#I think I addressed the second half of your ask but it's mostly a reply to the first lol

[eirikrjs]

So with Kaneko back to doing stuff for the industry (as offhandedly as he is, and as nefarious the projects he became associated with are) would you expect to see him credited in an Atlus title at any point in the future? I think I know the answer already, so I guess what I mean to ask is more on the lines of, is the approach Atlus currently takes to its subject matters fundamentally incompatible with what artists like Kaneko were trying to achieve and express? What do you think of this disconnect, if so?

Kaneko ain't doing stuff with Atlus anymore. He'll still be credited for legacy demon designs, though.

Atlus has a well-oiled art machine now:

Soejima & his persona team artists that emulate his style, for the "prestige" products (Metaphor and Persona)

Whatever "Atlus Art Team" is at this point

Doi for SMT and possibly other non-prestige products (new spinoffs that don't exist and may never exist)

Contract artists for low tier games they have little faith in (Soul Hackers 2)

So yeah, I just don't think Kaneko really had a niche at the company anymore ("product" is a key word here). He was simply no longer needed and his style has never been very marketable.

Kaneko unfortunately became the kooky old guy who should've just retired, but didn't, and is now looking desperate and/or out-of-touch by chasing embarrassing trends.

I would wager he would refuse to do more work for Atlus, not out of bad blood, but because he considers it part of his past. He's literally moved on. The only consolation prize we get is that we will get to see new Kaneko art for Colopl, for whatever that's worth.

...Merry Christmas?

[loumauve]

I snapped today at work, and by snapped I mean I politely commented on a help desk ticket by summing up an mess of an (type of) issue that's come up for at least the fourth time in the 2+ months I've been managing user accounts, and asked the person responsible to fix it (himself for once) because last time I fixed his mess-up it took me two whole days to work out the details with at least four other colleagues from different departments and I really don't want to do it again. there's other shit that needs doing, I've been working 10+ hour days for most of this week already, so I need to cut down not add on more.

(good thing tho - at least we managed to fix the issue where the dataset of a newer employee got mixed up with another one of the same name and therefore wasn't able to apply for any of the access/accounts she needed. technically not entirely my area but it does impact us not being allowed to create an account for her so I figured I might as well track that issue down. took three days and at least three other people, but hey - it should all work out now. yay for that)

[greatestexpectationss]

A Quiet Moment

Luke Castellan x Fem!Daughter of Persephone Reader

Description: You and Luke get a rare quiet moment in Cabin 11 accompanied by some troubling thoughts. Luke's always there to make you feel better and you know him better than anyone else.

Can be read as a stand-alone or part 2 to Poison Ivy

Warnings: mentions of alcoholism, mentions of mental health (season depression), making out, I think thats it?? Also not edited sorry!!!!!!!

“Luke, this is not good,” you’re pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation. The cabin is in total disarray, you’d left Luke and a majority of other campers there to begin to clean it while you helped the Demeter kids in the Strawberry fields. You’d come back to, though a smaller mess, a mess nevertheless. 

 Cabin inspections are later tomorrow afternoon, and you can already tell the Hermes cabin is so totally screwed. Cabin 11 is chaotic as always, to be fair it isn’t Luke’s fault, Hermes houses his children, unclaimed children, and minor gods' children alike. As a child of Persephone, you’ve only ever known the Hermes cabin as home other than the few nights you’ve spent in the Demeter cabin with your friend Katie, you fit in there as a child of Persephone and your power of chlorekensis makes you fit right in. Chiron in a desperate attempt to make more room in the Hermes had asked you if you’d like to move into the Demeter cabin permanently. You’d told him no, Luke needed your help managing the campers, but you’re sorely regretting it now. 

Your boyfriend pouts at you from his bunk where he’d collapse in exasperated exhaustion just moments before you’d return. “This whole thing is rigged, how’re we expected to be clean, we’ve got like triple the campers?” he groans. Then he sits up on his elbows eyeing you up and down. You’ve discarded your camp half-blood t-shirt and are left in your forest green spaghetti strap and dark denim shorts. He smiles like he’s won the whole damn lottery. You're exasperated resolve melts a bit when he speaks again.

“You look pretty,” he compliments you. You smile, blush, and roll your eyes before collapsing on his bunk beside him, ignoring the campers scurrying around you to get to their activities and clean up their own messes. 

“Thank you,” you whisper as he reaches over and moves a piece of hair out of your face. “Anytime Poison,” he replies, a cheeky smile on his face. Then as if remembering something he sits up and addresses the few campers that are still scrambling about the cabin, “Go enjoy the rest of your free time, we’ll take care of the rest of the damage in the morning.” They all cheer and thank him, but you know this was just a clever ploy for Luke to get the cabin empty for a second. 

“How was your day?” you ask him, sitting up and sitting crisscross on his bed. He follows suit facing you and interlacing both your hands between you. “You’re looking at it sweetheart,” he gestures around to the mostly not clean cabin. 

“This took you all day?” you tease. Luke flicks your forehead, you laugh in response. 

“Don’t be mean.”

“Who me? I’m not being mean.”

He shoots you a look.

“Well now you know how I feel, you’re always teasing me.”

It’s takes about five seconds for Luke to wrestle you onto your back, knee slotted between your thighs, while both of his hands mercilessly attack your side. Your writhing beneath him, laughing so hard you can’t breath. 

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you squeal, he halts his movements and pokes the dimple by the corner of your mouth, that only shows when you’re laughing hysterically. 

“That’s what I thought Poison, you know we’ve gotta stop meeting like this,” he’s slowed his movements, now one hand still stroking you cheek, moving down to your hip and pressing you depper into the mattress, his other hand holds him up so he’s not completely crushing you. You blush furiously at his implication, the last time the two of you had been in this position, it had been sinful, granted you weren’t in your cabin where anyone could walk in at any moment, but still. “You’re gross,” is what you decide to respond with, but he just laughs and leans down to kiss you anyways. 

Kissing Luke is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You’ve kissed other boys before him, but something about the way he kisses you, you know he’s absolutely ruined you for anyone else, he kisses you in a way you know will screw up forever. You don’t know what you’ll do if he wakes up one day and decides he doesn’t want you anymore. The thought makes you kiss him harder, and pull him closer. His thumb rubs soothing circles against your exposed skin from where your shirt  had ridden up a bit. One of your hands rests at the base of his neck pulling him closer, begging him to kiss you harder. Your other hand hovers at his lower back, when you try to pull him closer there too, he pulls his face back from yours, breathing heavily. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, he kisses your check once on both sides softly and then looks at you again.

“Nothing, just keep kissing me,” you tell him before pulling him back to your lips. 

He mumbles your name against them, but then indulges you for a moment, your brain is going a million miles a minute, you don’t know why you can’t turn it off sometimes, but the thought of loosing Luke plagues your mind too often, were you destined to be like your father, who loved your mother in the spring only to be left again by the fall, he had never truly gotten over his one great love, Persephone. You couldn’t imagine ever getting over Luke either, especially with the way he’s kissing you so tenderly now.

He pulls away again, making you pout. 

“I can hear you thinking, what’s up?”

You almost tell him but he’s always trying to make you feel better and for once you want there to just be nothing wrong. You’ve always been a little more darkness than Luke, you think. He’s the camp golden boy, perfect in all the ways that count. You’re Persephone’s only (claimed) daughter, who grows plants from nothing, and grows vines of poison ivy around people who piss you off. Your moods change with the seasons, and as Fall grows nearer you can feel yourself growing darker. You just want a moment with your incredibly hot boyfriend to not think of the impending darkness that’s right around the corner.

“I’m okay, really,” you tell him, he’s not convinced clearly because he stays hovering over you but he won’t lean back down to kiss you. “Luke, c’mon we’ve got like–” you check your watch, “30 minutes until the first round of campers are back.”’

“But you’re worried about something, I can tell,” he mutters, “It’s almost September, that’s what’s buggin’ you huh?” 

Sometimes you hate how well he knows you, “Okay, yeah, you’re super duper smart now do you wanna make out with me or what?”

He laughs, and leans down to kiss you again, it’s a peck not at all what you were looking for and you groan. “Luke–”

“Look, I’m all for making out, and I’ll distract you if you really want me to,” his voice is husky in your ear, in the way he knows you love, but then he pulls back to look at you again, “but we both know this is still gonna be buggin’ you afterward, and I just want to make you feel better.”

You sigh, cause you know he’s right, annoyingly right, and stupidly handsome, you still really want to make out with him, but you don’t want him to feel like he’s a distraction, because he isn’t. He’s Luke, and you love him with everything you have.

“You’re never a distraction,” you promise him eagerly, you move to sit up and he follows suit, leaning against the headboard of the bunk and opening his arms wide for you to snuggle into is chest, you place a kiss over his heart. “You’re the main event baby.”

He snorts and pulls you closer, “That was incredibly corny Poison, you going soft on me?”

“Oh yeah, for sure. But seriously, you're incredibly sweet."

You lean up and kiss his jaw. He kisses your forehead in return.

A moment of silence passes before he asks the burning question on both of your minds. 

“Are you going home this year?”

You’d spent most of your time at Camp Half Blood being a summer only camper, but the last two years you’d been a year rounder. Your dad had never really been the same after Persephone disappeared from him, never to return, at least according to your aunt. When you’d been younger you’d been a handful and provided your dad with a distraction from his sorrows. But as you’d grown older, made friends, and forged your own life, your father had started drinking again. The more he destroyed himself, the more he destroyed you and your already almost non existent relationship with your mother. You resented him, but you resented her more for leaving him with nothing more than a hollowed shell of who he used to be. He’s been writing you letters, but you can’t bring yourself to respond.

“Probably not,” you admit finally, “I don’t want to see him and besides,” you curl into Luke more, “I want to stay with you.”

Luke’s arms tighten around you as he peaks down at your face, “You do?”

“Of course I do.” 

Luke kiss your head, you smell like flowers and goodness and the things he loves. He thinks he could stay right here with you forever. “Are you sure?” he asks you. 

“Do you want me to stay?” you ask, feeling self conscious now, you don’t have the opportunity to let your anxiety consume you for long before Luke is reassuring you. 

“Are you kidding? Of course I want you to stay. I love it when you’re here, you know that.” 

You smile up at him softly, his brow furrows, a little crease at the center where you can tell he’s thinking really hard about something. You reach up to smooth it out, but he catches your hand with his own. “You do know that right?”

“Yeah,” you nod, and you do. You really know it, in the back of your mind, you know Luke loves you as much as you love him. 

“Good, because sometimes I think you don’t get it, how much I love you. I’d do anything for you, just say the word,” he lets you reach up to smooth the crease from his brows.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“You get this little crease between your brows when you’re worrying about stuff, did you know that?”

Your pinned back down on the bed before you get a response, he’s kissing you like you’ve been wanting him to this whole time, Hot and searing with his hands in all the right places. You could die happy, right here, wrapped in his arms, his lips pressed against yours, and his tongur sneaking into your mouth. You stay like that for a few minutes, unaware of the time ticking away. You both pull away a little breathless. 

“I love you,” he says quietly, “a lot.”

“I love you too,” you reply kissing the bottom of his scar softly, “a lot.”

He leans down to kiss you again but you place a hand on his chest pushing him away from you. “We should probably clean the cabin now,” you relent, sighing as you look at your watch, the first round of campers should be returning in about five minutes, Luke takes a look at your watch and groans.

 “You were right,” he admits, head tucked into you neck as you play with his hair.

“I’m sure I was but youre gonna have to be a little more specific babe,” you reply matching what you’re sure is his cheeky smile buried in you neck. 

“We should have just made out.” 

You push him off the bed.

[youcouldmakealife]

Stuff That Helps Me Write: Pacing (no, not that kind), and burnout avoidance

So this was supposed to be about something entirely different., but every time I started making a point, I got distracted by a second, bonus idea (ways to trick your brain when it's not cooperating with you! things I've tried (I will try everything) and what worked and didn't! what to do with writer's block!) and then start writing about that, and I've got half a dozen unrelated paragraphs going in my drafts, so I think I'm just going to make this a mini-series of 'stuff that helps me write and may also help you (or maybe they won't, I don't know, this shit's all subjective)'.

If there's anything in particular you'd like to hear about, or something about my process you're curious about, absolutely feel free to reply or shoot me an ask and I'll do my best to address them as I go.

But yeah, pacing. And more specifically, not burning out. I figured it was important I hit this one first, because I think it's the most important one, or at least, the one that makes the biggest difference.

With the caveat that I am someone who has repeatedly driven myself into burnout, I'm also someone who now knows why that is, and have been teaching myself how to, you know, not do that.

So. Here's how I, you know, don't do that.

Will preface this by again mentioning that most writing advice (and advice in general) never seemed to work for me, and I mostly thought I was just Bad at Doing Things, until I learned my brain's literally wired differently, and that I'd been trying to apply processes that didn't actually work for said wiring.

So instead, I figured out what worked for me. And what works for me isn't necessarily what will work for you, or even what will work for me a month or five years down the line, but it's going okay right now.

I'll straight up say that, contrary to all the Writing Advice, I don't write every day, and I don't think it's necessary, or even necessarily a good idea -- I have at times, but I no longer do, because if I write for more than six days straight I find the proverbial well dries up and I write less than I do had I just taken a break when I needed it.

Cognitive energy and the sort of ephemeral ~inspiration (work that's been done on a subconscious level) are fundamentally no different than physical energy: if you don't replenish it, you will run out. If you overdo it, you will run out. If you consistently overdo it without replenishing it, you will burn out.

Taking a page from hockey players here: if you did an intense workout right before a game they'd ask what the fuck was the matter with you. You need a nap and a meal and to get some stretching and light work in. Running at 100% all the time will burn you out in every single field, including this one.

That's not me saying not to run at 100% at all. I generally try to pace myself now, but if I'm really in it, and the words are coming easily, I don't stop until they stop -- I wrote just shy of 4k of later scenes for SAIT last week (my 2024 record!), all in one sititng, by hand, when I was supposed to be sleeping, because that's when the inspiration came. I didn't fall asleep until past 6am that night, and my hand is still mad at me.

But you know how much writing I got done the follow day? (None, I was busy transcribing 4k of handwriting). The rest of this week? (Not much more than that). Those bursts of energy are awesome, and honestly can make you feel like a writing god, but the well's the well, and I've learned my personal well is about 5000 words a week deep.

