running?

Tasuku: Is it really okay?

Teacher: Yes. I have a feeling you can do it.

Tasuku: I'll give it a try, then.

Muku: Whoa…! Running through with a horse while shooting an arrow… It feels like we're in a real battle!

Citron: This is true horseback archery!

Izumi: Do your best, Tasuku-san!

Tasuku: Thanks.

*shoots*

Teacher: It's a hit! Well done!

Participant A: Who is that man? He's so amazing!

Participant B: He's so good!

Participant C: So hot…!

Tasuku: ...phew.

Izumi: Great job, Tasuku-san!

CHOICE 1: That was flawless

Izumi: You hit the mark flawlessly despite running so fast like that.

Tasuku: It's actually quite the opposite. I did worse than I expected.

I could have run faster, and I could have done a better job at fixing the arrow to the bow.

Izumi: Really!? It was perfect in my eyes.

Tasuku: For me, I can't say I have shown the result of my practice enough.

Izumi: (He's really stoic…!)

CHOICE 2: It was as if I traveled back to the past.

Izumi: Seeing you shooting a bow in that attire made me feel like I traveled back to the past.

Tasuku: In that case, I might have done a better job at that if we were doing an etude set in Kamakura.

Like, let's say, while I'm on the run after kidnapping you, the daughter of the Lord… I will shoot my bow at the pursuers.

Izumi: That's a great plot!

Tasuku: ...On second thought, seeing you in that getup, I think it's more fitting to have you as a tomboy princess who ran away with me.

Izumi: A tomboy princess… But I'll go all out if it's for etude!

Tasuku: Haha. How reliable of you.

Muku: You were totally impressive, Tasuku-san!

Citron: I made the right choice inviting you here!

Tasuku: I had fun joining this trial as well. Thank you.

Muku: Today was so fun!

Tasuku: I would never try doing horseback archery if I didn't have an opportunity like this. I learned a lot.

Citron: I should offer my gratitude to the neighborhood association after this!

Izumi: Have you seen the photo we took in this attire? It came out great. See?

Muku: You're right! I want to show it to the others in the dorm.

Tasuku: Then, let's get go--.

Teacher: Hey, wait up!

Tasuku: Yes?

Teacher: Thank goodness. You're still here. I actually have a request for you.

Tasuku: What is it?

Teacher: Do you… want to try aiming for the top in horseback archery!?

Troupe Members: Come again!?

Teacher: I'm sure you can be Japan's top horseback archery athlete! Please join my team.

Tasuku: I don't think I can do that. I'm an actor.

Teacher: In that case, can you at least join the next tournament…!?

Tasuku: Even if you say that…

Teacher: Oh, right! There's an annual event called "Horseback Archery Festival".

If it's alright with you, can you take part as a guest at that event?

Tasuku: Well, I don't mind appearing as a guest…

Teacher: Thank you so much! I'm looking forward to your appearance.

Izumi: (Being invited as a guest despite being an amateur… Tasuku-san, you're way too awesome…)

#a3!#a3! translation #spring troupe #summer troupe #autumn troupe #winter troupe #itaru chigasaki #citron #muku sakisaka #banri settsu #tasuku takato

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aliaslua · 3 years

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Living with the Turtles (headcanons)

Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo x Reader

Summary: A secret mission that only the four brothers could accomplish requires them to become your personal bodyguards. How would each one of them react to sharing a house with you?

Category: Platonic relationship, domestic fluff, deep friendship.

WARNINGS: None c:

A/N: This actually could be a whole fic (maybe someday) but honestly I was just feeling very into domestic turtles today so I decided to post this. Let me know what you think!

You can also read it in AO3! <3

Leonardo

The order was clear, you needed to be hidden. To fade, become invisible. After a team of outlaw scientists from the old Sacks' company discovered that you DNA carried a sequence of molecules that was thought had disappeared from the human species many decades ago - the only sequence that could serve as a basis for creating new mutagens - your blood became the most precious material in the planet and you, the most wanted person in the world. The Federal Program for Assistance to Threatened Victims and Witnesses had no option but to hide you in the only place where you would be safe 24 hours a day, seven days a week: the old train station where New York's newest heroes lived.

How will each of them react to the brutal change of sharing their house with a stranger?

When Chief of police Vincent set up an urgent meeting with the Hamato brothers to make a request and warned that the fate of the world depended on it, Leo prepared to receive a mission that would involved discipline, discretion and unmatched fighting skills but when he realized they would have to spend the next few months being bodyguard to a human, his confidence immediately morphed into pure nervousness.

He is a true gentleman and is desperate to be the best host possible. Before you arrived, he ordered the whole family to clean the Lair with a military streak and himself inspected every room. He and Donatello built a private room for you using some of the shoji screens from the meditation room and he provided a bed and headboard.

He's absolutely nervous the day you arrive. You are their first official guest and he will do everything to make your stay perfect. Because of that, your first interactions with him is a little awkward. He doesn't allow you to collaborate in any domestic activity and spends the first two weeks asking if you need anything ("No," You always answer "I am very comfortable, thank you.").

After a few days getting to know you better and seeing your determination to participate in the routine of the house, he finally manages to relax a little and takes this opportunity to share some house tasks with you. Despite that, he continues to treat you like royalty: pulling chairs, opening doors, covering you with a blanket at night and carrying you to your bed whenever you sleep on the couch -and then he ensures that the house is quiet, so you can rest. Nothing will interrupt your sleep, your peace, your security, your stay will be perfect, he will do anything to make you feel at home.

Living with Leonardo is a bit like being a soldier in a barracks, but without all the shouting. From Monday to Monday you have a schedule and after you finally manage to convince him to teach you a little self-defense, the training is hard and disciplined. Unlike the barracks, however, Leonardo is very comprehensive with your physical and mental limitations and it's more than willing to adapt your training depending on what you need most on the day. Weary? Deep meditation. Muscle pain? Yoga. Feeling unmotivated? Cardio.

Then when you finally get to know each other better, after a few weeks living together, Leonardo is like a mentor to you. He always has excellent advice and is always available to listen to you, regardless of how repetitive or superficial your problems are.

Leonardo's cooking skills are truly awful. It was during dinner, in fact, that you really started bonding. The pasta was slimy and bland and the sauce tasted like old ketchup: You had to intervene. Only when he saw how well you cooked - and wow that's a pretty good knife control! - he realized that you not only had a lot to learn, but a lot to teach. You have taken on the responsibility of teaching him how to cook the basics ever since and you will never forget his face when he first tasted missoshiro.

You're both obsessed with Chinese fighting movies. Every wednesday you watch a movie together and no matter how hard you try, you can't convince him that "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" is better than "House of Flying Daggers".

Of all the brothers, he is the one who gets used to your presence faster (even before Mikey) and his generosity is essential to make you feel welcome.

Raphael

It is not even possible to define with words the intensity of the fight that Raphael and Leonardo had when he told them that he had accepted the mission of hiding the human carrier. Once again Leonardo had made a decision without consulting the whole team but more important than that: Raphael was going to have to share the house with someone he didn't know and there was nothing in the world that made him more angry - and nervous - than that.

