#I might change the wording slightly (both feels clunky so I might just take that word out) but I mostly think it works

[dinitride-art]

I have a terrible habit of writing thousands of words and just… walking away for a few months. I’ve actually edited a good portion of what’s written in this fic. It just needs some sort of vague and confusing open ending and it’s done. But the ending… the final step… it’s so hard to figure out…

[kiss-me-cill-me]

@red-riding-wood I cannot even express how much this review means to me, Red 😭

Honestly, I was so unsure of my writing on this one. I really struggled with getting it to where I wanted it to be, and I think this might be my most heavily-edited oneshot ever lol. And tbh, a large part of that was due to me changing my mind about a thousand times on whether I wanted it to be in present or past tense 😆 But also because I struggled to find the words to convey things exactly how I wanted them. Out of all the "genres" of fic, angst comes least naturally to me.

So to hear that you genuinely enjoyed this makes me so unbelievably happy! I feel like I'm just going to be a mess through this whole response; excuse me if I get emotional 😭😂

So the straps on her bed, interestingly, I originally included because I had a very different ending in mind for this fic. I was going to have the tables turn at some point, the reader shove Crane onto the bed, and then use the straps to restrain him so she could take his key and escape. But at some point in the writing process, it just started to feel more and more like she shouldn't win so easily. I still wanted there to be a moment of "hope" at the end, but for it to feel more like something she was wrestling obsessively for instead of an actual triumph. So I changed the ending but kept the straps, because I did think they added to the hopeless atmosphere and her backstory, like you mentioned.

Also, the bit about the black pit in her chest was actually kind of inspired by your writing; specifically the way you describe sadness in "Made For You" as an abyss that stretches from one rib to another. I thought to myself "How would Red describe this? Probably in a really beautiful way" 😂 And well, I dunno how beautiful black holes are, but that's what I came up with lol.

The tattoo exchange was one of my favorite parts as well, specifically because of the different ways in which both of them recall that event happening. The reader has very rose-colored glasses when it comes to a lot of aspects of their relationship, but I like to think that there was genuinely a connection between them at one point. Crane has outgrown it, but still cares about her because of everything they've been through. And he cared back then too, in his own overcontrolling way.

The tattoo itself was of course inspired directly by parts of the song/music video, but the idea of the reader and Crane's tattoos pressing up against each other when they held hands was inspired by something an ex-boyfriend of mine proposed doing, long ago. Which thank god I did NOT go through with 😂 But I incorporated it into this fic because it made me think of my own slightly obsessive first love haha.

There are so many little bits of myself in this fic; many of which you've quoted above. And it's kind of comforting to know that they are relatable. Every life has its good and bad moments, and many of them are both. Bittersweet, but important nonetheless.

And oh my gosh, that last line 😆 This was, without a doubt, the part that I struggled THE most to write. Again, I knew what I wanted to convey. I knew that I wanted a callback to the song, but in an ominous way. But everything I wrote just felt clunky and awkward, and I rephrased the last few paragraphs and this line legitimately probably a dozen times.

So again, thank you for making me feel like all the hard work was worth it! Now that I've broken the seal on angst, maybe the next time will feel a little easier haha 🤞

i’m not sure if anon has already requested a character for that song but if ur up for it CAN WE HAVE THAT SONG WITH JONATHAN CRANE. also i just listened to that song for the first time in like 3 years and got major deja vu lmao 😭

also ps i love u and ur writing !!!

This is related to another ask from an anon, requesting a fic based off of Katy Perry's song, The One That Got Away. I am so sorry to both of you that it's taken me forever to write this, but thank you for your patience and support <3

Now We Pay The Price

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Life hasn't turned out exactly the way you wanted it to. Isolated and distraught as you watch time slip by while you sit, trapped in Arkham, your only wish is to recapture the way that things used to be.

Warnings: Angst, whump, sexual themes but no explicit smut, mental health themes, obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mention of needles, mention of sedatives, unrequited love, established past romantic relationship, ambiguity

A/N: I hardly ever write angst, so please be gentle with me lol. But with the song inspo, I couldn't help but go in that direction. Slightly nervous to post this, but also happy that I've branched out from my comfort zone a bit!

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Lying on your stomach, feet in the air, you stretched the thin cotton sheets with your hand. Just enough to give them the tension you needed to glide a ballpoint pen over the fabric, scratching over and over the same mark to make it appear complete. This was far from the perfect medium for doodling - but sheets were what you had, and so they were what you used.

Even the pen was contraband. You knew you weren’t supposed to have it. What anyone thought you’d do with it… honestly, you had no idea. As if you could use a pen for anything other than what you were wrapped up in doing now - carefully and determinedly drawing hearts.

You stopped to rest your head for a moment on the pitifully thin pillow. Across the room, blank white concrete stared back at you. Day in, day out. Endless. The same room with the same walls.

Picking up the pen again, you placed the tip right in between the lobes of one of the many hearts. Scratch, scratch, scratch. A messy, zig-zagging line bisected the doodle. 

Broken.

You sighed, and started to color a different heart, filling it with blue ink that didn’t seem very inclined to stick to the bed sheets. It was slow going. The deep azure tint reminded you of deoxygenated blood, like you would see in a textbook diagram. Once the heart was completely filled, you moved dutifully on to the next.

A rustling at your door made you jump. Quickly, you stuffed the pen under your pillow, and turned up the sheets to hide your drawings. It wouldn’t be very good for you if anybody saw them.

You sat up, arranging your rumpled jumpsuit as neatly as you could. Leather straps hung off the sides of your bed, and you spared them a glance, bristling at the memories of having them lashed over your body. 

The metal door slid open slowly, until you could finally see…

Him. Your heart skipped a beat and a half as he stepped stiffly into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He didn’t make a show of locking it, but it was still all too hard to miss the way his hand stopped short at the keyhole, before slipping into his pocket.

“Jonathan. I’m so glad-”

“Don’t call me that,” he bristled. “In here, we don’t know each other. Please. You always forget that.”

“...Dr. Crane,” you corrected yourself. 

His tone was so bitter that you could feel it in the very back of your throat, trying to claw its way down to your heart. You swallowed, trying to bite back the taste.

“I’m sorry. I was just happy to see you.” You smiled, pushing through your discomfort, for his sake.

Crane was clearly agitated. He took a few steps into the room, before turning around and facing the door. For one brief moment, you couldn’t see his face, until finally he turned back. His eyes were ice as they stared down at you.

“Do you have any idea how difficult you’ve been making things for me?” he spat. 

The accusation hurt, of course. Though you knew very well what he meant. You had been acting out, more than usual, as of late. And although it wasn’t without a purpose, you could see that it was wearing him thin. But… how else were you supposed to see each other? 

Arkham Asylum wasn’t exactly known for its model patients. It took a lot to get Dr. Crane’s attention.

“If we spent more time together, I wouldn’t be so difficult,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even.

Crane pinched the bridge of his nose, in that way that you were well acquainted with. He’d always had that habit. Back when you’d first met, you had loved making him get frustrated - just enough for a laugh. Some things never changed.

“You’re really backing me into a corner,” Crane sighed. “And I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“Let’s talk,” you offered, patting the bed. “That’s what you’re here for, right?”

Crane, reluctantly, sat down. You could sense his exhaustion in the way that he almost collapsed onto the bed, hands gripping the edge for support. You inched a bit closer, enough so that your knees touched briefly. Crane pulled away.

You wanted to reach out; put a hand on his shoulder, just like you’d done so many times before. He used to like it when you touched him. Sometimes, you liked to think that yours was the only gentle embrace that he had ever known. Maybe it was silly, but the thought of it always made you feel better.

Now, Crane’s eyes held nothing but menace as he glared over at you, as if you were a stain on the bed sheets. You wondered, vaguely, what had happened to change things.

So much. So much that had led you to this place, where you could be so close to him and yet felt more separated than ever.

“I hate to say it, Doc, but I think I’m going crazy in here,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He barely had a reaction; a deep sigh the only hint that he’d heard what you said at all.

“And why do you think that is?” he asked, finally. 

The psychiatrist in him always came through to shove even more distance between you. Like a shield, put up just when you’d started to press through the fog of tension that hung heavy in the room. You swallowed your frustration at being kept out, and tried to answer him honestly.

“Because I barely get to see you,” you replied.

That was the wrong answer, and Crane’s shoulders swung abruptly to face you. 

He was scary like this. Almost scary, anyway. If you didn’t know him better, the look in his eyes would have sent you cowering. 

But you did know him, so well, and you remembered with sudden clarity that he’d always been bothered by feeling inadequate. You felt awful; you hadn’t meant to imply that he wasn’t doing enough.

“I’m sorry,” you soothed, before he could say anything. “I know that you’re busy, but-”

“But you continue to make yourself into a problem,” he hissed. “You know the only reason you’re in here instead of rotting away over at Blackgate is because of me, right?”

You nodded, too shocked by embarrassment to speak.

“Then for my sake, why don’t you act like it?”

“I’m…” You paused for a moment, sharp tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m just… lost without you,” you whispered. “You know that. I always told you I would be.”

The first tear fell, and you tried to hide your face.

“Don’t cry,” Crane sighed.

You could hear the harsh tinge of annoyance in his voice, and wished that it was anything else. Even his pity would have been better than knowing that your feelings were now nothing but inconvenience. You choked on your own throat, trying to stifle a sob.

“Please don’t cry,” he mumbled, slightly softer this time.

But now that you’d started, you couldn’t make yourself stop. If anything, the tears were only coming faster, and you felt yourself start to shrink into your own chest. The little black pit that always seemed to sit there, now swiftly opening up to swallow you.

With a deep and lingering exhale, Crane pulled you close. Suddenly, you were back where you both had been, so many years ago: one person’s cheek pressed into the other’s shoulder. Tears soaking into fabric that seemed to be stained with sadness. You let out a half-laugh, half-sob, and nestled into the crook of his neck.

“Remember when I used to do this for you?”

Crane stiffened slightly beside you.

“Things have changed since then,” he muttered. 

Your memory suddenly flashed back to the first time he had used the words “dysfunctional attachment” to describe you. That had hurt worse than anything else. Even more than all of the other occasions to come, when you’d heard those same words and worse fall from his lips. They could never truly compare to that first time, when your whole world had come crashing abruptly to the ground.

His arm dropped away from you, but you kept your face pressed into his shoulder.

“Things haven’t really changed,” you said. “I still belong to you.”

“You don’t.”

Two words that stung worse than hundreds of needles. You tried to pretend that the wind hadn’t been knocked out of you, as you replied.

“I do. And I will. Always.”

You looked up at him with wet eyes, a trace of the old life that you’d shared together still evident deep within your pupils. Even if only the memories of it lived inside of you, they still lived. They were still something.

“You need to move on,” Crane said flatly. “I know it’s not easy in here, with me…” He sighed. “I did what I could to protect you, but maybe it would have been better if I had just stayed out of your case. Blackgate would have at least given you distance.”

“I don’t want distance,” you whispered. “I just want to be with you.”

“You can’t be.”

Always so stubborn.

“I could be, if you’d help me get out.”

Confusion flashed across Crane’s face, quickly replaced with raw terror. 

“Escape Arkham?” His eyebrows furrowed, nearly knitting together. “You can’t be serious. Do you even realize what-?”

“I know, I know,” you hummed. “But just think - we could run away together, just like we always talked about.”

“Stop.”

“Don’t you remember? We promised-”

“Things. Change.” Crane’s voice almost shook as it thundered.

You brought a hand up to his face, gently coaxing until he looked at you.

“But they don’t have to,” you breathed. 

Your eyes drifted down to your wrist, to the space just below your thumb, and over the little tattoo that was etched into your skin. A heart - just like the ones littering your blanket, hidden carefully from Crane’s view.

“Remember when you gave me this?” you asked, holding up the tattoo in front of him.

“No; I remember you doing that to yourself.”

“At first, sure,” you chuckled. “But then, you helped me to finish it, ‘cause-”

“Because I didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Crane muttered. “Just like you always seem to. Even now.”

You ignored his remark as your hands drifted down to collect one of his pale wrists, then lifted up to your face. The sleeve of his suit jacket slipped back, revealing the spot where once, long ago, you had given him the same mark. Just with a felt-tip pen; he would have never allowed you, even back then, to deface his own body in the same way you had yours. 

At the time, the impermanence of it hadn’t seemed to matter. You’d been too distracted; elated by the way that his and your matching blossoms of ink had pressed up against each other as you’d held hands. 

Now, you pressed a kiss to the blank space.

“Us against the world, Jonathan. Remember?”

Suddenly, his fingers pressed into your face, digging into the sides of your chin as he forced you back into focus.

“Don’t call me that,” he warned, once again. “How many times do I have to tell you? That life doesn’t exist in here.”

Your hands still dangled from his wrist as he continued to crush your jaw, not letting you look away. But this was the one part of him that you didn’t want to face. The part that didn’t need you anymore.

“Jonathan. You know the reason I’m in here, don’t you?”

“Are you asking if I know about your case? All of the crimes you committed?” he huffed. “Because yes - I was very involved in the trial, and it was nearly impossible to keep everyone else in the dark about…”

Us was the word that he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“That’s not what I mean,” you said. “I mean, do you know why I did those things?”

“Stop - please don’t tell me this again.”

“I did them for you,” you cried, your emotions getting the better of you again. “I do everything for you. So don’t you dare pretend you don’t need me, when really the only fucking reason you’re not stuck in here with me is because I always-”

“Stop.”

Crane’s hands tore away to grab you by the shoulders, wrenching you back to reality. Somehow he always managed to do that. To pull you straight out of the riptide, just as it was about to sweep you away.

“I never asked you to do what you did,” he hissed, articulating each word between clenched teeth.

“But I did it anyway,” you spat. “Because you always get into trouble. Because I told you I’d be there for you, no matter what. And because I always keep promises.”

“I don’t need you to anymore.” Crane’s hands squeezed you uncomfortably. “I don’t - I didn’t need you to ruin your life for me.”

“My life isn’t ruined if it’s for you.”

“Jesus Christ…”

Crane’s hand came up to rake through his hair, but before he could pull away fully, you caught him. Fingers clenched tight to the front of his suit, you pulled back and forced him to fall with you. Your back hit the bed, and Crane scrambled to catch himself before his full weight could slam into you. His body perched just above yours, caging you in his arms.

“This. You must remember this.” 

Your words were a whisper, barely loud enough to pass from your lips to his ear, despite how close he was. Your legs frantically came up to tug at his waist, trying to force him closer.

“This was the only time I felt alive,” you continued. “When we were like this. You remember.”

How could he not? You could still live in that moment, if you tried hard enough. As if it had been only yesterday. Both of you nervous and fumbling, nearly falling off of the bed as he hovered over you and you clung to him. 

The way that your bodies had melted together, almost desperately, in a way that had made you feel certain that neither one of you would let go. Letting go then had meant something worse than death; it meant a life that dragged on without you and him together. 

The stale echoes of passion still rang in your ears as you looked up, silently begging for him to rekindle the spark that had been there.

Crane’s expression was all but impossible to read. His face half-hidden beneath bangs that fell into his eyes. The two-second pause was like a lifetime as you awaited his answer.

“Of course I remember.”

Your heart soared, flying recklessly up.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s the same now.”

Broken. Smashed hard against the cold floor of your cell.

“I don’t believe that,” you breathed. “I can’t. I-”

“You need to,” he interrupted. “Because it’s the truth.”

You stayed stock still on the mattress as Crane briskly pushed himself up, disentangling himself from your limbs. He exhaled as he tugged at his jacket, trying to make himself presentable. 

You weren’t sure how he could find the nerve, after ripping your whole world apart.

“I’m upping the dose on your sedatives,” he informed you, still not meeting your gaze. “But I would prefer if you could find it within yourself to behave so that I don’t have to. I don’t like to do this, but-”

“Appearances…” Your voice drifted through the room. “Have to be kept up.”

He had told you as much, probably dozens of times. Just like he’d told you the old life between you no longer mattered, or even existed. If it ever had.

“I’m glad you understand,” he said shortly. 

His back was already turned, but you looked up to watch him drift out of the room, quickly pocketing the keys on his way out. 

Your head fell back, hard, but the sensation did nothing to ground you. You felt all too lost and adrift; trapped in a situation you had created. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end up.

Your hand drifted silently under the pillow, and wrapped around the barrel of the pen that was still hidden there. 

Suddenly, grotesque understanding of all the reasons why no one would want you to have such a thing flooded into your consciousness. The possibilities were many and bleak, but they all led back to the same conclusion. It was just like you had told Crane earlier.

If your life together didn’t exist in this place, then the only solution was to leave. 

You smiled. With resolve swirling dangerously inside your veins, you vowed to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again. You were going to be together, no matter what. 

There would be no getting away.

[sw1mmingfoolz]

A SLIGHTLY DISJOINTED LIST OF WRITING TIPS

hey peeps 😌 a whole zero people asked or showed interest and true to my style I'm posting anyway lmao :) this is a collection of writing tips I remind myself of all the time! some are from online (mostly reddit), some are from writing workshops and classes i've taken, some are just commonly traded around by famous writers and some come from my own experience! i've been writing for 15 years, since i was a literal child, and i think it's safe to say i've learned a lot since i wrote 15 pages of what i was absolutely sure would be my debut novel "The Ratticator" when i was, like, 6. so i think ik what i'm talking about 😎 without further ado, here is the list!! it isn't very organised, for which i do apologize :')

If you have writer’s block, change your document font to Comic Sans. No idea why this works, but it’s a known tip and it really does!

DO NOT edit as you go. If you just can’t seem to stop yourself, set your document to Wingdings. This is especially helpful in your first draft. I personally call my first draft document WORST VERSION JUST PURE GARBAGE or some variation to take the pressure off.

Treat all writing as practice. It’s better to write pages and pages of pure garbage than to be too paralysed by fear of failure and not write at all as a result. At least with garbage you can edit it, see what issues you have with your writing, etc.

If you struggle with editing, try writing everything longhand on paper or printing out a particularly hard chapter (double spaced so you can annotate it) and rewrite it. Also, run your work through text-to-speech to catch typos or little errors you might otherwise overlook!

Google “filter words and how to avoid them”, especially if you write in first person. Focus on showing and not telling, and be wary of using too many adverbs (I’m so guilty of this) and verbs after dialogue. Also avoid epithets! By all means necessary! For example; “the short haired man”, “the brunette”, “the [job title]”. These are common in fanfiction but do not sound good or flow well. They’re often used by novice writers. (I’m guilty of this too! Again, these kinds of things take practice).

If you’re struggling to plot, it can help to write “draft zero”, in which you write out chapters in the least words possible without needing it to sound good. This can give you a skeleton to fill out. You also don’t have to write chronologically; write the fun scenes first or whatever scenes you already have in your head out and build around those!

Speak your dialogue out loud. If it doesn’t flow well, it doesn’t read well either.

Similarly, come back to a chapter / work after a minimum of a day has passed. Looking at it with fresh eyes after a break away can help immensely with weeding out awkward parts, errors or parts you’d like to change.

“Said” is not a bad word; don’t go to insane lengths to avoid it!

Not every piece of dialogue needs a tag; trying to add one to everything without having dialogue by itself makes writing clunky.

For both dialogue and inner monologue, have your characters miss the mark just slightly on what they're trying to say. In reality none of us express ourselves perfectly off the cuff, and you can even communicate a lot about a person through what they omit or avert or misread. (from u/frozenfountain on Reddit)

Usually when people talk, they’re not just talking. What facial expressions are they making? What are they doing with their bodies? Are they just ‘saying’ something or are they stuttering, shouting, or whispering (don’t go overboard with this kinda description, though). You also don’t always have to specify who is speaking; you can establish the people initially and, especially if they speak in distinct ways, it should be clear. Also, learn correct grammar for dialogue. A new speaker should be on a new line.

Vary sentence structure. This is probably the main cause of people feeling that their writing feels "off." A lot of people try to solve repetitive sentence structure with epithets or with unnecessary synonyms, but it only masks the problem, it doesn't solve it.

For example:

"What's going on?" said Bob.

"I don't know. Jill just stormed out of here," said Abigail.

"That's weird. She seemed fine this morning," said Bob.

"I think the stress is finally starting to get to her," said Abigail.

It's boring, right? How NOT to improve it:

"What's going on?" said Bob.

"I don't know. Jill just stormed out of here," said the blue-eyed woman.

"That's weird. She seemed fine this morning," pondered the older man.

"I think the stress is finally starting to get to her," surmised the greenette.

Instead maybe something like:

Bob looked around at the confused faces in the room. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," said Abigail, fidgeting with her necklace. "Jill just stormed out of here."

"That's weird. She seemed fine this morning."

Abigail shrugged. "I think the stress is finally getting to her."

The other problem I see: unless you understand what third person omniscient is and are using it intentionally, it's probably best to pick just one point of view per scene and stick to it. (u/DemyxDancer on Reddit)

Don’t focus on stuff your character wouldn’t just to fill a word count.

Try not to use the same word twice in a paragraph unless they’re connecting words or names/pronouns. At the same time, try not to overuse the thesaurus and use a million synonyms for something - find different ways to describe things. 

Write as though there is no formatting available to you. Adding bold or caps or images or footnotes is cool, but the story should be understood exactly the same without them. This is also an accessibility consideration, since screen readers will miss this extra context if it’s purely visible.

Localised spell check! I use British spell check on Google Docs because I am British but sometimes accidentally use the American versions of words. This can also be immensely helpful if you’re writing dialects / a different form of English than what you’re used to. 

Let go of perfectionism before it kills writing for you. Coraline took Neil Gaiman over a decade to write. Ursula K Le Guin banged out three Earthsea books in 4 years before taking a 12 year break between the third and fourth books in which she took a big interest in feminism and entirely changed the way she wrote female characters. Nothing is going to be perfect initially, and expecting it to be so dooms you before you can start.

Paragraphs!! Punctuation!! So many times I have clicked on a promising looking fanfiction but backed out because I couldn’t read it properly - commas, semicolons and hyphens (and em dashes!) are your friends :)

If possible, shut out everything else during a designated time period and just write. I know this isn’t possible for everyone but should you be able to set a window and have a schedule you’ll find writer’s block to hit you less!

Starting with a lot of exposition can be boring. Short, snappy first lines and/or coming right into the action at the beginning can help hook the reader better. Or alternatively, have a prologue if there’s important exposition that needs to be established at the start!

Writing is inherently hard, even for well established writers. Accepting that will help you more than you’d expect.

Read as much as you write, if not more! Reading makes writing a lot easier. A lot of writing is being inspired by other writers. NOT copying, or plagiarising, but drawing inspiration from them. For example (as we spoke about a couple of days ago), my lovely mutual Livvie @greenlivvie has a colder, more direct and more formal writing style as a lot of what she reads is nonfiction, whereas I read so many gooey romance webtoons and poetry anthologies that my style is extremely warm, probably too descriptive, and rather poetic.

Find the joy in writing! I know engagement is extremely important, especially in fanfiction, but if it’s your only drive you’re destined to burn out. You should write first and foremost for the love of writing. That’s not to say you shouldn’t want engagement, however, and that readers should not give it (PLEASE readers, learn that likes on Tumblr are absolutely useless compared to on other platforms and start reblogging, tagging, and commenting! Here are some relaged posts with creators expressing their frustrations (x) (x) (x) so you can understand WHY it matters so much to us. On AO3, comments mean the world!)

Bad writers tend to think they are amazing and infallible, while good writers tend to think they are terrible. It’s about not letting that self doubt stop you from creating entirely! Also, if possible, find someone to beta your work and give their concrit, especially if you find yourself hating your work but not knowing why.

“Abandon the idea that you are ever going to finish. Lose track of the 400 pages and write just one page for each day. It helps.” - John Steinbeck

Write through the eyes of the character, not the lens of a camera (for third person).

“No matter how worried you are about that chapter, no matter how badly you think you botched something, do not tell your readers this, and if you can't help it, put your notes/concerns at the end of the chapter. If you tell a reader at the beginning of a chapter "this chapter is not my best", they will read it in a different light than if you had said nothing at all. If you're looking for feedback on the chapter, put your notes at the end. Let the reader read the chapter "fresh". They'll form their own thoughts and opinions, and then only after that, they'll read your comments/concerns/questions and are more likely to respond to them candidly, rather than having the chapter flavoured by worry or doubt. Your work is good, don't tell people otherwise.” (from u/Panoramic_Vacuum on Reddit)

Don't write your scenes/chapters differently than you originally wanted just for the sake of ''censorship'' to be able to maybe target a larger/different audience! Always write stuff exactly the way you always imagine(d), no matter how dark, bloody, sexual, whatever it might be. A story that is deliberately ''pruned'' will never have the same significance an ''uncensored'' one has. And for characters, always remember the one tenet:

''It doesn't matter how small or unimportant a character might seem at first, they always should be interesting and compelling in their own right, not just be means for the purpose of another character.'' (from u/JokeyZockey on Reddit)

Always remember the five senses as you write

Note down ideas or lines you think of when you think of them. You will probably forget them otherwise. I am totally not talking from experience 😭

In writing fanfiction, you’re writing for free! No apologising for slow updates, no apologising for hiatuses, again Coraline took OVER A DECADE to be finished and published yet you feel bad for not pumping out work every day? Readers do not get to be entitled, they are consuming free content from you and that in itself is a privilege. Readers, please be mindful that we are regular ass people with school and work and other commitments, and also be mindful that if you do not interact with our work that’s only going to serve to motivate us even LESS.

Reward yourself! Wrote a chapter, or hit a word count goal, or finished a plot? Watch a film you like, or buy your favourite snack, or have a long ass bath with a bunch of shit from Lush that makes your house smell like a perfume shop for years afterwards. Rewarding ourselves pleases our primal little monkey brains and makes it a lot easier to get past writer’s block, knowing there’s something in it for us at the end. 

AND FINALLY! Ignore everyone as much as you want to. You should be writing for fun, for yourself - hell if you wanna ignore these points that’s entirely your prerogative. People will tell you not to write certain tropes, or leave unnecessary criticism, or be demanding when they could totally just go write the fics themselves if they care that much. Write because you like to, and you will find your audience :)

i hope you could find even one tip in this list helpful! reblogging with your own tips is encouraged actually :) much love to my fellow writers, it's thankless sometimes and difficult basically all of the time but it's fun and i meet absolutely lovely people on here doing so 💞

[peachy-panic]

Day One

Anyway... back to the clinic arc! Part of Do No Harm. 

