#4k for a twitter thread holy

[chuuyaspinkmotorcycle]

Day 30: Injury

/Shit,/ Chuuya thinks, pressing into the growing patch of blood around his ribs. 

Shit, shit, shit.

It burns to the touch, sending piercing sparks of pain to every part of his body, but he locks his arm into the position. His clothes stick to his bare skin, the texture eliciting a cringe from him. Bleeding out because of a stab wound is no way for a mafia executive to go out.

The mission was a bust — false intel and a death trap. His men got out ahead of him luckily, and as he was taking up the rear, someone got the jump on him with a knife.

Said someone is now very much dead after getting flattened in what are the remains of the burning warehouse in the distance.

He’s maybe around a little less than a kilometer south of the warehouse, hidden in a grove of some trees and by the dead of night. In the distance, he can vaguely hear the ocean to the east, but aside from that, it’s quiet – only the occasional creakish groan as the warehouse continues to fall in on itself. He’s lucky there’s barely a breeze tonight, else that fire could have gotten out of control and he wouldn’t have been able to do much about it.

His men were given the order to go ahead and return to headquarters without him for various reasons. One, he didn’t want to risk any of them getting swept up in the eventual destruction of the building by his hands, and two, because he’s a mafia executive, the gravity manipulator, and can fend for himself. He’s bullet-proof, for crying out loud. No one in their sane mind would attack him.

And yet, here he is, stabbed and stranded with only a growing patch of blood, a few knives that are useless now, and one forbidden item to his person.

“Fuck,” he grits out, pressing further in as he shifts slightly. He hates how he can feel the blood dripping past his gloves, making them feel like they would when they’re wet.

/This is just another scar to the exhibition,/ he tells himself as he approaches a tree subconsciously deemed safe enough. /You aren’t gonna die because of a measly knife to the ribs. This ain’t your first rodeo./

Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell, though; fire all around the area and digging inwards as he bleeds out. The nerves all around it haven’t even gotten the chance to grow accustomed to it, each shift of his being tugging on them and yanking out another bolt of lightning through him.

Another wave of pain passes through him, body shuddering as the tingles travel up and down his body. He focuses on breathing in and out. In, out. In, and out. 

God, he does not want to deal with the recovery of this either. The last time he got well and truly stabbed had been thanks to Shirase, but hey, at least this time the knife wasn’t fucking poisoned. Three cheers for that, or whatever. 

He’d been in remission for a week and a half ‘cause of that wound.

He pats his other hand around his pockets, feeling for what should be his phone. When its distinct shape doesn’t pass under his fingers, he looks down to the best of his ability without moving his chest, and begins tapping every pocket on his body.

/No/, he thinks, movements growing desperate. /No, no, no–/

“Fuck,” he yells when all of his normal pockets turn up empty.

This just got a whole lot worse. How the hell could he have lost it–

When the bastard stabbed him.

Mother/fucker/, of course it was when the bastard got him. It must have been enough of an impact for his phone to fly out of his pocket and he hasn’t realized it until now, far too late.

That leaves him with only one option. The worst one, in his very humble opinion. Truly.

The next pain flash has him eating those words as he fishes out from his coat’s hidden inside pocket with his free hand an old flip phone he only ever keeps on him for something akin to comfort but refuses to call.

Realistically, the thing should be long dead given its rising age, but he’s an idiot who can’t give up on the hope of returning to what once was, and so he keeps the batteries in it stocked from time to time.

Gulping down a cough smeared with blood, he opens the phone — screen greeting him brightly in the night — and hits the call button of the only contact it knows.

It rings in the dull air, the ringtone high-pitched and annoying much like its contact’s voice and set years before by the same person.

One ring, two.

Come on, come on. These old phones only ring so many times before giving up.

Three, four.

Shit, if he doesn’t pick up soon, Chuuya may be screwed.

Five—

“Yes, you called~?” Chuuya ignores the slight hesitance in the receiver. He charges forward.

“Asshole. Use your damn trackers and get over here before this blood permanently ruins my clothes.” Chuuya doesn’t allow the other to respond, flipping the phone shut and slumping down against the tree he was leaning on.

—

Chuuya hears the sound of an engine in the distance getting closer, and Dazai arrives relatively shortly after, a light glean of sweat the only indication that he had rushed here. After an assessment of Chuuya’s red-soaked clothes and his positioning, he comments, “The slug got himself stabbed? Haven’t seen you that careless since–”

“Shut it. Help me up,” Chuuya grumbles. He props his free arm against the tree and bends his knees, doing his best to ignore the way a gush of blood spills out from his side. It had slowed down exponentially since he’d called Dazai, and Chuuya had done everything he could to dull his movements and slow his heart down, choosing to focus on breathing and counting down the minutes until Dazai would arrive.

He attempts to push himself up, breathing deep and bracing. He makes it all of maybe 10 centimeters up before his chest contracts and pain shoots down his limbs, somehow worse than all the other times before it.

He’s back on the ground in an instant with something akin to a growl and a whimper escaping out of his throat as he hunches over, the instinct to protect his core taking over in a millisecond.

Dazai, for once in his life, makes no comment on Chuuya’s state of being, and inches himself forwards towards the redhead cautiously.

From the corner of his eye, Chuuya watches as the brunet travels down to his knees, hands calm and steady as he produces what has to be one of Chuuya’s worst nightmares come true from a bag slung around his torso. Upon seeing Chuuya’s reaction, he quickly shoves it into his back pocket for later use. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

“Hell no,” Chuuya grits out, poking his head out enough to send the other his best death glare. It bounces off Dazai like he didn’t even notice, though Chuuya knows he did, and, after laying his coat on the ground next to them, continues to pull out items that have Chuuya’s stomach turning in a whole new way that the stab wound couldn’t even try to beat. The brunet sets down a metal tray on top of the coat, the deafened ding still managing to cast itself off the trees around them. “Shitty bastard, we are not doing this here, I swear to God, you fuc–”

“Chuuya,” is all Dazai says as he looks at him, eyes piercing into Chuuya’s. Chuuya hates that look, hates the way he can’t say no to it. It tells him all he needs to know. He’s not getting out of this without either being knocked unconscious or enduring the event of being fully vulnerable against something he doesn’t want to call a fear.

