#( my laptop has decided to work after spending all day trying to fix the keyboard )

[anika-ann]

One Door Closes... (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, pretty much canon

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader     Word count: 2700

Summary: For Steve, your door is always open... or he thinks so. And even when it isn’t, it is.

In which one small Zoom mishap leads to an (un)usual ‘welcome home’.  

Warnings: brief mention of blood and violence, lightest angst, attempt at humour, crack-ish, fluff and language

A/N: For @anjali750, because this is totally her fault. Thank you for inspiring me :-* Have a little bit silly weekend reading, y’all!

“Tell me about it,” Steve encouraged you gently, soft smile playing in the corner of his mouth despite the pain it must be causing him due to his busted lip.

You couldn’t but grin at the lenient picture he made. Feeling blood rush to your cheeks at the thought of him probably calling you cute in his mind if his expression was anything to go by, you obliged, proceeding to tell him about the new project at work.

Your project. Because somehow, you finally earned your boss’ confidence and could bring the great ideas in your mind to life.

You felt so giddy just talking about it! So you started explaining, excitedly gesturing with your hands so Steve would get the right visual and you grew so enthusiastic that you almost forgot to keep an eye on him.

But you were watching him – always.

His lower lip was split, but already healing – it would have healed much faster if he stopped tugging at the healing skin whenever he talked or smiled at you from the screen. He looked a little drowsy, a shadow of a bruise forming on his cheek, but as far as you knew, those were the only injuries he had; that and many hours of sleep to catch up on.

Steve had a habit of calling you via Zoom whenever he got back to the Tower from a mission. He usually took a quick shower and was online until the last second before he had to leave for a debriefing; the only reason why he didn’t head straight to your place.

He admitted once that he loved seeing your face and talking to you even if for a moment after a mission, that it grounded him. On a very sappy and loveable moment, he even called you his sun; and the fact that after few minutes of being with you – as much as technology allowed – his face always seemed brighter, made you think that it truly was how he felt.

Even exhausted as he was now, you could tell his half-lidded eyes shined with life unlike when you started the call.

And so you kept rambling, feeling your heart bursting with love for your man and with euphoria, because goddammit, finally some recognition at work!

“Well, obviously, to reach as much general public as we can, we’re gonna launch a world-wide campaign! World-wide!” you emphasized with a blinding grin, throwing your hands wide to demonstrate.

---and your fingers caught in a cord from the laptop, pulling at it.

Steve’s benevolent face disappeared as your screen went black.

Because of course it did.

You had been talking yourself into buying a new laptop or at least having this one fixed for a few weeks now, because this was always the result whenever you accidently unplugged it. The battery was useless, ready to retire.

“Motherfu--- ugh!“

You wanted to be mad at the device – but this was totally on you.

Sighing, you hooked up the laptop again, waiting for it to wake up from a coma, shooting Steve an apologetic text in the meantime. Closing your eyes, you let your forehead lightly fall against your desk, mentally cursing yourself.

Dummy. If you only weren’t so lazy… and didn’t hate certain aspects of adulting with so much passion… you could have been talking to Steve-

Your eyes flew opened when it felt like it was quiet for too long; no reply to your text. Dread filled you and you quickly reached for your phone again, this time to dial.

You prayed you were wrong; but as the phone kept ringing with no one to answer it on the other end, you felt misery creep up you back and whimpered. Sliding your phone on the tabletop, your not-so-deft fingers stumbled over the keyboard, harshly welcoming it into the world of living by opening Zoom again to reconnect the call.

Your breath hitched in anticipation as the window opened---

An amused and yet somehow unimpressed face of Natasha Romanoff welcomed you and this time, you didn’t bother slowing down as your head hit the desk. It hurt, but that was only a presage of the real pain.

“Nooooooo,” you whined loudly, faking and not quite faking a sob, because shit.

“Oh yes,” Natasha hummed nonchalantly.

You straightened a bit in your chair, narrowing your eyes at her as you noticed the corners of her lips twitching while she pretended to be busy checking out her possibly-mission-broken nails.

“It’s not funny.”

She snorted and glanced at your no doubt desperate face.

“It really is. But also kinda sad,” the spy noted, something resembling concern flickering over her face before she scrunched her nose, irises twinkling. “And disgustingly cute. It has Rogers written all over it.”

You glared at her some more, not even bothering to roll your eyes.

“Tell that to my landlord,” you muttered under your breath, leaning your elbow on the tabletop and dropping your chin to you palm. A second later, a brilliant idea hit you and you tried to manipulate your legs from under you.

The thing was, even if you had a pretty good idea of what was coming if you didn’t stop it and knew that it would be a bitch to deal with, Natasha was right.

In a way, it was utterly cute, disarmingly charming and entirely heart-warming. Your stomach fluttered, the fabled butterflies flipping their wings, your face grew hot and your heart… well, it felt as if it was growing in size.

It was also sad, heart-breaking even; Steve, especially after a mission, was a man running on instincts. It was one of the reasons why he had developed a habit of calling you, why he wanted to hear you ramble about your either boring or exciting but always wonderfully normal day. A day which involved no shooting and no blood besides papercuts and a quarrel with your stubborn boss who shoot you glares at best.

On a mission, these carnal automatisms often meant survival. But back home, Steve didn’t want to be a sum of instincts of survival, fight and fear; he wanted to feel again. And with you, he did. He wasn’t just a Captain America, a soldier to be put on battlefield whenever the general found fit. He was a human being. A wonderful one at that, with beautiful soul.  

So yes. It was also rather upsetting.

And in a way, it was a little funny too. You knew it was totally your fault and that Steve was being kinda ridiculous, because he knew you and your inclination to wild gesticulations ending up catastrophically. On top of that, he was aware of this particular problem being almost a daily occurrence; hell, he tried to talk you into having Stark look at your laptop and failed.

And now... well. Here you were.

“You know, maybe if you get up and welcome him with door opened…” Natasha teased you with your own genius ides and you grinded your teeth, frantically trying to move your foot, which was pretty much on fire and yet dead.

“I would, but I… eh, pins and needles, was sitting on my feet,” you explained, embarrassed, testing whether your feet could carry you or not, naturally finding that without support, you’d be down before you could take as much as a step.

This time, Natasha didn’t snort in amusement.

Instead, she graced you with an outburst on honest full belly laughter, her red hair unfairly shiny for a woman who just spend week on a mission in damn Moldova and probably kicked more asses that you could imagine.

“You know what, Romanoff…” you grunted, forcing yourself to wobble towards the door. Very slowly. And cautiously. Knowing your luck, you might actually get hurt.

“I’m not even sorry,” she choked out and then continued to howl in laughter. “You so deserve each other. I finally know what the ‘idiots in love’ mean. Thanks for that!”

“You’re very welcome,” you huffed, voice dripping with irony.

Finally able to put full weight on both of your feet, you headed towards the exit – and entrance – of your apartment.

Halfway, you decided it was a lost cause. You would be willing to bet that the moment you’d touch the doorknob, you’d get hit to your face. It wasn’t worth it.

Yes, maybe if you did get hurt, it would make Steve think twice before coming all guns-and-shield blazing into your apartment; then again, it would probably cost you a broken nose.

Not to mention Steve’s tendency to get swallowed by the enormity of his guilt.

So not worth it. Best if you stayed put.

That was what you kept telling yourself when you stood there for about two minutes, in which you’d be able to open the door about forty times. Your annoyance – mostly with yourself and the cackling redhead – and the anticipation was becoming unbearable. As seconds ticked by, you were trying to convince yourself into taking the last few steps and opening the door and save yourself some trouble---

You yelped when the loud bang rattled your apartment the door sent flying of their hinges along with a spray of powered plaster despite knowing it was coming.

A glint of metal appeared next, the striking red, white and blue no longer there as it was covered in more bland colours for stealth missions.

And then a large figure cladded in blue shirt and grey jeans entered, his chest heaving, face flushed with red. Piercing blue eyes wiped of all previous traces of tiredness scanned the room, instantly falling on you as you awkwardly stood there, dumbfounded, startled and utterly speechless.

Also, much to Steve’s puzzlement, you were perfectly fine otherwise – even with both legs functioning, no remnants of pins and needles present.

Steve eased his posture instantly, eyes narrowing and then widening as he looked you up and down, lips parting in genuine surprise – and relief.

He said your name, clear and almost reverent, dropping the shield on the floor with a clang.

The ‘hi babe’ got stuck in your throat as you could see the tension leaving his shoulders, his eyes turning glassy and absent despite relief rolling off him in damn tsunami waves.

It hit you like a train – that you were delighted to see him, actually see him, even under these circumstances; and you truly didn’t want him to withdraw to some freaky brain-space after he had probably got one of the most ridiculous scares of his life due to the fact that his brain was not fully back in the normal world.

In the normal world where you abruptly disconnected a call without warning, because you talked too animatedly and not because some terrorist high on the FBI’s, CIA’s, NSA’s and SHIELD’s most wanted list found out you were Steve’s girlfriend and decided to take you out.

So to prevent another psychical horror trip of his, you went for distracting him – with a very relevant issue.

“You broke my door.”

Steve blinked, gaze refocusing on you fully, simply staring for a long moment.

“You went offline,” he objected quietly, a hint of accusation in his voice. God, you missed his voice.

“You broke my door, Steve.”

As if hearing his name was a spell, his frozen figure came to life and he took a cautious step closer, repeating his previous statement, this time with a hint of guilt.

“You went offline.”

“And you broke my door. That’s the second time this month, Steve! My landlords gonna k--- be real pissed at me,” you corrected yourself in the last second, not wanting say kill.

Steve ignored the slip and apparently got the message, his face twisting in genuine apology. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix it!”

With efficiency of a supersoldier, he spun on his heels and rushed to pick up the door as if it was lighter than a paperweight and swiftly put it in place.

Only for the door to slowly tilt his way again. He caught it with a loud curse and moved it aside, leaning it partly against the wall. The action sent more plaster down onto the floor, like the only truly white snow in New York City. Peripherally, you noticed Steve grimacing, his face an expression an epitome of yikes.

You let your eyes slipped shut, shaking your head with a sigh, but couldn’t but chuckle. When you looked at Steve again, he resembled a 240 pounds giant Labrador puppy, truly regretful, approaching you reluctantly as if he was afraid you would slap his big paws for being clumsy.

What he would deserve was for you to clip round his ear for impulsiveness, but could you blame him? God knew what he had seen in Moldova in the past week, what horrors he had lived through and what a nightmare his mind had created when you ‘went offline’.

Him barging in like this due to your own dumbassery was kinda sad; a prove of his demanding job full of terror.

It was cute and heart-warming, because he just cared for you that much.

It was a little ridiculous, because as Steve finally crossed the distance between you two, the head of your elderly neighbour peeked from behind the empty doorway, puzzled and rather concerned.

You snorted unattractively, the scene in front of you seeming epically hilarious all of sudden.

“I’m good, Mr. T!” you called over Steve’s shoulder after the poor man who gossiped like an old woman and was just as hospitable. “Just my boyfriend fussing because of a technology fail!”

A grin spread on his wrinkled face; a testimony to years of laughter and amiability. “Oh. Hi, Mr. America!”

“Afternoon, Mr. T! I am verry sorry for disturbing you.”

The older-looking man waved off Steve’s politeness.

“It’s fine. You keep taking care of your lady, Mr. America, and keep her safe!”

“Yes, sir,” Steve humoured him with a salute, earning a wink.

As your neighbour walked away with a fresh topic for his Sunday tea party, Steve turned his attention to you again, eyes searching, wide, apologetic – but also soft, taking in the view of you, revelling in it.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he whispered lowly, the lopsided smile you loved so much gracing his face, once again pulling at that damn split lip. You grimaced a bit, the sight of him almost brining tears into your eyes; the gentleness and the remnants of fight punching you straight in the gut.

His eyes fluttered close when you lifted your hand and traced the line of the bruise on his face with the lightest pressure you were capable of. This time, tears definitely prickled in your eyes, but you blinked them away, cupping Steve’s cheek and pulling him close.

“Oh come here, babe,” you breathed out, fingers carding through his hair as he leaned his head on your shoulder, lips brushing the crook of your neck, strong arms embracing around your form.

He was warm and big and held you a bit tighter than necessary and dammit, you loved your sweet of heart and occasionally dumb of ass boyfriend. Boyfriend, who was crazy in love with you. Sometimes with emphasis on the crazy.

“I missed you, sweetheart,” he muttered, nose nuzzling the sensitive skin of your neck, breathing in deeply. You pretended it didn’t do things to you as he did everything to get lost in you and leave all the bad behind. You failed.

“You’re totally paying for fixing my door.”

Well, maybe not failed entirely.

“Of course,” Steve assured you dutifully, no hint of humour in his voice.

It broke you on a completely new level; he was serious. Dammit you loved this man!

“I missed you too,” you finally admitted and this time, he did chuckle, squeezing you even tighter, hand running up and down your back. Without any warning, he tightened his grip and lifted you from the floor so you had to cling to him entirely, causing you to gasp.

You never got the chance to gather your wits and comment on that, because an annoyed voice of a certain redhead sounded from your laptop.

“…alright, you crazy kids, you had your cuddles. Now, Rogers, should I tell Fury you’re coming back for the debriefing or should we just finally change with the times and do it over Zoom?”

Clutching Steve’s waist and shoulder, face contentedly in his chest, you voted for the latter.

Steve Rogers masterlist

Lovely divider by whimsicalrogers​.

A fic from collection ‘This was supposed to be a drabble.’  Also, I couldn’t for the love of god figure out a better title.

I hope you enjoyed at least a bit :-*

Thank you for reading!

[ms-demeanor]

You know what’s funny is whenever I make a tech post I get people going “this is blatantly untrue” and I get people going “this is really good information and everyone needs to know it” and the dividing line is how much time you spend with people who are tech literate.

Yep, I would tell my computer savvy friends where they could get keycaps and fix their keyboards; I don’t even have to bother telling my computer savvy friends how to run a fifteen year old laptop because we’re all pretty good at it.

But GODDAMN I just read a response to my “cheap computer season” post that claimed that it was totally reasonable to run a macbook from 2010 and

Look.

That’s not a reasonable thing to tell a student who needs a functional computer to do research and write papers. (have fun trying to find installation discs from when the OS was still named after cats and have fun trying to get a browser to get along with that OS)

You know why most people bring me laptops with missing keys? Because the key got ripped off by their two-year-old and damaged the soldering in the keyboard and I have no idea it’s going to be “oh, yeah, that’s a ten dollar fix” or “sorry, that’s going to be an hour and a half to disassemble and reassemble and we’ll have to order you a new keyboard specific to that model out of new old stock” and the thing is the second one is much, much, much more common in my experience than the first.

Do I think you need to replace a laptop when the bezel is cracked? No. I also don’t carry my laptop powered on in the bag with a flashdrive sticking out of the USB port. Customers do weird things that I don’t understand and when a customer tells me they want me to fix the bezel they think it’s a twenty-dollar snap-on repair because they have no idea how this works and then they get mad at me when I explain “no, you’ve gotta have this specific piece of plastic, these haven’t been made in five years, and you might be better off buying a used model online than trying to track down a new bezel.”

So here’s the thing: Can Macs get viruses?

There are three answers here.

“No, of course not, Macs are made to be virus-proof”

“Macs need antivirus protection because, while it is less common than infections for PCs, there are types of malware that can infect macs and it’s worthwhile to guard against that”

“tEcHnIcAlLy a virus has to be self-replicating and IOS’s file management system [or some other bullshit] prevents that so TECHNICALLY Macs can’t get viruses and what you need is anti-malware software if you need anything because you’re fairly likely to have security through obscurity”

I’m aware of the third position and voicing the second position to people who believe the first position.

YES TECHNICALLY YOU CAN KEEP A COMPUTER RUNNING INDEFINITELY AND YES IT’S TOTALLY POSSIBLE YOUR LAPTOP WILL LAST TEN YEARS.

“Well if you treat it right and run it well it’ll be in great shape for a long time”

YES THAT IS CORRECT DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MANY PEOPLE WHO DON’T WORK ON THEIR OWN CARS DRIVE AROUND WITH THE OIL CHANGE LIGHT ON FOR MONTHS?!?

Tons of people in the world today use computers. They use computers every day, they use computers at home and at school and at work.

Tons of people drive every day. They use cars for fun and for commuting and for their jobs.

That doesn’t mean that all (or even most, or even half) of the people using these things is any good at keeping them running, or even has the barest idea of how to start tracking down a problem.

Someone in the notes of that post described a green line on their screen and thought that was a symptom of hard drive problems. I don’t have the hours in the day to catch this person up to speed on why a display issue on a laptop isn’t indicative of hard drive issues.

Do you know how much people think it’s going to cost to get data off of a broken drive? Not “won’t power up” not “won’t spin” but “I dropped this and part fell off and now it won’t power up or spin and also the platter is chipped”? I’m going to have to send that shit to a clean room and the customer is *staggered* that it might cost more than a hundred dollars to get their data. “Outrageous, what kind of blackmail operation are you trying to run here, just plug it in and get my pictures.”

A year or so ago I was at Jiffy Lube (ew). I’d been shooting the shit with the mechanic when a parent and child rolled in in a panic. And they should have been panicking! They’d thrown a fucking rod because they’d been driving with no oil in the car for god knows how long because neither of them had had the oil changed in the two years they’d owned the vehicle.

*I* can keep a 30-year-old car running. I can put a belt back on an engine in a dark parking lot with a wrench and a headlamp. I can drop a gas tank and replace my fuel filter and thumb my nose at the mechanics who tried to upsell me on “replacing your old, worn-out air filter” the day after I’d popped a new one into my truck.

These folks couldn’t keep a new car running with three alarms telling them what was wrong.

*I* can power up my 2005 macbook running Leopard and use garage band to record a song or do some design work on my copy of Adobe CS3; I can kludge its FF3.5 browser into playing nice with the internet and accept that it’s going to be a slow piece of shit.

The lady who called me confused by the fact that the password to her email was different than the login information for her grocery store rewards account will not be able to function if she gets a pop-up that says she’s using an outdated browser and will think it’s a virus if her bank won’t let her log in on that browser.

And you know what, I’m kind of sick of this attitude.

I would *fucking adore it* if computers were actually easy to repair; I’d love it if you could run new OSs on old hardware (especially on macs because I think apple are kind of shitheads about planned obsolescence).

But you know what, no, most people *CAN’T* reasonably expect to use a ten-year-old computer and have pleasant experience of it. It’s going to run slow. It’s going to shut down when they don’t want it to. The battery is going to swell slightly with the heat and your touchpad is going to go nuts. Your USB ports will stop working. Standard wear and tear that most people don’t know how to protect against and don’t know how to repair is going to make it harder to use AND software requirements will outstrip the hardware capabilities of the computer.

If your old computer sucks it’s not your fault. If you can’t happily use a 10-year-old laptop to do your homework that’s okay, it wasn’t designed for you to use it that way and YOU SHOULDN’T FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT.

Because that’s kind of what a lot of these “well anybody should realistically be able to run a laptop from 2010″ responses comes down to: if you need new hardware you’re just not doing it right. If you have to replace your computer you didn’t make good choices when you bought it. If your battery dies it’s because you didn’t take care of it.

No. No. No. No.

This shit is A) designed to fail and B) actually really hard to keep running (hey how many blown capacitors do you think someone has to have on their motherboard before you say it’s not their fault for wanting to replace the laptop)

ALSO SOMEONE IN THE RESPONSES OF THAT POST LITERALLY SAID THAT IF YOUR BATTERY DIED AT THREE YEARS IT WAS BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T DOING THE DRAIN CHARGE CYCLE RIGHT AND FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU. It’s discharge cycles and heat, motherfucker; they are going to fail at some point and people shouldn’t feel bad if their batteries stop working after a couple years.

UGH.

You shouldn’t have to be a mechanic. You shouldn’t have to be a computer technician. Yeah, your shit will last longer if you know how to take care of it but, fuck. Imagine you were still using internet speeds from 2010. Imagine all your devices still had USB 2.0. Imagine you couldn’t log onto your online bank because your hardware won’t run he software that your bank recognizes because the hardware manufacturer decided it won’t support the older hardware.

What I was trying to get across in that initial post was “computers fail, and they fail pretty frequently; your life will be better and you will save money if you plan on replacing them at a regular interval and have reasonable expectations in terms of cost and failure. So buy a cheap computer now because you’re probably going to need one at some point”

And now I’ve got to Do A Yell about how there’s no ethical consumption under capitalism and it’s unreasonable to expect tired, overworked, broke people to become experts in computer repair in order to do their homework or play the goose game.

FUCK THAT.

IT’S CHEAP COMPUTER SEASON MOTHERFUCKERS. LAPTOP FAILURE RATES INCREASE AT THREE TO FIVE YEARS AND DESKTOP FAILURE RATES INCREASE AT FIVE TO SEVEN YEARS. RIGHT NOW THERE ARE DISCOUNTS ON NEW COMPUTERS AND IT’S CHEAP TO GET AN EXTENDED WARRANTY.

LIVE LONG AND PROSPER AND WORK ON COMPUTERS IF YOU WANNA AND PLAN TO REPLACE REGULARLY IF YOU DON’T WANT TO WORK ON COMPUTERS.

ALSO CHANGE YOUR FUCKING OIL YOU’RE PROBABLY DUE.

[matrixaffiliate]

Venture

New Story! FFN and AO3

I found this Twitter thread from a December a couple years back while scrolling through Tumblr a while ago and decided it needed to be a Christmas story. You can find the link to that Twitter thread here.

This is my last story for 2020 my friends. I hope you all have a very merry Christmas and a happy new year! Next year I'm working on an original novel, so my fanfiction output is probably going to decrease a small bit. But don't worry, I'm still here and there will always be fanfiction to be written. =)

Venture

Ginny handed the only customer of the night his coffee and turned back to cleaning the counter, dancing a little as Jingle Bells played over the audio system.

"Any big plans for Christmas?" Harry asked as he refilled the napkin holders.

"I'm catching the train home on the 23rd." Ginny snuck a glimpse at Harry and hid her smile by looking down at the counter. Why did he have to be so fit? Why did he also have to be such a decent bloke? And why did she have to spend the last six months noticing everything he did? She was bordering on pathetic.

"That should be fun." Harry leant up against the counter, shoving his hand in his hair and Ginny wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through his hair and over his shoulders, and…

"Will you be back for Boxing Day?" Harry interrupted her train of thought and Ginny swore she saw laughter in his eyes.

"I have Boxing Day off, so I'll catch one of the evening trains home." Ginny hoped that the heat she felt in her face wasn't visible.

"How did you manage to get three days in a row off?" Harry looked jealous. "I only got Christmas Eve and Christmas off because the boss closes down anyway."

"I've worked here longer than you have," Ginny smirked at him. It was true, she'd been working at this little independent coffee shop since her first year at university. Harry had only joined this summer because he couldn't find an internship for the semester.

"Favoritism," Harry tsked and shook his head. "How is anyone expected to move up the ladder of this coffee shop when they're up against Ginny Weasley?"

Ginny laughed and tossed her rag at him. "What about you? Any plans for Christmas?"

"My folks live reasonably close. Dad is going to pick me up on the 23rd after my shift and then bring me back Christmas night."

"Sounds like fun," Ginny caught the rag as Harry tossed it back to her.

"Asked for anything special this year?"

Ginny twisted the rag around her hands and contemplated something she'd spent the last month trying to decide on; if she wanted to tell Harry how she'd been harboring a growing fancy for him since he started working here.

"Gin?" His green eyes met hers and he smiled at her.

"I, er, well, what I want this year I haven't asked for yet."

"But Christmas is next week…?"

Ginny dropped his gaze and looked down at the rag in her hands. She let Baby It's Cold Outside play in the background a moment longer and then summoned her courage.

"Well, you see, I, Harry, we've been working here together for a while, and I, I've come to fancy you, a lot, and, I suppose I want this Christmas to ask if you might fancy me as well?"

Harry was stone silent and Ginny finally chanced a glance up at him. His hand was in his hair and he looked...paralyzed.

"Harry?"

"I, er, I'm going to go in the back and, and think about what to say."

Ginny just nodded as Harry fled.

She wanted to die. Why did she think this was a good idea? Why had she spent all month thinking that Christmas time magic would somehow make a difference in this desperate play to tell Harry how she felt? Why had she ruined everything? They'd never be able to work together now without it being awful and awkward. Gone would be their easy manner. Gone would be the days of trying to coordinate shifts so that she and Harry worked together. Now it would be the opposite.

The patron came and asked for another coffee and Ginny filled it for him robotically. She'd forgot he was there, and now she realized that this man had witnessed her confession and Harry's rejection of it. Lovely.

She had no idea how long she stood behind the counter and stewed. It felt like decades and Ginny would have happily handed over her last paycheck to simply walk away and not come back till the next year.

She heard the door to the back room open and turned to apologize to Harry for her embarrassing confession.

"Harry, I-"

But she stopped as he stepped up to her and brought one of his hands to cup her face while the other slipped around her waist to pull her into him, his lips landing against hers.

Ginny felt like she was flying as she brought her arms around him. His kiss was determined and he held her close to him as he slanted his lips over hers. Ginny could have stayed right there for all eternity and never complained.

When he pulled back, he kept her close to him and rested his forehead against hers. "I didn't want to admit it, mostly to myself, but I've always had a thing for you."

"Really?" Ginny felt like her heart could fly right out of her chest if it wanted to.

Harry nodded against her. "Let's go to the back room for a minute."

Ginny glanced over at their lone patron and was relieved to see he wasn't watching them. Hopefully he hadn't just seen them snogging by the cash register. "Let me make sure he doesn't need anything, then we can get away for a moment."

"Want me to do it?" Harry pulled away to look over at the man as he typed away on his laptop keyboard.

"Nah, I'll get it." Reluctantly, Ginny stepped from Harry's arms and moved to the patron's table, Joy to the World playing as she moved across the room.

"Hi, er, if you don't need anything, we're going to step into the back room for a moment."

The man smiled at her like she had made his entire day better. "I'm just fine, you two go ahead."

"Thanks," Ginny felt the heat in her face again but she wasn't going to stick around to let this bloke change his mind, so she moved back to Harry.

Harry reached for her hand and pulled her into the back room.

"So," Ginny grinned up at him before leaning back against the little counter.

"So," Harry grinned back and moved to rest his hands on her waist. "I'm sorry I needed a moment to pull my head out of my arse." His fingers toyed with her apron strap.

Ginny snaked her arms around his neck and tugged him closer, "The kiss helped with that."

He brought his lips to hers and spoke, "Then maybe I should keep going?"

Ginny smirked against him before deliberately licking her lips, her tongue grazing his in the action. "Yes, you should."

Harry chuckled but quickly closed the quarter of an inch between them. He took Ginny's teasing as an open invitation and ran his tongue along her bottom lip. Ginny sighed into him as she parted her lips. Harry came to stand flush against her, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Ginny tangled her fingers in his hair, nearly swooning when Harry let out a quiet sigh at the action. He pressed his hands into her back and slowly moved to kiss along her jawline to her ear and down her neck.

"I can't believe I kept us from this for six months." Harry murmured into her neck.

Ginny moaned as Harry kissed back up her neck to her ear.

"I kept us from it too," she smiled as he rested his forehead against hers. "I think we both needed to get to know each other first."

"You're probably right," Harry's hands moved back to her waist, his thumbs rubbing along her hip bone. "But I feel like we wasted a lot of opportunities to have been back here snogging."

Ginny laughed and pulled Harry back down to her. "We probably shouldn't be back here for too long."

Harry moved his hand to cup her neck, taking a bit more control of their kiss. "We'll give the bloke out there a free pastry and he'll forget we ever left him alone."

"You're full of good ideas," Ginny grinned as Harry reached his other hand around to untie her apron.

They were in that back room for ten minutes, before both Ginny and Harry agreed they ought to at least pretend like they were working.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee," Harry interlaced their fingers as they walked back to the front counter.

Ginny laughed, "As long as I can buy you one too."

Harry grabbed cups and fixed them both a coffee.

"Do, do you have plans for Friday?" Harry handed her one of the cups.

Ginny shook her head no and smiled at him.

"Want to grab dinner? Meet up at 6, maybe watch a Christmas movie at my flat after?"

"Yes," Ginny let a small laugh escape her lips, "I'm really glad I told you I fancy you."

"Me too," Harry stepped closer to her and chanced a glance at their only patron before trying to discreetly kiss her.

"Closing time can't get here fast enough," he pulled back and Ginny pulled him closer for one more taste of his coffee tinted lips.

"I'll go give him that pastry," She set her cup down.

"Good idea," Harry chuckled, "Maybe I'll be able to kiss you a bit more if he's got a muffin to distract him."

Ginny laughed and brought one of the muffins over to the poor bloke that had to put up with their drama.

"Hi, this," she set the muffin down next to him, "Is on the house. Thanks for dealing with us."

The man smiled and shook his head, "No, thank you, tonight has restored my faith in humanity."

Ginny felt her cheeks grow hot. "Well, thanks, and happy Christmas."

He nodded her on as she went back to Harry's side, trying to sneak another kiss as she did so.

Harry linked their fingers together. "You know, I think this is the happiest I've been before Christmas since I was a kid."

Ginny grinned up at him, Carol of the Bells playing as she squeezed his hand. "Me too, happy Christmas, Harry."

Harry didn't even try to be discreet as he leant down to kiss her. "Happy Christmas, Gin."

[an-ambivalent]

Uchiha Therapist: Part I

Synopsis: Yandere! Madara x Reader x Yandere! Sasuke 

 [Name] is a struggling post graduate psychology student who has more on her plate than she can handle. Between her practicums to gain work experience and writing reports, to trying to maintain a decent lifestyle and look after her own mental health, there is little to no time left to work an actual paying job. Yet, money is essential for survival. So,  she does the next best thing that has been trending recently to assure a good paycheck; she becomes a sugar baby. The only thing is, [Name] is unaware that she’s become sugar baby of the Madara Uchiha, the notorious CEO of Uchiha Corporation. She is also unaware of the fact that she’s the therapist of his nephew Sasuke Uchiha, who has begun treading over the professional boundary of a patient, and has started developing an abnormal fixation for his therapist since she seems to be the only one who actually understands him.

Warning: Although this story will come to contain yandere themes that can be triggering or uncomfortable to read, there are no yandere themes present  in this chapter. It does have mentions of negative and tiring thoughts that may be triggering. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional and any yandere or other toxic behaviours that may be present in the future, know that I do not condone such behaviour. 

Word Count: 4K 

--

Story start; A day in the life of [Name] 

On the night that started it all, when [Name] was feeling particularly disheartened and dissatisfied with her life, she had vented her frustrations and sorrow to her good friend Ino Yamanaka. Although many things in her life were going right, and she was privileged enough to have the chance to pursue her wanted career, it came at a cost. Her entire life schedule was fixed around her post graduation studies, other little spared time was for cooking and doing chores, and the rest was for sleeping. [Name] lacked the time for earning money, and doing things that were higher on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs — dating to find someone to create a meaningful connection with, or working on her previous hobbies. 

The two friends had been consuming enough booze to be a little more than tipsy but not enough to be drunk. Some words were slurred, the fine motor control had decreased a bit, and with their faces slightly flushed, Ino was convinced that she had the best idea to [Name]’s problems. 

Giggling at her own idea, Ino had snatched [Name]’s laptop from in front of them, and tapped various keyboard keys for joogle to search up. Once she saw the results, she clicked on one of the many websites shown as a result, and after a few more minutes of more clicks and keyboard taps, she had turned the laptop towards [Name] to see, with a triumph grin on her face. 

“A sugar daddy,” Ino claimed proudly. 

[Name] raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“A sugar daddy — it’s the perfect solution for your troubles. Not only will you get to earn more than enough, it covers the dating aspect too! Someone to spend your time with, to sleep over with — just without getting too attached. You’ll have a social life once again that doesn’t consist of you drinking booze with me or our other friends and you can finally afford to look decent again,” Ino explained straightforwardly. 

[Name]’s eye twitched. “What do you mean finally afford to look decent again?” she inquired in a low voice, and glared at Ino, who smiled sheepishly at her. 

“Well you’ve been a fashion disaster for sometime now—“

“Sorry I don’t have rich parents like the rest of you to buy me extravagant brands,” [Name] retorted, and a tick mark of anger bulged on Ino’s head. 