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-adjacent, discussions of addiction/implied noncon drugging, system of legal slavery, medical setting, incredibly tricky power imbalances, general warning for fuckin’ Handler Smith

PREVIOUS

It’s impossible not to notice the shift in Jaime’s posture the moment the door clicks shut. His narrow shoulders go rigid, though his footwork doesn’t falter. Sebastian bites down on the inside of his cheek, kicking himself for already managing to misstep. 

“Just to give us some privacy,” he tries to explain, but— shit. No. “To talk,” he adds hastily. “Just… just to talk.”

This is going well.

He edges his way around the desk to put some space and a physical barrier between them. Jaime’s tension doesn’t relent in the slightest, but he gives a nod, eyes carefully following his movement. Sebastian sinks into his rolling chair, shifting some papers to the side and taking a sip of coffee just to give the nervous energy in his hands somewhere to go. The cup is halfway to his mouth when he freezes, feeling Jaime’s ghost-like presence looming over him. He is still standing, motionless and stiff, across the desk from him. Awaiting instruction. Permission.

Sebastian clears his throat around the lump that has made its home there. “Please. Sit,” he invites, motioning toward the hard plastic chair on the other side of the desk. He supposes he should count them both lucky that he doesn’t try to kneel on the ground beside it. Instead, he folds his slender body into the seat, gripping onto his own coffee cup with both hands as if it might be anchoring him to Earth.

“So… surprise?”

Jaime blinks up at him, wide-eyed. Sebastian’s nervous chuckle flattens into a tight smile. Jesus Christ. Inside the tight dimensions of the room, his voice sounds loud and clunky in his own ears, and even more so when it’s met with continued silence. He clears his throat again. “Look, I know you probably weren’t expecting a change in your routine this morning. I’m sorry if it was… jarring for you.”

Jaime inclines his head. “It’s not a problem, sir.”

Sebastian opens his mouth, then closes it around the correction he wants to make. He doesn’t want to put too much on him at once. “Right. Well, as I’m sure you gathered, your work assignment has been temporarily moved to the clinic. However long that lasts… Well, it depends on a lot of things—mostly pertaining to my abilities to make things run smoothly. And I assure you, I have every intention of making it last as long as you want it to. Which brings me to my first real point.”

He doesn’t miss the way Jaime shifts slightly in his seat, his full attention focused on Sebastian.

“This is important,” Sebastian says softly, splaying his hands out on the desk in front of him. “The most important. I want to know if, at any point, you don’t want to be here. In the clinic. Yes, I pulled some strings to get you in this post, but I’m fully aware that I did so without any input or invitation from you.” He pauses, trying to read Jaime’s face for any indication of what he might be feeling about all this so far. There is nothing but the same passive agreeability as always. “My intentions are pure, whatever weight that promise might carry for you.”

Jaime makes a small sound that resembles the start of a word, then closes his mouth, eyes flickering up to Sebastian’s. Sebastian nods in what he hopes is an encouraging gesture and not an entirely spastic one. “May I ask a question?”

“Please. Yes. Always.”

“What… sorry. What will my role be in the clinic? My responsibilities?” he asks. “I’m not sure—” He pauses, very clearly choosing his words with discretion. “I don’t know what background you have on me, but I don't have any kind of… medical training.”

“Oh. No, no.” Sebastian breathes out another small laugh. “Don’t worry. You won’t be performing any procedures like that. In fact, it’s a condition of your being here that you don’t break certain proximities to that sort of thing.”

This seems to bring at least the smallest bit of relief to Jaime’s expression. Sebastian continues. “I’m thinking, to start, I can introduce you to some clerical tasks? Just basic organizational stuff. Our filing system is all digital, but I think I should be able to get you clearance for computer use.”

When Jaime doesn’t respond right away, Sebastian grasps for something to say that might soften the offer further.

“You can have my office to yourself on those days. It might be nice for you to have some alone time, you know? I’m sure you don’t get much of it around here.”

“Alone time,” Jaime whispers back, nearly inaudible. He nods slowly, fixated on every word in a way that is almost a little unnerving.

Sebastian bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. “I… imagine there is going to be some figuring out involved for both of us. This is something the facility as a whole hasn’t done in a while. But it’s really important to me that you have a say in your time here. Are you… you know, all things considered, are you okay with this? Working in the clinic?” Then, even softer, “With me?”

He knows, logically, there is little chance of Jaime being direct with him, and even less of him outright declining. But he hopes, perhaps naively, that they can work on changing that over time, however much of it they have at their disposal. And that begins with Sebastian offering the question at all.

Across from him, Jaime stares down at the untouched cup in his hands, twisting it back and forth between his palms. Sebastian thinks he sees the evidence of more questions brewing behind his eyes, and he almost prompts him to ask them, but Jaime looks up at him before he can, smoothing out his expression. “Yes,” he says. “Thank you, Dr. Tate.”

There is very little to thank him for, and he feels more than a little slimy for accepting the gratitude, but it's a miracle that he didn’t call him “sir,” and Sebastian has a feeling that this process is going to be all about celebrating the small victories. So he gives his new assistant a hesitant smile and lifts his coffee cup to his mouth, watching as Jaime finally does the same.

***

Sebastian left some music playing in his office, connecting his phone to the tiny bluetooth speaker he brought from home. To no one’s surprise, Jaime was less than forthcoming about his musical preferences, but Sebastian is well aware of how boring and tedious this kind of clerical work can be, and listening to something in the background always helps him get through it. So he opted for one of his more eclectic playlists. Hoping that, between the mix of 1980s hair band rock, classical piano, pop music that was all the rage during undergrad, and the occasional show-tune, there would be something Jaime might enjoy while he worked.

Now, through the slimmest crack in the office door, Sebastian can make out the subtle tap of Jaime’s finger against the mouse, moving in time with the music. And god, he doesn’t know what his life has become, that the tiniest twitch of motion can nearly bring him to his knees out of sheer joy.  

“You’re hovering.”

Sebastian startles, catching himself with a hand against the wall. “What? No, I’m not.”

Aria regards him wordlessly, just raising an eyebrow in the direction of his cracked office door. “You’re being creepy,” she tells him, at least having the good grace to keep her voice low.

Sebastian deflates a little. “I’m being… cautious. Don’t you have some opiates to illegally administer or whatever it is you do around here?”

This earns him an eye roll. “He’s organizing digital files, Tate, not performing open heart surgery. Give the kid some space.”

“I just want to make sure he’s comfortable.”

“He will be considerably less so when he discovers you spying outside the door.”

There is an argument perched on his tongue, but he closes his mouth around it. She’s right. He knows she’s right. Casting one last glance through the crack in the door, he nods toward the opening at the end of the hallway, taking their conversation out of earshot. “What are you doing here?” he asks. “Your shift doesn’t start for another”—he checks his watch—“six hours.”

She shrugs. “I moved some things around. Figured you might not mind an extra set of ears and eyes on day one.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, amusement creeping into his tone. “Who’s hovering now?”

Her flat expression doesn’t change. “I believe the answer you’re looking for is, Thank you, Aria. How considerate of you to go out of your way to help me with something risky.”

Fuck. He sighs. “You’re right. Shit, sorry. I— yeah. Thank you. For real.”

“Happy to help.” Finally, a small smirk breaks at the corner of her mouth. “How’s it going with him?”

He can’t help but cast an anxious look back down the hall. “Alright? I think? No one is dead or seriously maimed, so I guess we’re coasting somewhere above a total failure.”

“How did he take the news of his new assignment?”

Sebastian scratches his eyebrow with the back of his thumb. “Like a fucking champion, as always.” His tone is light, but it doesn’t take from the sincerity of his words. “He’s the best student I could ask for, which, you know… mixed feelings about that. But I think I really could teach him open heart surgery at the rate he catches on.”

“Let’s not press our luck.” She turns to walk away then, but Sebastian takes a step after her.

“Aria?” he asks quietly. She turns back to him. “Am I… Do you think I’m doing the right thing here?”

She thinks about it for a minute, her gaze searching his face before finally she says, “I think the concept of what’s right within these walls is a little limited. But you’re doing what you can. That’s a good start.”

***

When Handler Smith comes to collect him at the end of his first day in the clinic, Jaime has to do a double take at the clock at the bottom of the screen to reconcile with the fact that a full ten hours have passed. He blinks up from his—from Dr. Tate’s—computer, feeling strangely like he’s been caught, sitting in the plush, leather chair. He reaches out, instinctively, and shuts off the speaker.

“Well.” A broad grin stretches over the lower half of Handler Smith’s face as he leans against the doorway, eyes scanning Jaime up and down. “Don’t you look cozy?”

Jaime’s mouth makes a move like he might respond, but he doesn’t know what to say that won’t feed into the malice behind his teasing. Instead, he pushes away from the desk and stands quickly, wiping his palms against his thighs. He prepares to follow him out of Dr. Tate’s office and back to the residential wing, hopefully without any unplanned pit stops along the way, but Smith doesn’t budge. The wall of his body standing in the only exit makes the room seem suddenly small instead of cozy. Claustrophobic instead of quaint. Jaime can’t help but shift his eyes past Smith’s shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dr. Tate walking by.

He doesn’t.

“How was your first day?” Smith asks, all false lightness and condescension. Jaime knows better than to take the question at face value, but not answering is certainly not an option.

“It went well, sir. Thank you.”

His leer turns to something a little more scrutinizing. Jaime shifts on his feet, folding his hands behind his back in the way he knows the man likes. Finally, Handler Smith says, “I had to sign off on this little detour, you know. As your primary, I could have easily shut this whole thing down.”

It’s obvious he’s looking for gratitude. He wants to peel every scrap of it from Jaime, and he knows he will give it readily to avoid the loss of something more valuable than his dignity. “Thank you, Handler Smith.” If he doesn’t look him in the eye, he has an easier time ignoring the sour turn in his stomach as he speaks the words.

He makes a vague sound in response. “Frankly, I’m wondering if I made the right choice.” He gestures to the soft chair behind Jaime, positioned just under a heating vent in the ceiling. Too late, Jaime notices his coffee cup still sitting at his work station and prays Smith won’t ask about it. “All this cushy desk jockey work might spoil you rotten. We may have to pick up a few extra refresher sessions before your next contract.”

At this, Jaime’s eyes snap up, the threat of the words lost to the larger implication behind them. His mouth moves before he can stop it. “Is there… Do I have a new prospective, sir?”

Handler Smith’s eyes glint with something not entirely pleasant at his uninvited outburst, but there is a certain amusement there, too. But before Jaime can get his answer, the answer he is both desperate and terrified to know, a light cough behind Handler Smith makes him turn around. Dr. Tate is standing behind him in the hallway.  “Can I help you?” he asks with a coldness Jaime rarely hears from him.

“Dr. Tate.” Smith smiles. “How was babysitting duty? Putting that medical degree to good use?”

Dr. Tate runs his tongue along his teeth, eyes hardening.  “Wasn’t much babysitting required,” he says, flicking his eyes briefly to Jaime with a small smile. “He’s a quick learner.”

The smile on Smith’s face spreads thinner. “I suppose I should say you’re welcome for that,” he says. The word smarmy passes quickly, rebelliously, through Jaime’s mind. Dr. Tate looks like he might be thinking the same or something worse, but after a few seconds, he tears his icy gaze away from Smith and softens it toward Jaime. “I mean it. You did great work today. Thank you for your help,” he says, and Jaime bites back the instinct to preen under the praise. The small smile returns to his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”

Jaime returns the smile as best he can, hoping that his handler reads it as nothing but polite while Dr. Tate sees the sincerity. “Yes, sir.” He knows it’s a term Dr. Tate doesn’t prefer, and Jaime hopes he will forgive him for the instinct to play it safe in their present company.

The answering nod tells him he just might.

“Come on,” Handler Smith orders, and Jaime falls into step without missing a beat. But as they step into the hallway, Smith turns back to Dr. Tate with an entirely new glimmer in his eyes. “I hope you’re keeping a close eye on this one,” he says. “Honestly, I think it’s a little more than irresponsible that this post was approved at all, given his history.”

Oh god. Jaime can already feel the heat rising to his cheeks, into his ears, his pulse pounding in his throat. It’s stupid—he knows it’s stupid—but some part of him had hoped Dr. Tate would never need to know about this. Would never find out something that might make him lose the favor he has chosen to shine on Jaime. Handler Smith, he thinks darkly, probably very well knows that.

Dr. Tate’s brow dips in the middle, a crease forming just above his glasses. “What are you talking about?”

“Probably nothing to worry about.” Suddenly, Smith has Jaime’s forearm in a tight grip, twisting it so that the palest part of his inner elbow is angled toward the light. He looks it over, then runs a fingertip over the soft, vulnerable skin, tracing the blue line of his vein. “Looks like the track marks are mostly faded by now. Still. Taking a junkie off the streets and putting him in a room full of drugs? A slippery slope if I’ve ever seen one.”

Smith releases his arm, and Jaime stumbles back a step. He can’t help but reach out and cover the place where his handler’s fingers had squeezed him hard enough to bruise. He can’t look Dr. Tate in the eye, but he feels his gaze on him, burning through him with a physical heat.

“Regardless,” Smith continues, shrugging, “I don’t see this arrangement lasting long. There’s always a little bit of a slump in business after the holidays, but even still…” He flashes a bright smile toward Jaime, who wishes he could shrink up and disappear. “Boys like him don’t go long between contracts.”

At the tug on his shoulder, Jaime allows himself to be led numbly down the hallway and through the clinic doors, unable to risk even a parting glance at Dr. Tate. Afraid of the cold he might find in the only set of eyes he can remember showing him warmth.

***

The last thing Sebastian wanted to drag home from work was the voice of Rowan fucking Smith, but here he is, wide awake and staring at his apartment ceiling with his voice looping through his head.

Has Sebastian made a terrible mistake? Not that he had any way of knowing Jaime’s history, nor does he have any reason to believe Smith is telling the truth, but it still begs the question: should he have considered this possibility when he used his power to bring Jaime into the clinic? What if he really is a recovering addict? Sebastian knows there is at least a decent percentage of WRU’s wards that come into this system by way of substance abuse related issues. Or, at any rate, that’s the reasoning on paper. It’s entirely possible that Jaime is among them.

Not that it changes anything about the fucked up cruelty of what’s been done to him, nor the instinct Sebastian feels to protect him. The only thing it would change is the risk factor of keeping him in a place where temptation is well within arm’s reach. And that’s no small fucking thing.

Still, something feels off about the story. He knows, logically, that there is no one way for an addict to “look like.” But in his limited experience, both with drug addiction and the boy in question, he can’t begin to picture it.

What he can picture, however, are the dozens of ways this could backfire on him. And suddenly, it’s all he can see, the images splattered across his bedroom ceiling with perfect clarity: the possibility of Jaime getting hurt because of Sebastian’s selfish need to feel like he is doing some kind of good. Trying to justify his employment with some pathetic attempts at evening the score.

Suddenly, even in the January cold with his paper-thin insulation and slightly cracked window, Sebastian is too warm, stifled, beneath the covers. He sits up, throwing his duvet off of his legs and into a heap on his bed, and retreats into the living room.

His laptop is sitting on the sad excuse for a coffee table in the center of the room, but before he opens it, he pours a glass of room temperature vodka. For the insomnia, he tells himself. Just to help him sleep. The screen glows back at him, harsh in the dark of his apartment, and without allowing himself to dwell on what he’s doing, he has a search bar open and his fingers poised over the keys.

At first, he doesn’t know what to type. He doesn’t even really know what he came out here looking for. Eventually, though, he settles on: Missing persons, 20xx, Jaime

Yeah, no shit, the results are unhelpful. He’s working off of extremely limited information: a first name and a fucking hunch. Unwillingly, his eyes move to his phone. He could call Sam. Unlikely to win his favor given the ungodly hour, but maybe he would still be willing to help Sebastian out. Surely, he would have access to his confidential files, at least enough to give him a last name to search by, or family history, or—

Oh god. What is he doing? Even if this information was at all relevant to Sebastian, it’s a disgusting breach of Jaime’s privacy, even if the law and the facility that they both belong to in separate ways have stripped him of that right. That doesn’t mean Sebastian should follow suit.

In an instant of horrified shame, Sebastian slams the lid of his laptop shut, the movement so harsh it causes tiny ripples to break across the surface of his liquor. For a moment, he is lost in the overpowering silence of the dark living room. He cradles his head between his hands, dizzy from the whirlwind of emotions assaulting his brain and the lack of sleep that only seems to feed the beast. How is it that with every effort he makes to do something good within the walls of the system, the more lost he feels? The more damage it seems like he is causing?

And where is he supposed to go from here? To take this job post away from Jaime now feels unforgivably cruel, especially after witnessing the aftermath of what he is almost sure was an assault at his last assignment, and then watching that beautiful, glorious moment of Jaime tapping along to music today as he worked. He still feels in his heart that this opportunity, no matter how temporary, could be the reprieve Sebastian always intended for it to be.

But he’s also more aware than ever of the blood that will be on his hands if things go south.

Exhausted from his own self pity, Sebastian sits up abruptly, snatching the glass off the coffee table and draining the rest in a single gulp. The burn barely registers, and the slight buzz of the alcohol in his system does little to coax him toward sleep.

***

TAG LIST: @whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline @anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain @thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @melancholy-in-the-morning @also-finder-of-rings @insaneinthepaingame @skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world @inpainandsuffering

[sunjaesol]

canon juke fluff based on “till forever falls apart” by ashe and finneas

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Raucous laughter disappeared in a snap as the door slammed behind her. Her feet stumbled from the sudden change, finding her balance again and then hopping towards the garden gate. She left a glitter trail in her wake.

Julie turned seventeen today. She knew it’d be special the second she woke up, Carlos blaring ‘Dancing Queen’ like a little shit before her alarm clock went off. It was the most brotherly way he could congratulate her and she loved him for it. (Not after she chased him though - who the hell did that?!)

Flynn came by during breakfast, phasing through Alex without realising as she placed a glittery crown atop Julie’s curls. It was plastic and clunky and the number 17 was pink and glowed in the dark. Luke sat on the kitchen island teasing her for it, Reggie helping Ray make pancakes and yelling he wanted one too. It was barely seven am and her day was the best.

At school, she was showered with birthday wishes and her Instagram flooded with messages of people that confirmed they’d come to her party.  

Despite everything, her traitorous thoughts always ended up in the same spot. Luke. He teased her at breakfast, but he didn’t hug her like Alex and Reggie. He didn’t poof beside her as she walked down the driveway to quickly impart a joke or a secret or a lyric, something for her to mull about on the trek to school with Flynn. There was nothing.

On the one hand, it could just be pre-performance jitters. Luke took every gig a hundred percent seriously and got pretty intense if a lot of people were going to be watching. If he didn’t set the stage on fire in one song, he’d feel like he failed. So yeah, Julie allowed herself to think that was the case for his absentmindedness.

If only she didn’t know him so well. She knew it was something else entirely. She knew it had to do with her age; the fact that she aged. It was hard to not let it temper her birthday excitement, but all she wished for (just like when she blew out her candles for her sixteenth birthday) was for them to hide in her daydreams and be together without qualms. That he was hers.

Luke and her have made plenty of mistakes over the two years that they’ve known each other. Falling in love wasn’t one. She couldn’t believe that - even if he’d given her mixed signals since their fated gig at The Orpheum.

The party was a hit. Dad bought a big peanut butter chocolate cake and they played their best set ever, the studio decorated in an explosion of flowers and butterflies and streamers. Julie was in a glittery purple dress, the crown to match, each lyric coming from her lips laced with glee and pink lemonade. That perpetual thrill coursing through her as she danced with Reggie and hyped up Alex and - her favourite part of all - shared the mic with Luke. His aloof behaviour from before was gone then, coming towards her in that greedy way that made her heart stutter out of place.

Julie wondered if anyone ever believed he was a hologram prior to the band ‘moving to America’. How could they, when he’s always looked so alive and real and warm and with his eyes so intently on hers that it felt like he bore through her, straight to her soul.

Pushing through the sensation, she shot him a teasing grin and returned to the piano.

After the set, Flynn put her DJ skills to good use and put on a killer playlist. Julie danced until her feet ached, sang along until her throat hurt, ate cake until she was full. She was happy and seventeen. As the hours went by, more and more classmates trickled away, ending with her family hoarding the kitchen island as they ate the remnants of cake. All except one.

It hurt. Julie knew Luke was brooder - but on her birthday? Because he couldn’t handle it? Tomorrow, she'd be on her way to surpass them. First Reggie, then Alex and then Luke. Was it selfish of her for wanting to spend time with him? For wanting to dance with him? If just once? If Alex and Reggie could, why couldn’t he?

Without a second thought (or third, fourth, fifth - it was always and forever tethered to Luke), she stumbled out the front door towards the garden gate. Glitter stuck to the pavement.

The light was on in the studio, their safe haven surrounded by fallen decorations as if a storm had passed. Her bare foot kicked a balloon, a smile tugging on her lips as the purple thing drifted and bounced against the trees.

She slid the doors open. There he was.  

“Luke?”

His back was turned towards her, head bent over the grand piano as he fervently wrote in his trusty songbook. More songs were theirs than just his in there, she knew, and it left her warm.

He perked up, head turning, a gentle smile on his lips. “Hey birthday girl. You look like shit.”

She laughed, coming closer, and watched as more glitter fell to the floor. She must look like a sweaty, exhausted disco ball. Despite this, a sense of calmness washed over her. Luke was here and he was smiling at her and everything made sense again.

“Thanks,” she jabbed. “You look even worse.”

Tensing his muscles, as if she hadn’t seen them before, he smirked. “Please. The sweat makes my arms look better.”

The smile stuck to her cheeks, stupidly enamoured by his silliness, and remembered a time when she didn’t allow herself to feel like this. But that was before the late night sessions in the studio, before he became corporeal, before he placed tender kisses on her forehead before important gigs, as if infusing her with the power to kill it, before he hung out in her room and before he allowed her to know more about 90s-Luke. (There wasn’t much difference. According to his stories, he was just as endearing then.)

Before one frustrated kiss between them, months ago, nearly blew everything up. If the band and their connection wasn’t so tight, she didn’t know what would’ve happened. They never spoke about it. Perhaps the knowledge that it happened, the idea that it could happen again, realising that her daydreams weren’t one-sided - it left her yearning. Who would blame her? She was seventeen.  

The kiss had been a mistake, but that ‘stupidly enamoured’ feeling? It was only a natural reaction. She didn’t want anyone else.

Crossing the final distance, Julie tightly wrapped her arms around him. Luke held her close, face burrowed in her neck and letting his waning body spray and her flowery perfume melt together.

“You haven’t given me a hug today,” she whispered.

He nodded. “I know.”

She bit back a sigh. This couldn’t be a mistake too. “Why?”

“Cause you’re seventeen,” he muttered. “I can’t pretend you’re-”

“Younger?”

His palms curled around her, pulling back slightly to look her in the eye. The green, bright yet troubled, flitted across her face. Dejected, it dropped to the ground, as if the sight of her brought him wonder and ache at once. Could she tell him it was mutual? Could she-

“Able to be mine.”

It was uttered so quietly, she almost didn’t catch it. It was as if the world went off its axis, both precariously close to falling off the edge and Julie debating whether that would be a bad thing or not. If it really was that insane if it meant she got to be right here, in his arms.

The feeling coiled in her stomach, pushed itself up her ribcage, straight through her heart and slid past her throat. The words danced on her lips, lively and colourful and devoted.

And then she said it. “I love you.”

His eyes slowly locked with hers, a glint of uncertainty found beneath. The lack of surprise on his part would make her laugh had she not been so terrified to lose him completely, all at once. His fingers pressed into her skin, like she’d be the one backtracking her words and running out. Like he wasn’t the one with the ability to vanish from her grasp.

Luke exhaled and dropped his forehead against hers, gaze unwavering. Her instincts told her to shut her eyes, look away, maybe even bridge the gap, but they were so close to finally becoming something. Whatever that might be.  

“Why aren’t you scared?”, he breathed. 

Her nervous hands found solace on his cheeks. “I am scared. And it’s despite that. All I wanted today, Luke, was have you be with me.” And then her eyes clenched tight anyway, overwhelmed by the moment. “I’m scared and- and despite everything… I love you.”

Her vulnerability hanging by a thread, she watched as he processed her words. She had no clue if she said or did the right thing, though her hands were frozen in place. Her heart rate picked up when he mirrored her, calloused fingers slipping from her shoulders to her face.

Luke swallowed, hard. “I’m sorry that- that I’ve been distant. But I’m scared and not for the reasons you think. I’m scared cause-” His chuckle was like a candle awakening in a dark cave. “-cause I don’t wanna spend a minute loving anyone else.”

The previous terror washed away, a brilliant smile blooming on her lips at his confession. Her head tilted, allowing her nose to brush his and sigh when he didn’t pull back.

“I was scared cause I thought you didn’t want that,” he finished.

Her voice drowned in reverence. “I do want that. I want you. Until…” Shaking her head, she let out the truth. “Until the universe takes you back.”

The boy laughed, relief sagging his shoulders and pulling so impossibly close, so tightly it should’ve hurt - had euphoria not been bursting in her chest at the simple action. His watery eyes held all she ever wanted to see. Him. Honestly, truly, him.

“I-”, he stuttered, his own anxious smile stopping him. Her thumbs pressed into the lines, urging him to keep going. It softened, in that earnest way only he knew of. “I think I fell back on this earth to be with you, Julie. I think- I know I’m yours.” That incredulous laugh erupted from his chest again, so full, as if it’d been waiting. “I’m so glad I get to hold you.”    

There was so much she wanted to say - that she was his, has always been his, that it was insane because they were so young, but what the hell was time anyway? Julie wanted to be with him, forever, until forever disintegrated like smoke between her fingers.

Now, she cradled his cheeks and he was warm. And he told her he loved her, in ways she never expected him to.

Instead of speaking, Julie kissed him. Her lips were sticky from soda and his still held the taste of lovesick words and lyrics, but it was perfect. Their mouths puckered from smiling, that damned kiss from months ago replaced by this one. It felt as if all her wishes, her restless midnight questions, all were granted by one simple touch. By his arms wrapping around her and hers gripping onto his jaw and hair. So tight, so close, as if the tides of Fate would pull the other away right this second.