Deep down, Raph was more anxious than angry. Knowing that he was going to share his only intimate and personal space - his house - with someone he didn't know made him feel super vulnerable, exposed. In fact, he was scared. He feared the possible looks of dread, disgust, repulsion. He knew that few things in the world could hurt more than a look of hatred and he was not at all comfortable with the reality that he might have to LIVE with someone who found him disgusting.

But when you arrived, the looks didn't come. You looked nervous, but not scared, let alone disgusted. As the days went by, Raphael realized that the only feeling you had before arriving at Lair was gratitude and after he actually understood that in fact he made you feel safe, the warmth in his chest was enough for him to forgive your invasion.

Sometimes you are just as scary to Raphael as he is for most humans. That day when he caught you alone in the kitchen taking the cookie sheet out of the oven, he realized that. You are so… small, so fragile and soft. He feels that if he breathes too hard or too close to you he will dismantle you, like a house of cards. It's also impressive to him how much noise such a small creature can make. God! Are your shoes made of iron? How can biting into toast be that loud? Even your breathing seems loud to him. But it is not your fault, you always answer, it's not like you're a trained ninja.

Raphael is the last one to be comfortable with your presence but when that day finally comes and he admits he likes it when you are around, he also decides that you are one of them now and for you he ride or die. Silently he swears eternal loyalty to you and from that day on, rest assured, you don't need to be afraid of anything anymore.

Because of this, Raph becomes strangely jealousy and possessive. You are now his best friend and he needs to know if everyone around you is good enough, well-intentioned enough and ensuring your joy and well being are now part of the mission. It's a little overwhelming at first but when you adjust the intensity it's wonderful to have someone who takes such good care of you.

His affection is always returned. You love his company and think it's funny how such a big man can be so soft. And soft he is, since what you most have in common is the appreciation for period romances. You love watching all the adaptation films from Jane Austen's books and maybe he cried at the end of Reason and Sensitivity - he will deny it until the end - but your favorite activity for you to do together is when you read to him while he works out. You are like a personal audiobook and he will never stop making fun of you for crying while reading Mr. Wentworth's letters.

Despite the affection, he is really a tease. He doesn't miss a single chance to remind you how small you look to him and nicknames like Tiny Temper and Shortstop are recurring. You always repay it whenever you can but ultimately you know that he doesn't mean bad.

Donatello

Donatello thinks that the idea of protecting the source of the conflict is brilliant, it seems much more rational to avoid a war before it happens and proceed a mission with a more discreet and strategic course of action than to appeal to physical strength and weapons. That said, he hates having someone else around as much as Raphael. Unlike him, however, Donatello is not afraid of rejection, he is... Uncomfortable. Privacy is a right that he considers essential and imagining that he may receive someone who is intrusive in his own home makes his head hurt.

Therefore, he receives you with extreme coldness. He helps with the organizing of their home and your personal space, of course, he doesn't want you to feel unwelcome, but it's essential for him to draw the line between mission and personal life and he wants to make that very clear. His room is off limits, the computer area is off limits and specially the laboratory is off limits.

But he soon realizes that his coldness is unnecessary and maybe even a little rude since you seem excellent at respecting personal limits and spaces. He was prepared to spend a long time refusing to answer invasive and indiscreet questions, but you seemed to have a genuine and respectful interest. In the end, he found your polite curiosity very charming.

After that, he showed you the lab on his own and was even happier when you got interested but didn't touch anything. He finally had someone around with the same enthusiasm for science as he and he even started doing research based on your doubts. Enjoy, he's a great teacher.

But what you most like to do together is to sit on the huge couch in the living room with a cup of coffee and talk for hours on complex matters. Ethics, morals, economic and social configurations, what is the fate of the world? Why are we here? You certainly do not have the same theoretical background to refute him, but he loves your interest and loves to hear your subjective takes. A debate partner is everything he always dreamed of.

It's also a relief for him to be able to open up to someone other than his own brothers and he likes to hear the solutions you would give to his dilemmas from the perspective of a person who has lived a life so different from his. He also loves to watch you, but he will never admit it: Humans are fascinating, and he finds your ways and habits very funny.

Before you arrived he did a thorough research to understand what vitamins, minerals and supplements you would need to take while out of sunlight and with restricted access to various foods, so you also got you a personal doctor and nutritionist.

Michelangelo

The first week living with Michelangelo were almost unbearable. It may be fair to say that he was the only one among the brothers really pleased with your arrival and it was good to be warmly welcomed by at least one of them, but Mikey's excitement was a little overwhelming. He spent all day filling you with praise, flirting, asking about your life and life on the surface and it felt like he talked so much that he sucked all the air out of the room.

Knowing that your relationship could nor go on like that, in the second week of your stay you sat him on the couch and asked him to chill out just a little. You explained that for you it was super important to know that one of them was happy with your arrival and that you knew that he wanted to do everything to make your stay the best possible but for that he didn't need to treat you like a creature from another world, perfect and sovereign, you just wanted to be treated like ... an equal. That was more than enough. Michelangelo ceased to be a dedicated servant and became a great friend.

You couldn't ask for anything else in the world. Mikey was the perfect friend for a situation that could be unbearable without an icebreaker. He's fun, lovable and after you had that conversation, extremely relaxed and comfortable around you. His loyalty is unquestionable and every day he shows affection without hesitation.

He loves spending all the time he can with you and has volunteered to become your personal teacher of the art of graffiti. Leonardo can't know, but you are responsible for the new tags on the subway cars and on the doors of abandoned houses. Mikey loves to watch you do your hair and help you choose the clothes you are going to wear that day and you find it funny how that dynamic makes it look like he is playing house for the first time.

You made homemade pizza once and he asked you to marry him, a request to which you answered yes, of course. He made you a ring from the pizza crust and you drank soda with your arms crossed just like in weddings.

The most sensitive of the brothers. He always know when you're not feeling good and always has the right answer to make you feel better (that is, burrito blanket and reality shows).

#bayverse tmnt #tmnt 2016 #michelangelo #leonardo tmnt #raphael tmnt #tmnt imagine #donatello tmnt

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cinephilediary · 3 years

Text

A Memory

by: Kila Gallo

Sitting on a soft minimalist chair with a backrest, sipping on an iced white mocha-caramel coffee with some tiramisu on the side of the table, tied my long soft ash-brown-balayage hair in a clean bun with some baby hair strands on the side. Instead of the country side music, I prefer to listen and notice the loud breeze outside, while people come and go as they receive their cup of coffee. I am just here, silently typing on my keyboard, specs on, looking at my laptop’s screen; doing some work related stuff. Its been five years now, and I couldn’t help but wonder if… if I could see you or even just have the opportunity to glance at you, here, again.

“I’m going to school now Mom, bye!” I kissed on her cheek then walked through my way out of the house, still biting a piece of bread. It is 7:00 in the morning and I have to hurry for my first class. Dad is now waiting for me inside the black sedan car together with my little brother to drive us to school. Oh! I haven’t introduced myself yet, my name is Shi Gutierrez, a typical grade nine student.