“Well Sakura is a commoner like you too and even when she was a starving student, she still had a fashion sense. You don’t need to buy something expensive like jucci to look decent!” Ino snapped, and [Name] scowled at her. 

“Whatever. This discussion is pointless anyway since I’m not going to become a sugar baby,” [Name] responded, and went to grab a bottle to consume more alcohol.  However, the uneasy and anxious expression that Ino wore made her halt amidst her movements. All of a sudden, a cold shiver ran down [Name]’s back, and she felt a sense of dread building up in her gut. 

“Please tell me you didn’t,” [Name] pleaded and Ino winced inwardly, before she turned the laptop around to show [Name]. 

“I did… I already signed you up. You have a date with him this Friday night.” 

“INO!” 

That was the gist of how [Name] had become entangled in her predicament with Madara Uchiha, and what was meant to be nights for [Name] giving her daddy some casual sugar, turned into an diabetic sugar addiction. 

It was baffling really, how as children, people can be better in following orders than they can be as adults. And for someone like [Name], who had been studying psychology for years now, and began to work with the theories, one would think that practicing what she preached would be easier; she was great at helping her clients, but not much at helping herself. 

“Make sure you don’t go with strangers” — a lesson that had been engraved in children at school and from their parents for their own safety. It was one of the most basic rules of common sense to evade danger; however, it was the rule [Name] failed to follow. Instead of not going through with her fixed date with a sugar daddy, who was a complete stranger and who knows pose what danger, she had gone through with it. And she had not even taken any caution to have their first meeting in a public place, no. She had gone to his home, which was the only place he accepted for their meeting, because she was too anxious to say no or not go through with it. 

She really wondered how she was able to help her clients so well when she could not even manage her own anxiety. 

So, now, here she sat. Since by Ino’s definition, [Name] was a walking fashion disaster, the blonde had refused to let her go without her help. Their tastes differed, but even [Name] had to admit that Ino had done an incredible job in helping her choose an outfit that was suited to her tastes. Granted, it was skimpier than what she usually wore and more figure defining, but it did make her look really nice. She did not look like a savage mess with evident dark eyebags who appeared to have just gotten out of bed and went to work straightaway like she did on a daily basis. But she felt exposed and uncomfortable in the setting she was not accustomed to.

The penthouse she had been invited to was extravagantly luxurious; the small dining for the two of them (her and soon to be her sugar daddy) was right next to the giant window in the living room that showed a beautiful night view of the Konoha city. Lighting in the room was ambient and romantic, and there was a small pizza, that looked ridiculously expensive for what it's worth, and red wine settled before her. While she did not want to indulge in such luxury, feeling on the edge of the seat because of how her sugar daddy to be was scrutinizing her with calculating onyx eyes, and never being the one to refuse free food, she mindlessly ate it, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“You know, usually you’re supposed to make conversation and sell yourself to try and convince me of why I should stick with you rather than someone else,” Madara spoke, and this was so abrupt and unanticipated on [Name]’s part that she froze half way through biting her food. Her cheeks felt hot in embarrassment, and she awkwardly coughed loudly before looking up at Madara. Although he found her antics to be somewhat adorable, he kept a straight face. After all, to gain the attention of a man of his status, there were many who did the strangest things to appease him. Madara was not a man to be tricked so foolishly. 

“Why should I sell myself when you haven’t convinced me to why I should be your….uh, sugar b-baby rather than s-someone else’s?” [Name] responded. She had started off strongly, but near the end when it came to referring to herself as a sugar baby and realisation of the situation sunk in, she felt herself become more flustered. 

Now, it was not odd for people to be intimidated by Madara. However, acting in confidence at the same time, and to question his authority, that was new. The corner of his lips twitched upwards in amusement. He leaned back in his chair and raised a fine black eyebrow at [Name]. 

“And why should I have to sell myself to you? I’m the one who, essentially, is paying for everything,” he challenged, and [Name] scoffed at him. 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s really costing you,” she mumbled under her breath, before clearing her throat. “Someone else can pay me too.” 

“You had no reviews on your profile, you’re lucky that I even chose to click on it. Usually, it’s hard to get started since no one bothers with anyone with no reviews.” 

[Name] shrugged. “That was your own choice, don’t shift the situation onto me. And besides, how do you know it's only reviews that count online? I might know a lot of other sugar daddies I had in my past that desperately want me but it's lucky that I chose to give you, a stranger, the chance.” 

Madara was amused by the fact that [Name] had used his own logic against him, and could not help but smirk. Even though it was more than obvious through her behaviour that she was an absolute newbie to this, he decided to humour her. 

"Well, I am an Uchiha," Madara said simply, as if that sole reason explained everything. 

[Name] blinked in confusion. "Uhhh, okay…? Well, I'm [Surname]. That explains why you should choose me.” 

This time, her response really did leave Madara confused. His eyebrows were furrowed and there was clear confusion written on his face. 

“You don’t know the Uchiha?” he asked incredulously. The urge to sigh in an exaggerated manner and snap at him was strong, but [Name] decided against it. With the way he spoke in that condescending tone, and expected [Name] to treat him as if he was of utmost importance, made it more than obvious to her that he was used to being treated as the highest authority. Perhaps he was of importance and not watching herself around him could lead her into a huge mess. But [Name] did not particularly care about his status or whatever he had going on that made him expect her to seemingly kiss the floor he walked on. If she cared about authorities and sucking up to people, then she would not be training to be a therapist in the first place. There were going to be times when she would have to fight authorities and regulations with her sweat and blood for the sake of her clients. And really, if [Name] did care, she would not have been here in the first place -- having dinner with a complete stranger. 

“Uh I do?” she said, but it sounded more like a question. Madara opened his mouth to respond to her, but he shifted the focus of the conversation to another topic. He felt even more perplexed by [Name] now because how could she not know the Uchiha? 

“Nevermind, it’s not of importance. Tell me, why are you in this line of business? You don’t seem,” fit for it, he wanted to say, but chose his words carefully. “The type to want to do this.” 

In response, [Name] felt flustered. She wondered if it was really that obvious that she was not used to it and Madara was simply humouring her. She could very well tell him the truth that it was because Ino had tricked her into it. However, that would make her seem gullible. Now that she may be committing to this, she knew she needed to build a good reputation for herself. She decided to tell the half-truth. 

“I need the money,” she answered in a murmur, before she brought the glass of wine to her lips, and took a huge drink from it. 

Madara watched her with analytical eyes as she downed her alcohol, taking no moment to savour the taste. He had also noticed how she was on her third plate of their dinner and wondered if she had any decency and how she was capable of eating so much. 

“Your job doesn’t pay you enough?” he asked in a genuinely concerned tone, before he followed [Name]’s example and downed his remaining wine in one go too. He had never done that before, and after finishing it, he had to admit there was an odd sense of satisfaction of not savouring its every taste and drinking it all together at once. 

Madara was staring at her with anticipation and worry embedded deep in his ebony coloured irides. Frankly speaking, [Name] had not have someone look at her with such concern in a long time. Generally, on the rare occasions she did speak freely about her worries, whoever she shared her problems with would give her their own input rather than simply listening to her and asking her the right questions that would help her discuss or figure out her own problem. The sight of it made her heart beat faster, and she unknowingly found herself talking before she even what she was doing.

“It’s not that… Well, actually I don’t even work. I barely have time to breath, working is my last priority right now,” she murmured, nervously fiddling with her fingers, as she observed Madara from the corner of her eye.

“While I cannot relate to your financial struggles, I understand the situation you’re in. Becoming so busy because of a goal you once had, that you question whether it’s even worth pursuing it anymore. You lose sight of who used to be and the things that brought you pleasure. There’s always something to do that you can’t even remember the last time you truly felt alive,” Madara said thoughtfully, and his words caused [Name]’s eyes to widen. 

“And no matter how much you want to try and change things, it just feels like you’ve been stuck in the same cycle and it keeps repeating over and over and over again,” [Name] murmured, sighing dejectedly. “I really hate the world.” 

Madara chuckled at her declaration as he lifted another bottle of wine that was on their table. 

“Me too. Why don’t we discuss more things we hate about the world and learn about what we in common over more wine?” he suggested. The edge of suspicion and tenseness he held before was no longer present. Instead, he was now feeling much more relaxed than he had in awhile, and felt intrigued about [Name]. The twinkle in his eyes in hopes to talk to her more caused her lips to stretch into a cute flustered smile. 

“Sure.” 

____________________

It was the week which was like the last and there was no change but stress levels felt higher. Even after a decent ten hours sleep, [Name] felt exhaustion crawling like bugs underneath the epidermis layer of her skin. Dark bags were swelled prominently underneath her eyes. Her hair was tied carelessly in a messy bun that fell to one side; it wasn’t pretty like the one’s beauty gurus showed. It was loose but the knot was tight enough to make the weight of the hair feel too evident with each passing moment. Taking a quick sip from her steaming mocha, she greeted the administrators on the front desk that were the first point of contact between clients and the therapists who worked further back in the office. This office was where [Name] was presently working to gain practice experience in her second practicum. Generally, students in training were simply meant to observe and learn. If permission given by their supervisor, they could step in. But in [Name]’s case, for the sake of the story’s plot, the office she had chosen this time were understaffed. And since she already had finished one practicum and had quite a lot of other experiences from volunteering under her belt, she was trusted to work independently with whatever clients may be assigned to her. 

“Good morning Moegi and Konohamaru,” [Name] greeted, and the two looked up from their screens. When they noticed it was [Name], they beamed at her and returned her greeting in response. 

“How was your weekend [Name]?” Konohamaru asked, as he handed her the appointment schedule of everyone she would seeing today. 

[Name] was ready to give her autopilot response of it being "okay" and then quickly shooting a "how about you" like she usually did. However, before those words left her mouth she paused to ponder: truly, how had her weekend been? 

It was okay. Actually, it had been more than okay.

It had surprisingly been a lot of fun. When she had went through with her sugar daddy date, she had somewhat expected that she may end up having sex with a rich man she would not have been attracted to and receive compensation for sleeping with him. But that had not been the case. Madara was quite attractive, and although the dinner date had begun with a few subtle jeers thrown at each other, she had ended up having a good time with him. The fact that she felt safe enough to be vulnerable with him in the way she didn't even feel that level of comfort with her friends, and shared things she hadn't even known she was bottling up - - it was such a profound experience. To go from discussing their hatred for many things, to confessing secrets and feelings they weren't judged for, but rather, listened to, to getting so drunk that they sang cheesy songs and ended the date with their own unplanned karaoke night, it left an odd feeling of satisfaction and joy in [Name]'s chest that she had not felt in a while. The knowledge of knowing that she would be seeing Madara again soon left her feeling embarrassed. 

"It was," she began, and she covered her face with one hand to hide her embarrassment. "Really nice and fun. I had a good time," she murmured somewhat quietly. Then, right away, she scurried off towards her office before they could question her further or talk about their own weekends.

[Name] had left Moegi and Konohamaru surprised with her response, and the two turned to each other wondering if they had heard right. 

It was after lunch when [Name] was indulging in some [favourite fruit] iced tea, hoping some sugar would help her stay awake when she had an appointment with a client she would be seeing for the first time. She had settled her drink on the table beside her, walked through the hallway, and into the main office with reception and waiting area for clients. 

It was there she saw a young man not much older than herself. He had warm ivory skin and black hair bangs that framed his face. The back of his head looked like a duck’s butt. He must have heard her footsteps because before she even called out his name, he had looked up. When her eyes met his, she took a sharp intake of breath because he looked oddly similar to Madara. The way his obsidian eyes scrutinised her made her feel uneasy. Nonetheless, she gave him, what she hoped appeared to be a welcoming and reassuring smile. 

“You are Sasuke?” she assumed, and he stood up. 

“Hn,” Sasuke responded simply, and at the lack of any greeting or even a facial expression caused [Name] to sweatdrop. But nonetheless, she carried on like she did with all of her patients. 

“Before we start your session, did you want anything? A hot chocolate, coffee, water?” 

Sasuke raised an eyebrow at this before he replied nonchalantly. “A black coffee.” 

[Name] nodded and just before she could speak once more, a head of messy black curls invaded her vision and she was greeted with a smile that was almost too falsely cheerie for her taste. 

“Hello! I’m Shisui, Sasuke’s cousin. And stoic face over there is Itachi, Sasuke’s brother. You forgot about us Miss. Therapist,” Shisui greeted brightly. At his exuberant persona, Sasuke glared at him. The one who he had introduced as Itachi, sighed, and [Name] looked at them apologetically. 

“Oh sorry, I didn’t notice you. Can I get anything for you as well? If you’ve been with Sasuke until this point, I can assume you’ll be staying with him.” 

Itachi nodded and stepped up front and held out his hand for [Name] to shake, which she obliged to almost instantly. 

“Yes. We are here to oversee my little brother’s recovery at my Father’s orders and make sure there is progress,” he explained simply. His words were harsh. It was evident in the way Shisui had become tight lipped, and how Sasuke had now averted his glare onto Itachi. [Name]’s eyes shifted to observe their reaction and then returned to Itachi who was looking at her stoically. It wasn’t too obvious. However, she noticed with the way Itachi’s jaw was clenched more tightly than it had been before. This change in his body language clearly indicated that he had not wanted to say what he did and he did not want to be here. And from the intense glare Sasuke regarded him with, [Name] safely assumed that whatever was going on with Sasuke, Itachi seemed to be a part of it. Underneath Itachi’s pretty eyes, she noticed a sense of tiredness that was all — physical, mental, emotional and more. She saw that same sense of exhaustion on her own face each day. 

The session had not even started and this was already turning out to become so complicated. [Name] hoped she would still have her sanity by the time she graduated and came to do this full-time. There were some of her colleagues who never bothered with rules or following basic procedures to assure their clients comfort and wellbeing. Lucky for her clients, she did. And when she needed to, she would bend over backwards and willingly go beyond her capabilities for them. 

She knew from the way they all held themselves, and particularly with how Itachi had spoken that they were of important status. Their ‘father asked [them] to be here’ was a subtle way of implying that she could get in huge trouble if she did not comply with them. But [Name] just didn’t care. 

She turned to Sasuke with a stern look on her face and motioned towards Shisui and Itachi. 

“Do you want them there to support you or would you feel more comfortable with just you? Either way is fine. It’s your decision,” [Name] said smiling at him. 

The three raven-haired males that had been introducing themselves moments ago stilled and their eyes widened in shock. Shisui was the first one to snap out of it. 

“Uh, Miss. Therapist, I don’t think you know—“ 

“I know what I’m doing. Please refrain from implying such things and let my client decide for himself,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes. Shisui went to warn once more, but he was stopped by Itachi, who shook his head. 

Itachi’s gaze went to Sasuke, and then back to [Name] as he spoke. 

“I’m sure she knows what she is doing. We all wish for Sasuke’s wellbeing. We won’t intrude if he doesn’t want us to,” he proclaimed. That was his way of hinting for Shisui to drop the subject, and reassuring both Sasuke and [Name] that he was on their side, particularly with Sasuke, letting him know that he would not let their father find this out. 

“Aniki,” Sasuke murmured in disbelief, staring at his brother for a few moments. Then, he looked back at [Name] to see she was still giving him the same sweet and gentle smile she had greeted him with. 

Maybe, perhaps, this time, signing up for therapy would be worth it. Maybe he could allow himself to talk to her and not fear judgement and consequences like he had with his previous therapists. 

“I’d like it to be by myself,” he murmured, looking away from her with slight pink cheeks. As his eyes had drifted away from hers and met Shisui’s, who gave him a warning look, his shoulders tensed and his eyes snapped back to [Name] right away. “P-Please and t-thank you.” 

He did not need to glance at Shisui again to know the oldest male was now grinning at him. 

Seemingly, his politeness seemed to be unexpected and Sasuke wanted to scoff at how [Name]’s eyes had lit up in pride. It almost annoyed him because did they really think he was that dimwitted? 

“You’re welcome. Now, follow me please. Shisui and Itachi, our session will be around an hour so you can come to pick him up in that time,” [Name] said. The two of them nodded and waved the two goodbye as Sasuke followed after [Name] to her office. 

-------

A/N:  (tbh, uhhh, I plan for this to be a yandere story [whispers: eventually] but this chapter is fluffy. I honestly don’t know where I’m going with this or if I’ll add more Uchihas as love interests and turn into a reverse harem for [Name], I’m gonna make shit up as I go along and hope it turns into something decent lol gang gang. I just need to write a story I can write without worries and just enjoy the process of it rather than caring about where it leads. So yeet. I hope you join me on this journey <3)

[waywardfangirl]

Write This Down

General Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply

Baz Pitch/Simon Snow | 3,305 words | Complete

Summary: Inspired by Write This Down by George Strait - Baz and Simon love each other, and they know it. But, Baz came close to losing Simon once, and he doesn't intend to let that ever happen again.

***A big thank you to @foolofabookwyrm​ for editing this for me literally the second I finished writing it! I love you!!!***

Baz

The first time I told Simon I loved him, tears were pouring down both of our faces and we were absolutely miserable. It was one of the worst days of my life, and I hated the fact that every nice thing Simon and I have, every special moment and milestone in our disaster of a relationship, is marred in some way by tragedy. We kissed for the first time in the middle of a burning forest when I was so deep in the throes of self-hatred I couldn’t find my way out without Simon to save me. Instead of the honeymoon phase that every other couple gets, Simon and I received death and destruction and trauma, and then hearings and interrogations before the Coven. When we tried to go on vacation, to take a break and do something to pull Simon out of the pit of depression he had spiraled into, we almost died multiple times. When I finally propose to him I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that dark creatures can’t find us, the weather can’t ruin us, and even our well-meaning but nosy friends can’t disturb us.

But I’m getting too far ahead of myself. I can’t start planning for a proposal just yet, because I’m still not sure that I won’t lose him one day. He told me he loved me with tears streaming down his cheeks, and then he tried to break up with me.

I had started crying around that time too; I wanted to be in control, I wanted to shut off my emotions so Simon wouldn’t be hurt by my own anguish, but instead traitorous tears came streaming down my face and I started babbling out every thought I’d ever had – please don’t leave me and I’m not happy without you and no no no don’t go, Simon, please don’t and eventually I love you, I love you too, I love you so much, there’s nothing for me if you aren’t here, I love you. So, no, it was not one of our better moments.

Once I finally convinced him that breaking up with me would, in fact, not help me at all, we agreed to put serious effort into working on our relationship. This has also meant that both Simon and I found ourselves going to (separate) therapists, and coming together once a month for couple’s counseling too. Put together, we’re utilizing three-quarters of the magical word’s mental health resources. (It’s helping.)

(Read the rest on AO3, or under the cut)

I don’t know exactly what Simon discusses with his own therapist (although I could probably make a few guesses), but my therapist has been encouraging me to work on my own anxieties as of late among other things. I haven’t been able to shake my fear that Simon might decide to leave again, and that crying amidst declarations of love won’t fix things this time. So, since I can’t control the actions of others, I can only control what I think and do myself (yes, thank you Amy, the once-weekly sessions are working and I now hear your voice in my head when I evaluate my own thoughts), I’ve decided on a course of action that will help both Simon and myself.

I start by stealing his phone. He only uses the notes app to write down things he wants to bring up in therapy, so I ignore all the existing memos and start a new one, just three words – I love you.

(The numpty never bothered setting a passcode, I should modify his phone more often. He needs a new lock screen.)

 Three days later, Simon emerges from his bedroom after his appointment, face blotchy and tear tracks drying on his cheeks. Every muscle in my body pulls to gather him up in my arms and give him shelter in the form of an embrace, but I know in moments like this I have to let him make the first move. Luckily, he walks straight over to where I’m putting the dishes away and immediately buries his face in my neck. His arms cinch around my waist, and I waste no time in pulling him closer to me, carding one hand through his curls.

“Alright, love?”

He nods, pressing in closer, then mumbles into my skin, “I love you.”

Ah. He found the note, then. Good.

“I love you too.”

*****

The next week, I walk into Simon and Penny’s apartment after classes, only to find Simon asleep on the couch. Netflix is playing some action movie on the tv, and Simon’s face is twitching slightly, still reacting to the sound even while fast asleep. I know he was up late last night preparing for a big presentation, so I let him rest. As I pull my laptop out of my bag to study at the kitchen table, I grab a sticky note as well, and attach it to the center of the television screen.

I love you

An hour later, I hear the tv shut off. Simon wanders into the kitchen, sitting down at the table and scooching his chair over until it’s pressed up next to mine. He kisses me on the cheek, and then on the mouth when I turn my head.

“Hi love, how was your day?”

“Good. Better now.”

*****

Finals are upon us, and of course the worst academic weeks of the year are also the time when Simon and I decide to try spending the night together again. (Just sleeping, but sharing each other’s space for that long, being there together when we wake up the next morning.) I feel like all of this should be so much easier, like other couples just make it look so effortless – we love each other, why can’t we show it? Why is it so hard to turn those emotions into actions and words? I don’t ever want to be beside anyone else, how can I prove that to him?

After the first few nights, it starts to feel normal. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the feeling of Snow’s arms wrapped around me, his muscles relaxing as we both fall asleep, but I don’t want to get used to it. I want it to be novel every single time, I always want to feel this in love with him.

Tonight, though, I can’t let myself lie down until I finish this last essay. I’ll edit it tomorrow, but I can’t stop writing until I’m done or I know I’ll lose momentum. Simon went to bed at least half an hour ago, and that’s all the incentive I need to keep my fingers flying across the keyboard; the sooner I’m done, the sooner I’ll be back beside him.

I close my laptop at half past midnight, and attempt to straighten the academic mess on the kitchen table before breakfast ruins a textbook tomorrow morning. Snow has left his books in a perilous heap, on the verge of teetering onto the floor, so I straighten the stack, then pick up the top book.

It’s a textbook, An Introduction to Social Services, because my brave and caring boyfriend wants to continue saving the world in any way he can. The first half of the book is filled with bookmarks and flags, highlighted passages and scribbled notes in the margins. He’s been attacking his studies with a vigor he’s never shown for academia before, and I’m so proud of him. I pick up a pen and add a note of my own under the practice review he’s flagged with tomorrow’s date (when did he get to be so organized? He’s wonderfully full of surprises even now) – You’re absolutely brilliant, love.

I leaf through the book to the next practice exam, this one flagged for three days from now. You’re the most caring man I’ve ever met, you were born for this work. The review in the middle of the book gets a simple (true) I’m so proud of you, and then I start leafing through the pages I assume Simon will be using next semester. I don’t let myself question the future, I don’t let uncertainty and anxiety creep in, I just write notes on random pages, to be discovered in the middle of lectures or homework or studying.

My darling

You’re the only sunshine I need

Have I told you lately how handsome you are?

I adore you

You’re my perfect other half, I’m so happy we match

Finally, I leave an index card mixed in with the ones he’s been using for review.

Q: How much do I love you?

A: More than I can possibly say.

*****

Simon Snow can still go off. He’s less physically destructive now, nothing in the flat gets burnt to a crisp and he doesn’t leave craters behind, but sometimes his emotions get stopped up until they come out in a flood of yelling and crying, and he erupts.

We’ve both been trying to be better about handling our outbursts, and trying not to take bad days out on the other, but sometimes it still happens. I don’t know exactly what happened today, but from what I can make out it seems like small things just piled up until I rolled my eyes when Simon suggested watching Star Wars, and that became the straw that broke the camel’s back. Old habits die hard, and we both still give as good as we get when fighting, so fifteen minutes later Penelope came home to find a screaming match in the living room and neither of us even aware of what we were saying or fighting over anymore.

She made us sit down and go through all the skills we’ve learned (use “I” statements, list your emotions, say what you admire about the other person – fine, thank you Amy, your voice is still in my head) until finally we had calmed down enough to be there for each other again.

I held Simon as he cried into my shirt, and we crawled into bed together still holding hands. We kissed before falling asleep and the last thing I remembered was Simon’s breath ghosting over me.

Now though, I’m awake, pulled from sleep and my boyfriend’s arms because I needed a glass of water, and I suddenly can’t stop reliving our argument. We’re fine, I know we are, we’re going to be okay. All couples fight, what matters is that we sat down and talked about it afterwards. We’re both sorry and we both love each other.

I can’t help the voice in the back of my head though, the voice that insists that Simon still thinks I don’t love him and that he might leave me again. I ignore it, then tell it how wrong it is, before finally giving in to my anxiety and tearing a blank piece of paper from the notepad on the fridge. I leave the note on his bedside table, so he’ll see it first thing in the morning, when he inevitably wakes up before I do.

Simon, my dearest, I love you so much. I promise, I love you, no matter what.

*****

“Baz! Did you get it?”

Simon Snow is bouncing on the soles of his feet like a toddler crossed with a golden retriever, and if anyone else were acting like this I would make a point of ignoring them, but because it’s Simon I just kiss him quickly and pull the book out from behind my back.

“Yes, love, I got it. Hot off the press, specially for you.”

Simon’s never been much of a reader, but after discovering ‘the best book in the world’, as he puts it, he’s been devouring this series. The newest one was released today, and I promised him I would pick it up from the bookstore on my way home. (I’ve read them too, and they are quite good, although Simon is definitely more enchanted with them than I am.)

“Can we start reading it right now?” He’s got it clutched to his chest like a child, and—no, that’s dangerous territory to enter, I can’t let myself start thinking of Simon with a baby or else I won’t leave this flat until I’ve proposed to him, and he deserves a nicer proposal than whatever happens to fall out of my mouth right now. Besides, I don’t even have the ring with me, it’s still hidden in my sock drawer back in Hampshire.

“Are you suggesting skipping dinner?” I hold up the bags of takeaway I’ve brought. He looks anguished.

“Can’t we do both?”

He’s a disaster. I love him.

“Alright you bottomless pit, you can eat your dinner and I’ll read to you, will that work?”

He kisses me again in response, a proper snog that’s only interrupted when Bunce wanders through to the kitchen, remarking loudly to Shepard, “They have their own room and everything, but they still insist on doing this sort of thing out here in the open.”

Simon good naturedly flips her off, and I pull away to smirk.

“He’s far too attractive for me to confine my affection to only one room in the house, Bunce. It’s not fair to expect me to restrain myself when my boyfriend is so criminally handsome.” I take Simon’s hand and tug him into the living room to settle against me as I start to read.

When all the food has been devoured and my voice is starting to lull Snow to sleep, I grab a scrap of paper, scribble I love you on it, and then insert it in the book to mark our place.

*****

Simon has been baking up a storm. He’s determined to figure out Cook Pritchard’s recipe for sour cherry scones, because she won’t give up the secret and he hates having to wait for Pitch family gatherings to eat them. He’s going through butter like a fiend, and all of our neighbors adore us because he keeps giving batches away.

When he leaves the kitchen to go retrieve something from his bedroom I slip a note into the fridge, to be discovered the next time he picks up the butter.

I love you

 Three days later, I find the note affixed to the freezer door.

*****

“It’s so empty!”

Simon’s voice bounces off of the walls, and it almost echoes. The house really is empty, at once both exciting and intimidating – this is ours, this is where we get to keep building our life together, this is where we’ll make more memories, this is where we’ll start our family.

“The rest of our furniture will be here tomorrow, love, the movers said they could have it in before nine.”

I hear running footfalls, and then Simon comes sliding down the hall in his socks, crashing into me and almost knocking me over.

“Maybe we should keep it like this, and we can use the first floor for sock races!” He’s laughing, and so happy, and I adore him.

“Mmm, perhaps not,” I say, pushing his curls back from his face. “As enchanting as that idea may be, I expect you’d be sad if Penny and Shepard stopped visiting us because they had no place to sit. And I’m sure you would miss having a dining room table, too.” I kiss him on his nose, because it always makes him laugh, and then I lean back, grab his hands, and spin him around in circles in our empty living room.

Once we’re both too dizzy to stay standing, we collapse on the floor together, struggling to swallow our giggles. Eventually, I pull Simon back up to standing, and nudge him to start unpacking what we can. Dishes go in the cupboards, and sheets go in the linen closet. One of the boxes I open has a hammer and nails, and Simon finds the box that we put our pictures in. Some have to be set aside until the furniture is arranged, but we hang a few in the kitchen and the entry hall. Right before we blow up the inflatable mattress and go to sleep for the first time in our new house, I lead Simon back into the living room and pull out one last photo to hang.

The picture itself is quite large, a candid shot taken during our engagement party. Simon was laughing at something I’d just said, and he’s as bright and radiant as ever. I’m gazing adoringly at him, looking every bit the lovesick fool I am. Penny and Shep are in the background, along with Fiona and the rest of my immediate family, and everyone looks so happy to be celebrating the two of us. It’s one of my favorites, enlarged to sit in a frame over the mantle, where everyone who enters our home will be sure to see it.

It’s a bit of a struggle to get it to hang straight, but eventually we manage it.

“That looks lovely. I didn’t even know you’d had that one framed, I like it.”

I kiss his neck, and wrap my arms around his waist, hooking my chin over his shoulder and holding my wand out in front of him.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

We watch together as three words start to curve around our bodies in the portrait, shiny gold cursive tethering us to each other and stating simply, I love you.

Simon leans back into me, turning his face up for a kiss. “I love you too,” he whispers when we pull apart, “Show-off.” Then he’s walking backwards down the hall, leading me towards the stairs, and going to break his neck if he tries to go up the stairs without first turning around. I’ll tell him tomorrow that the spell I cast will only show those words if they’re true and if I still mean them. (They’re going to be there forever.)

*****

We go ring shopping together. We want our wedding rings to match, and to also complement the engagement rings we gave each other, so we block off an entire Saturday to find the perfect bands. (It turns out that the perfect rings are hiding in a jewelry store just a few blocks from Simon and Penny’s first apartment, which I think has a lovely symmetry to it.)

The rings themselves are simple, gold bands that compliment both of our complexions with a delicate scattering of engraved stars barely visible on the surface. We know immediately that these are our rings, we hardly need to glance at each other to confirm it.

As we’re being sized and filling out all the necessary information, I hand over a folded slip of paper.

“I would like this to be engraved on the inside of his ring, please.”

Simon’s mouth falls open for a moment, then he reaches into his jeans pocket to pull out his own slip of paper.

“I’d like this engraved inside of his too, please,” he says, and I can’t help but loop my arm around his waist.

“I suppose great minds think alike, don’t they Snow?”

He wrinkles his nose.

“You’re going to have to start calling me Pitch before too much longer, you know.”

I wasn’t prepared for this argument, and I’m far too in love with him to have a satisfactory response ready.

“No I won’t. Pitch will be your last name, and Snow will become your middle name. You call me by my middle name already, so we’ll match,” I add, as a happy afterthought.

The jeweler chuckles.

“You really do. You want the same engraving and everything.”

I feel like he maybe should have understood that those messages were meant to be a surprise, given Snow’s obvious shock, and the folded pieces of paper, but I’m a little too happy to care. Our wedding rings are going to match, inscription and all.

I love you

[kashimos-hajime]

immeasurable firsts | s.r.

Summary: All your firsts with Steve Rogers and all the heartbreak and happiness that comes with it.

A/N: For the writing challenge hosted by the fabulous @imhereforbvcky and the wonderful @justsomebucky. 

Dedicating this to @wxntersoldiers because I still have to write for her and I hope this’ll make up for how late I’m gonna submit it in! (I’ll get to it soon!!!!)

WARNINGS: Swearing, blood, violence, death, extreme angst but some happy stuff too.

Word Count: 11.6k Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark-sister! Reader Prompt: The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you.

Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Four easy words to describe Tony Stark.

You, on the other hand. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist all fit. Playboy? Perhaps. You prefer socialite. The paparazzi has always had their bite at you but that doesn’t mean that none of it is true.

You are Y/N Stark, younger sister of one Anthony Edward Stark, one certified pain in the ass, and one big brother. He was basically everything you had ever since your parents died. He raised you. He was your dad, and mom, and brother all at once, and you know that no one could’ve done it better. From what you know and what Tony tells you about your dad, you’re better off.

But your mom… you miss her every day.

On a full-ride to MIT just like him, you succeeded him in every way, graduating summa cum laude just like him, but while he did it when he was seventeen, you did it when you were eighteen. He always held that fact over you, but not after you mentioned that while he hacked into the Pentagon for a dare, you hacked into the Harry S. Truman building for fun. State department had a field day with that one.