Dazai continues on, laying out sanitizer, gloves, medical scissors, a pack of suture equipment, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, two bottles of water, and two bottles that have Chuuya wanting to fall into a hole and die. Finally, to seal the deal of Chuuya’s inevitable doom, Dazai pulls the metaphorical trigger from his back pocket, setting the sealed bag of a syringe and its jabbing companions inside down.

“I would have taken you back to the car to do this, but the fact you couldn’t stand up on your own calls for a rearrangement,” Dazai starts. He unravels his bandages enough to show the beginnings of his wrists, then pins the excess further up his arms to keep it out of the way. “I–”

“Why can’t you carry me, huh? Or help me get up at least, I can walk the way back and–”

“You would’ve passed out had you stood up, chibi. How many fingers am I holding up?” Dazai throws up a peace sign, looking down as he uncaps one of the water bottles next to him.

Chuuya scoffs. “Two, dumbass. I’m nowhere near passing out.”

“And how many stars can you see through that gap between the trees?” Dazai asks, pointing to the left of them. Chuuya squints, trying to force his vision to cooperate with him at this dire time. From here, he can’t see any little lights, and come to think of it, parts of his vision are spotty on the sides. Even so–

“That’s not fair, we both know my vision’s always been a little fucked up. How about–”

“The answer is three, and no, you are not getting out of this,” Dazai says. Dazai takes the two labeled, undisclosed bottles and pops them open before setting them back down beside the syringe bag. Then, he reaches out an open hand, fingers wiggling to try to coax Chuuya out of his position. “You’re also paler than me, and that’s saying something. So come on. Let’s get it over with, Chuuya.”

If he knew the other wouldn’t absolutely make fun of him, Chuuya would hiss at the bastard. Dazai hates him, it’s officially official. But his name wouldn’t be Nakahara Chuuya if he didn’t at least fight back. “Make me.”

The smirk Dazai sends him is /wicked/, something purely maniacal, and chills fall faster down his spine than the law of gravity would naturally let them. Chuuya’s breath hitches as Dazai reaches into the bag and pulls out a rag and /rope/.

“No,” Chuuya growls, trying to inch his way backwards despite the tree behind him. Even come hell, he ain’t being restrained like a /dog/. “No fucking way, you sick psycho.”

“It’s either this, a concussion, or you suck it up, buttercup~ Your choice~” Dazai winks, but he puts the rope back. He sets the rag aside. “You may want this to bite on, though.”

Chuuya just looks away. Yeah, he’ll want it to bite on, but he’s not about to admit it. That’s for later, more vulnerable Chuuya.

“Now,” Dazai starts. Chuuya glances at him, eyes the way his hands are slowly inching forward again. He avoids growling like a dog, as Dazai would so kindly put it, but the urge to do it is there. He’s never been nice while injured, and he’s always been able to handle it by himself, save for the few times they’ve used Corruption. Dazai never pushed to help him when they were younger if the injury wasn’t Corruption-related, and Chuuya preferred it that way. There was no room for weakness in the Mafia, and there still isn’t. But here Dazai is, insisting on helping. “Let me see how bad it is.”

Maybe that Agency really has changed him. Maybe even for the better.

“Fine,” Chuuya all but snaps, slowly moving his sore legs outwards. He keeps them out of the way of Dazai’s makeshift surgery set-up, and after making sure he was seated comfortably, he slowly moves his arm.

Drawing it forward /hurts/, parts of the blood and skin had dried to it, and he bites his tongue to not make a sound. His arm is completely red, barely any specks of skin untainted to be seen, and a distant part of his mind makes note of how it’s similar to Corruption but more spread out, like what his arm might look like if the beast took over and Dazai never stopped him.

“There you go,” Dazai murmurs, keeping his eyes focused on the wound as he analyzes. When Chuuya stills to take a moment to breathe, his eyes dart up to his face, scanning for anything. The man reaches forward to begin working his cropped jacket and vest off. The clothes can barely be taken off without causing too much movement and so, after a moment, Dazai reaches for the scissors then shoves Chuuya’s main black coat from off his shoulders. “I know you said to come get you before the blood ruined your clothes, but I’m afraid they’ll be ruined either way.”

And with that, he snips into Chuuya’s expensive clothing, uncaring about the chunk of money Chuuya will definitely be taking from him for this travesty. He makes quick work, though, and soon enough, Chuuya’s upper body is free from the confines of his sticky clothing. Dazai had been especially careful around the wound, taking caution to not pull on it too much. All that’s left around Chuuya is his large black coat that Dazai was kind enough to put back on his shoulders, with the sleeves tied behind his head as a makeshift cushion to keep them out of the way. 

It’s quiet during the whole process, and by the time Dazai’s done, Chuuya’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open. At some point, Dazai had even shimmied him down enough to lay on his back, still using the coat’s sleeves as a pillow, and leaving his side fully open.

“Now for the fun part!” Dazai exclaims, scooting back a little to grab the uncapped water bottle from earlier. “Wakey, wakey~!”

He dumps the water over Chuuya’s open wound, letting it run down his side into the dirt below as it cleans out some of the wound. 

Chuuya jolts /hard/, trying to sit up at the sensation but Dazai keeps a hand pressed into his shoulder. “That’s fucking cold, idiot, holy shit!”

“Yes, yes,” Dazai blows him off. He squirts sanitizer into his hands, rubs it in, and puts the latex gloves on. “But now you’re not about to pass out on me, so I think it’s fair.”

“How is that…” Chuuya’s voice dies out when he sees Dazai take the two labeled, non-water bottles and hold them up in front of his own face. He watches as Dazai double-checks them, eyes them, and then sets them down before reaching for the syringe bag.

Despite still feeling like half his body is on fire, cold tingles still go down his back, a chill popping up on his skin. He does /not/ want to do this part.