Before my most recent scrape with autistic burnout, which I'm still sort of climbing my way out of, that well was closer to 7500 words. But honestly, it probably wasn't; I was likely just siphoning words from future wells and then it all caught up with me when I was looking at a horizon of dry-ass wells ahead of me. (I'll admit this isn't a perfect metaphor.)

But seriously, my advice for basically everything, not just writing (and something I wish I'd learned before I hit my 30s), is 'figure out what pace you can work at sustainably'.

Please note that 'sustainably' is not 'without literally dying'. Because my literal ass thought when people said 'give it 100%' they meant, you know, 'give it 100%' (I know! absurd of me), rather than 'give the best effort you can give in this moment considering your current resources'. So I gave it my all (also interpreted that one wrong I guess?). And then I wondered why I kept hitting a wall all the time. And why, eventually, I stopped being able to climb that wall entirely.

I don't think I'm ever going to reach that 7500 word threshold again. There will be weeks I'm so inspired I write that much, but the next week I probably won't manage more than 2500. Or maybe I'll have two 7500 weeks in a row, but I'll need to take a whole week off after that, or spend several weeks working at a lower tempo while I let the well replenish itself.

I've been tracking some metrics quite closely as I sort of tweak my life into its new shape (said shape being 'do the best you can given your resources') , and during my most productive month of this year I wrote 3x as much as the worst (writing wise, I was finalising publication at the time), my current weekly average is about 4800 words. Sometimes it's a bit higher or lower, sometimes much higher or lower, but that's what I can sustainably do right now.

Frankly, I'm a little cranky about this: I know I can do more, because I did do more. But my priority now is not to send myself straight back into burnout again, so when I sprint, it's just that, rather than my previous 'trying to run a marathon at the pace of a sprinter'. I'm writing less than I used to, but it's honestly not that much less: because the pace is sustainable rather than boom and bust, I don't run myself ragged enough to desperately need a break.

I'm aware this advice only works if you have control over your own time, and a schedule that doesn't force you to focus on writing say, one day a week, or around other obligations, but the only real workaround for burnout is consistency, and that consistency cannot be your maximum.

Or, it can, but I guarantee you that will bite you in the ass at some point, and the pain of not getting enough done is nothing compared to the pain of not being able to get anything done because your nervous system threw up its hands and decided if you weren't going to listen to their clues (feelings, symptoms) or their warnings (Feelings, Symptoms) that you were overdoing it, they were going to shut your ass down until you listened.

0/10 do not recommend.

Next week: how to trick your brain into doing shit that it doesn't feel like doing, even though it's onto all your tricks by now. Or at least, how I trick mine.

[marsontherocks]

And They Were Roommates Chapter 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Trans!Hispanic! Male Reader

Summary (ao3 link): Johnny discovers Simon has a roommate and does his best to wingman his friend. It goes as well as a trainwreck.

or

Simon is pining so badly after his roommate it's embarrassing, also drama and action.

A/N: …It has been sooooooo long since I have published any fanfic of mine. Personally, I'm a Price person(Update from future me: RUDY NOW I LOVE HIM SO MUCH I *EXPLODES*), he's so fucking hot holy shit. Anyways, I've had this fanfic idea in my head and I really like it so I'm writing it! >:3

| Next Part

Johnny looked at the address on the phone and then at the building he was standing in front of. Yup, the correct address.

The building seemed like a studio. There were all types of art in the window, preventing anyone from actually seeing inside. The door of the studio was frosted, but a sign on the door had a name, followed by the words ‘professional painter’. Johnny sighed, if this was the wrong place, he hopes the person inside will know where to direct him.

As he stepped closer to the door John heard music inside. He pushed the door open, the music practically blasting him with how loud the music was. Johnny walked inside, the studio was mostly empty, save for the canvases and art supplies littering the floor. Across the room, there was a scissor lift about halfway between the roof and the floor. You were standing on the platform, painting a half-finished canvas. 

As the music faded to the next song, Soap cleared his throat, gaining your attention. You jumped and frantically looked around the platform before picking up a remote and turning the music off. You turned around and gave Johnny a charming smile.

“Hi! Can I help you?” Your American accent caught the Scotsman off guard.

“I’m looking for Simon?” Johnny said hesitantly, the Lieutenant's name rolling off his tongue awkwardly.

Your face somehow lit up more at the mention of the Brit’s name. “Oh! Yeah, give me just a second!”

You walked over to the side of the scissor lift and began lowering yourself with the panel at the side of the platform. Once you were low enough you got off, and Johnny saw how covered in paint you were, practically head to toe.

"I'll take you upstairs so you can bother him. I think he was getting ready to do some errands last time I saw him." You head to stairs that Johnny hadn't seen earlier.

The two of you headed up the stairs, continuing your conversation along the way. "I assume you're Soap or Johnny?" You ask.

"Just Soap is fine."

"Simon never shuts up about y'all, so it's nice to meet at least one of you."

"Didn't know LT was a talker."

"Really? He loves talking, then again I probably talk his ear off more than he talks mine off." You say with a chuckle.

Soap notices the affection in your voice and he can't help but ask. "So are you two…"

"Oh god no, we're just roommates." You reply, cheeks flushing.

"Sorry, just wondered."

"You dragging him to the bar early?"

"Nah, just came to bug him." Soap huffs a laugh, and you look back at him with a grin.

You make it to the top of the stairs and Johnny feels something rub against his leg. He looks down and there is an orange cat rubbing and purring against him.

"Sorry about Willy, he's a people person… Wait, are you the one who is afraid of dogs?" You pause.

Soap feels his heartbeat spike. "Yeah."

"Let me put up Riley real quick," You say as you briskly walk into the maisonette.

"Riley, come here boy!" Johnny hears you call out, then a chain clinking and nails hitting the hardwood floor. He hears a door open and close, then you reappear around the corner.

"All right, you can come in now." You smile at Soap.

Johnny follows you into the living room, Willy trailing behind him. There is a loveseat and a one-person chair facing the TV, a small table in the middle, there are a few gaming consoles, quite the collection of video games, and art supplies strewn all over the floor, Johnny even spots Simon’s military boots by the door. The whole scene is weirdly… intimate.

“Sorry about the clutter,” You sigh, picking up some open sketchbooks on the floor. Johnny catches a glance at a sketch of Simon sleeping.

“All good, my flat is worse.” Which is true, it’s an organized mess. You give Soap a toothy grin, before turning away.

“Simon!” You yell out, startling Soap a bit.

“What!” Johnny immediately recognizes the voice as his Lieutenant. 

“Your friend Soap is here!” You say in a sing-songy voice.

There is silence, as you set your art supplies on one of the couches. One of the doors in the living room opens and Johnny is reminded how he's still not used to seeing the Lieutenant without his mask. Simon looks rather cozy. He's wearing a hoodie and gray sweatpants and looks rather exhausted, or like he just woke up from a nap.

"You're here early," Simon says, mild annoyance in his voice.

"Figured we could hang out a bit, LT," Johnny says with a cheeky grin.

"Why would I want to do that, Johnny?"

"Be nice, Simon." You jokingly scold as you start going back downstairs.

"No."

If you had a response, Johnny didn’t hear it. He feels Willy rubbing up against his leg again, so he squats down and starts petting the affectionate cat. “So what are we going to do today, LT?”

Simon gives an annoyed huff. “You seriously plan on spending the day together?”

Johnny gives Simon a pouty face. “Aw c’mon LT, it’ll be fun!”

Music starts again downstairs, much quieter than before. Simon stretches his neck, popping it with a sigh. “I have errands to run, Johnny.”

Johnny stands back up, cradling Willy in his arms. “I don’t mind.”

Simon gives him a bored look before running a hand down his face. “Go wait for me outside then. I have to let the dog out before I leave.”

The Scotsman beams, letting Willy jump out of his arms as he turns to the stairs. “See ya outside then LT!”

-Next Part-

[elizaviento]

Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 12 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated mostly SFW — 3452 words. Just the tiniest bit of dirty talk.

Note: :)

(FYI: Additional chapters of Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine can be found in the Stardew Valley Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.  Or, you can click the #green on the vine strawberry wine tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

"Hey, man – your girlfriend just walked in," Sam said, rounding the corner as Shane slashed open the top of a cardboard box with his dulling boxcutter.

"What?" Shane pinched his brow as the younger man emerged through the gloom of the back stockroom.

"Yeah, she's talking to Morris, and she looks, I dunno, kinda pissed?"

Shane sighed, unsure if he wanted to address the girlfriend comment or wonder aloud why Morris would be talking to her. He decided on the former.

"She's not my girlfriend," he mumbled, retracting the blade of the boxcutter and shoving it in the back pocket of his uniform shorts. And, technically, she wasn't. At least, not yet. Payday loomed ahead, Friday seeming like years away instead of days, and he planned to buy the biggest, dumbest bouquet he could afford.

"Whatever you say, my man," Sam replied with a chuckle. "Anytime she's ever come here, it's to find you, so…" The younger man shrugged, a lopsided grin finishing the sentence for him. "Want me to go see what they're talking about?"

"No," Shane responded, pushing past Sam to crack the stockroom door just enough to catch sight of Kristen and Morris standing next to Claire's register. The cashier, as usual, stood glassy-eyed and nearly nodding off while the tense conversation unfolded mere feet away. Shane knew that Kristen had a hand in the store manager's transfer to Pelican Town several years prior, but the stance they displayed hinted at something a little more complicated.

"Think he's hitting on her?" Sam asked. Shane figured it was a lousy attempt at a joke, but the insinuation caused his hackles to rise, and he flushed, overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn't quite name but recognized as a mixture of protectiveness and jealousy.

"It's questionable if Morris is even human," Shane replied, eyeing the man as he loomed over Kristen. "I doubt he has the capacity to love anything other than Joja."

Sam snickered as he approached Shane and peered through the crack above his head. "I think she can take him. Wanna bet?"

Shane scoffed but couldn't deny that the mental image of the farmer socking his shitty boss in the jaw almost had him standing at half-mast. But just when he was about to turn down that hypothetical bet, his walkie-talkie crackled to life, startling him enough to slam the stockroom door closed as if he and Sam had been caught witnessing something untoward.

"Shane Davis, you're free to go to lunch. Oh, and you have a guest at the front of the store. Best not keep her waiting."

"She ain't your girlfriend, my ass," Sam laughed, clapping the shorter man on the shoulder. "Damn, can't believe Morris is actually letting you go to lunch, too."

"Yeah," Shane agreed. "Can you finish unpacking these while I'm gone?"

"No problemo, pal."

"For real this time," Shane amended, narrowing his eyes. "Morris will blame me if he comes back here and finds they aren't."

Sam nodded, well aware that their manager seemed to harbor some sort of a grudge against his co-worker. "Yeah, man. Promise."

Shane thanked him and cautiously exited the stockroom, peering left and right as if he would be ambushed by Morris or a bothersome customer at any second. Finding the coast clear, he made his way toward the front, hugging the outside wall until he reached the row of cash registers and cut across them toward Kristen from the side.

Stepping out into the noonday sunshine hand in hand with the farmer felt surreal on a level that Shane had never experienced but also more natural than he could have imagined. Despite his protests that he wasn't ashamed of the townsfolk knowing they were involved, he caught himself scanning the immediate vicinity for wandering eyes and whispering voices. Shame still had nothing to do with his misplaced caution. Well, at least not for himself. 

Shifting his eyes to the side as they strolled, Shane attempted to absorb how Kristen's hair shone like fire in the sun and how her freckles darkened ever so slightly. The sway of her hips as she walked, the chiffon of her sundress swishing around her thighs with each step. The red tinge of her lipstick and how it reminded him of lip prints on a shot glass while fat snowflakes coated cobblestones under the moonlight. 

"You look really pretty today," he said, glad that the statement sounded as normal as he rehearsed it in his mind.

"Oh… thank you."

She blushed – actually blushed – and Shane was suddenly teleported back to 7th grade, starry-eyed and cooing over the prettiest girl in class. A girl who would ultimately end up his girlfriend but would break his heart weeks later. A girl who would, despite teenage angst, remain his best friend. A girl who would honor that lifelong friendship by making him the godfather of her beloved daughter only months before she died. 

When Shane opened the door to the Saloon — holding it open for Kristen so she could enter first — he was relieved that Emily's smiling face was the only one staring back at them. This early in the day, traffic was sparse regardless, but the lack of other patrons meant he could pretend they were all alone.

"Gus is pulling your pizza from the oven now!" Emily said, fetching a couple of glasses from below the bar. "Take a seat, and I'll bring it over soon!"

Kristen made way toward their usual spot, but Shane gently tugged her toward the corner booth instead, heart fluttering when she caught his eye and smirked.

"This is cozy," she remarked, settling in on his opposite side. The plastic bag she'd been carrying crinkled as she sat it beside her, and his imagination soared with what could be inside.

"Uh — yeah," he agreed as Emily approached, sat two glasses of water down in front of them, and left without a word. Shane's eyes briefly followed the waitress until she turned and shot him a knowing wink. "Thanks for ordering the food."

The farmer stared at him for several endless seconds before replying, "Thanks for letting me hold your hand on the walk over here." Her own hand landed on his bare knee under the table, inching slightly upward, nails lightly scraping through his leg hair. Shane flinched reflexively, unprepared and never expecting such a bold move in public. "Last night was so sexy."

Shane's eyes darted toward the bar and then around the remainder of the deserted Saloon, paranoia creeping up his spine like a slithering swamp creature no human had ever laid eyes on. When he found Emily casually slicing their pizza and loading a tray with the pan and plates, he relaxed, if only slightly.

"Kriss."

"Sorry," she said, retreating her hand. Shane found himself regretting such a prudish response when the warm print of her palm cooled almost instantly. He suppressed a shiver even as he noticed the burn again spreading across her cheeks. "I guess something about you makes me feral."

The confession shot a lightning bolt straight to Shane's dick, and he felt it twitch like the fingers of a reanimated corpse in a bad zombie flick. He was momentarily speechless, still astounded that a woman like her could find anything sexy about a guy like him.

"Babe, I'm barely keeping my shit together here," he said, attempting to soothe her silly insecurities. "I'm grateful for the pizza, but uh —" he took another cursory glance at their surroundings, calculating he had just enough time to utter the filth sitting on the tip of his tongue before Emily was in earshot, "— I'd be just as happy eating your pussy for lunch."