As Stark Industries head of Research and Development, you occupy all of four floors and helped more than 12% to make Stark Towers the first building powered by self-sustainable clean energy, but you’d let your brother take all that credit if it meant your brother gets some with Pepper.

“Ma’am, Agent Coulson is on the line. Mr. Stark deferred him to you.” Swiping the holoscreen to close it, you look up from where you’re working on new schematics for your suit.

“Tony’s in.”

“Mr. Stark insists on refusing the call, and Agent Coulson insists on seeing him.”

Rolling your eyes, you pull up another holoscreen that linked you to the surveillance feed. Switching through the cameras, you swipe for Tony’s private elevator. You spot the agent standing outside the elevator, texting away on his phone and you turn on your mic with a smile.

“Hey, Phil,” you greet and the agent looked up, turning to the camera.

“Ms. Stark.” He gives you a little wave and you straighten up, putting your stylus away and turning off your tablet. Moving the surveillance feed to your phone, you walk to the couch you had in your office, sitting down and pulling your laptop on with you. Opening it up, you log in. “If you could ask your brother to pick up the phone, that’d be a great help.”

“You know Tony doesn’t listen to me.” Opening up the files Tony had sent you earlier, blueprints for Stark Tower and the grocery list for next week, you roll your eyes at the note at the end. ‘Pep said it’s my turn to do nothing for a whole week,’ it reads. Your fingers work away on your keyboard as you return your attention to Phil. “I’m going to disable J.A.R.V.I.S.’s protocols and give random people access to his private elevator because he’s annoyed me just now. You do whatever you want with that information.”

“Thank you. And you might need to join me, Ms. Stark.”

“Is it something important? Because my consulting hours don’t normally run this long. Also, I thought I said I didn’t want anymore S.H.I.E.L.D. assignments.” Tapping away on your keyboard, you have the elevator doors open and bypass the A.I.’s protocols.

“It’s urgent.”

“When do I ever care about that?” you retort. The call ends and you get up anyway, glaring at your phone. With a heavy sigh, you slip the device into your pocket before looking at the few holo screens you have open around the office. The levels of the reactor are stable, and you watch as they fluctuated, readjusting every once in a while.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., shut the place down. After I go see Tony, I’m heading home.”

“Of course, Ms. Stark.”

You live essentially next door to the tower, and it isn’t important for you to bring anything home, so you grab your keys and purse before leaving your office of glass doors and walls and windows. The lights turn off behind you as you jab the elevator button, ready to head up to say goodnight to Tony and see what Phil Coulson thought was so urgent.

.

The Avengers Initiative.

And they thought Tony was a good fit?

“Volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others,” you recite as you read over the files in Tony’s penthouse on the top floor of Stark Towers. “If he wanted the better of the Starks, he would’ve chosen me,” you tease. Tony sighs, wiping a hand over his face and you frown. Sigh in that tone means frustration, exhaustion, and he’s feeling overwhelmed.

“What is it?” Looking to see what’s caught your brother’s attention, you swallow and get up, walking around the couch to touch the hologram of the thing that your father had found instead of a man. “The Tesseract,” you whisper, suddenly finding your mouth very dry. Blinking, you twist the hologram around before pulling back. Your father had been obsessed with the thing. Hell, he probably loved it more than he ever loved the two of you. Your brother’s pulled back, too, arms crossed as his dark gaze flickers over the other portfolios.

“Some crack team, huh,” he mutters but your eyes can’t tear away from the blue glowing cube. Your dad always talked about it — well, it and Captain America, who happened to be in one of the portfolios, but you can’t help the nagging feeling that the cube is better left in the ocean where no one can find it. After all, they wouldn’t have to drag your brother into this mess if it was.

“Tony,” you call out when your brother moves for the bar. He pulls up a bottle of scotch and silently asks if you want a drink. Shaking your head, you bite your lip and gather what nerves you have left to ask the question. “Should I be worried?”

There is no answer.

.

“Hey, how was it?” you ask when Tony returns to the Helicarrier. The suit decompresses and you smirk, arching a brow. “Get the bad guy?”

“Yeah, and a plus one. Oh, uh—” Tony turns to the other guys piling out of the Quinjet. The clanging of chains catch your attention as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swarm the jet, escorting the prisoner out. Loki, you realize. Following him is a tall blond and an even taller blond, though the taller one follows after Loki. Thor. Had to be. Your brother gestures to the two— “the rest of the crack team. You talk to Banner, yet?”

“Not yet. They told me he was down in the lab, but I was working on my suit. I’ve a new set of schematics I wanna try out, if you have the time.”

“You only made a suit to copy me,” he teases and you nudge him playfully. “Yeah, sure. If we have time, after the world finishes it’s self-destruction, or whatever, we should take it out for a spin.”

“Thanks, Ant.” He sighs at the nickname but you squeeze his arm, watching him go. He needs to get that suit off, and you need to get that decryption implant on the motherboard. If Tony’s going into this, he isn’t going into it blind. Anyone who’s working with the Tesseract, especially an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D., wouldn’t use this for clean energy. And you’ve worked missions with them before. You know that eco-friendly energy is the last thing on their mind. Howard Stark may have wanted it for clean energy, but if an intergalactic war is being had…

You put a pin on that train of your thought as your gaze drifted back to the armory. The shorter blond nodded to you with a smile, and you put on a fresh face for Steve Rogers, World War Two Hero, actual soldier-type with a cute smile. Tilting your head, you walk up to him and stick out a hand. In your heels, you could’ve tried to be as tall as him but his presence adds two inches to his height.

“Captain Rogers, honor to meet you.”

“Steve,” he amends as he quirks an eyebrow. “And you are? Sorry, it’s been a whirlwind couple of days.”

“Y/N Stark,” you say, shaking his hand. He’s warm and his blue eyes fix on yours as you take in his features. He’s even cuter up close. “And no problem. Not everyone can spend their time as a Capsicle.”

“Your brother made the same joke,” Steve says as you begin to walk down the hall with him.

“He only got the chance because he met you first.” Heading down to the briefing room, you glance at him to find him staring back. Arching an eyebrow, you wait until he notices and a brilliant blush spreads across his cheeks, but you smirk, brushing the hair away from your face and leading him to the room where your brother is waiting.

.

After the Battle of New York — that’s what the news is calling it, you call it an inconvenience — the dust settled to reveal the true damage of it. There’s a lot of rebuilding to do, specifically the area around Stark Tower, which means a lot of money is needed to repair downtown New York. Of course, the best way to get the rich to donate money is a charity ball, and the fact that it’s able to be doubled as a celebration ball makes Tony absolutely gleeful. You, on the other hand, would rather be anywhere but here. The destruction caused in Stark Tower has given you nothing but a headache and whilst Tony and the Avengers had gone for shawarma, you’d suited up to begin lifting the rubble and seeing the true damage underneath the whole ‘saving the planet’. Which you can respect, by the way, but you didn’t want to test out the new suit by lifting up heavy concrete and wires.

Now, all you want to do head back, take an Advil, and sleep the day off. Whilst the Avengers had decided to steal the show, you never said a thing about how Tony literally flew into a fucking wormhole.

You still need to yell at him for that one. Maybe cry. And hug him. For a long time.

“You need to relax,” Tony mumble through his smile as the three of you gathered your bearings to get out of the limousine.

“You need to stop making us late,” you retort. “And wormhole, remember? You’re still in for it.”

He sends you a sheepish smile, his eyes pleading apology, but you ignore it, stepping out. Pepper holds onto Tony’s arm to get out, whilst you pick up the edges of your dress, a brilliant scarlet dress, with a slit up the side of your leg and elegantly pull yourself up.

Adjusting the gold cuff on your wrist, you grab your gold clutch and shade your eyes against the flashes. Tony and Pep are already walking through the paparazzi, up the stairs to the venue for the Avengers, the cameras snapping away. Used to it, you tuck your hair behind your ear to showcase your outfit. In scarlet and gold, you shine under the flashes.

“Ms. Stark!” one of the photographers call out and you pause, striking a small pose before continuing on. The tire screeches behind you signify another arrival and you turn with a small smile, wondering who it could be. The black car’s window slide down, revealing a star-struck Steve Rogers and he steps out, squinting against the flashing lights. Raising a hand in half a wave and half a means to block the light, the super-soldier’s gaze dart across the scene before landing on you. You extend your hand to him, smiling. He speed-walks over to you, grateful for a friendly face and he offers an arm for you to take, escorting you inside.

“I’m glad you got out safe,” you begin, tucking a curl behind you ear as he focuses on getting up to the stairs. You throw a wave to the crowd, before adding, “I was maybe a tiny bit worried about you. More so about Tony, but then I wonder why.” You pretend to tap your chin in curiosity and he chuckles.

“I’m flattered. And you’re beautiful,” he mumbles under his breath, cheeks red but you can’t tell if it’s because of you or the cameras. Smiling softly, you press your head against his shoulder for a moment before lifting it again to look at the soldier. “I dunno if anyone’s told you that yet.”

“No one that matters,” you tell him and you pause to kiss his cheek. His shy smile makes you smile wider, the endearing expression on his face causing warmth to spread through you. Cameras take snapshots of your moment and you internally sigh. There comes one of the cons of being a public figure. You have no doubt some stupid hashtag like #Rogerstark or, you don’t know, #Ironcaptain, will be trending on twitter by the night’s end. “And you look good, too. Real good.”

“Uh,” he chuckles, blushing and you laugh. “Thanks.”

“Overwhelmed, yet?” You climb the steps, using Steve’s hand to steady yourself before he opens the door for you. You hold his hand to bring him in and the pap calls after the two of you even when the door closes. If he’s gonna give the press content, you might as well have fun with it. Even if he doesn’t mean too — he’s just being the gentleman he is.

“A bit, yeah, but not by the cameras.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you’re insulted or not. “By me?”

“In the best way. Gotta impress the most gorgeous woman in the room,” he promises and you hold him to that promise. “I’m sure the cameras will get worse, too. But you seem to be doing just fine,” he says and you chuckle. Patting his arm, you lead him, following the signs that say This Way or something of the variant.

“I grew up going to this kinda stuff. I’m used to it by now. But if you keep being you, the press is gonna eat you up.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re a real gentleman, Rogers,” you sing. The foyer is filled with tons of guests, some drinking while others are eating some nuts or chips, and there’s an open door leading to the white carpet. Of course, they’re waiting for all the Avengers to go on first, and you can hear the anxious muttering of the paparazzi outside the room.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

“Well, people like prying into other people’s lives,” you continue and he nods. His gaze darts across the room just as a server comes by with a tray of champagne. Disentangling your arm from Steve’s, you take two. “Steve, I’m just saying, the paps love to make speculations about Tony and I. Sometimes, it’s the only thing keeping them open, and a lot of people don’t like the attention, the stalkers, the fans.” Offering the champagne, you give him a forced smile. “A lot of people don’t wanna stay because of it.”

“What if I want to?”

“What?” You nearly let out a laugh but Steve looks totally serious as his gaze catches yours. They’re darker, more intense, but there’s still that sense of light to him. Like he’s having fun getting the shock out of you.

“I said, what if I wanted to stay? I’m an Avenger now. Might as well get used to it and I think we’re stuck with each other.”

You drain your champagne, blink, and then stare at him as if he’s grown a second head. “I have no illusions on being a celebrity, Y/N. I’ve had a few experiences of my own, and it may be a bit different from back then, but I know.”

“It’s a lot different, Steve.”

“Maybe not so much.” He takes your hand and the champagne, leading you to the side of the room where there are small high tables where people can stand and chat over food, and he places his full flute and your empty one on the tablecloth. “Y/N, I’m just saying, let the press eat it up. We know what we are.”

And what’s that? you wonder helplessly as he says that they should get to the carpet. Tony and Pepper have already started, and Steve visibly recoils. Looping your arm through his, you send him a reassuring smirk, if possible.

“You might have to squint, Cap,” you whisper nefariously and he sends you a roll of his eyes as you put on your celebrity face. It hides your inner turmoil well as you kill over Steve’s words. With the most handsome man in the room on your arm, you send smolder and smolder whilst the soldier tries to ease into his smiles. It’s easier once you get him laughing at your jokes, and it’s hard to imagine you’d ever dreaded going to the event at all.

.

To say you and Steve see each other over the next few years would be an understatement. Seeing as how you are in Washington occasionally, flying back and forth for work, the Triskelion is one of the few places you’d actually get excited to see once in a while. You’re actually in Washington when Steve’s called away on a mission. Sitwell’s called you in for an emergency consult. Well, he called Tony. You picked up the call. And what you came to was Nick Fury’s deathbed.

The image makes you shudder.

Suiting up, you propel yourself out of your Washington flat and fly towards the Triskelion. At night, Washington looks like any other city, breathtaking and alight with life. The Washington Monument’s glow casts its base in warm light as you fly over it, slowing down to admire your view and postpone going to the Triskelion. Ever since Steve knocked out the S.T.R.I.K.E. team in the elevator, you’ve been feeling like there had to be a reason.

Your reflection in the water is barely visible except for the glow of your repulsors, eyes, and arc reactor, and you float above it, the squirming feeling in your stomach ever growing.

Why do you have the feeling just like the one before the Battle of New York?

A number you don’t recognize calls you, but you pick up anyway, having A.N.A encrypt your location just in case as you fight off the feeling. Tony’s safe in New York — as safe as he can be fixing up the quarters for the Avengers who still drop by from time to time. Just one night of consultation, and then you’re back there with him, eating microwave dinners and working on new things.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Steve? Where are you?” Shaking yourself, you continue on your way to the Triskelion just as his voice echoes in your ears again.

“Sam’s. And you need to listen to me.”

“Are you okay?” you ask despite yourself. You haven’t seen him since the hospital, and if you’re honest with yourself, you kinda miss him. Plus, he wasn’t looking too great when you’d left.

You hold his hand, stepping closer as he stares at Natasha’s back. The red-haired woman’s head is bowed to hide her tears and you look to Steve. His eyes stare back at you but he doesn’t truly see you as you wrap your other hand around his arm, resting your head against his shoulder. He squeezes your hand tighter. You simply close your eyes and press your cheek against his jacket as your fingers interlace. He looks down, and you raise your head to see what he’s looking at.

A silver USB lies in his hand and your eyebrows knit together when you look at the make. S.H.I.E.L.D. made. When he catches you staring, however, he shoves it back into your pocket. A silent question that he ignores lays within your eyes.

“I didn’t want to leave the hospital so soon, but consultation couldn’t wait on the pumping problem,” you continue, diving into the water surrounding the building as your suit readjusts the air pressure and you turn on your headlamps. The water before you filters out the moon as you dive deeper.

“It’s fine. I just wanted to check up with you.”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m heading underwater and the slightest malfunction of the suit could kill me?” you ask, initiating the lights in your repulsors. Steve lets out a sigh of a laugh quietly on the other end as you squint, making out the shape of the pipelines.

“You made that suit, Y/N. I know it won’t,” he replies, but he sounds tense and you make yourself redirect the conversation. Your HUD emits a gentle light as it does a preliminary scan on the pipelines.

“Thanks, Steve. So… where are you now? I mean, now that you’re on the run.”

“That’s what I’ve got to talk to you about.”

Pulling up, you frown. No leaks and the Stark Industry sustainable filter is running flawlessly. You’d installed it yourself, along with the other convertors along the lines. Turning off your mic, you raise your arm.

“A.N.A., can you run a scan? Sitwell said it was in this area, and I’m not sure if I’m being delusional.”

“Of course, Ms. Stark.” The repulsor gauntlet shoots out a grid of blue light, a bar of blue scanning the pipes as you work your way down the whole area. Resuming your call with Steve, you clear your throat.

“Sorry, Steve, what is it? Is it about why you gave Rumlow the black eye he deserves?” you joke.

“Y/N, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised.” Your heart stops. Maybe you are delusional.

“What?”

“Whatever you do, don’t take another assignment from them. You need to leave D.C. now.”

“Steve, I—”

“There is an unknown object approaching your vector.” A.N.A.’s warning interrupts whatever you were going to say, and kick starts your wired brain. You twist around, all sources of light shutting off at once with a quiet whir. Letting yourself sink, you steady your breathing and turn on your night vision just as something explodes right next to you. It sends you tumbling, your head rattling in your suit as you spin in the water, trying to regain your sense of up and down.

“A.N.A., find the source!” Managing to stabilize yourself to a stop, you shake your head. Something’s trickling down your temple, and there’s a familiar ache in your arm that was closest to the blast. You still can’t hear well aside from the ringing and you strain to hear.

“Already on it.”

Y/N, what’s going on?” Steve asks but his voice crackles over the line and you wince, trying to ignore how grating it is on your ears as blue shapes are highlighted on your HUD. Submarines by the looks of it. S.H.I.E.L.D. warships armed with missiles, mines, and torpedos.

Fuck, really? In the Potomac? You have no time for questions like that, though, and with every second you waste sinking to the bottom, it’s another second feeling like the water’s going to seep into your suit and asphyxiate you. Another missile launches towards you and you swerve out of the way, letting it land in the riverbed.

“I was in Washington for a consultation on the Triskelion’s pump system,” you whisper. “Fucking great that they’re compromised now, huh?”

“Engaging boosters.” Your ankles lock together, you press your hands against your sides and look up as you propel yourself to the surface. You’re a great white beacon of light and heat now that you’ve given up all hope of defeating war subs in your mechanic armor. “Missiles fired. They’ve tracked your infrared signature, ma’am.”

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice cracks the comms again as moonbeams begin to break through. “What’s going?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. subs are on me. Five. Shit!” A missile strikes your foot and you let out a yelp as the booster fails. Veering off, you try to get back on course. “Targeting system. They know all the weak points of this suit. Fuck! My booster’s down.” Swerving out of the way of another swarm of missiles, you run diagnostics on your failed repulsor node just as A.N.A. gives out another warning that another barrage is incoming. Your heart beats in your throat, blood dripping over and down your neck, and you try to unscramble your thoughts. S.H.I.E.L.D. is attacking you. S.H.I.E.L.D. is attacking you. Holy shit.

Tony’s going to be so pissed.

“Can you fire back?”

“It’s my repair suit. It’s not meant for battle. I didn’t think I’d get attacked by fucking S.H.I.E.L.D.!” The second barrage nearly gets you and you let out a breath of relief when they all whiz past, only for a bigger cruise missile to slam into your side. Infrared tech on a cruise missile with diamond nibs. These are war-grade, way above anyone’s pay-grade and slice through your suit like it’s soft cheese. It digs into you and you let out a terrified gasp.

It’s a small explosion, granted, but it no doubt shatters your ribs and blows something apart inside you. Ears ringing, you scream over the sound of A.N.A. giving you a status report on the suit, but over your own hoarse voice, you know that water’s surging into your suit, your ribs are shattered, and you’re probably going to die. A.N.A. quarantines the water, sealing you from the neck up as you frantically touch your wound. Your A.I. has already dispatched the emergency lock, your second skin of armor spanning over your abdomen and binding your insides together.

“Injuries?”

“Shattered ribs, multiple third-degree burns and massive internal damage.”

“Communications?” you wheeze, trying to breathe but your lungs struggle against the ribs that float around in your chest cavity as you clutch at the wound. A.N.A. had been as fast as she could, closing over the wound as soon as she detected it, but dirty, freezing river water still got in. It laps at your wounds, soothing the burns and washing through your insides simultaneously. Melting from the inside out, you suck in your scream and blink, trying to ignore the tears streaming down your face as you pray for the adrenaline to kick in.

“Offline. They’ve scrambled the frequency.”

“Unscramble it! We need to tell Steve he needs to get out of here and tell Tony what’s happening. I’ll focus on the staying alive part.” Although sobs tear at your throat and blackness dots your vision from the pain, you squint through your tears to look at the HUD. A list of systems that are offline continue to scroll down the side as the water begins to pick up, pulling and pushing you in all directions.

“Y-Y-Y/N? Can you read me? Hey!”

“Still alive, yet, Cap,” you manage to say, redirecting all energy to your one working foot. “Come on, come on.” Every movement is sending agony rushing down to your chest and it’s like the water pressure presses down into your chest. Even breathing is getting difficult as a knot forms between your lungs. Heaving for air, you begin to speed up to the surface. Water streams down the sides, bubbles popping and foam disappearing before your eyes. Suddenly, beeping begins out of left-field.

“They’re sending more cruise missiles, ma’am. Without your other repulsor node, you won’t be able to outfly them.”

“But I’m so fucking close!”

“It won’t matter, Ms. Stark. They’ve locked into your heat signature and this suit does not have the capability to lower or mask your in-suit heat output.” A.N.A.’s words make you blink and you let out a desperate sigh, your breathing coming ragged as the water closes in on you. Your vision blurs, and for a moment, your head dips forward before you snap open your eyes. “I’m sorry, Ms. Stark.” Your A.I. sounds so fucking crushed and she’s already grieving and you regret coding in emotions because you want to cry, and not because of the pain.

“It’s not your fault, A.N.A.”

Blinking, you try to calm yourself down but it’s all coming so close. Your helmet can’t protect you for long, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die—

“You’ll send a message to Tony? The message?” you ask and the world stops. The startling realization that you might truly die here in the Potomac slams into you and you nearly let out a scream at how fucking unfair it is. Ribbons of tears track down your face, and you compress yourself into a compact slip of armor, hoping it’ll give you that chance to outrun it, but you know that it won’t. You graduated from MIT, just like Tony. Your big brother Tony. You know the math. The beeping gets louder, gets faster.

A watery smile appears on your face, your lips trembling as it crumbles away and you openly sob. Your face is hot and you breathe in hot air, and you need to breathe. Oh, god, you’re gonna die of asphyxiation before you die of your injuries and everything’s closing in on you—

“Of course, Ms. Stark.” You take comfort in A.N.A.s voice and confirmation, trying to pull what’s left of you together.  “Thank you.” It’s just within reach, but the beeping in your ears tells you the missiles are closer. They’re hot on your trail and your faulty booster has no intention of coming back soon. Remembering your call, you swallow whatever tears you have left and ignore the ache in your throat. Everything hurts, but nothing so much as the pain one can get from knowing what they’re leaving behind. “Steve?” 

Crackling, and then a thick voice comes on and you know he’s crying too, “I’m here.”

Your eyes reflect the moon’s beams, and you can only see that beautiful full moon surrounded by so much darkness, and you wonder if this is what Tony saw up in that wormhole. The light at the end of a tunnel. You swallow, nod, and tell yourself that you can’t feel the pain anymore. The adrenaline in my body’s numbing it, you reason to yourself. I’ll die from my injuries before I can get to a hospital, so there’s no point in feeling it. The beeping becomes insistent, but you don’t look back. If you don’t look back, maybe they aren’t there.

“Ms. Stark…”

“It’s okay, A.N.A. You did your best.” Clenching your jaw, you try to make sure your next words can be made out. They need to count, you need him to hear you loud and clear, and he seems to sense this because he begins to whisper these nothings meant to make you feel better, or to stall you. You hope it’s to make to feel better. 

Because it works.

“Steve, when I die, tell Tony that… that I love him, and he deserves so many things in this world. Tell him, tell him he is the best brother I could’ve asked for, and—“

“Hey, Y/N. You’re gonna outfly those rockets. You’re the best damn pilot I know. So, stop talking like you’re gonna die.”

“Steve—“

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay. It’ll be okay, doll, you’re gonna be just fine, and then you’ll come over to Sam’s, and we’ll be on the run together.” Steve’s voice cracks and it damn well near breaks you as the A.N.A. goes radio silent. The HUD turns off. She’s conserving energy. That can only mean one thing. “Won’t that be fun? Huh? We’ll be… what was it that was trending after the 2012 gala? That hashtag…”

You let out a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh as your eyes close. “#Ironcaptain and #Starogers were both trending,” you remind him. His voice is soft and hoarse, and exactly how you imagined him in the mornings. You’ll never get to fucking see him again. Fuck. Life. Fuck. You.

“That’s right, doll. You’re right. You’re so beautiful and smart. You’re tough as, uh, iron, and you’re always right.”

“Dork.”

“Yeah, I’m your dork, though. So, you’ve gotta make it. You’re perfect. That’s why you’ll make it, okay?” He’s in so much denial it pains you to the core and all you want to do is grab him in a hug and tell him that you’re going to die but it’ll be okay. But he’s on the other side of the city and he can’t save you this time. “That’s why I’m gonna see you again, and I’m gonna tell you so many things. So you’ve got to stay alive, alright? ‘Cause I needa tell you all about Camp Lehigh and Bucky and you’re supposed to be here with me ‘cause you’re one of my best friends and I need you, okay? It’s been like that since the beginning, Y/N. Before everything, before that gala, before we were friends. I was always the puppy trailing after you. So you can’t die.”

“Steve,” you choke out as you open your eyes again. You reach your uninjured arm for the surface. Your fingers are barely brushing the air and you can imagine the wind on your face. You might make it. “Steve, I’m scared to die.”

“You’re not gonna die, so there’s nothing to be scared of,” he tells you like it's a fact and not something that’s stopping you from turning off every repulsor node you have left. You’re so tired but your arm breaks free, and then your suit and then you’re soaring through the sky.

Flying through the air, you hear the whistle of wind and missile trail after you. You made it to the surface and for what? Here you’ll be, shot down like game anyway. Is that all live is? A game of hope and lies and deceit, just for some god out there?

If it is, when you die, you’ll tell them that you were never playing. You’ll tell whatever god who’s watching to go fuck themselves. Find someone else to play with.

“Steve,” you whisper, because you need to say it as many times as you can before you can’t anymore. “Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.”

“I’m here. I’m right here waiting for you.”

You laugh into your next words, cheeks soaking with tears as you raise your eyes to the moon. “I’m glad that it’s you.” 

The missiles dig into your armor — legs, chest, arms in that order — and explode. You are a dying star, the last brilliant flash of light and beauty and the magnificence of the universe before you are extinguished. 

On the other side of Washington, Steve watches the orange cloud of fire and smoke consume the air around it hungrily as a lone figure drops into the water.

.

“Zola’s algorithm… is a program for choosing I.N.S.I.G.H.T.’s targets.”

“What targets?”

“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa city.” Sitwell swallows visibly and Steve’s nails dig into his palms as he stares at the pathetic man. “Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to HYDRA! Now, or in the future. It’s why we killed Y/N Stark.” Blood drips down Steve’s fingers as he grabs Sitwell’s collar, hauling him to his feet.

“What did you say?”

“We… it was a confirmed hit.” Sitwell’s confession rings in Steve’s ears and he lifts him up higher, wanting him to choke.

“You say her name one more time, no one’s gonna stop you when you’re thrown off the building.” He lets the man drop to a pile on the ground. The blood from his palms mark where he’d grabbed the traitor and Steve resists the urge to kick him. Instead, he asks how Zola’s algorithm can predict the future whilst thinking of every way imaginable on how he can destroy H.Y.D.R.A., one agent at a time.

.

“Y/N wouldn’t want some priest,” Steve says, playing with Sam’s cellphone. He’d given it to him after what happened in Washington, but Steve’s never grabbed the strength to play the voicemail sent to the number not long after your last call together. The anger he had has sapped away until all that’s left is the space you used to fill with your laugh and smile. He never even got to tell you how he felt about you— “Maybe something quiet. Her stuff burned, something like that.”

“How the hell would you know what she wanted?” Tony whispers. His rage is simmering so close to the surface, so close to his breaking point, that Steve looks up. They’re gathered in the Avengers Tower, all of them for once, and Tony slams his hand on the table, head bowed. 

“Tony,” Bruce begins but he ignores him, pushing off the table and walking back towards the window of the penthouse, staring off to the skyline. “I’m sorry. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I could’ve. I could’ve told her not to go.”

“You couldn’t have known S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised,” Natasha adds, although her eyes are red rimmed and there’s something croaky in her voice. Steve’s heard her cry. He knows. “None of us knew.” Tony whips around.

“You were supposed to protect her!” His words make Steve flinch more than the volume he screams it at. Steve’s blood rushes to his head in his shame, and a familiar bruise blooms in his throat. “I trusted you. You promised me you’d protect her.”

“I promised I’d try, Tony,” he whispers. “And I couldn’t. Neither could you. If you were in my position, you wouldn’t have made it in time.”

“I could’ve. I could’ve, with my suit. I could have saved her if I was in your position, because I would have had the suit!” Tipping over a wine glass and letting it smash to the floor, all but Tony flinch when he walks over the shards of broken glass. “You don’t have any idea what I could’ve done.” 

Steve falls silent. He turns on the phone screen, turns it off again, and flips it over to feel the edges where the screen protector has cracked.

“Tony,” Thor begins, speaking for the first time since he’s arrived. His dark blue eyes are storms on seas and the air around him blurs with energy. The air tastes like lightning. “Look at me.”

“I could’ve saved her,” Tony repeats.

“Look at me.” Dark eyes meet storm blue. “You could not have gone across the city, bring her out of the water, and take her to a hospital alive. Even if you did find her, she would have bled out or succumbed to her injuries.” His voice lowers as Tony’s head drops forward, tears racing down his nose and cheeks. “We all saw the suit.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s dead,” Tony whispers. He jolts himself out of Thor’s grasp and walks back to the window. “She could’ve made it out. Someone could’ve saved her.”

“Tony,” Natasha calls softly, “we need to—“

“‘We’,” the man repeats incredulously. He gives them all a sneer. Tony’s bitter smile could make hell freeze over and Steve pockets the phone, standing. “I’m sorry, there’s a ‘we’ in this situation? Who’s her brother here?”

“Tony, that isn’t fair—”

“There is no ‘we’. You all think she’s dead, but we never got a body. That’s what isn’t fair about this. You’re supposed to be her friends, her family, and you’ve just given up on her! She could still be out there. She could still be kicking and you’ve all given up on her!” Swiping a hand out to the window, he stares at them, waiting for them to agree. When they don’t, his head bows as his hands ball into fists. With a sigh, all the strength leaves him and Tony’s shoulders slump. When he looks up again, his eyes are shining wet, dark earth after a storm.

“Tony,” Steve says his name faintly, then clears his throat. Standing up, he waits for the response and gets none. He begins his way to the man who personifies all stages of grief. His throat bruised from holding in tears, he just calls his name again until Tony looks at him. “We got the suit.” Tony’s entire body crumples and he leans against the bar, eyes narrowing on the marble swirls. “She may have been your sister, but she wasn’t invincible.”

“Don’t talk about her like she’s dead!” Steve sees the swing before it makes contact and he ducks underneath, bringing Tony into a crushing hug. “She’s not dead. She’s my baby sister, she’s not dead.” Steve doesn’t say anything, but the man seems to wilt in his arms as another hand touches his shoulder. Bruce sends a tight-lipped smile before slipping between the two and hugging Tony tight. The blond pulls away.

“Thor, get the suit,” Steve whispers, turning to the god. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, nodding and uncrossing his arms to go retrieve the cargo they’d received a week ago. Maria Hill had it delivered in an unsuspecting box outside of Stark Towers, with a touch ID that only Tony Stark could bypass. Inside, the melted, burnt, broken remains of what is left of your mechanic suit. Half a gauntlet, blasted metal, shrapnel and bloodstains. That’s all they have left of you.

Tony takes out your helmet. There are ashy streaks where the explosion had damaged the metal, and there’s a huge crack up the left side of the mask until where the eye used to be. A hole is punched through, the wires poking out, and blood where something had dragged over your mask.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., connect A.N.A. to the servers.”

“Right away, sir.”

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” A new voice echoes throughout the penthouse, a subdued female who sounds like she’s seen better days. Steve catches Tony’s weakening smile. “Is there anything you need?”

“You have the recording for… for her last day?” Bruce asks quietly.

“Mr. Stark?” A.N.A. seems to wait on Tony for confirmation and he nods.

“Go.”

The helmet lights up and Tony places it on the bar counter before heading down to the couch with the rest of them. Natasha rubs his arm, leaning on her other elbow and hiding her mouth behind a tight fist. Thor closes his eyes, listening as intently as he can. Bruce paces back and forth and Steve just waits on Tony.

When they reach your agony, your screams, your relentless sobbing for death as you sink into the Potomac, Tony tells A.N.A. to turn it off. There’ll be two funerals, they decide. The public memorial and one just for them.

.

“You dealt with my sister’s potty mouth and you yell at me about language?” Tony asks over the comms. Steve groans on the other end, and he’s surprised by how easily he can mention you. It doesn’t hurt as much. “I literally can’t get over it.”