But nothing happened that second. And the one after that. And again, again, again. They kissed and the universe allowed them to.

Julie didn’t think there was a more beautiful way to fall in love.

With a quiet thrill leading up her spine, she told him. “I think this year might be fun,” the girl grinned against his lips. “The first year of forever of giving my heart to you.”

His tender gaze rested on hers, relaxed hands caressing her back. Love was a good look on him. “Are you gonna say stuff like that now? To fuck with me?”

She giggled, glee bursting at the seams. “You started!”

“Yeah.” Luke trailed off, a dopey smile glittering his eyes. Just as he leaned in for another kiss, he stilled. “Oh! I was writing some stuff for a song!” Nodding at the discarded notebook on the piano, he asked: “Wanna work on it?”

Just like that, they were back to being Luke and Julie. Singers, musicians, writing partners, best friends, each other’s forever.

Propping the glittery crown on his head, she matched his fond expression and went to sit on the piano bench. “Yeah, show me.”

Julie would look back on that moment and smile. Two seventeen year olds, defying Fate and the Universe and everything in between, mocking the stars that yes, Luke and her did belong together. There was strength in knowing their forever was predetermined, that they knew it wouldn’t be eternal, but that that was okay. Every second mattered then. Every laugh became fuller, a kiss more passionate, a smile brighter. They spent a lifetime, counted in quick adolescent years, sharing their hearts.

For a while, Luke was hers. And forevermore would they be together - in the whispers of songs, in memories, in lingering cologne on clothing.

It was the sweetest, most adventurous romance of all.  

But that wasn’t important now. Luke sat next to her, held his notebook out, and together they did what they knew best. When the clock struck midnight, all he did was kiss her again.

“You know,” he muttered, lips brushing her ear. “The things we said? Might make for a killer song.”  

Julie’s nose scrunched up in delight, thumbing to a fresh page and clicking her pen. Nuzzling into his neck and interlacing their free hands, she swore she felt it. Their tether. It was real - just as real as him loving her and her loving him. It was there. She took a deep breath.  

“Let’s do it.”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @unsaid-emily​ @willexx​ @ourstarscollided​ @constantly-singing​ @ruzek-halstead​

[sneezyminniejo]

Happy Birthday To Uh Oh

I wanted to put out a birthday sickfic because it’s my birthday! So here ya go.

TW emeto

Jungkook had woken up feeling completely off. He wasn't able to fully place the feeling and sighed as he got out of bed for another day of busy schedules. As he got ready for the day, he found himself being far more sluggish than usual. When it came time for breakfast, Jungkook found that he wasn’t all that hungry, so he just had a piece of toast and an apple.

Seokjin was the first one to notice anything, glancing over to the maknae, who appeared to be falling asleep with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. “Jungkook, are you feeling okay?” Jungkook startled out of whatever daze he was in and hummed. “I’m just tired, hyung. I don’t think I got enough sleep last night.” Seokjin accepted the response and went back to making eggs.

As the other member bustled about the dorm to get ready for the day, they too took note of Jungkook’s listlessness. They gave both the eldest and the youngest questioning glances and was given the same response of Jungkook just being tired.

During dance practice, Jungkook’s listlessness was especially apparent. His moves were slow and clunky. In fact he almost ran into Jimin a couple of times. Vocal practice wasn’t much better. Jungkook was struggling to reach the higher notes that were normally easy for him to reach. His voice also lacked the usual spark that was there even if they were just running scales. It eventually got to the point that Yoongi told Jungkook to go to his studio to take a nap on the couch. Jungkook accepted and left the group shortly thereafter.

While the youngest was napping, the other six decided to confer for a quick meeting. “Do you think he’ll be alert enough for what we have planned this afternoon? He doesn’t even seem to remember what today is.” Hoseok said. 

“I think he’s just really tired. He did go to bed after the rest of us did. I think we should continue with operation surprise party.” Jimin had said.

After about thirty minutes, Taehyung went to wake up Jungkook to go get dinner with him before heading back to the dorm. It was his job to keep the youngest distracted while the others got the dorm ready for the party. When Taehyung entered the studio he found that Jungkook appeared to have just woken up.

When Jungkook woke up from his nap, he realized why he’d been feeling so off all day. He was sick. Upon waking, he had a headache and was starting to feel a bit nauseous.

Right after he had come to this realization, Taehyung entered the studio. "Hey Kookie, hyungs want us to go grab dinner for them and bring it back to the dorm." "Okay, I'll be out in a sec hyung." Taehyung closed the door and waited for Jungkook.

Jungkook came out of the studio shortly, and he realized that he really wasn't hungry for anything and that he'd probably puke if he tried to eat anything. He followed Taehyung to a pizza joint, where the got five pizzas. Jungkook also talked his hyung into getting some rice and chicken for a side.

On the walk home, Jungkook's nausea was beginning to build. He started to take calculated breaths in hopes of staving off puking until he got inside. Puking all over the street would be far too embarrassing. The smell of the food was making it even harder for him.

Jungkook ran inside the second they reached the dorm. All of a sudden, all the lights were turned on."HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNGKOOK!" Jungkook was so shocked at the surprise party and the fact that he had evidently forgotten his own birthday, that the nausea had momentarily subsided. Only momentarily.

Hoseok brought out the cake and everyone started singing. Suddenly Jungkook's stomach decided that it needed to be empty five minutes ago, so he didn't even have time to find a trash can before he threw up all over the floor. Jungkook is a coughing and spluttering mess, trying to not puke anymore than he already has, and is failing miserably. Every time he thinks there might be a lull so he can dash off to the bathroom, or sink, or something, his stomach contract violently, causing more of the vile liquid to resurface.

Needless to say the other six members were completely shocked at the scene before them. No one had any inkling that Jungkook was sick. They all thought that he was just tired.

It had also, apparently, been a mistake to have Hoseok carry the cake. Being a sympathetic puker, Hoseok didn’t stand a chance against the maknae’s near projectile stream. Normally he would have some kind of warning so he could potentially remove himself from the situation, but this was not the case. Hoseok practically threw the cake at the nearest person in hopes of not puking on it. That person was Jimin.

Jimin had managed to take the cake from Hoseok mostly unscathed. There was now some smudging in the frosting, but otherwise the cake was safe. Jimin went to put the cake on the counter while the others tended to the two that were busy spilling their stomach contents all over the floor of the dorm.

Since Taehyung was right next to Jungkook, he quickly placed the food they brought home off to the side and grabbed the bucket next to the door that they keep their umbrellas in and emptied it out. He thrust it underneath Jungkook’s mouth during one of the brief lulls, and began rubbing his back in hopes of comforting the younger.

Yoongi decided to help out Hoseok. He grabbed a nearby trash can and during a lull, put the can in the younger’s arms and led him away from the room. Namjoon went to grab cleaning supplies, and Seokjin went to the medicine cabinet to find their thermometer and any other medicine they might need.

After Jungkook’s intense display, he quietly uttered the word “dizzy” and Taehyung helped lead him to the couch so he could sit down sooner rather than later. Jimin joined the other two maknaes on the couch and started combing his hands through the youngest’s hair in hopes of giving him added comfort.

It didn’t take long for Seokjin to return with his supplies, nor did it take long for Namjoon to return with the supersorb, towels, mop, and buckets. Taehyunng decided to help their leader in cleaning up, since there were two piles of sick and two people would get the job done faster.

The first thing Seokjin did was take Jungkook’s temperature. “Aish Kookah, you have a moderate fever of 101.2. Why didn’t you tell anybody you were sick?” Jungkook, who currently had his head on Jimin’s shoulder and was utterly exhausted from the physical strain of vomiting said, “I didn’t know I was sick. I honestly thought I was tired until shortly after the nap in Yoongi-hyungs studio. I also thought that I wouldn’t throw up until long after returning to the dorm.” Jungkook glance down for a moment before glancing back up to his hyung. “Hyung could you make me some soup please?” Seokjin nodded and went to the kitchen to start making soup.

Several minutes later, Namjoon and Taehyung had finished cleaning up the vomit and Namjoon decided to take his accumulated trash out along with the bucket the Jungkook had been sick in so he could hose it off real quick. Upon the slightly worried look from Jimin about whether that was a good idea, Yoongi and Hoseok had reemerged and Yoongi gave Jungkook a freshly changed trash can, while Hoseok went to help Seokjin in the kitchen.

Taehyung grabbed the pizza and chicken that had been discarded and brought it to the kitchen as well before going on social media to announce there would be no birthday vlive stream for Jungkook today as he had fallen ill. He then helped Seokjin and Hoseok put the soup into bowls. The three brought the bowls of soup into the living room and handed out the bowls to the various members and they turned on the tv to watch Iron Man.

“Sorry you had to get a stomach bug on your birthday Kook.” said Jimin solemnly. Jungkook just gave Jimin a look before eating another spoonful of soup and said “It’s okay hyung. I was so out of it today that I had forgotten that it was my birthday until we got back to the dorm and you all shouted ‘Happy Birthday’.” They all gave him a sympathetic look. 

Hoseok decided to break the silence. “Can you try to give us some warning next time you’re about puke, so we don’t have a repeat of earlier?” Everyone laughed at that because it was obvious that what had happened earlier was extremely sudden and they also knew that Hoseok was joking in hopes of lightening the mood.

After a couple of days Jungkook was feeling much better and the seven members had a proper celebration. Jungkook did his birthday vlive and assured fans that he was doing significantly better than on his birthday and just told them that he had caught a stomach bug and left out the very disgusting details of what had happened.

[ragingbookdragon]

The Beds We’ve Made Final Part

Kurt x De Sardet

Word Count: 2,440 Warnings: None

Author’s Note: Oh look at that, I’ve finished a WIP while undergoing a midlife crisis! Enjoy! -Thorne

           It wasn’t real, he told himself. The annoying sensation of his heart fluttering in his chest when he caught sight of her. Or heard her voice. Or her laugh. It wasn’t real when he watched her explode with glee when she saw the Naut walking their way, Síora and Aphra in tow. And it certainly wasn’t real when he saw her throw her arms around the young captain’s neck, expressing her relief at his recovery.

           Oh, but it was real. That vine of thorns that slunk in his chest, curling tighter and tighter around his heart until the sight of it became too painful to watch and he had to avert his gaze for fear of making a fool of himself—and embarrassing her. That was the last thing he wanted, for De Sardet to be ashamed of herself because of him. And that seemed to knock all the air from his lungs, leaving him breathless in the face of his truth.

           What did he have to compare to Vasco? Sure, they both lowborn, excluding the whole ‘Vasco’s-Actually-A-Noble’ thing, but the Naut had status. And with his loyalty restored in his guild, it meant he had power. Kurt had no doubt that the Naut would come out a commander before his thirty-fifth year—it was only a matter of time. But what could Kurt offer De Sardet that would make even a smidge of a difference when you compared him to Vasco? Hell, he didn’t even have a childhood to possibly reminisce happily about. He spent his life fulfilling contract after contract, coin purse after coin purse. Where was his honor? Where was the life he could give her? Of happiness? Of joy? Where was—

           “Kurt!”

           An almost painful grip had settled onto his bicep and, curse himself, he startled like a doe in a clearing. His head shot up, eyes wide as he gaped at the very woman he drug himself for, her own gaze slightly worried.

           “What?” he dumbly blurted out, quickly darting his eyes to the other members of their troupe, all staring back at him with cocked brows.

           De Sardet pulled away and he missed the warmth already. “I was calling for you and you weren’t responding.” Her gaze narrowed. “Are you well?”

           He felt foolish. The type of foolish that made his skin crawl and itchy, and he cleared his throat, forcing himself not to flush.

           “I’m fine,” he nodded. “I was lost in thought.”

           Gauging her reaction, Kurt knew that she wanted to keep asking to be sure, so he offered her a smile. Or at least he thought he did. He was sure it was more of a grimace.

           “Really, your excellency,” he said, tightening his voice with, “I’m fine.”

           By the way her eyebrow arched, he knew that she didn’t believe a word that came out of is mouth, but the forceful remark made her tip her head in acknowledgement and she glanced back at Vasco.

           “Well, they were going to the tavern in celebration of Vasco’s recovery.” Meeting his steely gaze, she added, “I was going to join them after seeing Constantin, but if you’d rather go with them, I understand.”

           For a moment, he briefly considered it. Getting drunk would happen a lot faster if she weren’t there to start it. But then again, he was a jealous, envious, and greedy son of a bitch, and any moment he could soak up her presence without the threat of someone else taking her away from him was a moment he was going to covet like it was the rarest of jewels.

           He cleared his throat. “I’ll come with you.” The others chuckled and he griped, “Someone might try to hurt you.”

           De Sardet snorted as she waved the others off and started up the stairs. “Oh please. We both know I can take care of myself.”

           “Be that as it may, I’m still your bodyguard.” And before he could shut his mouth, he grunted, “And the one who pays me.”

           She didn’t turn around, and she didn’t have to for him to know that his remark upset her. The way her shoulders set, and her chin tilted up told him otherwise.

           They entered the palace and he murmured, “That was unworthy of me. I apologize.”

           De Sardet heaved a sigh and shrugged. “It is what it is.”

           Nearing the throne room, he felt a shift growing between them and before he could help himself, Kurt reached out and grasped her elbow, stopping her in her tracks. She didn’t pull away, which relieved him more than he cared to admit, but the suspicious look on her face made his stomach roll uncomfortably and he realized that it would appear badly for them if someone saw them—fuck it, he didn’t care anymore.

           “I didn’t mean that Lady De Sardet. Not in the slightest.”

           She shook her head. “I told you Kurt, it is what it is.” Tipping her head to the door, she added, “We need to see Constantin. Can we talk about this lat—”

           “We’re gonna talk about it now.” He interrupted, grip tightening ever so slightly on her arm, and he watched the pride swim in her gaze, daring him to try to change her mind.

           “And if I say no?” De Sardet challenged coolly, eyes narrowing into a heatless glare.

           Kurt leaned close until they were nose to nose. “I’m afraid that’s not an option, my lady,” he murmured.

           They stared one another down for a minute, neither willing to give on their stance until she huffed and shook him off.

           “Fine,” she agreed. “Let’s go to the residence then.”

           And suddenly Kurt felt his hands start sweating as she passed him by, marching towards the doors, leaving him in the dust.

***

           It wasn’t the first time he’d been in her bedroom. And shit, saying that made him feel dirty, like some type of lecherous peeping Tom. While all of the times he’d ever been in her room had been to roll her out of bed and to practice, there’d never been any type of emotion between them—other than her absolute loathing at being woken up by the smug mercenary.

           But now? Now they’d been dancing around one another with thinly, very thinly, veiled innuendoes. And sharing tents. They’d shared a goddamn tent and Kurt didn’t sleep a wink that night because every time she brushed up against him in her sleep, his heart hammered like a blacksmith was pounding it with a mallet, and a warmth split his gut in two that made his face burn with embarrassment.

           And she didn’t even notice. Not then, and certainly not now as she busied herself with pulling off her fancy gray tricorn, setting it aside before moving on to the weapons belts. Each undoing made Kurt’s heart skip just a bit faster and when she finally pulled the armored coat off, she glanced back at him with a funny look.

           “Kurt?” she called. “Are you going to take off your armor?”

           “My—my armor?” his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and she nodded.

           “You can’t exactly sit comfortably with a great sword attached to your back,” she explained, and he watched her as she began to shift the cushions around on the floor, just against the trunk at the foot of her bed.

           “I’d also assume that clunky armor isn’t comfortable to sit in.” She shoved at him playfully as she moved around her room, grabbing a bottle of wine.

           Somehow, Kurt managed to make his hands move and his fingers to undo the belts holding his sword and armor in place. It left him in his tunic and leather pants, and he lent the gear up beside the doorway and when he turned, she was already perched on the pillows, reclining back.

           “Sit with me,” she said, waving him over and he walked on less-clumsy feet to her, taking the seat beside her. He grunted as his knees popped and she giggled. “Old much?”

           “I am not old,” he retorted indignantly, swiping the bottle from her to uncork it and take a swig. “I’m in my prime, thank you very much.”

           “Oh ho?” De Sardet countered, then took back the bottle and gestured around them. “And the silence outside that I’m hearing is obviously your suitors waiting for you to lay them, hmm?”

           A grin came across her lips at his pinched expression and she took a drink, then passed the bottle back. And a silence fell over them for a while as they simply drank with one another.

           “You know,” she started after a time. “It is surprising that you never married, Kurt.”

           He almost choked on the wine going down. Almost. Meeting her gaze, he questioned, “Why’s that?”

           De Sardet shrugged, explaining, “Well, you wer—are young and strong. I always assumed you’d find a wife in Serene.”

           “I would’ve, but I had to royal greenies to raise,” he teased, nudging her in the ribs. He wasn’t drunk enough to not control his actions, but just tipsy enough to loosen his lips and his feelings. Thank the gods, because if they’d tried to talk while he wasn’t buzzed, he’d have spluttered like a pierced hose.

           “Oh piss,” she laughed. “Constantin and I knew how to take care of ourselves even without weapons protection.” Turning, she cocked her elbow on the trunk and peered at him with amusement.

           “Tell me honestly, Kurt. Why didn’t you ever marry and settle down? Haven’t you always wanted a family? Or at least some semblance of it that wasn’t the guard?”

           Her questions dug deep, deeper than he wanted to go into his own heart. Of course, he wanted that. He wanted that more than anything now that his worst nightmare was burned away…but only if it was with her. His mouth was moving before he could shut it.

           “Only if you’re the one I do it with,” he confessed and his mouth snapped shut when her eyes widened, shock splattering across her face.

           “What?” De Sardet whispered, and he wasn’t sure if she wanted him to repeat it because she hadn’t heard or if she did and she wanted him to say it again.

           “I—” he started, then shook his head. This was a bad idea. “It was nothing. A slip of the tongue.” Kurt turned away, but stopped when her hand caught his chin, turning him back towards her.

           “My lady, I—”

           “Do you mean that Kurt?” she asked quietly and one look into her unfathomable gaze had him sinking deeper and deeper.

           “Yes,” he breathed, trying to ignore the way her touch burned him alive, all in the best way. “I…I know that I was your Master-At-Arms all this time, and you were young then, and I didn’t think anything of you.”

           De Sardet huffed slightly. “Ouch.”

           Kurt chuckled, then his smile fell as he admitted, “But now, Lady De Sardet…you have become a beautiful and wonderful woman. A woman that any man would be lucky to even be in the presence of.”

           His icy gaze searched hers. “Everything that I want, everything that you said…a wife…a family…I want that, but only if it means that you’re the one beside me.” He reached up and cupped her cheek. “I—I love you, Lady De Sardet.”

           For a moment, she didn’t speak, and for a brief moment, Kurt wondered if he’d spilled his guts only for her to hand them back in disgust. Until of course her hand covered the one at her cheek and her eyes crinkled with mirth in the way that set his soul aflame.

           “See, that wasn’t so hard now was it, Kurt?” she grinned, pulling away to rise to her feet. De Sardet spun and held out a hand, and when he took it, she hauled him to his feet, enjoying the way his arms automatically wound around her.

           “Was this a test, my lady?” he mused, and she shrugged.

           “I don’t know, maybe?” her nonchalance made him chuckle and he bent down to capture her lips, only to be stopped by a pointer finger and a cocked brow.

           “Uh…”

           “Magic phrase?” she whispered sweetly, and Kurt smirked.

           “May I get into your knickers, please?”

           De Sardet swatted at his chest in anger, though laughter peeled from her all the same.

           “Oh you—you—you!”

           “You what?” he retorted, twirling them around to near the bed.

           “You are such a ma--AN!” De Sardet cried when her knees hit the bed and she tumbled back onto the sheets, landing with an ‘oof’. Suddenly a weight was on her and she looked up, seeing Kurt smiling down at her.

           “You didn’t say the magic phrase,” she pouted, and he leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead.

           “I love you,” he murmured, pulling back to meet her eyes once more.

           De Sardet felt a flush crawl under her skin and she grumbled, “Well, it was ‘may I please kiss you?’, but this works too.”

           Kurt chuckled. “Good to know…but I have to ask…do you love me too?”

           She stared at him. “Do you think I’d’ve let you into my bedroom if I didn’t?”

           He shook his head. “I wanna hear you say it.”

           “Is that a command, Captain Kurt?” she purred, sliding her thigh up between his legs in a way that made him let out a throat growl.

           “It’s going to be if you keep that up,” he countered lowly and she grinned wickedly.

           “In that case…” he barely got a word in before she shoved him over and straddled his hips, enjoying the crimson that spread across his cheeks when he gaped up at her.

           She placed her hands on his chest and stared at him for a moment, innocently murmuring, “I do love you, Kurt. Very much so.” Her eyes took on a sad tone. “Which is why when you didn’t tell me about the coup…I was so hurt.”

           His face fell and he sighed. “If I could go back in time, I would tell you everything, my lady.”

           De Sardet shifted slightly and motioned for him to sit up. When he did, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

           “Promise me that you’ll never hide another secret from me.” Tilting her head, she added, “And I will promise the same to you. Every inch of my soul will be exposed to you.”

           Kurt couldn’t agree fast enough. “I promise. I promise my loyalty and truth to you. For all of time,” he vowed, and she smiled, pressing her forehead to his.

           “And I you, my love.”

[pod95]

Pairing: Finn Balor X OFC (Ciara)

Word Count: 1310

Warnings: Mature to explicit as the story goes on.

Description: After moving to the USA from England to start her career as an NXT superstar, Ciara gets to meet her long time crush, NXT champion Finn Balor. It's clear the pair have chemistry, but when tensions start to rise, will they find they want more than a no strings attached relationship?

So this is the first piece of fanfic I have written literally ever. I will be posting them here periodically, but I already have 6 chapters out on my Wattpad, AO3 and FanFiction pages.

This series will involve romance, drama and (although it will take a little while) some smutt too. Hope you enjoy it! 😊

Chapter 4: Up Close and Personal

I awoke startled to the sound of my roommate banging on my door. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I checked the time on my phone, 9:36. Shit! I'd slept through both of my alarms and needed to be at the Performance Center by 10 for my first day. I opened my bedroom door and a panicked Alex was standing on the other side.

"You're gonna be late! Quick, take a shower and I'll drop you off on my way to work." She handed me some towels as I gave her a thankful look before rushing into the bathroom to get ready.

I don't normally sleep in but I didn't get back from the party until late and I definitely went overboard with the alcohol. Fergal and I talked way into the night before sharing a taxi back to our respective homes. Nothing happened obviously, despite my drunken attempts to flirt with him. I cringed at the thought of my clumsy pickup lines and awkward attempts at being alluring. I would have to be very careful around Fergal from now on, after all this was the second time in as many days I was trying to wash away my shame with water and shampoo.

I was washed, dressed and in the car in record time, arriving at the Performance Center a little after 10. Not too bad considering how late I woke up.

"Ciara! Follow me," Paul greeted me as I entered the lobby, "so like I said before, you debut in 3 weeks. You'll be entering into a feud between Tegan and Dakota as Tegans tag partner. Obviously you're very experienced in the ring but here in NXT we have our own rules, own way of doing things so you'll be working with some of our trainers today just to help you adapt."

He led me to a ring, where I was taught the basics of wrestling for the WWE.  There were so many rules, some of which didn't even make sense. Obviously certain moves were banned, no blading, no head shots, all the usuals. But then there was a lot of differences too. Matches often have "agents" that help to set up a match, if you wanted to use certain weapons you need written approval, and don't even get me started on the list of banned words. I was starting to become worried that I was out of my depth here.

After going through the rules and doing some initial training, I was introduced to Steffanie (Tegan Nox), Cheree (Dakota Kai) and Victoria (Raquel Gonzalez)

"Oh hey you're working with us right?" Steffanie asked, extending a friendly hand.

"Yeah! I'm Ciara! Looking forward to working with you all." I introduced myself to the girls and got to know them a little better before getting to work on our tag match

We'd been working for a couple of hours and had some good spots perfected. It was just the finish left to go, where I would hit my finishing move ( a Canadian Destroyer I called the "Natural 20") on Dakota and make the pin.

After practicing it a couple of times, I began to feel like someone was watching me. Glancing around the room, I spotted Fergal, leaning casually against a wall and observing our practicing.

Thankfully for my heart he wasn't shirtless today, in fact he wore a baggy hoodie which concealed his physique like a well hidden secret. I gave him a small smile and turned back to the girls.

"If I might offer some advice..." Fergal interrupted.

"Please." I gestured for him to join us in the ring.

He climbed up onto the apron and jumped over the top rope, clearly showing off.

"Your finisher is a Canadian Destroyer right? It's a good move-"

"Thanks!"

"-But, it's a little overplayed. In WWE alone there's Sin Cara, Adam Cole, Rey Mysterio and Chelsea Green who use it. If you wanna stand out, I'd switch it up a little."

I didn't know how to respond. He was right of course, but I'd always had the same finisher. I didn't want to change it.

"I've always had the same finisher, it means a lot to me. I don't wanna do a different one."

"I'm not saying to do a different one. I'm saying to tweak it a little."

After thinking it over for a few moments, I still didn't have any idea what Fergal was getting at.

"How?" I yielded, knowing that it would result in a cocky smile.

"Have you ever seen anyone do a springboard Canadian destroyer," he smirked.

"I haven't.."

"There's a reason for that. Its not done that often."

He took his hoodie off and threw it into the corner of the ring, revealing a tight vest which hugged his torso.

"Jump at me," Fergal instructed, taking me by surprise slightly. Physical contact with people who are practically strangers wasn't unusual in our line of work, but I still felt nervous at the thought of being that close to him. I did as he told me.

Taking a slight running start, I jumped at Fergal, his strong arms catching me beneath my thighs. As he held me there, explaining the next part of the move to me, two things crossed my mind. The first was that this man was even stronger than I realised. He was holding my full body weight with only his forearms and not even breaking a sweat. The second thought was how close his face was to my chest.

"Right, now I'm gonna bounce your back off the top rope, kinda like a rope assisted powerbomb, only on the rebound, jump over my shoulder into the Canadian Destroyer. OK?"

He spun me around and bounced me off the top rope, but I didn't quite have enough momentum and ended up bashing my chin on his shoulder blade.

"Ahh!" Fergal put me down gently before inspecting my chin.

"Are you OK? Can you move your jaw?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine, don't think it's injured at all, just hurt a bit."

Relieved, he backed off a little, seeming a little guilty that his suggestion had hurt me.