Dazai peels open the bag and pulls a needle-syringe out, then he grabs the bottle of alcohol and lets a few drops of it fall onto the tops of the labeled bottles. With a twist of his fingers, he’s uncapping the needle and lifting one of the labeled bottles upside down, inserting the needle and using the syringe to suck part of the liquid out. Then he does the same to the other bottle, flips his wrist a few times to mix the contents, and then that needle is moving towards Chuuya and–

“Fuck no, what if you’re trying to poison me?” Chuuya asks, minutely shifting his body to the side even as it protests at him. Dazai just raises an eyebrow, expression dead otherwise.The redhead can feel his heartbeat in his ears and he knows he must look like a scared fool but goddamn it, he hates needles, alright?  

Despite not showing weakness in the Mafia, there are still things that can unnerve him. Needles are the worst, but the least common to deal with. Even if he never let Dazai see it for what it truly is, Dazai knows what gets to him just as much as he knows what gets to Dazai. 

With a sigh that has no right sounding as beleaguered as it does, Dazai breathes out, “Don’t make me tie you up. Just close your eyes.”

“That makes it worse.”

“Then look at the moon or trees or even me. One prick, and you’ll be done, chibi. Home free after the stitches and a car ride to your place, then you can pass out all you want.” Dazai smiles at him and, god, Chuuya wants to punch him. A smile like that – something that could fall under the definition of ‘gentle’ – shouldn’t be saved for someone like him, for a partnership like theirs. But before he can think anymore into it, he carries their talk on with a light smirk of his own.

“That’s only if you don’t crash the car, mackerel,” Chuuya says. He focuses his attention on Dazai, on the way the moonlight peeking through the trees haloes around him, like some sort of angel sent his way. He snorts. He must be delusional. With one final deep breath, he relinquishes control to Dazai. “Do a countdown.”

“I made it here just fine, didn’t I?” Dazai mumbles. He keeps spouting nonsense for a moment before getting closer. Chuuya wills his eyes to stay focused on the gap in the trees above him. That’s all there is around him, and therefore no nee– “Three, two, one.”

Chuuya flinches. A prick into his side, holding steady just above the wound. Just as fast as it entered, Dazai presses down on the syringe, and then the needle is out and away from sight, tossed haphazardly behind Dazai. Near immediately,  it’s like a mini adrenaline crash, the breath he was holding falling from his lips in one big gasp. 

“See? You did it,” Dazai continues, as if Chuuya didn’t just nearly have a panic attack. He drags the metal tray closer and starts prepping the suture items. “Such a brave dog I have~”

Chuuya refuses to look at him, grumbling. “When this shit is healed, I’m kicking your ass into next week.”

“That’s not a very nice way to thank me, you know. I thought I raised you better than that,” Dazai says, throwing a faux disappointed look at him. A brief flicker of a thought passes across his face, eyebrows furrowing for only a second. “Chibi has his tetanus shot, right?”

“Did you hit your head recently? You were there when I got it at fifteen, dumbass, and I ain’t fucking old enough for another,” Chuuya spits out. He /hated/ that shot, and being reminded that he’ll need it again soon and every ten years after for the rest of his life sparks dread in him. If there was a pill for it, he’d swallow it in a heartbeat, but /no/, technology’s not advanced enough for that.

Dazai must guess his thoughts because the brunet has the audacity to /giggle/. “I’ll hold your hand next time, Mr. Executive Mafioso.”

That comment has Chuuya’s cheeks reddening for two wholly different reasons. Fuck this bastard, always saying the most out-of-pocket shit like it’s normal, like /they’re/ normal. Chuuya looks away. They can’t be normal, that life’s not for them…

“Do you feel this?” Dazai’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t realized he was getting sappy. Blinking, he tries to look down.

“Feel what?” He asks. Dazai lifts a hand up to get his attention, then lowers it back down to tap at areas around the wound. Luckily, Chuuya can’t feel a thing, and another wave of relief crashes through him.

They’re almost done here. 

“Chuuya’s ready to go, then.” Dazai makes sure to keep his hands out of Chuuya’s eyesight, and Chuuya wouldn’t admit it, but he is grateful for it. “Keep your eyes on me or up ahead.”

And with that, Dazai dives in. 

It’s not the first time Chuuya’s gotten stitches before – he’d woken up to them in his body after Shirase had stabbed him and he’d eventually passed out from the poison. This time /is/ the first time for him to be awake for the actual procedure, though. He’s glad he can’t feel anything sharp, just a light pressure whenever Dazai re-inserts the needle for the next thread. He keeps his thoughts distant, tries counting the trees and then sheep (don’t laugh, Dazai). His thoughts travel down memory lane a little, back to the last time he’d gotten stabbed and how much of a nuisance Dazai had been. They had just gotten partnered up, and here they are seven years later…

If there’s one compliment Chuuya /has/ to give Dazai – ugh – it’s that he’s quick and efficient, movements precise as he threads the needle between the sides of Chuuya’s butchered skin. 

Within a few minutes, Chuuya hears the distinct sound of scissors snipping the thread. In his peripheral vision, Dazai sets the equipment down and rummages through the bag, pulling out gauze and fresh rolls of bandages. He makes quick work of the gauze as well before helping Chuuya to sit up.

The brunet is delicate as he wraps the bandages around Chuuya’s chest, fingers light and soothing to the touch, even if they’re still wrapped in latex. Once Dazai’s deemed to have mummified him enough, he lets out a hum and removes his gloves. “We’ll assess and change anything once we get to your place. I forgot to bring antiseptic.”

Chuuya isn't really mad when he says, “Isn’t that the most important part?”

Dazai merely shrugs, uncapping the other water bottle and taking a small sip before handing it over to him.

As Chuuya practically chugs the bottle, Dazai clumsily repacks everything back into the bag he’d brought, even making sure to keep any certain sharp objects subtly hidden in his hands as he does so. When Chuuya’s done, he hands his empty bottle to him, the final item to be packed into it, and moves to stand up.

Dazai braces an arm under and around him, helping him to get up. The local anesthetics – of which Chuuya is now wondering how Dazai obtained, perhaps via the Agency doctor? – are just barely beginning to lighten up. He knows Dazai had given a minimal shot of them and he’s always had a fast metabolism.

Maybe Dazai’s crazy driving will be good for once and he’ll be able to get home before the pain returns fully.

