#I’m publishing these but let me know if there’s a more efficient way to Get These Thoughts Out

[ficuscircus]

Yes!!! The Lemay song was for Romain, as were most of my hints btw (gaynor, ghosts, etc...) 💔 Fun fact, I had actually forgotten that Morgane re-enacted Titanic on the boat (and incidentally explicitly asked Karadec to hug her mhhhhh 👀👀), I just hinted at Titanic because there was a boat involved in the ep, I giggled SO HARD when I rewatched that scene last night 😂😂

And 1,000% agreed, poor Théa, she deserved so much better, and I actually have already written several scenes about her in an upcoming fic because SERIOUSLY some fixing needs to be done 😭😭😭

The logistics of Romain's disappearance and the resulting absurd plot made zero fucking sense, I think this discussion deserves a post in itself because honestly y'a rien qui va 😱😱😱

And awww, Gilles my beloved, the therapy conversation had me IN TEARS, he is such a precious inappropriately helpful bean (see also: he's right) 😍😍

Gotta love how committed you are to getting hugs out of this show, I commend your dedication 😂 (Food for thought: when they hopefully backtrack in S3, they’ll surely be very wary of touch… Until a near-death experience, probably, that will lead to The Most Emotional Hug You've Ever Seen. Il n'est pas interdit d'espérer... characters hugging > characters kissing)



I’m not saying I watch HPI for a thrilling mystery-of-the-week, but c’mon, the audience has standards 😆 If I may try to Fix That Plot:

In 2005, Romain borrows 50 grand from Mafioso and enlists Serge’s help to make bank (btw: le gars veut une vie simple mais trempe avec la pègre pour s’acheter une baraque à La Rochelle ? Since when does organized crime, like, save the turtles and stuff? Elles sont où tes valeurs Romain ???). Dirty Cop figures it out, robs Romain and leaves him for dead. Serge, qui sent que ça se gâte, takes Romain to le vil Facchin who saves his life and helps with the whole fake-body thing. Romain leaves for the UK, etc. Facchin decides to blackmail Dirty Cop for his troubles, ex. "Give me half the money or I tell everyone you killed that guy" (he could claim there was DNA under fake-Romain's fingernails and ask for his share in exchange for his silence). To clear his conscience, Facchin sends some money to Romain every month. 15 years later (did you notice how they insisted on that, rather than dates, so they wouldn’t have to age Théa up 😂), Facchin fait l’objet d’une enquête, puis Dirty Cop est interrogé à son tour (maybe he was seen near the casino around Romain's assumed time of death?). Uh-oh, ça sent le roussi pour les ripoux ! Dirty Cop threatens Facchin to take him down with him if he doesn't kill Roxane ("she dragged your name in the mud anyway, so it’ll be two birds with one stone"). Facchin shoots Roxane (and maybe he misses intentionally), Dirty Cop stages Facchin’s suicide (suffisamment mal pour que Morgane flaire l’embrouille). When Morgane investigates Mafioso, he figures out Dirty Cop has something to do with Romain and the money, and abducts him. Ta-da! Now all that's left is to save Dirty Cop and follow Facchin's money to the UK. Note: Romain never called because he was afraid of repercussions he’s a dick, and Serge never said a word about it because he was afraid of repercussions he’s a dick too. (Not to 🎶 generalize about men 🎵, but most of them were sucky in this episode. Ils n'ont qu’à en mettre moins dans l’intrigue 😆)

(that's me rn. remember when I said ranting was half the fun of watching a show? that's what I meant)

All this to say, I think it could've made more sense, even if they'd kept the same number of characters and victims. BREF.

Agreed that Gilles is Most Right and Should say it, but also read the room first, because his timing is horrid 😂

Maybe it would benefit Théa too... She sorely needs your fix-it, at least!

[blurredcolour]

The Only Truth... | Part Four

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

The day Stalag VIIA is liberated ought to be one of pure celebration. Unfortunately, fate has other plans in store.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Death, Blood, Brief Battle, Serious Reader Injury [gunshot wound], POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, References to Christianity, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, Kissing, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: Thank you all ever so much for your patience! At last we come to the end of our tale. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 6267

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The morning of Sunday, April 29, 1945, dawned cloudy but bright. The chill of early spring still hung in the air, your breath hanging from your lips as you ducked out into the tent to collect the clean yet still-unfolded laundry that had been awaiting your attention throughout the drama of the rainstorm. You had just managed to tuck it away into your room when Fitzgibbons arrived with a new book for you to read, a more recently published fantasy novel called The Hobbit, though you had other priorities before diving into it.

You had almost gotten away with your clandestine chores, rags folded, and three-quarters of the bandages rolled, when your former surgical technician appeared at your door, knocking on the frame with an admonishing look on his face.

“I see you’re taking it easy on your day off, Ma’am.”

Huffing in irritation at being caught, you shook your head. “I’m off my feet, Fitz, can’t we just call a truce?”

He made a non-committal noise before cracking a grin. “Actually came to ask a favor, so I’m thinking we can come to an agreement. Menzies,” his deliberate mispronunciation of the British Captain’s name made you roll your eyes affectionately, “ordered me to flush a wound using your make-shift tools and honestly, I cannot make heads or tails of what you’ve jerry-rigged.”

Biting back a laugh, you nodded quickly, well aware that your cobbled-together system was more than a little unorthodox and not at all surprised Menzies had not taken the time to ensure Fitzgibbons knew how it worked. “Certainly, let me walk you through it.”

Grabbing the laundry you had thus far folded, you made your way down the hall to collect the items from the supply desk and followed him to the bedside of a new patient. Introducing yourself warmly, you learned the man’s name was Michaels and he hailed from the frigid wilds of Canada.

“Fitz and I are going to use this here to flush that wound, alright?” You nodded to the nasty laceration on his calf, your makeshift instruments cradled in your arms.

“Sounds fine, Ma’am.” He nodded patiently, vowels clipped remarkably short in that efficient Canuck way of speaking.

“Alright so if you take this, Fitz.” You held out a funnel with a piece of tubing secured to it, watching the tech take it carefully.

The mundane calm of the morning was shattered by the sudden hum of an airplane engine, your eyes shooting to meet Fitzgibbons’ sharply moments before the eruption of gunfire.

“Everyone get down!” He shouted and you both lurched into motion to begin helping your patients from their cots onto the wooden planks of the tent platform, abandoning your instruments on Michaels’ cot.

Panic rising as you once again found yourself in a wildly unsafe place while under fire, you urged the men from their beds to get low, presenting smaller targets for the errant bullets that were punching holes through the canvas of the tent every so often. The cacophony outside only increased with the rumble of approaching vehicles – tanks quite possible given the depth of sound that carried across the camp – and you nearly tripped over your own feet in an effort to reach the last two patients who simply could not move on their own.

Heaving one, Sidhu from India, out of his cot and depositing him onto the floor, you were just sliding your arms beneath the shoulders of the last, Hernandez from Texas, when searing heat and pain punched into your side. Your arms and legs gave out beneath you instantly, your body collapsing atop the poor boy still on his cot, both of you gasping for breath. With a grunt of annoyance, you flung a hand back to your hip, eyes widening as your fingertips were quickly covered in a warm, slick fluid.

“M…Ma’am?!” Hernandez warbled from beneath you, watching as you lifted your fingers to inspect just what was going on, his face blanching at the unmistakable scarlet of blood. “Doc?! Medic!! Help!!!” He began to shriek all the words he knew to summon assistance, making you wince at the racket as you forced yourself to roll off him, crashing to the floor in a pile of uncooperative limbs.

Taking a moment to try and catch your breath, pulse rocketing at an alarming rate, you began to realize that no matter how long you lay there, things were not improving. In fact the situation was growing a lot more serious as a deep ache was settling into your right side and you could feel your clothes growing damper with blood by the second. Rolling onto your stomach, you had just begun to feebly pull yourself across the floor of the tent when the racket outside subsided momentarily, Hernandez’s cries summoning several sets of boots to run in your direction.

A great, external cheer erupted in the same moment you were lifted by many hands onto one of the recently vacated cots, Chalmers, Menzies and Fitzgibbons all hovering above you as they yanked at your shirt and pants to get at your wound. The striking similarity between your plight and that of Simms set your teeth on edge, tears brimming in your eyes at the sudden thought that this could really be it. You might very well die here in these filthy, mud-covered clothes while the rest of the camp cheered on outside.

“Keep breathing for me, Nurse. You’ve got an entry and an exit wound, you just stay with us now.” Chalmers barked firmly and you managed a brief nod despite the shakes that seemed to want to rattle your bones. “Fitz go find out if they’ve got a Medic with them – we need sulfa and plasma, and she needs an aid station and surgery.”

“Sir!” He replied before you heard his frantic footfalls leave the tent.

Menzies applied a ruthless amount of pressure to the front and back of your hip and it was all you could do not to wail pathetically at the lances of pain that shot through you. “I know, Nurse, I know. For your own good, now. Why’d you have to go and get yourself shot in the middle of our liberation, hm?”

“Libe.r.ation?” It was difficult to form the word, your mouth clumsy and filled with cotton, head buzzing with adrenaline and pain.

Your heart was beginning to lose its rhythm, stuttering and skipping beats every so often. Your medical training offered a whispered explanation of ‘blood loss’ which did nothing for the suffocating feeling of panic in your chest.

“Looks like your American Army showed up to bring you home, so let’s make sure you can get there alright?” Chalmers added firmly and you nodded again, trying to take deep breaths.

You were so close. They were right there.

What had started as a frigid day seemed to be growing colder, your fingers tips positively icy by the time you heard Fitzgibbons return, giving someone a rundown. The familiarity of it made your heart ache for a simpler time when the two of you were the ones saving people, taking them from danger to safety. Now you were the one in peril, finding it remarkably difficult to keep your eyes open. The unfamiliar face of a young man in an Army helmet came into view before you felt the sting of sulfa on your wounds.

Your left sleeve was rolled up, your nonsensical protests going unheeded as the man began to search for a vein, inserting an IV for the bottle of cheery yellow plasma – the bright color anachronistic to the monochromatic color palette that pervaded the Stalag. Bandages were wrapped tightly around your middle once more and they were just about to lift you, cot and all, when another set of heavy footfalls sounded on the floorboards.

“Jesus christ…angelfish…” Bucky’s voice was unmistakable, though anguished, and you rolled your head to the side to look at him with a weak smile.

“Bucky.” You managed to form his nickname at a volume no more than a whisper, vision narrowing in on his pinched, tight features, the normally rosy hue completely drained from his cheeks.

Suddenly everything tilted and whirled as your cot was hoisted onto the shoulders of Chalmers, Menzies, Fitzgibbons, and the Medic.

“Take the plasma, Egan. Hold it up, keep pace.” Chalmers ordered sharply and the ceiling of the tent began to blur as they rushed out into the daylight, your vision going completely white before all was darkness.

------------

The morning had seemed like any other, crowded around a small campfire trying to keep warm, trading suppositions about the end of the war with Jefferson, when the unmistakable sound of an aircraft engine had broken through the din of the camp.

“Hey Macon, that’s a P-51!” Jefferson had shouted and instantly the entire population was on their feet, cheering on the pilot as he took out on of the guard towers.

Their elation was short lived, the abrupt sound of incoming artillery sending all the prisoners into the dirt as every single German soldier seemed to open fire as one, the camp instantly an active battlefield. Bucky’s eyes strayed to the hospital tent, its canvas walls helplessly pinned between the encroaching American tanks and the defending German guards. They needed to put a stop to this from the inside before any more lives were needlessly lost. Even as this thought crossed his mind, men were falling all around him.

“Fellas! Take out the tower!” Bucky shouted as he ran for the tent where the majority of the Americans were sheltering, seeking out the homemade stars and stripes they had carefully crafted and transported from camp to camp, kept hidden from goons, just for such an occasion.

It took a few tries before Jefferson successfully came up with the flag, passing it to him quickly. Dashing through the chaos of prisoners running hither and thither through the camp, some fleeing, some fighting guards, Bucky was boosted onto the roof of the administration building. The flagpole was less than sturdy as he climbed it but as he removed the Nazi war flag and tossed it to the cheering crowd below, the guns fell quiet. Securing the ragtag American flag, watching the breeze immediately catch and fly it high, an immense feeling of relief wash through him and after taking a moment to celebrate, he pressed his forehead to the hand-hewn timber of the pole to soak in his gratitude for making it this far. Though the ragged appearance of his country’s flag undoubtedly mirrored his own.

As he carefully climbed down the rickety pole, his eyes caught on a somewhat familiar figure running frantically through the crowd toward the gate, moving against the flow of those milling around the yard, celebrating. The man’s shouts carried intermittently on the wind across the crowd and Bucky managed to pick out “Medic,” his heartrate picking up at the word “Nurse.” His stomach dropped when the word “shot” reached his ears.

“Angelfish.” He whispered and quickly scrambled his way off the roof, wincing a little at his rough landing, before he began to shove his own way through the oblivious celebrants towards the hospital.

Skidding to a stop on the threshold of the tent, he was startled to find all the patients cowering beneath their cots while you lay on one of their abandoned beds, a bloody mess surrounded by men frantically trying to save you.

“Jesus christ…angelfish…” He choked out, throat clenching painfully as your head lolled to the side, slightly unfocused eyes meeting his.

“Bucky.” Your faint whisper of his name propelled him forward, a frown settling over his features at the state of your clothes, wanting nothing more than to cover up the expanse of your abdomen and the scar on your arm – you surely hated to have that so prominently on display.

Chalmers’ sudden directive for him to manage the plasma grabbed his attention and he quickly grasped the glass bottle, holding it high as they lifted the entire bed to begin carrying you out of there.

“Just hold on, angelfish.” He rasped, heart lurching painfully as your eyes rolled back in your head, your body going slack.

Running alongside you to the gate despite the way his lungs ached, the crowd mercifully parted before their odd little group. A jeep was waiting with a stretcher strapped to the back, and Bucky watched helplessly as your unsettlingly limp form was transferred from the cot, the bottle of plasma wrenched from his fingers by the Medic before he perched atop your legs. As the vehicle took off, the Lieutenant Colonel of the armored division strode over sternly.

“How the devil did a nurse end up as a POW?” He demanded as Lieutenant Colonel Clark came to stand on Bucky’s right.

Chalmer’s sighed deeply before sharing what he knew of your story, of your arrival back in January including the fact that the Red Cross was informed through the usual process, and how you were housed separately in the hospital. As Fitzgibbons, the very same surgical technician you had earned your burns pulling out of your plane, filled in the rest of your service history, Bucky could only reflect on how little he really knew you. How short his time with you had actually amounted to be. Hell, he would not have even known your squadron number if it was not for that conversation right then.

“What a SNAFU.” The man muttered and Bucky could certainly see the resemblance of the man’s commanding officer, Patton, in him. “Well, let’s get this formal surrender over with so we can get these boys home.”

Clark nodded in return and Bucky shuffled back to sit heavily amongst the men of the 100th, waving off Brady’s look of concern. Watching the salutes and handshakes, he was completely numb, his thoughts miles away with wherever they had taken you, only able to hope against hope that their aid station was of the highest calibre.

Bucky had not resorted to prayer often throughout the war. Sure he had worn a crucifix and crossed himself reflexively when flying into a hail of flak, but conversations with higher beings had never been something he had put much stock in. Faced, now, with this gnawing feeling of helplessness, your very survival in the balance, it seemed like the only tool left at his disposal.

Crammed into the tent that night, shoulder-to-shoulder with his neighbors, he felt rusty and self-conscious as he addressed the god of his childhood Sunday school and fairly begged for you to make it. He stopped short of bargaining his own life away, but barely, before sleep overtook his aching body, the exertions of the day overtaking him.

As he found himself jostling in the back of a transport truck on his way to Paris the next day, handpicked by Lieutenant Colonel Clark to be among the first sent back to England, he could not help but feel as though he was being driven further and further away from you. It was near night by the time they pulled into the base and Bucky took his first warm shower in over a year, changing into a fresh uniform and feeling almost human. They were served white bread that might as well have been cake, with steak and eggs that were too rich for him to endure more than a few bites before he crawled into a remarkably clean bed and slept deeply, exhaustion winning out over his continuous concern for your well being.

Climbing into the belly of a B-17 for the first time in over eighteen months felt awkward and painful, the crew from the 100th consisting of unfamiliar replacements, the space feeling more cramped than it ever had as he wedged himself into the cockpit behind the pilot. The deep-seated terror he had desperately been trying to supress, his fear that Buck had not made it to safety despite their planning and the beating he had taken to distract the guards, surged to the fore of his mind. It competed ruthlessly with his anxiety over whether you were still drawing breath, the fact that he may have to face the truth of losing both of you leaving him silent and withdrawn as the plane took flight.

There was no immediate answer awaiting him at Thorpe Abbotts either, no familiar faces lining the tarmac – not even Lemmons was around, which struck him as unsettlingly odd. Making his way to the CO’s hut, his eyes at last landed on a familiar face as Herrmann emerged from one the equipment sheds.