“Shi! Faster! Mrs. Data is almost here!” Hazel shouted at me when she’s on the second floor and I am still at the school grounds. By that time, I started running upstairs in order for me not to get late and receive a punishment. Our school is definitely strict in terms of time thus I really have to run. I catch my breath as I sit down on my chair, I gasp and sigh heavily knowing that there's still no teacher yet, and fortunately, after minutes, Mrs. Data, our English teacher, entered the room and announced something that would be the start of something. “Good morning class! Since this week is the start of the English Month Celebration, I am tasking you to execute a stage play of the novel, Romeo and Juliet” she smiled angelically. Everyone were shocked that only our Class president answered, “When is it ma’am?”

“In the coming month, I still have no idea for the final and exact date but be ready! Any questions?” the room filled with silence.

“Okay class, I want you to prepare for it because this is going to be a competition! Anyway, we will not have our classes starting today. I want you to focus on the preparation for your stage play! I am expecting so much from you since you are the first section, okay? See you!”

After leaving, the room was filled with noise of excitements. Then, my group of friends started teasing me to be part of the stage play because they knew I had some experiences. Time flies so fast, I, and my girl group of friends are now about to go to the school canteen to buy our lunch. We are seven girls in total and our classmates often call us as “girl group” because we would always gather to stick together and talks too loud. In the group, I am the one whose not easy to read, sometimes I would go silent and there are days wherein I would start the noise. People would always described me as a “social butterfly” and I kind of agree to the thought of it because I kind of know everyone here in our school, down from the school helpers, school guards to the higher positions. When we went back to our room, holding our drinks, everyone is occupied with their own businesses. Then without any hesitations, our class president stood up in front of the class, calling everyone’s attention. He discussed the agenda of finding who are the people who will act to be the characters of the play. While I am listening, the girls still pushes me to join, it was all fun until he, Mr. Class President looked directly at my way.

“Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?” Yes, they appointed me to act as Juliet in the coming English month stage play competition. I did not even had the opportunity to decline because no one wants to do it either. We are now at the school grounds, amid the scorching sun, rehearsing our lines in our coming play. I already have prepared my costumes, props and other needed stuff. Everyone is participating since this is a whole-section project, thus, those who are not assigned as an actor or actresses are tasked for the making of props, backdrops, costumes, music and other tasks. By the way, the man who will act as the Romeo in our section, is our class president.

Everyone is currently occupied with their own tasks that keeps them bustle. I am at the backstage, fully prepared, wearing my first attire for the first act, a long beautiful dress, my hair is curled tied in a high bun. This is the day we have long prepared for.

“My only love sprung from my only hate. Too early seen unknown, and known too late!”

After our section’s performance, our director told us to stay and watch the presentation of other sections. I was definitely excited to watch, to see the other perspectives of the play but when the third section finished, I asked my girl group to accompany me to the restroom to change because I don’t feel comfortable with my costume anymore. But, when we are approaching the door to go inside the school hallways, where the nearest restroom is located, my friends approached this boy, lone with his bag and used-props. “He’s the Romeo of the last stage play” I mumbled on myself. I know no one even heard me because when I looked at him again, he is now surrounded by the girls. They are asking him something, and when I went nearer, he looks more serious, still in his Romeo-outfit, fixing his necktie, smoothly removing his vest and folding some props made of paper to fit on his small paper bag. Then my friend, Rose started teasing him and I was in awe because I don’t know him, yet these girls act like they knew him. “Can I have that sword?”, “The flower is nice, give it to me!” they are forcing him to give them his things and I was just there watching him really give the things the girls asked to. Then, Rose looked at me, and that’s the signal that it is now my turn to ask him, “I want your necklace!” without any hesitations, I proudly told him. I don’t even know what to get and ask from him because I’m not interested with his props and the only thing I saw that is something useful, is the necklace suspended on his neck; a silver one with a small rectangular pendant looking good with his outfit. Then, he paused for a while, looking at me intently. I thought he’s going to give it to me, just like how easy it is for him to give his other belongings to the girls. But, he continued fixing his things and didn’t bother to mind me. After the deafening silence, finally, the girls forbid their goodbyes to that Romeo-boy, I don’t know what to feel, I am not ashamed of what have happened, I admit that it is weird at some point because we don’t know each other. All I really want to do is to change my clothes! “Its okay Shi, don’t be sad” Rose said when we went inside the restroom. What? “Yes Shi, maybe he was tired since he played the character of Romeo. Actually, he was really good! He’s better with our section’s Romeo!” Ann declared, then they all laughed.

Since every section made an amazing presentation during the English month stage play competition, Mrs. Data promised us to be rewarded with good and fair grades. Its been three weeks since that event happened, and now while everyone thought that it will be rest days next week, our class president together with the vice president, entered the room with some news to disseminate. “Okay listen! Next Friday there will be a Seminar Workshop in Filipino in line with the celebration of Filipino Month. Everyone must attend because this is going to be our attendance.”

“A celebration for the Filipino Month” Rose red the tarpaulin outside our school gate. It is 8:00 in the morning and we are currently waiting in line to enter the audio visual room where the event will take place. When we reached the door, our class president gave each one of us a name tag with a lanyard. He said that we are supposed to wear it the whole day. Since we are the first section, we had the opportunity to sit in front. The event started and the flow of the program went light, there are guest speakers who used to be theatre actors and now teaches Filipino subject and acting. Since it is a workshop, other guest speakers call some representative from each sections to participate. Then, lunch time came. We are about to go to the school canteen when he, our class president called me. He gave me a bottle of watermelon shake and a biscuit. “Why?” I asked him. He just stood there, smiling, wearing his eye glasses, unable to talk.

And finally, the event ended, it lasted for many hours! Its time for the photo opportunity with the guest speakers. We are the first one to take photos with them and can go home after. The section two is now ready for the photo opportunity thus I went back on my seat and started fixing my stuff, when I am ready to go, my friends ask me to wait for them. So, I sat on the arm desk of the chair, feet still on the ground, to prevent losing control and balance. I was watching the other students taking pictures with the guests until a pair of arms wrapped around my neck blocking my view, I stiffened from my position and unable to move. He move backwards after putting a necklace on me, then that's when I knew, the Romeo boy! I wasn’t able to speak, looking intently at him and he smiled. “Sorry its late”, What? What’s late? Why are you just talking to yourself be mad at him! He invaded your personal space! “And sorry for almost touching you, but I didn’t” he said in his low voice. What now? Do you hear me? “Honestly, I cant give you this” he holds his silver necklace suspended on his neck just like when I first saw him “my father gave it to me, so I bought a new one for you. Hope you like it.” Oh. Whats happening? Why I couldn’t utter any words right now. Then he smiled and turn his back on me. Leaving me in awe, unable to move nor speak. What was that? My heart beats so fast. Its a foreign feeling, something I only feel towards him.