Dazai bends down to retrieve his own coat and throws it over Chuuya, tying it lightly around his hips. Chuuya is about to complain, but then Dazai is bending down again and tossing the remains of what were once Chuuya’s fancy clothes onto his black discarded coat before using the coat to tie it all up into an easy-to-carry bundle. Finally, Dazai swoops down one last time to grab his hat – Chuuya doesn’t even remember when or where it fell – and plops it on top of his red hair. “Ready, hatrack?”

“Beyond ready,” Chuuya sighs, already forcing his body to take a few steps forward. “I need a glass of wine and my bed, stat.”

“Coming right up, my dear slug~” Dazai cheers, marching in front to lead the way to the car. He turns backwards, still walking, and winks. “I’ll get us back to Yokohama before you can even think about falling asleep!”

Chuuya passes out in the car before they’re even past the still-smoldering warehouse.

When he wakes up, inside his apartment and tucked under the covers of his bed, it’s to the sight of one Dazai Osamu beside him, lightly dozing with a hand intertwined with Chuuya’s beneath the sheets. 

Maybe it’s been four years since they were last true partners. Maybe in the last few hours they’ve already started anew.

[kitkat-the-muffin]

Late screenshot dump/review for Cloutchase Vol 4!

Here are the previous three installments: [1][2][3]

Hey everybody! It's been a while, about 7 months since I've last been remotely active in this fanbase, but this past weekend I played Vol 4 with my friends and I am here to share my favorite screenshots! I will of course start this post off with some spoiler-free teasers to encourage others to play the game themselves!

And now it's time for the rambles!

This session was quite unique since I had two friends with me this time!

"Homestuck is too problematic lets to Danganronpa" oh I just know you guys put that in on purpose. I only ever saw the Danganronpa anime once but my friend immediately knew who they were going to dress up as and she was right haha

Honestly I love how Snapchat has a permanent dog filter on. My other friend who joined us today gave him the most perfect voice that I can barely attempt to describe. I called it "Irish-Canadian stoner" if that helps you imagine it

Backrooms reference *airhorns*!!!! It was kinda funny when TikTok just abandons the player in favor of egg theft, but what I think desperately needs to be talked about is the alleged missing lion man. Who is he? Where did he go? I have to know!

I spent a good 5 minutes rambling about Musical.ly's character design before I realized they're TikTok pre-transition. They look so fashionable tho! Can I get the raw files of these photos?

YOOOO VINE GETS NEW SPRITES!!!! I like how he's behind the times because he's been dead for a while haha

This is the best possible timeline I think

Tumblr looks FANTASTIC heck yeah

What did they mean by this?

Kinda love how Threads is a character and also kinda not a character. Design is peak tho

Get Gatsby'd! If I had a nickel for every time I was Gatsby'd this year I'd have two nickels-

Congrats on the gender! Genuinely though why did Twitter start looking infinitely more attractive to me after coming out as transfem? Like... she's so pretty now... but also exactly the same? Gender is a construct but holy cheese

I was literally trying to read the option choices and she cut me off ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff anyway hi Reddit. My friend had a surprisingly good Reddit voice (I'd describe it as incel meets gamer but less embarrassing somehow)

Old man Facebook! My friend had the WORST voice for Facebook... Imagine the creepiest old man asmr of your life

Kinda interesting that the Magical Girl sequence is part of the Bad Ending. My friends and I agreed that it was more of a Neutral End than a bad one. She looks great tho, I love the art in Instagram's route

Caught in 4k! This frame only appears for a split second haha

I really like how they characterized the creepy tracking of meta software this way. Instagram looks pleasant on the outside but underneath that top layer is a completely fake personality that covers another layer of invasive curiosity that covers another layer of genuine artistic enjoyment. That's so interesting! Anyway my friends and I started theorizing what the multicolored strings mean and we're stumped on the white bit between Amino and Kik-

I love Insta's photos, I like how they're physical polaroids. The logo on her bag is also the old Instagram logo! I need to see that full sized photo of Tumblr and Twitter tho-

Honestly didn't expect this ending but it's cute and I love it! Genuinely we should all be encouraged to post about our favorite simple pleasures rather than trying to appeal to the masses

Anyway before calling it a night we looked at some of the new bonus content (some of which is just stuff from the tumblr blog lol) and dang is Wikipedia so pretty in this screenshot

Actually my friend saw this next photo and said "he's just like me fr why don't I have that?" Honestly I can't wait for the Wikipedia route hahah

ANYWAY GET GATSBY'D FOR A THIRD TIME-

Or a second time if you aren't a Gravity Falls fan lol

Anyway, this volume was a lot of fun and I greatly enjoyed playing it! I like how TikTok's route had multiple activity choices and endings. It's kind of reminiscent of how much time you can accidentally waste on TikTok haha

Instagram's route being based on trying to maintain a level of perfection was interesting, as well as the Great Gatsby motifs. I laughed out loud when Waltz of the Flowers played because I'm hyperfixating on Princess Tutu rn and my friend is obsessed with Tchaikovsky so that was fun

Here's to the next volume! I can't wait to play it!

[erodasfishtacos]

could u please do like a harry x youtuber/influencer!reader and like lots of fluff🥺

Hi bubbie! Here you go :)))

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Language

Harry was panicking. His mum and sister were going to be here in less than two hours and he’s burnt the eggplant parmigiana he had worked tediously on. 

He grabbed what he had left in his fridge - ground beef, shredded cheddar cheese, and a little bit of bacon. 

It was the type of foods he usually strayed away from so sometimes when his shopper would bring this stuff home - he’d avoid it and admittedly sometimes it would go bad sitting in the fridge.

The singer pulls up YouTube onto his phone - hoping something would come up when he typed in the ingredients on the search bar.

He clicks on the first video by cookingwithnofucks. A chuckle at the name as an advertisement plays.

A cute, bubbly girl appears on screen in a beautiful modern kitchen. She has a shirt on that says ‘fuck the patriarchy and eat pizza’. A high ponytail and minimal makeup.

“Okay - today we’re making a cheeseburger casserole,” the girl chirps, “It’s a heart attack in a dish but it’s so fucking good.”

Harry finds himself smiling as he crinkles his nose - it sounds absolutely disgusting but he’s intrigued more by the girl on the screen.

“Shit, I forgot to introduce myself. Hiii, if you’re new - I’m Y/N and I do cooking shit. Subscribe to my channel and all that jazz,” she titters while cutting open her beef package.