"Shall we try again?" I smiled at him, hoping to reassure him that I was fine and he had nothing to feel bad about.

"OK, but this time you need to really just dive over my shoulder OK? It'll be easier with the girls cause they're smaller."

We went again, and this time I used my full body weight to push myself back off the top rope, Diving elegantly over his shoulder and completing the move. It was a little clunky due to never having done it before, but after a few more attempts, I was able to do it perfectly.

After we'd finished practicing, I collapsed in the ring exhausted. Fergal handed me a bottle of water before sitting cross-legged next to me.

"Good job today. You worked really hard."

"Things are a lot different here in the big leagues huh?" I commented, sitting up and taking a much needed sip of the water. Fergal chuckled.

"You'll get used to it. I can see why Paul likes you."

It was only upon hearing this that something occurred to me.

"Wait, you were here to train too right? Damn, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to talk up all your ti-"

"Dont even worry about it. I came here today to keep an eye on the newbies, " he smiled, reassuringly.

"I know but you could have been helping the others and instead you were stuck with m-"

"Are you hungry?" Fergal interrupted "I'm starving. Come on, I'll treat us to dinner," he stood up, helping me to my feet and leading me out of the training room before I had a chance to refuse, not that I would have done.

[passionate-reply]

This week on Great Albums: we are FINALLY talking about the Pet Shop Boys! They’ve only been my favourite band since I was, like, eight. Whether you want to understand the hype or you’re already Team PSB, come check out this video and hear all about 1990′s Behaviour. (Or read the transcript, below the break.)

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! It’s time for me to finally do a video on one of my favourite bands of all time, and the very first band I obsessed over when I was a kid: the Pet Shop Boys! Their fourth LP, 1990’s Behaviour, is considered by many to be their best work, and it’s also one of my personal favourites of theirs, so it seems like a great place to start.

The preceding Pet Shop Boys LP, 1988’s Introspective, was their deepest dive into densely-arranged, nightclub-ready post-disco compositions. Nowadays, people tend to praise it for its more experimental and baroque qualities, but it’s also very much a party album, blending synth-pop with house and rave influences.

Music: “Domino Dancing”

At the cusp of the 1990s, there was certainly no shortage of interest in upbeat, rave-y party music, and the so-called “Madchester” scene was in full swing. But the Pet Shop Boys’ follow-up to Introspective would take their sound in a different direction. They went to Germany to work with Harold Faltermeyer, best known for his instrumental synth smash “Axel F.” There, surrounded by Faltermeyer’s collection of analogue synthesisers, they would create an album that was...well, kind of a downer.

Music: “Being Boring”

Behaviour’s opener, “Being Boring,” is a track whose reputation probably precedes it--it’s one of the best known Pet Shop Boys songs, and over the last thirty years, it’s become emblematic of its era. “Being Boring” is a stark and pensive reflection on the tragedy of the young lives lost to the AIDS epidemic, and the uncanny strangeness of getting older while knowing a lot of others didn’t have that luxury. But at the same time, there’s something surprisingly jubilant and triumphant about the way that chorus rises up, almost like exultation at having survived, even though the verses feel more downbeat. Lyrically, the focus on “having never been boring” puts focus on having lived a vibrant life moreso than it does the silence of the crypt. Behaviour might be a somber album, but it’s not without a sense of hope or optimism; just listen to the track “The End of the World.”

Music: “The End of the World”

While “Being Boring” deals with the very adult gravity of death, grief, and survivorship, “The End of the World” asks us to imagine the petty romantic squabblings of teenagers, and their magnified sense of importance. While its title is a bit ambiguous, the song itself is quite clear: what is going on here is, by no means, the end of the world! Like I said, Behaviour is far from all doom and gloom, though it has sort of gotten that reputation. While acclaim for Behaviour is certainly as common among hardcore Pet Shop Boys fans as it is anyone else, I’m tempted to think that some of the praise it receives from relative outsiders is connected to this perception of it as the “serious” Pet Shop Boys album, that deals with real issues instead of being packed with fun pop songs. While I like gloomy, serious music as much as anybody, and personally prefer it to the more light-hearted releases, there’s no reason to predicate appreciation for the Pet Shop Boys on their being cerebral or high-minded. But that seems to be a common plague of a lot of music criticism, particularly of that rockist sort. The track “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?” serves as its own sort of commentary on rock culture.

Music: “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”

In “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”, the titular question is posed to rock stars whose inflated egos make them think they have something meaningful to say about big issues like politics. The song’s rougher soundscape stands out against dreamier tracks like “Being Boring,” and perhaps kicks it slightly closer to sounding like a rock song. While I can certainly get behind a song that mocks rock and roll self-righteousness, it does seem a bit ironic in the context of Behaviour, an album that would see the Pet Shop Boys making a clear effort to tackle meaty, real-world issues. I suppose that any album released by artists who were already established in their career might be expected to include some consideration for the dilemmas that come with that territory. Another track that explores this theme is “My October Symphony.”

Music: “My October Symphony”

While never released as a single, “My October Symphony” is a popular track nonetheless. It was inspired by the life of the great Russian composer, Dmitri Shostakovich, and portrays the grave uncertainties presented to the artist by the collapse of Communism, and with it, the prevailing sense of mythology and moral values. Given the themes involved, many have interpreted it as a track that obliquely questions where famous queer artists like the Pet Shop Boys were going, in a world that had been devastated by AIDS. While it’s about a very different kind of musician, I certainly like to think it’s a track that “rhymes” with “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”, in that it also questions the relationship between artists and the values of the society around them.

Behaviour’s cover art recalls that of the Pet Shop Boys’ 1986 debut, Please, with a strong emphasis on empty, white space, and a small design in the center. While the relationship of its four panels is ambiguous, it could be interpreted as a representation of death--as a face turns away, the human figures disappear, leaving the still, unchanged inanimate objects behind. As children, we quickly learn that not being able to see something doesn’t mean the thing is truly gone, but nevertheless, we sometimes have a tendency to ignore things we wish would go away. Perhaps the cover of Behaviour is an allusion to the way world governments buried their heads in the sand, so to speak, regarding the AIDS crisis, hoping it would conveniently die down and vanish when it wasn’t being observed.

The title of “Behaviour” is perhaps even more mysterious and up to interpretation than the cover. There’s something very detached and clinical about that word--an impersonal ambiance. I’m reminded of the seemingly unsympathetic narrators of several tracks, such as “The End of the World” and “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?”, that seem to cast judgment on the actions of others without taking an interest in their emotional internality. They discuss “behaviours” as cut and dry phenomena, and focus on the actions that people take. While neutrality can be cold and condemnatory, it can also be a welcome change when introduced to a subject traditionally treated with hostility. In that light, I’m tempted to think of the title as referring to homosexual “behaviour,” contextualizing sexuality as less of a fixed identity, and something that one intrinsically “is,” and more about an action, a decision, something that one “does”--a mentality that a lot of people find rather liberating.

In introducing Behaviour, I described it as an album that’s often considered the Pet Shop Boys’ best work. But their 1993 followup to it, Very, is also a strong contender for that title, in the hearts of many of their biggest fans. *Very* has a lot more in common with *Introspective* than it does Behaviour, going back to rich, dense productions and upbeat, poppy love songs. The fact that the Pet Shop Boys managed to pull off two very different, but both very acclaimed, releases back to back speaks volumes about why people love them as much as they do. Whether you like them or not, they’re undoubtedly one of those artists who some people can turn to in just about any mood, or any season of life, and that’s a powerful thing.

Music: “I Wouldn’t Normally Do This Kind of Thing”

My favourite track on Behaviour is its lead single, “So Hard.” It’s one of my all-time favourite Pet Shop Boys tracks, and almost certainly my favourite of their singles. With its wryly bitter narrative of two-timing lovers, and harsh, clattering analogue synthesiser soundscape, “So Hard” has a pretty different feel to the rest of the album--dark and ominous, without that wistful, sentimental aura. But that’s exactly why I like it. The Pet Shop Boys were among the first artists to deliberately adopt analogue synths for the subjective qualities of their sound, and this track employs them in a way that’s reminiscent of what artists tend to do with them nowadays. It’s punchy, with that clunky, mechanistic analogue quality to it. Not a typical Pet Shop Boys song, but a damn good one nonetheless! That’s all I’ve got for today, thanks for listening.

Outro: “So Hard”

[yespolkadotkitty]

If you are taking requests. Reader is a chef that does at home cooking classes. Henry's family hired her to do a private cooking class for Henry's birthday. Henry decides that he needs more classes so books her for the month. Then takes her to Italy to source ingredients and wine.

Sweep Me Off My Feet, pt 1

“Dance, sweetheart?”

You looked up from your after-dinner macchiato to see Henry standing before you, hand out in invitation, his radiant smile showing just a hint of shyness. He cut a fine figure in his linen shirt, open at the neck, no tie. 

Rose-gold street-lights lit the Venetian piazza, casting long shadows and an air of romance over the entire area, cloaking it in mystery.

The two of you had spent a dreamy day together, exploring the picturesque Island of Sant Erasmo. The biggest island in the lagoon, Sant Erasmo was famed for its delicious local produce and its wine. After meeting the local farmers and hearing about their lives and crops, you had enjoyed a private vineyard tour and wine tasting. It had been such a leisurely, beautiful day. You had tamped down your annoyance when dinner time came. You’d wanted your time with Henry to last forever.

Helplessly, you suddenly felt this idyll slipping through your hands, sand through an hourglass.

Too much, too fast.

The anxiety of it all had churned in your stomach all through dinner – a delicious seafood risotto, littered with fat, garlicky prawns and butter-soft scallops, with a side of freshly baked, herbed breadsticks.

“Really?” You asked, nervous. You were an excellent chef but an awful dancer. “Why?”

“Because we can. Everyone else is,” he insisted, a grin tugging at his lips. It occurred to you that you had seldom seen him so carefree. “I do love to dance, you know,” he added, cheekily, and the mischief dancing in his blue eyes drew you in, irresistibly.

You shifted, trying to fight the battle between your wish to dance in Henry’s arms, and your intense discomfort at doing anything that involved co-ordination in public.

Finally the hopeful, boyish look on Henry’s handsome face won you over and you took his hand. His fingers closed around yours; warm, reassuring. He pulled you towards him, spun you around for a second. Giddy, you leaned into him as the string quartet outside the café started to play a gentle waltz. You breathed in the now-familiar scent of him, the tang of coffee and a kiss of woodsmoke and cedar.

“This is absurd.” But you rested your free hand on his broad shoulder just the same, and let him lead you in the steps. Heat radiated off his body through the pale, grey linen shirt he wore, and you looked down at your feet. “When was the first time you waltzed?”

“I Capture the Castle rehearsals. They didn’t use the footage in the end.”

You looked up into his eyes. They looked almost blue-black in the half-light as he met your gaze.  “Shame.”

He laughed softly. “It wasn’t. I was twenty-two, all gangly limbs.”

You’d seen the film. His character, Stephen Colley, was so beautiful in the flush of youth that it had hurt to breathe, looking at his rosy cheeks and lean build. “I sometimes – and it’s ridiculous – forget that you’re so…. Famous,” you breathed as he swayed you gently, confidently.

“Good.” His gaze dropped to your mouth, and that gorgeous tumble of chocolate brown hair fell into his face, a little long, a little messy. The way you liked it - that errant curl that teased his forehead was your favourite. “That’s what I wanted.”

The expression on his arrestingly handsome face – so naked suddenly, not a trace of artifice – made you bold suddenly. Or perhaps it was the alcohol. But you were in Venice with a man who made your heart turn over with joy with your chest. You were dancing a waltz in a piazza. Rose-gold light kissed everything, bathing the city and your heart in a kaleidoscope of fuzzy joy, and just for now, you would be brave. You would believe in magic, and you would believe in happy endings.

And you wouldn’t think further than this beautiful, vibrant, kind, man in your arms. He was solid and real and right now, he was yours.

Tears burned your eyes as your heart constricted. Right now, he’s mine. Yes, you would be brave.

And you would pay whatever cost would be levied later. And it would probably be high, but you suddenly couldn’t care.

“Is that all you want?” You tucked his tumbled hair back behind his ear. It felt so soft. That unruly curl sprang forward.

You’d surprised him. You knew because he held still for a long moment before continuing with the waltz. Someone else might not have noticed the slip, but you did. In some ways, you had never stopped noticing everything about him, ever since the day you’d met.

“Oh, sweetheart. You know what I want.” His words were so soft, they were nearly carried away by the notes floating off the nearby violins. But still you caught them. “You.” He swallowed and you watched the movement of his throat, transfixed for a second. “Any way I can get you. Any way you’ll have me.”

His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you a fraction closer. You pressed your face into his neck, loving the rasp of his stubble against your skin, knowing you had reached a tipping point. 

He wanted to make love to you. 

“Tonight?” Your words came out squeakier than you’d hoped. You wondered if Henry would laugh.

He didn’t.

“Tonight,” he confirmed, his voice dropping half an octave.

You stopped dancing, and he mirrored you . You both held still for a long moment. You closed your eyes, knowing that your decision was about to change everything between you two. Maybe forever.

Breathing in, you opened your eyes again. Henry stood before you still, so solid and real. And yours, for now anyway.

And you would take the now, for as long as it lasted. “Henry.”

“Yes, love?” He brushed his lips over yours, gently, a simple kiss without pressure, but a question all the same. He tasted of bitter black coffee, and of rich, sweet chocolate.

“Take me back to the hotel. Right now.” Before you could lose your nerve.

* * * * *

The rosy streetlights of Venice winked at you both as Henry navigated the maze of little streets. People gathered here and there, but the late hour meant it was mostly quiet. You could smell the salty edge of the lagoon, the heady scent of wine, the richness of chocolate and cream. Snippets of indistinct Italian reached you from far away windows.

Henry paused in a quiet alley to get his bearings. Behind him, the moon shone down on you both, bright and silent, hanging like a lightbulb in the endless black fabric of the night sky.

You slipped your arms around him as he pulled his phone from his pocket, bringing up Google maps. “Hmmmm. I swear it was just the next street along….”

The alley was silent and dark. And really quite nice, as alleys went. Closed shop windows were lined with flower boxes, the wooden containers bursting with campanulas, ivy and heliotrope. Their perfume filled with the air, mingled with Henry’s intoxicating cedar scent. 

You felt…  brave. Bold. Aroused.

“What if we didn’t wait until we found the hotel? “ you asked.

Henry’s gaze shot to yours, his mouth opening slightly in surprise. “Sweetheart, we shouldn’t-”

All the pent up desire you’d felt for this man in the months you’d worked together bursting out of you like a dam breaking. You grabbed the lapels of his button-down shirt - Henry, chic and casual in a linen shirt with no tie and the sleeves rolled to his elbows just about killed you - and pressed your mouth to his.

Dimly, you heard the clunky thud as his phone fell to the street floor, unnoticed. He slid his hands around your waist and pressed you to him, and you thrilled to the evidence of his need for you pressing urgently against your stomach. “Oh my God, Henry,” you murmured, aching already, wet under your pretty dress.

“Are you sure, love?” he bit off against your mouth, and you thought he sounded like a man on the edge of control, his words guttural and raspy. “Be. Sure.”

He pulled back and gazed into your eyes, and you saw something just a tiny bit feral in the blue depths. It made the pulsing need inside you kick up several notches.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

With a low growl in his throat, Henry scooped you up. You scissored your legs around his waist as he ravaged your mouth, the day’s growth of whiskers on his cheeks scraping at you pleasantly. He moved his attention down to your neck and you arched to give him better access. 

Henry moaned your name throatily as you squeezed a hand between your body to cup him through the denim of his worn jeans.

“Want you, now,” you murmured, impatient, your heart hammering. 

Henry deftly leaned you against the brick wall, keeping you held up with one arm whilst he undid the fly of his jeans with the other. You tugged his shirt tails out of the denim, covering him a little, and then you let yourself play.

He fell into your hand, no underwear barrier, hot and heavy and large, better than you’d imagined, all steel in velvet, and you savoured the stuttered, shuddering breath he let out when you palmed him, stroking until you found a rhythm that made him chant your name like a prayer in that gorgeous accent. 

He boosted you up a little higher, easy with his upper body strength, and you used your free hand to pop open the buttons of your shirt dress so he could lavish attention on your breasts. Your nipples peaked at the kiss of balmy breeze of the Venetian night. His tongue was warm and wet and his touch there sent a direct spiral down between your legs.

“Now,” you whispered urgently. You kept one arm around his neck, teasing the hair curling at his collar anchoring yourself as he reached down and toyed with you, working your thin cotton panties aside to feel how wet you were. You knew what he’d find and your heart raced as he groaned against your neck. 

“Baby girl, you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?”

You mewled a response and a hot rush of pleasure filled you as he circled the tight bud at the apex of your body. And the sudden, sharply delicious orgasm made you gasp out loud. You were beyond caring if you were discovered, the pleasure eclipsing any small doubts you had.

Henry brushed a gentle kiss over your mouth before he slid slowly, painfully slowly, inside you. You tilted your hips up just a little, and he pushed right into the hilt.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, and the expletive in that cut-glass British accent just destroyed you.

Then he started to move, bottoming out each time he thrust back in, and all coherent thought flew out of your head. His pelvis brushed your clit with each thrust and you bit your lip, trying desperately to be quiet, and only partially succeeding.

It was over quickly, both of you too aroused to last long. Your muscles convulsed around Henry’s cock, and you bit down on the curve where his neck met his shoulder to keep from crying out. Moments later, Henry followed you over the cliff, groaning into your hair, his chest heaving with the effort of being quiet.

You wound down slowly together, floating back to Earth. Henry gently set you back on the ground, frowning.

“I meant to have you in a bed, the first time.”

You grinned, feeling like a goddess, leaning up to kiss him, your body still trembling from the tiny aftershocks of really good sex. “No, but now we can enjoy round two at our leisure in the hotel.”

His delighted laugh echoed into the balmy Venetian night, and you held hands and walked the rest of the way back together.

******

Two months earlier

Your boss called your name and you looked up from the day’s menu to be prepared. Cooking was your calling, no doubt about it, but even working as a sous chef in a five-star hotel could be a drag when the clientele could be so exacting.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

Your boss beckoned you into his office and you crossed the kitchen briskly in your chef’s whites.

The best-looking man you’d ever seen waited in the tiny manager’s office, all dark hair and smouldering blue eyes, broad shoulders and lean hips.

“Mr Cavill, this is the best sous chef I’ve ever had,” your manager began, adding your name.

The stranger held out a hand, a smile tugging at his lips. “I can’t wait to work with you.”

To be continued....

Tagging some folk who may like this: @chamomilebottom (thanks for the gifs!) @brexrif @mary-ann84 @wolvesandhoundshowltogether @hnryycvll @henrythickcavill @henry-cavill-obsessed @ohjule @iloveyouyen @summersong69 @ly--canthrope @the-soot-sprite @littlefreya @dancingwendigo @fishcustardandclintbarton @gardensofwhimsy @wondersofdreaming @dr-kayleigh-dh @mrsaugustwalker @andahugaroundtheneck @pinkzsugar @geralt-of-baevia @radaofrivia @princess-of-riviaa 

[magpiemorality]

Ok so this is a slightly disjointed idea but, 24 hour diner with Virgil or Dee as waiter/person who works there and one of the boys is a regular customer, but who shows up at the oddest of hours. they talk one day and our customer boy tells him about slightly unbelievable happenings, and Virge/Dee isn't sure if they are making fun of him, but this continues. They become each others constant, cause life's hectic. Any ship :] - xaime

This isn’t entirely what you requested because my mind half read it and went off on a wild tangent, but I hope you enjoy! 

Combined with:

This isn't a prompt as much as it's a challenge; how many different names can you give Deceit in one short story without it being incoherent? - @loveceit

"It was a dark and stormy knight" listen, it was a pun and a combo of purple prose+virgil nickname so i figured it could become a story therefore you get it *goes back into the night* - Anonymous

AO3

***

The diner was always an interesting place to work. From the peppy college students to the millennials seeking a quirky date; from the families with rowdy kids to the construction workers that were on a project nearby; it was a great place to be a people watcher.

Just a shame Virgil didn't much like people. He was only there to finance his freelance work and pay for his rent, which made him the perfect candidate for the night shifts.

When he'd accepted the graveyard hours he'd assumed he could just get some work done, hang out in silence until the morning guy, some peppy high-school grad waiting to get into the community college a few blocks away, showed up to take over.

No one told Virgil that the night shift often got the most... interesting customers.

Case in point; D- uh, Dee something. It might have been Damien? Virgil was sure he'd introduced himself as Damien once, but he couldn't quite remember and the guy was a regular by now so he couldn't ask, either. Damien- or maybe Darren?- was a fascinating individual that had managed to pique even Virgil's lack of interest, coming in as he did every time Virgil was on shift without fail. It wasn't always the same time, sometimes Darren, or Dalziel, arrived as the night started around eight or nine (if the sun had gone down), and sometimes he arrived as late as four or five am, only a few hours before Virgil got to go home.

No matter what though, he always stayed until Virgil's shift ended, disappearing in the few minutes when Virgil headed in the back to change out of his apron and grab his stuff. What a mystery. Virgil might not have liked people but he adored a good mystery.

They talked a little every so often, just exchanging pleasantries when Virgil brought D- Derek?- his coffee or a slice of pie (homemade by the chefs but not remotely fresh; this wasn't actually the 50s and demand was too high for authenticity like that). The man was often working diligently away on a clunky laptop with no discernible brand, tap tap tapping providing a nicely soothing rhythmic background to Virgil's own work over at the counter. It was always the same volume, even when there was dead silence, or rain outside, not that Virgil consciously noticed that.

Once he almost caught a glimpse of what D...rake? No definitely not a Drake, eesh. Maybe Declan? Still not right... What Dee was going. It looked like coding, but not coding that Virgil really recognised. More like if the Matrix had been an actual thing of sorts, flickering symbols moving up and down and somehow forwards and backwards, deep into the screen. It made his head hurt a little and Dee- no wait, it was... it was... nope, gone again. Maybe Devon? Ew no. 100% not right.

Anyhow, since then Virgil hadn't ever tried to look again, feeling faintly queasy at the thought of seeing that screen again, and the mysterious Dee just kept tapping reliably away.

The mystery deepened when Virgil had to take a day shift one week. It was busy, a little annoying because he had work to do he would have to stay up late to do instead, and his sleeping pattern was immediately off-kilter after the change of rhythm, but there was something else. His regular D- David? No, too plain. He was more of a Despereaux, or a December, something like that... His regular wasn't there, and the absence was more noticeable than Virgil could have predicted. Even worse, there was some creepy man with crazy intense eyes who came in part way through Virgil's shift and would not. stop. staring. When he got his things and headed to go home the man just smiled at him brightly and he hurried to grab the bus, giving in to the urge to keep looking over his shoulder as he made his way back to his apartment.

He told Drew, Dara, Dolion, whatever his goddamn name was, next time he was on the night shift. It was like slipping into bed at the end of the day; how right it felt to be back under cover of darkness. Dylan, D-ax? That was a name right? Not his mystery regular's though... Dee seemed curious about where Virgil had been, when he served the guy his drink that night, and insisted he sit down for a chat while the diner was otherwise empty. Virgil, despite the work he needed to get done, agreed, and they spent a while having a comfortable and easy conversation that had them both laughing in turn.

That night Virgil left work with a smile on his face for the first time in a very long time.

It only took another few shifts before Desmond or Dexter or Diaz admitted he'd been rather worried when Virgil had changed shifts. He was equally worried about the weird guy that had shown up on that shift. "There are some bad people out there," he'd murmured, looking out the window into the dark streets with a faraway expression as Virgil hung on his every word. "And there are some even worse things than them that prowl the streets." He'd shot Virgil a soft smile, a little apologetic, and had turned the subject neatly onto Virgil's word, leaving the words lingering in the air, almost solid enough to touch as they followed Virgil around for the rest of the week.

That conversation turned into a part of the routine, sitting together over cups of hot, strong coffee, grinning and laughing and sharing thoughts on the world. Rarely did their own lives get much discussion, the past just seemed... unimportant somehow, when compared to the now and the what could be. Draco or Dorian or Dominic or whatever his name was, was quickly becoming Virgil's best friend, and from the genuine delight on Douglas or Diego or Daniel's face he felt the same way.

And one night his friend was late.

It was near closing and Dee still hadn't shown up. Despite the massive coincidence Virgil had never bothered to wonder why he seemed to know the right nights to visit the diner, subconsciously writing it off as nothing strange, but now he forced his worries down with the logical answer that Dee simply had other things to do.

It wasn't weird that he had never once failed to show up for the past... had it been more than a year now? Close to two, even? It... that wasn't weird...

It was weird as hell. But it wasn't anything to worry about; no that pleasure belonged to his absence. Even when Virgil went and changed and got his bag, wondering if tonight of all nights Dean or Dustin or Donovan would have appeared in that moment instead of his usual disappearance, but it wasn't to be.

The journey home felt wrong and Virgil was restless when he forced himself to go to bed, full of turbulent thoughts and concerns. "There are some bad people out there," his thoughts whispered in the early dawn light. "And there are some even worse things than them that prowl the streets."

And yet, somehow, he was there again the next shift. He looked tired, Dalton or Deacon or Demetrius. His eyes were dark and his hair ruffled, and his laptop was nowhere to be seen. He smiled though, when Virgil spotted him, already hunched down in the booth in the corner, the shadow of bruises on his face.

Virgil waited for the other lonely customer to finish up and head off before turning the never-used sign to CLOSED and bringing the entire pot of coffee over for them both. He wrapped his friend in a hug when he stood from the booth as Virgil approached, only making sure to put the pot down first.

When they fell back into the red leather bench seats, eyes on the table in front of them and silence thick, Virgil knew something was changed forever.

He looked up as Dee cleared his throat, a rueful smile on his face. "I owe you an explanation, Virgil," he said, voice hoarse and gravelly.

"Do you?" Virgil asked, looking at him curiously. Somehow it felt like he was actually seeing Dee now, like he was clear where he'd been slightly blurred before. And Dee just smiled again.

"Let me tell you a story. About a man living in a world he wasn't meant to, and someone who saved him."

Virgil's eyebrows furrowed together and he leaned forwards, elbows on the table so he could rest his chin in his hands.

"It was a dark and stormy knight," the man called Dante began. "That saved him..."