“Hey Winks! Where is everybody? Guy comes back after a year-and-a-half and no one’s around?” He plastered on a playful smirk as the boy’s face broke out into a grin of astonishment, shaking his hand vigorously as he rushed over.

“Buck took Rosie, Douglass, Croz, and Kenny up on one of those mercy missions they’ve been practicing for, they should be back any time now, sir. Gosh it’s great to see you back here.”

Bucky’s attention immediately snagged on the first name Herrmann mentioned, finding it immensely difficult to continue listening as he exhaled half of the tension that had strangled him all the way across the English Chanel. “Good to be back, Winks. Think you can give me a lift?” He raised an eyebrow, desperate for a moment of levity.

With a quick nod, Herrmann was promptly driving him towards the control tower. The most difficult part of getting up there was making it past all the congratulatory pats and handshakes, but Bucky was able to pull off his surprise, the sound of Cleven’s voice over the radio going a long way to mending some of the deep wounds he was still sporting.

More handshakes and pats-on-the-back awaited him at the hardstand and it finally felt like he was back amongst the familiar faces of these men. He did not miss the way Cleven’s eyes were quietly scrutinizing him, however. The gratingly familiar feeling that his friend was looking right through him was undeniable as he joked and smiled with the boys who had never been imprisoned. Who had not endured the things they had. As the crowd around them thinned out, Bucky turned to watch Cleven pull out one of his toothpicks, sliding it between his molars in a familiar yet long-lost motion.

“So what you been up to since I left?” His friend asked.

Bucky swallowed and shrugged a little walking over to the jeep, Cleven immediately sliding into the passenger’s seat out of habit.

“That terrible, huh?” Cleven muttered and Bucky sighed as the vehicle roared to life.

“Ended up in Moosburg.” He started out slow, with simple facts. “Got a little hurt on the way, so Brady and Hambone took me to the hospital. Turns out there was a Nurse there, POW since January.”

The look of shock on his friend’s face registered in the corner of his eye and Bucky did not have the heart to fully face him.

“The German’s held a woman prisoner?” Cleven shook his head with a sigh of dismay.

“She got shot during the liberation, stray bullet. Medics from the armored division took her and I have no idea if she made it.” Now that he had started telling the story it all just came pouring out of him.

“You care about her more than just on moral grounds.” Cleven stated matter-of-factly and Bucky sighed as he pulled up in front of what used to be their hut.

Who knew if it still was.

“Yes.” He begrudgingly admitted, though his admission was addressed to the steering wheel.

There was a long, drawn-out silence, the incessant chirping of sparrows filling in the gap in conversation and Bucky realized he had not really heard a bird his entire time in captivity. His head snapped sharply to look at Cleven as he suddenly spoke again.

“If anyone can find someone in the chain of evacuation it’ll be Smokey.”

Bucky furrowed his brows a moment before it clicked. “Doc Stover? You think?”

Cleven shrugged. “He’s our best shot I guess.”

“Our…”

“Are you going to drive us to the hospital, or should I?”

A grin pulled at Bucky’s lips as he started the jeep back up and took a sharp U-turn, heading for the base hospital. He pretended not to notice the way his friend’s eyes lingered on the stiff movement of his body as he climbed out of the jeep – he was definitely sore but was most certainly not going to admit to it. The wards were just as populated as they had been in 1943, something he found rather infuriating. It was another feeling he tucked into a neat little package and shoved down to be ignored until a more convenient time. Or perhaps never to be acknowledged again.

Stover was easy to find, dressed in his white coat, just finishing his rounds.

“Majors, what can I do for you?” He gestured for them to follow him into his office and Bucky sank down into a chair heavily, once again ignoring another man’s assessing gaze on him.

“Well it’s an odd request really but…” He trailed off, hesitating as he smoothed his too-long hair, reflecting once again that he needed a proper haircut.

“We’re wondering if you might be able to track someone down for us. Someone who was injured at a camp in Moosburg and evacuated to an aid station.

Stover raised an eyebrow curiously. “One of your fellow POWs?”

“Something like…. well yeah, she is.” Bucky corrected himself midway through, watching the doctor’s eyebrows shoot up dramatically. “Flight Nurse from the 802nd MAES, POW at Moosburg since January of ’45, shot during liberation and taken to the aid station of Patton’s 3rd Army – armored division. Which division I don’t know.”

They watched as Stover quickly grabbed a pen and started jotting down the important details, including your name.

“How bad was she hurt?” Stover asked and Bucky swallowed tightly.

“I didn’t see it happen but there was a gunshot to her stomach somewhere. They got her on plasma quickly.” He added hopefully but Stover’s face remained grim.

“I can’t promise you anything Major Egan, it doesn’t sound particularly hopeful either, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Doc.” He nodded, leveraging himself out of the chair with a barely concealed wince.

“And what do you have going on?” Stover stayed seated, eyeing him expectantly.

Bucky noticed Cleven had not budged either, the bastard. Emptying his lungs with a heavy exhale, Bucky put his hands on his hips and shrugged.

“Couple of broken ribs, I’ll be alright.” He replied nonchalantly.

“And how old are these broken ribs?” Stover prodded and Bucky ignored Cleven’s pointed look up at him.

“Couple weeks, I’m halfway mended, just overdid it getting in the fort to come back.”

Stover rose from behind his desk and opened a cabinet, fetching a bottle and holding it out to him. “Aspirin, to keep you comfortable. Take two every four hours as long as you need. Come back if you run out.”

Bucky accepted the bottle with a nod of thanks, the memory of you scrounging up two rare pills for him in the Stalag flooding back, furrowing his brows. The things you could have done in a place like this with limitless supply.

“Thanks again, Doc.” Cleven’s expression of gratitude pierced through his reminiscing and Bucky nodded quickly, tucking the pills into his pocket before heading out quietly.

Accommodations were procured and there was not much for him to do around base aside from rest and learn how to eat properly once more. It took several days for any news of your condition to reach him, via Stover’s connections, but when the man pulled him into his office on the morning of the May 5, he was stunned to learn that not only were you alive, but that you had been air evacuated to Redgrave Hospital just thirty minutes away from Thorpe Abbotts.

You were safe. You were close.

“Seems they weren’t quite certain what to do with her, but as she serves under the Army Air Force, they sent her to our main hospital.” Bucky realized Stover was still talking and he shot him a warm grin before grasping his hand to shake firmly.

“Well I really appreciate your help, Doc. I’ve gotta…” Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the door, desperate to make his way to you.

“Yeah, go…” He chuckled and shooed him out of his office.

No longer a squadron commander, Bucky technically did not have a jeep of his own to disappear with off base and so he was in the process of grabbing one of the stray bikes outside the control tower when Crosby emerged into the daylight, eyes squinting in fatigue at the brightness.

“Where are you off to Major?”

“Redgrave Hospital!” He replied brightly, watching the younger man blink.

“Sir that’s a good eleven miles, that’s a terrible idea with your ribs.”

Word seemed to have spread fast…

“Take my jeep, I’m not gonna need it today.”

“Croz, you are a lifesaver.” Bucky dropped the bike he had been wrangling to slap him on the back before diving into the jeep allotted for use by the Group Navigator. “I’ll be back!” He shouted, taking off in a spray of dust and gravel.

Turning onto the two-hundred-acre country estate, Redgrave Hospital, consisting of nearly forty Nissen huts, stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the trees and landscaped green. As he pulled up to the headquarters of the hospital, Bucky quickly realized that the staff there were not nearly as excited to see him. In fact, they were downright reluctant to allow him in to visit you, but assured him that while you were ‘heavily medicated and resting’ you were still ‘on the mend.’

While relief still permeated his system, it was a new agony to have you so very close and yet still out of his reach. If they were not going to permit him as a regular visitor, Bucky realized he was going to have to get a lot more creative in order to lay his eyes on you, and until he did, there would be not real peace.

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Moments of clarity punctured through the blackness – a blur of trees, the flurry of activity of an aid station, the masked face of a surgeon speaking to you reassuringly, the heartbreakingly familiar interior of a C-47 – but it was not until you were settled in a bed inside a hospital with four walls, windows, and nurses that true cognizance really returned to you. Casting your eyes around the sterile, white space, you noted you were situated at the end of a row and walled off from other patients with a set of privacy screens. The most striking feature of this hospital was the very stern-faced Bucky parked in a chair to the left of your bed.

As you began to stir, his eyes lifted quickly to meet yours, some of the tension easing from his frame. “Have a good rest, angelfish?” he whispered, and you furrowed your brows up at him, so full of questions. “They got you on the good stuff don’t they.” He chuckled fondly, reaching out to brush his fingertips across your cheek tenderly.

“Kick a girl when she’s down, why don’t you.” You sighed, speech slightly slurred from pain medication and the dryness in your mouth, but still capable of using his own lines against him.

His resulting grin contained all the brilliance of the sun and made you look down with a self-satisfied smirk. Your eyes immediately fell on your exposed arms laying atop the blanket, the scarring along your left forearm lain bare for all to see. Jerking your hands back roughly, you clumsily tried to shove them beneath the covers despite the warmth on the ward. Bucky’s gentle tut before his hand came to rest atop yours halted your attempt.

“Shhh, you’re just fine you brave, beautiful woman. Stay right there.” He murmured as he laced his fingers with yours, pinning your arm to rest above the blanket. “You have nothing to hide or be ashamed of.”

Swallowing thickly, you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. “I think I’ve acquired a few more…” You sighed, the feeling of thick bandages padding your hip acutely registering as you spoke.

“Probably.” He nodded softly. “You also probably saved that boy Hernandez by taking the bullet, so I’d say they were well earned. Besides, they’ll make an excellent target for my mouth one day.”

Your soft smile transformed into a look of disbelief, your free hand rising to whack his shoulder gently. “John Clarence Egan.” You chided half-heartedly and he pressed his face to the side of your head where it lay propped up against several pillows, his heavy exhale ruffling through your hair. “We are in a hospital, and you are making inappropriate jokes.”

“Mmmm.” He hummed in agreement, stroking his thumb against yours affectionately.

“Which hospital is this, anyway?” You asked curiously, finding its curved roof and white walls lacked distinguishing features.

“Redgrave Hospital, you serve in the Army Air Force after all.” He pulled back slightly to answer.

“Redgrave…” you repeated thoughtfully. “Sounds awfully English.”

“Hit the nail on the head, angelfish. We made it.” Bucky’s lips brushed against your temple, and you smiled softly. “Despite our best efforts.” His teasing made you laugh softly, and you shook your head.

“If we’re in England, where’s the King?” You raised an eyebrow expectantly and he smirked, shaking his head.

“No King, unfortunately, but I did bring you this?” He reached behind him, pulling out a newspaper to lay across your lap.

“Victory in Europe.” You read the headline aloud, pausing a moment as the words sunk in before gasping and looking to him wide-eyed. “Truly?”

A look of solemn earnestness overtook his features and he nodded softly. “Truly. German army surrendered yesterday.”

You gulped roughly and looked back to ready to date of May 8, 1945, on the top of the paper – you had lost nearly nine days. You really had been so close, everyone had. And the fact that you were here, and others were not seemed so very arbitrary. Sighing heavily, you squeezed his hand gently.

“By the skin of our teeth.” You murmured thickly, looking up as a nurse shuffled past with a faint nod of acknowledgement before making a sharp about-face to come and check your vitals.

“How’re you feeling?” She asked you and you nodded slowly.

“I’m alright, thank you. Bit foggy but things are the clearest they’ve been in days.”

“I’m going to fetch the Doctor.” The nurse turned to eye Bucky sharply. “You’d best make yourself scarce.” She commented before continuing on her way.

“How on earth did you get in here?” You raised an eyebrow as you came to realize how unusual his presence was.

“Bought my way in with a few bottles of champagne – your flightless comrades are quite friendly if one knows the price.”

You coughed out a laugh as the comment made Nurses sound like some species of bird and his lips twitched into a smile, your eyes unable to look away from the soft, rosy skin of his mouth.

“Hey before you go…”

“Hmmm?” He turned to you, half risen from his chair.

“I don’t have the mental capacity to think of something self-deprecating right now, so can I just get a kiss?” You murmured before pursing your lips shyly.

His face transformed into a warm smile, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners as the tips of his ears flushed pink. “I always said you just had to ask, angelfish.”

Echoing his smile, you turned your lips up expectantly as he braced his hand on the pillow beside your head, leaning in to gently brush his lips against yours, drawing a contented sigh from deep beneath your breastbone. Bucky’s lips pressed closer, a tender hum rumbling from his throat just as a sharp cough sounded from the end of the bed and he slowly pulled back with a rueful huff.

“Just checking her breathing, Doc.” Bucky grinned wolfishly as the man raised an eyebrow sharply. “She’s doing great.”

“Hn.” The doctor intoned, clearly unimpressed. “And how are your ribs doing, Major Egan?”

Inhaling sharply, you looked him over quickly, the litany of his injuries flooding back to you from your sub-conscious.

“Much better, thank you Doc. Who knew Smokey was such a gossip. Well, angelfish,” he brushed his knuckles down your cheek, “guess that’s my cue.”

Nodding slowly, wondering who on earth Smokey might be, you watched him leave before your Doctor took over, running through numerous checks with you before discussing the extent of your injury and the surgeries that had been performed to save your life. It was nothing short of remarkable, what they had thrown at you to prevent your death, the conversation a very sobering one. It would be a long road to recovery, and one, it turned out, you would mostly be taking back home in the United States.

After a week or so in Redgrave Hospital, you were deemed fit enough for transport back to the Zone of Interior for convalescence and recovery in a domestic hospital. Though the sympathetic nurses had not seen fit to permit Bucky onto the ward again, they had taken a shakily written note, the loss of strength you had suffered in just over a week was startling, and promised to deliver it to him. The trip via Prestwick to Greenland, then Newfoundland, and ultimately Grenier Field in New Hampshire felt luxurious on the much more spacious C-54. You were admitted to the Station Hospital there to continue your recovery and rehabilitation, enjoying phone calls with your family instead of delayed correspondence for a change.

It took two months for you to be fully back on your feet, back to yourself. The same amount of time, it seemed, for the 100th bomb group to be repatriated stateside. Freshly discharged and clad in a brand-new olive drab dress uniform, proudly bearing your silver 1st Lieutenant’s insignia following your promotion and the ribbons from your two purple hearts, you had sweet-talked your way back onto the base. One of the more sympathetic MPs who had heard your story – admittedly there were few in New Hampshire who had not heard your story at this point – had not even protested your request. It seemed that fate saw fit to land Major John Egan in your life a second time, with Grenier Field the destination for his bomb group on their return flight.

Standing in the warm summer breeze, watching the sky for the silhouettes of their planes, it honestly felt odd to be wearing a skirt. The complexity of affixing your stockings to the straps of your garter belt had briefly made you long for the convenience of slacks, but with your properly cut and styled hair and feminine clothing you felt like an entirely new woman as you stood outside on the grass with the ground crew. Would Bucky even recognize you?

At last the distant droning of aircraft engines reached your, and everyone around you’s, ears, the shapes of B-17s multiplying on the horizon before they began to circle in for a landing. Honestly, there were so many of them you briefly doubted you would be able to find him with any manner of efficiency. Clamping a hand over your officer’s cap to hold it in place as a plane taxied onto a nearby hardstand, your eyes began to scan the crowd of men as they filtered past, surely headed for the mess hall or officer’s club. Catch a glimpse of those unmistakable ears, you stepped forward and called out to him.

“John Clarence Egan!”

His head whipped around so fast he nearly took out the man walking beside him.

“Do I really look so different in a skirt that you would walk right by me?” You teased fondly.

“Angelfish!”

His flight bag hit the asphalt with a sickening ‘crunch’ that had you worried for its contents, but the impact of his body against yours drove that thought quickly from your mind. Wrenching his cap from his head he tilted his face to nestle beneath the brim of yours and kiss you soundly. Distantly, you were aware of all manner of cheers and wolf-whistles from his comrades, but you were too busy clutching at his shoulders to truly mind.

“How did you-? What are you-? God, it’s good to see you.” He rambled before pressing his mouth against yours firmly, not even giving you the opportunity to reply.

Laughing brightly into the kiss, you became vaguely aware of the sound of footsteps approaching much nearer and pulled back slowly, smiling fondly as Bucky’s lips made as if to chase yours, but his friend’s question interrupted him.

“You gonna introduce us, John?” A tall blond man with striking blue eyes and a pair of unsettlingly symmetrical facial scars asked sardonically.

Bucky cleared his throat and stepped back, though you noted his arm slid around your waist in a rather proprietary move. You found you did not mind in the least, particularly as your fully healed wound gave no protest of pain whatsoever.

“Angelfish, this Gale Cleven – call him Buck, Robert Rosenthal – Rosie, and Harry Crosby – Croz.” He followed up by introducing you by your full name.

“He give you that nickname, too?” The one he told you to call ‘Buck’ raised an eyebrow and you laughed.

“It’s a long story….”