“Hot Americano for Rald!” the counter called for the customer. Then I was stiffened from my seat. I looked down, forcefully closing my eyes, “Don’t look!” I mumbled on myself. But the heart made the final judgment, I looked at the counter, meters away from me. No one is taking the coffee. I glanced on the other direction, there, I saw him, wearing a white fitted polo that compliments his masculinity, paired with a black trousers and a pair of black leather shoes. A luster from his necklace caught my attention, it is the same necklace before. A smooth swift of the chair then he stand proudly and walked towards his way to the counter, eyes on his silver watch, looks like he need to hurry. The romantic background music from the cafe makes me lose my track, my heart keeps beating so fast, with one hand, he gently holds his cup of coffee, with no emotion on his eyes, then, he suddenly turned his gaze directly at me. I stiffened from my position, can not able to look away. Those brown eyes I used to gladly stare at, are the same pair of eyes I’ve long forgotten. He looked away. Turned his back at me and went out of the cafe. I can now barely see him. I thought he’s not going to be here today, just like the past years. Now that he glanced at me, I can tell, that he don’t recognized me. Do people really can forget someone they’ve spent years with? Do they really forget everything through the years? Maybe people really forget things and people they chose to forget. But, I hope its a different matter in my case. According to his doctor, there are high chances of obsolete lose remembrance on his case, after the heart operation. Does the heart really forgets?

Maybe,

I should come here again,

more often.

#short story #fiction #new blog #story time #story

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yawnjunie · 3 years

Text

so you’re the artsy type, huh ❦ cbg (1)

Genre: fluff, university au, crack (get ready for a bad take on comedy)

Pairing: broke artist!reader x art sponsor!beomgyu

Word count: 7k

Summary: After spending way too much time chasing after an impossible dream, you weren’t too sure you wanted to continue with your lifelong passion— art. One eventful day at the museum steered you onto a road full of twists and turns, and you unexpectedly found yourself wading deeper into murky water with your new employer.

A/N: a huge thank you to @noiaeu and @halohyuka for being my beta readers! anyways here is a long overdue fic that was a 20k+ word monstrosity but is now a series. happy reading!

— blu and struz

You tapped your feet absentmindedly against the grimy tiles of the cheap burger chain as you waited. The atmosphere that usually felt bustling and welcoming now felt stuffy as your stomach churned each passing second. The waitress walked past your seat as she served the customers behind you, the fragrant aroma of the burgers on her tray prompting a vicious growl from your stomach. Sighing, you checked the time on your phone: 8:52pm. Scrolling past the inactive conversations with your “friends” (you didn’t really know what to call them because you tried to ask them out and got rejected; you’d kept those conversations anyway because you were too attached to them), you sent a quick message to a number you wish you didn’t need to text today. Without a second thought, you picked up your belongings and left the small burger shop.

Thank goodness, you knew just the perfect place to drown your sorrows in.

You called for the nearest taxi to the small food shop by the name of Mrs. Lee’s Mandu House.

“What happened this time?” A stout lady with an apron asked, peeking her head out of the kitchen, setting down a large bowl of dumplings in front of you. She made her way to the condiments shelf. “Kimchi?”

“Yes, please. I got stood up again.” You grumbled, stuffing a large dumpling into your mouth ravenously. Then, speaking through mouthfuls of food, you continued. “Maybe I should just stop trying altogether. Change my major to agricultural studies and move to the countryside while I’m at it.”

Food had never tasted so good! The savory filling of the dumplings literally melted in your mouth, and soon the blaring sound of the old AC and the sound of the kdrama from the TV had just blended into the background. It was nice not having to listen to anything.

“Aw, don’t say that.” The woman replied as she set down a pot of kimchi and a plate of kimbap on your table. The friendly ahjumma took her seat across from you and set down a bag of melon seeds. “Trust me, it’s going to be hard. You’re just in your first year of college! You’ll get there someday.” Then, she continued on to tell you about other people she knew who had it harder than you, but all that faded into the background noise, along with the AC and the TV. That sentence was the only thing you heard, and although there weren’t any lemons in the soup, everything that you ate suddenly started tasting sour. Sometimes, even the best food cannot drown out the bitterest words.

You’ll get there someday.

Foomp. You flopped onto your bed with a small grunt as your back met the soft mattress. Throwing off your glasses to the side, you massaged your eyeballs and then looked at the ceiling. It was grey. The same grey that you saw before going to sleep at night, the very same grey that greeted you when you awoke in the morning to another unexciting day. The more you stared at it, the more the popcorn ceiling looked just like a grey mass with a few monotone specks here and there.

You were always told to look to the future and stop dwelling on the past. And that was a long shot, given that all you saw in front of you was a blurry ceiling.

What is this feeling? You let yourself sink a little deeper into your mattress, lazily shifting your gaze to the left, where you saw your huge Gabriel Garcia Marquez poster taped to the wall. Solitude. Looking back, you supposed that was how you’d been living your life thus far.

Doing jobs here and there, never really achieving anything big.

Single as hell.

It was days like this that made you feel not quite sad, but just really demotivated. A reminiscent smile flickered on your face as you turned your head to stare at the wall, unto which the light that peeked through the overcast sky cast a faint shadow. Words like “lonely” and “outcast” didn’t mean a thing to you. The fact of the matter was, you didn’t have anyone, and the universe sure didn’t put an effort to sugarcoat that fact.

Rolling lazily to the edge of the bed, you finally sat yourself up. You walked over to your desk, pulled out the wooden chair, and turned on the lamp. Then, you took a moment to tie up your hair before looking down at what was lying under the spotlight of the lamp.

Amidst the blizzard of eraser shavings and the familiar scent of freshly shaved wood stood the lead outline of a girl. Shoulder-length hair up in a high ponytail, a soft, rounded nose, chapped lips, and blank, unsuspecting eyes with dark circles hanging below them. Looks like she’s never seen a day of joy in her life. Looking into the mirror standing to the left on your desk, a very tired girl with a dark face stared right back. Dusting off the eraser shavings into the trash bin next to the desk, you commended yourself for the superb self-portrait.

At the insistence of the tightness in your right wrist and the crick in your neck, you set the pencil down and extended your arms to stretch your back. When your eyes fell upon the drawing once more, a wave of disappointment washed you back onto the shore of frustration. Yet another addition to the ever-growing pile of wasted white paper. A part of you argued that art was not a waste, which was true enough. Art made by you, however, was a different story.

What happened to me? All that time, effort, and energy never really amounted to much. After all, you’d only seen the world in black and white. It was as if someone took a giant paint tube and squirted an awful lot of grey paint everywhere.

After all, who’d ever heard of an artist who couldn’t tell orange from blue?

–––

Even the song playing in the background mocked you with every word.