Harry follows along step-by-step, shaking his head as she doesn’t describe the instructions nearly well enough and is generally all over the place.

It’s a fucking cooking channel and at one point the meat starts burning. She just laughs and says, “s’just a little crispy!” 

The casserole turns out looking even better than Y/N’s to be honest. It’s done in just the right amount of time for him to shower before his family arrives.

He makes sure to subscribe to her channel - eyebrows raising when he sees that she has 16 million subscribers.

Harry wanted to spend longer, looking at her social media but there was a fixed time so he locked his phone and went to get ready.

**

Anne - always the sweetheart just tells Harry that the casserole is delicious even as a bit of grease runs down her fork from the fatty meats.

Gemma wasn’t as kind, grimacing at the casserole and remarking, “You truly are turning into an American, huh?”

**

Laying in bed that night, Harry swipes back onto YouTube. Going back to the page he just subscribed to - under a pseudonym. He clicks on another video.

“Uh, okay. So I’m cooking...fuck, it’s called unicorn bark. It looks like a magical animal puke but it looks delicious so we’re going to try it.”

Harry realizes he’s been watching this girl cook for nearly an hour. Different videos from desserts to dinners.

She curses like a sailor, fucks up almost every recipe, and makes a mess everywhere. But she’s smiling and talkative which makes him quite memorized by her.

**

“I hate editing,” Y/N groans, letting her head fall dramatically against the desktop. Her best friend and dog looked at her oddly.

“I keep saying you need to hire someone, you stubborn bitch,” Laney retorts, clicking through her Instagram feed.

“Fuck off,” she tells her friend with no real heat. The video was almost fully edited - how to make spicy as fuck jalapeño poppers.

There is a calm silence for a while until Laney gasps, “Holy shit.”

“What is it?” Y/N asks, not really caring as she clicks her mouse to trim a segment.

“Harry fucking Styles just followed you on Instagram and Twitter!” Laney shouts, her dog - Rufus popping his head up in confusion.

Y/N looks at her friend to see if she’s really serious and sees no signs of deception. “Oh my god,” Y/N replies. She loved Harry Styles in One Direction and as a solo artist - a fangirl if you will.

Y/N was a well-known influencer and has run in the circles of many celebrities. She’s even met Liam Payne but she’s never been able to bump into Harry.

Her alerts tell her it to be true, she swallows as she looks back up at Laney, “He dm’ed me.”

“Open it! What did he say?” She squeals, squeezing herself on the chair next to her, peering over her shoulder at the phone.

Y/N is a bit nervous, trying not to have a mini aneurysm as she opens the message thread.

HarryStyles: Hello. Just wanted to let you know that your cheeseburger casserole recipe saved my ass last night. Cheers x

“He’s totally coming onto you,” Her friend states instantly, bouncing excitedly - she also had a bit of a crush on the singer.

It takes the two of them a minute to cool their shit before Y/N manages a reply.

Y/N/LN: Well I guess it’s only fair. Your songs have made a few of my nights much better. I’m a bit of a slut for Fine Line.

Harry laughs behind his screen at the cheeky reply he gets back. He’s usually never this forward - especially on social media where he likes to fly under the radar.

HarryStyles: Well if you fancy my music that much, I totally love for you to come to a show. I’m performing in New York City in two weeks.

“This has to be a joke, right?” Y/N sputters to her friend, eyes wide at the invite to a concert she already had tickets to.

Y/N/LN: I’m not going to lie, I already have tickets to the show. However, I don’t have any backstage passes to meet the man of the hour. Do you know someone who can hook me up?

It does wonders for Harry’s narcissism to know that she already had tickets for his concert. Was he really going to do this? He hasn’t met up with some like this since his One Direction days.

He had to remind himself - she may just be friendly and take this as a totally casual interaction. Which would be normal, Harry really shouldn’t be so infatuated with someone he’s watched cook on social media.

HarryStyles: I think I can arrange that. Shoot me your number? I’ll have them sent digitally to you with instructions on how to get backstage.

Y/N is a bit dumbfounded at how fast they agreed to meet up. A harmless backstage tour - he could just be a fan of hers and totally not interested, right?

**

Over the next few weeks, they never really stop texting. Harry sends her pictures of the recipes he copies off her channel - that usually always look better than the original. He sends her clips of him goofing around during tour rehearsal. FaceTimes her when he’s finally home for the night.  

She sends him videos of her watching Harry Styles Best Moment Part Five. A few photos she snaps throughout the city of him on billboards and buildings, in Times Square. YN facetimes him when she’s frustrated with filming or watched a sad movie.

It didn’t make sense to either of them how seamlessly they’d clicked - especially without meeting. They were a perfect balance for each other. Harry - laidback, organized, level-headed. Y/N - eccentric, all over the place, adventurous. 

Jeff had told him that he’s been gaining media attention from his social media interactions with Y/N. They like each other’s photos, begin following each other’s friends, and comment goofy things on their posts.

“Listen, I have a great idea,” Y/N begins - which Harry learned is never good. “You should film a video with me sometime.”

Y/N knew she was going out on a limb and instantly regretted the questions she’d been building the courage to ask for days when it’s quiet on his end. There’s static for a moment and Y/N needs to fill the silence.

“It was - I was just, uh, I know you’re probably too busy. I was -“ She stutters, embarrassment flooding her.

Harry cuts her off, “I’d love to.”

“Yo-you would?” She asks timidly. Was she really going to have Harry Styles in her apartment? If so, should she take down her poster?

He laughs sweetly, “Why do you sound so surprised? I can’t wait to come to New York, love.”

Y/N giggles, “Not the fact that you’re performing in front of a sold out crowd at MSG? I don’t think seeing me will top that.”

“I’ve been looking forward to meetin’ you in person since I came across your channel. You so lovely,” Harry replies, his voice a little softer but more serious.

“I’m nervous,” Y/N admits, picking at a thread in her jeans.

“Me too,” Harry murmurs, despite not wanting to admit it - he wanted her to know this was new territory for both of them. He didn’t want her to think that this was something that he did often. But a little too prideful to admit it’s the first time he’s ever done something quite like this.