“It just slipped out, Tony,” he replies.

“Well, I bumped into a forcefield, so I had a reason.” Tony’s senses are on high alert. The Enhanced is MIA and his eyes scan the area. 

“Keep your eyes on the prize, Tony. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can head home and debate about it.”

Tony pushes on the secret door, letting out a silent ‘yay’ when it gives, sliding into motion.

“We have a second enhanced. Female. Do not engage.”

Walking down the staircase, Tony’s nerves shoot. Something about this place seems off. The staircase expands as he gets to the end, leading through a dark hallway lit by the occasional lamp that looks like it hasn’t had its oil changed since the 80’s. Grimacing, Tony continues on his way. It’s enough light to let him see ahead and if he needs the suit, it’s just seconds away. The hallway opens up to reveal a huge underground laboratory, and Tony’s eyes widen, gaze drifting up as he takes in the magnitude of this room. It’s a huge construct, with metal catwalks and staircases. A Leviathan is hoisted in the air by wires and he blinks.

“Guys, I got Strucker.”

“Yeah, I’ve got… something bigger.” There are benches full of forgotten projects or ones half-done. An Iron Legion robot lays on one of them, illuminated by pale yellow.

Shit. He wants to get out of here and back to the team, but it’s too late now and he has a job to do. His eyes drift over the robot again, seeing if he’d know what they needed it for. Experimentation? Curiosity?

Parts. He can see it in the delicate way it was taken apart, by someone who knows their way around this kind of stuff. This isn’t some ten year old who’d torn it apart for the sake of curiosity. No, this is surgery.

Tearing his eyes away, he turns to look at the triple row of benches under what looks to be operating room lights. Something gold and red glimmers underneath the light but he can’t risk getting unfocused.

The blue glow of Loki’s sceptre reminds him of why he’s here, and he goes to it. Electricity crackles around it, tools and half-made but quality gadgets used to stabilize it. There are monitors reading the levels it’s giving out, fluctuating as Tony steps closer.

“Thor, I got eyes on the prize.”

“Tony?” Turning around at the sound of a voice — the voice, your voice — Tony’s eyes widen as the Leviathan jerks into motion. Letting out a scream, he flinches away, his mind reeling back to that wormhole in 2012. Panic seizes him, his lungs constricting and his heart beating in time with the pulse in his head as he turns to watch it go, flying above the rock steps occupied by some bodies.

Bodies he recognizes.

Bruce’s Hulk body twitches as the last of his fight leaves him. Spears come out and go into him at all angles and he lets out a painful whimper. Natasha’s broken arms and legs stretch and twist in awkward angles as if she’d fallen to her death and every single bone in her is shattered. A pool of blood spreads beneath her head and her eyes stare sightlessly at him. The rock ledge is slick with red, flowing down in a tiny trickle towards Clint. For a moment, Tony thinks he’s alive, and he nearly calls out his name.

Then his head dips and lolls, and Tony knows. Thor’s neck is gashed to the bone, but his blood has dried and Tony’s breath catches in his throat. The few things that can kill Thor aren’t even possible on Earth, and Tony takes a step towards him just as his gaze drops. Steve Rogers lays there, bruised and battered with a shield snapped in half.

Half of him knows this is a vision but the other half is trying to rationalize it. Whatever is messing with his head: transmittable by air, powerful enough to warp his reality, and potent enough to capitalize on pre-existing emotions. Tony jots all this down in his mind as he desperately tries to pull himself out.

Not real, not real, not—

“You could have saved us.”

“Ant? Is it really you?” Spinning around, he comes face to face with you. You look more than a little worse for wear, and he touches your face, unbelieving. Searching your face, he just sighs and kisses your forehead. “Tony, oh my god.” Letting out something between a sob and a chuckle, he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs. Your hands cup his face and you cry out, hugging him tightly.

“Y/N, you’re okay.” He takes hold of you by the shoulders, taking in your features as his fingers brush over your cheekbones. 

“Hey, Tony,” you whisper. The skin peels away underneath your eye in the shape of the crack of your mask as he touches your face, peeling like wet tissue and he lets out a shout, pushing back. The flap of skin continues to fall, tearing away your face and blood flows down the gash as your eye closes. Scarlet tears flow your cheeks. “Tony, it’s me.”

“Y/N, no….” You reach for him still, trying to understand why and Tony can only back away. You’re dressed in tattered clothes, all bloody and burned — the clothes you died in and there’s a gaping hole where your abdomen should be.

“Tony?”

“It isn’t you.” The ugly pulsing burn on your side is black and white, your arm mangled beyond repair. “Stop…”

“Tony, what’s wrong?” You run to him when he trips over the steps of the rocks and you pull him up. Blood runs down your neck, drying dark and thick. Your eye opens again. With a pitch black pupil, only a green synthetic outline stares back at him.

“You’re not real!” Flinging your arms off, he stalks past you and searches for the sceptre. “You’re dead. I buried your empty casket.” He takes in his surroundings, his back to the pile of dead heroes. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, it’ll make his mind realize it isn’t real. If he finds the sceptre, he’s out of here. It’s the sceptre messing with his mind. That’s it. Find the sceptre.

You stumble after him but he ignores you too. His heart tears in half as he ignores it and tells himself that you’re dead. He forces himself to think of that cloudy day and that empty casket. They buried your suit and your favourite books for you to read in whatever afterlife. It’s been a year. You’re dead. 

A vibrating hum catches his attention and he freezes. Closing his eyes, he tries to hone in on the sound.

“Tony, please! Look at me...” A hand clutches at his shirt and he whips around, prepares to scream for his mind to shut up. The words die before he can speak. There the sceptre is, with the monitors and stabilizers and everything. No dead bodies, no blood on his hands. But the hand is still there. A sobbing pile is at his feet and a pale hand grasps his shirt, and his breath catches when the sobbing pile cries out his name. His stomach twisted, bile crawls up his throat when he sinks to his knees, collapsing before it. His hands shake and he feels his heart steadily climb towards the spectrum of beating so fast he isn’t sure he has a heart anymore. His blood mutes his frantic thoughts, and he, lightheaded and dizzy, pulls the hands off of him. They’re shaking but he isn’t sure if it’s him or… or you.

“Tony, please look at me. Tony? Tony, it’s not a vision, right? I’m, I’m not seeing things, again? Tony?” Your voice under your breath mutters these heartbreaking things that Tony lets out a breathless laugh of pain, and he tilts your chin up to see you. It can’t be you. You, with the exploded armour and bloodstains. You, who’d died by S.H.I.E.L.D. It can’t be you. A shaky hand reaches for your chin, and he feels the hot tears dripping off your skin as he angles your head to the light. Your eyes are wide and sunken compared to the rest of your face and your lips are dried and cracked. Your hands are calloused, dirty, your fingernails chipped, your skin raw and red and blistering. It can’t be you.

But it is.

“Yeah, Y/N, it’s me.” Your eyes widen and you stare at him as if you’ve just noticed him for the first time, and you let out a loud sob, covering your hand with your mouth as he lunges into you, holding you as tight as he can. You’re so real and warm and you’re hugging him back even harder if that’s even possible as he sniffs back his tears.

If this is a dream, Tony doesn’t want to wake up.

“Tony? Tony, you found me. I told them you would, but obviously they ignored it, because you’d never stop until you did.” Tony’s heart races back to the other end of the spectrum. The not-beating side. The side riddled with guilt and grief and pain that he thought he’d moved past but here, in your earnest view, it all comes rushing back. “They, they kept me here to work on the staff, but… you found me.” You bury your face in his neck and he kisses the spot before your ear, looking at the staff with wet eyes. Blinking, he lets the tears that fall, fall freely. “I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice. It’s been so long. Tony.”

You break down into tears as you melt into his arms, slouching all over him. He holds you up in his embrace and your knees drag over the floor as you wrap your legs around him. He pulls back and sits on his bottom, holding you in his lap like he did when you were a kid after a nightmare. You latch onto him like a koala, and he sighs, eyes closing.

“I’ve got you, sis.” Running a hand over your hair, he realizes with a pang how thin you are. You’re all bones and not a lot of meat, and your spindly fingers are grasping onto him so hard that it hurts. But pain’s good. Means it’s more likely to be real. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you outta here. I’ve got you.”

The comm links are active as Tony buries his face in your greasy hair. You smell awful, but underneath it, you smell like you. 

“Guys, we’ve got a plus one.”

.

“Hold my hand, Steve.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” He nods, as if expecting your answer and you sit across from him. Reaching over, the man holds your hand across the conference room table. Tony situates himself in the corner, and you already know what’s coming. You just need to gauge Steve’s reaction when it’s presented. 

As images of every global instance of destruction flickers across the screen, you feel something within you twist harder. Washington, D.C. Steve’s grip intensifies, nearly crushing your hand until you give him a gentle squeeze in reminder.

You open the first page of the Sokovia Accords. His thumb traces soothing circles over your skin while you flip through the pages. Your cybernetic eye scans each one, gleaning the important info for you to review later before you hand it off. 

Since your return to civilization, you’ve updated and replaced the tech H.Y.D.R.A. used to keep you alive and functioning with improvements that are far more befitting of you. For one thing, your cybernetic eye they used to replace the one they gouged out has a link to the earpiece, allowing you near 24/7 access to A.N.A. For another, you’ve improved mesh camouflage. After all, the scarring around your metal abdomen is kinda unsightly for undercover operations. 

Still, this isn’t how you wanted to go back into the Avengers. After Tony’s BARF showcase at MIT and the announcement of the September Foundation Grant, you had felt the shift in Tony’s energy. From generous and giving, to guilty and heartbroken, you knew something had happened when he went to the bathroom. Still, he probably didn’t want to talk about it.

So you took the jet back to New York for an emergency Security Council meeting with Secretary Thaddeus Ross. 

Tony watches as you hand the Accords to Steve. Sam refuses to look at it, and Steve only lifts the cover to humour you. You know him. 

When Secretary Ross leaves, the rest of the Avengers follow suit soon after, but not before your brother kisses your hair and rubs your head. They all head out to see the Secretary off and then meet in one of the many lounges in the facility. All of them except Steve.

Steve pulls his hand back to open the thick book, and you swivel the chair to face him fully. He reads the first page and you watch as his expression tightens, lips pressed together, eyebrows furrowed.

“Steve,” you whisper and he looks up at you. Instantly, everything relaxes. His shoulders slide down and he even manages a small smile.

“I don’t like it so far,” he tells you. “Sacrificing our right to choose is too dangerous.” He lifts the Accords half way, scans the pages, and then lets it drop again. He rubs his hand over his face, looking older and tired.

“Well, we can set up safeguards, can’t we? Once all the publicity dies down.” You reach for his hand, and he takes hold of it again. The warmth of him soothes your nerves and he instantly begins rubbing your knuckles. Habit, you suppose.

“But what if this panel doesn’t send us where we need to go? What if they send us where we aren’t needed? Y/N, we can’t be run by some panel who doesn’t even know us.”

“I know. You know I know what happens when corruption begins to spread. I’m sure we’ll be able to have some say over this.”

“Agendas change.”

“And what if our agendas change, too?” you ask quietly. Steve’s head snaps up and you lean forward, squeezing his palm. “I’m not saying you or Tony. I know you try your best. I’m saying when we’re all gone, what happens if the Avengers are run by people who don’t have the same ideals?”

“That’s a far off possibility.”

“But it’s still a possibility.” You stand, smoothing your hands over your pants and adjusting your vest. You realize somewhere that you’re dressed exactly like your brother, but you ignore it. The two of you can’t help but be fashion icons. Walking around the table, you sit on the surface next to his hand. “I don’t like it either, so I’m not going to sign.” Not yet. “But, Tony wants to. So we’re gonna have to talk it over with the team.”

Steve leans back into his chair to look at you. “I can’t sign this, Y/N.”

“I know.” You pull him up to his feet and smile as he brushes hair away from your face. “I know, baby.” You pull him into a hug and he sighs, nuzzling into your neck. Pulling back, he sighs again and brushes his thumb over your lips as his gaze searches your face. He takes you in like he’ll never see you beside him again and you do the same, just trying to burn his face into your memory. 

“These Accords might ruin us.”

“Not if you don’t let it.”

“Tony wants to sign.” Steve lets his head drop and the hands you have on your shoulders press down. Your thumbs dig circles into his muscles.

“Not if we convince him not to.” You send him a smile and he cups your face. “We’re really lucky, Steve. Really lucky. We got a second chance. This past year has been hell for the both of us, but we got our chance.”

“At what cost is it to keep us together? I can’t just pretend I agree with this. If I see a situation pointed south, I can’t just ignore it.”

“I know, baby. Tony knows it too.” Your hands run down his chest and your fingers tangle together. “This is our family. Just, remember that.”

“I know.” Leaning over, he kisses your cheek, although you yearn for it somewhere else, and pulls away to go to the lounge with the Accords. You sit there on the table, alone, watching him go, with that feeling in your heart just like the one in 2012.

Just like the one in Washington.

.

“Take one more step, and I’ll be sending your brains to Wilson.”

Steve freezes. The words, tossed so poisonously against his back, make him stop and he swallows through his bruised throat. He doesn’t want to look at you. He can’t look at you after what he’d done. Rhodey shattered, Tony somewhere trying to fix the mess he made. But he couldn’t regret choosing Bucky. Still, he just wanted to make sure you were okay but you’d woken up and grabbed your gun as quick as you could, standing despite the ringing that must’ve been going on in your head.

“You don’t walk away when I’m talking to you, Captain.” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Without the shield, he almost feels naked under your piercing glare. He knows that if looks could kill, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had vibranium between you two. “You know what you mean to me.” The gun cocks and he hears the safety switch off. Your finger rests over the trigger.

“Secretary Ross charged me with finding you. Tony asked me to bring you in peacefully,” you whispers. Your unsaid words hang in the air instead. Not more than Bucky. Never more than Bucky. Bucky who killed my parents.

Bucky who didn’t know what he was doing.

But he killed them.

And Steve knew.

After Secretary Ross assigned you with bringing back the fugitives, you’d refused at first. 

“I don’t work for organizations like yours,” you said.

“Y/N, if you don’t go, we don’t know how many people will get hurt when they get in his way,” Tony said. 

“I’m only going for you,” you said.

You knew Steve wouldn’t let his team rot on the Raft for so long. It was only a matter of time before he came to rescue them, and that was where you came in. You know his mind, and it almost kills you, knowing that in every circumstance, he would’ve always chosen Bucky over you. 

Steve was always the better hand-to-hand combatant between the two of you, but Natasha had taught you some new moves before she’d gone and disappeared without a trace, too. You had him pinned underneath you, and a part of you knows that he’d only let you win because he didn’t want to hurt you. Before, it used to be funny. You used to spar, and you’d pin him down, or he’d scoop you up in a hug. Before, it used to be fun and flirty, and you two would make smoothies after. At least, before everything that had happened.

No such kindness is in you now.

It wasn’t in Sam either. The man had knocked you out with a fire extinguisher, leading to their escape.

Until now.

Steve had dragged you to the little skipper he’d used to sneak onto the Raft, scared out of his mind for the concussion you now sported. But it didn’t matter. Despite the dots nearly blacking out your vision, you know if you pull, it’d hit Steve and come out between the eyes.

“Rhodey’s paralyzed,” you grit out, your jaw clenched so hard you’re sure your teeth will break, “because of you. How could you do this to him? To Tony? Especially after what happened last year? Tony… Tony’s heartbroken. You know that? He’s heartbroken.”

So are you. Steve knows how to read between your lines, even if some of ‘em are metal instead of flesh.

“Then, are you gonna do it?” Steve asks quietly. Golden light streams into the dark room, illuminating his broad shoulders and sifting through his hair, and you wonder if everyone else is asleep. That’s the only reason you can think of that’ll make him see you now. He’s always held these secrets. It’s a fucking shame you’re one of them.

It’s a fucking shame he hid the most important one from you. It almost makes you wonder if he ever felt anything for you at all. Life has been shitting on you.

Squinting your eyes, you try to ignore the blossoming pain in your head as you shake your thoughts away. He doesn’t even look at you. Coward.

“I want to,” you tell him, finger just barely pushing the trigger. You know how much pressure it takes to fire a gun “I really, really want to.” You half-laugh, half-cry, because of the pain in your heart and head. Who’s the coward now? “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know.” Steve turns to you then, his normally-bright blue eyes hooded by the shadows of the rocking ship. You put the gun down, and it’s almost as if all the strength leaves you then, too. “I never wanted you to pick between Tony and I.”

“Why, because I’d pick Tony?” You sit back down on your bed again, and Steve shoves his hands in his pockets. Walking over, he angles his head to the spot beside you and you nod, reaching over to turn on the lamp. “Well, you’d pick Bucky so, I guess it’s even.”

“Y/N,” he begins but you hold up a hand as your eyes close. 

“Save it, Rogers. It doesn’t matter.” Your teeth clench together and the muscles in your jaw twitches as your eyebrows push down. All you’re trying to do is not cry at the thought of leaving him here on this ship. Taking a shaky breath, you blow it out as Steve puts a hand on yours. Your fingers slot together and you lean towards him until your head is on your shoulder. He tilts his head to press his cheek into your hair and your fingers play together as your other hand brushes over his calloused skin, broken along his knuckles where he’d punch your brother. “None of it matters.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Something wet slides into your hair and you feel it drip down your skin. Placing your hand atop his, you swallow and tell yourself to get it together.

“The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you,” you tell him because there might never be a chance to tell him again. “Your best friend killed my parents. You beat up my brother and he’s back in New York, bruised and battered and heartbroken, and I’m here.” You raise your head and he turns to look at you. Searching his eyes, you find nothing but grief. He pulls away his hand. “I’m here, instead of there with him.” You laugh because it’s all so stupid and ridiculous. “I’m really here, fraternizing with the enemy.”

This is never how you imagined you would tell Steve you loved him. Never. The first time you tell him you love him is the day it’s over. Fucking poetic, isn’t it. 

“I’m fraternizing with the enemy,” you repeat. Steve’s your enemy. Steve. Your stupid dork is now the enemy of 117 countries and you. The realization slams into you like things you can’t name. Your eyes flicker close and a few tears slip out but you manage to suck the rest in. Steve lets out an exhausted sigh and it feels like you’re both bone-tired this days.

“Y/N, I never wanted this for you. I just wanted to keep you safe.” His hand rises up to touch your face but then he seems to think better of it and lets it drop again. You miss the warm, rough feel of him already and he’s not even gone yet. “If the U.N. did what H.Y.D.R.A. did—”

“I know. I…” You sigh, looking down at the slight space between the two of you. How easy it would be to close it if it were a different time. “It was never a choice between you and Tony. It was a choice between Tony and what I believed in, and I believe in you, Steve. I believe that organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D., like the World Security Council, like some U.N. security panel, can’t be trusted.”

“Then, why? You know what organizations can do. You know that agendas change.”

“We’ve already lost so much. We’ve had too many casualties.” You cup his face, smile bitterly, try to make a joke out of it that you know won’t land. “I was one of them.”

“You can’t say that,” Steve says, turning his face away and you swallow the knot in your throat. 

“Why not? It’s true.” The most horrible thing you’ve ever seen lays within Steve’s eyes in that moment but you move on. “The Accords are still gonna pass whether you’re there or not. It’s a matter of safety, now,” you whisper and his gaze darts to you. His eyes ask a silent question and you dread the answer. “I’m gonna sign. I need to do my job, Steve, even if it means working for some higher power. There’s no other way.”

“So you’ve picked a side.” The distance between you is immeasurably wide, and you wonder how such a huge distance can be fit in such a tiny space.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I’ve picked a side.” Steve’s face twitches and you take in his sculpted lips and cheeks, his blue eyes that reflect the lamplight and warm golden hair. “Steve, all that matters is we know what we are.” 2012 feels so long ago but it makes you feel younger when Steve tries to smile. Then, he looks down and you have a feeling he can’t even look at you.

At first, you think it’s because you disgust him. It’s not the first time you’ve thought such a thing, but then you realize. He’s terrified of watching you fall out of love with him.

How much you want to tell him that it isn’t possible. But you don’t. You can’t say a thing.

“But you’ve chosen a side,” he replies quietly, almost accusatory if you didn’t know him better. You close your eyes for a moment at his words, and then you turn away. The light is blinding in the hallway, but it’s better than looking at the heartache in Steve’s face. Tears slip down your cheeks as you stand and take the gun.

“You chose yours first.”

Tags: @teawithbucky @jcc04220 @shenala​ @dulharpa

[schrijverr]

Behind the Scenes

This is a story that developed from a small peek into my brain whenever I write the stories you read into a thinkpiece about writing and posting fanfiction. 

On AO3.

Ships: none (unless you wanna ship me with my keyboard lol)