-------------------------

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel, @jointherebellion215, @timetowastetime8, @mads-weasley

[wordstome]

the very first night (ntwdt pt 2)

tell me that you hate it hate that i'm no longer in your reach if i can't hear you say it maybe you can't change it, but if you never if you never put it on the line how am i gonna sign for it?

alpha colonel König x beta ex-lover reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, reader's callsign is Eden, reader speaks French, omegaverse, exes to lovers, fraternization, fantasy version of military protocol, probable incorrect use of "copy"

2.2k words

tw: mentions of dead bodies and vague violence, dirty talk, könig is in rut but no actual sex happens, mention of grinding

Do you guys still even remember this au??? 😅 I'm back to writing this fic with this specific format just like the last time I had bad writer's block. I'm sorry that I basically made you guys take a poll and then immediately disregarded the results :( metalhead König is going to be the next one published, and then kosovo maiden. Anyway, this is less of a foray into the omegaverse as it is into exploring a married couple's dynamic. Forgive me if it's inaccurate, I've never been married. (Several of the people who will probably read this are married so...I might be really embarrassing myself here lol)

“Two on your six, O’Conor.”

König watches as his colleague takes down his pursuants with practiced ease. “Good to have someone watching over me, Eden.” the man roughs into his comms.

“It was my pleasure, Declan.”

“Can you two keep the flirting off the main comms?” Fender huffs. König hears O’Conor snort before the line goes quiet.

“Steady,” Horangi says next to him.

“What?” König says.

“You’re breathing like an angry bull. It’s unnerving.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s obvious you’re mad O’Conor’s flirting with your ex-wife.”

“She’s not—“ König lets out a sigh of defeat and tips his head away from the scope. “She can do whatever she wants. I’m not her keeper.”

“Right, which is why you’re white-knuckling your rifle and giving off the most furious pheromones I've ever felt."

König gives his friend a deadly side eye. “Can I help you?”

“Nah. Just confirming what I already know”, Horangi answers, unbearably smug.

König rolls his eyes and returns to the task at hand.

The two of you avoid each other, mostly.

When you’re forced to interact, it's with stiff professionalism. Cold and distant. The way it was when it was really, really bad.

You spend your time becoming closer to the other operators. O'Conor, for one, is someone you find yourself growing close to. In your line of work, it's usually not a good idea to get too attached to someone who may not see the next day, but it's part of your job to know these people now.

They're so competent that you can ignore the obvious, anyway.

König's always been competent, but watching him work nowadays is strange, like watching a remake of a nostalgic childhood film.

His movements are the same. He flicks his wrist the same way, with a heartbeat's worth of pause before the movement. Him taking cover, leaning with that awful posture you always got on his case about.

But everything about him is more ruthless, more efficient. The unrefined brutality of his youth is replaced with a honed precision that is foreign to you.

It stings, though you know the feeling has no right to exist.

You can't keep yourself from reminiscing about the past, when everything about him was familiar. When you knew him so well, it was enough to save both your lives.

"We've lost comms with König."

Your heart drops into your throat. You've been on several ops with him at this point, but this has never happened before.

"What do you mean you've lost comms?"

"He's not responding."

"What?" Fear grips your heart at everything that implies.

"He's in your building, Eden. Find him and extract. Copy."

You move slowly, like ice is flowing through your veins. "Copy."

You will yourself to calm down. Lost communications doesn't mean anything but lost communications. Panicking that you're going to encounter his body will only ensure you end up as a corpse as well. Besides, who could ever take down a man like that, tall like a giant and quick like a viper as he is?

If you had lost comms, what would you do? Re-establish them, of course. Pick your way out of the building and do everything in your power to reconnect with your team. From where König entered, he'd be exiting the building on the east side. You turn to head that way, then hesitate.

König's not you, though. He's not like any other member of the team. Proud, arrogant, vicious König, far more so than other alphas. You used to be afraid of him while he was at work, but eventually you came to realize that was simply how he was in his element—a different persona he wore to battle. As much as you wished he would be sensible and take the safe route, König would never take the safe route. He'd be carrying on the mission on his own, moving towards the target at the center of the building.

But he's a professional. No matter how good he is at what he does, he's not a one-man army, and he knows the right thing to do would be to extract. It's a gamble. If you head towards the east exit and he's not there, you could be losing precious time to find him. But if you head towards the center, you could be walking right into a fight you can't win and become overwhelmed.

You let out a shaky breath and attempt to calm your mind. What would he do? What is he thinking? If you make the wrong call, if you don't know your lover as well as you think you do, one of you won't be walking out of here. You close your eyes and think.

You open them with newfound determination and turn towards the center of the building.

You'd been right, of course, judging by the fallen enemies you find as you move through the hallways. But you don't allow yourself to feel sure until the moment you lay eyes on him, securing the target—a hard drive containing sensitive information.

"König!" you hiss, just as he whips towards you, gun drawn. He relaxes when he sees it's only you. Despite the fraught situation you're in, you can't help yourself from dashing towards him and burying your face into his chest in a hug.

"Eden," he says, his relief evident.

"You stupid motherfucker," you hiss. "You should have extracted the moment your comms cut out."

His eyes crinkle up behind his mask the way they always do when he smiles. "You knew I wouldn't."

"Yes, because I am burdened with being one of the few people on this earth who knows you like the back of my hand. Atlas holding up the sky," you grumble.

"I know you're relieved to see me," he responds, joy evident in his tone.

You let out a sigh. "Can we just get out of here?"

"Aye-aye, captain."

You could do without those memories, you think whenever the two of you trade clipped exchanges during ops now.

König still has traces of the arrogance of his youth, but it shows through less now. He's wiser, more patient and far less reckless.

You catch yourself admiring how good of a leader he's become. His connection with his teammates is like muscles flexing a hand.

You're no longer a part of that nervous system.

In fact, he's always catching you off guard now.

The energy in the common area is weird today.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. It’s like everyone’s walking on eggshells, but at the same time, nobody’s mood seems to be that affected. It’s like you’re all mice living in someone’s walls: going about business as usual, but with some looming threat casting a pall over everything.

“Is it just me or does the energy on base feel off today?” you ask Calisto.

“Oh. Yeah, that. Don’t worry about it,” she says. She swings open the refrigerator and pulls out coffee creamer. “No need for concern. König’s in rut.”

You do a double take. “He is?”

“Yeah.” She’s casual about it as she dumps cream and sugar into her coffee. “Usually he has a pretty light rut—he just gets testy and irritated. But for some reason this time is bad.” She offers you the cream, but you shake your head. “Don’t know what’s up with him, but he had to barricade himself in his room. His scent is driving people up the wall.”

You stare at the table in front of you. It can’t be a coincidence that König’s rut gets worse as soon as you’re near him again, can it?

When you look up, Horangi is staring at you from across the room. Slowly, he raises his mug to his lips, never once taking his eyes off of you.

You swallow the lump in your throat.

Calisto was right. The scent is overwhelming, but it's also familiar. You can't blame the others for avoiding the area. If you'd never dealt with him in this state before, you'd be hightailing it out of there too. Which is why you're doing this despite...everything.

You hover outside his door, trying to gather yourself, or work up the nerve to knock, or anything. It doesn’t matter in the end, though.

“I can smell you, liebling,” comes his voice, deep and growling and verging on feral. A shiver runs up your spine. You haven’t been called that in a long, long time.

“I only came here to bring you things. Water and…snacks.” you stammer, instantly hating yourself for how weak you sound.

“All these years later…and you still smell the same.” He blows right past your feeble little excuse, not even dignifying it with a response.

“I’m just here to check on you,” you murmur.

“Is that so.” You gasp as you hear a loud thud against the door from the other side. Oh God, it’s him, his body heat almost burning through the wood, pressed so close that you can hear his heaving breaths. “How kind of you.”

“It’s the least I can do, considering…”

“Considering it’s your fault I’m like this in the first place?”

Your legs feel weak. “Yes.”

His voice is silky, dangerous despite the barely restrained lust behind it. “Good girl.”

“That’s not fair,” you whisper.

“That’s a shame. You used to like it when I called you that. Still do, according to my nose.”

You wish he wasn’t right, but he is. You’re so slick that you’re soaking your underwear.

“Do you want the water or not?”

“Are you going to come with it?”

“I—”

“Because I promise you, if you’re still standing there when I open this door, you will get fucked against it.” He sounds like a savage animal snapping his jaws in hunger, and fuck, your body feels hot and weak in response. Every cell in your body is screaming out for you to throw open that door and let him fuck you limp. If you told him to break down the door, you’re sure that he would.

“You can’t say that anymore,” you whisper, hating the words as they leave you.

That seems to bring König back to rationality. You can picture him now on the other side of the door, shoulders slumping as he withdraws back into himself. "I...I'm sorry."

You slide down to sit on the ground with your back to the door, gripping a water bottle in a clenched fist. "It's like no time has passed at all, huh?"

You hear him let out a shaky breath, clearly trying to collect himself and bite back words he can't say. "Yeah."

That's the thing, isn't it? Your biology and his got the two of you into this situation in the first place. Very little of that has changed. Even though you've grown distanced in your minds, your bodies haven't forgotten the connection.

You're still struggling with how to feel about that. So much of your life has been dictated by what your body needs and wants. You've spent just as much time bucking against those needs and wants, so much that it feels like second nature.

"All of this...it takes me back. Do you remember the first night I spent with you during a rut?" you say. For a while you don't think he's heard you, but then he responds.

"How could I forget? It's my most embarrassing memory."

"Still?"

"I swore I would never let something like that happen again."

You giggle a little. "It was cute, for what it's worth." That first time, you'd come prepared with water and food, just like you had tonight, prepared for a long night full of...strenuous exercise. Instead, König had gotten so overwhelmed at his first rut with a partner that he came by just grinding on your leg and immediately fell into a 12-hour sleep.

"Yeah, you've said that. Doesn't make me cringe any less."

"And I'll say it again, it wasn't as bad as you think it is." You idly trace the cap of the water bottle with a fingertip. "There's no shame between us."

Another long pause before he responds. "Was."

A dull, throbbing pain nestles itself below your sternum.

"It...doesn't have to be past tense," you put forth tentatively.

"Doesn't it? We've gone right back to being strangers. You're still on the other side of the door."

You bite your lip. You can't deny that, nor the distance that's grown between the two of you.

This is all happening too fast. You don't know if you want to close the gap. You don't know if you're ready to make amends, after what happened.

"You're in no condition to have this conversation," you say, to distract both him and yourself.

"Conversation with you is hard to come by nowadays."

"Well...let's change that. Starting when your rut's over. Let's try talking like normal people again." This time, you don't know if you can blame your stupid biology for the relief you feel saying that. Maybe this time it's nothing but you and your treacherous heart.

You hear a thump against the door, but not an aggressive one. More like he's leaned his head against it. "I guess we have to start somewhere."

More silence. Then he speaks again, his voice tremulous.

"Can you stay? It's easier when you're here."

You swallow, your mouth gone dry like a desert. You can barely manage your next two words. "Of course."

The rest of the night is quiet, but you know he's there. At one point, you can even hear his steady, even breathing. Somewhere along the way, you notice that your breathing has synced with his.

The two of you fall asleep like that, propped up next to each other with a single layer of wood between you.

I miss you like it was the very first night...

I only revised this once while exhausted out of my fucking mind at 3am, so forgive me if anything's awkward or clunky. I'll probably go through it again in the morning (and die of cringe). But there we go! I hope you guys enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts and comments <3

Regarding my tag lists: I've had to leave out a few people, so if you see your url missing from this, please let me know and I'll add you back. Also, apologies if you're here despite not asking to be tagged for this particular story. I haven't gotten around to sorting out fic-specific taglists yet 🥲

@kneelingshadowsalome @danibee33 @crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @cookiepie111 @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @hexqueensupreme @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @deaddainish @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria @complexivelovely @black-moon-bunny @kit-williams @shebibtedmypepnis @mafer383

[infamous-if]

.2

I know, I know. It took 2 months to write the second drabble from the poll but...this is not even a drabble anymore. Instead, it's more of a collection of scenes mostly because if I do write how Orion found and began managing the band it would be an entire chapter. I will say that I condensed this due to that, but if I ever do write the whole thing it might look a *little* different. I had to cut corners and shorten scenes for the sake of length. Still, hope you like it! (This is 4, 363 words btw. what is wrong with me) I should probably find a more efficient way to share such long works but whatevs. As always, ignore any mistakes or typos or wordy sentences or sentences that probably make no sense upon reading it a second time. I don't edit drabbles and I always just publish the first drafts. haha.

“…Love me and hate me, I don’t mind as long as you take me—”

A low grumble rises in Orion’s throat when the song pauses, the car falling into an unfamiliar silence just as it slows in front of a red light. His large hands tighten their grip on the wheel, and his eyes glide to his co-worker, Marty, just as he’s pulling his hand away from the PAUSE button on the console. 

“Is there a reason you’re touching my stuff?” Orion asks, his voice carrying its usual calm that holds a level of ice that has even his superiors shuddering when they think he’s not looking. 

Marty licks his lips, his face twisting into its usual expression of guilt. Orion softens his face for his friend’s sake.

Orion Quinn knows the impact he has on people. The rumors that plague him have reached his ears on multiple occasions; he’s a shell of what he once was, never having gotten over the one who got away. He’s detached, the merciless worker that the boss goes to when he’s in need of someone who can do the firing.

 He’s the one people are afraid of crossing or talking casually to in fear of letting something slip. People fear him more than they fear the execs. 

It wasn’t always like this, sure. Once, Orion used to smile freely, used to talk openly and wear vulnerability like a favorite coat. But then the divorce happened and sides were taken. Suddenly, the armor he didn’t know he had was reinforced, dented and bruised from a battle he didn’t expect to fight, but reinforced nonetheless. 

Never date your co-workers. 

“The song is terrible, man.” Marty sighs, running a hand through his oily brown hair when he plops back in the seat. The same seat he pushed back at a 120-degree angle. Admittedly, it makes Orion’s nerves flare up. He says nothing;  he has enough self-awareness to know that complaining about his seat is a bit too much, even for him. “I was doing both our ears a favor.”

The light changes and Orion absently drums his fingers on the wheel as he drives on ahead, eyes gliding outside to soak in the densely populated street underneath the rising sun. “Yeah.” The word comes out in a resigned breath. “I was hoping it’d get better.” 

“We were on the bridge,” Marty throws back. “The only way it could get better is if it ended.” Orion’s lip twitches and of course, Marty can’t let it go. ”Oh! That was an almost-smile.” He leans forward to poke Orion’s rib. 

Orion lets out a laugh before his face quickly drops.

Marty grins, plopping his elbow on the ledge of the car door. “All I’m saying is you’ve been listening to demos nonstop this whole month. Not once have I seen you even mildly excited for any of them.”

Orion grits his teeth. “I haven’t had anything substantial to show the team in ages. Our last artist pulled out on signing with us last minute. Our established artists aren’t selling as well anymore. The industry is getting oversaturated—“

“—and we need to be ahead of the curve. Yadda, yadda.” Marty rolls his eyes. “Do you ever just relax? Damn. That stick up your ass is ten-feet lon—“

Marty chokes on his words when Orion’s eyes cut to his. “Say anything else and I’m kicking you out of my car.” 

Marty pouts but relents anyway, choosing to change the subject. “What about dating?”

Orion keeps his eyes on the road but quirks a brow. “What about it?”

“You know…” Marty starts, gesticulating vaguely as he searches for the right words. “Maybe putting yourself out there could help you relax. Or even inspire you—“ 

“No.”

“What? Okay, but—"

“Not interested.”

“You didn’t even know what I was going to sa—“

“Don’t have to.” 

Marty huffs and says nothing for a long moment. Neither of them rush to fill the silence; normal for Orion but unusual for his infinitely more talkative friend. It’s only when he pulls into Carolina Records’ parking lot that Marty speaks again and Orion realizes his silence was really just contemplation.

“I know the divorce was difficult,” he starts, delicate, “but—“

Orion’s jaw clenches.

“— that doesn’t mean you should give up.”

Orion sits there a moment, fingers clenching into fists. “It’s not giving up if I never tried in the first place.” He swings open the door and steps out, the car door slamming with a hint of finality.

. . .

Carolina Records boasts a twenty-floor skyscraper made up of floor-to-ceiling glass windows and sleek, dark marble floor. Orion has been here since he graduated college; going from a measly intern to an A&R representative responsible for finding two of the most promising artists in the company. 

That was a year ago. Since then, the well of new talent has dried up and Orion doesn’t know what to do.

Of course, he was offered higher positions, all of which he quickly denied. Orion always had a knack for numbers and trends, discovering what new genre is going to come to the forefront, seeing what kind of music the general public is listening to. Music: he understands it better than people. His understanding is almost clinical: while people listen to it for enjoyment, Orion seeks the patterns, the feelings that every beat and scale and vocal run they invoke. He takes it apart and puts it together like a surgeon does a patient. It just makes sense to him. 

He could do so much more, he knows that, but none of that interests him.

The music—that’s what he likes. 

Discovering new talent is what excites him. Which is why this odd dry spell has him walking with gritted teeth and tension between his shoulders-blades. He has to do something.