-

Masterlist | Buymeacoffee

[wowweeharrystyles]

Part 12 | Sunsets & A New Normal | 6.7k words

‘Sequins & Zippers’ Summary: An internship with Harry Lambert transformed into a job of a lifetime - Aurora Del Gatto finds herself touring the world with the one & only Harry Styles as his ‘Head of Wardrobe.’ Aurora is nothing but nerves & excitement as she packs her bags & almost 100 custom designer suits that belong to an unbelievably kind rockstar. She never thought she’d fall in love on top of it all.

A/N: &&&&& we’re back !!! I’ve set a new posting schedule for the rest of this story & will be posting every other week until the end of July. cannot believe there will only be 3 more parts after this one 😩 

Sequins & Zippers Masterlist

General Masterlist

Here’s Part 12 ! 

She’s gotta stop comparing things, Aurora thinks. Her “normal” doesn’t exist anymore. This is her normal now. 

A sweaty, t-shirt wearing, tattooed rockstar is her new normal. Who would’ve thought? Definitely not Aurora. 

The familiarity of the dark, low lit SoulCycle studio feels like her old normal though. At one point, this was a home away from home in NYC, even in London. It’s comforting to clip the clunky cycle shoes into the pedals after adjusting the seat exactly how she needs it. The feeling of the rubbery handlebars on her dry palms causes her to release a breath. Aurora almost forgets that Harry is sitting at the bike next to her. They’re towards the back, Aurora prefers it here and Harry seems to as well. She can feel him look at her. A smile flashes across his face when she meets his eyes.

The room gets a touch darker and the music gets louder and then there’s a voice over the speakers. If Aurora thought the Dallas heat was high but this studio feels like it’s surrounded by fire compared to it. She doesn’t mind it though. After 3 months in new countries and unfamiliar hotels, the heat is the least of her worries. Aurora’s been craving some sort of familiarity. This studio is the closest she’ll get for a few more weeks. 

Aurora lets herself forget about everything around her; about the stress, about Harry next to her, about the jetlag, about everything. She focuses on the beat of the music that she can feel rattle the room, the voice of the instructor and how her legs pedal to the rhythm of the song. It doesn’t take long til she forgets it all. 

Class ends sooner than Aurora would’ve liked. How is it that 45 minutes can seem so long on a plane but so short when you’re enjoying something? 

Aurora's unlocking one of the white lockers in the lobby when Harry groans. She hands him his shoes, phone and wallet then grabs her own bag. She gives him a questioning look, but he doesn’t see it. 

“Ror, I’m sorry,” he says looking towards the windows that line the front of the lobby. She follows his sightline. “We’ll have to go quick,” his eyes dart across what is visible on the street outside. “I think there’s only one.”

Aurora can’t see what he sees but she can feel his change in demeanor. Harry tucks his laces into the inside of his shoes and slips them on, not bothering to tie them.

“One what?” she asks as she puts her own shoes on. Harry moves himself to stand closer to her, almost blocking her into the small space by the lockers. 

“Pap.” Aurora looks up to him, shoe laces in her hands, foot propped onto the open locker. He drops a hand to the small of her back. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll be fine.” 

Aurora ties her shoes and tosses her bag over her shoulder. “Alright, lets go.” 

Harry’s hand moves from her back to grab her hand. As they walk towards the door Harry switches hands and moves to her other side, seamlessly. “The car is parked on the street towards the right. Pap is towards the left. I’ll give 'em one shot and they should leave us alone, but let's not hang around.” Harry squeezes Aurora’s hand. She squeezes back. 

“Okay.” 

Harry opens the door and moves his torso abnormally to block Aurora as much as he can. He can’t stop the paps from being here but he can limit what they see. He’s sure to keep his hand tight around Aurora’s. She can feel him pull, only slightly, away from her to show his face in the opposite direction. She keeps her head down and within seconds Harry is by her side again. Aurora can feel the slickness of sweat on Harry’s arm as he gets closer. The heat didn’t bother either of them, the sweat either. The sleeves of Harry’s tshirt are still rolled up and it only allows for more of his skin to press against hers. Aurora focuses on that rather than the possibility of a stranger in a bush taking her photo. 

When they get to the big black rental suv Aurora can feel Harry relax his grip. He doesn’t let go of her hand until he opens the passenger door, helping Aurora in. He closes the door once she’s settled in the seat. Once Harry is in the driver’s seat he starts the car and blasts the AC. 

Now the Dallas heat is top of mind. Harry takes a large gulp of his water and then offers it to Aurora. She takes it gratefully. Neither of them say anything until they stop at a red light a few blocks away. “Think you could hold off on a shower for a bit?” 

“What?” Aurora asks with a surprised laugh. 

“The sun is starting to set and heard about this garden to watch it from.” 

Aurora leans over the consol and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Okay.” She kisses his cheek again before settling back down in her seat. 

“I have it bookmarked, will you pull up the directions?” Harry asks as he hands Aurora his phone. 

The automated voice of the GPS guides them as they drive down unfamiliar streets. There’s a small smile on Harry’s face when Aurora turns to look at him as they drive into an almost empty parking lot. Before Harry turns off the car, he turns around and peers out all the windows. Aurora doesn’t comment on it and Harry doesn’t say anything but Aurora knows he’s looking to see if anyone has followed them. No cars and no new people stroll into the lot or walk down the path near the water in front of them. 

Harry gets out of the car wordlessly and Aurora gets her jacket out of her bag at her feet. She’s met with Harry opening the door for her and helping her out of the car after she slides her arms into her jacket. 

Harry is quiet and Aurora can feel that he’s still tense, the opposite of what he should be after working out. They walk in silence, both clearly seeking out the open bit of grass near the water where the sun is starting to fall at the horizon. 

“Everything alright?” Aurora asks, voice soft. She reaches out to him and pulls him to a stop by his elbow. Harry turns around and smiles at her after shaking his head and running a hand through his hair,

“Yeah, alright, just thinking.” 

“Harry.” 

“Just feel bad that there were paps there.”

“You can only do so much.” 

“I still feel bad.” 

“Please don’t. If it helps at all, I felt completely safe. It’s awful that you’re good at it, but it is what it is. You took care of me. It’s fine.” Aurora smiles at him. “Honestly, I’m surprised we got through an entire SoulCycle class without anyone saying a thing to you.” 

“Yeah, sometimes it’s surprisingly easy,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Aurora sits down on a soft piece of grass and Harry sits next to her. “Come here,” Aurora says to him, hand rubbing on his shoulder. He shuffles himself in close to her, his back falling against her chest and shoulder. Harry immediately grabs Aurora’s hand that is resting at his shoulder. Leaning partly against her bent knees, she supports his weight fully. Her free hand moves to push his hair back, uncaring to the sweat that still lingers at his roots. 

The sun in front of them is starting to disappear behind the horizon and the orange and pink haze that covers the water and grass and all the trees makes Harry’s skin appear much tanner than it is. He looks up to Aurora for a moment, his eyes more golden than green in this light. She smiles at him and can’t believe the sight in front of her. Her lips find his in a drawn out kiss and when they open their eyes the orangeness of the sky makes everything into black silhouettes. Aurora can no longer see the golden and green flecks in Harry’s eyes. He turns his head back to the view in front of them and sighs. 

“Thanks for this,” Aurora says softly.

“Thought we’d enjoy a calm night before getting back to work,” Harry explains. 

“Harry?” Aurora questions after a few minutes. “Have you thought about what’ll happen at the end of all this?” 

A scoff comes from Harry’s chest, “End of all this? What d’ya mean by that, Ror? Got plans to dissapear once your jobs done or something?” 

“No! End of all this as in end of tour, like come July, last show is done…” Aurora trails off. “How’re we gonna do us?” She asks the last question quietly. 

“We’ll figure it out.” Harry’s answer seems so sure, like he knows there’s no way they won’t make it work. “Are you worried that the last show will end and you’ll go back home to New York and I’ll fuck off to LA or London and that’ll be it?” 

“Don’t think it’s that.” 

“Cause you should know that I would never do that to you. If anything, I’d follow you back to New York.” 

“Would you really?” Aurora aks, surprise evident in her voice. 

Harry turns his head so he can look at her, even though the almost set sun has casted a shadow across her face. “If you’d let me, think I’d might.” 

“I don’t even have an apartment in NYC anymore, I technically live at home right now. Would you still follow me knowing it’s my childhood bedroom at the end of the trip?” 

“As long as those old 1D posters are put away.” 

Aurora laughs and gently pushes Harry’s shoulders. He barely moves, only jostles a bit, still all of his weight relaxed on her. 

“We’ve got time to figure this out, yeah? Don’t worry about it too much.” Harry sits up then and twists around to face Aurora on his knees. Both of his hands land on the grass on either side of Aurora. “Anyways, you might be sick of me by the end of tour,” he says with barely a centimeter between their noses. 

There’s only a split second before Aurora decides to close the gap between them. And there’s only another split second before she feels blades of grass poke through the fabric of her jacket as she falls the short distance to the ground. 

On the drive back to the hotel, Aurora enjoyed the calm silence between her and Harry, his calloused hand in hers and both of their lips a bit more red than normal. Aurora thinks she can get used to this new normal. Evening workouts. Drives to go watch the sunset. Whatever comes in between. Maybe even making a routine out of it when tour is over, in whatever city they find themselves in. Even the hiding from paps part she doesn’t mind having to add in her new normal if it means feeling like this; loved, safe, content, happy… she could go on and on.

| | | | | 

Aurora applies a face mask to her skin using precise motions, evenly coating the pale green clay like substance all over her face. She isn’t applying this face mask as her normal skin care routine. It isn’t a sunday morning or evening like it when she normally applies a messy face mask to rid her skin of any residue left from the week. She’s applying this face mask to feign a feeling of being put together, to feign feeling normal. 

Her breathing is surprisingly calm considering the way her phone was blowing up only 15 minutes ago and the erratic heartbeat that was escalating with each notification. Said phone is face down on the chair across the hotel room and on silent now. Aurora washes her hands and towels them dry before leaving the bathroom, the facemask barely starting to set. She turns on the small coffee maker that sits on top of a small table across from the bed, next to the annoyingly large hotel tv that she never turns on. When it beeps and the light turns on, instead of brewing a cup of coffee she runs the machine just with water, a random hotel tea bag in the chunky class mug. 

An unnecessary face mask and a random cup of tea. Aurora knows what’s happening. She wishes it wasn’t, though. She sits down on the chair that’s sitting in the corner by the window. The hot cup of tea in her hands keeps her present in some way even though she won’t ever be taking a sip of it. 

She starts making a list in her head, a way to organize the chaotic thoughts that are clouding any sense of judgement she has, a tool from her college provided therapist. 

She’s in Houston, Texas, in a hotel room, on her own. 

She’s exhausted, maybe a bit hungover after too many drinks at dinner with Sarah and Helene after the Dallas show last night. 

There are photos of her and Harry leaving SoulCycle in Dallas. 

There’s a video from the show in Melbourne when Harry turned to Aurora during Sweet Creature.

There’s a photo of her standing in the mix wearing Harry’s black and white Gucci jacket.

There are thousands of tweets with photos and videos of Aurora, now, some from older shows, a lot from the Dallas show. 

Many of those tweets are terrifying to her. 

She has people coming out of the woodworks trying to contact her. She wasn’t secretive about her job. She posted about it on instagram when the tour started. It’s not like her instagram had a huge following (though it grew day by day). But now it’s getting 100’s of followers, likes, and comments by the second. Aurora didn’t even think about this, didn’t even cross her mind. 

There are so many notifications coming through on her phone, she can’t even filter out the ones from her family, from Lelia, from Issac, from Harry. 

She’s not upset that people know about her and Harry. She’s upset about the things people are saying. Flashes of news article headlines appear when she squeezes her eyes shut.

“Harry Styles falls in love on the bike, a soulcycle date for the books”

“Rumored Girlfriend of Harry Styles also works for him!”

“Spotted: Harry Styles’ new GF wearing the jacket from his voted worst outfit, ever”

“Harry Styles fans upset over rumored new GF” 

“The top 15 tweets from last night after fans found out Harry Styles is dating his stylist” 

She doesn’t like that she’s reacting this way. She knew that this was bound to happen. 

She’s scared to move, scared to go anywhere, to do anything. 

There’s a knock on her door. Aurora doesn’t recognize it at first. The sound of her heartbeat is loud in her ears and sounds just the same. There’s another knock on her door. It shakes her out of her thoughts. She stands up, the list in her head on pause. She’s shaking like she’s cold. She’s not cold. Aurora looks through the peephole in the door. She recognizes Harry’s eyes in a millisecond. Reaching for the door handle, she takes a deep breath. She opens the door slowly and only enough for Harry to slide in quickly, the door falling shut behind him. 

“Ror,” he says with furrowed eyebrows and his head tilts slightly. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” The sight in front of him is confusing. He expected Aurora to have shut down and panicked by now. Jeff called him and told him what he woke up to that morning-- emails from media sources, calls, texts all of it. The second Harry got off the phone he got Rory’s room number and here he is now. Surprised, concerned, broken hearted for her, and now confused. She seems calm, a face mask covering her face, her eyes aren’t red or puffy. Maybe she’s okay. Maybe Harry worried for nothing. 

“I-I I turned it on silent. Haven’t looked at it in a bit, now,” she answers quietly. She may appear to be fine, but she doesn’t sound it. Her shoulders start to hunch, her arms wrapping around her own torso. 

“Rory, are you alri-” Harry doesn’t even get the question out. She’s sobbing now, tears abruptly falling from her eyes. She looks surprised, like she’s confused by the way she’s reacting. Harry lunges forward to hug her but her hands land on his chest, keeping him at a distance. She motions to her face. 

“Don’t wanna-” she chokes out, “get this all over you.” He nods, a small smile on his face at her priorities in this quick second. Harry instead places a hand softly at her lower back and walks her into the bathroom. He pushes her lightly to sit on top of the toilet seat. 

Harry wets a washcloth in the sink once the water runs warm. Neither of them say anything. Harry lightly wipes at her face, trying his best to remove the cracking mask, but wanting to be gentle with her skin. He has to use his free hand to hold her head up by her chin. She doesn’t have the strength or want to hold her head up and she lets it drop, chin to chest everytime Harry steps back to the sink. Silent tears fall from her eyes now, her shoulders shaking every few seconds. Silence fills the bathroom and after Harry wipes away the last remnant of the clay off Aurora’s face he tosses the cloth to the counter not paying it much attention. He drops to his knees in front of her. 

“Hey,” he says, wiping a tear from her cheek, the pad of his thumb warm and comforting on her skin. “I don’t want to push you and we don’t have to talk about it right this second, but we do have to talk about it. We have to.” His voice is strong but still soft--caring but concerned. 

“Okay,” Aurora whispers as she locks eyes with him. She can tell Harry’s not okay, but he’s better at dealing with this stuff. He’s done it for years. 

“How about you get changed and do what you need? I’ll make some coffee and then we can talk about it. Getting ready and some sort of normalcy helps me when this stuff happens.” Aurora nods and tries to manage a smile but she’s sure it doesn’t translate. 

Harry kisses her forehead before walking out of the bathroom. Aurora does as Harry advises. She goes to her suitcase and pulls out a pair of clean leggings and a white t-shirt. She takes off her pajamas from the night before and gets dressed, combs her hair into a low ponytail and even puts her jewelry back on. When she looks in the mirror, the bright bathroom lights make her squint but she can still see the splotchy skin on her cheeks, the redness of her eyes and her chapped lips. She doesn’t bother to do anything about it now though.

“Ror, I didn’t know you ever drank tea?” Harry questions from the other room. She turns off the lights and goes to find him.

“I don’t.” 

He tilts his head again, “Love, you’ve got a full mug of tea here,” he says, motioning to the mug that has gone cold now. 

“Uh yeah…” she trails off, “it’s a weird habit I have.” She grabs the mug and pours it out in the small kitchenette sink. “When things get all,” she motions around her head with both hands, fingers separated, “jumbled, chaotic,” she drops her hands before continuing, “I tend to do things that make me feel like everything is okay. Like I’ve got my shit together.” She lets out a hefty sigh, feeling the exhaustion from the panic start to weigh on her. “Not a weird habit I guess, more a bad habit.” 

“Makes sense,” Harry validates as he messes with the coffee maker. “Do what you gotta do for it to feel okay. When I was little and got upset or something happened at school, I would watch Alice in Wonderland.” Aurora smiles a bit. “Nobody really caught onto it until everything with the band started happening. Something would happen, either I’d mess up or something online would mess with my head and I would go back to it. My mom called me on a bad day and I had just started watching Alice,” he shrugs. Aurora moves closer to him. “It was then she put it all together. She always kinda knew that I would watch it but thought I just loved it so much that it made me happier, but really I just needed to see the chaos that Alice went through. It helped me forget what was going on with me.” 

Aurora hugs Harry from behind, her hands resting across his stomach. Her forehead presses between his shoulder blades before she lands a kiss against his t-shirt. Harry turns around in her arms after a minute or so. When Aurora looks up to him, his green eyes are more muted than normal and it doesn’t quite sit well with her. She figures it’s the stress. Harry’s touch is featherlight when he tucks Aurora’s hair behind her ears. 

“Thank you.” 

Harry’s head tilts in question. 

“For telling me that,” she clarifies. “and for being here and just being you. For loving me, even through all this.” 

“Hey,” Harry says softly, brows knit together, “Ror,” he grazes his thumbs over her cheeks, “I love you no matter what.” His thumb pulls at her bottom lip that she’s worrying between her teeth. “We both knew that this could be hard sometimes, but, I don’t wish to be doing it with anyone else.” Harry presses his lips to Aurora’s forehead and he can feel Aurora let out a breath, her shoulders falling. Her warm breath hits his neck. “Go sit down, I’ll bring you your coffee and we can talk about this a bit more.” 

Aurora does as he says, sitting in the corner of the small couch. Harry comes over with 2 hot mugs and sits down next to Aurora, making a point to sit down facing her. Aurora lets out a deep sigh. 

“I’ve dealt with this a lot, I know how hard it is. It’s still hard for me,” Harry sighs and runs a hand over his face, across the stubble that is scattered across his cheeks, jaw, and chin. Aurora can tell he’s thinking about what he wants to say next. “I’m really sorry, Ror,” he settles on. 

“Harry, please, no reason for you to be sorry,” she tilts her head, eyebrows raising and heart sinking. Aurora hadn’t taken a moment to see how Harry had been dealing with all this. Now she can see it. She can see the effect on him, the stress he’s holding in his shoulders, the worry in his eyes. She knows he’s been here before, somewhere else in the world, with so many different people; friends, family, lovers, just about anyone he’s held close to him. But he’s here now with her, with his Rory, and she knows he hates this part. This is where it’s bound to change. “This was all gonna happen sometime.” 

“But not like this,” he stresses. He’s clearly thought about it, planned how he would have preferred the news getting out, how he’d be there with her when the articles came out, when the tweets would surface. 

“There’s no way we could’ve planned for this,” she shares and Harry seems almost surprised when she practically reads his mind. “I knew something like this would happen.” 

“I’m still sorry that it did and I want to help you get through it.” 

“There’s no getting through it though, is there? It’ll happen time and time again.” 

“Ror-”

“Harry, it’s not like I didn’t expect this. We’ll figure out how to deal with it together, yeah? That’s what we have each other for.” Aurora can’t help but find some clarity when she realises she isn’t in this alone, when she realises Harry needs her just as much as she needs him. 

“I’m supposed to be the one helping you through this,” Harry says with a light laugh and then a clearing of his throat. Aurora smiles at him. 

“You may have experience with all of this, but that doesn’t mean I’m the only one being affected by it.” Aurora reaches her hands out to him and he takes them gratefully. They’re clammy and she can feel a slight tremble in them. “We’re in this together. I’m not going anywhere and there’s no reason that you should have to take care of this on your own. If I don’t have to do this on my own, neither do you.” 

Harry squeezes Aurora’s hands. “Haven’t really dealt with this not on my own before.” Aurora’s brows furrow now. “I always have to pick up the pieces, try and make it right, try to make it okay, but it’s hard when it seems like it’s all on me in the end. I’ve lost so many people because of this. I just want you to be okay… and to stay.” There's a slight hitch in the tone of his voice and it makes Aurora lurch from her seated position. She climbs onto her knees and her arms loop around his neck and shoulders. Harry’s surprised by her sudden movements but his arms enclose around her waist just a second later. His shoulders start to fall and Aurora can feel his even breathing on her neck. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers just loud enough for him to hear it. Harry’s arms tighten as confirmation. “We’ll take care of each other.”

| | | | |

“Sweet Thang” begins to blare through the speakers and they know they’ve got to get going. Harry pulls away from Aurora, regrettably. The familiar twang of the song means 1 thing and 1 thing only, Harry’s got to be walking up the stairs onto his stage in 4 minutes. 4 minutes and 12 seconds. Harry turns to jog down the hall but turns back around quickly, to press a messily aimed kiss to Aurora’s lips. 

“You taste like strawberries,” he rushes out, “did ya know that?” and then he’s gone. Aurora can barely focus on the shiny red boots running down the hallway away from her. 

She runs a finger across her bottom lip. They feel numb, tingly, swollen as she stands in the middle of Harry’s dressing room. 

| | | | |

Harry arrives at the arena with a new melody stuck in his head, a bright, sunshiny, just-for-aurora smile, and an iced coffee (also just for Aurora) in his hand. 

“Have you seen Aurora?” Harry asks the first person he sees. 

“Uhm, I know a lot of the crew were hanging out in the parking lot today. They set up tables and tents out there because it’s so nice out, maybe there?” 

Harry hums and then yells a thank you as he picks up his pace, almost jogging away and down the hall. He follows the signs until he can hear a roar of a group, laughter, chatting, some music. 

He squints his eyes when he walks through the propped open doors, the Nashville sun shining bright, a light breeze blowing through his hair. It doesn’t take Harry long to spot Aurora and his mother sat in 2 chairs and another 2 chairs have their feet propped up. They’ve taken it upon themselves to pull the chairs out from under the large white tent to sit in the sun instead. 

It’s a sight in front of him--his mother and his Rory laughing together. Harry makes a beeline towards them, waving and smiling at those who say hi. Instead of grabbing a chair of his own, Harry picks up Aurora’s feet and sits down across from her. 

“‘Ello, ladies,” he greets them, dropping Aurora’s feet onto his lap. 

Aurora and Anne say hello in unison and turn to each other and giggle. 

“Have a nice time today?” Harry asks with a dimpled smile. 

“Such a lovely time,” Anne answers. “We went for lunch and got our nails done.” 

Harry hums and reaches out for Aurora’s hand. He examines her nails, “Black, not surprised,” he comments with a squeeze. “Mum?” he asks, now motioning towards Anne’s hands. “Red, also not surprised. Both of you are very predictable.” 

Aurora rolls her eyes before asking, “So how was the studio?”

“Really, really, good, managed to knock out almost an entire song.” 

“Oh? and will we get to hear it?” Aurora asks with a sweet smile. 

“Mhmm, not quite ready yet,” he shares and when Anne turns away from them for a quick second, Harry gives Aurora a wink. A blush rises to her cheeks and she presses her lips together in a line to hide a smile. 

A welcomed silence settles between the 3 of them. They all relax as much as they can into the folding chairs, heads tilted up towards the sun. Harry slides off the sandals on Aurora’s feet and drops them to the ground. He starts to dig the pads of his thumbs into her arches, his other fingers trailing along the top of her feet. Aurora lets out a content sigh, eyes closing,  as another gush of the wind passes. 

The sun is warm and so are Harry’s hands on Aurora’s feet and calves as they trail up her leg slightly. Her skin is heating up as the minutes pass, Harry’s hands leaving searing paths over and over again. He breaks the silence slowly as he subconsciously starts to hum. The melody causes Aurora’s ears to perk up and pay more attention. 

“Why’s your foot twitchin’ like that?” Harry asks around a laugh. 

Aurora opens her eyes and looks at her foot then up to Harry, “must’ve been tapping along to your humming,” she figures. Harry tilts his head and some curls fall out of place. A mischievous smirk slides across his face before he lets out a short, deep, “hm,” like his brain is piecing something together. Aurora’s brows furrow for a moment, “What?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” he brushes it off, face going neutral again. Aurora shakes her head and lets it go. Harry’s hands are back on her skin and massaging the muscles of her feet, her eyes closing once again as she turns up towards the sun. Aurora doesn’t see the smirk that sneaks back up on Harry’s face. 

Harry and Anne had gone back into the arena a little while ago--soundcheck, a few people to meet, some time with his mum after spending the afternoon in the city. Eventually the sun begins to set and Aurora can’t help but think about summer sunsets on Lake Erie at the family lakehouse back in New York. She’ll have to bring Harry there one day. It could be the perfect post-tour getaway, after everything settles down. Late august at the lake house is Aurora’s ideal end of summer farewell. She had missed it last year as she was still in London. Aurora sighs when the alarm on her phone interrupts her daydream. 

 Wiping at her eyes, tired from the sun, she finds her way back to the dressing rooms. Aurora goes through her routine; Adam and Mitch first, they’re never in their dressing room, then onto Sarah and Claire, who are always in theirs (most of the time, Mitch and Adam are there, too). Then she makes her way to Harry’s dressing room, Anne is sitting on the couch when she walks in. Aurora notices the absence of nerves that would fill her stomach when Anne was around. She happily greets her as she begins to get Harry’s suit ready. 

Meeting Anne for lunch whilst Harry went to the studio, Aurora was 90% nerves. They disappeared as the minutes passed. She got more and more comfortable around her. Anne asked Aurora about the whole ordeal that happened in Texas. “Want to check in with you, sweetheart, how are you doing from earlier?” Anne didn’t have to outright say what she was talking about, Aurora knew. Harry must’ve told her, she didn’t mind though. 

Aurora assured her she was okay, that she’ll learn to deal and knows it comes with the territory. Anne shared some sound advice and reminded her that it’s all what they make it. She told Aurora how the first time Harry got upset over an awful press post, how it was that moment, once he calmed down, that he vowed to keep his work and personal life separate. 

“Kinda hard to keep it separate if I work with him,” Aurora jokes sheepishly. 

“Oh sweetheart,” is what Anne kept saying to calm her. Anne is at a loss for words for a moment and Aurora is too. When they meet eyes they start to laugh. “New territory I suppose,” Anne decides to say. 