“What if you don’t like me?” Y/N whispers, she...well she didn’t compare to the models he’s been seen with before. She’s regretfully fell into the rabbit hole of looking up his past flings and relationships.

Harry barks out a disbelieving laugh, “You can’t be serious, darling. I’ve been gone for you since I saw you burn that ground beef.”

**

Harry was having a bad day - scratch that. An awful one. He tried to go get coffee at eight in the morning and got bombarded by fans, he left the shop without even ordering. They followed him back to his car and it took him fifteen minutes to pull out.

His favorite Mickey Mouse Gucci suitcase he was bringing along on tour had busted. The zipper unraveling and the trim falling off as a result. It was a one-of-a-kind.

Then he’d been stuck on a Skype meeting about tour merchandise with a group of business partners for the last three hours - all he wanted was a fucking nap.

When Y/N’s contact vibrated across his screen, he’s itching to answer but declines as he needs to give these people his attention.

When she calls again, Harry feels a prickle of annoyance. It’s not even at her - to be quite honest. It’s just the shitty day and everything’s piling up.

He always got like this before he kicked off a tour - stress level maxed out and his ability to handle minor incidents nearly shot.

I’m busy

Okay! Sorry, just have a super exciting surprise for you, bub! 

I really do not feeling like talking. I’d rather be left alone.

Oh, alright. Hope everything’s okay! Do you still want to facetime later?

Harry leaves her on read because he doesn’t want to slip up and take out his frustration on her. He’d been known to do that and he didn’t want her to think he was anything but besotted with her.

**

Y/N feels a little hesitant as she begins the uploading process to her channel. The red loading bar told her it’d be twenty-minutes before it’s going to be posted to her 16 million subscribers - one of them being Harry himself. 

Twenty-minutes for her to back out and cancel the upload. She starts having doubts about it when Harry never replies to her text which is unlike him. 

She takes Rufus out to avoid staring at the loading screen with unnecessary anxiety and uneasiness.

**

Harry is just getting home from a business dinner with the touring company’s management team. The tension and anxiety from today piling up on his shoulders and he just wants to call Y/N and crash in bed. 

He tosses his keys in the little bowl in the entry and kicks off his dingy white vans to the side. His phone dings with an alert from Gemma.

You two are the literal cutest ever. It’s quite gross.

Harry slides onto a stool in his kitchen, confused by the text message before she’s sending the link to him.

Fine Line Inspired Cupcakes!

Harry isn’t quite sure why his heart starts pounding furiously in his chest. A sinking feeling in his stomach when he realizes that this was probably the surprise she was excited about.

He clicks on the thumbnail.

“Hiiii, it’s Y/N. Okay, well today we are going to bake some Fine Line inspired cupcakes. And if you haven’t listened to the album - get your ass out from rock you’re living under and stream it on Spotify!”

She has her hair down in long, waves and a loose cropped shirt that says TPWK in rainbow embroidery.

Harrys mouth is dry and he can’t take his fucking eyes away from the screen. 

“Soo, I was thinking the first batch would be cherry flavored? ‘Cause he has a song titled ‘Cherry’. Let’s start there. First - I need to find my measuring cups.”

In true Y/N fashion, she scours her kitchen - cussing and yanking stuff out of her neatly organized cabinets before huffing and storming off to the side.

She comes back into view, a little frazzled but smiling when she holds up the ring of plastic measuring spoons, visible bite marks notched into the material.

“My asshole of a dog had a little snack,” Y/N shows the camera before shrugging, “Let’s get this shit started. Okay, you’re going to need one cup of sugar - no wait, two? I can’t read my fucking handwriting.”

Harry’s absolutely enamored by this scatter-brained, giggly girl who manages to produce cute blue and pink cupcakes that very vaguely resembled his album cover. His heart felt a million times too big for his chest.

He was enraptured for the entirety of the thirty minute video without taking his eyes away once.

To be honest, he hadn’t felt this way since his last relationship which was over a year ago at this point.

It’s not even a thought as he’s requesting a FaceTime with Y/N. 

She answers after a few rings. She has a green face mask painted on her nose, chin, and forehead with gold eye masks under each eye. She is so fucking ridiculous it’s not even funny. 

What is even more ridiculous is how gone Harry is realizing he is for her. She was quirky, unfiltered, carefree. If he was honest - he hadn’t met a girl like that in a very long time - especially a well-known influencer.

“Hi! How was your day, grumpy?” Y/N asks brightly, making a goofy face as the mask begins to tighten and crack on her skin. Not holding the earlier conversation against him and deciding to just move forward. She understood how stressful it can be.

“M’sorry. I was a bit grumpy,” He admits, “I loved your new video, darling. Did you make those just f’me?”

He can tell she’d be blushing if her face wasn’t covered, a bit bashful as she mutters, “You already know I did it for you.”

“You’re too sweet to me, only six days until we meet,” Harry replies, voice taking on a slow, lazy drawl. 

“Six days,” Y/N repeats, eyes crinkling as she smiles with excitement.

**

“Is this outfit too much?” Y/N panics. Even though there’s literally nothing she can do about it - they’re already walking towards the backstage entrance of the massive arena. It’s still about two hours until the show starts but Harry requested her to come earlier.

Laney sighs, “For the millionth time, you look fucking sexy and Harry’s going to want to rail you right when he sees you.”

Y/N shoves her lightly with a faux annoyance as they meet up with a burly man who’s blocking the entrance to the backstage hallway and rooms.

She gives him their names and pulls up the passes on her phone before he’s nodding with any expression and letting them pass.

They’re not quite sure where to go from here so they begin to wander down the long hallway toward what looks to be the main area that people are milling about.

Y/N is nearly on the ground when someone rounds the corner without looking and walks right into her. Both of them let out huffs of air as they collide and attempt to stabilize themselves.

But there are large hands grasping her arms and holding her steady. In typical Y/N fashion she’s already cursing, “fuckin like a brick wall, look out next time.”

Then she’s looking up to Harry staring back down at her with an amused expression. He doesn’t let go of her and instead tugs her against his bare chest. He’s warm and a bit sweaty - like he’d just worked out. He was only in a pair of thin, running shorts, nike tennis shoes, and a little clip holding his hair off of his face.