“Mr. Quinn.” 

Orion nods at a woman who passes by the hallway, ignoring the way Marty does a whole spin when he tracks her retreating frame down the hall.

Another one. This time a man from the marketing department. “Good Morning, Mr. Quinn.” 

“Morning.”

Marty scoffs when the man continues walking, not sparing him a glance. 

“Am I chopped liver or something?” Marty complains.

“Mr. Quinn, hey!”

“Hi.” Orion nods his head once and presses the elevator button. When his eyes land on a frowning Marty he says, “You’re just not sociable.”

“Huh?!” Marty then lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched sputter of a laugh. “And you are?”

Orion frowns. “Yes.”

Another laugh. “You’re smart, dude, you know it’s more because of that”— he gestures vaguely at him—“than your social skills.”

The elevator doors open with a cheerful bell and they step inside. “What?”

“You know.” Marty shrugs. “Your face. You look like you should be on a billboard advertising overpriced cologne with your shirt unbuttoned and your hand in your hair talking about your luxurious life or something.”

“That’s…specific.”

Marty shrugs. “I read a lot of GQ.” 

Orion wrinkles his nose when they spin to face the doors. “While it is true I would be considered objectively handsome by societal standards—“

“Oh, fuck off.”

“—I don’t think that’s the case.” This time Orion lets out a small smile. “Or maybe it is?” He quirks a brow at his co-worker. “Should I send a gift basket to my parents? A ‘thank-you-for-the-superior-DNA gift?’”

Marty shakes his head.  “You know, when you do try to be funny you still sound like an asshole.”

Orion hums, the joke tickling him enough for him to let out his first smile of the day. 

The elevator doors sing their arrival and they bid farewell once they part to go to their respective offices. Orion strides to his corner office where another one of his co-workers, Kass, is standing with a box in her hands.

“This week’s demos.” Orion is just putting his arms out when she plops the boxes on them. “You should really stop requesting unsolicited demos. It’s such an outdated way of doing things.”

Orion ignores her and unlocks his office door, turning the knob and pushing it open with his hip. His office is barren but spacious, with high windows overlooking the city. Marty told him once that people would kill to have his office, but really it’s just like any other space. What’s an office without a productive person to work in it? Orion hasn’t done anything of meaning in weeks.

Sighing, he drops the box on the table unceremoniously, picking up the first CD on the top of the pile. GROUNDED IN REALITY reads the title, and it’s so apt that he almost chucks the CD in the trash on that very fact alone. Still, he’s nothing if not fair. Another sigh escapes him and he gets to listening. 

. . .

Helpless.

That’s how he feels.

After hours of listening, the music has long since blurred together in a portrait of uninspired melodies and generic, radio-friendly lyrics. Nothing stood out, nothing made him want to dig into the song in search for more, nothing made him feel.

Is it me? Am I the problem?

Jaw clenched, Orion fishes out his phone, the usual flinch coming to him when he sees the background. He forgot to change it, and it’s always an (unwanted) surprise whenever he sees a picture of them together. 

One year ago. The beach. Happy.

Shaking his head, he sends a quick text to his mother telling her that he’ll have to raincheck on their dinner. He still has half a box of songs left. Looks like he’ll be staying late.

“Yo, Orion!” A knock. “Let’s go! I want to driiink.”

Or not.

Marty strides in without waiting for an invitation, a grin on his face. “Tab is on me.”

“Do you ever work?” Orion asks, eyes half-lidded in equal parts annoyance and indifference. 

His friend frowns. “This is work.”

“I don’t think getting drunk is in the job description.” Orion looks down, absently clicking on the button of his mouse in an effort to busy his hands. 

“Wah, wah. Don’t be a fucking party pooper.”

 “Too late.”

Marty shoots him a look. “A few artists are playing tonight. Call this recruitment.” He uses spirit fingers. “Maybe you’ll even loosen up for once.” When Orion looks at him, a brow raised, Marty drops his hands. “Yes, I do my job sometimes. Don’t look so surprised.”

“It’s not that,” Orion starts. He doesn’t immediately continue. Instead, they simply stare at each other. Marty wiggles his brows as Orion narrows his gaze. “When you say the tab is on you—“

Marty whips out a black card. “Company card, baby!”

Orion palms his face with a long groan as Marty begins to moonwalk across Orion’s office. “I was perfectly fine staying inside.” Even though he says this, a moment later he stands and grabs his trenchcoat from the back of the chair. “And you’re driving.”

“What!” Marty stomps his foot as he follows him out. “Nooooo.” 

. . .

The bar sits in a livelier part of the city, a part that Orion doesn’t often find himself in. It’s less about the scene and more about the memories associated with every damn corner of this place. Orion can pluck a memory from his mind like a petal from a rose garden: the diner they went to and fought for fifteen minutes over who would get to pay the bill, the park they spent their lunches at.

The shop where he bought the ring.

“This place is golden,” Marty says, breaking Orion out of the string of memories he wishes he could erase forever, “it’s like a real gritty, underground hole-in-the-wall vibe.”

“Sounds like fun,” comes out of Orion in a dour tone that has Marty rolling his eyes. 

They stride through the neon glow of the brick hall until it opens up to a dimly lit bar. The space is humble; the sparse crowd is compensated by the energy of the performers on the stage. 

“Stacy, do you remember when I mowed your lawn…?”

“Is the band really covering Fountains of Wayne?” Orion says through gritted teeth.

Marty bites his lower lip, his obvious attempt to stifle laughter only making Orion’s faux horror flare even more. “Maybe.” Marty spins around, shimmying his shoulder. “You don’t agree that Stacy’s Mom Has Got It Going on?” Marty then realizes something and laughs. “You know, I dated a Stacy once. Weirdly enough, her mom wasn’t that bad looking—“

Orion sighs and quickly moves to the bar. “I need a drink.”

Whatever hope Orion had of finding new talent is gone in the face of the line-up. It quickly becomes obvious that the performers are composed of people who aren’t taking the ‘gig’ seriously or patrons that are half-drunk and stumbling on the small stage.

Worse that the place is pathetically empty; it’s only them two and three other stragglers eating stale fries and bobbing their heads to the music, more out of obligatory politeness than anything else. Orion is suddenly regretting taking Marty up on his offer. 

Orion drinks his lager through periodic gulps, his desire to forget this night growing with every person that performs. The memories of this area coupled with his lack of work lately make him dizzy. He wants to escape. Quit. Scream. All of it.

“Get me another,” Orion says, much to Marty’s delight.

More and more people perform until Orion has lost any focus on the stage. Instead, he entertains himself by watching the game on the TV, having long given up on finding any new promising talent in a place like this. 

“Next up we have”—the bartender stops, her eyes narrowing as she tries to read something off an index card—“er, [band]. Yeah. Give them a round of applause.”

With how few people are in attendance, the applause is less applause and more awkward clapping that quickly dies after two. 

The people on stage are younger. Immediately, Orion notices that they’re equipped with actual instruments instead of relying on the karaoke machine in the corner. A decisive point in their favor, he decides.

“You said this was a gig…” He hears one of them say to what appears to be the lead singer. The boy wears a red hat, as well as an assortment of chains on his neck. Three other band members set up their instruments, trying not to look too disappointed by the turnout. Still, even with the lager creating a slight fog in his head, Orion knows that look. The moment when hope dies, burning like a napkin to a flame.

“No,” the lead singer says pointedly as they adjust their mic, “I said this was a favor.” In that moment, the singer nods their head at the bartender, who shoots them an appreciative thumbs-up. “A paid favor.”

The boy shakes his head but snorts. “I guess.” 

Once they’re set up, the singer looks ahead, gazing at the bar. Their eyes briefly settle on Orion as they gaze at the few faces in the room. “Hey!” they say, chirpy. “We’re [band]. Thanks for coming out!”

A chorus of muttering replies.

Marty taps on the bar. “Wanna head out?”

Orion, unable to look away, shakes his head. “No. I want to see this.”

The next few minutes feel like a dream. Orion is in a daze as the song plays, the beats piercing through him. The voice sends goosebumps up his arms, the instruments weave together in a perfect harmony that has Orion’s heart racing. When the song ends, it’s too soon. He wants it to keep going. He doesn’t want it to end. 

He wants more.

“Thanks!” The singer says to a smattering of slightly enthusiastic applause. This is the most energy everyone has had all night. They turn, grab their things, and disappear through the curtain. Orion bursts up….

…spilling his drink on the table.

“Oh!” the bartender squeaks as Marty hisses.

“Aw, fuck.” Orion curses, and then flinches. “Sorry. Uh….sorry.” He doesn’t know what his apology is for. Dropping the drink, cussing, or speeding away before he could help clean it up in order to catch the band backstage?

“Hey!” Marty calls. “Where are you going?”

Orion ignores him. He has a one-track mind right now, one focused on finding the band that just made him feel like he hit the jackpot. This. This is what he’s been looking for. 

The door swings open, and the band stop mid-conversation to look at Orion, who busted through the door without so much as a plan or script in place. Instead, he simply stands there. 

“Uh.” One girl, flaunting bright blue hair, says. “Yeah?”

Orion reveals his card, feeling a bit like a robot. He moves on automatic, working through the many thoughts in his head to utter the rest of his words. “Do you have a manager?”

. . . 

“You want to manage us?”

The din of the coffee shop sings with the sound of plates and aimless chatter. It’s been two days since he heard them perform back at the bar, and Orion has been running through his pitch the way one does before an interview. He’s never been this…nervous? Uncertain? In his life. 

“Yes,” is Orion’s only response. He sits on one side of the table while the band sits on the other; an invisible wall between them. He can see it, their apprehension. He is not one of them. 

Not yet, at least. 

“Wait.” The boy Orion learned is named Rowan leans forward, fingers on the table. “How do we know this isn’t a scam?”

“I’m not asking for money. All I ask is for you to show up to play for my boss. That’s it.” Auditions are a lost art. Nowadays artists are recruited through viral internet songs and connections. Two things that always exhausted Orion. It hasn’t been just about the music in a long time. 

Their eyes widen. They all exchange looks, equal parts excited and wary. 

“Why?” [MC], who he learned is the sole singer of the band, asks.

Because you made me feel something. Because listening to you is the first time I felt human in a long time.

He imagines himself waving off those words like mist. “Because you’re the first band that has caught my attention. And it’s not easy to catch my attention.”

The band member named Iris snorts. 

“I’m not trying to be arrogant,” he says blandly, leaning back in his chair to fold his arms over his chest. “It’s the truth.”

“Where do you work?” Another member, Devyn, asks. 

“Carolina Records.”

Multiple pairs of eyes widen.

“Holy shit.” Jazzy laughs. “The Carolina Records?”

Orion nods, used to this kind of reaction. Starry-eyed artists are pretty much the same when it comes to Carolina. “Yes.” He leans forward, his heart racing. “Just one audition. That’s all I ask.” 

He watches as they all exchange looks; a silent language only they share. After an agonizing moment, [MC] turns to him and nods. “When?”

. . . . 

Orion has been pacing for the last half hour.

He stands outside Carolina’s humble theater space, chewing on his nails as he waits for his boss, Jacob Hill, and a smattering of other executives and shareholders that will be the final word in whether Orion can work with [band]. He hasn’t asked for something this big in so long that Jacob Hill immediately said yes, more out of excitement and surprise than anything else. Orion did produce two of their most profitable artists in the company. 

The elevator doors open and Orion stops in place, head whipping up to see them walking through the hall in a wave of black suits and greased hair. Orion brushes down his shirt, trying to dampen his nerves. Jesus. Nerves? Get a grip, Orion. 

He doesn’t know how to stand as he waits for them to approach. Hands in pockets? Arms crossed? Orion is so indecisive he just resorts to standing straight, arms at his sides. 

“Mr. Hill.” Orion shakes his hand, clearing his throat. He makes his polite greetings to the rest of the team and says, “Thank you for making time for me.”

“Always, Orion.” Jacob slaps a large hand on his back. “You’re one of my best. You should ask me for favors more.”

Orion lets out a small, slightly nervous laugh. “Ah, you know. I like to—“

“—do things on your own,” Jacob finishes, a soft smile on his face. “I get it.”

He slowly looks up, meeting Jacob’s eyes. In them he can see the familiar pity he’s gotten since the divorce. 

It’s Orion’s fault, really. If he didn’t isolate himself and turn into what he is now, people wouldn’t look at him and assume he’s broken inside.

Would they be wrong in their assumption, though? Am I broken inside?

“Shall we?” another executive says, and Orion bobs his head in a nod, pushing away the image of Jacob’s face.

Inside is a small theater, the stage just big enough for one artist. The seats are plush leather, the lights dim but blue. Jacob always likes the spectacle, and he catered this space to feel like a real performance for possible signees. Orion decides against sitting, too nervous to do anything but stand in the back, giving them the signal he taught them in his pep talk before they came.

[MC] nods. “Um. Hi. We’re [band]. I’m [MC] and this is Iris, Rowan, Devyn, and Jazzy. And um…this is [song].”

Orion flinches at the lackluster introduction. Doesn’t matter, he thinks, unfamiliarly optimistic, the music will do the talking.

And it does.

But not in the way he thought.

All throughout the song, Orion peeks at Jacob and his team. He wants to celebrate when he sees them bobbing their heads, wants to curse when they get on their phones. Orion has never worried this much in his whole career. He’s never wanted something so bad. 

He’s never allowed himself to want. Not after the divorce. 

He didn’t think he was deserving of getting what he wanted. 

The song ends, and Orion lets out a breath. There’s muffled chatter between the men, and on stage the band crowd together, hopping in place as they let out their remaining nerves. 

Jacob stands, the rest following. Orion speeds ahead, wanting to see the thoughts on his face. Instead, Jacob simply regards him with thin lips.

“They were…good,” Jacob whispers, putting a hand on Orion’s shoulder and guiding him out of the room and to the empty hall, “but I think we’re going to go in another direction.”

Orion’s positivity leaks out of him like an open faucet. “What.”

Jacob inhales through his nose. “Look, the singer is talented. They all are. I understand why you like them but…” He shakes his head. “I don’t think the guys see it. And plus,” he shrugs, “they don’t have what we’re looking for.”

Orion’s brows furrow. His stomach drops in itself and his mouth dries. “They have another song. They could play it—“

“Orion.” Jacob gives him that pitying expression again. Fucking hell. He wants to smack that expression off his face. “I know you’ve been…off, since the divorce. You haven’t been on top of your game, and I’ve been giving you your space. It’s not easy, especially since you worked together—“

“I’m fine,” he says tightly.

“—but you can’t…fixate on something to get over it. You need to do it the healthy way. The old Orion would’ve brought me someone with pizzazz. With that unique Orion touch, you know?” Jacob pulls him close. Orion is reduced to a scolded child, unable to do anything but listen. “This isn’t the Orion I know. You usually bring me diamonds.” 

“I—“ Orion swallows. “I’m trying.” And it’s the most honest thing he’s said in ages. He’s trying. And it’s not working. He’s been trying the day he signed that fucking divorce paper and signed the only life he’s known away. 

“I know you are,” Jacob says, squeezing his shoulder. “Sometimes we miss, and that’s alright.”

The rest of the group filter out and both Jacob and Orion step back, trying to hide any sign of their tense conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Orion nods slowly, the lump in his throat growing as he feels multiple eyes on him. His jaw is clenched, his eyes are downturned. He can hardly look at his boss.

He stands there, frozen, forced to listen to their careless chatter as they walk down the hall. The moment they stepped out of those doors, they forgot about the band. The same band that made him feel something, the first time since his divorce. The same band he can’t get out of his head. The same band that proved he is not broken. He can still feel.

And they don’t even fucking care.

“I quit,” Orion says, the words coming out of him before he could even think. Jacob and Co turn around, twin expressions of shock on their faces. Orion looks up, straightening, trying to look even an inch of the Old Him.

“What?” Jacob blurts. 

“I quit.” Orion swallows. “I’ll formally hand in my resignation tomorrow.” He bows, trying to muster up the little respect and professionalism he has in him. “I’m sorry.”

“Orion—“

He spins around, walking back inside. 

The band is still on stage, this time all packed up and ready to go. When the door closes, they all look up, their hopeful and wide eyes on Orion as he walks down to the stage.

He stops in front of it. He puts two palms on the stage, looking at the members of the band he will take to the top. He promised it to himself…two minutes ago.

“I’m going to ask again,” Orion says through his teeth, his heart racing with the adrenaline of his quitting. What the fuck is he doing? And why does it feel so good? “Do you still need a manager?”

When he looks up, the band stares at him in silence.  

He witnesses [MC] look behind him at the door, where Jacob and his team left. As if realizing something, they look back down. “Yeah. You okay with another artist in your roster?”

“Yes.” Orion nods. He’s okay with it. 

Because all he needs is one. 

[honeyjars-sims]

2.2 Cool Girl

Johnny: What’s going on? You seem a little stressed.

Chantal: I’m itching. It’s that stupid lube.

Johnny: Uh, ok, that’s a little more information than I needed.