♪ I see trees of green,

red roses too ♪

♪ I see them bloom,

for me and you ♪

♪ and I think to myself

what a wonderful world ♪

You glanced around tiredly as you saw your classmate’s boyfriend carry a stack of canvases for them. For someone who, one: saw the world in grey, and two: had never gone on a date, the world was anything but wonderful. You felt your eyelids drooping despite the hard, wooden stool jutting into your buttcheeks. Drowsily, you turned your gaze to your art pieces. Noticing the other students coming in to set up their pieces, you straightened up your back and set your bag down on the stool. You took a deep breath and swung your arms nervously in an attempt to garner a sense of purpose and hope. You got this! You whispered encouraging phrases to yourself under your breath, smiling at the students who bothered to greet you first.

Today was your first time participating in a student exhibition. Although it was quite unconventional for first year students to be showcasing their work in the advanced exhibition, your teacher had been nice enough to make a spot for you. Well, it was more like you practically begging her to consider you, because of your current family situation. You terribly did not want to sound like that broke college student™, but sometimes, a little bit of courage to fight against the stone cold reality was useful. And of course, Ms. Kim, being the benevolent soul she was, granted you special rights to participate.

This year, the exhibition was being held in the empty room at the Museum of Modern Art. Attendance of the students was optional, but a good handful of them came, hoping to get a professional review, or even a sponsor for their art. The moment you walked in, you held your breath—the entire room was empty, all six surfaces painted white. It was the brightest room you’d ever been in, yet the temperature seemed to drop 100 degrees.

It’s fine. This time, things will be different, you told yourself in an attempt to shake off the dread that settled in the pit of your stomach. Fifth time’s the charm, after all.

It may have been your first time participating in a college exhibition, but you’d participated in countless art competitions as a kid. You were like a wildfire, and there was no award for a competition you entered that you didn’t win. Now, it felt like you were back to base one. After all, who has that easy of a life? Those days of your easy childhood life were long gone.

You tried not to think much as you sat uncomfortably next to your paintings. For the first hour or so, you made a point to look each passing person in the eye, a wide smile plastered on your face. The second hour, the corners of your mouth started to twitch beyond your control. By the third hour, you found yourself staring at people’s shoes more often than their faces. As the minutes ticked by, you kept your eyes trained intently on the floor, mouth pressed firmly closed. Glancing around the room, you tried to take your mind off of your worries. But you couldn’t help but be envious of your classmates, who were getting noticed by the professional guests.

That’s okay, there’s always next time. Guess today just wasn’t my day.

It was beginning to feel like no day was your day. A warm sensation pricked at the corners of your eyes when a voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Ma’am, excuse me.” A woman in a worn out blue outfit approached your stand.

Being as desperate as you were, you hastily wiped away your tears from all the yawning and slapped a smile on your face, mustering up the peppiest voice you could manage. “Hey! How can I help you? As you can see, I work exclusively in grayscale, and I mostly do portrai–” “Miss–” the lady interrupted, “it’s closing time. Could you please pack your things?”

Upon processing the sight of the tattered mop in her hand, realization hit you like a truck, and not just any ordinary truck— it was a Belaz 75710 filled with 496 tons of rocks and sharp glass. That was a fun fact you stumbled upon while scrolling on Instagram; the fact that you somehow retained this useless information made you silently curse yourself. Your smile was frozen in place as you gave a series of curt nods. “Oh. Okay, I’ll start packing.”

The kind woman nodded back and started to walk away, but stopped and turned just a few steps away. “Don’t feel too down. Sometimes, life just doesn’t go the way you want it to. It’ll get better, trust me.”

“Yeah.” You replied coldly, not bothering to mask your sadness. Attempting to muster a small smile in gratitude for her kind words, you gave her a thumbs up before she left the room. It kind of hurt, getting pity from the janitor. But in a way, you felt a little comforted. At least you knew you weren’t the only person struggling. Robotically, you placed the canvases onto your utility cart one by one, then started folding up the easels. When the janitor’s footsteps had faded away, the only thing disrupting the silence was the rain.

Plip. Plop. With the accompaniment of the beating of the raindrops on the rooftop that rang in your ear like a dull symphony, it only seemed natural for your tears to fall. And this time, there was nobody to interfere with your sob session.

And on that afternoon, in the empty art hall, you cried your heart out. There was only one question that gnawed at the back of your mind relentlessly, like a famished dog on a bone twice its size. Should I just give up on art? The thought of it just made you cry even harder. Art was your everything.

From the moment you’d grasped the thin body of the paintbrush on your doljabi, you’d fallen in love with art. Throughout your childhood, you’d spent your days drawing. From drawing on plain computer paper to painting entire murals on your bedroom walls - you did it all. Everyone was sure you’d become an artist when you grew up. You’d even kept a money jar by your bed, which you’d used to store money for new art supplies and eventually, art school. You were happy. You had a good eye for color.

Thunder crashed outside as that memory resurfaced in your mind. Back then, you drew like there was no tomorrow when you could see colors. Until the world became dark when your colors, your precious colors were taken away. And the world remained dark ever since. They all pitied you, sending a sigh your way in condolence for your loss. You didn’t need or want their pity, of course. All you’d ever wanted was an answer, a reason to why they left your eyes.

You wanted to blame it on something, but what could you do? Every night you prayed, praying desperately for your colors back. But every morning, the ceiling remained grey. So did the sky when you walked to work. Pushing your shabby cart with a loose wheel down the hallway full of eccentric art pieces, you didn’t even spare a glance at them. Well, other than to avoid being noticed by the few people who were still in the museum, to which you hid your swollen face in the opposite direction and choked back your sobs. Well, what can you do now, y/n? It’s not your first time participating in an exhibition anyway. There’s probably someone out there having it harder than you, so suck it up! Everything will be better once you get back home…

Just when you were nearing the entrance of the museum, you heard a different pair of footsteps from your own behind you.

“Hey.” You jumped out of your skin at the tap on your left shoulder. Caught by surprise, you found yourself stumbling backwards into your cart. You lost your footing and down crashed your rear end. By attempting to hold onto the cart handle for balance, your art pieces now seemed to fall in slow motion, the cart suspended in the air as your mouth hung open in horror. You reached out to grab it, but unfortunately, you were an aching 2 centimeters short of saving your artwork. The cart toppled on top of your canvases with a comical crack, wooden splinters flying everywhere. The empty utility cart squealed defeatedly as it toppled to its side, a loose wheel still spinning.

You felt your head spin even faster, as you grew increasingly frustrated by your inability to comprehend what had just happened. Holy shit.

Strewn across the floor, battered and broken, lay hours upon hours of your time, your hard-earned money, along with the last strains of your hope of becoming an artist. F*ck!

Eyes wide and mouth agape, you turned to face the perpetrator of the tragedy.

This is the part where he apologizes and promises to make it up to me, then gives me his contact info and we go on a date and he falls for me and we live happily ever after. Or so you hoped, you thought. The thought was so ridiculous that you could have burst out into laughter if it hadn’t been for the fact that the fruit of your blood, sweat, and tears was now a bunch of broken wood and torn cotton on the floor. F you and your last brain cell, y/n. Get yourself together and snap out of it. You were convinced that you were so sleep deprived from your K-drama binging session this morning at 4am that you’d convinced yourself that you were living the next episode.