Warnings: none, I suppose, but it does get a little down in the end, I was having a rough day when I wrote this, sorry.

~~~~~~~~~~

I sit on my chair before my laptop. I’m curled into myself as my fingers glide over the keyboard and my thoughts flow out of my fingertips onto the screen.

It isn’t all that late, just past midnight, but it’s already dark outside and in order to see the keys properly I have to turn on the lamp I have on my desk. With the light it’s kind of cozy here in my little nook of the world.

I look to the screen and try to make sense of my own words. I don’t have a fully fledged idea yet, but a vague idea that floated through my brain at some point during the day has inspired me enough to open a new document and start typing.

I now know how this story begins and I see where I am going and how it will end, but the question of how I get there sits heavily on my mind.

I stop typing for a moment and think. If I introduce this character now, it might set some other things in motion and that’ll be good for the plot, but I don’t know how to write that character at all and I’m afraid that if I do it wrong, people won’t like me or my story.

I sigh and realize I’ve started almost every new paragraph with the same word. I hate it when I do that. The story starts to feel repetitive and as a non native English speaker I want to prove that I have a bigger vocabulary than that.

How to proceed?

A synonym, maybe? But I’ll have to look that up and I don’t think there is a good synonym for I. Sighing again I scan the page and think. Maybe I could start with a verb to shake things up a bit or a question. No, not a question that would feel out of place here.

Now I’ve written a few paragraphs again, so I could use the word I used before, but since I used it so many times already I want a bit more space between now and the next time I use it. So a synonym it is, I guess, I think as I open my browser to look one up.

…

There is no synonym for I.

Goddammit, I think. Well, it’s no use now anyway. I’ve decided to write this story in the first person, despite knowing I’m horrible at it, and now I have to deal with the fact that I don’t have another word for I.

I start my next paragr- no that’s not right. Backspace, backspace. Moving on to the next- No, not that either. Backspace, backspace. I look at what I’ve written last and wonder why I’ve written something upon which I can’t, hmm, what’s a good word there?

I know I have a good word in Dutch ‘voortborduren’, but when I translate it, it gives me elaborate, which doesn’t fit in the sentence at all. Mentally groaning I recline in my chair as I try to think.

Maybe it’s the sentence itself? Lets see what did I write again? Oh yeah: I look at what I’ve written last and wonder why I’ve written something upon which I can’t- and then I need to find a word. Hm, funny, I don’t know how to go on by the sentence about not knowing how to go on.

‘I look at what I’ve written last and wonder why I’ve written something upon which I can’t’, I whisper it to myself in the hope the right word comes to mind.

First there is nothing, but then! Expand! Not perfect, but it fits, which is good enough for now, maybe when I proof read it a better word will come to me and I can use that.

So, expand. I wonder why I wrote something I can’t expand upon.

Fuck, I’ve spend so much time finding the right word that I have forgotten what I was talking, well writing, about in the first place. Softly swearing under my breath I scroll up and read what came before the sentence with the stupidly hard word to think off.

Ah yeah, it was about the other stupid thing, namely that I am writing this in the first person, which I still cannot do, no that skill has not come to me in the time it took to look up a word. What a pity.

But I have started the last few paragraphs with something other than I from time to time. That at least is something. Wait, should I add punctuation there? That, at least, is something. Looks better, but maybe that is just my love for commas talking. I mean, why write a boring sentence with a dot in the middle, which makes it short and doesn’t give you enough space to play with it, when you can also add unnecessary punctuation, so that you can play with the cadence of how something is read out loud or in someones mind?

Whoops, now that whole paragraph is long, if I want to make this story easy to read I’ll have to make this one shorter. Hmm, is this good? Yeah, probably. Enter.

Now, I’m suddenly wondering, if paragraph is even the right word. In Dutch the word is ‘alinea’ and the word ‘paragraaf’ also means chapter, but not really, only in a school book. It doesn’t really make sense, because you also have a chapter in a schoolbook and that’s divided in paragraphs and each paragraph has ‘alinea’s’

Aaand I’ve distracted myself by thinking about the differences between each language instead of looking up if paragraph is actually the right word and it means what I think it means.

I look it up on Google translate, not the most trustworthy source for sentences, but for lone words it’s alright.

It is the right word, along with indention, but I’m not really familiar with that word, although I can see where it comes from with the paragraphs creating indentions in the text. Still, I decide to stick with paragraphs, cause “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” and I live by that.

Looking back to the clock in the corner of my screen I realize that I’ve now been writing this for 40 minutes. It isn’t all that long, but I don’t know where I’m going with this anymore. I had a point when I began and now I’ve forgotten it.

I stretch my arms, by pushing away my chair, leaning forward until my shoulders are at the same height of my desk is. My right shoulder cracks, it has always done that, but the sound snaps me out of my musings and makes me pay more attention to my surroundings.

It is raining outside and I hear people screaming. They sound happy, probably celebrating something and drinking, but I still wondered what they’re doing up so late (ignoring the fact that I am still awake too.)

Right, my word document. I was trying to remember what my point was. No wait, not remember, recall sounds better. I double click remember and replace it with recall: I was trying to recall what my point was.

Although I have found a nice sentences with the best word to describe the action, I still don’t know what comes next. I suddenly begin to doubt myself. Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe I’ve read this somewhere before and I am unconsciously copying someone. Maybe I should just delete this and move on to something else.

I mean, come on, who wants to read this? No one. I’m just going to post it, knowing that no one cares and no one will read it. People don’t go to AO3 for original works, you don’t, so why would anyone care about it? It’s going to get five hits tops, with maybe two kudos, three if you’re lucky.

And now I have accidentally switched to a second person perspective, can’t even stay consistent. Maybe if I play it off as an introspection or and internal dialogue no one will notice or think it’s an artistic choice.

Pff, artistic choice. You can hardly call what I’m doing artistic. It’s just fanfiction, a hobby. Yeah, I know that is still good and can be great, even amazing and artfully written, but this isn’t. I have a too direct writing style for that. I’ve only been getting English education for six years and it’ll take so much more practice until I ever reach that level.

I’ve gotten off track completely now. I faintly remember that this started out as a mock internal dialogue of what happens when I write a fanfic, but now it turned into a self deprecating shit parade.

I blink long and hard, trying to get my head back on track and write something better, or at least more consistent.

Realizing that in order to do that I should probably scroll up and read (lets be honest scan) how I started. I don’t have the energy for it, but I force myself to do it with a sigh.

Scroll, scroll, scroll.

Ah, yeah, I began with where I was and then that discussion about language and looking things up. Oh, but I’ve also reflected on what I’ve written before, well, before. Then it was about re-finding what I was doing after I had to look up a word and now it is desperately trying to remember what the actual fuck I was doing in an attempt to make something cohesive, but still. I decide to not do that again.

I still don’t know what my point was when I started this, but I’m making a new one up right now. I think I’m going to call the work ‘behind the scenes’ or ‘the thoughts of a writer’, since I have now decided that this is a way to get readers a peek behind the curtains.

As a reader, I can respect people so much for all the work they put into a story. And of course I’m not saying you can’t do that if you don’t write, no, that would be pretentious, but I do have more respect for them than before I started writing all those years ago.

It is really easy to forget that something you read in a few minutes has taken hours to write. This is not even 2k words long right now. I know I can read that in a few minutes, not even blinking and mostly forgetting, before moving on to the next story, but I have been writing almost nonstop for over an hour now.

I am lucky that I can usually keep the words flowing long enough to make some bullshit up that I can reason into a coherent story in the end, but that has taken practice. A lot of practice.

In order to become a good in writing a story you have to do it so many times and you won’t even notice you’ve gotten better until much later. I know this, because I recently went through all my works and made them better. Got all the typos out there, I fixed vague sentences and I made the lay out better. I also cringed a lot.

Well, I think I have to go with a ‘behind the scenes’ now, because I don’t think I can claim this is my internal monologue when I’m writing. Instead this has turned into a think piece about writing and appreciating it or something.

I don’t even know anymore.

I recall I had a point when I started this, probably thought it out and then my brain decided to throw it away and throw up this garbage instead. It is interesting, I suppose, but not at all what I was going for in the beginning.

Oh well, maybe I can fix it when I proof read it, because I am tired and I think I’m going to bed. I have half the mind to just fuck it and throw it on AO3 without glancing over my own words even once. It’s very tempting to leave others to deal with these honest words and pretend they aren’t mine, but I don’t.

However, I don’t think I will edit this that much, because it was nice to get some frustrations on, well not paper, but on screen. Just order my thoughts, you know?

It is hard to stay motivated when it seems that everyone around you is doing so much better than you. It is disheartening and it makes you want to stop.

I don’t.

I can’t.

Writing is what I do, it helps, it’s nice. I love writing and I don’t think I will stop loving it. But one of the reasons I love writing is because it can get the constant thoughts and ideas to stop swirling around in my head.

Today I needed it to stop, so that I could just go to sleep properly and I feel like this helped. It was honest and I feel better now. Tomorrow can come at me and I will face it like I did today. Maybe my last few fics weren’t to everyones taste and that’s okay, they were my taste and I love them and I am proud of them. For me that’s enough.

I would apologize for ranting, I usually do, but since you could stop at any time and leave, I don’t think I’m going to do that, what I am going to do, is thank you.

Thank you for reading this, despite the fact that it is not a fanfic. Thank you for allowing me to just dump all these thoughts on you. And thank you for being here and clicking it, your support, even if it is only an extra number by “hits”, means so incredibly much to me and I cannot put in to words how grateful I am that you are here.

Since it is now 01:18 and if I recall correctly it was 00:02 when I started, I think I am really going to stop now. Goodnight, or good-whatever time a day you’re reading this!

Goodbye :)

[fortheloveoffanfic]

I Hope You’re Happy Now (pt.2)

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- This was supposed to end this off, but it got long, so tune in next time to see if these two can work things out or not. A/n2- So I know he seems a little out of character here, but lets face it, even the nicest people make mistakes.)

(4 years ago) There’s a tension in the air when he enters the house. There’s going to be another fight, he can feel it. 

With a heavy sigh, Keanu drops his bag in the front hall, near their coat rack and lets his tired legs carry him towards the kitchen. If he’s going to deal with that tonight, he needs a beer-or a few. 

Y/n is sitting at the kitchen counter, in front of her open laptop, her fingers dancing across the keyboard, her eyes trained on the bright screen, only raising when she hears him in the entry way. “You’re back,” she announces quietly, voice so soft that she sounds more disappointed than angry. He hasn’t been home in three days.

“I do live here,” he mumbles instead of apologizing for not showing up when he said he would. Maybe he could have apologized and avoided what comes next, but these days, he can’t find it in himself to put in the effort to fix their brokenness. Maybe he still loves her, but they’re from different worlds, in the end, she’ll leave anyway.

Quietly, Y/n chuckles bitterly, “Could have fooled me,” she rolls her eyes. For the first time, she realized that he hasn’t even greeted her with as much as a peck on the cheek since his arrival. In fact, he seems more concerned with the bottle in his hand than her. Avoiding her, like he has been for a while now.

After a long pull from the beer, his tone grows harsher, “What the hell does that mean?”

And here they go.

“It means you’re never here. It means that you could have called if you knew you weren’t coming home, for three fucking days. It means that I’ve been worried and you could give a shit about answering your fucking phone! That’s what it means,” Y/n hisses, slamming her computer closed, “Where the hell have you been anyway?” She standing, placing a waiting hand on her hip.

“I spent a few nights at my trailer, relax,” he rolls his eyes, ready to be done with the matter, hiding behind a façade of indifference.

Y/n exhales loudly with a huff, eyes shining but tears not yet falling. Something about this fight feels different from the others, like its final some how, “What’s gotten into to you?” The question is a plea, one last white flag, saying that she’ll surrender if he just lets her in, helps her understand why he’s changed after five years together, why it feels like their relationship has gone backwards instead of forward.

“Me?” Keanu asks incredulously, “You’re the one who keeps trying to change us. Dropping all these hints about marriage and kids and everything else. You’re the one who’s changed Y/n, not me,” his tone is even but bitter, as if a future together is anything but favorable.

“And that’s somehow a bad thing?” She scoffs, shaking her head, “I haven’t changed Keanu, I’ve grown. We’ve been together for five years, and it feels like you’re still keeping me at an arms length. We used to be great, and now you can’t even tell me when you’re gonna be home. All I’m asking is for you to let me in and for us to have a future. Is that really so hard for you?”

Keanu lets out a shuddering breath, licking his lips and without even thinking of his next words, he says; “Yeah, it is.”

Those weren’t the words she was expecting to hear, but none the less, Y/n tries to pick up the pieces. She always does. They can work, they can make it work. “You don’t mean that,” her voice breaks, chocked with emotion, “You’re just scared, you’ve been alone for a long time and, you know, we just need to-”

“No,” he cuts her off, raising his hand, shaking his head. Even if she’s right, Keanu thinks that they’re too far gone to fix things anyway. “Y/n,” Keanu begins running a hand through his hair, “This isn’t working for me. I can’t be whatever it is you think I am. You knew who I was when we got into this, so don’t expect me to change just to suit you’re perfect fantasy, cause it’s not gonna happen.”

“Fantasy? Wanting more with you is just a fucking fantasy?” She yells, “Well excuse me for wanting to build a life with the man I love!”

“God,” he groans, “Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what?” Y/n manages through clenched teeth, striding up to him, folding her arms, “Keep picking up the pieces of our shit-show of a relationship? Keep waiting for you even though you’ve made it pretty clear that I’m more of a hobby that your girlfriend? Or keep trying when you’re not even doing the bare minimum?”

“I’ve been busy,” is all he offers, before brushing past her, barely touching, “You know, if you want more, you know where the door is,” at that point, Keanu can’t even care that this is how he’s choosing to bring an end to the past five years.

“Excuse me?”

“I said you know where the door is. I can’t give you the happy little suburban, fairytale ending, cause honestly, I think I’m a little past that. But you’re young and immature, so you can go out and find someone to give you want you want.”

“So that’s it huh? You’re just gonna break up with me?” As hard as she’s been trying not to cry, she can’t help it and the tears start falling.

“It’s just a suggestion, but maybe we should break up. We’re different people Y/n, maybe it’s for the best,” discarding the bottle on the counter, he stuffs his hand into his pockets, walking off.

The next thing she hears is the slamming of the front door followed by deafening silence. With shuddering breaths, Y/n leans against the nearest wall, sobs racking her body. It’s really over. 

For a couple days, she waits to see if he’ll come home, spending most of her free time mulling over their last argument. But on the third day, the enormity of the situation sets in. He’s right, they are different people. He thinks that his time for the apple-pie, picket fence life has past, he’s just looking for a companion, someone to have fun with. But Y/n wants more, she wants it with him, but it doesn’t matter if he won’t change his mind. So, with a burning ache in her chest, she packs her bags, gathering as much as she can into her car. And right before she leaves, she decides to offer him a final good bye, through a note that she intends to leave on the kitchen counter, under the beer bottle that she hasn’t moved; 

“Ke, I’m sorry it ended this way, I love you, but I’m not sure that you love me anymore. I hope you find whatever it is that’ll make you happy. -Y/n.”

(Now) It had been two days since Tracy’s birthday party; two days since Y/n spoke to Keanu at the bar, since he had been on her mind. After she had left with Eli, it was like a switch had flipped in her head and there wasn’t a thing she could do without thinking of him. From driving to work to doing dishes after dinner. It came in a combination of their memories together and the look on his face when he met Eli; the fakeness of his smile, the hurt in his eyes.

When they had left, some part of her felt incomplete, like there was something unspoken hanging between them. The sensation had left a sinking feeling in her chest, making Y/n want to call him, suggest that they get coffee together, but she wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to see her or if their promises to catch up were just as hollow as his laughter. Besides, what would she say, “You’re on my mind constantly but I’m love someone else“? 

Then, there was Eli, she couldn’t just go out with her ex while her fiancée was at home waiting. Could she? Y/n didn’t know. 

Then, there was the possibility that his reaction had nothing to do with her. After all, she told herself, they had been broken up for going on four years, and Keanu had been the one to tell her to go, to tell her that he wasn’t sure that he was the man who could give her the things she wanted. And maybe she had found that person, in Eli, but even then, there would always be some buried part of her knew that she still wanted it with Keanu.

Why couldn’t she just hate him? It would so much easier.

“Earth to Y/n,” a voice called, waving a large hand in front of her face and only then did she realize that once again, she had drifted off with her thoughts.

“Huh? What?” She said, trying to snap herself out of it. She couldn’t even have breakfast with out thinking of him, great. 

Eli’s shoulders slumped and he frowned a little. He had noticed her disappearing into her head over the past couple days, but every time he had asked if she was okay, Y/n would assure him that everything was fine, “I said I picked up another shift so I won’t be home until around nine am tomorrow morning.”

“Oh,” Y/n breathed, swallowing tightly, “Sorry. Um....I thought you were supposed to be off after this one?” 

“Yeah, but one of the interns flaked, so I’m picking up night float,” he explained, then, when he was finished, Eli reached for Y/n’s hand across the table for her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, concern etched on his sharp, handsome features, “Everything okay babe?”

Exhaling quietly, Y/n conjured up her best fake smile, she was no actress, but hopefully, she thought, it would be enough to convince him, “Yeah, of course. I’m fine,” clearing her throat, she glanced at her watch, it was just past seven am, “I should finish getting ready, I have a meeting at nine.”

For a minute, Eli kept her hand in his, worrying on his bottom lip, clearly not believing that she was okay, “You know you can talk to me, right? We’re gonna be married soon, your problems are my problems.”

“Yeah,” she stood, leaning over the table to plant a lingering kiss to his lips, “I know, but I’m fine, promise. But I need to finish getting dressed. And your shift starts in the next hour, right?”

“Yupp,” he sighed, letting her go. Quickly, Y/n buzzed around their kitchen, clearing dishes and arranging them in the dishwasher, “Dinner tonight? I know cafeteria food isn’t exactly five stars, but there’s a new food truck we could try, if you want,” he suggested.

Y/n nodded, smile faint, “Yeah, okay. Eight?” Eli nodded in silent agreement, letting her stroll out of the kitchen and sink back into her troubling thoughts.

She had said that they should meet to catch up and Y/n had never been the kind of person to say something she didn’t mean. Which meant that she had a genuine interest in seeing him again, right? 

But, what if she was just being polite? 

Then again, there were other ways to be polite. “It was nice seeing you” would have been polite too or perhaps, “Have a good night”?

But Y/n had specifically suggested that they ‘catch up’. “Ugh,” Keanu groaned quietly, deleting the text he had taken almost an hour to type. It was a simple one really, “Hey, got time for coffee in the city?” But stringing those few words together had been more trying that he preferred to admit. There was always something wrong with it, and when he finally did settle on something acceptable, doubt crept in, making him rethink the entire thing.

With a loud sigh, Keanu slouched into the sofa. He had been going in circles since the morning after he spoke to Y/n at Tracy’s party. A huge part of him wanted to call her, okay, maybe not ‘call’, because audible rejection is way worse that rejection via text. So really, he had wanted to text her.

“She’s happy,” Keanu said softly to no one but his reflection in the television. “You want her to be happy, so you should leave her alone.” It made sense, when you love some, he continued internally, you want them to be happy, even if it’s not with you. 

Yeah, but she’d be happier if she was with me.

No, she wouldn’t, she wasn’t before.

I want her to be happy with me.

“Great,” he mumbled, annoyed, “Now I’m arguing with myself.”

Just text her, what’s the worst that could happen?

She could say no.

Just. Do. It.

“Okay, here goes,” trying to shake the thoughts away, Keanu opened up his messaging app again, staring with a simple ‘hi’, then wondering where he should go from there. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, going back and forth between typing and hitting backspace. And then it happened, instead of hitting the little ‘x’ at the corner of the screen, he touched ‘send’. And in a rare moment where he despised having stocky fingers, he cursed under his breath, “Fuck!”

Now, he was stuck with a simple, awkward, ‘hi’, just sitting in a tiny blue bubble, mocking him. His quest for reconciliation was off to a terrible start.

For a while, he stared at the screen, more annoyed with himself than he had been before, though, when the three little dots appeared, signaling that Y/n was typing her reply, he quickly exited the app. The last thing he wanted to come off as was desperate.

Well now you’re acting like a teenager.

In his lap, Keanu’s phone vibrated with Y/n’s reply and he scrambled to read it, his insides doing a little happy dance as he did, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Just thinking of you,” No, delete that. 

“Nothing much, just hanging out.” Nope, nope, nope.

Finally he settled on, “Getting ready to run into the city. Coffee?” He was in fact not getting ready to ‘run into the city’ but had decided that a little white never killed anyone.

That time, Y/n took a little while before her sending the response, the three little ellipses torturing Keanu for all of three minutes. Then it came, “Sounds fun! In a meeting now. Is 2pm okay?”

“2 is great! See you there.” 

Y/n sat in her car a couple stores away from a coffee shop in Los Angeles, widows up and air-conditioning on, shutting out the outside. She was early, but in an attempt to not seem like ‘that girl’ she had opted to wait in her car. Because, obviously, if he said two, he meant 2:15, right?

From where she was parked, Y/n had a pretty decent view of the shop’s entrance, and while she sat, she stared in the direction of the door, wondering if what she was doing was actually okay. She hadn’t told Eli that she was meeting Keanu for coffee, and they had spoken just after her meeting. But it was just coffee, right? It wasn’t like they were having an affair.

It’s just coffee, we’re gonna talk. Talking isn’t a crime.

Then why do I feel so guilty?

Because......

“No,” she breathed with a, ready the pull her phone out and text Keanu to let him know that she couldn’t make it. Y/n wanted to go, but not if it would weigh so heavily on her conscience.

Her fingers were about to swipe the screen to unlock her phone when her eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar figure walking into the coffee shop, holding the door open for some people behind him. 

Well you can’t ditch him if he’s already here. That would just be cruel. 

Killing the engine, Y/n drew in a calming breath, grabbed her handbag from the passenger seat and got out; locking her car and heading towards the coffee shop. 

“Hey, hey,” a voice called from behind Keanu at he cashier and he recognized it instantly, his face morphing into a wide, excited grin.

“Y/n,” he turned, pulling her into his arms, that time, their hug was less awkward. It felt good to have her in his arms and Y/n found herself wanting it to last longer, a little disappointed when Keanu pulled away a few seconds. “You came!”

“I did,” she giggled. Quickly they ordered and paid, colleting two mugs a short while later, then heading to a table on the patio. “I’m glad you texted me,” Y/n smiled, blushing.

“I’m glad I took the chance,” he returned, “So, how has work been?”

“Oh you know,” Y/n waved her hand dismissively, “Same old, same old. Paper work, meetings and proposals. What about you? Any new movies I should be on the look out for?”

Keanu chuckled quietly, “Maybe a couple later this year.” Y/n giggled too, taking a sip of her steaming mug and he proceeded, “Oh! I feel like such a jerk for not asking, is everything okay?” Y/n offered him a quizzical stare, obviously not knowing what Keanu was talking about, “You and Eli left Saturday in a hurry, I think he said something about the hospital ...”

“Oh!” Y/n’s head fell back in laughter at the misunderstanding, “Yeah, Eli is a doctor. It’s his first year as an attending, so when an intern calls, he gets all frazzled.”

As if the completion couldn’t get worse, he had to be a doctor too! “Ahh, that’s great,” Keanu faked a smile, “What kind of doctor is he?”

Between sips, Y/n hummed, “Pediatrician,” Great, just great, “He’s amazing with kids,” she continued with a smile.

Keanu’s heart sank further, if it was even possible and in that moment, he had never regretted their break-up more. “He sounds like a real catch,” he said, hoping there wasn’t too much venom in the words.

“He is,” Y/n nods, relaxing a little more into her chair, “What about you, anyone new in your life?” She wiggled her eyebrows teasingly.

Keanu cast his head down, raising it again, feeling a little flustered. How was he supposed to tell her that he could probably never be happy with someone that wasn’t her? “No,” he chuckled, “I actually haven’t really been in anything serious since we broke up.”

“Oh,” she breathed. A part of her ached for him as he said it, but another, more frightened part was oddly relieved. It was unsettling, Y/n knew that she shouldn’t feel that way, maybe if she were single or not a few months away from being someone’s wife, then she’d be bubbling with hope. Suddenly, the guilt made a reappearance, coming in a wave that washed over, leaving her trying to slow her breaths. Y/n tried to laugh off Keanu’s statement, “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

“Yeah,” I have, but I’ve already let her go, “I’m sorry about what happened,” he blurted out after a minute, deciding that if he couldn’t get her back, the least he could do was apologize, “I was a real asshole coming down to the end.”

Y/n exhaled nervously, shaking her head, staring at their hands on the table top, close enough to touch at the finger tips, but not quite meeting, “What’s past is past right? I guess, I owe you an apology too,” she continued, trying to avoid reliving the whole thing in her head, “I tried to push you into something that you didn’t want. I think I forced us to hold onto to something that was already gone for a little longer than we should have. You were right, we’re different, even if I loved you, we wanted different things, and if I was unhappy, I should have left. So for that, I’m sorry.” The words felt like acid in her throat, coming up and burning her tongue. She had never admitted, because she didn’t believe it. But even if the feelings she had for Keanu still lingered in the cervices of her heart, they needed closure, they needed to move on.

Loved. Past tense. Y/n loved him. Not anymore.

Even if it were true, Keanu had gone too long with it, he had to tell her everything, even if it would all be for nothing. “I wasn’t right,” he confessed quietly, “You were right. When you said I was scared. I was, you were everything that I could have ever wanted, but it had been so long, and everything ends and I just.......I don’t know....you were right and I was scared. I was the immature one, not you, you were the saint that put up with me until I pushed you away. You are everything Y/n, and I let you go.”

“I’m everything?” Y/n chuckled dryly, licking her lips and turning her head towards the street. Everything that she felt before was gone, replaced by anger and hurt. “I’m everything? You have the audacity to say that now?” Tears filled her eyes and she stood abruptly, tossing her bag to her shoulder, “Four years, you wait till I’m engaged? You know I waited for you to come back, to come home!” By then, people around had started to stare and Keanu was standing too, “Then, when I left, I waited for you to call or text or send a fucking email, anything. I waited and waited and waited, and you never reached out! So don’t come here and tell me that I’m everything to you, not when I’ve finally moved on.”

With that, Y/n turned on her heel, stalking off, hurrying to her car, Keanu close behind her, hoping that by some miracle, he could salvage.....whatever they had. Though, before he could speak, Y/n turned, her tear streaked cheeks like a punch to the gut, “You know, Ke, you’re a good man. A great man actually, and I wanted a lot with you. But now, I just want us to be happy, but I don’t think we can do that with each other.”

“Y/n I-”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, unlocking her car, hurrying to the driver’s side, “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

In an instant, she was peeling away from the curb, speeding off. And just like that, Y/n was gone again, and that time Keanu didn’t want her to go.

Tagging- @hisdeadwife​

[r-ahh-mi]

Nice To Meet You

Pairing: (sorta) Dom!Rami Malek x fem!Reader

Warnings: Sexual content (slight sub/dom references and masturbation) & swearing.

A/N: Had to google what omegele was but heeyyyyy (for those of you who also don’t know what it is, based on my google skills I think it’s like a chatroom, but with webcams???). Hope you enjoy xx

Permanent Tag List: @lovelymalekk @mezzomercury @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash@amcquivey @malek-lover @rogers-wristbands @deacytits

-

Being a stylist for the wealthy was a job you adored both because of the pay and because of all the clients you have got to work with thus far. On the other hand when the down time came about that’s when you really felt the quiet and stillness. For a portion of your day you were able to listen in on these conversations about lives that were much more elaborate and more noteworthy than your own; it was easy for you to lose yourself in the client's lives. That is until you headed home to your modest one bedroom apartment filled with silence which really only served as a bitter reminder of how different you would like your life to be.

It wasn’t that you were a total recluse, it was merely a matter of you and your friends being in different stages in your individual lives. Of course, now that you and your friends were in the age group of everyone getting married and starting families, it was difficult to pick up the phone and have a spontaneous night out with a friend, especially when those friends were busy with children and romantic partners... Thankfully, a few years ago you remembered hearing about this website that one of your college roommates would frequent when they were seeking some entertainment so you decided to give it a try. Fast forward to today, this website has become your Sunday night ritual as you comfortably situated yourself on your couch with a glass of white wine and your body covered up with a soft throw blanket. You were only slightly embarrassed that you had resorted to a webcam chatroom as a way to seek out some sort of socialization, but at least it was an outlet for you to not feel the loneliness at such a high intensity, plus, you would much rather be spending your time like this than at some sleazy bar filled with rowdy people.

After a couple (failed) attempts at conversation with a random stranger, your finger anxiously tapped on the side of your laptop as the website prompted you that it would shortly be connecting you with another random user. In the meantime, you worked to fix up your appearance as you  tried to maintain some stability out of your messy, tangled hair and face that was only adorned in a coat of mascara. However, before you could finish your primping, a tan face that was mainly covered up by shadows looked back at you from the screen. You realized you’d been caught fixing yourself up as the stranger gently chuckled a light hearted laugh, instantly making your cheeks grow a rosier shade.

For a minute you both just looked at your screens, studying the other and the background of whatever room or location either of you had set ourselves up in. Your eyes moved with the stranger as he moved to flick on a nearby lamp, instantly illuminating his face as you took in the beautiful man in front of you..well virtually in front of you. You were self conscious, so terribly self conscious and hoping that this man wanted nothing more than to hit the ‘end chat’ button so you wouldn’t have to revel in the embarrassment with this gorgeous creature.

“So I guess i’m going to get the first word in, huh?”

His voice was much deeper than you had imagined, but seeing as you had only known the guy for ten seconds, you weren’t even able to make a proper judgement of him, or at least not a fair one. Nevertheless, his voice only added to the natural smolder of his eyes and defined bones set in his cheeks - Who is this guy? He can’t be real.

“Not much of a talker? This may not be a good way for you to meet people then.” You thought his voice was deep, but the chuckle he added on to his last sentence was much, much deeper, but there wasn’t much time to analyze the depth of his vocal chords. You needed to severely get on top of scolding yourself for simply staring and thinking of him rather than actually speaking words to him and getting to know the friendly stranger who was clearly much better than you when it came to talking to people.

“Sorry..” Your voice drifted and you knew you sounded like a timid child which was odd for you. You weren’t the most confident person, but usually you had no issues talking to people, but there was just something about this man. Maybe it was his unexpected good looks; who knows.

“You’re fine. I can ask some questions if that’ll make you feel more comfortable.” You paired a nod with a friendly smile as you attempted to try to save this conversation that was already going down hill before it ever really began.

“Alright”, the stranger started, “What do you do for a living? Oh! and if anything is too personal, feel free to decline or leave the conversation all together. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

You nodded and smiled again, even though you were sure words would’ve done much, much better, but your tongue seemed to forget it’s muscular purpose at that very moment.

“I’m a stylist.” Your voice was croaked as you cleared your throat in a nervous fashion.

“She speaks!” 

He was funny; of fucking course he was funny. Does anyone need to be that equally good looking and funny? Seems so unnecessary, but maybe you’re just bitter to be meeting such a rare creature, like himself, while, in your mind, you looked like a two on a one to ten scale

“So a stylist, yeah? Who do you dress..like celebrities?”

“Exactly”, you nodded. “I dress all the rich people on TV.”

He nodded and smiled with the smallest bit of hesitancy. “Who's the best and worst clients you’ve ever worked with?”

Of course you could list the two people off the top of your head, but this job was much too high profile for you to be throwing names around and not expect to end up in you losing a client, or worse, your job.

“Now I would tell you..”

“Yes, yes. Go on”, He was anxiously awaiting my answer in a very boyish manor - god he’s cute.

“...but if I did, then I could be out of a job so that will have to stay with me.”

He quirked his eyebrow, “I guess that’s fair.”

“Your turn!” you said almost sporadically, surprising even yourself at your moment of sheer boldness. This stranger was barely working to make me feel comfortable and here you were feeling, ashamedly, very comfy and willing to socialize with this person.

“My turn?”

“Yeah, your turn. Tell me what you do for a living.”

His rather large eyes seemed to bug out even more as he nervously licked his lips before tucking the bottom pout behind his teeth.

“Uhm..”

“Oh, don’t tell me. You’re a porn star aren’t you?”

He clasped his hands together as he threw his head back in a massive fit of laughter. “How’d you know?!”

You shrugged, “I'm an A+ guesser.”

“Are you now? Actually, you’re not too far off-”

“Oh god. You ARE a porn star aren’t you?”

The stranger was mid sip of water as he waved his hand in front of the camera, “No, no - I'm an actor and before you ask, not an adult film star, just your regular, average, plain, old actor.”

“Damn it. I was really hoping you were a porn star.” Although your tone was joking, you were extremely intrigued by this man's career choice and couldn’t help but want to hear more about it. However, the stranger interrupted your train of thought before you could ask any serious questions about his line of work.

“Why do you say that?”

“Say what?”

“Why do you wish I was a porn star? Are you like everyone else on this site?”

You couldn’t help but attempt to hide the blush of your cheeks behind your palms as you pressed them firmly against the skin of your face. “You mean a horn ball dying to get off? Sadly, it’s only partially true.”

“Partially?” He quirked his eyebrow in a very playful yet curious expression.

“Oh please.” You teased as you took a quick sip of your wine, almost knocking it over as you sat it back down onto the coffee table.

“Playing shy now?”

You shrugged your shoulders shyly, moving your eyes away from the screen as they now rested on your hands that were sat relaxed on top of the keyboard.

“Can I ask you another question?”

“I don’t know, can you?” You pressed further, loving the way his facial features contorted just as he was about to break out into soft laughter.

“May I?”

“May you what?” 

He huffed, this time breaking out into a tiny fit of giggles as he let the palms of his hands run down his cheeks until they landed in front of him, one crossing over the other as he rested his chin on his arms.

“Alright, alright. Ask me whatever you want.”