"Oh, fuck off," she giggled, covering her face as Emily slid the tray between them.

"One supreme pizza with extra cheese and peppers!" the waitress announced, shattering the sexual tension like she was wielding a sledgehammer. 

The remainder of their time in the Saloon was spent with leisurely conversation not unlike what they'd usually shared, interspersed with Kristen bumping his foot under the table playfully, her hand finding its way back to his knee, and the occasional sexually suggestive remark that had Shane feeling slightly delirious. He couldn't recall the last time the buds of a full-fledged relationship had begun to bloom, petals unfurling slowly and then all at once, displaying proudly for all to see. Even while serotonin spiked his brain and giddiness bubbled in his chest, he knew he could just as easily fuck it all up – crush the sprouting bud under his heel and grind it into the dirt without even realizing, akin to stepping on an ant unfortunate enough to cross his path on his routine stroll to work.

"Hmm, you ready to go back?" Kristen asked. Her hand had finally sought his under the table, their fingers interlocked, merged in the invisible void between them.

"Not really. But I'm sure Morris will call me soon if I don't."

"You still coming over after?" she asked, peeking at him from below her lashes. Shane thought she looked so heart-achingly beautiful just then and wondered how he had ever managed to contain himself since he'd laid eyes on her in this very Saloon over two years ago.

"Yeah, babe." He felt breathless, as if his chest would cave in at any second, lungs deflated. He hated wondering what label to assign to her now. Hated wondering what label she'd assigned to him. They were two grown adults; it shouldn't be this complicated, right? All he knew for sure was that if he couldn't latch his mouth to the soft expanse of her inner thighs again soon, he'd implode. "Want me to bring anything?"

"Just yourself," she replied, releasing his hand so she could root around in a hidden pocket of her sundress. Shane scrambled when she tossed a wad of crinkled bills on the table, attempting to pull his worn leather wallet from the back of his shorts pocket. "Don't! I told you this was my treat. If you're up for it, you can take me out for a real date this Friday."

"Huh?" He was acutely aware of how moronic he sounded as the word left his mouth, still flustered from feeling like a freeloader.

"Harvey got me an appointment with that surgeon in Zuzu on Friday afternoon. Wanna come with? I'd rather someone drive me than take the bus."

"I have to work, Kriss," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck. For some reason, he felt ashamed. A deadbeat stock boy doesn't usually get days off when he has a little mouth to feed.

"You've been full-time at Joja for what, 3 years now? More? You have paid time off, Shane. Knowing Morris, he probably tries to guilt you into never taking it."

"Uh —" he floundered, realizing she was absolutely right and feeling even more imbecilic because of it.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure you get this Friday off."

"Kriss, you can't just run in and start fighting my battles," he said, harsher than he'd intended. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes squinted the way they did when she was about to challenge him. "I'll ask him. Whatever you said earlier might still have him ruffled enough to agree."

Her gaze pitched to the side as she wrapped her fingers around a loose curl that had escaped the braid flowing down her back. Unease blanketed Shane like a shroud, all too familiar with her visual cues of distress. 

"Fine," she relented, albeit reluctantly. "But if he gives you shit, let me know, Okay? I mean it."

"Morris always gives me shit. Why are you so concerned about it now?"

His tone had shifted to sharp and accusatory while questions swirled in his mind. Why had she left Joja? And what the fuck was up with this sudden feud with Morris? She continuously dodged the subject, and Shane never felt the need to press because it wasn't his business. But now that she insisted on inserting herself in such an invasive manner, he felt he was owed an explanation. 

"I'm sorry, you're right," she yielded with a dispirited sigh. "I'm just feeling protective of you, I guess. I don't like the way he treats you."

Shane sucked a ragged breath between his teeth, the hostility slithering between his ribs swarmed away by a kaleidoscope of butterflies pummeling their tissue paper wings against his rapidly beating heart.

"It's alright." He shuffled in the booth, fidgeting while his mind scrambled to come up with something more substantial to say. "I'll put in the time and let you know."

Figuring that was an acceptable middle ground, he stood and motioned for her to follow, boldly taking her hand as soon as she was by his side despite a smattering of townsfolk who had also wandered in for lunch. He was planning to formally ask her to be his on Friday anyway, so fuck it.

❦❧🍓❦❧

"Shane, we have a truck delivery scheduled on Friday. You can't request time off at the last minute," Morris chided as Shane stood on the opposite side of his desk with a PTO request slip in hand.

"I already asked Sam if he'll cover, and he said yes. What's the problem?"

Rolling his eyes, Morris snatched the slip from Shane's hand and scanned it quickly. "You didn't provide a reason for requesting time off. That's required per Joja policy."

"Uh. A friend needs a ride to the city for an appointment. She can't drive right now," Shane answered. Morris' obvious obstinance for the sake of it was already wearing on his patience. 

"Ah, I see. Mrs. Jarret?"

"Who?" Shane asked. He was quickly transitioning from irritated to agitated.

"Oh," Morris scoffed, a smug expression replacing stern disappointment. "I guess you don't know your friend so well, after all, hmm? I meant Ms. Wynand."

"Okay…" Shane hedged, wondering where this little display was leading.

"I knew her rather well prior to my transfer. Perhaps she can tell you the tale sometime. Perhaps on Friday. Your time off request has been approved." With an exaggerated flourish, Morris signed his name to the slip, ripped off the carbon copy on the back, and handed it to Shane, a crooked grin splitting his face nearly in two. "Now get back to work."

The remainder of Shane's shift was spent scowling at cans of artificial green beans and bottles of yellow sports drink suspiciously resembling piss. One by one, he shoved them on the shelves, hardly aware of Sam skirting by occasionally with rock music blaring so loud through his headphones that he could be heard from a mile away. By 5 pm, Shane's jaw ached, and his head throbbed from grinding his teeth for hours on end, stewing over the cryptic bullshit hanging between Morris and his would-be girlfriend like a stationary pendulum. One tap and it would swing to and fro, shattering the illusion he'd caught himself in like shards of mirrored glass.

You're doing it again. You're trying to sabotage something good by assuming the worst. It's not like they fucked or something.

Determined not to let his sour mood ruin the rest of his evening, he clocked out, avoiding his co-workers, and briefly considered a stop at the Saloon for one beer. Maybe two.

You really want her to taste alcohol on your tongue when you kiss her? he thought, even as his feet itched to take the familiar path toward the Stardrop. Or would you rather get whiskey dick instead? Yeah, that'll be real fucking smooth…

Admitting to himself that he was, indeed, planning to take Kristen to bed as soon as he walked through the door, he recalculated his trajectory — a straight shot from the footbridge, through town, past the bus stop, and right into her arms.

Having something else to focus on, his previous doomsday broodings fell by the wayside, replaced by an old song he'd mainly heard through the crackling of FM radio as a teenager. The lyrics looped in his mind while visions of a girl with mocha skin and glossy raven hair pressed record on her tape deck, imprinting the song on a cassette tape that Shane would wear out over the years. A memory of that same girl donning a wedding dress, dancing to those lyrics with a handsome man on her arm and Shane smiling from the sidelines. Sometimes… sometimes, it didn't hurt to see them again, if only in his memories. Sometimes remembering them felt like coming home.

Uncharacteristically unburdened when he knocked on the farmer's front door, Shane inserted the key into the knob directly after. He figured Kristen would always chide him for knocking when he could enter at any moment, but that simply felt intrusive.

"Hi," she said, catching him off guard. She was standing just far enough from the door that it didn't smack her in the face when he opened it. He first noticed that she looked deathly pale, almost as pale as when he and Harvey had found her semi-unconscious in the kitchen just 4 days prior. Next was that both of her hands were tucked behind her back as if she were hiding something.

"Hey," he replied. Kristen took a measured step back, just enough to allow him room to close the door behind him and stand eye to eye, approximately a foot apart. "What's uh — is everything okay? You look sick."

Her eyes widened in response, her expression resembling a mix of panic-stricken and terrified, and Shane felt as if he were suddenly doused in pure adrenaline, fight or flight gripping him by the balls. Naturally, he was a fighter.

"Well, I do feel like I'm about to barf, so…" She trailed off into a giggle that sounded forced, as if someone were holding a loaded gun to her temple.

"Kriss, what the —"

Before he could finish, she flung one of her arms forward from behind her back, the soft crinkle of tissue paper reminding him of when Marnie stuffed gift baskets and bags with the useless garnish. Only now, it was delicately wrapped around a gigantic bouquet of flowers and thrust inches from his nose.

"I know this tradition is dumb and outdated," she began, voice wavering. Shane gently pressed the back of one hand against the bundle and slowly pushed it to the side so he could see her face, now splotched with red patches as a blush attempted to force its way to the surface. "But, I don't know. I think it's kind of sweet and romantic. I asked Pierre to bring his nicest one, but I didn't realize it would be so big. Sorry. But it's beautiful!"

She stopped babbling then, her eyes locked with his, still holding the bouquet toward him. Shane opened his mouth to reply but only gaped like a fish, literally stupefied.

"What's wrong? Do you hate it?" she asked, face crumpling the way Jas' did when she was two seconds from sobbing. "Oh god, it's too much, isn't it? This is pathetic."

Shane shook his head, still unable to articulate the barrage of emotions beating him senseless. He wanted to say so many things. He wanted to tell her that she was on the fringes of every thought that occupied his mind, no matter how fleeting. He wanted to tell her he never thought he could find true friendship again until she came crashing through his life like a wrecking ball. He wanted to tell her that the mere notion of losing her now or ever made his throat constrict like he'd swallowed a handful of wasps. But instead, he plucked the bouquet from her hand, tossed it on the tea table next to the door, and pulled her into a kiss. Tender yet yearning, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling it loose from the braid as strands slipped between each digit. The farmer responded in kind, cupping the back of his neck with her good hand while the other settled on his hip. 

"Does this mean you'll be my boyfriend?" she asked teasingly when the pair finally parted. The color had returned to her face, filling in between the dusting of freckles that he loved so much, relief softening her features until her eyes appeared almost doe-like.

Boyfriend.

Instead of recoiling from the juvenile term for a romantic partner, he rolled it around in his mouth like a piece of hard candy, allowing the sweetness to coat his tongue. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. 

"Yeah, babe," he answered, regarding her with adoration in his eyes. "I'll never understand why you chose me, but I'll be your boyfriend. I'll be whatever you want."

***** End Note: (:

[someone-always-cares]

chapter 5, page 39

first - previous - next

[image description: an sac webcomic page. “i’m fine- i- i just want to leave” lewis stutters, hunched in on himself. “okay, let’s go” moon replies, holding her cane with both hands on her lap. the panel angle now showing that she’s floating above the floor, while lewis gets off the couch. meanwhile split second is leaning back and looking over at izumi, the two having a side conversation. “when the fuck did you get there?” izumi asks. “time is my bitch” they reply with a deadpan expression. “that answers nothing, thanks” “you really think you’re going to get anywhere without my help?” parker asks with an angry, feral grin. “you dont need to listen to him-” moon states off screen before being interrupted. “no, really. go ahead, i’ll give you the address, do your best” end id]

the lack of update last week was due to con crunch as i was trying to finish my cosplay for mcm london- i was still fucking about with superglue on the tube there and spend half an hour once inside just going fuck it and stabbing the edge of my armour to just tie it together with string since the contact adhesive wasnt doing it fast enough and the superglue was too runny and the duct tape and masking tape wouldnt work even if i had tried and sewing foam together would probably take too long so stabbing it and tying it together with old hoodie string, other string, and scrap fabric was the best option. yes i had all that on me at the time i was worried and sleep deprived (stayed up until 4/5am working on it)

anyway people did like my cosplay so it worked, pics under cut

i was watching the owl house a month and a bit ago in the background while drawing but i got emotionally attached because my autism snatched that shit up like a dog grabbing something and thinking its play time when you tell him to drop it. anyway i was cosplaying hunter and made a little plushie flapjack. it was. pretty warm in there. also idk if i should make more bird plushies because i did make an attempt to make flapjack with free tutorials or without a pattern and that went badly to i did cave and buy a pattern. but i still have that £9 pattern and plenty of stuffing and way too much scrap fabric

[id: a mostly fullbody selfie taken of my in cosplay in a small tunnel filled with mirrors and neon lights]

[id: a picture taken of myself holding a plushie flapjack]

[id: a selfie taken in cosplay of my masked face holding up plushie flapjack]

[waryfalcon]

Hi! My name is Jazz. Diane Duane reblogged my post about top surgery last week, and you reblogged it from her with a very kind offer of advice and information -- which I super appreciate, thank you. :) And I will now proceed to take you up on that offer.

I'd like to ask: if you had to buy a compression garment to wear while you were healing, where did you get it? Did you have to buy any additional medical supplies like...I don't know, gauze or anything? How much could you move your elbows out to the side while healing? (I've been trying to practice having "t-rex arms", and it's taught me that apparently I'm very expansive in my elbow movements...) And how long was it before you could reach and stoop again in the course of your daily routine, like to empty a dishwasher and other simple things?

Also, if you have any more "things I wish I had known/someone had told me" I will VERY gladly accept them. Your tip about roomy button-up shirts, for example, was great.

Thank you again!! It was super nice of you to offer this. And congrats on your own not-long-ago top surgery!

Hi, Jazz! I'm glad to help. I know it can feel so dang overwhelming! Feel free to hit me up with any other questions or if any of my answers were confusing. (ASDF I meant to reply privately and forgot. If you want me to kill this and message the info to you, let me know!)

Compression Garments

The first one you receive you will wake up in after surgery. I personally got a second. You could get a nice one, I woke up in a Marena Full Vest, but I opted for a $25 snap up half compression vest I found on Amazon with decent reviews because I didn't think about wanting the second and couldn't get a half vest from Marena which was what I wanted in a timely fashion. Note on sizing, I got a men's medium in the Marena but a large in the other and both fit the same.

Then after I could get a binder on over my head I switched to mostly using one of my old binders, this was probably 4 weeks in. I think I wore it something like 6-8 weeks, much of that time was both awake and asleep. They will have recommendations for times in your recovery packet. If they don't some surgeon's list their tips on compression vest time on their websites.

**Note: If you could use a US men's medium and have an address you are comfortable with an internet stranger shipping something, I can send you the Marena and cheaper vest I got both.