Chances were low that the two of you would get together and live happily ever from an offense like this, but even so, he would have to compensate for the damages somehow. Now that you came back to reality, you realized that you couldn’t even make out what the guy in front of you looked like. “Okay, but what if he’s like, your next patron or something.” You don’t know if you muttered that out loud, but your odd behavior was really annoying you today. Shut up, it's not like he's Song Kang! Stop it! Nevertheless, you bet on the Balenciaga slides that he was wearing that he would pull out a business card the next moment.

You stared into the boy’s eyes expectantly and he met your gaze. You felt your pulse quicken as he opened his mouth to speak, eagerly awaiting your compensation. Hello hello, my next patron. This is the moment that marks my upgrade to a better life.

“I am so, so sorry about this.”

“You should be.”

As he spoke, the boy pulled his cap lower and threw on his hood. “Not just about me breaking your paintings, but also this.” Dammit, what have I gotten myself into?

And then he bolted.

🏃 💨

“Wha– hey! Where do you think you’re going?!”

He slammed his body against the glass door and ran into the rain while you followed in close pursuit. However, after a few wobbly steps, it occurred to you that you weren’t exactly dressed for the occasion, so you took off your heels and continued the hunt barefoot.

Still, even under normal circumstances, you weren’t much of a track star. Wearing a blazer with suit pants and no shoes wasn’t helping your chances either, and the weather didn’t seem to plan on making things any easier.

The two of you ran through the heavy rain like cat and mouse. Clenching your teeth and your fists, you chased after the boy. He ran about two blocks before you caught up to him. As your calves grew sore, you considered hurling one of your heels at him.

The boy slowed down for a couple of seconds, looking around frantically. Mr. Kim.....! I told you to wait for me out here—!

Heaving a sigh, he turned around and began to run in another direction. And although he'd hate to admit it, today was one of the days where he had no choice but to admit that his choice of footwear today was a fatal flaw.

Somehow, despite the odds against you, you weren’t the one who ate the pavement. The boy tripped over the curb and slammed into the sidewalk, bellyflopping straight into a gargantuan puddle. Those Balenciagas did not help him run through the rain very well. You laughed in triumph and squatted next to his almost-lifeless body.

“Gotchu now, you jer–”

Boom! The world went white for a second, illuminated by the blinding clap of lightning. In an instant, the downpour increased tenfold, the raindrops now feeling like bullets against your skin.

“Okay, maybe this isn’t the best place to have a conversation.”

–––

The two of you trudged through the rain—or, more accurately— you dragged the boy through the rain, your grip on his hoodie sleeve iron-tight. When you finally reached your car, you opened the passenger door and he went in obediently. From an outsider’s point of view, you might’ve been mistaken as an undercover cop. In fact, you were sure feeling like one as you apprehended the criminal.

You went around to the back and opened up the trunk, where after rifling through months' worth of empty bottles, fabric bags for shopping, and a variety of other car junk, you finally found your stash of somewhat clean clothes. After careful consideration, you chucked a worn hoodie and the swimming shorts you’d worn to the beach last year over the seat. Just in case, you also tossed your first-aid kit over. You threw your heels in and swapped them for a pair of nylon flip flops before slamming the trunk closed.

You went back to the passenger’s side and opened the door. Taking in the figure of the drenched and bleeding boy, you kind of felt sorry for him. Which was stupid, considering he had just wrecked your life’s work and made a run for it. You tilted your head back and sighed, trying to sort your thoughts out.

With all of your best art pieces now reduced to splinters, it was a cold, hard fact that you weren’t going to get a sponsor. Besides, even before they’d been smashed into smithereens, nobody had been willing to give you a chance. The probability of you finding a sponsorship was like the graph of the height of a ball thrown from a cliff at sea level, or the number √-1. It was not just in the negatives, but it was also imaginary.

Taking a sharp inhale, you talked as quickly as you could. “Listen. I’m going to go get what’s left of my art from the gallery. Just change your clothes and patch yourself up, then you can leave.” You paused to dig out a few crumpled dollars from your wallet, which you promptly threw at him.

“Here, take this to get a taxi. I don’t know how far you live, but that’s all I have. Don’t get me wrong– I still think you’re a massive schmuck. And there’s nothing you can do to fix the damage you’ve caused.” Despite your best effort to remain composed, your voice cracked a little at the end. You stopped talking before you were to break out into tears again.

Without waiting to hear what the douchebag had to say, you slammed the door closed and strode through the rain back to the gallery, where your pieces still lay broken on the ground where you’d left them. A part of you was hoping that maybe, by some magic or miracle, the whole thing had been a dream, and nothing really happened.

But reality was as cold as stone, and you were powerless to change it. So, as you always did when confronted with the unchangeable, you picked yourself up and carried on, struggling against the current.

By the time you wheeled the broken canvases back to your car, the boy was long gone, all traces of his presence vanished except for the dampness of the left side passenger seat. You buckled on your seatbelt and tuned into your favorite radio station, then sped off into the summer storm. The storm, your artwork, it was all so out of the blue– well, in your case, grey.

The situation on the freeway was like a stuffy nose: irritated and congested. In fact, it would’ve been faster to moonwalk down the road. To make matters even worse, instead of music, the radio station was streaming ad after ad. Is this even legal? Exasperatedly, you tuned into a different station, then another one, but to no avail; all of them were on ad break.

It was frustrating enough that the gallery was a complete flop, not to mention that your best art was demolished in a hit and run and that you were sitting soaking wet on a leather seat stuck in the middle of traffic. Now, even the radio had turned against you. You shut it off and sat in silence.

Thump. You sighed and leaned your head back against the seat, willing the migraine that was building up in your head to f*ck off. After craning your head to check the backseat one more time, to your vexation, you found that the asshat hadn’t even bothered to close the first aid kit.

Muttering obscenities under your breath, you reached for the kit, cracking your inflexible spine 4 times in the process. You rummaged through its contents, straightening them out, counting how many were left, and you were about to slam the lid closed when you saw the note.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

“Well, gee, that’s REAL helpful.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the ten numbers scrawled on the note. Your half a brain cell told you to quit being stupid and toss that note out the window.

The rest of your stupid self told you to call it. I mean, why not? You cursed yourself for how your brain worked– or rather, didn’t work– sometimes.

You licked your lips in brief contemplation before punching in the numbers in. The person on the other end picked up immediately.

“Hello, welcome to Papa John’s Pi–”

You hurled your phone into the backseats and ripped the note up, throwing the scraps into the air like confetti before continuing the wearisome ride down through the rain.

–––

It took an eternity, but you made it back to your apartment, where you promptly crashed onto the couch. As per usual, you spent the rest of your waking hours scrolling through baking videos, even though you had neither the ingredients nor the time to be making any of the confections. At around 8pm, exhausted from crying and the events of the day, you dozed off without having a bite of the frozen pizza that’d just finished baking in the oven.