“Definitely is for me,” Aurora responds with a smile. “But I’m being honest when I say i’m okay. and I know what you mean with keeping work and personal stuff separate. We’ll figure it out.” 

“Harry told me you said that.” Aurora raises an eyebrow in question. “That you 2 will figure it out. That you were quick to be there for him just as much as he was there for you.” 

“We’re in it together. That’s what relationships are about, yeah? Taking care of each other.” 

“You know,” Anne’s smile begins to widen as she speaks, “I’ve never heard anyone say that outloud, especially when talking about my own kid. You always think that that type of thing is implied in a relationship but you end up finding out that not everyone sees it that way.” 

Aurora isn’t sure how to respond, so she shrugs. 

“It’s refreshing, especially as it’s my son that’s involved. So, thank you.” 

“Please, Anne, don’t thank me. There is absolutely no reason for that. I love Harry,” she shrugs again after finding it so easy to say that outloud in the moment. “He deserves the same amount of love and care he gives me. I just hope I can do that for him.” 

“The way he talks about you,” she shakes her head, “he’d be so cross with me if he knew I was telling you this but,” Anne shrugs, “he thinks you walk on water. He just adores you, really haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. Most of the time he gets to a point where he realises what this other person really wants and he  ignores it and is miserable and it’ll end in a horrible way. He’s tried so many times to try to see past it, the way people use him, the lack of compassion, he tries so hard to ignore it.” 

Hearing Anne talk about Harry like this makes something click in her head. 

“I think we’re very similar in those regards,” Aurora says before taking a sip of her water. “We’ve both gone through some hard relationships in the past. Think we’re done with playing around.” Aurora is almost shocked at how she voices the thoughts running through her head. Anne can tell that she’s surprised and she reaches out to Aurora’s hand and squeezes it lightly. 

“It’s good you’re on the same page there. I can definitely see the difference this time around. I think he’s happy with his work and being back on stage has been so good for him. There’s obviously no need to rush anything but I can see you both are pretty serious about it all.” Aurora smiles and at the mention of Harry’s work Aurora feels the need to be clear about her work as well.��

“Anne, I do want you to know that I didn’t intend for this to happen,” Aurora shares. Anne’s face scrunches up in confusion. “I came on tour to work, to move forward in my career. It was always about work and it still is. I don’t want you to think I took this job with the plan to go after Harry.”

“Sweetie, I don’t think that at all.” 

“I think you might have a little bit at first and that’s okay. I knew it was a cliche. ‘Stylist falls in love with rockstar’, the whole shebang.” Anne laughs with Aurora. “And I also want you to know that I did not get involved with Harry to get further in my career either. I had no malicious intent behind anything that has happened.” Anne nods with a smile. 

Their food comes to the table and they thank their waiter. After a few bites in, Aurora continues.

“I just want you to know that I know how it could look and it’s an unusual situation. I hope you can understand that, just like Harry, my career is incredibly important to me and that it was always the ONLY reason I had taken this job. And in the end, we got lucky, I guess.”

“Aurora, you don’t have to explain yourself. Like I said, the way Harry talks about you, and how I’ve seen you do your job at the shows, I don’t question anything at all. And maybe I did at first, but that’s a mum’s job right?” They both laugh again. 

“Mother’s know best,” Aurora compliments. “They always do and always will.” 

Now back in the dressing room, Aurora joins in with the conversation being had with Harry and Anne, and Ayae too. She’s comfortable, at ease and most importantly happy, she can’t deny that. The royal blue suit in front of her is bright even without the stage lights and the rhinestones that line the edges of the jacket as well as the cuffs and lapel are iridescent and remind Aurora of an old dance costume she had when she was little. Aurora swears she had jazz pants that looked just like the ones she’s steaming for Harry, rhinestones and all, but hers was most definitely made by her mother and didn’t have a Gucci label on them. She shares a photo she had from the dance recital that year. She was 8 and Anne did all but cry at the photo. Harry was convinced he had never seen anything cuter and it made Aurora’s cheeks go bright red, the heat radiating from the steamer didn't help either. Aurora directed Anne through the album of all her old dance photos and Anne promised to share some of Harry’s baby pictures later. To which Harry whined about but Aurora shushed him with a quick kiss to his jaw after she situated his button down shirt on his shoulders and before she began buttoning it (Harry ended up unbuttoning about 2 of the top ones only seconds later).

When Anne leaves the dressing room, Aurora finds her usual perch on the counter in the echoey bathroom, Harry’s royal blue rhinestone suit coat resting on her lap.

“There’s something different about you today,” Aurora says as Harry wipes his mouth after brushing his teeth. 

“How so?” 

“Not sure, exactly,” she says squinting her eyes at him. “Might be because your mom is here? But there’s something else too…” Harry shrugs his shoulders and begins humming the same melody from earlier. Aurora watches him finish his routine as he starts to fall into a few vocal warm ups.

He’s singing words and melodies she’s never heard. 

“Wonderful and warm…. Da da daaaa, da da daaaa,” he trails off. 

“Is that the song you were working on today?” He doesn’t respond but keeps singing, in his own world. “Could ever go without… tastes like strawberries on a summer evening…” He repeats a few phrases over and over again. 

It’s right before the 5 minute stage call that it clicks. 

“It’s the song,” Aurora states. “That’s what’s different. It’s the new song you’ve written, huh?” 

Harry pulls Aurora in, pulling her off the counter  with a strong hand on her waist. “I think it has more to do with the inspiration behind the song rather than the song itself.” 

Never did Aurora think Harry would write a song about her, but she guesses this is what her new normal looks like. 

comments & feedback ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS welcome & appreciated !!!

[aponderingcharming]

We Have What We Have When We Have It - Part 3

The day to return the stones finally came. Steve made sure that the soul stone was the last stop on his trip. It was time to say goodbye. Read on AO3.

The day to return the stones had finally come.

Bruce had spent the past number of days making all the necessary tweaks for Steve to safely travel to all the different locations and spots in time and get back in one piece. The last thing he needed was to get stuck in the past and/or on some planet lightyears away, so he was thankful for the extra time that the scientist was taking in exacting the formula.

Meanwhile, Steve had spent the last few days reading and re-reading all of Natasha’s notes and letters. All of them were for him. Each one was different; the tones and lengths varied and the timeline in the shifting of her affections became more and more noticeable as he read. A lot of them described missions they had gone on or were about to go on, sometimes in extreme detail like it was almost therapeutic for her to do so and other times in broad brushstrokes with just dates and times. Some of them accounted conversations they’d had with one other and he found himself recalling the memories with ease as soon as the words popped from the page as though he was back there in that moment with her. It was so easy – too easy – to get lost in the memories, to change them ever so slightly so that they’d end differently – like maybe he gathered up the courage to compliment her or maybe even to be so bold as to tell her how he truly felt.

He caught himself replaying her phrases all throughout the day, each time hearing them with a slightly different voice of hers – sometimes light and airy, other times heavy and quiet. At night he lay awake imagining the ways in which she might have revealed her feelings – sometimes they’d be on a mission and she’d blurt it out casually in between kicks and gunshots; other times they’d just be sitting together on the couch like they did countless times before and she’d just whisper it into the room like a soft prayer. Each time it hit him a different way because while the scenarios he conjured up weren’t real, her words were.

Every now and then she’d write something that would appear so out of place among the rest of the sentences that it’d cause him to pause, put the paper down and squeeze the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger because it’d get too much. She’d note things like: ‘And then you smiled at me, and it was different than your usual smiles. More…I don’t know, private, I guess? As if it was just for me. So I smiled back and I can’t explain it but it was like something expanded in my chest. I felt…warm, I think. But not in an uncomfortable way; in a really, really nice way. I kind of always want to feel like that.’ But then, later on, she’d write something like: ‘Do you have any idea how stubborn you are? You think you know what’s best but really you’re just floundering about like the rest of us because newsflash, Rogers, none of us have ever had to face anything like this before. So we’re all just trying to throw around ideas and come up with a plan and you’re just sulking over in the corner with your arms folded across your chest in this defiant, patriotic stance – and it’s really unhelpful. Sometimes I wish you’d just listen a little bit more.’

Reading them was unpredictable, much like Natasha herself. And there was a beauty in that. There was a beauty in the way she didn’t just paint pretty pictures of how she felt or how things went down; she was raw and honest and funny and heartfelt. The letters were like a glimpse into her soul and while Steve knew without a shadow of a doubt that he loved her, he knew it even more as he read her stories and worries and fears and insecurities. And though knowing that nothing he could do could bring her back, they provided him the chance to have her with him always.

The night before the mission, Steve had been up writing a letter to her, trying and failing to find his words that could accurately and deeply convey everything he felt about her. God…he really didn’t want to say goodbye. He never planned on saying goodbye. So the words didn’t come easy. They were hard-fought and clunky, and didn’t really make much sense when he read them back to himself, but what else could he do? He hoped that maybe, somehow, by some stretch and bend in the cosmic world, she would be able to hear what he had to say because he was planning on leaving his heart there on that mountain in Vormir. This felt like the best way to finish their story. Because that’s what it was. She wasn’t coming back and there was nothing anyone or anything could do to change that.

But Natasha deserved to hear that she was just as loved and wanted – he was going to make sure of it.

He was thinking of taking a break after this, some time off to re-evaluate what he really wanted to do. While walking away from Captain America wasn’t something he thought he could ever do, a hiatus from it all felt like the right decision. There were people out there looking after different worlds and nations, people who they could count on if anything got too hairy down here, people who could be trusted, people who were friends. Earth was in safe hands.

It was time to get a life and getting a life meant figuring out who Steve Rogers was without the title and the role that came with being an Avenger.

It was strange; it felt as though returning the stones was the end of an era, the last chapter of this book that he had been writing for the past few years. Going on missions, fighting and saving, being part of a team, had become a part of him over time and it seemed funny to him that he was going on this, pretty huge, pretty vital, last mission by himself. But, in a way, that was what he wanted.

This mission allowed him to say goodbye to the two women who shaped him into the man he was now.

Getting a chance to say goodbye to Peggy in a way that he never thought possible was too great of an opportunity to miss. Not ever getting to have that date or that dance together was something that haunted him for years and even though she was alive when he came out of the ice, he never quite felt like he expressed just how much she meant to him, at least not in a way she could understand. And he really wanted to show her. Just one dance. That’s all he wanted. And then he could move on and put that life, and all that came with it, behind him.

But when they mapped out the various routes for the trip, he made sure that returning the soul stone was the final stop on his quest.

It was a beautiful day; sun shining high, not too hot, not too cold, a delicate breeze in the air. The perfect day for a last mission – at least for now, anyway.

The suit felt tighter.

Heavier, too.

Almost like the material knew it was the beginning of an end.

Steve took a long, hard look at himself in the mirror in his bedroom, taking note of all the scratches and tears and patches that now adorned the suit. They were battle scars; scars of victory and scars of loss. He smiled sadly at his reflection, catching all of the scars his face and body displayed too. He looked different; tired and dismayed. Older. A version of himself he’d never met before.  

From outside he heard Bucky call his name.

It was time.

Bucky and Sam had insisted on sending him off, even though to them he’d only be gone a few seconds, but Steve knew that if the roles were reversed, he’d do the same. Getting both of them back really helped in the aftermath of the battle; whilst talking about what he was going through didn’t come easy  - or at all most days, just having them around as a solid presence brought him a sense of peace. There was a solace in knowing that he wasn’t alone.

When he ventured out to the lake, Steve admired the view one more time. The trees that protected the lake like a fortress now swayed in the light breeze, almost as if they were waving farewell to him. Even though he knew and believed that he was coming back, he knew he wasn’t coming back the same – and it felt like nature knew that, too.

“You ready?”

With a nod, Steve joined Bruce and Sam by the workstation that had been set up.

Bruce, arm still in a sling and looking a little more worn than usual, presented the case with the infinity stones inside to him.

“Remember,” he started, “you have to return the stones to the exact moment you got ‘em or you’re gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

Steve nodded. “Don’t worry, Bruce,” he assured, taking the case. “I’ll clip all the branches.”

“You know, I tried - when I had the gauntlet, the stones...I really tried to bring her back.” The man paused, forlorn and defeated. Turning his head to look at Steve, he continued with a sigh, “I miss her, man.”

The blonde dipped his head at the admission. It was obvious that Bruce still cared about Nat and though he never really let his mind go there, Steve knew that a part of her still cared about him, too –not in the same way she had at the time of Ultron, but still enough to want to rebuild a friendship with him. And despite never discussing the relationship they had, Steve knew that Bruce was grieving just like he was.

He peered up at the other man. “Me, too,” he replied, the words heavy and definite.

An understanding smile passed between them.

The letter he had written to her burned in the pocket of his undershirt that lay against his heart.

“Let’s do this,” he proclaimed louder, more assured, Captain America in full flight.

Returning the stones (and Mjolnir) hadn’t been as difficult as Steve anticipated. Sure he could have done without having to inject the reality stone back into Thor’s old lover while she slept – that he’d be sure to lord over the man for many years to come, but the rest were thankfully fairly inconsequential. Sneak in, return, sneak out, don’t cause any ripple effects or alter anything in the process. There was a slight hiccup with the space stone in Morag which resulted in a ducking-and-diving-from-an-intergalactic-weapon kind of getaway, but Steve considering fleeing from gunfire to be pretty standard territory at this point.

The second last stop on his quest was to return the space stone back to the military base in 1970. And he finally, after all these years, got to have that dance with Peggy. Maybe it wasn’t in the location they’d pictured with the fanfare and anticipation and all that came with a first date, and maybe there wasn’t any music playing, but it was worth waiting for. A part of his heart that once seemed empty had now been filled and while it hurt more than he would ever admit to say goodbye one more time, he took comfort in the fact that she would live a great life and be happy. And he was glad that he was able to keep his promise to her, too. Feeling bound to his old life had taken up so much of his time in the present day and he more than knew that couldn’t keep living his life like that anymore. Time had passed, he had changed – the Steve Rogers from then didn’t exist anymore, and getting this chance, this final moment in time, gave him the push to really and truly move on.

Though all of his travels were always going to lead him to Vormir last, a part of him sometimes wished he had gone there first just so he could get it over with. As the time dragged on and each stone had been put back in its place, the dread of knowing what was to come gnawed at his emotions. It felt like the week leading up to a funeral where all the arrangements had been made and you were just waiting until the day when it became official. He didn’t want it to be official. There was this odd comfort in ignoring the obvious truth for a while but he knew the second he landed on that planet it would all become real again and there’d be no more escaping into daydreams or fantasies. No, he’d have to stare the loss right in the eye.

What he didn’t expect was how beautiful Vormir was. Not in the traditional sense, but in this other-worldy way that his mind would have never been able to conjure up on its own. It looked like what he thought a planet in outer space would look like – but then so much more. Vibrant clashes of colour with impressive shapes of land like sketches of a child where there was no rhyme or reason to what something could and should look like. It exceeded all human concept and imagination. And even as he gazed out at this barren landscape, he had a moment of awe at the direction his life had taken. It was breath-taking and beautiful, yet crushing and painful at the same time. He had achieved so much, had seen so much, experienced more than he ever thought, saved the world and individuals alike. But he’d also learned true pain, felt isolated and alone, discovered new levels of anger and confusion, lost battles and friends.

The mountain sat ominous and foreboding in his eye-line. It was sharp and jagged; a place that looked like death and danger personified, and it was surrounded by pools of water laid out in a nonsensical pattern. Wind whipped around him, flicking snowflakes into his eyes as he trudged his way up, jaw tight and set as he ground his teeth together to fight off the cold. His breathing was laboured as he made the ascent and he briefly wondered at how Natasha had felt about making the climb – he could imagine her and Clint complaining about the others having it easier than them and a sad chuckle sounded from him at the thought.

When he finally reached the top, he took in the surroundings. Nothing to be seen for miles.

Suddenly, a voice boomed from behind him, “Welcome…”

Steve zipped around to a see a floating entity dressed in black. His eyes narrowed.

“Steven, son of Sarah,” the voice continued, making his blood run cold.

He approached it slowly. “Who are you?”

“Consider me a guide to you and to all who seek the soul stone.”

The blonde raised his head. “I don’t seek the soul stone,” he announced calmly and then reached into his pocket to take out the glowing orange rock. He had discarded the case after seeing Peggy, making sure to tuck the final stone into a secure part of his suit for the last trip. “I seek to return it.”

“It has never been done before.”

“Well then I guess I’m the first,” he pressed.

The body then moved toward him and as it drew closer its features became more defined. Steve’s eyes widened as the face of the Red Skull became clear. “What are you doing here? How are you here?” he seethed.

“I am the keeper of the soul stone. I was banished here to this purgatory state to guide others to a treasure I cannot possess.” The Red Skull waded past him toward the edge that overlooked a canyon of darkness. “A great sacrifice was made for that stone that you hold.”

The rock suddenly felt weightier in his hand. “I know.”

A few moments passed and then, “What you seek lies in front of you, as does what you fear.”

Steve peered over into the abyss and swallowed hard, knowing that at the bottom was where she once lay. There was nothing there now. Just emptiness. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I already have the stone; what is this?”

“The soul holds a special place amongst the infinity stones and its ways are unknown. The soul demands a sacrifice – in order to take the stone you must lose that which you love. No one knows, not even I, the price for returning it.”

He was irritated now. “So you’re trying to tell me that I have to do something in order for this to be put back? I don’t see how that makes sense.”

The Red Skull’s timbre was haunting. “I’m merely offering you all the knowledge I have on this matter. What you long to do has never been attempted before. There are secrets of the stone that I do not yet know and cannot pass on.”

“Well thanks you’ve been a great help,” the man sniped sarcastically and then released a long sigh.

So no rules, no ideas, no maps to follow. Just gut instinct and a bit of luck. Steve didn’t believe in luck.

With a shake of the head, he walked to the edge and retrieved the letter from his pocket. No matter what, no matter what worked or didn’t work, he came here for this. He stood there on the cliff edge, the chill in the air not just from the temperature but from the unnerving atmosphere of grief. The price of sacrifice hung in the breeze that started to grow stronger the longer he stayed there.

Stars sprung and danced across the purple sky, blazing and burning in countless patterns. It was stunning, and not for the first time on this journey, Steve tensed his eyes so that the tears that were threatening didn’t dare to fall. No more tears. Knowing that this sky was the last thing that Natasha saw was like the universe offering him one last link he could share with her. A short, but real smile flickered across his face at the thought, his soul feeling somewhat soothed.

He unfolded the pages and began to read.

“Dear Nat,” he declared out into the void.

“I know it’s late, I know it’s not enough but wherever you are, I hope you know that I feel the same way as you do. Writing letters is something I gave up a lifetime ago but after I read yours, I knew I had to respond. Forgive me if it’s not as eloquent as yours. Usually the first thing you do in replying to a letter is thank the person for writing to you in the first place and so I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for leaving me something of yours that I can have forever, for baring your soul and letting me into your heart. That is a privilege I don’t take lightly.

I don’t know how space and time and all that works, but I’ve seen enough to know that nothing seems impossible anymore. We’ve seen things that just defy explanation. So I believe that as I read this to you, you will hear me.”

He cleared his throat. “Nat, I’m sorry.

For so many things.

I wish…I wish things were different. I know why you did what you did and if I was in the same position I probably would have done the same thing, because whatever it takes, right? That’s what we all agreed; we knew what we were doing. But, God, I wish there was another way. But the thing is,” he sighed, “even though it’s selfish of me to stand here and wish you hadn’t of done it, I know that you would make that choice every single time because you would do anything for your family, and all you ever wanted was to make everything right again – because you, Natasha Romanoff, are a hero. You’re my hero. Go ahead and laugh all you want at that –because I know you are; I can hear it,” he sniffed sadly. “But it’s the truth.

We won because of you.

We got everyone back,” he stopped then, mouth dry, “… but we lost Tony. He sacrificed himself so that Thanos could be defeated and I miss him every day. And he missed you, by the way. It’s funny, he’s usually so vocal about things but when we all found out that you didn’t make it, he was strangely quiet. I think it hit him harder than any of us knew. You were important to him. To all of us.

The trouble with trying to save the world is that we embody this kind of confidence – maybe even arrogance – that we’re gonna make it, that while there’s risk and danger, we’re gonna win and we’re gonna get through. And that’s good because if we weren’t confident in ourselves and in each other, then I don’t think we’d ever win. But it’s also bad because it blurs the lines of reality that one of us or all of us could be killed. We don’t let ourselves think of that. We drive forward with intent and do what we have to do. But, Nat…” he shook his head, rolling in his lips, “…I should have been clearer on how I felt about you – you said it yourself I’m always waiting, but this time it’s all on me. I should have made more of an effort during those 5 years; I should have reminded you more of who you are and what you’ve done. I should have been more open and more honest. You deserved to hear that you were loved by us all, especially me.”

Steve lifted his gaze so that his eyes were searching the skies. “I love you, Nat. And I’m sorry you’re finding out this way.

When I met you, I gotta admit I was a little intimidated. You were the most skilled fighter I had ever seen. You didn’t take anything from anyone, and you trusted your instincts. I always admired that. And when you opened up to me the day we realized that SHIELD was really HYDRA well, I saw a part of you that I could really connect with. I saw a glimpse of the real Natasha. You know, sometimes I think about that day. I think about how you had just found out that everything you’d been working for had been a lie and for most people, that would have stopped them dead in their tracks, but not you. No, you’re not most people. You became adamant and focused on fixing it. You showed me true loyalty when I hadn’t given you much reason to. You showed me that you were someone who wanted to be better and wanted to fight injustice.

You know, we’re not all that dissimilar when you really think about it.

And as the years went on I saw more of that person, and I grew to not only respect and admire her, I grew to care for her – more than ever I cared to admit to even myself. You risked your safety and security and position to help me when I went after Bucky – you trusted my instincts. You showed up at Peggy’s funeral even though we disagreed on what to do with the team because you didn’t want me to be alone. And, Nat, I was never alone when I was with you. Ever. You said that I made you feel seen, well you opened up my heart again.”

His voice cracked at the end of the sentence and he cursed, annoyed at how hard his heart was thumping and how his lungs burned and his head ached. He could feel the Red Skull’s stare on his back but he persisted on.

“You know - and I’m pretty sure you’re gonna be smirking after I say this - but sometimes I think about the time you kissed me on the escalator. Though I hate to admit it, I lied to you then; that was my first kiss since 1945. But now more than ever, I’m glad that it was with you…even if it was terrible and I was way, way, out of practice.

But I’ve also thought about the other times we got close to kissing yet never did because…well, because we couldn’t risk losing each other. It never felt like the right time, it never felt like the right thing to do, but once the moment had passed, all I felt was regret. Every time. I think we were just scared to enter into new territory. We knew what lives we lead and we knew that it would complicate things and that we needed each other on a much deeper level and underlying it all, there was always this fear that it would ruin what we had. You have no idea how much I wish I had taken the jump and told you sooner, though. I wish we could have navigated it together - and you’re right, I don’t know what it would have looked like but I know we would have made it work because,” he softened his voice then, bringing to just a breath above a whisper as if she right there in front of him, “you’re the most important person in my life too, Nat. I would have put my everything into making it work, because you’re worth all of the uncertainty and all of the risk and all of the confusion. And I’m going to say that again so that you really understand: you are worth it. All of it. I know you think that your past prevents you from having anything good in your life, but I want you to know that whatever experiences you had to go through to get here, they shaped who you are now. And she is someone who I think is incredible.

I miss you so much that it hurts, and I know that it’ll always hurt when I think of you. I’ll miss the late night conversations and the jokes and your eyebrow that can change everything with just one move and the assurance of knowing someone has my back. Most of all, I’ll miss the way your eyes light up when you get excited about something and the smirks that transform into real, genuine smiles once you’ve let your guard down and the way you understand me, like no one else does. You were my best friend, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to find another one like you.”

The last line of the letter became blurred through his tears and Steve tore his eyes away from the page for a few beats, unable to bring himself to read on. Once he read it, it was over. This was the end. A couple of drops landed on the sheet, blotching some of the ink. His hand shook as he raised the page closer to his face as if the proximity could force the sounds of him. He needed to do this.

Voice thick and quivering more than he would have wanted, he finally whispered, “I love you, Natasha Romanoff, with all of my heart. I hope that someday, somehow, someplace, I’ll see you again and get to tell you to your face.

All my love,

Steve

Before he could change his mind, he then released the piece of paper and looked on as the wind caught it and swirled it around open space. Hands clenched tight, he made sure to keep his stare on it as it plummeted to the bottom of the cliff. Tears burned in his eyes. The orange rock shone in his hand, its dazzle almost taunting him. Here goes nothing, he thought and without much effort, he let the stone drop from his grasp and inhaled sharply as the glow illuminated the steep descent. This was it. No more stones. No more chance of seeing her or getting her back.

It was over.

And then it all went dark.

The slop and slosh of water yanked him from the depths of darkness and he could feel wetness flowing around the frame of his body. Blinking heavily, Steve’s eyes opened to a new scene; the magnificent purple sky that had enraptured him earlier was now a silky lilac, all of the stars tucked back away for a later time. Was it now morning? A white moon, much like the one on earth floated off in the distance as if awakening too.

Realization that he was lying down dawned on him, and he pulled himself up into a seated position, turning his head from left to right as he scanned the new surroundings he found himself in. Over in the distance, what could have been miles away, was the mountain he once stood on.

“What the…?” he mouthed aloud to himself.

“I think you found a loophole.”

He jerked at the sound from behind, and hurried to his feet, arms out in front ready to attack if necessary, water splashing around with the movement.

But then he saw her.

And his whole body went slack.

Red hair tied in a braid with streaks of blonde running through it. Green eyes that bore deep into his own. Lips slightly curved into a smirk. Black suit he’d know anywhere, anytime, anyplace.

This couldn’t be real.

This wasn’t real.

“Nat?” he breathed.

She just nodded, eyes filling just a little. “Hey, Soldier.”

Though it was obvious the greeting was meant to be a little mischievous, it came out raspy instead, like she hadn’t used her voice in a while and was trying to get a hold of it again.

“Wha…” he paused, gulping and then, “…how?”

“I don’t know,” she rushed, licking her lips, breathing slightly ragged. “I…” she gazed fiercely at him, “I…could hear you…somehow and then…” she squeezed her eyes shut for a beat, “…and then there was this glow and it was so bright and I just…I just woke up here and I saw you and…” she pulled up then as if really seeing him for the first time, “…I saw you,” she repeated in awe.