Chantal: I didn’t put it there. I had to write some reviews for some of SNOOT’s sexual health products, so I tested one of the lubes on my wrist to see if it seemed ok. But now my skin is all inflamed.

Johnny: Gross, are you allergic to it or something?

Chantal: I don’t know. I don’t usually have sensitive skin, and this seems different somehow. It’s almost like a burn.

Johnny: Weird! What’s in that stuff anyway?

Chantal: Here’s the bottle. I should’ve known Ambrose would be putting weird shit in her products.

Johnny: [reading on his phone] Uh oh. Looks like you’re not the only one having this problem. Listen to this review: “They should call this Satan’s Lube because my cooch is burning like hellfire.”

Chantal: Are you serious? Let me see! Oh, God. [reading] “This stuff gave me a bad chemical burn. My sex life is ruined!” What the hell? This is terrible! I can’t put my name on a positive review of something like this. I’ve gotta call my boss.

Johnny: Did they post your review already? 

Chantal: No, I sent it in for approval a little bit ago. Hopefully he sees where I’m coming from.

Johnny: Writing reviews for the company you work for seems sketchy anyhow. Have you asked your boss about doing something different?

Chantal: Not yet. He’s been pretty receptive to my ideas so far, but I don’t want to be too pushy.

Johnny: You don’t want to be pushy? You spent our entire childhood telling all of our teachers that their classroom management skills sucked and explaining how to run their classrooms for maximum efficiency.

Chantal: Well, this is different. If I play my cards right, I could be at this company for a long time. I want to make an impression, but I also have to know my place.

Johnny: Wait, your boss isn’t the guy that you have a thing with, right?

Chantal: I don't have a thing with him. We’re keeping it professional. Why does that matter anyway?

Johnny: I don’t know. I just hope you’re not doing the “cool girl” thing where you’re being overly agreeable so a guy will like you. That’s some dumb shit that Mom would tell you to do.

Chantal: That’s not what I’m doing. I just want to be a good employee. Besides, I don’t think being agreeable is a bad thing. A lot of guys get intimidated when they see how driven I am. Maybe I need a softer approach.

Johnny: That’s because those guys think they’re “alphas” and can’t stand the idea of a woman being independent and successful. You don't want that type of guy anyway.

Chantal: Oh, I didn’t realize I was talking to the World’s Best Male Feminist. You’re reading way too much into this. All I’m saying is it’s good to have a little balance. Why don't you go hang out with your girlfriend or something?

Johnny: Ok, I’ll go see my girlfriend that I respect as my equal. I hope playing it cool with your very professional boss works out for you.

Chantal: Oh, don’t worry, it will. Jackass!

Johnny: Love you, sis!

Chantal: Love you more, bubs!

[Chantal calls Nico]

Chantal: Hi Nico, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to talk about my latest review.

Nico: Sure, Chantal. I just got it approved for publishing. What’s up?

Chantal: Well, I and a lot of other people experienced some unpleasant skin issues after using the Come Together couples lube set. I just figured Ambrose would want to look into the issue before any positive reviews are published. It wouldn’t be a good look for the company if something turns out to be wrong with the product, you know?

Nico: You’re right about that! Thanks for letting me know, Chantal. I’ll reach out to Ambrose so she can find out what’s going on and I’ll make sure the review doesn’t get published. Good looking out!

Chantal: Anytime!

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[mcsquared789]

BIG UPDATE FOR FEBRUARY!

Just a few hours ago, I put on the finishing touches for Iron Man: War Machine and completed it. LET’S GOOOOOOO!!!!

With that, the fic is done! Unfortunately, it took longer than I expected to finish it… so that means when it comes to the slate going forward, I am going to have to shift things a bit. But this timeframe between now and March gives me a lot of breathing room to change how I write. This is also taking into consideration that I now have to return to college pretty soon after a long break, so I must warn you going forward: I’m going to have less time to work on this stuff.

That’s not gonna stop me, though! 🤪

Here’s the deal for what will happen the next few months:

I am going to write (and post!) the next one-shot starring Phil Coulson: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Thor’s Hammer. That will be in the last week of February, and will close out the month — because after this, I will be working on

Widowmaker (at last). I have finished outlining and am ready to write this novella… a very new process for me, because I have little to no reference in the MCU to pull from. I will be flying blind, and that both excites and terrifies me. So I hope above all that I am clever with my characterisations of Black Widow and Hawkeye!

And Thor. Yep! I am to be working on both the novella and this main fic at the same time, so I can start getting a head start between what I write and when I post.

That leads me to the posting schedule — right now, the goal is to publish Widowmaker throughout March once I’ve written enough of it, and write chapters of Thor around the same time. Once Widowmaker is completed on AO3, I will then begin posting Thor… and hopefully by then, be well into that fic.

That’s the plan, everyone. This way, I both become more efficient and able to give you something whenever I am held up by assignments and whatnot… but of course, in the case I can’t deliver, I will update you to let you know. If there is a time where that may happen from now until June, I’d reckon it be around the end of May… but we’ll have to wait and see.

Thank you for reading this everyone! I hope you all enjoy the end of War Machine! 🤗

[goodboyaudios]

i’m evil like that muahaha~ also!!!!! congratulations on 40k!!!!!!!!!!!! i’m sure you’ll be getting way more recognition in the future:D

since you gave permission:

you said you’re finishing off uni, did you always know what you wanted to study? i’m at the (depressing) stage in life where i’m fully realizing how many curve balls life throws at you:) the path to success usually isn’t linear, so i’m curious about your journey!

it seems like you’re always asking for feedback or addressing issues, etc. do you have any feedback for us (as in, the community)? most people i’ve interacted with are pretty chill, but idk maybe there’s we could improve on?

this one might be a bit personal, so feel free to ignore! do your friends or family know about your channel/work? i’d imagine it’d be nice to have someone you could bounce ideas off of before publishing stuff! if not, how do you manage to hide all that stuff hahah~. you’ve built an entirely different universe, so i refuse to believe a sane man can keep all of that in his head and live a normal life simultaneously:p

if you could befriend any oc of yours, who would it be and why?

i’m not sure how to word this question properly, but are there any endings/plot points that you had initially envisioned differently? like, did you think a story was going one way and changed your mind half ways through?

you don’t have to answer all of these! you did ask for it, but i hope i’m not overwhelming you haha~

Absolutely not. School didn't do anything to prepare me for the world. My college has done less than nothing in preparing me to get a job in my field, YOUTUBE HAS DONE MORE FOR ME THAN COLLEGE AT THIS POINT and if I'm completely honest with you? That's fuckin sad. No, I had no idea what I wanted to do and I wish I was that kind of person who knew right out the gate. (lucky bastards) Okay, I'm done with my rant lol

I didn't know what field I wanted to study in, so I took a chance and jumped into something I knew I had some knowledge in and hoped for the best. Really that's all you can do. I have learned that, when you get out of highschool and you don't know what to do, do everything until something sticks. Trial and error. It's not the most efficient, but it works!

Any feedback to GIVE to the community? Let me think. Honestly, the community has been very wonderful to me. Occasionally something pops up, but it's usually squashed. The discord server is full of wonderful and creative and talented people who have always had my back and support the work I do. I hear all the time about drama in fellow creator servers and toxic behavior in the communities, etc...but my end of things has always been super nice! (that might have something to do with my lack of NSFW content) But yeah! No notes really! Everything good in our little neighborhood!

My family is aware AND so is my extended family lol! They are supportive, but they don't really give me ideas to bounce off. I have other fellow writers and creatives or that! And I do write everything down and go back to it in case I forget something. But typically speaking its all in my head, yep! I just...don't know how to do other things! Like...dress fashionably or...function in a normal society...you know useless stuff like that!

Zed. He needs a friend lol

Only with Bastard Warrior actually! Every story, I envision how I want it to end first, but with Bastard Warrior, I had thoughts of changing it because it was supposed to be enemies to lovers, yet the canon ending isn't Albus getting with Faith. So, I made 3 endings to appease everyone lol

Hope I got all of the them lol!

[riabef]

✎ I feel a summer breeze (and it reminds me of you) TIGHNARI X READER

SUMMARY: There are many things Tighnari did during his days at the Akademiya, notably, being your classmate was one of them. Even now, after it’s been so long since you two met, he just hopes that you think of him as much as he thinks of you.

FEATURING CAST: Tighnari and the reader are… the only people…

PRONOUNS: gender neutral reader!, second person perspective “You” (please inform me if there’s any fem mentions!)

WORD COUNT: 1 931

WARNINGS: None, bittersweet (?), fluff but then it’s angst…

PROOF-READ: nope! written at 1am 🫶

AUTHOR NOTES: hi hi!!! This is the first fic I’m publishing, haven’t procrastinated this much in ages, sorry I swear it’s the homework. There are probably grammar mistakes, I had a nightmare that a former teacher told me to learn some grammar while writing this…. I also snatched the opening two lines from a song it’s very nice “pusong ligaw by jona” is mwah.

also sorry if it’s obvious that I started listening to Shakira halfway through the piece 😔 listen, hips don’t lie is an absolute banger

ps: send help I don’t know how to center things.TM

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It is still you that my lost heart looks for

You are its destination, where it will go

Rustling leaves, vines threaded together in intricate patterns unknown, and all the sounds of the forest mixing in a melodious dulcet calming those who stopped to listen. “Stop, and smell the roses”. Blossoming flowers, roots that entwine the earth to meet the sky, the trees’ canopy providing shade to weary travellers, and a noise rustled within the forest

Their strides were confident in nature, their dendro vision glowing as if pulsing to a heartbeat, and the clinking of metal hitting against fabric resonated slightly throughout the forest. It wasn’t exactly an easy duty to organize the forest watchers to be efficient, persistence was the key, and that would also be the reason why he was walking down this very path.

It didn’t take him very long to arrive, it never did; once he let his heart lead his movements, he would always end up in the same spot as always.

Sitting atop a branch, legs dangling in the zephyr below, Tighnari never felt nostalgia and loneliness hit him quite so hard.

Just for a few moments, he would be allowed to sit with his thoughts, and maybe, just maybe, he would be allowed to dream of a world where he didn't lose you. Minutes were spent wondering if he was an idiot for not realizing his feelings until he didn’t see you anymore.

A heart grows fonder with absence

It felt far away, memories of the Akademiya were buried, unfavoured compared to the work that Tighnari had in the present. Although, that’s not to say that they were necessarily forgotten. Even months– no, years later, Tighnari swears that even though he wasn’t a sculptor, he could sculpt your face, down to the smallest details; a lost strand of hair, a forgotten smudge of ink on your hands from writing so much.

Ah, he needs to return to work.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When Tighnari was in the Akademiya, there wasn’t much he would accurately remember, memories were slightly blurred, months, days, and time had all faded together in one huge deadline. Get this done, review this, read this, and prepare for this. Despite the number of people who had talked to him, his sole focus was on his research.

Although, there were memories that had stuck out to him, like water lilies in a pond; beautiful, vibrant, and utterly transparent.

One of those memories was made when he met you.

Tighnari remembers how the faint glow of the sun hit your features or the way you had haphazardly entered class even more tired than how you were the days before. He wasn’t one to pay much attention to looks, but in that moment he felt as though he didn’t appreciate them enough.

His breath hitched when you took a chair and sat across from him.

“Please tell me that water evaporates.”

Perhaps,,, he had miscalculated.

“Pardon me?”

In a moment he never felt as baffled as he was now, and you never felt more relieved that you weren’t the only one absolutely floored by your friend’s statement.

“Could you please tell me that water doesn’t evaporate– I swear, I’ll treat you to something, just please tell me that water, does, in fact, evaporate.” The exasperation in your voice and the way that your eyes glinted with nothing but absolute exhaustion drew a subtle smile to his face.

“Last time I checked, water does evaporate.”

He watched as you sighed into your hands, before quickly saying your goodbyes to him, and running back to your friend with the answer. If meeting you wasn’t a memory at the forefront of his mind, it would probably be how your friend’s face had held absolute anguish upon hearing his answer.

Or it was the way they had screamed in misery, “SO WHO WAS GOING TO TELL ME?!”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A week later, he’d find that you were in one of his biology classes, and was able to put a name to your face, and upon seeing you in class, he wondered for brief moments, if it would be alright to sit next to you.

In Tighnari’s defense, maybe being next to you would be helpful to him (since he couldn’t get his mind off of you at all).

Seeing you hunched over a few stacks of paper, and seeming to chant a mantra over and over, Tighnari took a seat next to you before lectures had officially begun. It did take an impressive amount of self-restraint to not laugh right there and then.

“When I said I wanted to study plants I didn’t mean this.”

Tighnari’s tail swished back and forth as if expressing the nervous gestures he couldn’t make, and he took one glance at your papers before he nodded his head in sympathy. It was only then that you realized that someone decided to book first-row tickets to your sanity being undone like it was a knitting mistake, your head shot up faster than students darting away when they saw the General Mahamatra.

Before you were able to question this man’s sanity (as well as yours), you were luckily interrupted by the start of the lecture and it was nothing short of a blessing to you… since you weren’t sure that he would appreciate the lovely string of curses that had almost left your mouth.

That day, after classes, a few offerings of Candied Ajilenakh Nuts could be found at a nearby statue of the seven.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was awfully too easy to step into a routine with you, Tighnari admitted. From spending his mornings, afternoons, and evenings dedicated to his research in a comfortable solitude to his thoughts slowly consumed by you the longer he knew you. It wasn’t a rare occurrence for him to look at a few plants and wonder if you would like them, or how he would stare at the setting sun and wonder if you would like this particular spot as well.

You, on the other hand, felt absolute joy at the prospect of gaining a new friend, but it was hard to deny that your heart fluttered when you woke up in the morning, not because of the Akademiya, but because of Tighnari.

The affection you two held for each other was clear to see, for everyone except you two. The peers in your class would sigh when that fact was made obvious, at some point it had begun to feel a bit painful to them; especially with the puppy-love crushes that you two seemingly had on each other.

During a lecture that could beat even the eternity that the Electro Archon idealized, it was no surprise that you fell asleep. Tighnari knew of your struggles, the amount of work that you received was akin to a tunnel (that had no light at the end), and he decided to save the lecture about the importance of sleep for later.

It was then that Tighnari felt a gentle breeze, the breeze blew past him albeit a little cold. Deciding that he was better off without it, he places his coat on your shoulders, taking notes for the both of you.

Lingering touches and lingering gazes flitted across the classroom. He reached out to push away stray hairs, hand hovering above your face before he thought better of it.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hesitant movements, and hesitant phrases said to each other, all in the name of unshared feelings. Words that ached to be granted a voice, and undone actions that added to regrets.

Friends don’t do this.

When graduation had approached, the mixed feelings that conflicted in his mind had him nauseous. Should he be feeling crushed at the notion that he wouldn’t be able to share notes with you in class? Or that he wouldn’t be able to look at you disapprovingly when you tried to tell him jokes during a class, or the times he’d scold you to take more rest.

It all faded into a dream, and before he knew it, he was graduating.

Where were you?

You approached him, excitement painted on your features, the thrill of finally completing something over the long years you’ve spent at the Akademiya. The bounce in your step was enough to show that, and the glint in your eyes said more than words ever could.

Unlike him, a coward to his feelings, and a coward to himself, you spoke the very sentence he was dreading,

“I guess this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other!”

His instincts demand him to counter your words, “What makes you say that?”

You and your damned smile, the smile that he dreamt of for so long, “I don’t know, I just have this… let’s call it intuition, yeah?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After Tighnari left the Akademiya he didn’t engage much with its affairs, although you were an exception. While he remained rooted in the forest, you had taken flight like the birds you were always fond of; delving into research and travelling nations for the answers.

Not even a letter to remember you by, no letters in a box that he could’ve kept stashed away, the only thing that he had left of you was your memories.

And he was trying to pick up the pieces, desperately trying to glue them to create a comprehensive picture.

Regrets and regrets piled up, and everytime he sat in a branch of a tree, hidden away from the rest of the world, he still wonders, if you two could’ve worked out.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His memory flickers to a sunlit room, the setting sun casting its glow on the world for a minute. If meeting you was his favourite memory, this would definitely be in second place. The two of you contemplating life after graduation, and possibly, life without each other.

“You know, it’s a bit odd, I never planned it out because I didn’t think that you wouldn’t be in it.” You move your gaze to the sunset, more interested in the view than seeing the expression he made. Almost as though you were scared of seeing what he would say.

He opens his mouth, and for once, he’s unable to form a sentence.

The silence had washed over the both of you, and it wasn’t a comfortable silence between good friends. The kind of silence that belonged between two people who knew they were reaching the end of their paths together.

Tighnari reaches out to hold your hand, he wants to reassure you that he’d keep in contact with you, that you two would remain friends after graduation.

Like always, he returns his hand back before you could even notice.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It’s no secret to the forest rangers, or even those who chance upon the Avidya forest that Tighnari is an amazing man of organization, and confidence.

Although between you and him, he’s a man of regrets. The kind of regrets that he wakes up at night, wondering what would’ve happened, or what could’ve been, if he had taken one risk. One chance, and he could’ve at least known your feelings for him.