Y/N can’t help but wrap her arms around his waist, returning the embrace and amazed by how right it feels to be in his arms. Her face tucks right against his collarbone and it’s like they’d known each other for years.

Pictures and videos don’t do this man justice. He’s gorgeous - sharp edges and dark inked skin. Tall and muscular but dimples that are carved in his cheeks. 

“Nice to meet you, m’Harry,” Harry rumbles, removing one hand from Y/N’s shoulder to reach out his hand to her friend.

Laney shakes his hand before asking, “Laney. I’ll leave you two lovebirds be. Where’s the food?”

Harry chuckles against Y/N’s wavy hair, “Down the hall to the left.”

Laney’s trailing off without another glance, she was very food motivated despite her skinny frame. Also not wanting to intrude of the very personal first moments of their meeting.

The popstar pulls back to look down at the girl he’s fallen for in mere weeks. She’s as beautiful as he thought she'd be - if not more. He can’t help himself, “Would it be too forward to kiss you?”

Y/N smiles widely, running a hand along his jawline, “I’ve wanted you to kiss me since you stayed up on FaceTime with me until two in the morning as I cried after watching The Notebook - despite me seeing it a million times.”

Harry ducks forward to press his lips softly to her, large hands come to cup the side of her face as they connect. He’s so gentle as he moves his mouth against hers. In true Y/N fashion, she’s bold and has no hesitation slipping her tongue into his mouth.

He’s so fucking in love with her. It doesn’t make much sense - it’s definitely not logical but he’s realizing that’s okay.

“Oii, get a room!” Someone shouts from down the hallway teasingly.

Harry flips them the middle finger and pulls back, pink lips swollen and puffy, dimples on full display, “Let me take you out to dinner after the show, darling.”

“You going to wine and dine me, Styles?” Y/N giggles, unable to contain the pleasant warmness he’s spreading through her body. 

“Mmm, have t’make sure you’ll want to keep me,” Harry murmurs happily against her lips once again, pressing kiss after kiss to her to make sure she’s real, “Definitely want to keep you.”

Y/N bites teasingly at his bottom lip, hand planted on the soft but firm skin of his stomach, “You’re never getting rid of me, hope you know that.”

“Was hoping you’d say that, now let me introduce you to my band.”

                                  -- ---- ---- -- 1 year later - -- --- --- --

“Hi bitches! Today is a super special day. We have the one, the only Harry Styles filming with us. I know that’s not really that special since he’s on here all the time with me. But we’re celebrating our one year anniversary!” Y/N smiles, bumping hips with Harry who stands dutifully next to her. 

Anyone viewing can see the absolute heart-eyes and adoration he has for the girl standing next to him. He’s still as lovestruck and gone for her as he was the first time they met. Harry’s fans were thrilled - for the first time in years, he’d opened up again.

They weren’t very public on social media beside’s tagging each other in memes and posting the occasional picture. Y/N was constantly uploading cooking videos from wherever in the world she was with Harry on his tour, she’d also begin making vlogs about different foods she’s been experiencing.

---

“Okay, so here in Peru - they’re known to have this really fucking spicy beef with noddles. So obviously, I’m going to make Harry try it first,” Y/N laughs as she props the camera up on the side of the table on a napkin holder.

Harry - who has a concert in a few hours - frowns at the steaming dish in front of him, “Darling, I don’t want to try it first. It’s going to burn my mouth. Not gonna be able to sing.”

“You’re sucha baby sometimes,” Y/N rolls her eyes, slurping up the noodles with her fork while making a silly face at her boyfriend. She pulls back, straight-faced, “It’s not hot at all. Tastes amazing, though.”

Harry takes that as an initiative to shovel a spoonful into his mouth. It only takes half a moment until his taste buds erupt in fiery flames from the spices, “You bloody little brat, y’tricked me! It’s so fuckin’ hot!”

Y/N smiles widely, laughing much too loudly in the restaurant when Harry chugs the glass of water next to the plate while glaring at his love. “I’m sorry, s’just to easy with you, lovie,” She replies, leaning over the table to press a kiss to his lips. 

He’s a sucker for her and kisses her right back despite his mouth being an inferno. His heart was on fire for her and that burned much more intensely.

---

“No, love. The instructions say baking soda, not baking powder. They’re not the same thing,” Harry sighs, attempting to read her scribbled, sloppy handwriting. She’d already spilled milk on half of the paper.

“S’interchangeable, right?” Y/N hums, cracking an egg into the bowl and Harry automatically knows to look to fish out the eggshells that’d she’d let slip in because she sucks at cracking eggs but always wants to do it.

Harry reaches over her, grabbing the vanilla extract and a teaspoon, “It’s not, baby. Lemme do this real quick.”

“Will you make me a grilled cheese after this?” She asks, nuzzling into his side and wrapping her arms around his waist as he finishes adding the wet ingredients to their bowl. Harry stopped questioning her thought process a long time ago.

Harry swipes his finger into the mixture of icing off to the side and rubs it right onto her nose, cackling at her pout and squeaking when she pinches at the fleshy skin of his hips. She in turn dips her finger into the sugary cream and pops it right into her mouth.

Harry eyes darken, watching her lips purse as she sucks off the icing. It was a dirty move on Y/N’s part and she knows it. It has her boyfriend dragging an icing-covered thumb along her collarbone before leaning down to slowly lick up the sugary trail with his tongue.

When Y/N slides her fingers into his hair and lets out a pretty moan, Harry’s standing back up, trailing over to the tripod and saying into the camera, “We’ll be back after a little commercial break,” and is then turning off the record button.

It takes little to no time for Harry to have Y/N’s bum on the countertop, mouth on her neck, and hand in-between her thighs.

And when they finally posted a very edited final cut of the video - well there may be a couple of fans who notice the how flushed Y/N is halfway through and a lovely purple mark on Harry’s neck that wasn’t there in the beginning of the video.

[jenroses]

State of the writing, 2017

A complete breakdown of things I posted this year on AO3 and my blog, plus WIP news and links to everything. 

Behind the cut.