The stone. He threw the stone down with the letter and both of them ended up here.

But how?

“You heard me?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I don’t know how but I did. All of it.”

As much as he had prayed to a God that he wasn’t sure even existed that somehow this would happen, he still couldn’t understand how she was here with him. Unless…

You must sacrifice that which you love.

Steve understood and was willing to say goodbye to someone he loved wholeheartedly.

Letting go of Natasha was the ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate exchange.

The price of returning the stone.

He had brought her back.

His eyes clapped on her then, his relief and joy unbridled. She met his gaze with similar intensity. Steve closed the gap between them in an instant and pulled her into a hug, needing to feel that she was real. With only some hesitation, Natasha encircled him with her own arms, one hand gripping his back, the other on his neck, fingers brushing the end of his hair.

“This is real?” she asked so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

All he could do was nod.

“I can’t believe it,” she breathed, her words watery.

Breaking back only so much that their faces were mere inches apart, he tenderly brought up a hand to cup her face and gently danced his thumb across her cheekbone. “Nat, I love you. I’m so sorry I never said it.”

Her brow crinkled, green eyes incredulous but so hopeful, “You do?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The words ran off her tongue as if she was afraid they’d disappear if she didn’t get them out, “I love you, too.”

Her own admission seemed to take her by surprise and before she could say or do anything else, Steve leaned in and kissed her. The most perfect kiss he could have ever imagined. It wasn’t forced or rushed or planned or complicated or any of that other stuff that comes along with a moment like that; it just was. It was everything he wanted and so much more.

When they pulled away, one of her signature smirks appeared and boy, did he miss them. “Now that was worth waiting for,” she laughed breathily. “Have you had practice?” she quipped, cocking an eyebrow. He missed that, too.

He offered a smirk of his own in reply. “Just saved the best for the right person, that’s all.”

She bit her lip, dropping her stare. “I,uh… think I have to get used to this. This is really…” she waved her hand out in front of her loosely, “…really new to me.”

He nodded in understanding, wanting her to feel seen and heard, wanting to be her safe place again. “We’ve all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere, Nat,” he assured, taking hold of one of her hands.

“Well, good,” she responded, now fixated on their hands, “because neither am I.”

“So…how about we go and get that life we were always talking about?”

Her smile was full. “I thought you’d never ask, Rogers.”

The End.

[kookitykook]

Seven Soulmarks: Taehyung (”It’s you.”)

~genre: soulmate au, fluff, sfw

~word count: 5.2k 

~warnings: absolutely none this is cute lmao 

~pairing: solo idol!taehyung x y/n 

~summary: At the exact moment of your twentieth birthday, the first words your soulmate will ever say to you appear on the inside of your left wrist. Seven boys meeting their soulmates shows how the universe always has a plan. 