“Thank you,'' he replied softly as he brought his head back up again so he sat with proper posture. 

“So, what brings you here tonight?”

You nibbled your lip nervously, “I suppose I just needed something to fill the void.”

You knew your eyes  had drifted away from the screen and flown to the nearest item you could let your focus remain on, a nervous habit that has always stuck with you in situations that tested your comfort zone.

“I’m going to assume you are here for the same reason?”

He bounced his eyes back and forth to match his moving head as his tousle of curls followed his movements. “Something like that.”

You paused and looked at him quizzically. His words were mysterious, yet obviously hinting that he wasn’t here simply to just chat, but then what was he here to do?

“Can I be honest with you?”

You nearly jumped out of your comfy pajamas at his shift in tone of voice which was much more serious now. “Of course you can. I’m--uh--all ears.”

His eyes remained glued to yours as if there wasn’t a laptop computer and who even knows how many miles stood between the both of you. The eeriest part was his stare. It wasn’t much like the ones you had both exchanged before. This one was much darker; there was something there that you couldn’t quite pinpoint no matter how much you squint your own eyes to attempt to figure that out.

“I came here looking for someone to have some... fun with.”

Your lungs felt as though they plummeted towards your stomach as you tried to take in one full breath, but the sound of his words were making that part a little difficult. You couldn’t help but question his words.

“...and by fun you mean?”

He smiled hesitantly then sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, “I think you know what I'm talking about.”

You did. You one-hundred percent, very well knew exactly what he was hinting at..just like anyone else on this sight, he wasn’t merely looking for someone to chat with, he was looking for something that was a little less innocent than that.

“So..what does that have to do with me then?”

He shook his head and playfully rolled his eyes, “I mean I would like your consent to...”, his mouth formed into a cocky smile as the tip of his tongue poked through his cheek, “...have fun with you. If that sounds like something you’d be in to.”

His words hit you like a strong gust of wind, nearly knocking the wind out of you as you sat there, mouth agape with both amusing and confusing thoughts running through your head. You were finding it hard to believe that someone like him was really interested in doing what you were sure he was talking about, but you also didn’t want to assume that he wanted to well, to put it bluntly, fuck over webcam

“Of course I would be!” You voice was exuding over excitement, making you slightly cower back.

He chuckled a few minutes before his hands reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it effortlessly over his head as he now sat with his tan chest naked for your eyes to devour. You couldn’t help but wonder how he would feel underneath your palms as you racked them up and down the smooth indents from his pectoral muscles. How he’d flinch as your hands dragged lower and lower until they were at the top of his jeans.

“Your turn.”

You were nervous as you began to lift your shirt over my head, hesitating slightly as you began to second guess yourself. Your body was less than colossal and you didn’t want to disappoint this person who was very, very attractive and clearly worthy of seeing a body that was up to his level of “hotness”.  As if reading your mind, he moved his face closer to his computer, propping his chin up on his knuckles as he watched you in an almost hypnotic state.

“Let me see you sweetheart.” His voice was husky and smooth as he encouraged you to lift the fabric up and over my head. 

Your hair seemed to get messy from the movements as you attempted to smooth the hairs back down, causing the handsome stranger to laugh slightly, but still keep his eyes focused on you.

“Is it okay if I tell you what to do?”

You couldn’t nod fast enough, which caused him to grin yet again with those pearly whites as he nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Show me those panties.”

You felt your stomach flex solely from his words as you quickly stood up from your seated position, leaving your waist completely at his eye level. You pulled the thin shorts down your legs, making the stranger let out a faint ‘mmm’ of a hum as he took in the newly visible red lace that covered your pubic area, leaving just enough to the imagination for the stranger to take in and appreciate.

“Turn around for me sweetie.” His voice was much deeper as he started leaning his entire body backwards into the chair while I slowly began spinning my body around until I was no longer facing him.

“Fuck, you have a beautiful ass.”

I turned back around, checking that this in fact was not a dream or some sort of sick joke and the eyeful I got was enough to confirm to me that he was indeed completely serious and deeply aroused by me. The stranger had moved his palm to his groin area as he gently palmed his visible bulge all the while keeping his eyes on me.

“Tell me if I make you uncomfortable okay? I want you to enjoy this just as much as me.”

“Trust me”, I paused briefly to admire the way he was pleasuring himself, “I’m comfortable with a lot of things.” 

He smirked, watching me as I turned back around so I was facing him, letting my elbows rest near where my laptop was resting, giving the stranger a good eyeful of my cleavage which I may or may not have done purposefully.

“Good...now, take off that bra of yours please.”

I blushed as I smiled timidly while lifting my hands slowly to my back until they came in contact with the cold metal as. Quickly. My fingers worked to unhook the hooks as I felt the material that was previously wrapped snugly around my chest begin to loosen, but not totally fall from my body just yet.

“Are we being shy?” I shrugged teasingly, keeping my eyes away from my computer screen as one of my bra straps started to drift further and further down my arm, unbeknownst to me, showing off the very top of my breast.

“Or are we being a tease?” His eyes were squinted with arousal as I answered him with yet another shrug while his hand subtly slipped underneath the fabric of his boxer briefs.

I watched on as he began slowly toying with himself, making my mouth naturally fall slightly open as I watched him, quite entranced.

“I can be a bit of a tease sometimes.” My tone of voice had shifted completely, making me slightly shocked how my body naturally went from it’s normal tone to one that was higher pitched and almost sounding like the soft, but erotic voices of those female actresses from old movies.

“I do like a good tease, but right now I want to see those tits baby.”

Without hesitation, I let my arms fall to my sides, allowing the straps to completely fall off of my arms and down onto the floor as I let my bare chest hit the cold air of my apartment.

The stranger licked his lips as his eyes glanced down to my chest.  “Can you touch them for me?”

I allowed my palm to fully grasp my breasts in each of my hands as I began kneading them gently, making my head roll back and my eyes close as I began to indulge in the pleasure I was bringing upon myself.

“If I were with you right now, I’d have my mouth all over them. Licking, sucking, biting, making your body wiggle with pleasure. Would you like that?”

My headed nodded quickly as I let out a small whine while I continued massaging my chest until eventually my fingers grazed down to pinch one of my nipples, making me bite my lip and exhale loudly through my nose.

“Does that feel good?” 

I nodded, but that reply didn’t seem good enough for him.

“Use your words dear. Tell me, does that feel good?”

I began to nod again, just before catching myself. “Yes, yes that feels really good.”

The stranger chuckled, “You catch on quick just like the good girl I knew you were.”

Suddenly, I became aware of just how aroused I was as the wetness between my legs began to seep through my panties, making me physically feel my arousal as it kissed my thighs.

“Do I get to see more of you?”

The stranger immediately ceased his hand movement as he pulled his veiny looking arm away from underneath the black material of his briefs. “Is that what you want?”

“Of course it’s what I want, that’s why I asked.”

He pursed his lips, “Sassy, huh?”

“My reply wouldn’t have to be sassy if you wouldn’t ask such stupid questions.”

Suddenly his face began to shift as his cheeks began to heat up to a reddish hue and his nostrils flaring ever so slightly as he huffed deep breaths.  “Fine, I'll get my cock out, just like my little slut wants.”

A shiver passed through my body at his harsh and much less friendly tone as I watched him stand up to, letting me fully be able to appreciate his shirtless physique as my eyes traced down the veins and marks and muscles and the v shaped indents of his hip bones; god I could go on and bore you with copious more details.

My attention drew back to his hands as he hooked his thick thumbs under the waistband of his underwear, moving the fabric down until his hard, thick cock sprung out from under the draped material. My mouth watered just thinking of how beautiful his shaft looked as it swelled with arousal as drops of precum made his tip especially shiny looking.

“Is this what you want?,” He smirked, noticing my loss for words as my mind wandered to how good he would taste was I able to properly please him with my mouth.

I playfully shrugged, “Not bad.”

“Not bad? That’s it?”

I giggled, noticing how much he genuinely took my teasing words to heart. “You’re gorgeous, now calm down Mr. big shot actor.”

“Oh, I see how it is.” The stranger took a seat back in his chair, legs spread, cock still glistening with his own arousal, and a smirk on his face. He looked terribly cocky like he knew exactly how much I wanted him right now and how appetizing I truly thought he was.

“Now I showed you what I look like naked..think it’s only fair if I get to see you now, don’t you think?”

My mind fell into a slight panic for a reason I wasn’t too sure of. I’d already stripped myself down to just my knickers, why should I be afraid to discard the last remaining piece of thin material from my body? This stranger was kind enough and was clearly aroused by what he had seen so far, plus, it wasn’t as if he was being a total creep, in fact he was being anything but.

To assist me in my moment of courage, I took the last sip of my glass of wine, earning a small laugh from the other end of my computer. “You’re beautiful, please don’t be nervous.”

The reassuring words from the stranger definitely eased my nerves, and made me blush profusely as I gave him a weak smile and moved the lace fabric down my hips until they reached my ankles where I kicked them to who knows where.

“Jesus.” His words came out breathless as he watched my every move as I teetered my body weight, shifting nervously from my left to my right. 

“Now what?”

“Eager are we? I just got you naked and you’re already eager to move on; let me enjoy the sight of you for a second please.”

He smirked as he rested his hands on the tops of his thighs, his cock had deflated ever so slightly, but it was still visible that he was turned on. “How about you touch yourself for me.”

Quickly, I let my hand fall to my thighs as I slowly started parting them. 

“You really are eager aren’t you?”

“Huh?” I asked, stopping my hands movements.

“How about you tease yourself first. Think you can do that for me?”

I moved my hands back so they rested on either side of my body, feeling the soft material of the couch on my fingertips. “I can definitely do that.”

He smirked, “Close your eyes and listen to my words, okay?”

“Okay”, I nodded.

The stranger took a deep breath as he gave his first round of instructions. “Start with your hands caressing your collarbones. Gently gliding those fingertips over the skin, feeling the softness as you slowly move your fingers down towards your breasts. Touch them, I know you want to.”

I obeyed his every word, moving my hands from my collar to my bare breasts, feeling my skin tingle with every word and movement he told me to make. With my eyes shut, I could almost picture it was his larger hands giving me such intimate touches and caresses, making goosebumps appear all over my arms as my hands began once again kneading at each of my breasts.

“Does that feel nice?”

I hummed a ‘mmhmm’ as my eyes instinctively closed while I allowed the pleasure to fully take over my actions.

The slickness between my legs was growing by the minute (or rather by each word he spoke) as my fingers danced there way to each of my breasts, letting the much stronger electric feeling take over my body in complete pleasure as I let my fingers pinch at my nipples, giving the pink velvety soft knubs twist and turns that made me writhe and moan.

“That’s it, just like that--how about you move your hand down towards your stomach now.”

Keeping my eyes closed, I obeyed him immediately as my fingers waltzed down my ribs until they reached my belly button. Soon his soothing yet stern voice was in my ear again.

“Imagine my hands are on you, moving along the curve of your body and gently squeezing your middle--fuck, you have no idea how much I wish I was touching you right now.”

I peered my eyes open as my hands loved on my curves, catching a glimpse of the lustful eyes of the man opposite me on my laptop screen as he kept his hands on either side of him, gripping the leather fabric of the chair tightly as if he was holding himself back from touching himself. He smiled so slightly as his eyes moved away from my direct contact so he could, I assume, continue watching my hands as they moved across my naked body for him. 

“Now, move down to your thighs. Let’s do the tops of them first; squeeze them in your hands roughly, but not too rough for me baby.”

I don’t hesitate or second guess, in fact i’m more so overjoyed that I'm finally getting some friction in the general area of where I want it the most. Slightly, I spread my legs apart which draws a deep moan from the stranger on the other end of my laptop, I smile as I am very, very aware of why that noise must’ve come out of his lips as I dip my hands down my body to my thighs, giving one of them a gentle squeeze while I caress the other gently.

“Wish I could taste you right now.” The strangers voice was just barely over a whisper.

“Do you now... and what do you think I taste like.” 

I watched as the man's hands twitched beside him just before he rested his palm on his lower stomach where i’m sure it was waiting in agony to give in and touch the skin of his flaming red tip that was standing at complete attention.

“Sweet, so fucking sweet like a freshly picked fruit.” My hands continued loving on the dainty skin of my thighs as the stranger hummed a few more ‘mmm’ sounds while I smiled and reveled in the confidence he was making me gain.

“You’re making me so wet,” I boldly whined out while giving my inner thighs a squeeze--true, I hadn’t been told yet to touch myself there, but with a mouth like him full of vulgar words and phrases, I don’t think the aching in my belly would allow me to not seek out some sort of friction or relief.

“Show me.”

Suddenly my prior bashful ways were beginning to disintegrate with every reaction the stranger gave me anytime I touched myself or said anything remotely provocative and, in a moment of confidence, in the most unladylike way possible, I parted my legs fully and gave him the view he requested.

He sucked in a loud harsh breathe and he bit down incredibly hard onto his blood, surely tasting the small amount of blood that he had drawn in the process. “God damn you’re soaked.”

“Told you so.” I bit my lip and rested the back of my neck against the couch, still keeping up the raking of my fingernails against my thighs.

“Can I touch myself yet?”

The man smirked, “Eager?”

“Of course I am. You’ve been making me tease myself for forever.”

He let out a chuckle as his eyes seemed to zone out for a millisecond as he thought about my request.

“Think you deserve it?” He raised his eyebrow in a cocky manor as his jaw seemed to tense up, making his bone structure that much more prominent.

“Of course I do; I've been obeying your every word haven’t I? Besides, I know you want to watch me do it.” I gave one last squeeze to my thighs before I boldly moved my hand to the lower lips set between my legs, letting my pointer finger trace my slit as my arousal began to coat my finger as I begged the man. “Please.”

He remained silent, switching glances between my hand movements and my eyes as I continued to coax him. “I’m sure the aching in your cock could use some tending to as well. I just want to help you with it.”

He scoffed, “Oh, is that all you want? Could’ve fooled me. You seem like a girl who's just dying to get herself off in front of me.”

“So what if I am?,” I shrugged, allowing my finger to dip slightly between my folds, making me draw in a sharp hissing breath as I watched the stranger mumble some incoherent words under his breath.

“Fine,” he groaned, his eyes now completely trained on the still hand rested between my legs.

Not a second after I was granted permission, I fully plunged my finger between my folds, allowing my eyes to close and feeling how truly wet I was for the first time.

“Don’t touch your clit--not yet.”

I whined, but obeyed him as I dragged my finger down to my opening, allowing one of my fingers to sink into me as a loud moan rolled off my tongue. I heard the stranger groan, making me open my eyes to see him slowly moving his hand around his shaft which looked hot to the touch. His eyes bore eagerly into mine.

“Feel good?,” I questioned even though just by the look of him I knew he was already feeling better than good.

“Mmm--mhm,” he mumbled as I smiled, letting the confidence fill me up knowing that I was making him feel so good just by pleasuring myself.

“Can I add ano--another finger?”

He nodded and I didn’t skip a beat before plunging the two digits inside of myself, letting out a low groan in the process as my hips rolled into my touch.

“You like that huh? Your two fingers buried deep inside you as you think about me.”

I nodded eagerly, but before I could agree too much the stranger began to further assault me with his words.

“My cock would feel so much better baby--filling you up and stretching that tight pussy out. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” His teeth were harshly biting down against his top and bottom row as he began taking long strokes of his cock, but making sure not to pump too quickly in fear that he’d cum much too soon.

My hand soon found one of my breasts as I began to squeeze it while still moving my fingers inside of myself at a nice rhythm. The stranger seemed to match my pace as he began stroking his cock at the same speed. I could almost feel his hot shaft in me as my fingers curled upwards while my thumb came to my clit, putting just enough pressure on it for my legs to jolt slightly from the sensitive nerves being stimulated.

“Think you can do one more finger for me?” The strangers request was breathy and nearly moaned out as I plunged another digit inside of me, feeling the stretch and pleasure in my walls.

“Now fuck yourself for me babe. Show me how bad you want my cock.” As he clenched out the words from between his lips, his hand began pumping his cock at a faster rate and he never took his eyes off of me. I matched his pace again and stared as he began to give into the pleasure; his facial expressions making that clear while his brow furrowed and the pigment on his face becoming increasingly more red tinted.

I switched between imagining that his hand was my hand pumping his girth up and down and occasionally swirling my tongue around his tip so I could taste him properly. On the other hand, I was also imagining that my fingers were his cock that was slicking out of me and then slamming right back in. My hand would be reaching up to the headboard to steady my body as he fucked me relentlessly with one of my legs thrown over his shoulder. His eyes would be boring into mine with intensity, just as he was doing on my computer screen right now.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about”

“I’m thinking about you--you inside m--me.” At this point I could feel the bubbling in my belly as the pleasure was beginning to become stronger and stronger.

“Mhmm, and how does it feel baby?”

“Good--mmmm--so fucking good. Fuck, i’m close.”

My words were soft and whiny as the stranger let out a throaty moan, “Yeah baby, cum for me. Pretend i’m fucking you just as fast as those pretty fingers are pumping inside of you.”

It didn’t take long for my orgasm to rush over me, making my pulse thump roughly throughout my entire body as the massive wave of pleasure coursed through me like an electric shock. Just as I was beginning to come down from my high, I heard the strangled moans of the stranger on the screen opposite me as he pumped his cock as fast as he could while small spurts of cum splashed onto his happy trail. Just the sight of it could make me want to go for another round as I watched him till his hand stilled and he let out a loud, happy sigh as his body relaxed completely back into the chair he was sitting in.

I laughed and stuck my three fingers in my mouth, swirling my tongue around them and being sure to clean them off completely.

He laughed as he ran a hand through his hair with his eyes watching me intently. “God, that’s enough to get me hard again.” 

“I mean I'm up for it if you are,” I joked as we both started laughing together as the silence began to creep into our conversation.

I knew that this was usually the part when people said their goodbyes, but for some reason I didn’t want to and I was dreading for him to say his parting words. Although we hadn’t known each other for more than an hour, he was comforting and he made me feel good, not just physically, but mentally. He made me feel beautiful.

Just then the man let out a loud yawn as he moved his hand in front of his mouth.

“As much as I don’t want to let you go,” He let out another yawn mixed with a laugh, “I think I should probably head to bed. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

I nodded solemnly as I glanced at the clock, now seeing that we had been talking to each other for around three hours now which meant it was far, far into the evening, or technically the wee hours of the morning.

“Thank you for the good time. I really enjoyed talking to you.”

“Oh just the talking part right? I’m sure that was your favorite,” I joked as the stranger broke out into a tired, small laugh just before pursing his lips into a genuine and content smile. 

“Yeah seeing you naked was an exceptional bonus, but I still genuinely loved getting to meet you.”

“I did too,'' I said quietly, resting my chin on my knuckles as I watched his tired, puppy dog eyes blink slowly.

“Goodnight, uh…”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N. I like that,” his speech was beginning to get raspier and raspier as the exhaustion from his day began taking a toll on him.

“Goodnight..”

“Rami.”

“Rami. Goodnight Rami.”

And just before our computer screens went black, the stranger waved a small hand at me as he whispered ‘goodnight’ yet again. I could still feel the heat from my cheeks as I scampered off to bed that night with my body sprawled out along the covers.

-

“Your client will be in shortly Y/N.”

 I nodded slowly out of pure annoyance. Not that it was irregular for my clients to show up late, it was just that I was incredibly exhausted from last night's “activities” with a handsome stranger that had kept me up for far too long, so any little thing was setting off my less than patient attitude today.

Only a few minutes later and I could hear a couple voices as they instructed someone on the agenda and why exactly they were here today. I could only assume it was my client and their entourage.

Quickly, I began to wrap up the email I was typing out on my phone just before a deep voice cleared their throat, making me look up at them and insist they give me a short minute or two to finish a work email. However, the figure I saw standing before me was enough to make me drop my phone out of my hands. 

It was him. The guy from last night who was previously only an image on my computer screen and now here he was, in the flesh, standing a couple feet away from me.

He had a confident smirk on his face while I, on the other hand, probably had a jaw dropping to the floor as I grazed my eyes over this human being that was somehow even more attractive in person.

“Hi, I’m Rami”, the stranger--er Rami-- extended their hand out for me to shake which I took willingly.

Our hands stay clenched together for a few seconds longer than what would've been normal for me and a new client to engage in, however this wasn’t just any client. He did say he was an actor, but I had just assumed he was an ‘actor in progress’ and working his way up, not that he was an actor who I was preparing to dress for the Academy Awards.

“Nice to meet you Rami.”

[curtisandlewis]

Recently, I read 2K to 10K by Rachel Aaron and 5,000 Words Per Hour by Chris Fox. To paraphrase, these books claim that by using their techniques to get into a flow state you could conceivably have word counts of up to 10,000 in a single day. Guess what? I believe them. The flow state they both described is what I used to feel every single time I sat down to write. I could get 5,000 words in a single session and have the time of my life while doing it.

After 2015, anxiety and OCD got in the way of me getting into that flow state and I figure it’s worth the try to get back to it. I had already planned for March to be the month I write most of the fanfiction I post here throughout the year. So, what better time than to follow the techniques while I do each phase of writing and document the process all right here in this post. 

Zero Draft: A draft that isn’t structured enough to be a full first draft. I write it very fast and it’s the best way to get the story out. I write this using only Google Docs on my Ipad.

I know it’s only been two days but this turned out to be a real success. The process I followed was to meditate in the morning and spend the first ten minutes thinking about the fic and letting the scene play out like it would in a movie. This is how I applied their technique of visualization. I then give myself 5 or 10 minutes to prepare for my writing session. 

I play music by Troye Sivan because that matches the mood of the scene the best for me. 

The next thing I do is my own creation. I open a separate document (usually create a new note in Google Keep) and manifest what I want my writing session to be. I believe in the power of your thoughts to dictate your behavior and ultimate success if that’s not your thing feel free to skip that step. 

The last thing I do before actually opening my writing document is open Google Sheets on my Ipad and fill out my Word Sprint Tracker. Tracking your progress is essential in both these books. It’s been pretty fun watching my word count speed go up with each session. 

I have three apps open on my Ipad: Google Docs, Google Keep, and Google Sheets. Docs and Keep are in a split screen so I can write while seeing my outline or I can look at my manifesting note when my motivation starts to get down (I also put random ideas on there if I don’t want them cluttering my document)

The next step has helped me the most HANDS DOWN. I take five or so minutes and describe the scene. What is it about, what are the emotions I want to convey, what does it mean to the characters, and ultimately what is the freaking point!

That five minutes has increased my word count from 125 in a half-hour session to a solid 500 in every session and no more staring at the screen hating life because the words will just not come.

Start Date: 3/1 End Date: 3/2  Word Count: 2,076

First Draft: The typical first draft. All the gaps have been filled in and I’ve decided where I want the story to go. I will be writing on my laptop for this draft using only the writing program Scrivener. 

First, my process

Review outline 

Have a split-screen view of Google docs (Zero Draft) and Scrivener.

Copy zero draft to Scrivener by typing word for word

I love typing up the document over again. The zero draft serves as a map for when I get stuck and I’m free to expand or cut as I go. As for the laptop, I have pros and cons. 

PROS

I have my desktop free to play music, videos, or serve as a mood board for inspiration as I write. 

The screen is bigger than my Ipad and the keyboard is a lot easier to type on

CONS

It may be portable but it’s still heavy-ish. I can’t exactly wake up and start typing away.

The battery life doesn’t last very long so I have to keep it plugged in most of the time.

I’m leaning towards using the desktop for projects that are 20K+ words but shorter than that I think the laptop would be fine. I really enjoyed working at night with the lights turned off and my diffuser running. It created a nice mood, especially when writing the romantic/ sexy parts. I don’t think I would have the same experience writing on my desktop. Also, I’m totally hyped it only took me two days to write the first draft!

Start Date: 3/4 End Date: 3/7 (A total of 2 working days) Word Count: 2,501

Second Draft-Developmental Edit: For this draft and all the way up to posting I will be working only on my desktop. Since I use my desktop for everything not related to writing I thought it would be good to limit it to revision. It’s the idea if you use your bed for activities other than sleep than you’ll have a hard time sleeping. During revision, I can take my time and not have to worry about word count. Also if I inevitably get distracted by the internet it’s not as disastrous as if I was drafting. This is the first edit and I’ll be trying out a new process for this referencing 2k to 10k. 

Update the small outline I made before writing

Read the fic in Scrivener and make a comment for each thing I want to change (it’s similar to comment feature in google docs) this will be my to-do list (mentioned in 2K to 10K)  

Open my second writing program Liquid Story Binder and start with the biggest problem on my to-do list

I’ll take the section of text that I want to change from scrivener and copy it to Liquid Story Binder where I will make the change and paste it back into Scrivener. Focusing on a small section of text at a time helps with my anxiety.  

It only took about an hour or so to do this so I can’t say how I feel yet about using the desktop. I do think it was helpful having Liquid Story Binder to focus on a specific text, especially when working on pacing.

Start Date: 3/8 End Date: 3/8 Word Count: 2,553  

Grammar Edit: This phase is pretty much how it sounds. Same as before I copy and paste small sections of text into the Hemingway editor and make the changes there. 

This may be my least favorite phase of the writing process. It’s very tedious and I don’t like being reminded how much I abuse the word “just.” As for working only on the desktop, I feel the extra screen real estate helps a lot.

Here’s the resulting document

Start Date:3/8 End Date:3/8 Word Count: 2,628  

 Last full Developmental Edit: Working only in Scrivener I’ll read the whole story from beginning to end, make my to-do list and make all the changes directly in Scrivener.

This serves mostly as another read. Usually, if something is giving me anxiety I’ll take this time to see if I can change it while still being true to the characters and the story I want to tell. This time I just took twenty minutes and read through it, marking up a couple of more typos.

Start Date: 3/9 End Date: 3/9 Word Count: 2,647

Prepare for posting: This is the most tedious part of the process. 

Write the summary

Hopefully, I can name the damn fic at that point

Add all the general information about the fic (Pairings, Warnings, notes, etc...)

 Read the fic and list Somethings to Look Foward To

All the tags...      

Start Date: 3/13 End Date: 3/13  

Last line edit: I read through again going line by line fixing any typos or grammatical errors and really paying attention to how the words flow. 

Working on the desktop probably works the best for this phase. I’m depressed and had to force myself to finish this fic. I’m not writing anymore in March or April. Luckily this experiment was only for one fic and I do have a better understanding of what process works for me. However, I won’t be able to test it out until May.

Start Date: 3/13 End Date: 3/13 Word Count: 2,392

Post!

[artificialqueens]

Not Nineteen Forever (4) (Branjie/Scyvie)- Ortega

a/n: i am absolutely hanging out my arse so editing and re-reading this chapter made me feel vaguely ill. i’ll pass it off as method acting xo thank you so much for the continued love and support for this fic, the fact that each chapter so far has broken 100 notes makes me piss my pants with excitement (watch now i’ve jinkxed it and this one’ll get like 8). in this installment Scarlet finds it hard to believe that she isn’t Victoria Beckham.

Trigger Warnings: explicit drug use, alcohol. unaaay.

Summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree

***

Scarlet had to admit, she was enjoying the high life. As she sat up the back of the lecture theatre in the new fur coat she wasn’t planning on taking off anytime soon, blinking heavily with her £75 lash extensions, drumming her £50 acrylics against her notepad, she smiled to herself. This was definitely the kind of life she was suited to. Okay, she got a bit of a shock when the rent left her bank account, as well as her gas and electricity bills, but she still had a good amount there. Clenching her stomach, Scarlet thought about the number on her banking app. £3713.65. Slightly giddy, she pressed her lips together as she thought about it. How could she have spent over a thousand pounds in the space of two weeks? She thought through it in her mind. Rent, £550. Electricity, £30 split with Ra’Jah. Gas, £25, also split with Ra’Jah. But that only came to what…just under six hundred pounds? There was still so much unaccounted for. Scarlet thought about how much she’d paid for on nights out, the two shopping trips she’d been on since her scratchcard win, and the many, many Ubers she’d taken pretty much everywhere. It was time to reign the spending in.

It was crazy how much confidence it was giving her, though. Even on the group chat Scarlet felt self-assured enough to throw out barbs every so often, the girls all responding with keyboard smashes and capitalised laughter and giving her a boost of serotonin. It had even made her feel more confident around Yvie. Scarlet felt weird about the whole Yvie thing. Now that she’d realised she liked her, she didn’t really know what to do about it. She knew she would do something, she promised herself, as if she ended up in a situation like Vanjie’s she would scream. Scarlet cast a glance to the girl beside her, frantically typing notes into her laptop and listening intently. Bored, Scarlet took her fluffy-topped pen and wrote on her notepad, pushing it Vanjie’s way.

Lunch after this?

She watched as Vanjie looked down at her writing, looked back up, then nodded once. Scarlet smiled, glad that she had something to look forward to. It had been a while since she’d had a catchup with Vanjie, and part of her was excited to see if there had been any progress made between her and Brooke. Scarlet then realised it was a little selfish of her to think that way and, realising she hadn’t confided in anyone about her crush on Yvie yet, she decided she’d let Vanjie in on her secret.

When the lecture finished up they decided they would go for lunch at the Mexican place in town. It was a slightly longer walk than anywhere on campus but Vanjie was good company, chatting away happily about something funny her Mum had done back home and distracting Scarlet from the cold weather. They eventually reached the restaurant and got sat at a table, despite the fact Scarlet could have stood under the heaters that were blasting by the entrance forever. She watched as Vanjie shrugged her huge coat off then leant forward.

“So, how’s your lovely flatmate?” Vanjie asked, Scarlet letting out a snort and rolling her eyes.

“Our oven’s broken. She’s saying I broke it,” she explained, Vanessa tilting her head with intrigue.

“Why? What did you do?”

“I don’t know. Used it to cook food,” Scarlet said, her laugh giving away her monotone voice and causing Vanjie to giggle too. “It’s exhausting living with her! She just hates me for no reason! I swear she’s going to turn up by my bed in the middle of the night with a knife and her pillow to smother me with.”

“But then she’d have no-one to blame for the shit that goes wrong in the flat.”

“True. If I’m ever found murdered, though, you know who it was,” Scarlet raised her eyebrows knowingly, Vanessa having to stop herself from laughing as a waitress arrived at their table and took their drinks orders. Vanessa ordered a Corona and Scarlet almost joined her, then realised that beer on a lunch break when she still had a lecture in the afternoon was risky. She got a blood orange San Pellegrino instead. As the waitress walked away, Scarlet continued. “How’s Silky and Akeria? I’ve not seen them since last Saturday.”

“They’re good. Akeria’s stressing about Masters applications, even though I keep telling her every uni is gonna be fallin’ over themselves to accept her. Silk is fine. She’s always fine. I think she’s made peace with the fact she’s probably going to get a 2:2.”

“Nothing wrong with a 2:2,” Scarlet shrugged, even though she knew that if she was on course for a 2:2 she’d be crying as if her life was over.

“That’s true. Degree’s a degree. Still gon’ cry like a baby if I don’t get a 2:1 though,” Vanessa frowned, brightening up as the waitress returned and put their drinks in front of them.

“You will,” Scarlet said. It hadn’t been a lie- even though she only saw Vanessa working towards part of her PPE degree, she always seemed on the ball with lecture notes, got good grades in her essays, and you could never shut her up in tutorials. The other girl still narrowed her eyes at her as she took a drink.

“You have to say that, though. You’re my friend,” Vanessa said, Scarlet brightening up at the validation of her friendship. She’d never known if Vanessa had liked her at first, but over the years they’d eventually settled into being comfortable with each other. Vanessa sighed. “I worked out that if I want a 2:1 I need to get above 65% in everything until the end of the year.”

“That’s doable!” Scarlet insisted, pouring her can into the glass in front of her. She frowned and shook her head. “Anyway, let’s not worry any more about uni. How’s Brooke Lynn?”

Vanessa slid down in her seat and covered her face with the menu. “I don’t know, bitch, ask her.”

“You know what I mean! How are things going? Any progress?”

Vanessa screwed up her face. “I mean, I don’t know. Kind of? Maybe? It’s so hard to tell with that bitch.”

“What’s the maybe?”

“So last Monday we went for a drink after we went to the library. We were just talkin’ and somehow…I don’t even know how we got onto this topic…we started talkin’ about how we were…y'know, like in bed.”

Scarlet let out a screech. “OH my God. Amazing. How is that a maybe in any way?!”

“Nah, well, you know,” Vanessa smiled bashfully, fanning herself with the menu which neither of them had so much as glanced at. “It started to get deep and then I did my classic ha ha ha what a big joke this is I’m definitely not takin’ this serious in any way thing I always do with her. I think I made it awkward, ‘cuz I’ve not seen her since then. I mean we’ve talked on the chat but…yeah.”

Scarlet pouted, feeling sorry for her friend. “Oh, Vanj, no. It won’t be that at all. You know her and Plastique have got their portfolios due next week, she’ll just be busy!”

Vanessa bit her lip, then smiled slowly. “How about if I organise a lil somethin’ to take her mind off her work, then?”

Scarlet took a sip of her drink. “You’re going to turn up to her flat wearing nothing but a massive bow playing The Stripper through your phone speaker.”

As Vanessa howled, Scarlet realised a little too late that someone had come to take their order. She asked for five more minutes, neither of them having looked at the menu yet and having only used it as a prop for embarrassment.

“No, bitch,” Vanessa wheezed, finally getting her breath back. “Let’s see if we can get her to come out tonight.”

Scarlet felt her brows pulling together involuntarily. “On a Wednesday? She’ll be too responsible.”

Vanessa sighed and gave the menu a cursory glance. “Couldn’t we at least try? I just need to know if I’ve made things awkward so I can go about trying to fix them. Although how the fuck I’d do that, I don’t know.”

“I guess you could put it on the chat?” Scarlet shrugged.

Gleefully, Vanessa bounced about in her chair and grabbed her phone decisively, immediately typing. She put it back face-down on the table almost as quickly as she’d picked it up. “It’s sent. Although now we’re running the risk of everyone being free apart from Brooke Lynn, and if I’m honest I really don’t have the energy to go out otherwise.”

“We’re getting old,” Scarlet shrugged, her eyes scanning over tostadas, taquitos and empanadas without really being able to focus on any of them. “Do you remember the days when you could manage two nights out back to back?”