AO3 says:

User Subscriptions:206 Kudos:4605 Comment Threads:776 Bookmarks:754 Subscriptions:518 Word Count:345423 (note: 117006 of previous/hubby’s stuff) Hits:56353

(sorted by date, italics indicate either something previously published elsewhere, or something my husband wrote)

Lost in Translations (Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)) (10258 words)Subscriptions: 31 Hits: 11393 Kudos: 949 Comment Threads: 107 Bookmarks: 164

Translations Over Distance (Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)) (10881 words)Subscriptions: 31 Hits: 6623 Kudos: 583 Comment Threads: 86 Bookmarks: 99

Translations: Initiations (Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)) (8234 words)Subscriptions: 5 Hits: 6197 Kudos: 462 Comment Threads: 37 Bookmarks: 59

Translations: Elongations (Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)) (36622 words)Subscriptions: 192 Hits: 9869 Kudos: 657 Comment Threads: 186 Bookmarks: 121

AO3 Story Organization: Section, Chapter, Story, Series or Collection? (Archive of Our Own) (1891 words)Subscriptions: 1 Hits: 370 Kudos: 37 Comment Threads: 2 Bookmarks: 3

Dendarii's Privateers (Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold) (563 words)Hits: 170 Kudos: 10 Comment Threads: 4 Bookmarks: 2

Jody Burke (Check Please! (Webcomic)) (942 words)Hits: 765 Kudos: 146 Comment Threads: 9 Bookmarks: 1

Ashley Burton (Check Please! (Webcomic)) (1510 words)Subscriptions: 1 Hits: 585 Kudos: 84 Comment Threads: 5 Bookmarks: 0

Therapy (Castle) (89390 words)Subscriptions: 1 Hits: 383 Kudos: 13 Comment Threads: 1 Bookmarks: 2

Warning to the Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim) (163 words)Hits: 77 Kudos: 15 Comment Threads: 0 Bookmarks: 1

Jack Came Back (Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Torchwood) (568 words)Hits: 82 Kudos: 3 Comment Threads: 0 Bookmarks: 1

Translations: Terminations and Transitions (Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)) (53987 words)Subscriptions: 151 Hits: 6192 Kudos: 379 Comment Threads: 123 Bookmarks: 63

Transition: Puberty (Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)) (15460 words)Subscriptions: 39 Hits: 3545 Kudos: 245 Comment Threads: 63 Bookmarks: 22

Symbolon (Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)) (25583 words)Subscriptions: 25 Hits: 1383 Kudos: 50 Comment Threads: 8 Bookmarks: 19

How To Be Vorish (Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold) (521 words)Hits: 156 Kudos: 6 Comment Threads: 1 Bookmarks: 0

Transition: The Leap (Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)) (41865 words)Subscriptions: 17 Hits: 1278 Kudos: 115 Comment Threads: 28 Bookmarks: 7

Transition: Questioning (Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)) (21055 words)Subscriptions: 4 Hits: 829 Kudos: 85 Comment Threads: 21 Bookmarks: 5

Transition: Coming Out (Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)) (5988 words)Subscriptions: 18 Hits: 1505 Kudos: 148 Comment Threads: 56 Bookmarks: 10

Workflow from Google Docs to Ao3: A Primer (Archive of Our Own, Google Docs - Fandom) (5445 words)Hits: 2465 Kudos: 120 Comment Threads: 13 Bookmarks: 100 (chapter 2 came this year)

The Lion's Cross (Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis) (381 words)Hits: 39 Kudos: 3 Comment Threads: 0 Bookmarks: 0

mother i climbed (Star Trek: Discovery) (643 words)Subscriptions: 1 Hits: 278 Kudos: 43 Comment Threads: 3 Bookmarks: 5

Just Guys Baking Pies (Check Please! (Webcomic)) (4492 words)Subscriptions: 1 Hits: 2138 Kudos: 449 Comment Threads: 22 Bookmarks: 70

A Lon Beginning (Original Work) (8981 words)Hits: 31 Kudos: 3 Comment Threads: 1 Bookmarks: 0

Works in process:

YOI: Transitions: Landings  word count 11,000-ish. 3 1/2 chapters written. I’m writing it a little out of order, as the mood strikes, so this will probably be completed before it gets posted at all.

YOI: Translations: Rosetta Stone is done and 2000 words but will be posted as the last thing I post in the series.  

Check Please: Healing Rules, most of chapter 7 is done (5-6k words) Will publish when chapter 7 is done and proofed.

A Lon Story: The next story is well underway. 3 chapters, 6k words, will publish when complete.

JAG: Making Fate: Complete, proofing, 45k, 7 chapters, post-series canon compliant 

So by my total, that means 70k of WIP.

Total fic count, about 298k.

But I’ve ALSO done two major website overhauls:

Jenrose.com was completely revamped and Lonstory.com was built and then completely overhauled this year. I did so much art for this, y’all.

And I’ve written a lot of blog posts for my main site, many of which are repurposed Tumblr things. Here’s the important ones:

Bridges Falling (twitter series on collapsing metaphorical bridges.) (short? Like 1k I guess with the new limits?)

Sexual Harassment: Now You See It. Why didn’t you before?   Holy fuck this behemoth is 4k. This is probably the most article-y thing I’ve written this year.

Drinking Games as Coping Measures  ~500 words

Handle With Care: Why Doctors Don’t Like the EDS Diagnosis  hilariously, this has 911 words. I think this might be the most commented-on article I’ve ever written for my blog.

Tricks for dealing with feeling disconnected  1540 words

The piano-tuning metaphor for social justice  1240 words

Adjusting an N95 particulate mask to a kid face 342 words, but important

How Spiderman: Homecoming Brilliantly Highlights Everything We Do Wrong With Teenagers  650 words

Negative Self Talk in Survivors: Techniques for Reframing 1215 words

On dealing with criticism and pattern arguments A variant of this went around a lot all year long on Tumblr, and is probably the biggest thing that got random people inboxing me all year. *waves* 1393 words

So that’s a total of about 12,800 words there.

That brings the writing total this year to 312k. Now the JAG thing was mostly written a long time ago, but hasn’t been posted before. So maybe 267-ish k of new writing? 

Not bad considering how horribly ill I’ve been this year, all fucking year. 

Oh, and last but not least, I got my Patreon started. So stop on by if you enjoy the work I do, there’s more coming.

I’ll do another post for art.