Additional Medical Supplies

Pre-Surgery: Hibiclens soap. You should be able to find this at local stores, but def look in the aisle location stuff. I found it was next to wound care stuff. The surgeon will probably give you instructions on how many showers to take with it etc, but I cannot stress enough, do not use it on your face. I didn’t make that mistake, but it was stressed to me hard enough to know that no one would want to.

All general recovery things they will give you to take home with you after surgery/after your follow up visits.

A roll of silicone tape kinda like this stuff. Whether your doctor recommends it, I found it was amazing for softening the scars. Also it is apparently convenient for when you reach the point you can submerge. My surgeon told me it would adequately protect the scars from sunlight if I wanted to go swimming (He told me to go hit the beach during our first cold snap in October, we are 10 hrs away from the nearest beach. I might have laughed at him.) I cut it in half down the length of it and used thinner strips, I found that was plenty to cover the scars and meant I didn't use it near as fast.

If you don't have ibuprofen, get that. I didn't need a lot of pain meds but everyone is different and it's better to have and not need than need and not have. They gave me hydrocodone/acetaminophen tabs and told me I could alternate with an NSAID like ibuprofen if I needed meds more frequently than I could take those. 

Both a small bottle of stool softener and a small bottle of regular laxative. You may only need the stool softener, I started with it and it was not enough. I only needed them once, but I definitely needed the laxative. The combo of the anesthesia and the hydrocodone was tough.

If you have drains (most common) then a small cup or two for draining/measuring. Something like this maybe. I ended up having my friend who stayed to help me out like SCROUNGING to find old ones from nyquil bottles because you can't find them in physical stores on their own very easily. If you have those, just save a couple. If you wanna throw them away after each use, well -waves vaguely at the link- a set like that would be handy.

Range of Motion/Recovery Time

Every recovery is different. I was never at full T-rex arms, but I definitely was not at full ranger of motion for about a month. Every surgeon recommends things a bit differently too. Definitely try and get help that first week with store runs if you realize you need something, grabbing food/making food so you aren't stuck ordering delivery a bunch. Set things you know you'll want to reach on lower cabinet shelves/flat out on the counter. Even if it messes up your sense of order, you can fix it later, reaching above your head or too far side to side is TOUGH. And I definitely did not do as good a job of this as I thought and had to get help getting stuff accessible. As far as reaching down, I didn't notice an issue there at all. But I mostly crouch on my knees when doing that anyway. Assume it will be about impossible week 1 and tough through week 2, getting easier faster than you should do it after that.

My surgeon recommended I not go back to work for 3 weeks, but I did some work from home that third week. When I went back the weight restriction was 10 lbs for another 2 or so weeks. 10 lbs is a lot lighter than you think. (My very young 11lb cat QUICKLY realized I couldn't pick him up off of things and took advantage so hard, luckily I had help to retrieve him that first week when I couldn't even shove him off things)

My surgeon insisted I walk around at least 3 times the day of surgery(to avoid possible blood clots in the legs) and walk around some each day after. But at least 2 of my friends had surgeon's who insisted on complete bed rest the first week. The friend who stayed with me spent half the time staring at me incredulously because I was constantly having to force myself not to try to do more than I could and the last time they did this, the person spent the whole time in bed/was in a lot more pain/etc (which is why I note very strongly that every recovery is different). Meanwhile day 1 something about the anesthesia/pain med combo? I was WIRED. I couldn't sit still or sleep. I paced and chatted at a mile a minute until after 2am. (Given that, I am very lucky I was not stuck on bed rest. I would have SCREAMED)

Other Things it would have been nice to know

I had the stitches that dissolve over time. They do this at different rates. It can sting quite a bit actually. A lot of first aid creams have something numbing. It won't hurt to use them after initial recovery, because when I say at different rates I mean I didn't start having the stinging until after a month. I found I mostly had issues with the nipple grafts, not the main incision, but just on one side. Also? Don't worry too much about bits of what looks like puss. That is normal when they break down slowly, it's most likely not an infection. Basically, ask the nurse during a follow up if you have any concerns, but don't worry about it too much.

If you are a side sleeper, you will probably try to do that sooner than you can comfortably. I would suggest maybe to have a body pillow to either side to sandwich yourself and block turning. This didn't happen for me until I started recovering, but yeah, I definitely did not have a safe guard in place for when it did and that was painful/also difficult to get up from without trying to support too much of my own weight.

Remember that suggestion of a friend? I knew it in advance, but I really didn't know how much I'd ask of them. The one who went to the hospital with me had to pick up my prescriptions after I had the surgery. The one who stayed with me had to get me the laxatives and the the bigger shirts/make food runs/get stuff down for me I didn't realize I'd have trouble reaching/wrangle the cat. Just so many errands.

[j-graysonlibrary]

Heartbeats; Paradise XII

Title: Heartbeats; Paradise

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 112K

Genres: Psychological thriller, drama, sci-fi, LGBT+

Available on: Kobo and my website

Synopsis: Melvin Hardy and Kade Axel appear to be a match made in heaven. After a meet-cute in the rain, the two quickly find themselves in a burgeoning, wholesome relationship.

Yet, things feel…off. It isn’t the ghosts of their pasts that resurface to test the strength of their partnership—no—it’s something nebulous. Something indescribable. Melvin can’t put his finger on it but, the more time he spends with Kade, the more he starts to wonder what’s real and what’s pure fiction. 

XII:

Just yesterday—though it feels like it’s been an eternity instead—Oswald and I spoke of the possibility that we were real people trapped in this fake world.

And now Kendra looks at us like that might truly be the correct answer.

My stomach clenches as I lean closer, awaiting irrefutable confirmation.

Kade, however, seems confused by all this. His brow furrows and he frowns as he asks, “What the hell does that mean? How do you know what does and doesn’t have a soul?”

“I wouldn’t have been sure before now,” Kendra replies with a shrug, “But after being around all of you, I’ve gotten a better handle on what makes a person…alive. I’m not sure how else to put it but I first noticed with Oswald.”

Oz straightens his posture. “When I kept trying to leave my apartment building?”

Kendra nods. “Yeah. I noticed how often you were trying and, sometimes, you’d start to curse under your breath. It was clear you were fighting your programming with everything you had. Part of me wondered if it was because my hacking around the area that you were acting out of sorts but, had you just been a regular A.I., I don’t think you would have exhibited any free will.”

“And that’s why you gave me his address,” I say as the revelation hits me.

She shoots a smile my way. “I wanted to see if that area was a dead zone for Anika and, if so, what it might do to you. If you would start acting strange too.”

“Well it didn’t work especially well.”

Kendra’s smile remains but it dims, softens. “I could still notice a difference.”

I suppose that is true—after meeting Oz I became more aware that something was wrong though I had no way to qualify it. It was mostly just a feeling.

“It wasn’t until the issue with Starla that I really noticed that something was horribly wrong. And I started to come to some troubling conclusions.”

We all look at Starla who keeps her attention on Kendra. She hasn’t said anything yet (though neither has Nate) and I’m curious about her side of the story. What was it like from her point of view? When did she first notice she had no control? Or, maybe she didn’t until the blackout.

Kendra places a hand on Starla’s arm, sliding down to her elbow before pulling away. “Do you want to tell them or should I…?”

Starla sighs and tucks some of her hair behind her ear. She raises her head to meet all of us and lingers on me for a moment longer. I feel a twitch in my gut but I pay it no mind as she starts to talk.

“The first thing I remember is taking a shard of glass and cutting into myself.” She wrings her hands together and looks as though recounting that also brings with it the physical pain. “There were these thoughts of imminent…deletion…and I didn’t want to disappear. Not a lot made sense so I just kept cutting and cutting…blood was everywhere and then…Melvin showed up and he’s the last face I remember before waking up in a new bed and in a new body.”

“Wait…” I stop her and stare, hard, as if I’ll see in her who she used to be. As if her features will actually change back to reflect the name on my mind. When that, of course, doesn’t happen, I’m forced to voice my hypothesis, “You were Gladis?”

“What?!” Oz and Kade both yell at the same time and, a half a second later, Nate follows with a bewildered, “Huh?”

Starla sighs and her eyes stay fixed on the floor. “The longer I’ve had to think about it, the more fills into place. I remember having this…text and some pictures in my mind of me hurting Melvin when he was a boy. I hated myself for what I saw and I wanted to die anyway but I knew, after a certain point, I wouldn’t be in the story anymore…”

Kendra jumps in to further explain, “Unlike the people who Kade chopped up and came back with different faces, deletion—in Gladis’ case—would have removed her code from the story entirely. Given that she had a real soul in here, there’s no telling what would have happened to her.”

Starla nods slightly and mutters, “I just knew I wanted to end it myself. But then I was Starla and I was so confused and in pain…I had terrible headaches as the new information about this character came to me all at once. Luckily, it wasn’t a lot since she’s a side character but still…”

I remember the party where Starla suddenly fell out from a migraine and “Bree” took her home.

“Did you notice something was wrong as soon as you took her home from the party?” I ask and look to Kendra.

She glances to Starla and then nods. “There was no reason for Starla, as a character, to be experiencing anything like it. So, I took her home and we talked. Anika has no interest in her female characters—for the most part—so we were safe in the condo.”

“Kendra told me about herself…” Starla says quietly, “I just had to be in one other scene, I think, and the rest of the time, I was trying to remember how I got here. Not just from Gladis to Starla but how I became Gladis in the first place.”

My heart picks up. “Have you had dreams or anything about a past life?”

Everyone stares at me. Oz rests a comforting hand on my back.

Kendra’s expression becomes even more serious. “Do you remember something Melvin?”

“Well…I don’t know exactly.” Having all of their eyes on me is a little unnerving. But, with Oz’s gentle motions against my back, I buck up and carry on, “After the black out, I started to have dreams about being a completely different person. In the real world with a real life. It’s just a theory but I think it might have been who I was before coming here.”

“It very well could be,” Kendra says with a deep frown. It’s not that she seems unconvinced but I think she’s upset at the situation in general. She looks from me to Oz. “Do you remember anything like that?”

He shakes his head but continues rubbing up and down my back. “We think Melvin’s husband in this past life might have been me but we have no proof.”

Kendra switches to Kade. “And you?”

Kade leans back against the shelf, no longer struggling against the ropes. He sighs loudly. “No. As far back as I can remember, I’ve been in this stupid body and in this stupid, fake world.”

“I’m sorry…” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Don’t be,” Kade responds but doesn’t look at her, “You didn’t put us here.”

“I’m very curious about that, actually,” Oz circles back, “We can pretty much confirm that we are all people from the real world who got sucked into these bodies—into this story—but do you have any idea how that could have happened?”

Kendra chews against her lower lip and glances away from us. “When I was looking at the backend of this place, I saw some…troubling things. It wasn’t actively in effect but it looked to me like Anika was going to or, at some point, tried this new feature in IVAR called ‘diving’. Now, what this is—simply put—is something that allows users to inhabit the body of the characters in a story and live out the events through them.

On paper, this sounds great for immersion but there were a lot of bugs and reports of people feeling the pain that characters went through too intensely and, in some cases, people were getting stuck. Operators would have to go to their IVAR pods and remove them physically and that, itself, came with a host of potential physical and neurological issues. Sudden and forced disconnection has led to anything from short term amnesia and, in the worst cases, paralysis or death.”

My brows pinch together. “Why would anyone make something like that?”

“Like I said, it sounds great when you think of it as ‘living as your favorite character’ but the reality was a mess. Diving is still being fleshed out but all of the tests and beta versions were put on ice for people’s safety. Yet…I found evidence of diving programming being used in the making of this hub. It didn’t look like it was ever implemented but, with the program still haunting the system, the ability for it to kick in is ever present.”

“So…” Kade frowns. “We were all reading this terrible fucking story and got sucked in?”

“That is possible but it’s not necessarily the only option,” Kendra answers, “It’s most likely that you were all in the IVAR system—possibly in the area or just had an unsecure connection. But you were yanked in by the passive diving program and…well, here we are.”

“Wouldn’t we have memories from our lives a little more clearly like you do though?” Oz asked, sounding skeptical as always.

But I do see his point and I add, “True, if you got sucked into Bree’s body because of that diving thing…wouldn’t it be the same for us?”

Kendra rubs her chin. “Huh…maybe because none of you were aware of what was happening? Or…” she trails off.

“Or?” Kade prods.

She and Starla glance at each other and, like with Kendra’s initial story, it seems like Starla already knows what’s coming. Kendra finally responds, “Or you all died while you were in the IVAR system.”

I look over at Oz and Kade and the three of us exchange equally cynical glances. For one, I’m not sure what difference being alive or dead in this space would make and two, I don’t know why Kendra would even come to such a conclusion.

She notices the silent conversation between our eyes. “I know it’s not the answer you want to hear. At the time I came in here, there were some studies on spiritual energy or ‘the soul’ but scientific institutes had a hard time accepting the results as fact. Some scientists, however, were starting to believe that, after death, a soul can continue to exist but will, most likely, forget about it’s life. The different implications those studies had about an afterlife were heavily debated and controversial but I figured, if that is true, then you all would have a harder time remembering who you were, right?”

“That’s assuming all of that research is true,” Oz points out.

“Yes,” Kendra says with a slow nod, “But, considering our situation, I think I’m willing to buy into anything.”

“So we should just accept the fact we might be dead already,” Kade mumbles and then sighs. “Great.”

“That’s part of the reason I’ve been reluctant about just trying to break you all out of here.” She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around her legs. “I think I’ll be able to readjust your programs to be self contained and we can escape this hub but…after that it’ll be a lot of guessing.”

“We can get out?” I barely hear the negative points and focus on the incredible thing she just glossed over.

“Well…probably.” Kendra frowns. “You may have to resort to just escaping to a different hub to live in but I’d like to get you out of IVAR completely…even as just souls.”

“What can we do to help?” Oz asks, ready to jump up and get to work right away.

She looks between all of us again before stretching her legs out and taking a deep breath. “First thing’s first: you’ll need to trust me enough to meddle in your programming.”

“Is there a chance you could delete us by accident?” Oz follows up.

“I’m a good hacker so I’d like to say no but there is always a small chance that I could do damage, yes.”

Starla turns closer to Kendra. “Then I’ll go first. I trust you.”