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt! Your dreamless slumber was disturbed by the vibration of a string of text notifications and the glow that lit up the dark ceiling. Still half-asleep, you blindly felt around for your phone and attempted to read the message through bleary eyes.

It was from an unknown number.

Rubbing your eyes to clear out the nasty gunk, you sat up and read the message again, this time with clearer vision.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] Hello, sorry for ruining your paintings today. I will make it up to you.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] Thanks for bothering to call, let’s meet at this address to talk about your compensation. My parents can’t know that I did this so it would be great if you could keep this a secret :(

What the f*ck. You muttered under your breath, eyes half shut. Did I call anyone? In your half-asleep state, you didn’t bother to recall. For a second, you considered blocking the number. But just in case this was just one of your dumbass friends who changed their number, you decided to give that person a reply.

[You] hello? is this papa john’s?? i would like a cheese pizza

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] oh sorry the voicemail was a prank for someone else

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] i’m the guy from the art museum earlier, remember

[You] okay why do you have my number

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] because you called me

[You] right. okay, what do you want

[You] unless you want to pay me back for all those damages back there, no i am not interested in anything else sry i’m a very busy person you know

You hesitated a second before pressing the send button. You’d just sent a lie; in fact, you weren’t really that busy. Apart from your part time job at the boba shop, you were actually quite free most of the time. During the summer, at least. In fact, your screen time had gone up by 42%, your daily average now totaling to a whopping 12 hours. After a minute or so of silence, you threw your head back onto your pillow and let out a loud sigh of relief. Peace at last! It also made you quite happy that the person who texted you was in the least, not some weird scammer.

Ping! You celebrated too soon. Reaching for your phone groggily, you read the new message.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] okay then i was going to ask if you were free tomorrow

Am I being asked out? You squinted at your bright phone screen in the dark. You might have been nearsighted, but you weren’t illiterate in pick-up lines.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] i want to return the clothes you lent me

[You] it’s fine, you can keep that

Oh good, he was talking about the clothes, not anything else. Your millisecond of relief ended quickly when he sent another message.

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] oh also it would be great if we could meet up anyway? i want to talk to you about something that i had been meaning to say for a while

Oh, god. I knew it wasn’t just about the clothes. Lonely as you were, you would shoot yourself in the foot if you got into any relationship without landing a stable job or having any money. Scoffing amusedly, you stared at the screen as he continued to type. But dating someone like this? Never in a million years. Turning over to your other side, you thought about the many ways you could reject him.

[You] no sorry :(

[XXX-XXX-XXXX] we should set a date at the cannoli restaurant to talk about your compensation costs. i’m extremely sorry for ruining your beautiful artwork, and i know that my apologies will do nothing to change your current situation. since this is my fault, i’m willing to pay any amount you request (and i’ll pay to the best of my capabilities)... i’m assuming $50,000 would be enough to cover the costs for most of the damage? if monetary compensation doesn’t work for you, we can discuss other forms of compensation as well.

[You] i know it may not seem like it but i’m actually caught up in too much work to have time for dating anyone. you see, it’s just that i have lots of work on the side so i can’t really spare time at the moment. please don’t take this personally haha i’m sure you’ll find someone,,, like i don’t know how to say this but yeah…..you don’t wanna be w someone like me, it’s me not you

Huh? Just as you sent your message, another message popped up before yours. And if your life had a background narration, this very moment would have been “and in that moment he knew. He fvcked up.”

Fml.

With just one single message, you perhaps have ruined the only god-given opportunity to turn your life around ever. He’d just offered you money to cover the costs of your broken paintings... now that you thought about it, he could even be your patron! You couldn’t even get a patron even if you went out of your way to look for one on Craigslist, pestered Ms. Kim for any news from the Art Teacher’s Association, or even begged random people on the street in hopes one out of the million people would be willing to promote your art. Now, someone was asking to compensate you with tons of money, and you’d just rejected him in the most embarrassing way possible.

[You] oh shoot

[You] i mean wrong chat, uh can you please stay on hold, i will get back to your compensation offer, yeah i will see you at the restaurant sometime thanks

XXX-XXX-XXXX is typing…

You did not bother to see what he had to say. Hurtling your phone onto your carpet, you let out a guttural scream of “I AM SUCH A DUMB@$$$” before pulling the strings on your hoodie tightly. And for the second time that day, you cried.

———

Leaving behind the upsetting events from a couple of days ago, you listlessly shuffled through the entrance. It was Saturday morning, and that meant groceries. The local Asian market was one of your favorite places to be; breathing in the familiar blend of spices that hung in the air was a cathartic feeling. The corners of your lips were turned slightly upwards as you bent to grab a basket.

First stop was the meat section, where the bugged-out eyes of dead fish followed you as you walked down the aisle. Cooking raw animal flesh wasn't really your thing, so you simply picked up a package of pre-cooked chicken and went on your way.

Next came the produce section where you felt up all the tomatoes, only bagging the ones that felt the right amount of firm and soft. You also added a pack of bok choy and mushrooms, perfect for cooking up a lazy soup.

Now that you were nearing the end of your expedition, it was time to head into the best part of the store: the snack aisle. Sometimes, when you were feeling more down than usual, you would blow the whole sum of your weekly grocery savings on off-brand shrimp chips and chocolate banana Pocky. One by one, you were doing all the things your mom had told you not to do when you moved out, from coating the entirety of your insides with nothing but sodium and sugar to shifting your sleep schedule by 15 hours.

What was next, the-no-dating-boys-until-you’ve-gotten-your-Master’s-and-have-a-7-figure-job rule? You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Even if your stomach was totally trashed and your sleep schedule was nonexistent, you would never let yourself fall that far.

As you stepped foot into the chips aisle, you beheld the holy grail. From Hello Panda to rice crackers, wasabi peas to Yan Yan sticks complete with a chocolate dip, cream wafers to dried seaweed, you were in a sea of temptation. Being that broke college student™, you just gulped and kept walking. I can just feast on these goodies with my eyes.

Your initial plan had been to just walk through the aisles to admire and drool over snacks you knew you couldn’t afford, but you were stopped in your tracks when you reached the instant noodles section.

At the end of the aisle, the shelf was bare except for a single lone pack. Even from a distance, you recognized it, all right; there was no mistaking the outline of your favorite instant ramen brand. 신라면. More like 神라면 (it’s more than just spicy noodles— it’s noodles made by the gods) you thought, eyes already tightly clutching at the packaging from 5 feet away.

From many a sleepless night of binge-watching third-rate rom-com dramas (though you cringed thinking back on it, this was an integral phase of your dark “past”), you knew where this was going–– but you weren’t going to sit around and let yourself fall into some overused trope. You gripped your basket tight as you swiftly made your way over to the shelf, just about setting a world record for speedwalking with a basket.

Sure enough, if you had been one second slower, you would’ve been ensnared in a sticky situation. Just as you were snatching up your prey like the pterodactyl you were, another figure was rounding the corner. Another broke college student™, it seemed, judging by the state of their hoodie, which was pulled over their messy hair, the strings tied in a bow to make sure the hood wouldn’t fall. Even though their face was concealed by their hood, you could see their reaction as they connected the dots from the bare shelf to the ramen pack in your hand.