It isn’t until he hears heavy footsteps, that he snaps out of his thoughts; you were important to him, but his duty called and he was to answer.

[trainsinanime]

for the dvd commentary ask game: Willing to Help

i can submit a whole fic if it’s less than 500 words, right?

Sure, thank you for asking! For context, the story is Willing to Help, and this is the ask game.

Willing to Help is part of a small set of stories, scenes and incorrect quotes that I originally published right here on Tumblr, originally without a title. Over the years I’ve added them (I think all of them) to Ao3 so I and others can easily find them again long after they’ve been lost to the depths of the dashboard. The original is here; as you can see I added a bit more description.

As such, the story is deliberate simple, really just one basic thought and punchline, both part of the list of ML ideas I always find funny:

Adrien is so in love with Marinette even though he doesn’t fully realize it. He might not say he’s in love with her, but given half an excuse he’d marry her instantly. So let’s give him an excuse!

The reason why Marinette has to get married is a list of over the top silly and familiar tropes that don’t make any sense and don’t belong together, because that makes me laugh. It doesn’t actually matter, so this is a great opportunity to get silly with it. I’m always a big fan of implying parts of the story and letting the readers fill in their own imagination, especially for such short stories.

And of course it doesn’t matter at all, Adrien didn’t need any of the excuse, just hearing that she wanted to marry was enough to set him off. Because our sweet fool knows not that he’s in love with her, but he understands that he loves her.

The punchline is again from my bag of favorite tropes: Kagami also loves Marinette. I know not everybody likes that, I have received negative comments (well, one, to be precise) about how often I make either outright Marigami (or Adrigaminette) stories or tease them… but yeah, I’m not gonna stop, I have way too much fun with that.

What else? Alya is really just a sounding board to get the plot rolling. Sorry, I love her, she deserves better, but having Adrien overhear a discussion between Marinette and Alya is a really efficient way to get a Marinette-centric Adrinette plot to happen. They’re literally right behind him in the classroom, it’s bound to happen sooner or later.

The Ao3 version also makes an “Adrien comes out of nowhere” joke that the show loved to do.

My main issue with the story is the title. The Tumblr post didn’t have or need a title, and I don’t like the one I chose, because it’s too generic. I am having real trouble telling “Willing to help” and “How do you help a good friend?” apart (and the letter from “Let’s talk about that”), and I wrote the damn things! So that’s something I hope I can improve on for future stories. Attack of the Crystal Zombies may not be the best title ever or the best story ever, but at least I can remember which one it is.

Thank you for asking, writing this was fun!

[crouching-vinus]

What’s your writing process like?

Hmmm this is a loaded question but I will try to answer it to the best of my ability:

1. Resources - Before I start any multi-chaptered fic, I make an overall story outline that goes through the most bare bones story beats I can think of. It’s basically just a bullet point list of the main moments I want to happen separated by chapter. I also have separate docs for Ideas/Drabbles and Smut/Kinks where I can write down whatever comes to mind in an organized way whenever inspiration strikes. This is also why I like to use Google Docs, as I can have access to these docs from my phone via the app, so I can still write things down when I’m away from my computer. 

2. Chapter Outline - When I want to start a chapter (or a one-shot), I always start with an outline. Here I will almost always have my Story Outline doc, Ideas/Drabbles doc, and Smut/Kinks doc open on separate tabs just to give me some guidance. Again, these are just bullet points of the main moments I want to have happen in the chapter, in a much more detailed way than what’s probably in the main story outline. I’ll also deviate quite a bit from the story outline sometimes because I don’t really think it should be taken that seriously, and it’s helpful to leave room for what comes to you in the moment. 

I’ll usually organize these chapter outlines by “Acts”, though they don’t really mean anything, they’re just organizational markers. For example, the “acts” of Blackmail Chapter 7 were separated like this; Tutoring, Shopping, Tension (Living Room), Smut, Fight.

Also, the level of detail I'll put into my chapter outlines varies wildly. It’s just whatever I feel is most efficient for me. Chapter 6’s outline was like 13 pages, while Chapter 7’s was only 6.

3. Drafting - So this part is pretty self-explanatory, you just kinda have to write the damn thing. I always have a tab open to my chapter outline so I have a reference, as well as a tab open to thesaurus to help me with wording. If I feel like I’m struggling, something I’ve found to be really helpful is to either re-read the previous chapter or a work of a writer whose style I aspire to, to help me get that sense of “flow”. 

Another resource I found that helped me A LOT when it came to starting out with writing smut can be found here.

Then when the first draft is done I’ll reread it while in gdoc’s Suggesting mode so that I can leave myself comments, then make a copy to act as my Second Draft and fix all of my self critiques. Then I reread the whole thing again a third time, fixing as I go, and then I reread it all a fourth time, and by then I’m usually pretty satisfied with it, and it’s ready to be published. 

Honestly though, every chapter is a little bit different, and every author is too, so my biggest piece of advice is to just experiment around until you find something that works for you :>

I hope this was at least a little bit helpful, and if you have any questions or there’s anything you’d like for me to go more in depth on, please feel free to let me know! x

[ahrreviews]

DFY Traffic Review: Make $493/Day with Google FREE Traffic!

Welcome to my comprehensive DFY Traffic Review. I’m here to provide you with an honest evaluation of this product. I will help you to make an informed decision about its potential to transform your online business efforts.

Introducing DFY Traffic, the ultimate solution for businesses seeking a reliable source of high-quality traffic. In a digital landscape where every click is an opportunity, DFY Traffic empowers you to boost your online visibility consistently and take your business to new heights.

With the magic of dominating Google Keywords and SERP listings, it simplifies the process of generating free clicks for any niche or keyword. Experience the enchantment as you effortlessly publish expertly crafted articles on your DFY website with just a simple click, all on autopilot.

This groundbreaking AI, coupled with easy-to-follow training videos and ready-to-use resources, marks the beginning of a new era in online success. Welcome to the future of traffic management with DFY Traffic!

In this review, we’ll explore the features, advantages, drawbacks, usage guidelines, FAQs, pricing, bonuses, and more of DFY Traffic. Let’s get started!

DFY Traffic Review: Overview

Creator: Chris X

Product: DFY Traffic

Official Website: Click Here

Front-end Price: $15

Bonus: Yes, Huge Bonus!

Guarantee: 60-Day Money-Back Guarantee!

Recommendation: Highly Recommended!

<< << << GET INSTANT ACCESS HERE >> >> >>

DFY Traffic Review: What is it?

DFY Traffic is a groundbreaking free AI traffic app that changes the game for businesses by simplifying the challenging task of attracting website visitors. This revolutionary tool operates on a special “Google Loophole” to effortlessly secure free Google clicks and traffic without the need for manual effort.

The DFY Traffic App is a comprehensive software solution designed to streamline the complex process of online traffic generation. Traditional methods involving SEO intricacies, website development, and algorithm understanding become obsolete as this app utilizes the latest artificial intelligence. By tapping into the capabilities of Google’s AI and Chat-GPT, DFY Traffic offers an automated and efficient way to draw in high-quality, targeted traffic.

With this innovative solution, businesses can now enjoy a steady stream of Google traffic without the usual struggle. Welcome to a new era of hassle-free online visibility with DFY Traffic!

DFY Traffic Review: Features & Benefits

Features:

FIRST EVER truly DONE FOR YOU TRAFFIC APP.

The only “pass-me-the-traffic-butler” level TRULY DONE FOR YOU traffic app. Green-as-grass newbies, rejoice!

All complex SEO shennanigans reduced to a “click on the green button” level UX. DFY buyer traffic is now a button-push away.

Over 300,000 keywords pre-scanned for six metrics and the top 10,000 displayed on a constantly updating dashboard – simply click the keyword to annihilate and then…

Watch As the AI Generates YouTube & Google Commissions. Then REPEAT!

Benefits:

FREE Traffic + Profits. 24/7. FOREVER!

No more wondering how to profit. With traffic you can learn on the job. Simply run the app, get the traffic. Then work out where to send it. Bottom line: there are 2x types of marketers. Those who get traffic & the “also-rans”. With FREE traffic on tap, YOU ARE KING!

DAY ZERO Google Clicks In ANY NICHE

I’ll save the secret-sauce for the members area, but we CANNOT rank for “every” keyword. Instead, the name of the game here is to run the AI to find HUNDREDS of ZERO competition keywords (literally NO exact matches), THEN use GPT to get us traffic. Then repeat! This is not your grandpa’s Google niche course!

Learn Loophole. Run AI. Burn Courses

Truth is, there are a million “SEO” and “niche site” gurus. I have no interest in their banter. What I *DO* know is a) AI b) profit. That’s why I skipped the 90-hour course + went straight for the Google jugular – DAY 0 TRAFFIC ON TAP. Thanks, GPT-4!

Promote ANY Affiliate Program & Niche

Did I mention there’s no human intervention? Heck! You can’t meddle in the Google-GPT convo if you tried. They’re locked in a padded room + NO AI LEAVES WITHOUT A BAG OF BUYERS, WITH YOUR NAME ON IT!

Quad-Distilled Google-Friendly AI

Another secret: since we target ZERO COMPETITION keywords, we always enter the “Google VIP corner” with no metal detector. But if Google asks us to pee in a cup, they see nothing but crystal clear pee!

Multi-Network. Launch Jack To

There are infinite variations of all your fav buyer keywords. With GPTs 3-step algorithm on tap, they are all finally within your reach!

<< << << GET INSTANT ACCESS HERE >> >> >>

DFY Traffic Review: How it Works?

Step 1: Run (TIME-TRAVEL A.I)

Log into your account, select an opportunity, and let the Google A.I. bot hand you an UNTAPPED FREE TRAFFIC opportunity.

Step 2: Siphon (FREE Google Clicks)

Instruct Chat-GPT to connect to Google, analyze the keyword & current articles (LIVE) and redirect the traffic to YOU.

Step 3: 100% FREE Means 100% Profit.

Now redirect the “DAY 0” Google traffic to your affiliate links & get started – FAST, with ClickBank, Amazon + 11 more.

DFY Traffic Review: Pricing & OTOs

Frontend – DFY Traffic – $15-23

The core software that lets people profit… by getting UNLIMITED GOOGLE TRAFFIC with ZERO human intervention. There is nothing like this on the planet.

See above for the full breakdown, but with this insane all-in-one cloud-based suite – that makes us $100 to $2,000 per day… ANYONE needs free Google traffic – and this app will let you do it! 

Upsell 1 – ULTIMATE AI Pro/Unlimited Edition – $47

Firstly, unlock the ability to run even more keyword searches and create even longer content – increasing the speed and potential profits by 500%!

Second, access DFY keywords and AI modulesthat aren’t included in the front-end. The front-end makes $400/day, but you can make as much as $5,000 per day with these!

Upsell 2 – DFY Google Website – $97

The frontend includes DFY website (wp theme), but here you will get domain, hosting, content and monetization ALL DFY.

Upsell 3 – ELITE AI Video Suite – $97

If you get this Video AI suite, including multiple software tools, a new AI Chrome extension and an entire video course hosting platform with resell rights (so you can cancel your Kajabi subscription. Then turn around and let your customers do the same too!) And it’s all done with AI. Hopefully you’re learning. Once more, this upsell #3 are better than 99% of marketers’ front-ends.

Upsell 4- AI Whisperer GOLD EDITION – $17

At this point everyone should have AI Whisperer, but on the off chance someone didn’t, the guilt of them not having the de facto primer on generative-AI would send me into a depression. Offered here at a small ticket with some extra bells and whistles. As a kind thank you to all the affiliates who promoted Whisperer v1, this will pay out 90% commissions.

Upsell 5 – Push Pro AI Edition – $97

Your very own push auto-responder, but powered by AI! Build unlimited leads of web push subscribers then use AI to turn any website into a web push subscription.

<< << << GET INSTANT ACCESS HERE >> >> >>

DFY Traffic Review: Bonuses

Bonus #1 (“UNCAPPED Commissions” Software)

For this launch weekend only, gain exclusive LIFETIME ACCESS to our commission-creating app! This powerful AI CASHFLOW Google-Traffic AI with PRO UPGRADE generates UNLIMITED content for top niches like ClickBank, Warrior, Amazon, and more—updated daily. Join now for perpetual access to affiliate buyer traffic. This app, normally priced at $62 with the pro upgrade, has sold over 600 units. However, for the launch weekend (Sat/Sun), it’s INCLUDED instantly with your Agent suite. Don’t miss out on the ultimate commission-getting app—grab it now!

Bonus #2 (“UNCAPPED GOOGLE CLICKS” Software)

Exclusive for launch weekend: Get LIFETIME ACCESS to the FREE GPT Google-Traffic AI with PRO UPGRADE! Unlock a Google traffic tsunami by joining now—forever. This app, the same one we use daily, employs AI to discover top-performing, ZERO COMPETITION keywords and secures Google rankings. With over 1,000 units sold and a pro upgrade value of $62, it’s INCLUDED instantly with your Agent suite for this weekend only (Sat/Sun). Don’t miss out on both the most powerful Google AI traffic apps—grab them now!

Bonus #3 (Clickbank Affiliate-On-Tap” Software APP)

Witness the free traffic unfold, and yes, panic! After years of pursuing Google clicks, when the realization hits, you might freeze. But fear not! Redirect those clicks swiftly to your ClickBank links using our app. It effortlessly provides links for ALL niches on a silver platter. Enjoy the simplicity.

Bonus #4 ($65k + With Generative AI)

Absolutely, we conquered Google traffic, but that’s just the beginning. Throughout 2023, we dominated “old school marketing” with generative AIs. Your welcome pack includes extensive training on Chat-GPT, MidJourney, Canva AI, Runway, ElevenLabs, and even Google Bard. Dive into the future of marketing mastery!

DFY Traffic Review: A Must Have Tool!

DFY Traffic emerges as an indispensable tool in the realm of digital marketing, offering a revolutionary approach to traffic generation. With its trio of AI technologies, this app not only simplifies the complex puzzle of attracting online traffic but also ensures sustained visibility across diverse niches.

Its user-friendly design, coupled with seamless automation, makes it accessible to both novices and seasoned marketers, reducing the learning curve significantly. The versatility to support various niches and affiliate programs amplifies its applicability, while the AI’s prowess in identifying low-competition keywords and generating optimized content sets it apart.

As a must-have tool, DFY Traffic stands as the ultimate all-in-one Google AI software, delivering on its promise to crush Google keywords, SERP listings, and propel your online success with minimal effort. Elevate your digital marketing strategy and profitability by embracing the power of DFY Traffic—a game-changer in the world of internet marketing.

DFY Traffic Review: Who Should Buy it?

DFY Traffic is designed to cater to a wide range of users looking to elevate their social media marketing game, including:

Affiliate Marketers

CPA Marketers

Video Marketers

E-mail Marketers

Network Marketers

Blog Owners

Product Creators

Artists/Content Creators

Product Coaches/Trainers

Agency Owners

Contractors

List Builders

eCom Store Owners 

Local Stores

Small Businesses

Freelancers

Advertisers

Consultants

Social Media Managers

In fact, anyone aiming to park high-ticket clients and enhance the growth strategies can get significant benefit from DFY Traffic.

DFY Traffic Review: My Opinion

Unleash the power of AI to dominate traffic generation effortlessly with DFY Traffic. Consider the following facts-

Unlock AI-Powered Efficiency

Leverage a powerful trio of AI technologies to effortlessly identify low-competition keywords and create optimized content, revolutionizing your traffic generation process.

Seamless User-Friendly Experience

Whether you’re a novice or a seasoned marketer, the DFY Traffic App is designed for ease of use. The automation significantly reduces the learning curve, making it accessible to everyone.

Versatility for Any Niche

Embrace the broad application spectrum with support for various niches and affiliate programs. DFY Traffic ensures your online presence is sustained across different industries.

Time and Cost Savings

Experience unprecedented time and cost efficiency by automating your traffic generation. Let DFY Traffic do the heavy lifting, saving you valuable resources.

Ultimate All-in-One Google AI Software

Connect with both Google and Chat-GPT, initiating a two-way conversation for free Google traffic in any niche or keyword.

Crush Google Keywords and SERP Listings

Watch as the AI scans related and long-tail keywords, providing a combined score for search volume, CPC, trends, and ease-to-rank. Feed GPT the top organic results for brainstorming articles with confidence.

Get Google Bank with Minimal Effort

Click once to publish perfectly crafted articles to your DFY website. Repeat the process effortlessly for any keyword, always finding and ranking the best keywords on autopilot.

Comprehensive Training and Support

Access AI training videos, PDFs, DFY keywords, and more. Elevate your skills with resources that take your digital marketing game to the next level.

Transform your approach to traffic generation with DFY Traffic! This all-in-one Google AI software not only simplifies the process but ensures sustained online visibility across diverse niches. Imagine the freedom of effortlessly publishing optimized content, securing Google traffic, and boosting your profitability. Don’t miss out on the groundbreaking combination of AI and Google—this is the game-changer you’ve been waiting for! Elevate your online success with DFY Traffic today.