“I remember the days I could manage two nights out in one night,” Vanessa laughed, running a hand through her hair and exhaling. “Scarlet, why am I nervous? Tell me why I’m nervous.”

“Because you’ve just orchestrated a night out with our whole friendship group just so you can see one member of it. Instead of, you know. Asking her on a date,” Scarlet smiled teasingly, Vanessa laughing in self-depreciation. It occured to Scarlet that she still hadn’t told Vanessa about Yvie. “That reminds me-”

Just then she was cut off as the waitress appeared again at their table. Scarlet couldn’t bear to send her away again so she quickly ordered some fish tacos and some sort of cheesy beany quesadilla she had no idea the other ingredients of. Vanessa rapidly fired off an order for a pulled chicken burrito and pork taquitos which, Scarlet could glean from a quick glance at the menu, seemed to be served with radioactive levels of spice. As the waitress walked away, Scarlet frowned.

“Are those taquitos not really spicy?”

“Meh. I don’t mind spice. Worst case scenario I’ll have to install scaffolding round my ass for the next three days after I eat ‘em,” Vanessa shrugged and then leaned forward, hardly giving time for Scarlet to laugh at what she’d just said. “You said ‘that reminds me’ after we were talkin’ about dates, what’s up with that?”

“Oh uh, nothing,” Scarlet smiled shyly as she picked at a bit of dripped candle wax on the tabletop. “Just that I’m joining you in the crushing-on-my-best-friend club for the foreseeable future.”

Vanessa’s face lit up. “What is this?!”

Scarlet felt cheeks flush red as she said it. “I…think I have a crush on Yvie.”

Vanessa let out a quick screech of delight, drawing the gaze of a dining couple sitting at the opposite side of the room. Hushing herself, she leant close to Scarlet and continued. “Oh my God! Bitch! I love this. This is amazing. Aw, you’d be so cute together! I knew you were touchy with each other but I always thought that was just how your friendship was.”

“It is how our friendship is!” Scarlet protested, then put her head in her hands to cover her cheeks as she smiled. “I just…realised I like being touchy with her a little too much to be friendly.”

“Oh, I got it. You wanna be touchy with her in a different way,” Vanessa winked suggestively, Scarlet squealing in mortification and both the girls ending up howling with laughter. As the laughter died down, Vanessa smiled. “Well, welcome to the world of crushing on a friend, boo. It’s amazing, electric, and largely horrific. And painful. I’m not selling this well.”

“It sounds slightly sadomasochistic.”

“That’s actually what you get if you Google it,” Vanessa nodded faux-seriously, then put on a funny, posh-sounding voice. “If you liked getting shocked by a disused electrical socket twenty-five times in a row, perhaps you’d like: crushing on your best friend!”

Scarlet laughed, then shot a glance down at her phone as it sat face-down on the table. “I’m kinda hoping Yvie comes out tonight too now.”

“Ooh! We should check the chat,” Vanessa said, pouncing on her phone and her face dropping as she looked. Scarlet opened her own to see what had been said.

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: me n Scarlet wanna go out tonight who’s down

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: BITCH ARE U CRAZY WE AINT FRESHERS ANY MORE

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: I GOTTA DATE WITH BRADLEY WALSH AND WHOEVER THE CHASER IS TODAY

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: Girl we all know The Chase starts at 5pm you gotta think of a better excuse

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: Sorry boo I’m out

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: BITCH BACK TO BACK EPS ON CHALLENGE TV FROM 7 THANK U NEXT

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: Need to be at the library early if I wanna get that 1st

Kim Kardashian-West: Placement :((((((( sorry babyyy

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: I’ll see yall at pres though

Akeria Sainsburys Bag for Life: I’m guessing they’re gonna be at ours

Okay Then: Sorry girls our portfolios are due in like 9 days

Okay Then: big celebrations after though!!

Dave the Laugh: i’d actually be down

Scarlet felt guilty as her heart gave a jump, Vanessa sitting dejectedly across from her. “Hey, chin up! She’s not replied yet.”

“If Plastique is sayin’ no, she’ll be a no too,” she jerked her mouth to the side in a pained attempt at a smile. “Your girl’s down though, that’s good!”

“Stop. She’s not my girl.”

“Yet,” Vanessa smiled, a glint of disappointment still present in her eyes. Just then, Scarlet’s phone lit up in her hand.

mose: I’m going to follow the tradition of my entire university career making poor life choices and say yeah I’d be up for a night out

Scarlet looked with anticipation across to Vanessa, whose eyes were wide with excitement. She didn’t seem to know that she had a beaming smile on her face, and Scarlet couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, happy for the girl opposite her. “See? Good news!”

“Oh my God. It’s gonna be me, you, Yvie and Brooke Lynn. Fuckin’ double date night out,” Vanessa’s eyes scrunched up as she laughed happily. Scarlet felt her pulse start racing, nerves taking hold of her already. She was excited, though, for some time with Yvie in a slightly smaller setting. She hadn’t grabbed a coffee or done anything with just her in a while, and even though this wasn’t the ideal setting, it was still an opportunity. Vanessa was back typing quickly into her phone, and Scarlet watched the group chat progress.

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: yall suck apart from Yvie and BrookeLynn

FORD TRANSIT VANJIE: come to mine for 9 then bitches! Xoxoxoxo

Mose: See ya then boo

Scarlet turned over her phone and raised an eyebrow at Vanessa. “You’re her boo.”

“Yeah fuck y’all bitches, I’m Brooke Lynn’s lil’ ghost,” she smiled and gave her hands a quick clap together in excitement, Scarlet spluttering a laugh at her friend’s adorable reaction. Just then, their food arrived and got placed down in front of them.

“Oh hey, can I grab another Corona?” Vanessa asked, holding up her empty one. The waitress took it and nodded, and Vanessa gave Scarlet a guilty look. “I should really head to the library after this but I’mma go back home and nap, then spend the next four hours gettin’ ready. Fuck, I don’t even know how I’m gonna afford goin’ out tonight.”

Scarlet took a bite of a taco, then thought. Lunch was only going to come to about forty-ish pounds altogether, and really, what was that out of her winnings? She swallowed, looked to Vanessa, and smiled.  

“Hey. I’ll get us lunch,” she shrugged, shifting a little in her seat as Vanessa blinked at her.

“Serious? No, Scarlet, I can’t let you do that.”

“Honestly! My loan came in early,” she said, looking down at her plate as she lied. “Think of it as a celebratory, double-date-crush-night-out-whatever-the-fuck-this-is treat. And you can buy me a drink or something when we go out, call it even.”

As a waiter came by and placed another bottle in front of Vanessa, she gave a smile and raised it. “To coming out on the other side of tonight with girlfriends?”

Scarlet smiled as she clinked her glass against Vanessa’s beer. “Let’s not push it.”

The rest of her lunch with Vanessa passed by comfortably, Scarlet paying the bill when they were finished without a second thought and the girls saying goodbye with a hug and an excited squeal in anticipation of later on. Part of Scarlet wanted to head straight to the shops to look for something new to wear but she stopped herself, instead getting in an Uber and going back to the flat, the prospect of her returning to campus for her 3pm lecture growing thin. Turning the keys in her front door, she sighed when she heard loud music coming from Ra’Jah’s room. Scarlet had hoped she’d be out by now. Walking through to the living room to dump her shoes, coat and bag, she paused when she saw something on the messy, cluttered coffee table that she was sure hadn’t been there before.

It was a tiny, clear, plastic ziploc bag filled full of a white powder. Scarlet frowned as she picked it up, transferring the bag between her fingers and watching as the powder inside crumbled and broke up, the same sort of consistency as flour although slightly looser and whiter. The realisation of what she was holding suddenly hit her like a bus, nearly making her drop the bag. She stood silent for a couple of minutes, completely unsure of what to do. Then she heard the music in Ra’Jah’s room get turned up and that seemed to make her decision for her.

Storming back through into the hallway, Scarlet banged on her flatmate’s door. “Ra’Jah!”

The music got cut off and there was an eerie buzz of silence in the flat. The door in front of Scarlet swung open to reveal her flatmate, her face unimpressed. “Yes?”

Scarlet held up the bag, hoping it would elicit some emotion out of the other girl. It did not. “Can you not leave that shit lying around our flat?”

Ra’Jah smiled in amusement, showing a set of slightly uneven teeth. Scarlet felt her top lip curl up in a sneer. Ra'Jah wasn’t able to pull them off, not like Yvie with the cute gap she had between her front teeth. Fuck, was she really thinking of Yvie right now? Ra’Jah leant on the doorframe cockily. “What, a girl ain’t never seen cocaine before?”

“Of course I’ve seen it,” Scarlet lied, gripping the bag tight between her fingers. “I just don’t want the flat looking like a fucking crack den. I mean it’s not a potted plant, Ra’Jah, it’s a fucking class A drug. It’s not decorative.”

“Class A, ooh,” Ra’Jah mimicked mockingly, irritation washing over Scarlet. “Don’t shit yourself, bitch, it’s fine. I only put it down for, like, two seconds anyway. Just give it and I’ll put it somewhere safe.”

Scarlet went to pass it back to her, but something held her back. She looked at the powder again and a flash of thoughts flew through her head, of skinny, glamorous models and nightclub toilets and champagne. It was an illegal drug, and everything Scarlet had been brought up to believe told her it was fucking disgusting, and dangerous, and led to a spiral of addiction and debt. But still part of her was so insatiably curious, like she was addicted without even having tried it yet. She watched Ra’Jah’s expression change as Scarlet curled her fingers back. “Where’d you get it?”

“What is this, twenty fuckin’ questions?” her flatmate snapped back, rolling her eyes. “Just give me my narcotics, bitch.”

“Can I, um. I’ll buy it off you?” Scarlet stumbled out, causing Ra’Jah to look at her in disbelief.

“You want to buy cocaine?” she raised an eyebrow at her, speaking through a slight laugh. Scarlet’s hackles were up.

“Or give me the number of your dealer.”

Ra’Jah let out a small snort, shrugging her shoulders. “Ain’t any need to involve anyone else. Alright, that’s a gram. Give me sixty and it’s a deal.”

Scarlet felt her eyes widen involuntarily, Ra’Jah chuckling in response. “Girl, what did you think it was gonna be? Naomi Campbell snorts this shit for a reason, people use rolled up hundred dollar bills to snort this shit for a reason. It ain’t fuckin’ Cabbage Patch kids weed we talkin’ ‘bout here.”

Scarlet frowned and took out her phone, opening up her banking app. Just before she transferred the money, she looked at her flatmate suspiciously. Ra’Jah rolled her eyes.

“Look, I’m not taking you for a ride. I got it for fifty, a bitch wants to make a profit. Sixty is standard in some places. Others you’d be talkin’ seventy. Google it if you don’t believe me.”

“No, I believe you,” Scarlet simply said, hitting a button and just like that, sixty pounds flew out of her account. A nervous heartbeat felt entirely too fast and too loud in her body. Another hundred pounds gone.

“Thanks, bitch. This was great fun, maybe I’ll drop out and become a dealer,” Ra’Jah laughed, Scarlet saying nothing in reply as the door swung shut in her face. The bag seemed to make her right hand tingle, and a surge of nervous excitement shot through Scarlet like propane.

She got ready for the night ahead in a sort of daze, as the panic and the gravity of what she’d actually done began to sink in. She’d just bought a gram of cocaine for a night out. What the hell was she planning on doing with it? There was no way she’d be able to actually do any. Or was there? That was what Scarlet had always said about weed and now her and Yvie got high together all the time. Her pulse thrummed at her wrists when she thought about the other girl. Scarlet imagined bringing the small bag out in a toilet cubicle with her, watching her eyes grow wide, imagined her thinking holy shit, I never knew Scarlet was this type of girl at all. Imagined them both cutting it up with Scarlet’s bank card and snorting it, then hitting their high on the dancefloor, turning to her and letting Yvie lean in and kiss her in a haze of euphoria and lust.

Scarlet felt a throb of heat pulse between her legs, her doubts gone. This was a good decision.

Scarlet showed up to Vanessa’s flat only running a tiny bit late, ready with a bottle of vodka the size of her head and a couple of mixers in case any of the girls wanted to share. She got buzzed in quickly and was welcomed into the flat by Akeria who was looking a far cry from her usually-glamorous self, her hair piled on top of her head in a towel and a pair of pink flannel pyjamas on. Scarlet was shown through to their kitchen where she found Vanessa, Brooke and Yvie all sitting on the sofa or on chairs beside Silky who was also in her pyjamas and, just as she’d promised on the chat, was watching The Chase. The girls gave a small cry of delight as Scarlet walked in, Scarlet not missing the way Vanessa was sat on Brooke Lynn’s lap. Part of her prickled with jealousy, wishing that her and Yvie were in their place, but she didn’t mind too much. She was happy for Vanessa. Scarlet grabbed a glass, took a chair to sit in, and began pouring a drink as the girls continued to watch the TV.

“Low offer of minus four thousand pounds, high offer, please?”

“Fifty-one thousand pounds.”

“We’re watching The Chase,” Vanessa explained to Scarlet.

“I gathered.”

“If he takes the minus offer, I’m gonna reach through the TV and stab him,” Brooke said seriously, her face displeased.

“Nah, he’s gonna stick in the middle. I trust Nigel, 52, from Stockport,” Yvie drawled, taking a sip of her drink then smiling at Scarlet from her position on the chair beside her, reaching across and squeezing her hand. “Hey, girl, how are you?”

“I’m good, thanks,” she smiled shyly, giving Yvie’s hand a small squeeze back and admiring her crushed-velvet red dress. “You look good.”

Yvie momentarily looked as if she was about to say something cute in response when her eyes were suddenly ripped from Scarlet’s and back to the screen as the girls groaned loudly.

“He’s a fucking TRAITOR,” Silky yelled, launching a cushion at the TV. “Sheila brought back forty-five thousand for this asshole to take from it? NO MA’AM!”

“Well this is the most lit pres I’ve ever been to,” Scarlet deadpanned.

“I hate this motherfuckin’ game show. Silk, turn this shit off,” Vanessa rolled her eyes, her flatmate loudly complaining.

“It’s my fuckin’ flat too, hoe!”

“Yeah, some of us actually have to do work tomorrow,” Akeria piped up from her position at the oven, checking on whatever she’d put inside. “How come you’re out tonight anyway?”

Scarlet caught Vanessa’s eye and she just stopped herself from smiling. “Oh, you know. Sometimes you just fancy going out.”

“It’s called being spontaneous, Kiki. You should try it,” Brooke joined in as she brought both hands up around Vanessa’s waist, the other girl giving a happy sigh and Scarlet staring at them, jealousy burning under her skin. As the other girls bickered, Yvie turned to face her again.

“Hey. You alright?” she asked, concern etched on her face and making Scarlet’s heart swell up.

“No, yeah, I’m good!” she smiled, blinking and trying not to come out with the truth of I’m insanely jealous of how close and cuddly Brooke and Vanessa are being right now and I wish Silky would get up off the sofa so we can join them. Satisfied with her answer, Yvie smiled.

“That’s good. No sad allowed at pres,” she joked, then tapped her gently on the nose. “Also you’re not allowed to be upset, you’re, like, my favourite person. Don’t tell the others.”

Scarlet felt something akin to a tidal wave flood over her whole body. Boosted, she gave Yvie a small wink. “I won’t. I promise.”

Something behind Yvie’s eyes seemed taken-aback, but not in a negative way. Almost as if she hadn’t expected Scarlet to come back with something so flirty so quickly, and Scarlet had to hide her smile behind her hand when she saw Yvie’s cheeks turn slightly pink.

Two hours later, all of Scarlet’s vodka had been drank and the four girls had managed to navigate a drunk Uber ride and entry into one of the fanciest clubs in the city. Usually none of them would have been able to afford the entry fee, but Scarlet had paid the ten pounds for each of them without batting an eyelid. She probably should have cared, but Scarlet had hit that stage where the alcohol had her convinced that life was wonderful, she was invincible, and she would be young and rich forever. She laughed as she cast her eye around the small circle the girls had formed on the dancefloor. Vanessa was dancing, frankly, like a stripper, and Brooke seemed to be living for it, her hands on the other girl’s waist protectively. Yvie was bouncing and flailing about, completely intoxicated, and yelling along to whatever song was playing- Scarlet didn’t know it, but she didn’t really need to. Turning to Yvie, she grabbed her hands and laughed. Yvie looked at her curiously.

“You look like those things…those car lot things…they go like this in the wind,” Scarlet explained, suddenly demonstrating to Yvie and throwing her hands in the air. Yvie buckled over with laughter, her hands on her knees, and Scarlet was so pleased she’d made her laugh.

“Bitch you started doing the floss to Miami 2 Ibiza, shut the fuck up,” Yvie snorted, Scarlet howling beside her. Casting her eye again to Brooke and Vanjie, an idea planted itself in Scarlet’s head.

“Yvie, watch me dance like Vanessa,” she commanded, suddenly feeling emboldened enough to throw her arms around Yvie’s neck and push her body up against hers. She ran her hands through the other girl’s hair messily, Yvie’s eyes half-lidded as she laughed gently at her.

“Girl…messing up my hair,” she muttered, Scarlet smiling back brazenly.

“It was messed up when you did it,” she smiled cheekily, tapping Yvie on the nose like she’d done to her earlier. Without giving her a chance to respond, Scarlet dropped down onto the floor in a move she hoped would make her look irresistible. Instead, she toppled over and ended up flat on her back against the sticky floor, the crowd parting around her like the Red Sea. She looked up to see Yvie laughing hysterically, holding both her hands out to her. Scarlet took them gratefully and she was pulled up, beside Yvie again only this time with just a fraction of the confidence. Yvie must have seen her pouting as Scarlet felt her strong arms being wrapped around her in a hug.

“Aw baby, I like your dancing the way it is,” she slurred into her ear, a tingle shooting down Scarlet’s spine at the proximity of Yvie’s lips to her skin. Scarlet was about to do something, say something, when she suddenly felt herself being wrenched away from Yvie and dancing beside Vanessa, who was gripping her arm. Scarlet was confused until Vanessa leaned in close to her and yelled above the music.

“I got an idea,” she said, her voice thick with alcohol. “Gonna make them both jealous.”

Scarlet’s eyes widened, an electric shock running through her veins as Vanessa pulled her close, then tilted her head up and kissed her. There was little to no hesitation and Scarlet felt herself kissing back, feeling the eyes of the other girls on them both. Vanessa kissed as if she’d known Scarlet’s lips her whole life, hot and passionate, and it briefly ran through Scarlet’s mind that Vanessa probably had a certain Canadian blonde on her mind as she was doing it. She desperately wanted to open her eyes, to look over to Yvie to see if she even cared. Show over, Vanessa pulled away, beaming and laughing, and Scarlet felt herself laugh back. In her drunk state, the situation was funny- the pair of them getting with each other to try to make their two other friends jealous. It appeared to have worked, certainly in Scarlet’s case, as Yvie took her hand and pulled her back, an odd sort of smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She shouted over the music at Scarlet, something that she couldn’t quite hear.

“What?”

Yvie raised her voice a little more. “I didn’t know you liked Vanessa like that!”

Scarlet laughed. “I don’t!”

Yvie gave her a funny look, a multitude of questions no doubt running around her head. Scarlet felt her confidence peak and she leaned in close to Yvie’s ear, Yvie’s arms snaking round her waist instinctively. “You jealous, girl?”

She felt Yvie’s body shake in a laugh Scarlet could tell was affected. “No…bitch.”

Scarlet leant her head on her shoulder and spoke against her neck. “Hey, 'f you’re lucky it might be you next time.”

She pressed a tiny kiss against Yvie’s skin and pulled away laughing, Yvie looking momentarily shaken then joining in with Scarlet’s laughter. Scarlet ran her tongue over her teeth. Fucking yes. Suddenly, she remembered the tiny bag she had in her bra. She caught the attention of the other girls and shouted over the music again. “Guys. Come pee with me.”

She began to make her way through the crowd to the toilets, hearing Vanessa and Yvie laugh at Brooke singing a parody of Come Fly With Me but replacing the word “fly” with “pee”. They eventually all managed to cram into a cubicle together, Scarlet counting her blessings that there was no toilet attendant on duty who would almost definitely have bundled them all out. The girls looked shocked as Scarlet turned around from locking the door and produced the bag from her bra.

“Is anyone down?” she asked lightly, Brooke letting out a nervous laugh beside her. Vanessa flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“What the fuck is that,” Yvie asked, her face set in a hesitant, concerned smile. Scarlet shrugged.

“It’s exactly what it looks like.”

Vanessa spoke first with a blase shrug. “Yeah, bitch, let’s do it.”

Scarlet smiled happily, part of her quite surprised at how readily Vanessa agreed to the whole thing. Her eyes darted to Yvie, who was still looking at the bag cautiously. Obviously noticing her eyes on her, Yvie gave her a look that Scarlet couldn’t quite decipher, then screwed her face up. “So this is a thing we all do now?”

Vanessa narrowed her eyes at her. “Aw Jesus, Yvie, it’s one key in a club on a night out, we’re not all about to turn into fuckin’ junkies.”

Scarlet’s confidence had been given a knock. She hesitantly caught Yvie’s eye. “I mean, you don’t have to, I just thought-”

“No, girl, I’ll do some. ’M not a fucking pussy,” she frowned, taking a breath that seemed to be shaky and turning to Brooke, who was still looking with wide eyes at Scarlet. “Brooke, you doing this?”

It occurred to Scarlet that this was the first time she’d ever seen Brooke look anything other than completely sure of herself. She was laughing awkwardly, almost nervously. Scarlet watched as Vanessa put a gentle hand on her arm. “You don’t have to, baby.”

“No, well, y'know me. Try anything once,” she slurred, leaning into Vanessa’s touch. “Okay, fuck, let’s do this shit.”

Scarlet moved to empty the bag out onto the toilet cistern, but Vanessa put out a hand to stop her. “Woah, girl, the fuck you doin’? Just take a key, ain’t no need for all that fuckin’ credit card shit.”

Scarlet frowned at her, confused in her drunken state. “Keys?”

Vanessa seemed to shrink back into herself as she saw all three girls looking at her intently, wondering how she knew so much about the process. Wordlessly, she gestured for the baggie and produced her keys from her gold clutch bag. She calmly opened the small plastic bag and fished into it with a single key, balancing some of the powder on the length of it. With a short glance up at the girls, she pressed a finger to one nostril and gave a quick, harsh sniff with the other. As quickly as it had appeared, the cocaine was gone. Vanessa rubbed quickly at her nose, sniffing awkwardly.

“Alright, who’s next?” she questioned. Scarlet could feel Yvie’s eyes on her.

“Well since Scarlet brought it, she should go next,” she said, something off to her tone and her stare that Scarlet couldn’t quite pinpoint. Scarlet shrugged stiffly, Vanessa reaching back into the bag with the key and holding some out for her. The butterflies in her stomach almost overwhelming, Scarlet leaned forward and mimicked what Vanessa had done. The first thing that she felt was the all-encompassing smell of petrol, followed by a horrific stinging at the back of her nose and mouth, Scarlet briefly being reminded of jumping into swimming pools when she was little and water shooting up her nose. She gave a cough and a big, follow-up sniff, Vanessa chuckling lightly.

Well, that just happened.

Nervously thrilled, Scarlet felt the butterflies in her stomach dissipate as she watched Vanessa hold a key out to Yvie. Yvie frowned and shook her head.

“Nah. Changed my mind. I’m out,” she said darkly, shooting Scarlet a glare that made her feel like a reprimanded child.

“Come on, Yvie, it’s fine,” Scarlet offered, the other girl scrunching up her face.

“No. It’s not happening. You guys have fun.”

Scarlet felt dejected. She wished she knew what she’d done wrong. Trying to push her feelings aside, Scarlet watched as Vanessa turned the key to Brooke. Brooke was looking from the key to the lock of the toilet stall, nervous. Vanessa reached up and touched a lock of her hair.

“You don’t have to, Brooky.”

“No, I will, I will. I’m just nervous. And excited,” she stammered out, Scarlet thinking she couldn’t have judged the girls’ reaction to this entire situation less accurately if she’d tried.

“You can rub it on your gums if you don’t wanna snort it,” Vanessa explained, part of Scarlet wishing she’d told her that before her turn. Brooke tilted her head, considering, then wet her finger, reached into the bag and took some. Then she put her finger back in her mouth and maneuvered it around, her eyes on Vanessa.

“You tryna flirt, boo?” the other girl questioned, her eyes half-lidded as she locked eyes with her.

Brooke let out a laugh. “Bitch I’m trying to take fucking drugs!”

Vanessa, Brooke and Scarlet burst out laughing, Yvie shushing them.

“Right, let’s go, junkies,” she said irritably. Scarlet frowned, sad that she seemed to have upset Yvie in some way. An idea came to her as they left the cubicle and wandered past the judgemental line of waiting girls.

“I’m gonna get us a bottle of champagne,” Scarlet decided, sure for a second that she saw Yvie roll her eyes, but she wasn’t too sure.

“Vanjie, does it look obvious we’ve been doing drugs?” Scarlet heard Brooke yell over the music, Vanessa laughing gently.

“Everyone here is on drugs, baby. Just chill. It’ll kick in in a minute,” she winked, taking both of Brooke’s hands and jumping a little on the dancefloor.

Scarlet watched as Brooke’s eyes darted to a security camera on the ceiling. “Guys. They can see us. They know.”

“Brooke, relax, nobody gives a shit,” Yvie rolled her eyes. Brooke turned to Scarlet, panic filling her eyes.

“Scarlet, what was in that? Is it all okay, yeah? It’s not got anything through it?”

“Oh, good. Well done, bitch, are you seeing this?” Yvie glared at Scarlet before she had a chance to reply to Brooke. “Brooke! It’s fine! You’re okay!”

The music seemed as if it had been turned up louder. Scarlet scrunched her eyes closed. “Brooke, it’s fine, okay? I’m going to the bar, who wants something?”

“Ugh, of course you are,” she thought she heard Yvie mutter. Suddenly irritated, Scarlet whipped around to face her.

“And what is that meant to mean, huh?” she snapped, Yvie’s eyes widening a little at being challenged.

“You, bitch! What the fuck is up with you these days?”

“Nothing’s up with me? What is this?!” Scarlet cried, a couple of heads turning their way then slowly turning back. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as if she’d just drank fifty Red Bulls back to back, although she was unable to tell if this was the effect of the drugs or just how annoyed she was.

“Something’s off with you. Fucking…cocaine, champagne, this constant…buying everything for everyone like we’re all charity cases, behaving like you’re a fucking extra off Gossip Girl? This isn’t you, Scarlet!” Yvie yelled back, suddenly grasping her by the wrists and giving her a shake. “The normal Scarlet would have shit herself at the thought of doing a key, the normal Scarlet would want to go to Levels and pay a pound for entry instead of going here to dance around with a bunch of fucking Love Island rejects!”

Yvie’s words stung harshly at Scarlet’s heart. She knew the other girl could sometimes grow argumentative when she was drunk, but Scarlet had never had it directed at her. It wasn’t nice. Scarlet felt her tone switch a little as she spoke. “Yvie, you’re being kind of a dick.”

Yvie gave a laugh of disbelief. “Well breaking fucking news, Scarlet! So are you! I mean do you have any idea how shitty it is to see your best friend grow into a total asshole over the space of two weeks?”

“Guys,” Vanessa suddenly interrupted out of nowhere, and Scarlet had no idea how long they’d been fighting or at what volume. “Me and Brooke are gonna go. She’s not doing well.”

Yvie looked at Vanessa, panicked. She cast Scarlet one last withering look before dashing through the crowd, presumably to pick up their jackets. Scarlet felt a bubble of upset prick at her throat. She turned to Vanessa instead. “What’s happened?”

“She thinks she’s having a heart attack. I mean, she’s not, it’s just the drugs, but I’m still worried about her,” she frowned, biting her lip. Vanessa jerked a thumb back to where Yvie had slinked off. “The fuck was that all about?”

Scarlet shook her head silently, not trusting herself to speak unless she began to cry. She didn’t understand how she’d managed to fuck everything up so badly. Vanessa saw her upset and pulled her in for a quick hug.

“Baby. Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

The four of them got their coats and joined the taxi queue in a blur. Yvie wouldn’t even look her way, and Scarlet didn’t trust herself to try to speak to her in case she managed to make things even worse. She seemed more concerned about Brooke anyway, who was chattering away, her teeth clicking together in the cold night air.

“Is the taxi driver going to know? Will he just drive us to the police station and hand us in? Do you think he’ll phone the police? What if the police were to just come here right now and say they’re giving random drug tests to everyone in the line? What if-”

“Oh my God, what if you shut the fuck up?” Yvie snapped, Brooke looking taken-aback. Vanessa wrapped her arms around Brooke’s waist protectively.

“Brooky. It’s alright. The police aren’t coming, the taxi driver isn’t gonna turn us in. We’re going back to your flat and we’ll get you into bed safe. You’ve got us, nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

Brooke let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a sob. She buried her face in Vanessa’s hair. “I love you, V’nessa.”

Scarlet saw something shut down behind Vanessa’s eyes as she squeezed Brooke tightly. “I love you too, baby.”

Scarlet couldn’t stop herself from casting her eyes across to Yvie, selfishly longing. If she hadn’t fucked everything up, maybe something could have happened. Now, though, it looked as if she’d have to piece their friendship back together, never mind anything more.

The line moved up, and they found themselves at the front. Brooke and Vanessa spilled in, then Yvie. Scarlet went to join them when she found the door getting pulled across in her face. Yvie scowled at her. “No. You’re not getting in with us. I don’t even want to speak to you right now.”

Scarlet could hear Vanessa protesting. “Yvie, for fuck’s sake-”

“You’re not coming with us, bitch. Make your own damn way home,” she reiterated, slamming the door shut.

As the taxi sped away, Scarlet couldn’t fix the slack-jawed look of complete hurt she could feel on her face. As the reality of what had just happened sank in, she felt her face crumple like a paper bag as she began to cry, stood on her own at the taxi rank in the small hours of the morning, and all she could do was wait.

[arlandvery]

Hen, Chick (and Hawk)

A concept sent to @yandere-love-love-love got me started on this fic, and the first thing I’ve written on my new laptop! Still getting used to the keyboard and it sucks! :D Anyhooo, this is written from the pov of the kid, purely because I thought it would be a bit more interesting.

You didn’t like the new apartment.

It was small; your apartment was nicer. It was big. Daddy called it an eyrie. Your room at home was big and soft- it had to be, to accommodate your wings (you were big enough now that you could keep your flapping under control, but it was annoying at home, where the worst meant Mommy and Daddy finding out you lied about brushing your teeth,but here that meant knocking into something, and after a couple of weeks your wings were sore). You didn’t have any toys here either, and that was no fun.

Mama liked it here though, you could tell.

You didn’t get it.

At home, Mama didn’t need to work. She didn’t have to leave. She could play with you all day if she wanted, or lay in bed all day. But now Mama went to work every day and left you with an elderly neighbor named Mrs. Saito. Mrs. Saito was nice, you guessed, but she was old, and didn’t really want to play, or do anything very interesting.

You missed Daddy.

You wanted him here, now. But Mama wouldn’t let call him, or tell you what was going on.

It all got fuzzy when Daddy had to leave town- he said he’d be gone for two weeks, but he’d bring back lots of presents to make up for it. Mama had hugged him tight when he left, and cuddled you when you started siffling. That day, Mama was jittery. She kept disappearing into hers an Daddy’s room. When Daddy called that night, to tell them good night, Mama had picked up and told im about her day, then let you talk to him. 

But the moment that you were off the phone, she’d said you were leaving.

And you didn’t have any choice but to go with her.

You slept in the car the first night. Then you walked everywhere. There was a tiny motel room where the water was brown and the sheets had cigarette burns. It took two weeks for Mama to find a job and another month to get the apartment.

“When can we see Daddy?” You whined that night as Mama tucked you into bed. 

Mama frowned and looked down at you, carefully tucked away for sleep, your wings folded gingerly.

“We aren’t.” She admitted, and you didn’t understand. Why wouldn’t you go home? Wasn’t this just a vacation?

“B-but I want Daddy!” You whined, your eyes getting hot with unshed tears. Mama sniffled and climbed into bd beside her, pulling you close.

“I know baby, but it’s better this way.”

But you didn’t understand.

So Mama told you a story.

It wasn’t a nice story.

But you never asked when you were going back to Daddy again.

You think about your Dad more than you want to admit.

It’s hard not to think of him, when wings sprout from your back, soft white and itching to fly. But you don’t, because that quirk would be too noticeable.

(Mom paid someone in the Quirk Registration offices to lie- you’ve got a weak quirk on paper, something about sensing changing wind currents. You don’t fly. Your wings are always folded neatly beneath your clothes, feathers plucked as soon as they grow in.

Mom cries every time you do it.

But she doesn’t stop you.)

You look like him too. You hate that.

But Mom doesn’t flinch when you move too quickly (a memory that you recovered when you were ten), or spend a scary amount of time with hat blank-faced stare when you do something that reminds her of him anymore (something that she did but used to hide). So things are okay.

You think about the story.

(The first time she told it, it was the bare bones.

There was a man who fell in love with a very unlucky woman.

He followed her and learned everythig about her; her name, where she lived, what she did, what she wanted.

And he approached her and wooed her and she loved him so much. Everything moved so fast her head spun, but that was alright, she thought, because she loved him.

She married him.

And then things got bad.)

Things are nice now. Normal. You’ve moved out of the dingy apartment and the gross hotel room. Now you live in a nice neighborhood. Mom has friends that she goes out with on Thursday nights. You usually hang out on Sundays- they remind you of when you were little and it was just you and Mom, because Dad-

(Her new husband always wanted to know where she was. He always kept her busy, and soon her other friends faded away. He was angry whenever she suggested going back to work because he could provide- why would she need to work? 

She let him isolate and manipulate her until one day she went out without telling him.

For no reason she decided one day that she wanted to go out. If he loved her, she said to herself, he’d understand her need to breathe, to be away from him, just for awhile.

She didn’t do much that day, just walked around. Did some window shopping.

But she never entertained the thought of calling her friends. Or leaving him.

When she came back that evening, he was waiting at the door for her. He dragged her inside and that was the first time he hit her.)

Mom’s gonna be late tonight, so you’re probably just gonna get pizza and do your homework. You’re thinking about calling your friend Chi and bitching over the latest garbage episode of your guys’ least favorite show that you both watch unironically.

You like Chi because his favorite hero wasn’t Hawks. Well, there was more to it than that, but it made your friendship easier, purely because you didn’t have to look at your Dad’s smug PR smile on his merch everywhere when you went to his house. Chi preferred All-Might, something you both had in common.

 But the thing is, you feel uneasy.

It’s nothing new, you always feel like that. Anxiety, Mom calls it, looking guilty. So you don’t tell her about it. It’s not her fault that you’re always scared that Dad’s coming, that he’ll find you both. You keep your long nights secret- nights where your breath is shallow and rattles in your throat and you can’t breathe because you’re so sure that he’s outside the window waiting waiting waiting

But you get home without incident. You unlock the door, lock it behind you, change into some sweatpants and text Mom you made it home safely. Then you study- math’s kicking your ass. You learn better by doing, and sitting still has and always will be a nightmare.

Mom says you get that from him.

But she didn’t sound sad when she said it. You’d been in the teacher’s office, again, because you didn’t get it, you got frustrated, so you lashed out. Mom had to leave work. You felt awful. But she didn’t yell at you or anything. She let the teacher talk, agreed you were in the wrong and then you talked about it at home. When you finally told her how hard it was she’d nodded and petted your hair.

“We’ll work on it together.”

And you did.

You learned how to listen, how to pay attention. Little tricks.

You’re not stupid, you just needed extra attention.

(And not because you don’t have a dad, like the PTA mom’s hush-whisper about)

Around 6 you order pizza, checking your phone. Chi hasn’t called you back. Mom’s messaged you to remind you not to stay up too late and that she loves you.

Love you too, ma, you text back.

(After that, her husband didn’t let her leave the house. He kept her locked in the bedroom. Sometimes he drugged her to keep her quiet. He’d come home and fix dinner and bring her out and feed her as if she were some pet.

But now the woman knew what kind of man she’d married. She began to fight him, using the pain to spur her onward.

One night she nearly got away.

But by nearly, she almost made it to the door. 

Her husband dragged her back to the bedroom and he hurt her.

-Mom shows you the scars on her back when you’re 10, because you didn’t know how bad it was and you wanted to know.

You traced the scarring carefully, with gentle fingers. You could imagine the feather in Dad’s hand. Brighter red than the blood welling up. He’d taken care that it was scar, would pull if she moved a certain way.

Hawks, the letters said, because she’d never escape being his-

And after that she couldn’t fight him, because then she was going to have a baby.)

You take a break after you order. Your eyes are starting to ache and your hand is cramping. You could call it a night reasonably. Instead you shower and unbind your wings, sighing as you flex them. You’d be lying if you sad that you didn’t worry about what the constant plucking and binding was doing to your wings. 

There’s a knock on the door and you scramble to grab your wallet.

“Coming!” You shout, running because, well, pizza.

But when you open the door and standing there, holding the pizza box is your Dad, smiling like nothing is wrong. Like you saw each other this morning, not 6 years ago. Like he isn’t a monster.

“Dad,” you say quietly, gripping the door. His smile is every bit as predatory as his name.