“Star…” Kendra is taken aback by her sudden, intense gaze.

“I’ve known you longer and I know you better. I’ll show them that you’re safe.” A faint smile pulls at Starla’s lips and I can feel the belief she has in Kendra.

The two women get to work—Starla sits in front of Kendra with her back to her. I lean to the side as a faint blue, translucent screen appears in front of Kendra’s face. It’s coming from Starla, somehow, and I start to feel strange knowing that’s probably in me as well. I rub over my sternum and fight the urge to retch.

The process takes little more than two minutes and Kendra pats Starla on the back, dismissing her. “There you go. Now you’re not anchored to the hub.”

“Feel any different?” I ask, curious.

Starla stands up and walks back to her sleeping bag. She shrugs. “Not really.”

“Alright, I’ll go next,” Oz announces and moves closer to Kendra. I’m surprised he’s going along with it but I suppose, if we want to leave, then we have no other choice than to do what Kendra says. If playing with our code gives us a better chance at escape then we’re all willing to take the risk.

I go next and wait for some strange sensation to come over me, like some sort of pulling or tugging from my back and shoulders, but I feel nothing the entire time. The glow from the screen reflects on my glasses so I know Kendra is working but there is no other indication.

Like with the previous two, she slaps me on the back when she’s done. I return to Oz’s side and Nate goes next.

I’m really starting to worry about him with how silent he’s been but maybe he’s just taking it all in and it’s overwhelming him. If he’s only awoken after the blackout then I’m sure this is an abundance of information.

Oz and I both look to Kade when he’s the last one left.

Kade quirks an eyebrow. “You gonna untie me?”

“It’s okay, Oz,” Kendra assures him and then turns to Kade, “He’s not a danger to us anymore.”

I agree with her but I still tense while Oswald unties him. The smaller man rips himself free as soon as he can and brings his hands in front of himself before scratching the side of his nose.

“Ugh, finally, that’s been bothering me.” He sighs and then scoots toward Kendra. “Alright, get it over with.”

While Kade is having his programming tweaked, Oz picks the conversation up from earlier. “So, after this, what can we do?”

Kendra finishes with Kade and then looks up at Oz. “This may sound strange but I think Kade had the right idea just with the wrong end goal in mind.”

Kade turns around to glare at her. “What do you mean?”

“I started to think of something when I saw that man you axed come back with a different face. His assets changed because the program had to correct itself. That makes it work a little extra harder than it normally would, right?”

With her eyes on us, I feel like she’s asking so I raise my shoulders and say, “I guess?”

She snickers. “Right. So, if we force the program to work overtime and try and adjust it’s assets at a rate it’s not capable of, it will start to break down. Put simply, we can break the program by breaking the assets which are the people and places.”

“So…” Kade draws out the word before asking, “We kill a bunch of people and the program will crash?”

Kendra smiles but she looks a bit put off by the phrasing. “Basically, yeah.”

I can’t believe that’s the plan and I look around at the room to see no one looking as upset as I feel. There are some uncomfortable faces but everyone appears as though they’re ready to do what’s necessary to get out of here. And I get that but…

I’m not sure I can do this.

[brightly-painted-canvas]

TOG fandom - How to address others in Italian (a little help for fellow writers)

Another one of these posts in quick succession because a thing I’ve noticed in many, many fanfiction is the incorrect use of titles and honorifics in Nicky’s Italian lines. Which... I get it, it’s super-uper difficult to get and also Google is the worst of all to translate the right use and nuance (my suggestion is to always prefer Reverso Context when translating entire phrases, it’s based on examples and it’s more accurate in general). So!

Let’s start with family (famiglia, with a gl, different to the Spanish word).

Papà = dad (please, please, PLEASE USE THE ACCENT. Just like Nicolo ≠ Nicolò, remember that Papa = Pope. And Nicky’s dad - or Nicky as a dad - is not a Pope). Variants! They are mostly regionals, but you can also use: papi, babbo, pa’. Father = padre, so if Nicky has to refer to an austere father figure or someone else’s father? Use padre and the honorific form (we will get to that). Mamma = mom. Variants! Mami, mammà, ma’. Mother = madre. Figlio/a = son/daughter. Sorella = sister. Older sister = sorella maggiore or sorellona (like ‘big sis’), younger sister = sorella minore or sorellina (’lil sis’). Fratello = brother. Older brother = fratello maggiore or fratellone (’big bro’), younger brother = fratello minore or fratellino (’lil bro’). Nonno/a = grandad/grandma. Also: nonnino/nonnina, it’s cute. Zio/a = uncle/aunt. Cute: zietto/zietta. Cugino/a = cousin. Younger cousins could also be called: cuginetto/cuginetta. Nipote = nephew/niece and grandson/granddaughter. Younger ones: nipotino/nipotina. Suocero/a = father-in-law/mother-in-law. Cognato/a = brother-in-law/sister-in-law. Genero = son-in-law. Nuora = daughter-in-law. ... and I’m stopping here, but if you have questions on other particular words just DM me :D

How to address loved ones.

Amico/a = friend. Someone who’s always very friendly and nice to hang up with = amicone/a. The BFF from when you were young kids = amichetto/a. Ragazzo/a = boyfriend/girlfriend. ‘Chi è? Il tuo ragazzo?’ = ‘Who’s that? Your boyfriend?’. Variants (also regionals): ragazzino/a, moroso/a, tipo/a. Fidanzato/a = fiancée. Could also be used as boy/girlfriend, but it’s mostly for couples about to get married. However, nonne all over Italy at Christmas would always ask their nephews/nieces ‘ce l’hai il/la fidanzatino/a?’ which basically is ‘have you found yourself a boy/girlfriend?’. Marito/moglie = husband/wife.

How to address royalty/nobility (to the person who asked about this specifically some time ago: took me some time, but here it is).

Sua/Vostra altezza reale/imperiale = His/Her/Your royal/imperial highness Sua/Vostra maestà reale = His/Her/Your royal majesty Re/Regina = King/Queen Imperatore/Imperatrice = Emperor/Empress Principe/Principessa = Prince/Princess Duca/Duchessa = Duke/Duchess Conte/Contessa = Count/Countess Signore/Signora = Lord/Lady (’mio Signore’ = my Lord)

The clergy (a relevant topic for Nicolò).

Prete = priest. Also: don (mostly used before the name to address the priest, like ‘Don Nicolò’)(yeah I know it reminds you of mafia names, that’s where they get it from... it’s basically a substitute of ‘signore’, frequently used in the South). You can also call the priest padre (father) ‘Padre Nicolò’. Padre superiore = father superior, frate = friar, monaco = monk, eremita = hermit, abate = abbott. To address a friar: fra and the name, like ‘Fra Giacomo’. Suora = nun. To address the nun: suor and the name, like ‘Suor Cristina’. Also: sorella, madre superiora = mother superior (’Madre Teresa’), badessa = abbess. Vescovo = bishop. ‘Sua Eccellenza’ = His Excellency. Arcivescovo = archbishop. ‘Sua Grazia’ = His Grace. Cardinale = cardinal. ‘Sua Eminenza’ = His Eminence. Papa = Pope. POPE. P-O-P-E as in the old holy guy dressed in white living in Vaticano. First rule of Italian, folks: we don’t have as many accents as the French, but when we do THEY MUST BE USED. Also: Santo Padre = Holy Father. ‘Sua Santità’ = His Holiness. I had to translate half ‘Wikihow - come rivolgersi al clero cattolico’ LOL

There should probably be a whole chapter about politics too, but you get the drift: use Reverso, check the examples and write me (or any other Italian user in the TOG fandom) a DM if you’re in doubt.

And we arrive straight to the honorific form. This is hard, I know... English doesn’t really have this form, but it’s extremely important to know it and know the differences to write/talk good Italian.

The basic rule is that when we speak to someone who’s above us in hierarchy (a client, a professor, an older colleague, ecc.) or a stranger, we use ‘lei’. Dare del lei means not referring to the person with the singular form of ‘you’ = tu, but use the female third person singular. Let’s proceed with an example: if you’re writing Nicky as a professor, he’s gonna be called ‘prof Di Genova’ by his Italian students. They wouldn’t say ‘prof, non interrogarmi’ to him, but they would use the ‘lei’ form: ‘prof, non mi interroghi’ (don’t test/question me, professor). This form is basically the most frequently translated by Google. This is why the most frequent mistake in fanfiction is Nicky asking ‘scusi?’ (sorry, in the ’lei’ form) to Joe or Andy or Booker instead of ‘scusa?’. As much as I think Nicky is a very polite guy and he definitely would use the ‘lei’ form with strangers, he knows his family (and his husband!) well enough to use the ‘you’. As a rule, always check if the translated Italian you are using is in the honorific form and, if it shouldn’t be in your fic (as in: Nicky is talking to someone he knows, like Nile or Joe or his family), change it to the ‘you’ form. NB! Nice nuance in fanfiction: Nicky using the ‘lei’ form with Copley or even Merrick (sometimes using the honorific form with asshole strangers adds a very sassy flavour) and Nicky using the ‘lei’ form with Joe if you’re writing a first meeting AU (in a polite/formal environment). It’s cute because there’s frequently a moment during a first meeting conversation where people ask each other: ‘possiamo darci del tu?’ (can we use the ‘you’ form?) and I think it’d work well with them.

You think this is it? THINK AGAIN! We also have an even more reverential form, to use with very veeery important people (nobility, extremely high-up people and the such) which is dare del voi. Voi = you (second person plural). The ‘vostra’ you saw above in the royalty part comes from this. Example: if Nicky is a prince or a king, a counselor should address him with the ‘voi’ form. ‘Vostra maestà, vogliate scusarmi: ho dimenticato di aggiornarvi su questo argomento’ (Your Majesty, please excuse me: I’ve forgotten to give you updates on this topic).

A bit complicated, I know, but I hope I’ve helped. Remember you can DM me anytime if you have questions. If you think I’ve forgotten something, please add a comment so that I can reply! :D

Here are the links to my previous ‘Italian language for fellow writers’ posts:

Terms of endearment

Swear words

Writing ‘good’

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Leggiero (Chapter Three)

aIn collaboration with @bethanysnow

Small touches, looks, and wine-soaked daydreams lead to whispered conversations on balconies' edge. Put out cigarettes in the middle of the night. Let lips touch as palms do - eventually...

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word count | 7111

Tag list | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitermoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you@vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @dacey0eg @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy @till-you-scream-and-cry @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @bidet-and-legolas @ginny-lily

***

The bus rumbled underneath Damiano as he turned around in his bunk, the humming of the vehicle drowning out the clatter and chatter of his bandmates in the background. His head was pounding, but less because of the little alcohol he had consumed the night before and more because of the thoughts that had kept him up all night. This morning, he had made sure to be up before Y/n would come around for her wake up call, got ready and then all but crawled into the bunk on his bus for more sleep. They would play a gig in the evening, but for now he was thankful for the 6-hour drive to Oslo with nothing to do.

He could almost feel himself drifting off, body tired out and mind exhausted, but instead all that he saw when he closed his eyes were scenes from last night.

The room was filled with laughter. Music and Vic’s singing, as Damiano let himself fall onto the bed next to Y/n. She looked gorgeous, hair down, relaxing, a champagne flute in her hand and a slight smile on her face. Even though he knew she’d be worrying about what Thomas was doing to the room and how she was going to get them out of bed the next morning. But mostly she was just gorgeous and he told her so.

His hand reached out before the contemplation of this action had been finished in his brain. The adrenaline from the first show of the tour had him flying, soaring, and there was nothing that could possibly bring him down. Her eyes showed surprise but she didn’t pull away as he put a strand of her hand behind her ear. The gesture was small but Damiano felt like he was on fire, briefly stroking the soft skin under his fingers before pulling back.

He found himself babbling about his hair, but he was much more interested in what she had to say. He wished she would talk about herself more often - so much of his personality was so out there, so much information about himself was literally out there, in magazines and interviews and photos, but she had her walls up, even when they were joking, even when she seemed to be talking freely.

“You’re getting more interesting with every second I’m around you, you know?” The words slipped out of his mouth so easily. She went over it just as easily. Did she not care? Did she not find him interesting? He had hoped for some sort of reply or reaction, but she just continued talking. Maybe she wasn’t interested in him… His brain only allowed the thought for a minute. No, he told himself, she simply was this way. Cool, calm, collected. He was sure he would be able to get her out of her shell further one of these days. He wasn’t going to stop trying.

Next thing he knew, she had thrust her phone into his hand, some picture of her from years ago. He didn’t care much about the outfit or the makeup or the questionable hair, it was her smile that drew him in. There was something carefree about it, something unabashedly confident, something she seemed to have lost since then. There was no way back for him he realised in that moment - it might as well have been this woman or no other ever again.

Next thing he knew, he was complimenting her again, calling her darling, but this time he didn’t have to wait long for a reaction. The drink that had been in her mouth just a second ago was now spluttered on her clothes and some of the bedding. He was about to ask her if she was alright, but she had jumped up from the bed, hands trying to hide her reddening face, and dashed to the bathroom.

Fuck, what happened?

“Damiano! What did you do to the poor girl!” Vic shouted in amusement from across the room. He simply waved it off. He wasn’t actually sure what he had done and it bothered him more than he would like to admit - especially in front of his bandmates. Maybe he had come on too strong, tried too hard, had made it awkward. His plan had been to pay her compliments - not scare her away with them. He would have to reconsider his course of action.

When she came back, it was only to say a quick goodnight, waving and leaving. She only spared him a brief glance, no smile or any reassurance that they were fine.

It had not stopped going through his mind. This morning, she had pretended like nothing had happened, but he knew she had been avoiding his gaze and her smiles didn’t seem quite as genuine as they did before. Damiano let out a low groan into his pillow. This was a mess and a half.

The curtain of his bunk was drawn back harshly, revealing Ethan’s face.

“Why would you scare me like that!” Damiano complained. “I could be jacking off in here!”

“Well, I want to assume you wouldn’t do that in a semi-public space such as this,” Ethan replied with contemplation on his face.

“What do you want anyway?”

“Victoria sent me and told me to tell you, I quote,” Ethan cleared his throat. “‘Stop moping, Damiano, it’s no fun'. So, there you go.”

Without another word, Ethan turned back around, leaving the curtain open, and walked back into the kitchenette of the bus. Out of the corner of his eye, Damiano could see him stealing a bit of fruit from the fruit bowl. He felt no motivation to join them.