See how the other boys meet their soulmates (all interconnected) Jungkook -- Jimin -- Namjoon -- Hoseok -- Yoongi -- Jin 

~~~~~~~~~

Kim Taehyung hated his life. 

Rationally, he knew that this was likely the result of him being the most selfish douchebag on the face of the planet. 

Didn’t change the fact that he hated his life. 

“This is bullshit!” Taehyung shouted, tearing the beanie off of his head and chucking it across the room in favor of running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I thought this was my album, Sejin. Why are these prats making all of the decisions?!”

Taehyung’s manager, Sejin, took a deep breath. Taehyung was prone to outbursts as of late, but he knew that the young singer’s anger simply came from a place of frustration, not cruelty. He’d been working for Taehyung for over three years now, he knew the young man better than most. 

“Taehyung, it’s just two songs. The rest of the album is all yours, but the company needs you to play nice so that—”

“I don’t care what the company wants,” Taehyung snapped, hands on his hips as he turned to face Sejin. “They don’t ever seem to care what I want in my music these days, so why should I listen to them?”

“Tae—”

“No, no! They would be a no-name recording label drowning in debt if I hadn’t signed with them and this is how they treat me! I’m done, I’m fucking done.” 

Taehyung slammed his hand against the wall beside him, and only felt slightly bad when he saw Sejin jump out of the corner of his eye. His broad chest heaved with breaths as he leaned his forehead against the wall and tried to calm down. 

“It’s not my music anymore,” he finally murmured. “It’s not … me.” He looked up, meeting Sejin’s eye. “I’m sick of doing the same damn formula for every song. The same chord progressions, the same shitty beat drops that sound like every other song, the same stupid ass lyrics that don’t mean anything. That’s not me, man. It’s not the fans either, I just feel … I feel like I’m lying to them every time I release a new shitty song that can be played in clubs but doesn’t really mean anything.” 

“The songs are doing well though.”

“Of course they are, the fans will support me no matter what I release, but if it’s not really from my heart then I’m just taking advantage of them!” Taehyung retorted, throwing his hands up in the air. “I’m sick of this! It’s been over a year since the company let me release anything that I wrote myself, and they won’t even give Scenery a chance!”

“You just have to be patient, Taehyung.”

“But I—”

“No, Taehyung, you have to be patient,” Sejin urged, cutting the singer off in a rare display of authority. “Your contract is up in a year. Just one year, and then you’ll have to resign for another four years or …”

Sejin trailed off, letting Taehyung connect the dots. He would never tell his young friend what to do, but he had seen the toll that lack of creative freedom was taking on the singer.  Taehyung had lost weight, his voice didn’t have that same vibrancy that it did when he was singing his own music, and he had been avoiding any sort of outings that might put him in the path of paparazzi or his fans. 

“Or I can choose not to re-sign with them,” Taehyung finished the thought in a quiet voice. He lifted his head to the ceiling, releasing a long breath. “Just one year. One more year. I can do that. I can do that, right?”

“Of course you can,” Sejin said quickly. “One year will fly by.”

Taehyung huffed, flopping down on the couch of the green room connected to the studio of the shitty, obnoxious American producer that he was being forced to work with. 

“I’m not even twenty years old and I’m this tired,” he said with a humorless laugh, rubbing his eyes. 

“Actually, you are twenty years old.”

Taehyung looked at Sejin incredulously. “No I’m not. My birthday is tomorrow.”

“You were born in Korea, and your birthday started there an hour ago. Because of the time differences you—”

“Well why didn’t you say something?” Taehyung shouted, jumping up to his feet and muttering under his breath as he tried to take off the thick, clunky bracelet over his left wrist. 

Because of the occasional stalker and obsessive fan, the majority of celebrities who hadn’t found their soulmate yet had taken to keeping their soulmark area constantly covered — Taehyung had wanted to get in the habit of such even before his twentieth birthday. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to bring up your soulmark in front of those assholes back there,” Sejin muttered under his breath. Taehyung smirked. It was rare that Sejin cursed, so it was clear that Taehyung wasn’t the only one who was sick of the jerks that the company had been forcing him to work with lately. 

“What’s it say?” the manager asked as Taehyung finally got the bracelet off of his left wrist. 

“It says … ‘It’s you.’”

“Oh.” Sejin cleared his throat. “Well … I guess she’ll be a fan?”

Taehyung let out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t wait to meet his soulmate, sure, but a part of him had always romanticized the idea of someone falling for him first and then V, famous singer, second. 

That was a pipe dream and you know it, he rationalized to himself. 

The money, the fame, the countless opportunities that had been thrown Taehyung’s way since he was just barely seventeen were amazing, and he was thankful every day for them. 

But the way that things were going lately, between having to make music that wasn’t from his heart at all and countless rumors and scandals that were always being blown way out of proportion, Taehyung just wanted to feel normal — at least for a little while. To get his head back on straight.  

“Yeah, I guess so,” Taehyung muttered, not really thinking about his soulmate much at all in that moment. Even though if she was a fan, which it seemed like she was given her first words to him, she was probably thinking about him often. 

Guilt struck him immediately. He loved his fans, it wasn’t their fault at all that he wasn’t content. 

The inauthenticity of the situation was just getting to be too damn much. Being twenty years old was when he was supposed to really discovering himself, and yet his company wasn’t allowing him that opportunity. No matter the privileges he had, that was enough to drive someone crazy.  

“Just one year,” Taehyung muttered to himself, glancing up as Sejin clapped a hand on his shoulder. “One year.”

***

“Honey are you sure you don’t want to celebrate with us?”

“Mom I am going to celebrate with you and Dad,” you reassured your mother with a smile as you shrugged on your coat. “We’re having a birthday party tomorrow!”

“Yes, but I don’t know how I feel about you being alone for your soulmark appearance.”

“Mom I’ll be fine.” You leaned over and kissed your mother’s cheek swiftly. “I just want this moment to myself. Besides, I was born at 2 AM, nobody is going to want to stay awake that late just to see some words appear on my wrist.”

“I would!”

“Mom, you can’t stay up past 10:30 PM and we both know it,” you laughed. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to help set up for the party. Bye, love you!”

You practically ran out the front door before your mother could say anything else, pulling your coat tighter to you. You picked a few pieces of stray dog hair that had attached itself to the material as you walked to your car. You weren’t sure if the dog hair was from your own dog at home, or if it was from one of the sweet little guys from the animal shelter you volunteered at. 

After taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of the night sky, you unlocked your car and hopped in, going through the motions of starting up your car and pulling out onto the main road.

The coast was about a three and a half hour drive away, which would put you sitting on the beach listening to the waves under a starry sky right as your soulmark was set to appear. Just how you had always imagined it. 

The drive was a familiar one, and you put on your favorite driving playlist to pass the time. The playlist mostly consisted of oldies that your dad had listened to with you when you were a child, a few rap songs, and some movie soundtracks that you liked. Nothing too current, honestly. You were so busy with taking online courses, waitressing, and volunteering at the shelter that you didn’t put much time into listening to the latest hits on Top 40. 

Not that you really liked current pop music. There was this annoying trend going on for the last couple years of songs only about partying and having sex with annoying beat drops in the background that all kind of sounded the same. 

Not that there was anything wrong with that kind of music, of course, it just wasn’t really your scene. 

Soon enough, your mind started wandering. Your thoughts jumped between ideas of what your soulmark might be, to the apartments you were looking at moving into soon (if you could ever find a roommate, that is), to one of the cats at the shelter that needed to find a home ASAP. 

You needed to call the shelter’s photographer on call tomorrow to help with that last one. The young woman was an amazing photographer that, like you, had a soft spot for animals. She’d started offering free shoots for the animals at the shelter that needed to be adopted sooner rather than later, hoping that by having professional photos of them to post on social media and on posters, people might be more inclined to take them in. 

You and the photographer got along well. You’d even talked about soulmarks recently when she heard that your twentieth birthday was coming up. 

(The photographer had yet to meet her soulmate, but her mark read, ‘Wait, please!’)

Realizing that you were thinking about work and responsibilities instead of just enjoying a peaceful drive to the beach, you decided you needed a change of pace. Not taking your eyes off the road, you turned off your driving playlist that had started to repeat and switched on the radio instead. 

The song that was playing was … 

Utter crap, honestly. 

“Ugh,” you muttered to yourself, wincing at the overuse of bass and a chord progression that sounded suspiciously exactly like that recent Chainsmokers song one of the guys at the shelter had played for you the other day. 

The male vocals were nice, you guessed. Even if the lyrics were about dicking down some random girl at a club.

Like you’d never heard that song before. 

Fortunately, you only had to listen to about a minute of the song before it was over. 

“Alright that was the one and only V on his brand new collaboration with Elia!” the radio announcer said as soon as the song was over. “Hey, did you hear the latest news about our dear heartthrob V?” he asked his cohost. 

“No,” the female announcer responded with an overdramatic gasp. You rolled your eyes. “What is it?”

“Paparazzi caught sight of his soulmark the other day.”

That time, you gasped alongside the female announcer. A celebrity soulmark sighting was awful, everyone agreed on that. There were countless horror stories of fans knowing their idol’s soulmark and saying the words to them and even faking their own soulmarks to try and trick them into a relationship. It was a nightmare scenario. 

“No!” the female announcer said even more dramatically. “I can’t believe it … but also, like … what’s it say? Just out of curiosity of course.”

While you curled your lip in disgust, the two announcers laughed together. You felt gross just listening to them discuss the celebrity’s soulmark like this, they had no respect for the sanctity of the marks.

You didn’t even know the celebrity (V, or something? Who names themselves a letter?), but no one deserved to have their mark discussed so flippantly. It was just plain disrespectful. 

“According to the picture, his mark says—”

You turned the radio off. 

“Assholes,” you muttered under your breath. 

You decided to take the last twenty minutes of the drive in silence, thinking of your soulmark and who your soulmate might be. 

Honestly, you weren’t picky at all. You trusted the soulmark system, and believed with all your heart that the person that had your first words to them tattooed on their wrist was going to be just right for you. You didn’t care what they looked like or did for a living, you knew they would be enough no matter what. 

The thought made you smile softly. You had a person out there designed just for you. It was unbelievable, but in the best kind of way. 

Finally you arrived at the secluded beach, parking close to the sand under a streetlight. You stretched as you stepped out of your car, grabbing your blanket and a flashlight and taking off your shoes before running towards the water. 

You didn’t care that you probably looked crazy running onto the beach at almost 2 AM by yourself — not that there was anyone around to see, anyways. You were excited — this was the moment you’d been waiting for for twenty years. 

In just minutes you were situated at the edge of the water, just close enough to feel the sea spray as the tide rolled in. You checked the time on your phone. 

Just a few seconds to go. You held the flashlight up to focus on the inside of your left wrist, cheeks hurting from grinning so much. 

And then it was appearing. Black lines slowly came into view and then … it was there.

The first words your soulmate would ever say to you. 

‘Do you even know who I am, you psycho?’

You blinked. 

“Well then,” you muttered to yourself, looking back out to the sea again, but this time with a decidedly not so ecstatic expression. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

***

A YEAR AND A HALF LATER 

“Dude, you know you can go out and actually do stuff, right? Not sure how you’re getting ‘inspiration’ by being holed up in my apartment all day.”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes as Jimin searched for his keys. He’d been staying at his best friend’s apartment for the past few weeks after finally calling it quits with the company that had treated him like shit for so long. He’d wanted to disappear, and his friendship with Jimin had stayed off the radar for the past few years, so his friend had gladly offered to let him stay at his place until he figured out his next move. 

Not that Taehyung had any idea what his next move was. He knew he had to keep making music or he’d go crazy, he just wasn’t ready to sign his creativity over to someone else again. 

“You know I can’t do that,” Taehyung retorted, scratching Jimin’s dog Chim behind the ears as the little mutt lounged on his lap. “I can’t risk being recognized.”

Jimin rolled his eyes, turning to face his friend head on. “They make things called masks, genius.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said I could come stay with you as long as I needed to.”

“And I mean it,” Jimin affirmed, checking his pink hair in the mirror by the front door. Being a hairdresser, Jimin did this annoyingly often. “You can. But you’ve got to get out and do something, Tae. Come with me to the salon, or go to the movies, or busk at the subway station. Do something, man.” 

“While busking at the dirty subway station does sound appealing,” Taehyung deadpanned, “I’m just … I’m nervous, Jimin. I don’t know how to be … normal anymore.”

Jimin turned back to his friend sympathetically. He didn’t understand Taehyung’s dilemma at all, but he could recognize fear and pain when he saw it. Subconsciously, he rubbed at the thick leather bracelet covering his left wrist. 

(Jimin hadn’t met his soulmate yet, but his mark read, ‘Stop right there!’ and he already hated himself for the way he was apparently going to inspire fear in the person he was supposed to love and cherish.) 

“Well if it makes you feel any better,” Jimin finally said, making an excited noise as he finally found his keys, “You were never really normal. But,” he held up his finger when Taehyung started to protest childishly, “I think that’s part of your charm. Now put on a face mask and go on a walk Chim. My house, my rules, go do it.”

“Jiminie, I—”

“Nope! No arguments! There’s a really nice dog park two blocks down! Bye!”

Jimin slipped out the door before Taehyung could say another word. 

“Jackass,” Taehyung murmured without any real bite. Chim looked up at him with his adorable big brown eyes. “Not you,” he assured the dog. “Just your dumb owner.” 

Chim whined, cocking his head to the side. One of his ears stuck up, while the other flopped down. It was ridiculous how cute the mutt was. 

“Ack, fine. You want to go on a walk, Chimmy? Not like I’m exactly stewing in song-writing inspiration now, right?”

Chim barked. 

“Gee thanks, bud.”

And that was how Taehyung started his daily walks to the dog park with Chim. 

***

“I’m going to murder him,” you seethed. 

The vet photographer just laughed, not even taking her eye away from her camera as she took shots of the pitbull puppy that had just been brought to the shelter last week. 

“You’re not going to murder anyone,” your friend said. 

“Oh yes I am. I’ve tried to catch him three times now, but I keep missing him by just minutes!”

“How do you know that?”

“The poop is still warm when I get there.”

“Ew!” Your friend did look away from her camera at that comment, scrunching up her nose. “That’s disgusting, Y/N.” 

“Yeah I know!” you retorted, walking over and picking up the puppy, holding him tight to your chest. “There’s signs everywhere in the dog park. ‘Clean up after your dog,’ ‘Please dispose of your dog’s waste here,’ ‘Dog waste bags available at the entrance of the park.’ And yet does this person clean up after their dog? No!” 

“How do you know it’s the same person doing it?” your friend asked, letting her camera hang from the strap around her neck as she scratched the top of the puppy’s head. 

“I can tell,” you said matter-of-factly. “It’s the same poop pattern.”

Your friend cackled at that, which stirred the puppy in your arms. “That’s so gross.”

“I’ve stepped in it twice,” you told her, gritting your teeth. “Everyone around here respects the rule, so whoever has been letting their dog poop in the park and then not clean it up for the past three weeks is a newbie. And I’m going to track him down and give him a piece of my mind!”

“How do you know it’s a he?” your friend asked, taking the puppy from you and repositioning him in her makeshift photoshoot set once again. 

“Oh I just know.”

“Don’t tell me you saw his poop pattern, too?”

“Aish, shut up and take the pictures!” 

***

Taehyung hummed under his breath as he led Chim down the street towards the dog park.

Even though Taehyung would never admit it to Jimin, his friend’s suggestion of walking Chim had been really, really good for him. It had helped him to realize that three years of fame and concerts and tours and events and press had left Taehyung with little to no schedule or routine in his life. 

And Taehyung liked routine, he was discovering. He liked being able to know or at least have an idea of what the next day held, he liked going on walks and not having to make an event of it, or care what he looked like or what brands of clothes or shoes he was wearing because paparazzi photos would imply that he was promoting them, and so on, and so on. 

He liked normalcy. At least small pieces of it. 

And he liked Chim. Taehyung and the dog had become the best of friends in the past three weeks of daily walks together, a fact which Jimin was only slightly jealous of. 

It was nice. And oddly enough, it was giving Taehyung inspiration for all sorts of new sounds and songs.

For three years Taehyung had gone on expensive retreats to try and find song-writing inspiration (not that his company had ever listened to any of his ideas after the success of his first EP), and now he was finding loads of it just walking his friend’s dog down the street for free.  

Such a simple task was giving Taehyung an entirely new perspective. It was his favorite thing to do, which was absolutely mind boggling considering he was a literal millionaire that could do just about anything he wanted.

He liked this change of pace though. 

“Ah, ah, no, Chim,” he said as the dog started to tug at his leash. “Come on bud, we go over this every day.”  

At the halfway point to the dog park, they passed a local animal shelter. It was close to the road, so Chim always heard dogs barking or saw someone in the parking lot with their animal. He rarely barked himself, but always tugged on his leash to try and get closer. 

“Come on, Chimmie, let’s go.”

With a huff, Taehyung did what he usually ended up doing and just reached down and picked up the dog, tucking him under his arm to walk him away from the sight of the shelter. 

But as he stood back up, he glanced over to the shelter and froze. 

As you stepped out of the building leading a medium sized golden retriever puppy, talking to it softly, Taehyung found himself unable to look away. 

You were smiling, talking with the clearly skittish dog in a soothing voice. Your skin seemed to glow as the sun shone down on you and you were objectively stunning, even in plain jeans and a purple tee. 

As if sensing that you were being watched, you glanced up from the dog you were working with to look up at Taehyung standing on the sidewalk. 

Taehyung stiffened, looking away and walking with Chim down the street once more. It had been an instinct reaction, fearing that he had been recognized. 

Then he remembered that he was wearing a mask and felt like an idiot for not looking at you for another moment more. 

***

“Hey, hey!” 

Your friend jumped as you came flying around the corner, almost dropping her camera in the process. 

“You scared me!” she said with a hand on her chest to catch her breath. “What is it? What’s wrong”

“Can you get this sweet guy back into his crate? I have to go catch him!”

“Catch who?” your friend asked, taking the leash of the golden retriever you were leading. 

“The dog poop guy!” you shouted, voice fading as you took off back out the door. “I’m finally gonna catch the dog poop guy!”

***

“Alright Chim,” Taehyung muttered, voice slightly muffled beneath his mask. “Go ahead, do your business.”

Chim looked up at him with those adorable puppy dog eyes of his. 

“Seriously? We go over this everyday. I’m not watching. And there’s no one else even here!” Taehyung gestured around to the empty park. It was a Monday around 10 o’clock in the morning, which meant the park was empty save for the two of them. 

“Fine,” he muttered after a few more seconds of Chim staring at him. He leaned down and unclicked his leash since there were no other dogs around, which Chim yipped excitedly about. “Go ahead, the world is your poop yard.”

Chim took off in a run around the fence as Tae sat atop the wooden picnic table and looked around. 

It was a beautiful day. The weather was mild enough to wear short sleeves, the sun was shining but not overbearing, and it was a quiet area. 

This was the normalcy he had been craving. After years of being on the road and constantly working with no real fulfillment, this was the contentment he had actually been striving for. 

He let out a deep breath, leaning back on his palms and looking up at the clouds. He began humming a new melody under his breath, the words to a song that was almost finished just lacking … something. 

He managed to hum for just a few more seconds when he heard the gate open. 

Taehyung snapped his head up to make sure Chim hadn’t run out, but the person coming in had already closed it behind them. 

And it was … you. The girl from the shelter. Except this time you didn’t have the golden retriever with you. 

Out of habit, Taehyung lifted a hand to make sure his mask was still in place. 

Chim barked excitedly, running to greet the stranger. 

“Easy, buddy,” Taehyung called out to the dog as he ran around your legs. You kept walking towards Taehyung, making sure not to step on Chim in the meantime. 

Taehyung hopped off of the picnic table and opened his mouth to say hello or … something, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say honestly, he hadn’t spoken to anyone but Jimin in almost a month. 

But before he could speak, you beat him to the punch. 

“It’s you!” 

Taehyung froze as you marched up and pointed in his face. 

He’d heard those words from countless crazed fans since his soulmark had leaked. The words that were supposed to fill him with joy at finding his soulmate now filled him with dread. 

How the hell had you recognized him with a mask on and his hair a different color than his last paparazzi sighting?

“You are the poop guy!” 

Taehyung blinked. 

What the hell? he thought to himself. He tried to speak, but you weren’t letting him. 

“For three weeks I’ve been bringing the shelter dogs here to play and do you know how many times I have stepped in your dog’s poop?”

Taehyung opened his mouth. 

“Seven times!” you shrieked. “Seven times and now two of my favorite pairs of shoes are ruined because they are cloth and I can’t get rid of the poop smell. Can you read?”

Once again, Taehyung tried to speak. 

“There are signs!” you yelled, gesturing around the park. “Three signs as a matter of fact! The park even has bags for you to use! It takes five seconds to clean up after your dog! It’s common courtesy!”

Your voice was as shrieky as ever, and your shoulders heaved as you caught your breath. 

“Well?” you asked, throwing your hands up in the air. “Aren’t you going to say anything? An apology will suffice, but I prefer a promise to start cleaning up after your dog.”

Taehyung swallowed thickly and you tracked the movement. You couldn’t see the majority of his face because he was wearing a mask over his mouth, but he was built well and had cute fluffy brown hair hanging over his forehead. 

Doesn’t matter if he’s cute, he’s not following common dog-owner courtesy, you scolded yourself. 

Slowly, he reached up and tugged off his mask. 

Aw crap, you thought. He’s not just cute, he’s model level hot. 

And he was. His facial features were striking, you’d honestly never seen anyone as attractive as him. But you stood your ground, focusing on the fact that he had ruined two pairs of your favorite shoes and made you give four of the shelter dogs a bath because they stepped in his dog’s poop. Hot or not, that was unacceptable.

Finally, he spoke (not that you had given him much opportunity to until now).

“Do you even know who I am,” Taehyung asked softly, genuinely curious.

But before he finished speaking, he remembered that you had just yelled at him like a crazy person without even letting him defend himself. 

“—you psycho?”

Your jaw dropped as the now annoyingly attractive man leveled up in his own irritation. 

You briefly registered in the back of your mind that oh shit, this is my soulmate, but quite frankly your soulmate was being a dick! 

“It’s a dog park!” Taehyung shouted. “Dogs poop! How hard is it to look down and see where you’re stepping?”

“I shouldn’t have to look down where I’m stepping!” you shot back. “If all dogs pooped here without their owners cleaning up after them, it would be anarchy!”

“Poop is biodegradable!”

“What?! It takes dog poop like three months to decompose!”

“Well that’s … longer than I thought!” he admitted, still yelling. “It doesn’t matter, you shouldn’t be screaming at strangers!”

“You’re not a stranger, you’re my soulmate!” 

Taehyung blinked, mouth slightly agape. You realized your mistake. 

“I mean, I-I don’t know who you are,” you muttered. “But you said the words, so — and by the way, rude first words to say to your other half!”

You held up your left wrist, showing your soulmate your mark. 

‘Do you even know who I am, you psycho?’

He winced. 

After the shouting match, the quiet between the two of you seemed oddly profound. 

“Do you … do you actually know who I am though?” he asked quietly. 

You raised your eyebrow. “Other than my soulmate and the guy who lets his dog poop freely in a public place? Uh, no, I don’t.”

Taehyung let out a deep breath, laughing softly. 

“Good, that’s … good,” he said quietly, his striking eyes looking up at you from beneath his eyelashes. “Sorry about the dog poop.”

“No you’re not.”

“No, I’m really not. If it makes you feel any better, it’s not my dog.”

“That has nothing to do with it!”

“Do you always yell so much?!”

“No I’m usually very pleasant!”

“Well you could’ve fooled me!”

“Well ask me on a date and I’ll prove it to you!”

“Fine, do you want to go out to dinner tonight?!”

“Yes, there’s a good restaurant next to my apartment we can go to!”

“That sounds great!”

“You’re really pretty, I hope you know that!”

“You’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

“I hope it doesn’t freak you out, but I’m actually a famous musician and my stage name is V!”

“Wait, what?”

You stepped back in shock at his declaration and right into a big, fresh pile of — 

“Ack! For fuck’s sake, clean up after your damn dog!”

You wanted to hate him for laughing so hard, but after looking at his boxy smile and the way his dog (okay not his dog, but still) was running around his feet yipping excitedly … you just couldn’t do it. 

Your soulmark wasn’t exactly the best, but … you had a feeling the man on the other side of it was going to turn out to be perfect for you.

Even if he did continue to laugh as you scraped the dog poop off the bottom of yet another new pair of shoes. 

[starlit-serenade]

Dance With Me | Chapter 3

💙 Summary: After visiting the members of ONEUS during their dance practice, you find yourself inspired to learn to dance. You ask your friend Kim Geonhak to teach you.

💙 Chapter 3: 2,067 words

💙 Pairing: Reader x Kim Geonhak (Leedo) / Characters: GenderNeutral!Reader; Kim Geonhak (Leedo); Son Dongju (Xion); Yeo Hwanwoong (Hwanwoong); Lee Keonhee (Keonhee); Lee Seoho (Seoho); Kim Youngjo (Ravn);

💙 Rated: T for some minor swearing / Warnings: Minor Swearing; Jealousy (Later in the fic) / Genre: Fluff; Minor Angst (Later in the fic); Friends-To-Lovers; Happy Ending;

《 Series Masterlist // ONEUS Masterlist // Boy Group Masterlist 》

After you get off of work, you hurry home to get your bag of workout clothes. You refill your water bottle even though you know you can get water when you arrive at RBW. You're just too excited.

This morning, you'd woken up with the sun bright in your eyes. You'd looked outside and had seen that there were few clouds in the sky, and you felt that today was going to be a good day. You didn't know why, until your phone dinged. You checked to see that you had dance practice scheduled with Geonhak, and you couldn't help but smile.

And so here you are, walking to RBW with your bag slung over your shoulder. The summer weather isn't too cold or too warm, isn't too dry or humid. It's a perfect day, and you have a feeling in your gut that the day will remain perfect.

When you get to the RBW building, you change into your workout clothes in the bathroom. One of the trainees had once mentioned to you that they change clothes because after a few hours of practice, the workout clothes is all sweaty, so it's useful to have clothes to change into.

You stand outside of the practice room and knock. The door opens and you are met with Geonhak. He's wearing a white T-shirt, loose, black sweatpants and a wide smile. His hair is recently dyed blond. You can see that Dongju was right--Geonhak was really excited to teach you. You can see it in his eyes. The way his nose is scrunched up as he smiles. He's excited to teach you.

"Hi Y/N!" he says, stepping backward and opening the door wider to let you in.

"Hey Geonhak," you reply as you set your stuff down. You stretch on the floor, and he joins you.

"Where's everyone else?" you ask. Usually the other members linger around after group practices for a few minutes, but no sign of them remains in the room. Not even a forgotten water bottle or sweatshirt.

"Youngjo is working on producing and recording in the studio with Seoho right now, I think," Geonhak says. "I've no idea where the other three are. They might have gone back to the dorm."

You nod.

"Were you expecting them to be here?" Geonhak asks. You shake your head.

"No. It's just that they often linger around a bit when there's nothing to do. Especially the younger ones."

After you've finished stretching, you and Geonhak find the dance video. His A Song Written Easily dance video. He turns the speed to x0.75 speed, and you watch as the video Leedo moves slowly, copying him and trying not to laugh at the slowed down audio.

The first attempt, Geonhak doesn't dance with you. Instead, he watches you dance the song. With the slowed speed, you find it easier to perfect the moves you already know, and find that you aren't as clunky and clumsy this time. However, Geonhak's staring doesn't make it easier.

You reach the part you're familiar with, and the video continues without you.

"Good job," Geonhak says. "Keep watching. After the video ends, I want you to try the whole video at this speed. It doesn't matter if you mess up, I'll coach you after."

You keep watching the video, trying to memorize the dance moves. You find yourself copying the moves slightly, even just where you're standing, your hands and shoulders mimicking the small movements and your knees bending as Leedo dances on screen.

After the video is finished, Geonhak leans over to the computer, pauses it and moves it back to the beginning.

"I noticed you imitating the dance subtly," Geonhak says before unpausing. You watch his finger trail over the key as he speaks. "That's smart. You're already starting, and that'll help the muscle memory learn the dance easier and faster. Ready to start?"

You nod, and Geonhak starts the video. For the first part, the part you've been practicing for the past few days, you dance confidently. Not perfectly, but confidently. Because you know it. You don't even need to keep your eyes on the video. But as it gets to parts that you're unfamiliar with, you pay more attention to the video. Even with the slowness, it's easy for you to get lost and confused. You try to follow along, though. During the parts where you're less lost--parts such as the chorus--your eyes find Geonhak's in the mirror, and you can see him smiling at you. Even as you stumble, miss a beat, or even just stop to watch for a second before catching up to the video, Geonhak does nothing but observe with a smile on his face.

The video finishes after a long time, and you try stand up straight, but end up panting with your hands against your thighs. You're not sweating, but you're still tired from doing all of that movement.

"Want to take a break?" Geonhak asks gently. You nod, thankful that he's so understanding. Perhaps it has anything to do with the fact that he studied early childhood education. You wonder, for a moment, if you'd asked Hwanwoong or Seoho to teach you instead, would they have been this patient?

After you swallow a mouthful of water, you stand back in your place in front of the screen and mirror, Geonhak standing a few feet away from you.

You dance together until a part you're unfamiliar with--Keonhee's pre-chorus after Geonhak's rap--and you watch Geonhak anxiously. He notices you and your confusion, and smiles, pausing the video.

"Watch me," he says, facing the back of the room. He demonstrates the dance step by step as you watch, copying him. "Step back so your feet are about this far apart. Good, turn your body like this--" He ducks down, twists his body and turns to face the front. "--stretch your right arm up like this, then pull it back, like a retreating wave. Here, you'll turn your whole body like this, leading with your arm. Follow your arm through a full spin so you're facing the corner. Then stop."

You watch him do it again, listening to him sing along, before trying it yourself. You pause multiple times, trying to remember the dance that was just demonstrated to you twice, and thankfully Geonhak gently reminds you of the steps, singing the song between the instructions.

"There you go, Y/N. Right arm up," he says encouragingly. You must look ridiculous, going so slowly and clumsily, but nothing he does or says even suggests that he thinks so.

After you've finished, he steps back into his spot next to you.

"Let's do it together," he says, facing the back right corner of the room. You copy his stance, facing the corner with your back to the mirror.

He dances slowly, stepping with his right foot backward, and waits for you to do the same before twisting his body to face the front of the room. He waits for you to do the move before continuing.

After three hours of dancing--including a twenty minute break in the middle, during which the two of you spent buying and eating snacks from a vending machine down the hall--you and Geonhak end the practice by stretching, so as not to hurt yourself by pulling something later, and to let your body and muscles cool down.

"Did you enjoy your first day of practice?" Geonhak asks, hopeful. You can tell he wants to hear how good his teaching is. Not necessarily because he wants to hear that he's good, but because he wants to hear how he's doing.

"I did. We got through more than half of the song, which is far better than what I started the day with," you say.

"You did well today," he says shyly, his eyes not meeting yours, but you can see him smiling.

"You did well too," you say. "Thank you for teaching me, Geonhak. You were really helpful with teaching me."

He smiles proudly. "How about to celebrate, we go get some ice cream? After stretching."

You nod, smiling. You haven't had ice cream in a while. Not because ice cream isn't good, but because you're so busy and you never have enough time.

You finish up stretching, grab your bag, and head to the bathroom to change back into your casual clothes. You understand what the trainee was talking about, now. You're sweating through your workout clothes, and the summer warmth would be so uncomfortable to walk in with them on. Your shirt would probably stick to you with sweat. You internally thank that trainee for telling you about changing clothes, and promise to thank them if you ever see them again

When you exit the bathroom, Geonhak is standing in the RBW lobby waiting. He's also changed his clothes, and is now wearing a black baseball hat and torn jeans with a white T-shirt beneath an unbuttoned plaid button-up.

You walk to Baskin-Robbins. Geonhak gets his favorite--Rainbow Sherbet ice cream, just like you'd told Hwanwoong and Dongju he'd liked--get your favorite. Just as you're about to pay for your ice cream, Geonhak stops you.

"I'll pay," he murmurs. You frown at him in surprise.

"What? Geonhak, it's alright, I can pay for myself."

"Please let me pay," he says. "I suggested getting ice cream."

"I'm not gonna make you pay for me after you've been helping me dance. In fact, I should pay for yours as thanks."

"Y/N," Geonhak says sternly, and your eyes meet his, beneath his baseball cap. He looks so serious, over a little matter of ice cream. "You're not making me pay. I'm asking you to let me. Please let me pay for your ice cream."

After a moment of him staring into your eyes, you give in, and reluctantly let Geonhak pay for both ice creams. "Only if I can pay next time," you say. He sighs and, laughing, he agrees.

You walk together down the street, nearly shoulder to shoulder as you eat your ice cream. You can tell from the smile on Geonhak's face that he's really enjoying his ice cream.

Hm. I'll make sure to tell Hwanwoong and Dongju that for party plans.

You've been texting back and forth with Hwanwoong and Dongju, planning for what Geonhak might like. The three of you had decided that, even though Geonhak's favorite color is black, you will not be painting the entire room black, as Dongju had suggested. This is a birthday celebration, not a funeral. You three decided that the theme for decorations will be silver balloons with silver, gold and black streamers. You'd get a white cake with Geonhak's name and age written on the top in silver and gold frosting and a black outline. You even designed the cake on a piece of paper.

The idea is simple. You might do a random play dance competition between the seven of you, or a Guess-The-Song competition, but other than the fun games you have listed, it's still a very simple party. But you're still confident in it.

"So what did Dongju call you over for the other day?" Geonhak asks, bringing you away from your thoughts.

"Huh?" It takes you a moment to register what he just asked, and you answer before he can ask again. "Oh, uh. Nothing important. Why? Did you ask him?"

"I did ask him. He also said nothing. Which makes me more concerned."

"He wanted me to come over and play video games with him and Hwanwoong," you lie. You can't tell him you're planning a surprise party for him. Then it wouldn't be a surprise.

"Oh. Him and Hwanwoong?" Geonhak asks, visibly stiffening. You nod.

"Yes. What, are you worried I'm gonna ask Hwanwoong to teach me to dance instead of you?" you ask, and Geonhak's eyes widen in surprise. Almost as if he's offended.

"What? No, of course not."

You laugh, eating more of your ice cream. "Don't worry,  I'm only teasing. Besides, even if I could ask Hwanwoong to teach me, I don't know why I would ask him now. I have you, Mr. Kim Geonhak. I'm glad to have you as my friend and dance teacher."

He smiles, and you can see his body relax at your words. "Good," he says. "I'm glad to have you as my friend and dance student."

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Just Sit Down!

I know in the USA that some states are starting to pull back on their self-isolation orders but Please, I’m begging you to listen to the science.

This isn’t over.

We need to continue to flatten the curve.

STAY AT HOME.

__________

Summary: Peter Parker is a man... well, teenager of action. Therefore he and 'social distancing' don't exactly mix and he's about to drive Tony up a wall. The good news is he's able to come up with a plan that will undoubtedly wear his kid out.

Tags:  social distancing, Pandemics, Peter Parker is Going Stir-Crazy, Tony Stark is Being So Patient, Superhero Tag, Raising Morale, Staying Positive, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure... ...

Word Count: 3202

Warnings: None   Rated: G

Link to Post on AO3[2020-3-21]: Just Sit Down-happyaspie

 From the moment the virus, the pandemic, hit the United States, May immediately started talking precautions.  One of which was making sure that Peter was being careful while on his patrols.  No diving into crowds, cleaning his hands regularly and washing his suit after every single use.  Peter complained that she was being overprotective.  Insisting that they had no proof that he could get sick at all but being a nurse, she didn't relent.  They didn't know enough about his immune system to be sure that he couldn't catch this particular virus and even if he couldn't, he could still spread it.  Being cautious was the best course of action.  

Later when things began to spread, the local and national governments decided that social distancing was the best way to slow the progression and prevent the healthcare systems from being overwhelmed.  That meant that events were being canceled, the schools were being closed and businesses were beginning to move towards a 'curb-side pickup model'... it not temporarily closing their doors altogether.  

At that time, May was the first to volunteer to take on extra shifts at the hospital. Especially as some of her co-workers began having to navigate through a sudden need for child care or had fallen ill themselves.  She didn't mind the extra work, it was hard but it was also fulfilling.  The problem was that it didn't take long after the first major influx of patients for the hospital's supply of personal protection equipment to begin to run frighteningly low.  That didn't stop her from pressing forward. She knew she was part of the frontline.  People's lives were in her hands.  That wasn't to say that she wasn't worried.   In order to prevent the possibility of bringing the virus home to Peter, she did the next most responsible thing she could think of.  She sent him to stay with Tony and she knew she was extremely lucky to have that sort of an option for her nephew.  Many families didn't.

Having Peter stay at the tower actually eased most of May's major concerns.   Not only did it reduce the possibility of her passing the virus on to him, should she be directly exposed, it also meant that he would be well fed.  Getting enough supplies to properly feed an enhanced teenager during a time when people were buying in bulk out of fear was difficult.  That wasn't a problem for Tony.  He always had a large supply of everything stocked up at the tower.  It came from housing several heroes, including a super-soldier.  However, she also relieved to know that the man would be available to make sure that Peter didn't try to sneak out as she knew he was itching to do. 

Tony was, as expected, quick to accommodate.  He even made sure to have May's kitchen stocked for her. She tried to refuse but he simply waved her off.  Saying that he'd already made several large donations to various community food pantries and created a few helpful programs of his own to support the at-risk communities.  Supplying her with two weeks' worth of frozen dinners and canned goods that he already had laying around was nothing.   "Besides, you're really helping me out.  The team is sort of spread out across the country, Pepper's stuck overseas for the time being and the penthouse is entirely too quiet.", he said, not really knowing at the time, what exactly he'd signed up for.

~o~o~o~o~o~

By day five of being completely banned from Spidering at both May and Tony's insistence, Peter was starting to go a little bit stir-crazy.  He'd not used his web-shooters or any of his spider-powers during that entire time and he had so much pent up energy that he could feel himself vibrating.  "I need to get out.", he randomly jumped up and announced after having been jittering in place for the past twenty minutes while Tony watched the news.

"No, you don't.  Sit down.", Tony casually stated before flipping the channel to something a little more upbeat. 

"I can't sit down.  There're... things I could be doing out there.", Peter retorted as he began to pace.  

Tony hummed in response.  "Like what?", he asked despite knowing the answer.  He knew the kid was going nuts from sitting around.  A daily jog at the nearby park wasn't enough.  Not when he was having to go at a leisurely human pace.  

"I don't know!  Things!", Peter snapped but felt instantly sorry for having done so.  Taking a deep breath he looked longingly out the window and sighed.   "Stopping crime.  The usual."

"There's nobody out there, kiddo.  ...and the police are already taking precautions to help handle any kind of mass panic.", Tony helpfully supplied but the boy didn't look convinced, instead, he went back to pacing the room and periodically sighing.  

Eventually, Peter paused in front of where his mentor was sitting and began to chew on his thumbnail.  "Maybe I could help buy groceries for the elderly or something.", he suggested because that sounded reasonable.  He could swing around the city and deliver necessities to people who otherwise shouldn't be out.  That would allow him to really move while helping the community. 

"Stark Industries funded an emergency drone delivery service for that very purpose. It's free, highly advertised and my understanding is that it's getting a lot of use.", Tony replied and steeled himself for an argument that never came.  Instead, the kid when back to pacing.  Then, the pacing turned into digging around in the kitchen and before he knew it, the boy was back in front of him.

"We're out of pudding, Mr. Stark.  I should go out and get some.", Peter stated matter-of-factly, shifted his weight as he spoke. 

"Pete... I have enough food to feed me, you, May and a small army for the next three months, you'll be fine for the next two or three weeks.", Tony said in exasperation.  A lack of pudding was not even slightly on his radar.  Lack of coffee might have gotten his attention but he knew better than that.  The coffee he liked was delivered to his door, in bulk, on a monthly basis.  Not to mention the backup supply he kept in the back of the freezer.  "Don't you have some homework you can sit down to do?"

Midtown had turned to digital learning for the duration of the preventative period and posted assignments daily.  Extensive ones.  Yet, Peter had managed to blow through them in record time.  "I finished it already.", he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

Throwing his hand up in mild annoyance, Tony rolled his eyes.  Of course, the kid was done with his homework.  "Well, call Ned or do that Discord gaming thingy that you do.  Just sit down, kid!"

"We did that already today", peter complained as he began to absentmindedly bounce on his toes.  "You can only play so much Minecraft, Mr. Stark."

Tony huffed a laugh.  "Really because it wasn't that long ago you were all, '...but there are bees now, Mr. Stark...', when I asked you put the game down for ten minutes to help me with something in the lab.", he playfully mocked.  He really didn't understand the fascination with the game and this was coming from a man who's entire generation had thrived on clunky plastic cartridges and boxy eight-bit characters.

Crossing his arms in front of him, Peter, sighed and then reluctantly plopped down into a chair only to then relentlessly tap his foot on the hardwood floor.  "I have a short attention span, Mr. Stark.  The bees are no longer of interest.", he proclaimed and then immediately stood up to continue his aimless wandering.

"Do you want to go down to the workshop?", Tony asked next.  Even if they had run out of things to do as far as Spider-suit updates go, there was always an abundance of half-finished projects down there to look at.  He sort of hoped that he could get the kid's brain working and that would, in turn, temporarily cease to the whining.  "We can do whatever you want as long as you stop pacing.  You're going to wear a hole in my carpet.  Sit down!"

"Why can't I go out as Spider-man, Mr. Stark?", Peter pleaded, not really expecting any kind of surprising answer.  He'd already asked that question multiple times over the last few days and the response wasn't likely to have changed. 

"You know why, kid.", Tony warningly returned causing the boy to grunt in frustration and then turn back towards the large windows.  It was as though the sly line was calling his name.  No screaming.  The skyline was screaming his name.

"What if I just swing around for like, an hour and then back.  No direct peopling.", Peter begged, hoping that was enough of a compromise.  While he missed talking to his many neighbors, shaking hands and playing with all the children in the streets but he did understand.  He was just aching to get out.  Like he would suffocate soon if he didn't.

Rolling his eyes, Tony sat up taller in his seat and pointed an accusatory finger towards the pouting teenager.  "Right.  Do you think you can just sit there and lie to me like that?  I've met you and there is zero chance of you going out in that suit and not talking to every single person you come across."

"I promise, Mr. Stark!", Peter nearly shouted but his mentor remained placid.

"Nope.", Tony causally countered but when it looked like the kid might actually start to cry he relented.  Just a little.  It wasn't that he had any real problem with Spider-man going out to swing the afternoon away.  The problem was he didn't trust the teenager behind the mask to not dive right into the middle of the first crowd he spotted.  He required supervision and he supposed that technically he could offer that.   "What if I go with you?", he proposed.

Narrowing his eyes, Peter tried to decide what the man had meant by that.  "Like... as my sidekick?", he asked, feigning confusion. 

"Iron Man is nobody's sidekick, Spider-boy.", Tony impassively asserted. "I'm going as your--"

"--Equal?", Peter pipped up with a wide smile.  He knew that was definitely not what the man was going to say either but he was sure his mentor's reaction would be nothing less than entertaining and he desperately needed some entertainment.    

"That's cute, Pete but no.", Tony said with a smirk.   "I'm going as your Superhero mentor or what have you.", he flippantly declared before turning the television off completely.  Apparently his spider-child required another, more vigorous walk. 

Peter stood by the window and quietly contemplated the offer.  It didn't really take that long for him to decide that the plan, though vague was good enough for him.  If it meant getting to use his web-shooters, that was all he needed to hear.  That didn't make him any less curious about what the man had in mind, though.   "That's cool.  What are we going to do?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas.", Tony said with a grin.

Within the next thirty minutes, the two for them were suited up and on top of the building.  While Peter hopped in place Tony stood there rapidly typing something into his phone.  "What are you doing?", Peter asked as he tried to see over the man's shoulder.  "I thought we were going to actually do something."

For several seconds the man didn't dignify the question but when he did he was smiling triumphantly.  "There we go.  ...Now you can swing around and get your crazies out while doing something nice.", he stated before turning his phone so that Peter could read his latest tweet.  'Bored inside? Spider-man and I are about to hit the skies for some practice.  Enjoy the show from your windows.', it read and tagged several specific locations including the nearby children's hospital.

"That... is a really cool idea, Mr. Stark!", Peter giddily exclaimed.

"It was one of my more genius plans.", Tony said with a flourish of his armored hand.  "Now, let's get going, that's a lot of ground to cover.", he added, engaging his faceplate and then subsequently shooting a mild repulsor beam directly between the kid's feet calling out, "Tag, you're it!", before taking off into the sky.

"Hey!  I wasn't ready, Mr. Stark!", Peter laughed as his mentor hovered tauntingly above him.  Though, before he had the chance to gather his thoughts or shoot a web towards the nearest building the man was swooping back towards him.

"You coming or what, Spider-kid?", Tony said, holding out his hand with the intention of taking another shot but before it could go off, Peter managed to get his wits about him and shot a web towards the man's outstretched hand.  Completely undaunted by his now web covered palm, Tony didn't change his position.  Instead, he raised his face-plate and smiled.  "Nice try, Spiderling.", he calmly replied right before the repulsor went off, burning right through the webs and hitting peter right on the heels as he had already begun to run towards the edge of the rooftop.

They continued to soar through the city, playing their superhero version of tag while people cheered them on from their windows and balconies.  Some of them wearing their hero of choice's colors while others held up signs to show support.  Although, Peter's favorite part of the entire chaotic outing was climbing up the side of the children's hospital and waving to the kids as they sat up in their beds giggling whenever Tony would zap him in the rear.  It was probably the most fun he'd had in a really long time.

By the time they had hit all of the spots that Tony had promised they would appear in, Peter was actually tired.  Not exhausted but comfortably worn out.  So, when the man told him it was time to head back to shower and eat he was more than willing to go.  

"That was really awesome, Mr. Stark.  Like, I can't remember the last time I've ever been able to play with anyone like that.", Peter sighed out as they sat together at the kitchen counter eating dinner. After the spider bite, any and all rowdy antics had come to a rapid halt.  It wasn't like he could wrestle around with Ned.  He had super- strength and didn't want to hurt him.  Yet, it had never crossed his mind that maybe Tony or even Steve would willingly rough-house with him.  Sparring, jogging, team practice, those could be fun sometimes but they weren't the same thing.   

"Yeah?  Well, I'm glad you had a good time, Buddy.", Tony said.  He'd not really considered that end of the exercise.  His goal had been to allow the kid to wear himself out using his spider-powers without putting himself or others at risk.  He'd had no idea that when he'd chosen to turn the whole thing it into a game, that he'd be filling a hole that he never knew existed.  "I think the people watching had a good time too."

Nodding his head, Peter smiled.  He thought about all the families that had come outside to see what the ruckus was about then stood on their balconies laughing and yelling, back and forth towards each other as they watched the action.  He thought about how they were enjoying each other's company without going against any social distancing suggestions and how happy everyone looked while doing so.  "It was sort of cool to see everyone being excited together even though they were still apart.", he mused between bites of spaghetti.

"We gave them something fun to focus on for a little while.", Tony acknowledged.  He'd not expected the impromptu air show to go over quite as well as it had but then again people had been confined to their homes for a while at that point.  No school, no concerts, even the libraries were off-limits.  They'd needed a pick-me-up beyond a computer screen.  An excuse to interact with their neighborhood at a distance.  

"Can we do it again, Mr. Stark?", Peter asked as he began to clear the table.  He wasn't sure exactly how much longer they would have to all be inside but he hoped to have the chance to lift the city's spirits again.   That and the game had been fun.  Laughing, goofing off and scuffling without having to worry about hurting anyone had been amazing.

"At some point.", Tony agreed with a smile.  He could handle that and honestly, he had already decided that after everything had settled, that he would occasionally take the kid out just to play around as they had.  Peter had made it very clear that having someone to horse around with had been something he'd been missing and it had been fun for him too.  It would also come off as good publicity.  Two superheroes working in tandem to brighten the lives of the people around them but mostly the former.  "In the meantime, what do you want to do now?  Lab or movie?"

"Movie.", Peter readily replied as he darted across the room and flipped solidly into the large chair beside the window. "They released some new ones to digital early since the movie theaters are closed.  Like Onward, Frozen Two and most importantly, the newest Star Wars movie."

 "Of course, Star Wars.", Tony replied with a roll of his eyes but settled down on the couch all the same. 

 They sat on the sperate pieces of furniture for the duration of the first movie but by the time they had started into their second, Peter was growing tired.  Eventually, he got up from the chair he'd been curled up in and wandered over to sit directly beside Tony on the couch.  That way he could stretch out a little more. Though as more time passed he found himself leaning more heavily into the man's side and his head resting snuggly on the man's shoulder.

 Looking down at the kid who finally seemed to be more at peace than he had been for the last several days, he smiled.  "You know we're supposed to be practicing social distancing.", teased said while nudging Peter's head with a shrug of his occupied shoulder.  It wasn't that boy had never sat with him like that before or that he really minded, so much as he just wanted to give him a hard time.  It was fun.

 "I live with you.", Peter reason, without bothering to move an inch.  He was comfortable and sitting closely beside someone that you were actively sharing space with was to be expected.

 “You live with your aunt.", Tony counted with a chuckle.  Though he did realize that the kid spent more than a good bit of time living with him as well.  Even before the short term change in his primary residence.  

 Peter looked up and grinned.  "Not right now I don't.", he sing-songed before pulling the blanket off of the back of the couch.

 "Whatever.", Tony returned with a fond roll of his eyes.  "At least your sitting down."