“Hey eyas! Gonna let your old man in?” You notice that his foot is wedged against the door. You couldn’t close it if you wanted. Or, rather, if you had the presence of mind. 

But all you can think about are the scars on your Mom and how much he scares her still. What will he do to you?

Dad’s still waiting, and laughs a little, “c’mon kiddo, pizza’s getting cold. We can catch up til your Mom gets home!” There, there’s that darkness that you know is there, never noticed as a kid.

Wordlessly, you step aside and let him in, trying not to tremble.

You know what he is, and you hate him. But that’s still your Dad. And he wants to know all about you.

“You don’t deserve to know me!” You snap, interrupting his steady stream of questions as he goes through your phone. You shove your pizza away and stand up to leave- to run.

But your Dad’s wing flares out, blocking the door and cornering you. Dad just looks up at you without moving his head.

“Kiddo, sit down. We’re gonna have a talk now, okay?”

You know what he can do with those wings. Mom tortures herself and watches his televised fights. There’s a reason that he’s #2. So you sit your ass down. He nudges the pizza towards you again.

“Tell me, why don’t I deserve to know you? Is it because I didn’t find you immediately when your Mom had a moment of insanity and stole you?” You open your mouth, but he keeps talking, eyes flashing. “Do you have any,” he takes a deep breath and tries to lower his voice, “any idea what it was like when I came home and you both were gone? Bags packed, no note, your mom’s ring just there on the counter-!”

“You can’t even tell the truth now, can you!” You demand, because damn the neghbors, hopefully they’ll cal the cops. “You called her nightly to make sure she was where you put her! How long until you rushed home because you knew she’d found a way out, a way to get us out and stay safe-”

“Safe?!” He snarled, “I finally track you down and you’re terrified of me, your wings are- are plucked, living illegally-”

“Mom has a legal job-!”

“Lying to the Quirk Registry Office is a crime, along with kidnappig.”

“You kidnapped her! You isolated her and hurt her and raped-”

His backhand is sharp and snaps your head to the side.

“Don’t you ever say that again.” Hawks voice is dangerously low, and goosebumps break out on your skin. Your cheek hurts- it’s gonna bruise. But you don’t move. “I love your mother, I did everything for her, to keep her safe, and happy. Sometimes people don’t know what they want,” remarkably, he smiles again, and you want to hurl. “She needed me, and she needed a baby- and now she needs to be reminded exactly why you don’t kidnap your child and hide them for 6 years.”

“Dad-”

“Love is a beautiful thing, kiddo,” he cups your hand and curls his wing around you, and you stifle a sob.

You...you have good memories of your Dad.

Memories that you don’t like thinking about, because he’s a monster, good memories of him aren’t fair.

But dad taught you how to groom your wings and held you when you were scared. He took you to the doctor when you got sick and surprised you in the morning with omelettes and cheese because he wanted to show his family that he loved them. When sat on his lap he’d wrap his wings around you and you felt warm and safe and you’re crying now, you can’t help it as he hugs you close and strokes your hair.

“Love is so beautiful, and I can’t let anything ruin that,” he coos, kissing your head. 

[hyojinrk-archived]

MGA 5 EPISODE ONE: tooice’s tt ( 8:08 - 9:11 ) & billie eilish’s idontwannabeyouanymore ( 3:31 - 4:17 ) reimagined acoustic cover

SHOWCASED: singing, guitar, creativity, bilinguality concept versatility??

TW: minor anxiety

there’s a sinking feeling in his chest when he sees the email, with its sleek, coldly official design and matter-of-fact wording. clicking around, reading every email except for the one from mnet, hyojin chews his bottom lip as he tries to immerse himself in anything but the reminder that he had, even for a moment, decided to stray from the path he had decided to follow for the past few years.

‘CONGRATULATIONS, KIM HYOJIN.’

for some reason, he doesn’t feel like he’s being congratulated at all.

he skims through the acceptance email from motte capital, the familiar name of the manager not bringing him much comfort. at this point, he was already guaranteed a spot as an employee, having worked there since his freshman year in university. he’s sure it’s a position that would be envied by anyone else in his department -- getting a job at a large finance firm over one break, nevertheless every one? if he didn’t know better, he would have thought it preferential treatment, too.

( of course, that wasn’t true. the only connection he had was was back in anyang, wondering how her dear son was doing in the big city. )

with a sigh, he opens the email, wondering if there was some kind of mixup, or confusion, or just general cruelty. maybe they were congratulating him for trying out, only to reject him and tell him that he wasn’t good enough. maybe things were better off that way, anyways.

it’s not very normal of him to be this melancholy -- it’s just that his fight with doyoung and resurfacing memories of seungyeon have been weighing him down and keeping him awake lately. there isn’t much comfort he can find unless it’s in singing or when he’s in the studio with seunghun, or even just hanging around with sakura. it’s difficult, indeed.

he remains there foolishly, like a statue, at the slow sinking realization that it wasn’t a joke -- the email gives him an address and information that would make no sense otherwise unless he had somehow passed whatever preliminary screening they had put him through two weeks ago. hyojin’s first reaction, naturally, is to put his phone on the table, face down, and to ignore the message despite the objection his heart raises.

one day and many hours of mindlessly singing songs on the piano that he can vaguely remember the chords for, hyojin finds himself straying back to the lyrics for seattle by sam kim, the unfamiliar, twisting feeling in his gut that had been haunting him ever since he had seen the email growing stronger with every note. he stops and sits there for a while, looking at his fingers on the plastic white keys, the way the keyboard slowly moves with his arms on the thin beams that held it up. in retrospect, it was already used and cheap when he had gotten ahold of it, but at that time, he had carefully collected all of the wages he had gotten from the bakery in a little piggybank on his desk to buy some kind of replacement for the old, rundown piano that he had left back at home, only bringing his guitar along with his small suitcase.

he was more comfortable now than he used to be, of course, but the thought still lingers whenever he plays, the reminder that he had been so determined to get what he wanted just to sing, to make music in the way he could best striking a chord in him.

maybe this was a sign.

❀

“no, this isn’t it.” 

covering his mouth with his hand to try and muffle both a sigh of frustration and a yawn, his eyes remain glued on the bright screen of his laptop as he exits out of the fiftieth music video he’s seen that night. call it a bad habit, but when he stays up late for things like this, he tends to keep all the other lights off -- partially not to disturb jooyoung, but also to save electricity. there wasn’t much for him to lose, anyways -- he already wore glasses with an admittedly rather high prescription.

hearing the inklings of sleep creeping into his voice, now gruff from staying completely silent for at least an hour or so, he ruffles his hair to try and keep himself awake. he doesn’t have much time to waste before the internship starts in a week or two and with the auditions approaching faster than ever. he’ll fix whatever mess he makes of his sleep schedule later, when the performance is over. for now, he’ll have to find something that fits perfectly.

he wants to show another side of him while keeping the same theme. a chaos song? 12:30? a classic, but not currently trendy. what about a momoland song? or...

pausing in his trail of thought, hyojin’s mind zeroes in on an idea. a girl group song? that’s a good mix of trendy and catchy. finally picking up his guitar after spending so long with his fingers itching to play something, anything, but his head not allowing himself to get sidetracked while doing something so important. 

closing his eyes and strumming a few chords while muffling the strings, hyojin quietly starts to sing a song from the top of his head. “what to do, keep me still / make me like ooh ahh ooh ahh -- oh? that’s not bad, what about this,” changing the fingering patterns, he starts a new song, “who that who that who that boy,” then changing again, “i can’t stop this trembling / on and on and on / i wanna throw my all / into your world.” he stops playing once his voice gets a little too loud and he can hear it echo, wincing.

a girl group medley wouldn’t be too bad, but considering his time frame, the amount of time it would take him to decide on songs and arrange them together and practice seemed unrealistic. maybe he’ll just stick with one or two. 

it’s relatively smooth sailing after that -- he ends up choosing tooice’s tt, and after another session of scrolling through random songs on youtube to try and jar his memory as to what would be good to sing, he decides to settle on a billie eilish song as well. no matter how much he tries, he can’t ignore his ballad and emotional vocal side.

by the night before the performance, hyojin finds that the late thoughts have ebbed away, and falls into a dreamless sleep.

❀ IN THE STUDIO ; 

if he was asked to list out the top three things he was most grateful for at that very moment, hyojin would definitely list his cousin as one of them. he’s trying not to take note of how clammy his hands feel and the amount of nerves he has for something as big as this, but he manages to maintain his composure, more so to keep up appearances around jooyoung and not worry him. 

perhaps he’s too preoccupied with trying to absorb the largeness of the studio and everything around him, but before he knew it, his hand was being grabbed by jooyoung and he was being pulled along to a section of the seats. it takes him a second too late to realize that they weren’t going to be sitting along this time around -- although it isn’t unwelcome to see seungmin in any sort of setting, the realization that both jooyoung and seungmin were going to be sitting together for god knows how long. he’s tempted to take the lead and sit in between them to avoid becoming the collateral damage of their interaction, but it’s clear that the older male has something else in mind when he literally sits next to the boy.

“ah, seungminnie.” he waves a hand weakly in greeting, only offering an embarrassed smile when he’s responded to with surprise. 

admittedly, he hadn’t told anyone except for maybe jooyoung and sakura, but he also had run into seunghun and sungwoon during auditions. that makes for less than five people, but in retrospect, he didn’t seem like the type to do something like this.

he can feel the tension boiling between the two siblings, sitting awkwardly in his seat and watching the spectacle almost nervously, as if waiting any moment to break them apart in case a fight went down. so this would be what the kim family reunion would be like, huh. although, he supposes the only person missing would be junyoung.

regardless, he simply smiles back at jooyoung when the male turns helplessly to give him a dry smile and shrug, as if saying what can i do, that’s how youngsters are. laughing to try and break the bad mood, he shifts in his seat again and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“let’s just do well, everyone.”

once the broadcasting begins and the ceos are introduced, hyojin finds himself covering his mouth in shock, and he turns to look at jooyoung in surprise. admittedly, he hadn’t really watched much of the mgas unless it was clips concerning sungwoon, so he had thought the judging panel would just be a bunch of professional performers that could judge idols. 

instead, seeing all five figures in front of him on the stage sends shocks through his body, somehow making the stakes seem far higher now that such qualified eyes were upon them. it wasn’t exactly that he listened to a lot of idol music or paid close attention to the entertainment companies, but it’s still the feeling of seeing celebrities in the flesh that makes him so starstruck.

even then, adding onto that, the contestants seemed to be called in a random order after the initial announcements were made by the judges. nevertheless, he tries his best to enjoy the stages, watching carefully and attentively as each of them performed and cheering for his friends. he can’t help but comment on haruto as he gets on the stage as well, surprised at seeing the familiar face.

“ah, so cute,” hyojin says, smiling fondly and his hands curling up in an almost cringe at how endearing he found the boy during his introduction, and he calls out a soft “がんばってね ( ganbatte ne / do your best )” to the boy in japanese before he starts his skating performance. it’s incredibly impressive and certainly something he’s never seen before until now, and the finesse with which the younger boy performed was definitely eye-catching. of course, he stands up in his seat when haruto ends up falling off the stage after waving, clear concern on his face for the poor boy that still doesn’t go away entirely, even when he proves to be okay.

that aside, he remains seated for the rest of the performances, cheering for seungmin as he sings an english song, mesmerized by his voice, and then jooyoung, who plays some of the guitar. despite having heard jooyoung practicing in his room from time to time, hyojin still chuckles at the similarity in their instrument choices, swaying along to the songs he plays.

“guess it’s a kim cousin thing.” he says to seungmin, gesturing at the acoustic guitar he had with him as well, before looking up at jooyoung with his electric guitar meaningfully.

by the time it was his turn to go up, it felt more like he had been watching a concert and was now being asked to perform.

❀ ON THE STAGE ; 

growing shy when he hears baek jiyoung call his name, hyojin grabs his guitar and heads onto the stage, ducking his head down with red ears. admittedly, he’s a little flustered to have all of their attention on him, but he tries his best to stay relaxed nevertheless. the moment he slings the guitar over his shoulder, however, he feels his legs starting to quiver slightly, only growing more intense when baek jiyoung asks him to introduce himself.

“ah, hello, i’m 21 year old kim hyojin,” he says, holding up two fingers on one hand and one finger on the other with a soft smile. 

he tries not to think of other things while speaking, but he can’t help but think back to how doyoung would occasionally call him a ‘pretty boy,’ and even how his old middle school friends would comment on his eye smile and how sweet he looked whenever smiling. stuttering before he continues his sentence, hyojin adds, “i’ve been singing since i was around... seven? yeah -- i won’t take up too much longer, but i hope you’ll enjoy and that the worries you might have had today will be erased. also...”

inhaling softly once he realizes how his legs are wobbling a bit now, hyojin grows sheepish, asking, “would it be okay if i got a chair? i think i’ll sit while playing.” 

thanking the staff member that brings up a chair for him to sit on and adjusting the microphone to his height while strumming the guitar to make sure it’s tuned, he looks up again at the audience, then the judges, trying not to grow red before flashing a thumbs up. taking a deep breath, he starts to strum the beginning to tooice’s tt.

이러지도 못하는데      i’m in two minds 저러지도 못하네      in an awkward situation 그저 바라보며 ba-ba-ba-baby      i just stare and say ba-ba-ba-baby 매일 상상만 해 이름과 함께      everyday i only imagine without asking 쓱 말을 놨네 baby      i talk casually and say your name baby 아직 우린 모르는 사인데     but we don’t even know each other 

singing the song sweetly despite it being at the same fast pace, hyojin purposefully slows down at some parts to emphasize, varying the notes in a more syncopated, sensual way than the typically cutesy way of the original. at the same time, he notably pouts at the last line, his eyes shining as his fingers brush over the strings in a well practiced manner.

nanana nananana 콧노래가 나오다가 나도 몰래      i start humming and before i know it 눈물 날 것 같애     i feel like crying, i don’t feel like myself 아닌 것 같애 내가 아닌 것 같애      this isn’t like me at all i love you so much

 trying not to grow shy when he hears jooyoung’s voice cheering for him the crowd, he closes his eyes briefly, starting to feel himself get lost in the rhythm of the song, growing out of his nervous shell that he had shown in the introduction. as soon as he hits the chord for the last line, he opens his eyes to wink at the judge panel on ‘i love you so much.’

이미 난 다 컸다고 생각하는데      think i’m all grown up now 어쩌면 내 맘인데 왜      i’m free to make my own choices, but why 내 맘대로 할 수 없는 건데      why can’t i have it my way 밀어내려고 하면 할수록      the more i try to push you away 자꾸 끌려 왜 자꾸 자꾸 끌려 baby      the more i’m drawn and attracted to you baby

slowly picking up the beat as he reaches an especially well known part of the popular girl song, he bursts into a bright smile once he starts to see some heads bobbing in the audience, clearly enjoying the rendition of such a popular song, some even starting to do the gestures of the dance vaguely.

i’m like tt, just like tt 이런 내 맘 모르고 너무해 너무해     you don’t know how i feel, so mean, so mean i’m like tt, just like tt tell me that you’d be my baby

hitting the chorus, he starts to have fun with the lyrics, his voice following along smoothly as he slightly angles his head to glance at the contestants in the audience with a slighty half smile, almost like a smirk, shaking his head cutely while singing ‘so mean, so mean.’ once he reaches the end of the segment, he slows down his strumming, ending it on a nice chord. 

before a silence ensues, he adjusts his sitting position ever so slightly before starting, strumming the guitar, before entering right into the middle of the chorus of idonwannabeyouanymore.

if "i love you" was a promise would you break it, if you're honest tell the mirror what you know she's heard before

hitting each beat hard, he starts to sing more powerfully, voice thick with emotion and eyes squeezing shut as he feels the melody, shifting into a far different mood from the playful nature of tt. in a few seconds, the atmosphere suddenly turns melancholy and moody.

i don't wanna be you i don't wanna be you

slowing down as he draws out the lines slowly, he starts playing the guitar more quietly in the background, barely pausing to repeat the line again, this time going into a higher note, hearing it sound smoothly in the studio.

i don't wanna be you, anymore 

finally, one last time, he echoes the last line, playing nothing but one last chord and eyes reopening gradually. removing his fingers from the neck of the guitar, he speaks a “thank you” into the microphone before standing up and bowing multiple times to the people around him.

flipping the guitar so that it hung over his shoulder against his back, he makes his way off the stage with a little more confidence than when he entered it. as much as it was nervewracking, he would be lying if he said it wasn’t enjoyable.

maybe singing was what he was meant to do, after all.

[waveridden]

FIC: glued together moments

hello! I’m buying dessert 4 my roommate (very nice guy) who just got dumped, would one of u like to be his valentine? or his friend! That’s good 2! Thank u <3 !!! (A NeoScum college AU, vague Tech/Z, 2.1k)

AUcember || title lyric || based on a true story || read on ao3

#

“Tech.” Pox flicks a little crumpled-up ball of paper directly at his face. It bounces off his nose. He doesn’t even react. Pox pouts, and he doesn’t react to that either, which is even worse. “Teeeeeeech.”

“Not now,” Tech says, which is completely unfair.

“That’s completely unfair,” Pox announces. “You’re moping again!”

He sighs. “Yeah, Pox, I’m moping again. It’s almost like-”

“It’s almost like you’re no fun anymore! We should do something fun.”

Tech fixes Pox with a look. Pox can guess what this look means. It means something boring and sad like “Pox, my girlfriend dumped me three days before Valentine’s Day, and even though we were only sort of dating, it still hurts, and I’m not in the mood to try and do fun things without her.” Pox understands in theory, but in practice Tech is absolutely no fun to be around right now.

And, okay, she wants her roommate to be happy. So she needs an idea to make him happy. Like getting him a present. Or getting him food.

Pox jumps down from her bed, which is lofted so high she can barely sit upright. “I have an idea to make you happy,” she announces. “I’m going to order us dessert.”

“Dessert,” Tech repeats. He doesn’t seem excited at all about the prospect of chocolate. Pox’s heart clenches a little bit. He must really be heartbroken if he doesn’t want chocolate. “Why?”

“Because it’s Valentine’s Day, and everyone should get chocolate!” She wanders over to her desk and opens up her laptop. “There has to be somewhere that delivers dessert, for Christ’s sakes.”

“Pox,” Tech starts, but the spark of annoyance is the most life she’s heard in his voice in a couple days.

She claps her hands. “Don’t you think there should be dessert delivery? We should start that business! We’d be rich!”

“Neither of us own cars.”

“We can hire people!”

“Neither of us can bake.”

“I can bake!”

Tech sits up in bed, which is practically a miracle. He’s glaring at her, but he’s still sitting up for what might be the first time all day. “You’re not allowed to bake, we decided this.”

Pox gasps and clutches her chest as dramatically as she can. “Tech! I’m an incredible baker!”

“You lit the dorm kitchen on fire.”

“It was a mistake!”

“It’s happened three times.”

“It was an accident all three times!”

“You were trying to boil water all three times,” Tech says, like that’s his trump card, and it is, but she resents it all the same. “Besides, we don’t have to execute the idea, we just have to sell it to someone who can, and then we get money because it’s our IP.”

Pox frowns. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Why not?”

“Because I just don’t.” She goes back to her laptop and types in “cookie delivery now please,” because Google might give her better results if she says please. Sure enough, a local bakery pops up, and they do deliveries. “Ooh! I’ve got something! What do you want?”

“Pox, I can’t-”

“My treat,” she says firmly. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Tech goes quiet for a long minute. When Pox glances over, he’s staring at her with scrutiny, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle or something.

Pox coughs loudly. “Also, I’m sad that that sorority girl didn’t call me back,” she says, trying to give him an out before he has to deal with more of his feelings. He can deal with hers. It’s only fair, or something. “And I am in the mood to buy things to feel better.”

“Retail therapy,” Tech says, but he’s smiling slightly now, and Pox can relax a little bit. “I told you not to trust her.”

“But all of the other ones have been so nice,” Pox sighs, turning to her laptop. “Delta Beta Lambda, it just rolls off the tongue, it’s so lovely, isn’t it?”

Tech mouths the words to himself a couple times, whispering slightly. “No,” he says at last, and Pox can’t help but snort, hunching her shoulders as she laughs. “Greek is an ugly language.”

“But that’s just the alphabet, innit? Imagine if we had a group called… called…” Pox screws up her face, trying to imagine the ugliest combination of letters. “The NSA or something.”

“Pox, the NSA is a real thing.”

“Is it a fraternity?”

Tech shakes his head. “I think it’s a sports thing.”

“Ew.” Pox wrinkles her nose and clicks through to the menu. “Do you want cookies? Chocolate chunk? White chocolate cranberry?”

“Lala loved cranberries,” Tech sighs. Pox has to fight the urge to bury her head in her hands. She was so close, so close! But he’s already sinking back into bed.

Pox cranes her neck to try and see his face, but he’s already putting a pillow on top of his head. Damn it. “Tech?”

“Get me whatever,” he says, muffled by the pillow. “Just wake me up when it’s here.”

“Tech,” she sighs, but he rolls over instead of answering.

Pox bites her lip and looks at her computer screen. She and Tech were randomly assigned roommates, but he’s probably her best friend here at uni, one of the only people who understands what it’s like to be far away from home. She’d been so happy when he dated Lala, because it seemed like he was coming out of his shell. And now he’s back to square one.

But chocolate fixes everything. So she starts clicking on desserts at random: a pie for her, brownies for them to share, a box of cookies for him, nothing with cranberries or walnuts or anything else that could potentially remind him of Lala. A triple chocolate cake, which she will share if and only if he asks, which he won’t, so it’s really just for her. She has money squirreled away for things like this, and she thinks it’s time to splurge, so she barely spares a second to make sure that the total is less than her rainy day fund before breezing through the order.

But then there’s another field blinking up at her, one that actually makes her pause. One that she could use.

Do you want to leave a note for our bakers?

Pox chews on her lip, thinking it over. Ordinarily maybe she’d say something about how she appreciates the chocolate, or just ask them a silly question, but this is something she’s doing for Tech. She should do something nice for him, right? Something that’ll stop him from being so torn up about Lala. Maybe he needs a date! It is Valentine’s Day, after all.

She flutters her fingers on her desk and then starts typing: hello! I’m buying dessert 4 my roommate (very nice guy) who just got dumped, would one of u like to be his valentine? or his friend! That’s good 2! Thank u <3 !!!

There. That’ll help.

#

She spends about forty minutes fooling around on her phone, playing Candy Crush and Snapchatting all of the DBL ladies in her classes. They all ignore her, because sororities are like that. Maybe Pox should rush next year. Just to surprise them.

And then her phone rings, and she nearly drops it in excitement. “Hello!”

“Hey, uh, is this…” there’s a pause as the guy checks something. “Pox? Who just ordered maybe the most baked goods I’ve ever seen?”

“That’s me!” Pox stretches a foot up and starts tracing circles on the ceiling. “Are you in the lobby?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I just want to double check about your note.”

“What about it?”

“Are you trying to set your roommate up with me?”

She sticks her tongue out and starts drawing swirls with her toe. “Not really, you know? I just want him to meet someone new. And you’re new to him, probably. What’s your name?”

“Zenith.” He pauses. “Most of my friends call me Z.”

“Excellent! Hello, Z.” She switches feet to start slashing through the invisible spirals with her other foot. “Would you like to meet my friend Tech? He’s a little shy, but he could use more friends, and he’s a nice guy most of the time.”

“Can he… hear you?”

Pox spares a glance at Tech’s bed. He’s not moving. “I think he’s sleeping.”

“You think?”

“Well, I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. I’m just trying to get him to meet people! He doesn’t know enough people.”

Z pauses to mull that over. “Okay, sure. Well, I’m in the lobby, so whenever you want to come down-”

“Of course!” Pox rolls off her bed, landing neatly on her feet, and stretches out to jostle Tech’s bed with one foot. “We’ll be down in a second, thank you!”

“Yeah, thanks,” Z says, and hangs up. Pox beams. She’s going to have to tip him very, very well.

“Was that dessert?” Tech asks from underneath the pillow. He sounds groggy, like he really was asleep, and Pox is a little relieved.

“Yes, Tech, we have to go!” She pushes at his mattress a little harder. “I need you to come, I ordered too much to carry by myself, come on!”

Tech groans, but he rolls out of bed and rubs at one eye with the heel of his hand. “I’m not putting on shoes for this.”

“Neither am I,” Pox says cheerfully. “Let’s go, come on, I want my pies!”

“Pies, plural?”

“Pie singular, desserts plural.”

“Great,” Tech says, and yawns as he says it. Pox loves him, very much. “Let’s go.”

He’s quiet as they amble down the stairwell. Tech is at least wearing socks, which Pox forgot, so her toes are cold by the time they get to the lobby. Tech stifles another yawn as she looks around, scanning the room, and then locks eyes with the guy standing by the door. He has a stack of dessert boxes on the floor next to him that’s nearly as high as his knees.

Pox elbows Tech. “That’s him!”

Tech follows where she’s pointing and then freezes. “That’s him?”

“Look at the boxes, it has to be!”

“That’s the guy from my intro philosophy class.”

Pox frowns. He’s mentioned intro philosophy guy a couple of times. Descriptions have included mysterious, edgy, cool, and “he looks like he owns a special keyboard just for gaming and it’s kind of fucking hot.” She wouldn’t have used any of those for the guy standing by the door with a stack of pastry boxes and an undercut, looking slightly uncomfortable, but she wouldn’t have dated Lala, either, so maybe she and Tech just have different taste.

“Let’s go get our food,” she says, and fastens a hand around Tech’s arm. He makes a noise of protest, but she drags him forward resolutely. Zenith already promised that he would give Tech his number - or did he? she can’t remember, but he has to, if they’re friends already - so there’s no way for this to go wrong.

Z looks between them, slightly confused, before landing on Tech. “Intro philosophy?”

“Yeah,” Tech says, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, uh, my roommate here has a sweet tooth.”

“Hello!” Pox waves before fishing in her pocket. “We needed dessert today.”

“Yeah, I got that impression.” Z nudges the stack with his toe. He’s wearing some very cool boots. Pox likes his boots a lot. “You paid online, right?”

“Yes, I did!” She finally pulls out a twenty dollar bill, the last cash she has on her. “This is for you.”

Z takes it, looking bemused. “Thanks.”

“Holy shit,” Tech whispers. “How much dessert is this?”

“It’s enough for today.” Pox bends down and grabs the first couple of boxes off the stack. “It was good meeting you, Zenith, I’ll let you and Tech catch up.”

“He didn’t say his name,” Tech says suspiciously. “What are you-”

“Actually,” Z says, and Pox and Tech both stare at him. He’s standing as cool and casual as can be, but Pox can definitely tell that he’s nervous about something. “I wouldn’t mind that. Talking to you, I mean.”

“Oh.” Tech straightens up in surprise. “O-okay?”

Z shrugs. “Yeah, I need to talk to someone about that crazy shit Marco was saying the other day in class, you know?”

Tech laughs in surprise. “Yeah, that guy… he’s something, isn’t he?”

Pox nudges Tech as she turns around. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” she says, and heads back to the dormitory door. As she reaches it, she glances over her shoulder, fully intending to mouth something at Z, but he’s already talking animatedly to Tech. And Tech is standing a little straighter, looking more like himself than he has in days.

Pox smiles to herself as she keys herself back into the dorm. She knew that ordering dessert would be a great idea. It fixes everything.

[zentherainbowunicorn]

Everlasting Party - Mystic Messenger Time Loop AU (pt 35)

<- Previous Chapter | Chapter Index | Next Chapter ->

Summary: You’re caught in a time loop during the 11 days leading up to the RFA’s party unless you can do… what, exactly?

13+ Spoiler-free! This was a bit of an unusual chapter to write, but hopefully you enjoy it~ Thanks again to Masdevallia on AO3 for beta-ing!

Thanks for all the nice feedback on the previous chapters! I'm glad you guys seem to like the video format for the chatrooms, since it allows me to be a bit more creative if I know you're going to see it all animated. Hope you like this chapter, too ^^

You sigh as you read through yet another error message preventing you from compiling your code. Goddammit. You’ve probably just forgotten to close a bracket or something. You jump to the lines of code mentioned in the error and start clicking through, trying to see what your mistake is.

You’d thought learning programming languages would be easier than learning real-world languages – how many rules could there be, anyway? – but you’d take mastering Arabic over this any day. At least in a natural language, forgetting to type one damn semicolon in an essay doesn’t render the entire paper illegible.

Ah, there it is – you’d typed an extra bracket after one of your ‘If’ statements that ended the function early. You correct the typo and hit “Run” again to compile your code.

... Another error.

 ***

Though his research didn’t suggest she’d taken any sort of computer science classes, the day after their new member joins she messages Seven asking if he can help her figure out what’s wrong with a program she’s written. He supposes she must code as a hobby, then. The thought makes him a little warm inside.

It’s an easy fix, in any case – one of her functions shares a name with a function in the language’s built-in library, so all she has to do to get rid of the error is call it something else. It’s not a very complex program; it looks like the kind of thing you might find as a question in a programming textbook. Seven wonders if she's learning to code for any reason in particular, like wanting to make a game or boost her resume for a job she wants. Whatever her reason, it's kind of fun helping her out. It’s nice to have an excuse to talk to her more often.

 ***

She bought a new computer. From the screen he’s dedicated to the apartment security feed he hacked into, he watches her sign off on the delivery. Well, it's about time. He's seen the laptop she had before this, though he's not quite sure what would make her decide to buy a desktop computer instead of a new laptop. Unless she thinks she's going to need extra processing power for something like gaming.

… Does she game? He leans back in his chair and runs his fingers through his bleached bangs. He didn't think she did, but at this point he's almost more surprised to find things he does know about her. Maybe this is a new hobby she’s getting into, or an old one he didn’t know about. He shouldn’t jump to conclusions too soon. He know he has to talk to her at some point, explain things, get her to understand, but nothing ever seems to go as planned.

She seems to tell the delivery person to leave, and when they’re gone she looks around warily before struggling to carry her purchase into the apartment. For just a moment, she glances at the security camera and their eyes meet, though she wouldn't know it. Then she's gone and he's left staring at an empty hallway. Well. Break time is over, then. The saviour might be upset to find out how much time he’s spent studying these camera feeds, but he’s already got most of his code completed for what’s to come next. Sometime soon the pieces should all fall into place.

 ***

At half past midnight, Seven's phone rings. Who would be up this late…? He checks the caller ID. Oh. It's their new member. He'd just talked to her a few hours ago. What could she have to talk about now?

“Seven? It's me again. I did what you said, but now I'm getting a memory leak error.”

“So you fixed your sort function?... I didn't think you were using heap memory for that.”

She sighs. “Well, that function doesn't, but I was using it as part of another program, and that's where the memory leak is. I pass it a pointer to the array I'm trying to sort.”

Seven stares at his computer screen, swivelling his chair back and forth. “Can’t you store the information in a vector? Then you wouldn't have to manage the memory yourself.”

“Store it in a… vector?” Her voice becomes distant and he can hear her typing something on her keyboard. “... the heck is a vector…” she murmurs.

Seven chuckles. “Let me know if that fixes the problem~”

“Gahhh… this is getting ridiculous. Yes. Okay. I'll try using vectors. Thank you… again.” She sounds a little on edge.

“No problem! I should get back to work now.”

“Okay. Me too. I…” She stops mid-sentence and lets out a long breath. “I'm sorry,” she says. I didn't mean to sound so curt. I… I really am grateful. You keep answering my calls and walking me through solutions to all the silly problems I have. I know you're busy. Honestly if I didn't have you, I'd probably just give up on the whole thing. So, thank you.”

Seven isn't really sure what to say. Sure, she'd called a few times and interrupted what he was doing, but she'd only had a couple of questions and besides, coding is what he does best. He's happy to get to know her better. “Um… you don't have to sound so serious, hehe. I like taking breaks to talk to you.”

“Even when all I do is bombard you with questions?” There's a smile in her voice and Seven wishes he could see her face. “... I like talking with you, too. I should let you get back to work, though. Don't stay up too late!”

There's a click and the call ends. Seven realizes he's still smiling a little as he puts down the phone.

 ***

Your fingers fly over the keyboard, regurgitating memorized code onto the screen for yet another attempt. This time… you really hope this time will be the time that works.

Whether he knows it or not, Seven has been a huge help in creating this program. You can't help but smile a little at the irony that it's his own code you're trying to hack.

Hacking, as it turns out, is much less glamorous than it sounds. There isn't some magical line of code that nets you unlimited access to a system, nor a mystical ability bestowed to hackers that let them make sense of a well-encrypted program. Even after spending all this time learning how to code and studying up on computer and database security, a lot of your successes have been due to extreme luck and guesswork, and the rest largely thanks to brute-force techniques. And of course, it doesn't hurt that you have a lot more time than most people to find a solution through trial and error.

You send the compiled code to your phone and check the time. Okay. You've only got a few minutes after you start until Seven notices something is up and blocks you. Here goes.

<- Previous Chapter | Chapter Index | Next Chapter ->

Small disclaimer: although I'm currently majoring in Computer Science, I'm not a hacker (lol) so I'm taking some liberties here~ But the coding stuff I mention are all actual errors I've run into and problems I've had to solve. Wish I had someone like Seven to help out...

I always love hearing what you think, so leave a comment or send me an ask! Here’s a link to the masterpost of all my Mystic Messenger fics. Thank you very much for reading! ♥

[allenmendezsr]

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Hi there Ty, My wife bought me the Master Computer Repair DVD set and the Laptop Repair DVD set last year and I have been viewing them since I first received them. I have to say, I am so delighted indeed to be viewing all these videos as this is exactly what I have been looking for for a while now until I came across your website by chance and my wife decided to buy me both packs. In my free time I tweak and fix computers and its sort of a hobby for me. Thank you very much for providing this product and I am about to start a computer repair company here and make use of the added skills learnt in the videos. Thanks once again and I look forward to many more training materials from your company. Mellie M., Papua New Guinea

Hello, Thank you for checking on me. I’ve almost watched all of the videos for the computer repair and laptop repair but I have just been taking my time and going back and re-watching some and will re-watch others. I really like them so far. Actually, I enjoy seeing things when they don’t work out right. Like if something breaks or screws don’t come out. I appreciate that you all didn’t edit those sceens out because it shows what could happen in the real world. I’ve been able to help 3 people with their computers thanks to the videos. One day I’d like to start my own little business, so I’m trying to get some old computers and some broken laptops to work on so that way if I do mess something up it won’t be crucial. Corey M., Virginia, USA

Hi, I have gone through all the lessons. I find them easy to understand. The videos are great. I plan to use this course to fix my computer when needed. I also have a laptop that needs work. I would highly recommend this to family and friends. Thank you for offering this course. It is much cheaper than most courses and it is easy to understand. The videos help a lot, it’s better to be able to see how things are done. Thank you. Lucy H., New York, USA

I want to take this time to say thank you very much for the course you have prepared. It has help me so much. I have fixed alot of computers and laptop so far. Iam now going into Business and Iam seeking further lessons with your organisations should there be any. Thanks once again for the impact program you have designed. Francis K., Victoria, Australia

Just a one-time payment of $67

Just a one-time payment of $67

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