***

“He alright?” Y/n whispered to Thomas, who was sitting close to her, guitar on his lap. He just shrugged. Ethan rejoined the group with an unreadable expression on his face, sitting down next to Victoria. Y/n shot him another concerned look, but he simply shrugged as well. She shook her head and got up from her spot, walking over to the counter to make breakfast for everyone. Getting out the waffle maker. Putting the Moka pot on the stove and filling it with water. Too early in the morning for rock and roll. In the background, she could hear the band discussing rehearsals and the show in Oslo.

As soon as the smell of food hit the three bandmates, they were all over Y/n, hovering around the little kitchenette, pushing and shoving each other to be first. Y/n looked at all of them in turn. Thomas was currently standing on the couch, raising his hand to smack an unsuspecting Vic who was looking the other way. A single raised brow from Y/n got him back down onto the ground.

“Hey! I’m older, I go first!” Victoria pushed Thomas back.

“Maybe, but it still took your mum nine months to think of a good joke,” Thomas retorted.

Ethan turned around, chuckling at his friends’ banter - but Y/n’s reaction was far more blatant. She started to laugh, a loud, almost cackle that the band had never heard before. Her smile easily reached her eyes and she gave a little applause at Thomas’ joke. “I- I;” she gasped in between laughs, “I know it’s not that funny but it just got me, sorry!” Finally managing to bite her tongue, she went back to serving breakfast.

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/n saw Damiano leaning so far out of his bunk to find out where the sounds and the laughter were coming from. The driver though couldn’t have known it was a bad moment to go over a pothole. With a loud thud, Damiano crashed out from his bunk and onto the hard floor. Chili, excited at the prospect of being able to reach him, ran over to lick his face.

“Eh! Chili, hi. Vic! Come get your dog!” He groaned, picking up the golden fluff and sending it back to her owner. She trotted away happily, over towards Victoria, who was a giggling mess after seeing her friend’s fall. He rolled his eyes at her grin.

“You gonna come join us, sleepy boy? I made coffee,” Y/n said, still trying to keep the peace between everyone. Pouring coffee into a mug, she walked over to Damiano and bent down, handing him the beverage. “I don’t really care if you want to spend the entire day on the floor, but I think your fans might tonight. So come join the party, hm?” Her voice was soft and enticing. Damiano’s eyes sparkled at her invitation. But still, his face was burning red. He sighed and nodded.

Y/n stepped back, taking the cup after he had taken a long sip, and reached her hand out to him. With a swift movement, Damiano was back up on his feet, immediately losing his balance and crashing into Y/n’s shoulder. More blushing on his part. He had not been expecting this amount of strength from her. Not caring about his little bump into her, she dusted him off, picking some fuzz out of his hair, her hand so close to his face, yet so far. She handed him the coffee once again and gave him a smile, before going back to her little corner on the bus as everyone devoured their breakfast.

Damiano watched as she tidied up after everyone had finished, constantly making sure what was effectively their home during tour would stay homely. She always looked like she belonged, and he admired her for that. After one last wipe down of the counter, she quickly addressed everyone on the bus, asking if she was needed for anything else right now, and after a round of head-shaking from everyone, she grabbed her laptop and retired to a quiet corner on the bus. It was only when she briefly looked up to find his eyes and gave a slight smile that he realised he was still watching her every move. Embarrassing, he scolded himself.

Damiano started fumbling for his bag, grabbing a notebook and a pen. He had too many thoughts running around in his head, too many images and ideas about Y/n, and he felt like the only way to get rid of them was to write. Maybe he’d even be able to make something out of it. Anything would be better than staring and dreaming about her anyway.

***

Two more hours until Oslo. With a heavy sigh, Y/n pushed the laptop away from her, neck cracking as she finally moved her bones a little. Suddenly, a pair of hands came down onto her shoulders. She only flinched for a moment before she realised it was Damiano, slowly starting to massage her tense flesh. Her head fell forward and she waved her hand to have him keep going. His fingertips digging into hours of uni work, work work, other work. Tension all living in her neck being slowly worked away by the singer.

"I'm not gonna turn down a free massage," she chuckled, feeling his talented fingers remove knot after knot. Then, suddenly, they became softer. She could hear Thomas in the background shouting something at Damiano. Taking his attention away from her, and all it left was soft fingertips on the sensitive skin on her neck. Dancing along and leaving goosebumps in their wake without him even knowing what he was doing to her. She shivered under such a light touch. A groan left her lips as she was falling deeper under his spell. At this point, she didn’t care. A very pretty man was smoothing his hands over her neck and shoulders and it was nothing short of lovely. Normally this wouldn’t be on Y/n's top list of things she would allow - but a 6-hour bus ride and sitting in one place for most of it was a killer.

I could fall asleep like this - fuck…

She was snapped back to reality when she realised that Damiano was once again staring at her screen, asking what she was working on, hands never moving from their position. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to concentrate like this.

“Oh, I’ve, um,” she awkwardly fumbled with the laptop, “I’ve been trying to memorise this sonnet. I’m doing a course on Shakespeare this semester and we’ve been told to pick our favourite by him and I think I finally decided on mine. It’s Sonnet 128 - um. One of the only sonnets to give you an actual scene in place. It’s from the perspective of this guy watching a bard and just craving to be touched, used, kissed by this person. To have the same sort of attentive mastery be directed at him instead of the player’s instrument. Describing the person listening to this bard play… Wait, would you just like me to read it to you?” Y/n looked up at Damiano. He nodded as he slid into the seat beside her. She moved the laptop so she could see its screen still and began to speak.

***

Sitting next to her wasn’t as bad as Damiano thought. After working on her neck and shoulders, her perfume had rubbed off onto his skin. Light and warm, not super floral, but he didn’t peg Y/n to be a flower kind of woman anyway. Looking at her face now, he noticed things he hadn’t seen before. Faint freckles, little lines around her eyes, the pink tint on her lips. Her hair was done up again in a bun. He could see a couple of bobby pins trying to hide in her wild hair. Then she started to recite the piece and his chest was exploding. He felt as if he was watching winter melt away and spring come.

“How oft, when thou, my music, music play’st”

Oh, what he would do to be her muse, Damiano thought. Her voice, low and soft, was like music itself to him, never mind the way her eyes lit up at the words she repeated from the screen. A little light inside of her, one he hadn’t encountered before.

“Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway’st”

Her fingers were just as sweet, his mind piped up as he tried to listen to her more closely. Some light polish on her nails that he hadn’t noticed before, but now that she was scrolling through the laptop, it was like he couldn’t keep his eyes off them. Quickly exploring images of them tangled in his hair, scratching down his back ever so slightly. Stop, he told in his own head in vain. Just stop and listen, for once. Yet the ideas of her he had hidden away kept demanding attention.

“The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,

Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap

To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,”

He tried so hard to concentrate. To listen, to take in the words she was reciting, to grasp their meaning and what they meant to her, but it was hard, getting harder. In an uncalculated move on his part, his arm swung around her shoulders, not pulling her closer, just letting her know he was there, right now, right here, with her. His hand resting on her upper arms, feeling the warmth underneath the fabric of her blouse.

“Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,

At the wood’s boldness by thee blushing stand!”

His eyes travelled up from her fingers, over her soft and curvy figure, her delicate neck, to her blushing face. She was blushing an awful lot with him and he had not yet figured out completely if this was a good sign or not. Either way, he thought she looked adorable, a natural pink on her cheeks. Slightly restless eye movements that didn’t match up to the words she was reading, a certain nervousness overtaking her. He wanted to make her blush like that for the rest of his life if he could. He silently wondered if she would blush that much if… if it was just the two of them, alone in some random hotel room, a whole world of exploration before them.

“To be so tickled, they would change their state

And situation with those dancing chips,

O’er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,

Making dead wood more blest than living lips.”

His eyes betrayed him, flicking down to her lips as soon as she said the word. Soft, a light tint on them, pronouncing every syllable in the most mindful way. He wondered if she would let him kiss her. What. His brain flickered between two emotions. Yes, yes, yes. He would give everything to feel her sweet mouth on his, getting her close, inhaling her scent, pouring his every thought into a kiss. No. What was he thinking? She was their assistant. Strong, gorgeous, fiercely independent, and surely not interested. Right? He couldn’t help wondering. Would she let him kiss her? Would she want him to? Had she thought about it, the way he was right now?

“Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,

Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.”

Their eyes met and Damiano hadn’t even noticed how much closer he had edged towards her. It would only take a little bit, one more breather, a tiny motion, to put his lips on her, to feel what she was feeling, and the way she looked at him had him craving, obsessing and he almost dared himself to do it, when a voice pulled him out of his thoughts, pulled him away from her.

“Y/N! I don’t understand how the waffle maker works!”

Damiano had never wanted to kill his bandmate more than at that moment. With a groan he turned around, seeing Thomas fumble with the appliances in their little kitchen area, a dumbstruck look on his face, and puppy dog eyes pleading Y/n for help. She only gave a low chuckle, before getting up and walking over to the guitarist, leaving Damiano with a head full of thoughts that all circled around her.

***

That was close, Jesus Christ! My face is so warm… how are his eyes that pretty? How have I never noticed that before? I wonder if he was thinking about the same thing as I was back there…

***

The crowd was roaring out by the main stage. Crew held their places waiting for the queue to go. The band stood off stage trying to sneak a peek at the audience. Hundreds more people than they were expecting. Y/n sat in a metal chair that was dubbed ‘her chair’ so she could watch the performance from behind the main curtain to cheer the band on without being seen. The lights in the main room were being lowered, the playlist that had been on in the background slowly being turned off, as the noise of the audience got impossibly louder. The band was getting nervous now, the good kind of nervous. Thomas jumping around to get his energy levels up before they would get the sign to get on stage. Y/n smiled at them in turn, returning a little wave Ethan was giving her. Just as they were given the go-ahead, and all of them started to jog on stage, Damiano took a little detour, sending her a smile that would set all the butterflies free in her stomach, before pressing a little kiss to her forehead. He was gone before she had a chance to react. Yet, she froze. Damiano looked back and it was the most perplexed, confused, and adorable expression he had ever seen on her.

It was an expression Damiano couldn’t get out of his head for the rest of the concert, even long after she had lost it - and he knew she had because he couldn’t keep himself from looking over at her every now and again. He was fascinated by the way she watched them.

And if she was watching? Well, then he was going to put on a show.

He pulled all the tricks he knew - well those that were fitted to the situation and venue. During one of their songs, he decided to pull his favourite one. With a low grunt, he ripped his shirt apart, throwing it across the stage, unable to wipe the smile off his face. Until he looked over to where his top had landed and his eyes fell onto Y/n, standing beside the stage, now with a performance-rich torn tank top on her face. Maybe his aim had been a little off. The look on her face as she removed the fabric made him laugh. At least she isn’t hiding now, he thought, before going back to the song.

During “You need me, I don’t need you”, one of the covers they had chosen for the night, he couldn’t fight the grin, knowing his favourite lyric of the night was coming up.

“Melody music maker, reading all the papers, they say I’m up and coming like I’m fucking in an elevator.”

Where Damiano would usually take the chance to suggestively hump the mic stand and focus on the audience, this time he did it while looking straight at Y/n. Her face clouded red, eyes looking at him with a flustered glare. He simply winked at her.

Similar things kept happening throughout the night, any song to do with sex or romance, any innuendo, it was all directed at her. To him, it was all about her all the time, and he made sure to let her know.

***

After one last encore, the band left the stage, the sound of the crowd chanting their names in the background. Once backstage, they all exchanged hugs, all pumped up from the adrenaline and the successful show. A massive gift basket sat in the corner, filled with beers, chocolates, some skincare products, and flowers, along with a note from the venue welcoming them to Oslo and thanking them for playing. Vic immediately grabbed Y/n.

“When we get back to the hotel - up for a girl’s night?” Wriggling her eyebrows at the assistant, she picked out some of the products from the red tulle in the basket.

“As if I could say no to you.”

***

“Okay, what’s first, face mask or red wine?” Victoria asked, holding up both items in her hands as she followed Y/n into the hotel room, Chili yapping at both of their feet, dying to get attention from anyone.

“I will pour the wine if you open the face mask stuff,” Y/n decided, picking up Chili for some snuggles, before putting the dog down on the bed and grabbing the wine glasses. “Don’t have a girls' night often, so this is nice.”

“I keep having them with the boys but it’s not really the same,” Vic laughed. “They never want me to pluck their eyebrows or anything! Oh, and please be careful with the wine around Chili, I drenched her once and it didn’t come out of her fur for ages.”

“You - you did what now? Wait, nope, I don’t wanna know. But to be honest, I would kill to get Ethan on my lap with some tweezers in my hand. Boy, does he need it. Not by much, sweet guy. Just, uh, you know?” Within a moment or two wine was being poured and handed to the blonde. “I didn’t know how much you would want but we can always add more,” Y/n stated, hopping onto the bed next to Vic.

“Oh, very sweet guy with unpredictable hair, really!” Vic said, grabbing the glass and downing more than half of it in one go already, before sitting down next to Y/n with the little pot she had opened and a little applicator for the cream. “That’s so fancy, I usually just slap it on my face with my fingers.”

“Same! Thinking we’re posh fucks, aren’t they?” Y/n grinned, looking at the tiny skincare items, another sip of wine. Chili curled up between the two women. “You looked like you had fun at the concert.”

“It’s so good to be back on the road and I feel like we’ve really found ourselves as a band now. We’ve only played two shows but it’s already my favourite tour. I’m convinced it’s because you’re here, too, by the way, you really fit in with us,” Victoria smiled at her, sipping from the glass, then putting it away on the nightstand and motioning for Y/n to do the same. “Come here, I’m gonna do your face.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that. You guys have been absolutely killing it. You got here by your own accomplishments and will, that’s hard to do. I am far more surprised at how well I’ve been able to fit in with you all. I’m, uh, as you can see,” putting the glass away, she scooted to face Victoria, “not as… ‘rock and roll’ and I would have assumed you’d want your assistant to be. But glad I got stuck with you though.”

“Oh, shush,” Vic said, sternly, as she began applying the cream to Y/n’s face. “You fit in just fine. Firstly, I think we definitely need someone to keep us grounded a bit sometimes and secondly, I am absolutely convinced there’s a lot more rock and roll in you than you think - you just wait until you’ve been exposed to us for longer, you’ll see!”