<< << << GET INSTANT ACCESS HERE >> >> >>

DFY Traffic Review: Last Words!

In conclusion, DFY Traffic is not just a tool; it’s a transformative force in digital marketing. With its AI-powered efficiency, user-friendly interface, and versatile applications, it stands as an essential asset for anyone seeking to revolutionize their approach to traffic generation.

From crushing Google keywords to automating content publication, DFY Traffic simplifies the complexities, making it a must-have for marketers looking to enhance visibility, save time, and achieve sustained online success.

Embrace the future of digital marketing with DFY Traffic—a game-changing solution that propels your online presence to new heights.

DFY Traffic Review: FAQs

Q: What Is DFY A.I. Traffic?

A: The world’s first cloud-based AI software that generates free Google traffic – for ZERO competition keywords. I’m talking ZERO competition, which means DAY ZERO results and ZERO human intervention.

 Q: Can I use it for any keyword or niche?

A: Yes, “Free A.I. Traffic” works with any keyword and any niche. The software runs in 3 steps, each involving a separate AI module. And the entire process begins when you enter a “seed” (this is the only time a human is involved, so enjoy this bit – after that, you’re basically redundant!)

Q: Do I need to write any content myself?

A: Yes. You will need to copy and paste the email address you bought with into the login form, and choose a password. If you ever forget your password, you will need to enter your email again into the forgot password box. Oh, and if someone pays you, you will need to enter your name there, too.

[michel-tanguy]

New Post has been published on Michel Tanguy

New Post has been published on http://micheltanguy.com/asianfeels-com-critiques-read-critiques-on-asianfeelscom-before-you-purchase-asianfeelscom/

Asianfeels Com Critiques Read Critiques On Asianfeelscom Before You Purchase Asianfeelscom

Content material

What To Search For When Selecting A Mailbox Order Star of the event Site?

What Percentage Of Mail-order Relationships End In Divorce?

Such as sending messages sending Interest, sending kiss, greeting Card, sticker chat etc. It is easy and fast, you don’t want to hyperlink multiple functions or multiple web site. You can also set up to obtain information by e-mail or facebook when thai girl interested you or text you. Unlike lots of our https://thaiwomen.org/ rival websites, Thaiflirting.com has the distinctive benefit of being based mostly in Thailand. This implies that we are here to supply one of the best relationship service for Thai singles, Thai relationship, Thai romance and even Thai marriage.

The last item you want is to end up relationship a lady who’s solely seeking monetary support for her family, and isn’t genuinely thinking about what you’re looking for.

Indicate your persona to draw stunning wives with similar traits.

Though it’s a paid characteristic, I enjoyed sending compliments—they don’t value a lot, and women love them.

There’s no query that meeting a mail bride and visiting a spot across the world is an incredible experience!

But what is it about these Thai brides that make them so sought after? Let’s explore some the purpose why Thai mail order brides are extremely popular nowadays. They are familiar with Western culture, but on the identical time protect plenty of local traditions and customs.

For the current time, I’m steadfast and open-minded, so this web site enables us to be the things I was and get connected to people who are intriguing for me personally. It has been your lover who acceptable us to see this evaluation. Initial, i simply waved him away as a end result of this concept doesn’t appear nice for me. Prices are not more than odd, many additional the same means with the identical efficiency value rather more.

In addition, you should know most websites have specific packages designed to boost your usability on the site. An instance is CuteAsianWoman, which gives you a trial period before you can buy credit for as low as $2.ninety nine for 20 credits. Besides, they are charming, loyal, faithful, and good in mattress. So if you are on the lookout for romantic companions who don’t thoughts sticking with you all through, find a Ukrainian girlfriend and marry her.

What To Search For When Choosing A -mail Order Star of the event Site?

In the US, it costs around $120 and about $15 to get passport photographs. Most of the work can be done online by way of the United States State Department’s Passport Office. But you will usually should take care of the visa for your self. Some businesses offer to do it for you and even provide a translator for an additional fee on prime of it all.

What Share Of Mail-order Marriages Finish In Divorce?

They additionally come from many alternative backgrounds and countries. Mail order bride marriages within the United States every year and only about 20% end in divorce. You can talk with the ladies on this site by way of several forms of contact, including chat, mail, telephone calls, video, and by sending virtual presents. This dating service makes it simpler for customers to seek for dates than most different websites.

While Diddy and Chapman, who’s a businesswoman, by no means dated, they were pals for years and welcomed a toddler, Chance, together whereas Diddy was nonetheless in a relationship with Porter. The “I’ll Be Missing You” rapper has been linked to well-known stars from Jennifer Lopez to Cassie all through his profession. His longest relationship was with Kim Porter, whom he started relationship in the 1990s earlier than their final break up in 2007. They don’t have the same personalities, yet they nearly have the identical physical appearance. But once you meet either of them, you’ll certainly have a memorable relationship.

There are additionally dating sites that are extra in style as a end result of they get the job done higher than most. They have plenty of members, features and caring support service. The faux profiles seem to be managed by fake chat operators. We should point out that we didn’t read about fictional profiles or fake chat operators within the terms and circumstances. But we found another notice which could stand for that.

[your-dietician]

A train lover’s dream: How it feels to ride the Caledonian Sleeper

New Post has been published on https://medianwire.com/a-train-lovers-dream-how-it-feels-to-ride-the-caledonian-sleeper/

A train lover’s dream: How it feels to ride the Caledonian Sleeper

Imagine stepping into a room that’s not much bigger than a large closet and instead of despising your landlord, you marvel at its compact beauty.

An efficient use of space isn’t always a virtue, but it’s one of the most impressive features of the Caledonian Sleeper train, as I discovered on my journey from Edinburgh to London this year. 

In the compartments, beds are tucked beside sinks, there’s a pull-out desk beneath the basin, and a strong magnet draws toilet lids to the wall, which can be dropped down for showering. The new trains were billed as “hotels on wheels” when they launched two years ago, harking back to an era of luxury travel that began in 1873.

Sleeping while travelling is an efficiency in itself: tucking sleep into the small hours as neatly as the narrow compartments in a carriage. 

For train lovers, the Caledonian is a stylish experience that doesn’t let you forget you’re on your favourite mode of transport. It’s a desirable place to sleep because, not in spite of that, as you’re rocked asleep by your progress.

Ticket options range from seats to solo or twin bunks and en-suite double rooms. My ‘Club Room’ was functional as could be in 2022, but softened by ergonomic and thoughtful details: dimmable lights, beige plaid Caledonian wallpaper, and the perfect comfiness of two pillows.

What is there to eat and drink onboard?

Laid out on the bed is an ordering card for breakfast which you’re asked to fill out and hang on the back of your door within 30 minutes of boarding. 

There’s also a ‘Highlander and Lowlander’ food and drink menu in the dining carriage or you can order it as room service. So you don’t need to worry about finding dinner at a late hour in town before boarding.

Given departure is at 11.40pm during the week and 11.15pm on Sundays, it’s likely you’ll have already eaten, but it’s still reassuring to know there’s plenty of midnight snacks and spirits to choose from in the plush Club Car.

There’s a focus on Scottish food, with classic plates of haggis and neep, and full ‘Highland Breakfasts’ in the morning.

Can you get a good night’s sleep on the Caledonian?

As an excited first time passenger, I was torn between staying up to maximise the experience – nursing a cocktail in the lounge, or simply sitting up with a reading light and book, basking in the novelty of it all – and getting my head down.

There’s no one rule, or lights out moment for the whole train – night owls and early birds can do as they please. Tiredness won out for me, and the reason I was there: to get some good rest.

I’m a light sleeper so didn’t sleep seamlessly; you obviously can’t sprawl in a single bed (the Caledonian Double looks like a different story). 

But it is extremely cosy, and even when some jolts budged through my dreams, it was soothing to be reminded of where I was. Funnily enough, it actually felt weirder sleeping in moments when the train was still.

I can honestly say I arrived at Euston Station feeling like I was rested and well set up for the day (as much as a night owl ever can at 6.30am).

A more sustainable way to travel

The social acceptability of flying from Edinburgh to London, vice versa, or all domestic flights for that matter, is gradually being withdrawn.

A flight from Edinburgh to London emits 177kg CO2 per passenger, according to Transform Scotland, while trains use around 34kg per person. London North Eastern Railway (LNER) calculates this as even less – closer to 23kg of CO2 emissions. Using the same carbon calculator, a car journey emits 79kg CO2.

Short-haul flights are a major avoidable cause of global pollution. However it works out exactly, train travel is easily the most sustainable option for getting between the two great cities. And door to door it’s hardly much quicker to fly, with Waverley and Euston stations so centrally located.

You’ll also be saving yourself the stress and lost hours of queuing, checking in and paying for baggage.

What are the other perks of travelling by sleeper train?

Back to first impressions and what everyone wants to know: the goodies. Surely even the most seasoned business traveller experiences a small thrill at seeing the bag of freebies laid out on their bunk. Each sleeper is equipped with pillow spray, earbuds, a sleeping mask, and toiletries.

I stayed in a Club Solo Room, but the complimentary sleep pack is given to all passengers.

Tips and things to note about the Caledonian Sleeper

You have more time onboard than you might expect, at both ends. Passengers can board around 30 minutes before departure, to get comfy and enjoy the train’s perks. There’s also guest lounges to wait in at the stations, though only for Double and Club Room ticket holders.

There’s no rush to disembark. Unlike with regular day trains, you’re not hurried out as soon as it pulls into the platform, giving you time to get ready, wash and enjoy breakfast.

The Edinburgh to London train often arrives earlier than scheduled. We got to London around half an hour earlier than the expected 7.07, but didn’t need to vacate our rooms until 7.30am.

Showering is free for those in Double and Club Rooms, but all passengers can purchase a showering token on board for £5, either for use in your Classic Room, or at the station facilities if you’re seated.

It’s not the Orient Express. It is, still, just the Edinburgh to London line. But it’s a smooth, comfortable, efficient, and quietly luxurious way to travel.

How much does the Caledonian Sleeper train cost?

Here’s the catch of course. Room prices vary considerably and rise to £345 for a Caledonian Double, squarely at the more luxurious end.

Small rooms are also prohibitively expensive for many would-be passengers; around £210 for a Classic Room, and £290 for a twin en-suite Club Room, depending on how far in advance you book.

The cheapest ticket on the train is for a seat, which starts at £50. These do look comfier than a regular seat; ergonomic perks include a footrest, reading light and shoe buffer, and you can put your small possessions in a secure locker for peace of mind. But it’s hardly the sleeper train option of dreams.

You can book tickets online, over the phone, or at any station ticket office, up to a year in advance. There are plenty of Scottish stations the sleeper travels between, including Aberdeen, Glasgow and Inverness.

Is the Caledonian Sleeper going to get cheaper?

The train service has a long history, running down the West Coast Main Line since 1873, and has changed hands a number of times.

Last week, it was announced that current operator Serco will be exiting the franchise early, in June 2023, after it failed to reach an agreement with the Scottish government.

Until a new franchisee can be found, the sleeper will be back under public ownership – an arrangement which many politicians in the SNP, Scottish Greens and Labour parties think should be made permanent.

But could it mean that cheaper tickets are on the horizon? Currently, the services are being pitched at high-end business customers, and that’s reflected in the prices, Scottish Greens transport spokesperson Mark Ruskell told Good Morning Scotland radio listeners.

“I think if we had a service that was reflecting customer demand, that was competing with the airlines, that had better connectivity with Europe – for example with with integrated ticketing [with the Eurostar], we could see passenger numbers increase even further on the Caledonian Sleeper.

“It’s very much a niche form of travel at the moment, and that’s very different to how sleeper services are used across continental Europe,” he added. “It’s really one of our few connections to the rest of Europe that’s low carbon, so we should be investing and developing a vision around that.”

Read full article here

[greysprod]

Macports mingw icu

#Macports mingw icu full

#Macports mingw icu code

But basically what you do is create an inverted index of the tags and search the index instead. I’m not going to explain all the details, the linked page has a very readable explanation.

#Macports mingw icu code

So can we do any better? Well it turns out that that there is a really nice technique for doing Regular Expression Matching with a Trigram Index that is used in Google Code Search. After chatting to a few of the Stack Overflow developers on Twitter, they consider a Tag Engine query that takes longer than 500 milliseconds to be slow, so a second just to apply the wildcards is unacceptable. Even on a relatively small data-set containing 32,000 tags, it’s slow when comparing it to 210 wildcardsToExpand, taking over a second. This works fine with a few wildcards, but it’s not very efficient. Var expandedTags = new HashSet () foreach ( var wildcard in wildcardsToExpand ) ( IsActualMatch(.) is a simple method that does a basic string StartsWith, EndsWith or Contains as appropriate) loop through the wildcards and compare each one with every single tag to see if it could be expanded to match that tag. Now a simple way of doing these matches is the following, i.e. If you want to see the wildcard expansion in action you can visit the url’s below: There are 6,428,251 questions (out of 7,990,787) that have at least one of the 7,677 tags in them!.The tags and wildcards expand to 7,677 tags in total (out of a possible 30,529 tags).It contains 3,753 items, of which 210 are wildcards (e.g.

#Macports mingw icu full

You’ll need to scroll across to appreciate this full extent of this list, but here’s some statistics to help you: Now most people probably have just a few exclusions and maybe 10’s at most, but fortunately a Stack Overflow power-user got in touch with me and shared his list of preferences. If that happens, you get this message: (it can also be configured so that matching questions are greyed out instead): Note: it will let you know if there were questions excluded due to your preferences, which is a pretty nice user-experience. Then when you do a search, it will exclude these questions from the results. tags that you don’t want to see questions for. These exclusions are configurable and allow you to set “Ignored Tags”, i.e. What is he talking about here? Well any time you do a tag search, after the actual search has been done per-user exclusions can then be applied. But the real Tag Engine does much more than that, for instance: a basic search for all the questions that contain a given tag, along with multiple sort orders (by score, view count, etc). In part 1, I only really covered the simple things, i.e. It’s a nice way of being able to cope with surges in demand or busy times of the day. As you can see they run the Tag Engine on some pretty powerful servers, but only have a peak CPU usage of 10%, which means there’s plenty of overhead available. Since the first part was published, Stack Overflow published a nice performance report, giving some more stats on the Tag Engine Servers. This is the long-delayed part 2 of a mini-series looking at what it might take to build the Stack Overflow Tag Engine, if you haven’t read part 1, I recommend reading it first. There’s also a video available of my NDC London 2014 talk “Performance is a Feature!”. I’ve added a Resources and Speaking page to my site, check them out if you want to learn more. The Stack Overflow Tag Engine – Part 2 - 1334 words

[gatheringbones]

I read a podcast transcript about commodified sff/the kind of rot in fandomgenic media you sometimes talk about. These authors call it ‘squeecore’ — you might enjoy it https://kittysneezes.com/squeecore-transcript/

[“And there’s almost a weird, like, YA-ish, young-adult fiction tone to it, even when it’s supposed to be “for adults”. Someone on our Discord, Kurt(?), pointed this out – characters feel weirdly young: they always think and act and feel like they’re in their late teens or early twenties; they’re kind of inexperienced, naive, still very full of wonder, and you get the sense they haven’t really lived a life before the story began?

JR: You could probably attribute a lot of that to, of course, to the YA thing that blew up in the last twenty years since Harry Potter; but there’s also a lot of influence from films, and a lot of influence from mainstream commercial narratives – the MCU, the She-Ras [sic], and the “save the cat”-style 3-act-structure screenplays that have really become the blueprint for a lot of storytelling.

RSB: Right, they almost feel like… maybe bad RPG protagonists; those silent protagonists that were very popular in the 90s who don’t really have personalities? Because you’re the player character, you put yourself in there. And I’ve been trying to figure out why, because for me, characters who are a little older, who have lived their life, maybe they have a haunted past and terrible secrets and regrets, and there’s something driving them toward this need to redeem themselves, but it never really tells you what it is, like – I love that shit. That shit’s – that’s the good shit.

JR [crosstalk]: Yeah, I think so –

RSB: Characters who have seen too much, and are kind of haunted, but you don’t know what it is? Like, aww, hell yeah, that’s right… [laughs]

JR: Yeah, and the older I get, the more I gravitate toward older protagonists as well; because I have nothing to learn from a teenager, right? Or a 57-year-old HR manager who writes like a teenager, and to teenagers.

RSB: Yeah, and it’s such a strange thing; I’m wondering if it’s because we have this need to eliminate or fill negative space. We need to explain everyone’s motivations; we can’t just let a character be the way they are; we have to have some kind of detailed flashback to The Traumatic Experience that made them this way. And that takes up a lot of space, so in order to evade– avoid having to do that, we just have these kind of flat, like, “JRPG from the ‘90s” protagonists that feel –

JR [crosstalk]: Yeah, like –

RSB: “Oh, they’re on the cusp of their life’s journey, and they haven’t lived.”]