“Hey–” they started, reaching towards you, but you promptly dropped the pack into your basket, spun on your heel, and noped out of the aisle before you could be confronted. You felt sorry because you could sympathize with their situation, but you were in no place to be kind to others. Not in this dog-eat-dog world. To survive, you’d have to stay on top of the food chain.

You were about to fall in line when you remembered that you were all out of Sriracha sauce. You could deal with giving up your Pocky and shrimp chips as long as you had your favorite condiment in stock; no matter how down you were, scrambled eggs with a heaping squirt of Sriracha always took you up to Cloud Nine. If you were going to leave something behind, it would never be the Sriracha sauce.

After grabbing a bottle from the condiment aisle, you scanned the checkout desks for the shortest line. Luckily, a new checkout desk had just opened on the left, so you scampered over and placed your basket onto the counter. The clerk was a kind-looking old woman, but was surprisingly agile for her age. As you waited for her to bag the large span of items that belonged to the grandpa in front of you, you opened up your phone to check your budget. You eyed the message app with two unread messages temptingly before going into your bank app. This was a lucky trip~ thankfully ramen isn’t too expensive. Even if it wasn’t on my grocery list, a few cents won’t make too much a difference. I think I can spare enough to get a Pocky next time.

At long last, the grandpa shuffled away with his cart filled with some veggies, a thick stack of newspapers, and an unusually large stash of rice crackers. While the clerk scanned and bagged your items, you continued to fiddle with your phone until she cleared her throat.

“Would you like a single receipt, or two separate ones? Because there’s a divider between your items.”

“Excuse me?” “You and your boyfriend. By the way, you guys look really cute together, especially with your hoodies~ are you on a date?”

You spun around only to come face to face with the broke college kid from the ramen aisle. Well, that’s awkward. The cashier must have been blind or deaf (or both) because you didn’t even interact with that boy. You stole glances of the customer through your peripheral vision, trying to see what he looked like. Hmm, do I know him? He looked uncannily familiar. Just then, another realization dawned on you. A terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad one. Your expression quickly changed from one of confusion to one of pure shock.

Surprise, surprise. It was the douche from the art gallery. And he was wearing your old hoodie.

“I-I don’t know him.” Before he could open his mouth to say anything, you quickly looked away, feigning ignorance. Unfortunately for you, the old clerk had seen much in her day and your little ruse wasn’t going to slip past her that easily.

“From the flushed look on your face and the stammer in your voice, I’m pretty sure you do. And I’m sure he would agree, wouldn’t you, lover boy~?”

And… cue to the horrified look on lover boy’s face. The conflict that was playing out in his mind showed on his face; he knew that if he answered this wrong, he would be facing your wrath.

“Uh, well, the thing is…” He shot you a nervous glance, but your features were stone cold. At a total loss for what to say, the boy just trailed off and turned his eyes to his basket. Following his gaze, you looked over his items and immediately recoiled in disgust.

Not a single leafy green (grey) in sight, no meat, no rice, not even one of the food groups necessary to sustain life. Strawberry ice cream mochi, Taiyaki, strawberry Melona bars, Choco Pies, strawberry Hi-Chew, strawberry Chocorooms, strawberry Pocky–– it seemed that strawberry was a recurring theme among his groceries.

Even though the sheer amount of sugar made you gag, a pang of jealousy flashed across your face. That was the life you’d longed for ever since you finished high school: living off of nothing but sugar and carbs, looking like a bum and not giving a damn about it, just chilling.

Unfortunately, with the number of failures and setbacks that stained your past, a carefree life was something you could no longer afford.

“Yeah, okay, we’ve met,” you cut in, saving the boy from the tricky situation. Skeptic, the clerk stared into your unblinking eyes for what seemed to be a solid 15 seconds before shrugging and handing you your groceries. You snatched up your fabric bag and went on your way, walking fast. The color in your cheeks was probably the same as a tomato. Your least favorite fruit.

Why him, of all the places? Why, universe? Where did I go wrong? You were about to drop dead from embarrassment. As you closed your eyes, you could see your tombstone: “Rest in Peace y/n, died alone and patron-less.”

However, what you didn’t know was that your day was about to get worse. A whole lot worse. It all started when you felt a familiar tap on your left shoulder. I swear– You took a deep breath in and let it out slowly to compose yourself and answered without turning around.

“What in God’s good name do you want. And why are you wearing hobo clothes.” My clothes, you realized, a tiny bit weirded out.

“They’re comfy,” he pouted, stuffing his hands into the pocket of his newfound hoodie as if to show off. “Anyways, how come you didn’t check your phone earlier?

“Oh, uh,” you felt the pressure in your head rising as you recalled how you threw your phone down in embarrassment and cried. “Sorry, I was feeling kinda down because a certain someone sorta trashed my life’s work and my only chance of being successful in the industry, sooooo yeah. My bad.”

Sniff. You looked up, startled, only to find that the boy in front of you had tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. His mouth was clamped closed, but his bottom lip was quivering and his eyebrows were turned up, resembling a small child trying to keep himself from bursting into tears after falling and scraping his knee on the pavement. “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

Well shit. There were two ways you could go about this: one, let your superego do the talking like a good person and prevent the boy from having a total meltdown in the middle of the sidewalk. The second was letting your id run rampant, taking full advantage of his feelings of remorse and overall just being a jerk. Maybe you could be distant and lacking in empathy, but you weren’t an asshole because you wanted to be one.

“Listen, I’m sorry for calling you a schmuck. A schmuck would not have bothered to keep in contact and a schmuck would not be on the verge of tears out of guilt. ...I accept your apology.” You were going to say that what he did was unforgivable, but you decided no to say that. After a pang of guilt jabbed into you, you bit your lip and softened your tone.

“I know you feel bad, but you don’t need to cry; there’s no way to turn back time. So instead, let’s move forward and keep looking up. I’ll start.” Smiling slightly with a tilted head, you held out your hand. “Hi, my name is y/n. I know that we’ve technically met, but this is the first time we’ve met met. So, nice to meet you.”

He wiped his tears away with the butt of his palm and tried to return the smile, though his was more watery. “Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Beomgyu.” You noticed the corners of his lips curl upwards in a small smile as he took your hand, shaking it firmly.

There was a pause of awkward silence as you let go of his hand, wiping your sweaty palm on your sweatpants. Well that was the most awkward introduction I’ve ever had in my life. Clearing your throat, you spoke again to clear the tense atmosphere.

“About my compensation.”

#moacabin #txtarcadianet #txt fanfiction #txt scenarios #txt fluff #beomgyu #choi beomgyu #beomgyu fanfiction #beomgyu scenarios #beomgyu fluff #okay this is ... awkward #it's been an eternity since i first started writing this #i don't even think this is that good of a fic LOL it's just lots of crack #but anyways i hope you enjoy this story so far !!#it would be great if i could get some feedback about how it's going so far haha

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