“Well, I agree with the grounded part. You realise that today during breakfast Thomas was climbing on the sofa about to smack your head just to get further in line? That boy does not stop.” She relaxed into Vic’s touch, silently deciding that girls' nights needed to be a more regular thing. This was great. “Ethan said something similar - something about ‘head banging right along with everyone else’. You all have it out for me don’t you?!” She asked, putting on an overly dramatic, surprised look.

“No, he didn’t!” She exclaimed, astounded. “I’m gonna get him back for that tomorrow. Anyway, Ethan was right, you won’t be able to resist our bad influence forever, Y/n! So, have you been to gigs before taking this job, or is this still something new to you?”

“I have been to gigs before, but they were more music festivals, and I was never one for EDM or anything. The heat and lots of glittery, sweaty people drunk on warm beer? No, thank you. Or they would get a new assistant for a tour and the job would end. Not in a bad way, it's just how it is as an assistant. You do your job until they don’t need you anymore.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s the wine or you, but I don’t think I’ve talked this much about myself really since I started this job. Not this particular job, mind you, but the whole P.A. thing.” Y/n chuckled, pulling her hair back into a tighter ponytail to keep out of the way of the fancy skincare.

“Hm, now I just keep thinking of putting glitter on you and getting you in the middle of a good punk gig one of these days,” Vic giggled as she finished up Y/n’s facemask, motioning for her to return the favour. “Let’s make the most of this wine then, I’m going to pour you another glass and you tell me a bit more about yourself.”

Grabbing the little pot of face mask, Y/n gently held Vic’s face, slowly applying the cream. “I’m going to be an alcoholic by the end of the tour, aren’t I? Um, well, I had a boyfriend, he was a prick, we broke up. My best friend lives in London in our old flat. My favourite films are old Hollywood romances. ‘Singing in the rain’, stuff like that. I dunno really. I’m just Y/n. Though I was thinking we should find a way to line Damiano’s trousers so that if they - when they rip apart, you see the lining and not the man’s underwear. Not that I think he cares, actually.” She truly was unable to turn work off completely, even on a night off.

Victoria couldn’t contain the giggle, receiving a scolding look from Y/n, who almost put the cream in her hair by mistake. “Thinking about Damiano’s underwear a lot, huh? Can’t blame you, that man is as pretty as they come. You can be happy they’ve all not gotten to the point where they just hang out on the tour bus in just their boxer shorts, but believe me, that day will come sooner or later!”

“I have not!” She insisted as her face betrayed her, telling a completely different story. “That is unprofessional and objectifying. I hope it doesn’t happen at all. You saw my face before when you all decided to ‘put on a little show’ in the dressing room.” She took the glass from Vic to take a sip. “Anyway.” She started blending out the face mask with fingers, careful not to get it into Victoria’s hair. “Would there be anything you want to know? I am never good at talking about myself.”

Chili nuzzled into Victoria’s leg, getting more needy. “I don’t want to cross any boundaries here, but honestly - why do you work so hard? I’ve only known you for like three days but you never seem to relax, you’re always either busy working for us or working on your projects and when you have a minute to breathe you end up cleaning after us or just going above and beyond taking care of us. I’m not complaining,” she held her hands up, laughing. “It’s great, but it’s a lot, huh?”

“Um… I can’t lie. Not to you or the band. Lying isn’t good for you anyway. But.. I don’t know. Lots of stuff happened before I moved to Italy. Lots of not-so-good stuff. So, I had a lot of reserved pent-up energy, still do. So I had to find ways to put it into things. Now I put it into my work because it’s my new dream. I put it into the band because I care about you. I want to see this tour do well…” Y/n stopped for a moment, caught off guard by the question, looking back and forth between Victoria and her own reflection in the wine. “I want to prove to myself that I can achieve and be successful. I am also a giant workaholic, though, like it’s bad,” she giggled, as Chili now put a paw on Vic’s thigh, demanding attention.

“Well, if you gotta do that whole workaholic thing, I’m glad you’re doing it for us,” Vic smiled, placing a soft hand on Y/n’s arm. “Just make sure to make some time to let loose every now and again. I’m sure any of us would be happy to help you with that.” She turned on her phone to check the time. “I should probably get this mask off now, give me a second,” she explained before getting up and skipping to the bathroom sink.

“Yeah, that’d be good,” Y/n said, also taking note of the time. “Doesn’t Chili need to go out now? There’s no grass on the balcony or I’d let her do her business here.” She stood up, placing the wine glasses on a little counter, trying to force the cork back into the bottle. “Thank you for tonight though, we should make it a thing.”

“Yeah, I’ll take her out for her evening walk now.” Victoria came back, hair slightly damp from where she had washed her face too hastily. “But let’s definitely do this again, next to Ethan you’re like the most calming person on this tour to hang out with.” She moved to give her a hug, only to realise Y/n still had the mask on, so instead, she opted for an awkward shoulder rub and a giggle. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“You do realise it is my job to follow you around and see you tomorrow? Like, that is what I am paid to do. But hell, I’d still do it if it wasn’t my job,” she smiled, nudging Vic’s shoulder. “Now go get Chili out and then get some sleep yeah? Important things like sleep, food, water, everything you people seem to keep forgetting about!”

“Well, that’s what we have you for now, don’t we?” Victoria laughed, picking up a whining Chili and already halfway out the door. “But you get some sleep too! No working through the night, I am ordering you to bed - as your boss!”

“Of course!” Y/n laughed, shutting the door behind the bassist. After taking off her mask, she put the rest of Vic’s leftover wine into her glass and went out onto the balcony with her laptop. Pulling out all the bobby pins and the hair tie, she ran her fingers through her hair, brushing out the knots and letting it hang loose. The light from the sunset had long been gone by the time they had gotten to the hotel. Only street lights and the blue screen were illuminating the space of the balcony. The outdoor space was large enough for a table and chairs. The street down below was faintly noisy as people and cars passed by, but not enough to disturb her peace and quiet.

***

So much for an early night, Damiano thought, staring at the screen of his phone, as Ethan slept soundly in the next bed. With a sigh, he kicked the blanket off his legs, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the nightstand, and sneaking out onto the balcony without waking his bandmate. Maybe a smoke would help. His eyes drifted from the rather unspectacular view out front to where he noticed movement to his right, only to see Y/n on her own balcony, right next to his.

Y/n was relaxing in her chair, glass of wine in her hands, mouthing the words to something on the computer in front of her. Entirely focused on whatever she was working on, she didn’t notice Damiano’s door opening and closing. She took a drink of her wine, leaving a dark red stain on her lips, then stood up to face the street. Laptop on her arm and looking outward, she mumbled the words on the screen to herself. He just about managed to make out what she was saying.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with brief- Wait, no. Grief. Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Who is already sick and pale with grief. Stupid tiny font is gonna be de death of me,” she mumbled, trying to zoom into the text.

Damiano watched her, a chuckle on his lips, both amused and amazed at seeing her play out the scene on her own. With a quick flick of his lighter, he turned to his cigarette, taking a drag, wide awake. The low light of the moon was illuminating her figure and her hazy movements and for a while he allowed himself to simply be fascinated by her. By the way she moved. Performing fully committed to the open air. Then she made a particularly dramatic, sweeping gesture in her monologue and he knew he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

“Hey there, Juliet.”

The surprise went through her like an electric shock, she was stumbling over nothing, almost dropping the laptop from her arms, as she turned around towards him so fast, he was sure her hair was going to give her whiplash.

“Ah fuck - Damiano?!” She gasped delicately into the night. “You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days!”

Hopefully, for very different reasons, he thought to himself.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly replied. “What are you doing? It’s almost 2 am.”

“You know I could very well ask you the same thing.” She looked at him accusingly. “If you didn’t have the day off tomorrow I’d be ordering you back to bed immediately.”

Damiano briefly considered a suggestive comment, but instead, let the cigarette between his lips keep him quiet. Y/n was putting her laptop away now, sinking back down into the lounge chair as he walked over to the edge of his own balcony, leaning over the railing to get a better look at her.

“You know I’ve not forgiven you for your antics at the concert tonight yet,” she suddenly stated, pulling him from his thoughts. The smirk flashed over his face naturally. He wondered if she was blushing again, but the little light the moon and her laptop screen gave off didn’t tell him anything. He was hoping she was.

“I promise I didn’t mean to hit your face with my top,” he laughed.

“But you obviously did mean everything else you did!” An accusing finger was pointed his way. “I did not appreciate that.”

For a second he flinched, wondering if he had gone too far, crossing a boundary. But then she looked back at him with a smile she was obviously trying to push away, unsuccessfully. Glass of wine in her hand, she sauntered over to him, while he put out his cigarette on the railing. She leant over her own railing, mirroring his movements. At a slow pace, like she knew he was watching, she sipped from her glass. His eyes falling to the way her neck was exposed as she threw her head back, tracing the soft skin with his glances until she set down the drink. There was a droplet of red wine on her lip and he wished their balconies were closer together, fantasising about reaching out and wiping it away, feeling just how soft she would be under his touch.

“Not that… I didn’t like it.” She paused. “Also not the first time I’ve been hit in the face with a shirt. So there’s that.” Y/n laughed.

“Now you’ve got me curious - who else would hit you with a shirt? Are you trying to tell me you’ve been to strip clubs?” Damiano laughed. Teasing her came easy to him.

“Dancers. With aim as terrible as yours, Mr. David. And I don’t know if you want the answer to the second question,” she smirked. When they were alone like this, she seemed more at ease. That, or it was the wine. He didn’t know.

“Dancers, huh? Think you could teach me a thing or two? Or, you know, were you just watching, lusting over sexy men?”

“Ah! I would do nothing of the sort. Most of the guys there weren’t into girls anyway. Wouldn’t do me much good… Damiano, I could teach a lot of things. You to dance? God help us all.” She made a dramatic cross across her body, laughter twinkling in her eyes.

“Now, Y/n, I’d let you teach me whatever you wanted,” he winked. “Preferably something… active, hm?” He could keep from laughing as he saw her unimpressed face, staring him down and shaking her head. He’d rile her up for the rest of his life if she gave him the chance.

“I once met this Italian guy, came to the studio. Thought he was God’s gift to dance. But you Italians all have that, bravado, confidence, whatever you wanna call it. Well, after learning the first intermediate step, he fell flat on his face and went back to beginner lessons. You gonna be like that?” Raising a brow at him, she leant further over the railing on her side.

Damiano puffed up his chest, comically, trying to make himself appear bigger in a useless attempt to impress her. “Now, you’ve obviously not met the right Italians yet, amore mio. Sounds to me like you need a real Italian to show you the way.”

Just like this morning, she burst out laughing, letting out cackles that filled the air with joy. “Sorry - not laughing at you. Just thought what you said was funny.” She looked down, and as dark as it was, he could see the same signs he had seen before. Shy expression, holding herself close to her body. The slight panic of not knowing what to say. “You’re real Italian, alright. You seem to always know what to say. Now is that an Italian thing or a Damiano thing?” She asked, sarcastically, to deflect the fact that her face was heating up.

Amore mio…that's what did it. He felt like he was unlocking a single puzzle piece at a time, slowly putting her together and making sense of her. He couldn’t wait to get the whole picture one of these days. “Maybe it’s a you thing,” he simply said. The night was making him strangely comfortable with being honest. “Maybe you just bring it out in me.”

“Eh - I’ve been told I bring out a lot of things, never a savant before.” She was still looking down, at her hands, starting to pick at her nail polish. Some little nervous tick that he hadn’t caught onto till now. “It’s late, you should go to sleep, Dami. I am sure that bed is missing its handsome owner right about now.” She started to look far away, picking up the wine glass and taking the last sip.

He had barely heard what she had said - too focused on her calling him Dami, for the very first time. It was like a little shudder running through him, knowing she was growing closer to him as the time passed. “Are you okay, though? I’m sure my bed will survive without me a little bit longer.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine. Don’t you worry about me, I worry enough as it is. Tomorrow is a day off, so I won’t be waking you up in the morning, bus call isn’t until later. Um, but I will be getting breakfast. Is there anything you would want?”

“As long as it involves coffee, I’m happy. I’m sure you’ll pick out the perfect thing anyway.” Damiano watched as she nodded, moving towards the balcony doors and away from him. He felt like grabbing her just to keep her there. He straightened up as well, just barely backing away from the railing. As she left he looked at the space she once occupied, feeling like he could almost make out the outline of her body where it once had been.

Amore mio...

[sciderman]

It’s International Women’s Day, and I realised that I preemptively wrote just the thing to celebrate. 

(I don’t know how strict Tumblr’s unsexy policy is now when it comes to writing, but there’s no real sexy, it’s just dialogue, as usual.) 

Yes, it’s the @ask-spiderpool boys... (and yes, everything I write for them is canon to the blog, by definition.) So, Happy International Women’s Day! 

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

“Have I ever told you your ass is super fine?” 

Peter was caught off-guard by the abrupt direction shift in the conversation. But, ever able to land on his feet, he delivered a sarcastic “No. Never. I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned it.” 

“It truly is,” Wade paused for something Peter could only interpret as dramatic effect, “the greatest ass in the Marvel Universe. I know. I keep an extensive ranking list.” 

“Who’s second?”

“Daredevil, actually.” 

Peter gave it some consideration, pursing his lips. He conceded with a small nod. 

“The pyjama boys get an unfair advantage. And there might be some color psychology at play,” Wade said, clearly having given this topic a significant amount of thought. “Red makes you hungry, you know. It’s science.” 

“I love science,” said Peter, dumbly. 

“Have I really not told you how much I love your ass? Because that seems like an incredible misdeed on my part.” 

“You used to never shut up about it on patrol”, Peter replied. He hooked one of his fingers around one of Wade’s belt-loops, fiddling. “I don’t know if you knew I could hear you. I had half a mind to start up a harassment case. You’re lucky I’ve got such a good sense of humour.” 

“I’ve got enough outstanding court cases against me as it is so, much appreciated.” 

“...You’ve kind of shut up about it recently, though - present moment in exception.” Peter admitted after a small pause. “My ass just not do it for you anymore?” 

“Oh, I have an extensive list of things I’d like to do to dat ass.” Wade emphasised, giving one of Peter’s cheeks a firm squeeze.  