…

[“JR: But I think that’s broadly – it’s sort of a tendency in the writers themselves, because as less people start out with the ability to make a living income with writing, it sort of becomes a hobby; but at the same time, the people with all the free time are the sort of white-collar professionals who have the the ability and the money to network, and to have the leisure time to write, and to pay attention to the submission grinder, and do all of these things that maybe a working-class person doesn’t have time to do, especially now.

RSB: Right. Someone working multiple jobs, and working blue-collar jobs where you don’t have downtime at work. In most white-collar jobs, you can usually squeeze out an hour a day to write. You can usually, if you work really efficiently, you can squeeze out a little bit of time to write. If you’re waiting tables, you really can’t do that; you rest your feet for two seconds, and your boss barks at you: “if you’ve got time to lean, you’ve got time to clean.” That’s it.

JR: Yeah, and of course, there’s a lot of wonderful working-class writers, but they’re not really being published because they’re out of the zone, they’re out of the clique.

RSB: Connections unfortunately do play a huge role in what gets published. You see pretty frequently in SFF magazines… Whenever I see a story that looks kind of mediocre, and I’m like “how did that get published?”, I look down and I always find out that, according to the writer’s bio, the writer is an alumna of one of the same workshops that the editors are an alumna of. It’s like, “oh. Okay, you’re in the same club.”

JR [crosstalk]: Yes, it’s very much social networking.

RSB: And it’s this club giving each other – publishing each other’s works, and giving each other awards. This is what it is. And the club costs five thousand dollars.

JR: Yup.

RSB: So, if you don’t have that, you can’t get in. And… maybe you can sneak in, if you’re – fucking – an amazing writer, but it’s definitely an uphill battle for you in a way that it isn’t for other people. And chances are you might have a different sensibility than other people will have. There’s very much a certain type of, I don’t know, socializing that’s acceptable, where it’s like that very WASPy, passive-aggressive condescension is okay; but being direct and straightforward in a way that a sort-of working-class person might be, that a person from a non-WASPy culture might be, gets you branded as “unsafe” and “abusive”. “]

cackling

[izzabeean]

Chapter 6 : Bad Luck

pairing : fushiguro toji x fem!reader

warnings/tags : 18+, alternate universe - office, eventual romance, explicit language.

genre : angst + fluff + smut

word count : 3,183

a/n : whoot, feeling like I posted this next chapter with a good amount of time in between the last one published. I've changed up my writing process a bit, just write and write without any worry then go back later and let myself proofread once I feel like I've hit my limit. I think this has been the most efficient way as of lately because I don't feel pressured to whip out a new chapter each time I post and this way, I can get my main ideas on paper. this new process kind of came from this idea of writing as an architect or a gardener. I'm more of an architect because I like to plan my thoughts out but I think changing up the process has helped me get out of my writer's block.

anyway! thank you again for your patience. the dialogue has been so fun to write in this chapter between Toji & Y/N. please enjoy xx

18+ minors dni!!!

masterlist  | << prev | ch. 6 | next >>

“How could you possibly just lose it?”

The director's words pierce Toji from across the room as a searing headache forms from the screeching sound of his voice. For once Toji was speechless, unable to explain his actions. He didn’t know what happened to the project. Didn’t know what he had done wrong. Didn’t know how it could have just disappeared from his computer. There wasn’t any sort of self-sabotage behind it, for once in his life, he was trying to complete something and, of course, all his effort was for nothing.

“What am I supposed to tell the client?” The director continues, pacing back and forth behind his desk while Toji blankly stares at him slouching in the chair. “That my employees are incapable of administering a simple project? The utter humiliation–”

Stress exuberates through him more and more with each passing second while the sound of Toji’s heart beating rapidly in his chest starts to outweigh the intensity of his boss. He should’ve kept his head down, should’ve just worked in the background without making much effort, spending the rest of his days just getting by. That’s what he’d be doing all his life and now because he went off track from his normal routine… Things got complicated.

For one, the alcohol that normally congratulates him after a long day is only seldomly effective. The liquor coating his tongue doesn’t relax, only spreads more awareness of his unruly existence. On top of that, sleeping with women wasn’t the same. There’s a heaviness that weighs him down every time he even touches a woman. There’s no thrill or excitement, only the depressing emotion of sex with another stranger shortly after he climaxes. 

Everything that used to get him by seemed so dull. Perhaps there was a limit to what stimulated him and he just discovered it or maybe the depression he’d been side-lining has finally caught up to the impending doom he’s been feeling every waking hour of the day. Regardless, he still finds his decisions to be the reason for his destruction.

The door bursts open, interrupting the director’s rampant pestering. A breath of fresh air sweeps away Toji’s self-deprecating thoughts as he turns to see you walk into the room.

“My apologies, I got here as fast as I could,” you say, smoothing your hair down while rushing up to the desk to stand behind Toji. An urgency falls upon your face as the director explains what had happened. Your eyes widen while your jaw locks. It was a look Toji had never seen before – you looked completely distressed. Your eyes dart to Toji. “You didn’t check if it was saved as another document?”

“If I had, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” Toji says and you huff at his response.

Perhaps it’s the essence of HR steaming off of your panic but you look quite concerned for him. Your eyes gleaming with uneasiness, the biting of your bottom lip, the steady breathing showing that you’re in deep thought, thinking of a possible solution. Most of the time, your emotional outbursts have taken over at Toji’s presence but now you are remaining logical.

“We can’t have this client waiting on us,” the director exclaims firmly. “There’s just too much risk.”

“Sir, if I may make a suggestion,” you ask to which he nods in reply. “I think you should ask for a week extension–”

“L/N-san, do you hear yourself? That will humiliate–”

“I’m sorry sir, but there’s more than just the company's reputation,” you interrupt with an apologetic look on your face, to which the director holds back his words with a frown. Toji’s eyes widen as you completely dismiss the director’s attitude to continue explaining your idea. 

“Our client is quite reputable in the market. I believe we can complete the project to continue our relations with them. If we do so, it could bring us other opportunities from other investors.”

The director raises an eyebrow, listening closely to the calm and composure of your words. Toji has never seen you in a professional setting before, your competence, integrity, and confidence shining through your word. Now he understands why someone at your age could receive the title of "Human Resource Manager".

“I believe Fushiguro-san has shown his dedication to the company, especially since you were looking quite forward to the finalization of the project,” you exclaim. “And I think he is capable of completing the project once again.”

“You know that project took me almost a month,” Toji intervenes.

“Then since you’ve already completed it, it should only take half the amount of time,” you argue.

“Perhaps that’s a good idea,” the director chimes in. “But it’s very doubtful they’ll be inclined to do so.”

The silence stretches among the three of you and the lingering stress forms a pit in Toji’s throat. He’s never really fucked up so bad, he most definitely would rather die than have to redo the entire project. From the beginning, he has been a little unlucky, but now it just feels like the entire world is against him reminding him that his existence isn’t futile.

“I’ll talk to them,” you say. “I will just insist on an extension.”

“Alright, L/N. I’m trusting your judgment,” the director agrees after a moment. “Fushiguro, I’ll give you a week and a half.”

You’re so nonchalant about this inconvenience it makes Toji sick. He’d rather just walk out on the company instead. What was even the point of putting an effort into something? Honestly, he should have never even tried so hard. Everything was just fine before this project… Before you showed up.

“Sir I–”

“If this is going to be completed on time, we will need to suspend the organization of the company event,” the director says, eyeing you both with a very, very serious look on his face. “Also, Fushiguro, this project is very important to the face of the company, therefore I would hope that you take good care in the completion.”

A menacing look dresses his face without even a laugh to support the comment. Toji wanted to say 'fuck it, fuck you, I don’t care about this anymore, I quit.' But something strange overcomes him at that moment. Perhaps it was some grace from his morning coffee, or perhaps he felt sorry that you believed in him. Nonetheless, he looks at the director with determination on his face.

“You have nothing to worry about.”

  Now Toji’s ego feels on the line. He didn’t think this decision through as his fingers clicked away on the keyboard, back to the beginning of where he was a month ago. He can feel the tension in the office as others pass by giving him unappreciative looks. Quitting was a better option.

“Yo!” Kong steps up to Toji's desk, both hands in his pants pocket. There’s a slight concern on his face and he watches Toji barely look up from the computer. “Heard about the project. Man, that’s gotta suck after so much overtime.”

“Pretty sure the entire office knows about it,” Toji mutters, still not looking up. “Pro’ly gonna have to sleep here until it’s done.”

“Tsk, maybe don’t work yourself too hard,” Kong says with a chuckle trying to make light of the situation. When Toji continues to type without a reaction, Kong realizes now isn’t the time to joke around with his buddy. “Seriously, it’s not worth losing sleep over.”

Toji stops and looks up at Kong with a smirk. “Then maybe I should just quit.”

“You could,” Kong laughs.

“But…”

“But?”

Toji looks past Kong to see you walking by, you hand over some paperwork to a co-worker and exchange a couple of words before turning back to your office with a smile. Kong follows Toji’s eyes.

“Ahh, now everything makes sense,” Kong exclaims. “You have a crush on the new HR manager.”

Toji snickers, prying his eyes away from you to get back to work. “You still trying to be funny?”

"You know, it's not a bad thing to want to do more than just sleep with someone," Kong says watching Toji’s face remain unchanged. "Unless… All you want to do is sleep with her."

Toji remains impassive. Of course, he doesn’t have a crush on you. "I gotta get back to work, not enough hours in the day."

"Alright, let me know if you need anything,” Kong offers. "Don't stay here too late."

  Toji watches everyone trickle out of the office as the day comes to a close. He still feels miles away from completing this project and time is ticking against him. His lips crave a taste of whiskey as his productivity starts to plummet. About to get up to leave and give up on this assignment, he watches as you walk by the front of the office. Purse in hand, snug in a warm coat, you very easily accepted no responsibility for the completion of this project. Sure, you never worked on it in the first place, but because of you, Toji has to start from the beginning with less than half the amount of time to hit the deadline. Frankly, you should be helping him. 

Getting up from his desk, he takes long strides towards the elevators to stop you from leaving the building. He doesn’t catch you waiting, but most definitely sees an elevator door open waiting to depart. He rushes up to it, sliding his hand between the doors about to shut and a gasp sounds from the other end. A woman Toji has seen in the office before but has never spoken to gazes up to him and you're next to her brows furrowed to a glare.

“Leaving early?” Toji asks.

“My day is done,” you pout, pushing the close door button hoping Toji will take the hint to let you be. 

“Are you sure about that?” Toji gives a smug look, triggering the rising loss of patience. “Think there’s something you need to help with or are you busy with Kai–”

“Oh my god, alright!” You cut him off before he has a chance to finish his sentence. The irritating chime of the elevator sounds warning that the doors have remained open for too long makes you rush off the elevator and Toji snickers as the doors shut behind you. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Careful, don’t want your co-workers to see how much of a bitch you are,” Toji teases.

“I’m the bitch?” You growl. “How about you, asshole?”

“Is that the new nickname now?” Toji says, he knew you were on the cusp of punching him in the face, but he wanted to take that chance noting how hot you look angry. “What happened to pervert ?” 

“You can have two can’t you?”

“Well, that just makes me feel special.” Toji’s voice was relentless as he continued to poke at you insistently. He knew the right words to say just to get you all riled up and he’d be waiting patiently all day for the right moment to grace you with his presence. 

“Believe me, you’re not that special,” you shoot back with a wide spiteful grin.

“Wow, who pissed you off today?” Toji asks, a little bit wounded by your comment.

“Look, if you want to blackmail me, get it over with. But I fucking helped you not get fired.”

“I never really asked you to,” Toji’s mouth twitched in irritation. “What if I’m tired of this shit-ass job.”

“Then why don’t you quit?” You stand crossing your arms.

Toji just shrugs in response.

“Fuck,” you groan frustrated from the conversation. “Just tell me what you want from me?”

  You both sit down at Toji’s desk for a couple of hours- you working off your laptop and him working on his desktop. The majority of the time, a silence fills the air between the two of you, even when Toji looked at you in his peripheral, all he could see is a persistent frown since the moment you started helping him. It made him almost laugh a couple of times, especially when your eyes look up to him, anger deepening as you catch him staring. Luckily Toji wrote out notes of what he’d remembered from the lost report and all your job was to type it out. You seemed good with your words, capable of writing material good enough for a proposal. 

Your company wasn’t all that menacing though, once the time started to reach 7:30 PM, your face seemed to relax as a yawn emerged from your mouth.

“I think I’m good for the day,” you say, slouching back in your chair.

“Let’s see,” Toji says, turning the laptop to him. His eyes widen in shock seeing more than what he needed to be written up in the document - another reason to believe why you are in a management position at your age. As he looks up at you, he sees you standing up and putting your coat on. Though he didn't expect you to stay almost three hours after work, he appreciated your effort. He didn’t want to say it aloud though. It wasn’t quite his style.

“Wanna go for a drink?”

You pause for a moment caught off guard by his invitation. He can see you processing it and he wonders if you misheard him, but once you let out a little chuckle followed by a disturbed look on your face, he already knows the answer.

“You’re joking, right?” You study his face looking for an answer, but alas it's unreadable. “You going to blackmail me to have a drink with you?”

Toji clicks his tongue and returns to his work. He can sense a stutter in your movements with a hint of regret as you pause before you leave. But it doesn’t last long as you turn and murmur “Goodnight” before walking away. He doesn’t reply or look up, almost bitter at you for thinking he’d force you like that to just have a drink with him. It’s almost more impactful for him to not reply to your childish games at this point. Plus it’s late and he’s getting tired, he doesn't have the patience anymore.

  The next day, Toji sees you from across the room. The irritation had left his body last night after some alcohol and sleep, but there was still this curiosity about whether you felt sorry for him or not. He feels like an idiot for testing you but he doesn't want to force his presence if you were only disgusted by it. And yet his body seems to have a mind of its own as he watches you step away from your co-workers and down the hall back into your office.

“Morning,” Toji greets in the doorway, noting the cute suit you’re wearing today as you stand behind your desk. A tight skirt with a fitted blazer, you were just asking to be gawked at. So how could he not stare?

Looking up from your desk, the melancholy look on your face turns deadpan. “You here to annoy me already?”

“Well, I gotta get through my daily tasks, and irritating you happens to be one of them,” Toji jokes with a sincere smile.

“Somehow, I can’t see that in your job description,” you pipe back.

“Who says that it is?” He purs, stepping into your office. “Maybe it’s just a way to make the day a little less boring.”

“So pissing me off is your version of fun?” You scowl hoping to get rid of him, but of course, it wasn’t all that easy.

“I can’t admit something like that to the head of HR,” Toji teases. He places both hands on the desk leaning over towards you. It’s tempting how close you are to him, how much he wished you’d close the gap between the two of you. “But it is quite fun to get a reaction out of you.

He sees your mouth twitch in aggravation as you pull out your chair to take a seat. “You’re driving me out of my fucking mind.”

“But you like it,” he grins as you continued to stare at him. Luckily for you, Toji wore a fitted dress shirt today, optimally outlining his physique, a tie wrapped around his neck, but a bit undone along with the top button of his shirt. His hair was slicked back, some strands falling on his face and for the first time in a while, he felt good. Undoubtedly he knew he looked good.  “You like the undivided attention I give you. Don’t you?”

“From a pervert?” You smirk. “I don’t think so.”

“Is the only reason you’re calling me a pervert to deflect how attracted you are to me?” He watches you start to get uncomfortable as you cross your arms against your chest as if to shut out any emotions. But it’s plain to Toji that his words are working diligently, breaking away at your ego, taking you down a notch to where you need to be. On the desk, getting fucked silly.

“God, you’re irritating,” you say. 

“Ignoring my question because I’m right?”

“Don’t fucking test me.”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

A fit of anger boils within you that is about to explode, and Toji can’t believe it as you stand up from your seat to grab his tie. He leans closer hoping that the reaction will be a sloppy kiss instead of a blow to the face. No matter what it is, the passion in your eyes is very fiery. The fact that he’s struck a nerve and has you almost ballistic in front of him, turns him on so much. He could feel himself getting rock hard each waking moment.

“Am I interrupting something?”

The two of you look to the front of the office to see Kaito with a stern look on his face. The raw tension almost makes Toji laugh, but the feeling of being caught protrudes off on you. You weren’t hasty or worried about it, just bothered.

“No,” you say flatly before rolling your eyes and letting go of Toji’s necktie.

“Can we have our meeting, now?” Kaito askes. He sounds defensive, full of spite with a sprinkle of jealousy. That’s all Toji needs, to piss off the guy you’re fucking on the down-low or maybe that’s what he wants. If at all, he just really wants to show you who’s better.

“Of course,” you nod. “Fushiguro, if you can–”

“Leave?” Toji finishes your sentence with a chuckle then rolls his eyes before lazily standing up straight. The gaze he receives from Kaito is far from friendly as if Toji is receiving a target on his back. “She’s all yours.”

The surprise from Kaito shifts to anger as he watches Toji leave the room.

“Shut the door on your way out,” Kaito calls out, giving the last word.

And Toji leaves the room with an awful taste in his mouth. What a fucking joke that is. He can’t believe that guy and how full of himself he is. It’s irritation at its finest.

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