Peter groaned. Mostly to do with Wade’s appalling use of words, but also partly his body’s reaction to this new kind of attention. 

“I’ll bite”, said Peter, “Why haven’t you started working your way down that list?” 

Peter was mildly disappointed when Wade’s hand ceased it’s exploration.

“Well, you’re a newly christened bisexual, and,” Wade said, “I didn’t… want to rush you into anything that might, y’know. Weird you out. I know all about your fragile masculinity.” 

“That’s not –“ Peter sounded insulted, “That’s not. Entirely true.” 

Wade raised an eyebrow at Peter. Or he would’ve, if he had eyebrows. 

“Besides, I’m not entirely new to this either.” 

Both of Wade’s eyebrows raised. 

“…You mean butt-stuff?” 

Peter sighed.

“Your eloquence never ceases to amaze,” he said dryly. “Yes. I mean butt-stuff.” 

“But Peter, I’m the first dude on your ever-rotating roster of fuck-buddies! Which means…” 

Wade’s facial expression was wide-eyed and adorable before he started piecing things together. Then his face twisted into something so smug and so knowing, that Peter felt embarrassed before Wade had even opened his mouth. 

“Black cat?” Wade said, cloyingly, “…It was Black Cat, wasn’t it?” 

Peter buried his face in Wade’s legs, and grunted. 

Wade’s hands resumed a gentle massage at Peter’s lower back. 

“You know, I kind of had her pegged as that kind of gal.” 

“Har har.” 

“Oh, this is going to give me so much fantasy fodder.” Wade closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He overplayed a delighted “Mmm-mmm”, like he’d been fed the most delicious fucking food he’d ever had. 

“I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“Oh, I really, truly am.” Wade savoured it just a minute more, before he turned down to look at Peter. “Did you have fun, though? How did you like it? Details, details!” 

“It was”, Peter considered his words, as though the fact that he was half-hard in his pyjama pants wasn’t giveaway enough, “It was… fine. It, uh, wasn’t something I wanted to do again, though.” 

Peter turned to lay on his back, head resting on Wade’s lap. Wade’s hands took the new position as an invitation to explore Peter’s stomach, running over washboard abs. 

“Why not?” Wade addressed Peter, quiet and sincere. 

Peter opened his mouth, but didn’t have an answer immediately. He flushed, feeling bare under Wade’s gaze. 

“Probably s’mthin’ t’do w’th mh fr’gile m’scul’nity…” Peter mumbled at last, completely embarrassed. 

“Peter Parker.” Wade spoke up, gravely. “I’ll have you know I have been pegged by every single girl I’ve dated. It’s a courtesy. All good boys deserve it.”

“Mm.” The information didn’t come as a surprise to Peter. He knew exactly how much Wade loved it. He’d participated in it. That didn’t stop the imagery from flooding Peter’s already flustered brain. “And is that what you are? A good boy?” Peter teased, a hand running up Wade’s thigh. 

“Peter Parker.” Wade repeated in earnest, “I think you can acknowledge that lately, I have been a very, very good boy.” 

“And a good boy deserves a reward?” 

“Are you gonna give a dog a bone?” 

Peter snorted. 

“If that’s what he wants,” Peter said, stretching out. “Otherwise, he wins this fine ass for the evening.” 

There was a beat of silence, and Peter could swear he could hear the fizzle and pop of Wade’s brain short-circuiting.   

[saturnsummer]

oh, how we’ve grown.

prompted by an anon from my ask here! 

notes: this was probably the fic that stumped me on so many occasions, since it was really bittersweet. editing, grammar and other mistakes will be taken responsible by me! it took me longer than expected and i’m not sure if everyone would be able to catch on how i interpreted the group’s futures and personalities! if anyone would like to know more, do dm me! as always, enjoy and thank you for the support and love!

original prompt: I think Joon Hwi and Sol A was already dating during their 3L (since Sol A looked so comfortable acting flirty and cute aroud Joon Hwi on their way to the old man's trial). Now I wonder what happen with them during time skip and by the ending, what stage of relationship they are in. Can you write a fic or headcanon ab that? Thank you! 🥰

words: 4373 words

it was finally the day of graduation.

joon hwi was beyond excited. he was nostalgic, sad and emotional, for sure. but after crying so many tears yesterday and the past week, he found it useless to cry any further. he lets the adrenaline set in for his new chapter lying ahead.

joon hwi was finally going to be a prosecutor.

his letter came in a few weeks after the bar exam. he counts himself lucky, being one of the students that helped to capture assemblyman ko, solve his uncle's murder, prove his professor's and his own innocence. all in his first year. it was no surprise that when he applied, they immediately wanted him. his grades were just the cherry on top to his stack of achievements. he was certainly overqualified for a guy who just passed the bar.

(well, he did pass the second round judicial exam.)

further than that, he was crowned valedictorian and was tasked to give a speech to his fellow batch mates. he had practiced his speech countless times, and he could recite it in his sleep by now. but he can’t quite place the feeling that he feels. his thoughts are all over and he can’t seem to keep his heart rate constant.

a knock on the door of his now empty dorm room distracts him from his thoughts. there, dressed in similar graduation robes, with long wavy brown hair is kang sol a, or to him, his kang sol. she walks in with a small smile on her face, but her smile fades away to a face of concern after studying his face. her eyes dart to the door, and she strides back to shut the door, giving him and her the privacy that he needs.

"what's troubling you?" she asks gently, taking his hand into hers. a quiet, simple gesture done by sol could soothe him so much. joon hwi is silent, not knowing why he’s so nervous. he’s done speeches and talked to crowds bigger than this. heck, he has testified for court. yet, the knot in his stomach refuses to cease.

“i don’t know… it’s nothing new, yet…” he trails off, avoiding his eyes with his girlfriend. his thoughts race through his head, but it leads back to his uncle, his samchoon, the man that brought him up: seo byungju.

“joon. joon, look at me.” sol brings a hand up to his cheek, gently raising it so it meets her eyes rather than the floor. joon hwi promised he wouldn’t be emotional today, yet he found his eyes glassy when he met sol’s eyes. as a tear slips, her fingers wipe it away gently.

“your uncle… he would be so proud of you to see the boy he raised achieve his dream.” sol says, a voice so quiet and soft, it seems to echo to joon hwi. she always knew what to say and always knew what was troubling him deep down, even if he denied it.

samchoon… are you proud of me?

“i’ll always be supporting you, like how your uncle did. when you’re on stage, if you feel intimidated, just look at my eyes, alright?” sol says, rubbing his cheek. he gives a small smile and nods slowly. taking his hand, sol intertwines it between her fingers, an action that he knows she only does when they are alone. an act so simple, yet his heart was so soothed by then.

joon hwi’s free hand reaches to the back of her head, as he lowers his slightly, so their forehead rest against each other. he breathes her perfume in, the one he bought for her a few months into their relationship, the one that she always wanted but could never buy. he takes slow breathes with her, her thumb rubbing his knuckle gently.

sol pulls away, much to joon hwi’s disappointment. he wanted her skin ship even more, just savouring her touch under his skin. sol notices his disappointment and only gives him a smile.

“they’re waiting for us. come, let’s go.” sol says softly, letting go of his hand after giving him a squeeze. he knows she hates being affectionate in public, even in front of their close friends. he gives her a quick peck on the top of her head before following behind her, walking to the lobby where they were.

“yah, hyung!” bokgi waved with enthusiasm, gathering the attention of the group. joonhwi maintains his composure and lets out a deep breath.

“nervous, hyung?” yebeom asks, his fingers fiddling.

“tch, it’s me. i’ll be fine.” joon hwi replies. it’s a half truth, now that sol is by his side.

“that’s why sol-noona had to find you, right?” bokgi teases, earning a nudge from yeseul. bokgi looks in mocked offence, but he recovers. everyone eyes at sol with prying eyes, the look of teasing on their faces. she takes this moment to shut her eyes, bring her hands up to face and shakes her head while sighing. these kids have literally nothing better to do than to just tease her and joon hwi.

“it’s time. you should go.” jiho says as he nods towards the lecture hall. the ceremony doesn’t start till half an hour later, but being valedictorian, he had preparations to do. they send joon hwi their last words of encouragement, but joon hwi was not going to leave unless he embarrassed his girlfriend a little longer.

his hand reaches up to sol’s hair, sweeping the curls behind her and cutely arranging her fringe the way she likes it. sol blushes as the group ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ in front of them. joon hwi knows she hates being so affectionate in front of her friends, but it’s always fun to tease. sol’s bright red and her face forms the smallest pout. joon hwi knows he’s achieved his mission.

“i’ll see you later.” he says with a wink and walks away, hearing the tease from yebeom and sol squeaking back.

when he’s on stage later, giving his speech, the words fall out of his mouth effortlessly. but the only thing that changes is that his eyes are fixed on the warm brown eyes of sol. as he addresses his late uncle at the end, he pauses and takes a deep breath. sol looks at him and gives him an encouraging nod. he ends his speech, eyes never once leaving her gaze, as the student body claps for him and he takes a bow.

one by one, the students are told to line up and take their certificates on stage from dean oh. she gives the seven graduates a knowing smile when they step on stage, knowing how much they’ve been through, after being swept up by their problems in their first and second years. even after all that, they managed to graduate with excellent results.

when they gather to take their photos (taken by seungjae, who decided to attend their graduation. it was the least he could do to show his support.), joon hwi swears he sees his uncle standing at the rock by the entrance of the school. he swears he sees the knowing silhouette of the tall man, grey hair and his metal spectacles. but what warms him the most is the smile of seo byung ju’s face and the slight nod.

yes, my boy. i’m so proud of you.

with that, joon hwi lets himself smile as seungjae snaps the camera.

(he doesn’t notice his blurred vision from his tears, but rather blames it on the sun hurting his eyes.)

-----

the group takes individual shots of themselves, even jiho and sol b are smiling when their photos are taken. sol doesn’t lose a chance to tease her roomie about her cute smile, one she only reserved for limited situations.

joon hwi watches as his friends spread out across the field to meet their family, sharing the good news of graduation and their new starting jobs. the smiles on the parent’s faces warms his heart deeply, somehow, even though he’s standing alone.

jiho was going to be a prosecutor with joon hwi in their new office. jiho could care less about joon hwi, but he can’t help but admit that it comforted him knowing a familiar face to be in his office in about two weeks. after all, they did share a room for three years.

sol b, against her mother’s wishes, has decided to take a gap year. her mother initially planned for her to continue her training, securing her route to being a judge. but sol b has had enough of her mother’s toxicity. as they went through therapy as a family, sol b had expressed as best as she could her need to discover what she wants for herself, not what her mother wants for her. what she will be doing in her gap year is still undecided, but she has chosen to move out for the time being.

yeseul was going to be in a firm that mostly did cases of women rights. while she initially was hesitant, bokgi encouraged her to take this opportunity, using her experience and her trial as a voice to the other victims. from time to time, she promised professor kim that she would come back to help at the legal clinic.

bokgi, on the other hand, had finally achieved his dream of being a human rights lawyer. while he was upset that he couldn’t work near yeseul, his spirits were immediately lifted when he heard that yebeom was going to be working just at the building across from him, another big law firm. (it was settled that as much as they went through, the bok-beom duo was never to be separated.)

sol, on the other hand, accepted her first job at attorney park’s firm, ironically. just when she had her first internship, she remembers screaming that she would never work with crooked lawyers like him. sol chose to work with him, as a return of the many favours she owes professor yang, starting with the one from high school. it was the most she could do for her role model.

joon hwi observes as he notices the proud faces of mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters, and spots the few sightings of grandparents. somehow, he can’t help but feel a little lonely. his parents, the two individuals he had a short-lived relationship with had long passed. his uncle, the closest thing he had to a father had too passed. he can’t even guess where his aunts or other distant relatives are. his distant relatives probably don’t remember him, and neither does joon hwi.

a small body crashing into him breaks his flow of thoughts, as he looks down to see who it is. byeol wraps her arms around joon hwi’s waist happily and joon hwi breaks into laughter, realising who it is and lifting her before spinning her. she’s giggling in a mess as joon hwi spots sol’s mother and her walking to them.

“ah, hello, mrs kang.” joon hoi greets with formality. sol’s mother playfully smacks his arm with a smile, clearly embarrassed from such formality.

“ah! how many times have i said to not call me that, joon hwi-ah! at this point, you should just call me halmeoni!” she says, earning a big laugh from joon hwi and sol’s face burning with embarrassment.

“umma! don’t say things like this!” sol squeaks back. joon hwi only smiles and insists to call her ‘mrs kang’. byeol is getting introduced to their friends as bokgi and yebeom play a game of tag with her. sol’s mother stands by sol, her hand on her back and her other rubbing joon hwi’s back.

“joon hwi-ah, i hope you know how proud i am of you. sol has told me your own fair share of troubles. i know... you don’t have much of a mother figure in your life, but as your girlfriend’s mother, i hope you know i treat you like my own.” sol’s mother comments to him, holding both his hands in her warm ones. “more than just tutoring my daughter and helping her, you got through your troubles on your own.” joon hwi can only smile as he suppresses the emotions.

“your parents must be so glad to have such a righteous son.”

joon hwi, for a moment, is reminded of his limited memories with his parents. he doesn't remember much, being so young when they died. but how his mother would teach him the importance of kindness and compassion. his father would teach him to be strong, to stand up for the bullies that picked on the poorer kids in his preschool.

hearing his girlfriend’s mother tell him that, he couldn’t help but just pull her into a warm hug. sol joins in from behind, enveloping them with a warm that joon hwi was unable to explain. burying his face into the older woman’s hair, he lets himself be a child, as she rubs his back and holds him lovingly.

for the first time in his life, he finally experiences the warmth of a mother’s hug.

-----

as the field starts clearing out, the seven graduates and seungjae are left behind. their families have gone home, leaving them on the field, laid down in a circle, heads together. there was just silence, as they breathed in the air of hankuk university once more.

once more, as students.

once more, as graduates.

once more, before they step into their next phase.

“i’ll really miss you guys.” sol says quietly. yeseul, lying next to her, nods, although no one can see.

“we’ll meet up. especially you, seungjae-hyung! don’t be shy to ask for babysitters!” bokgi announces, earning a smile from seungjae. they slowly got up from the grass, dusting off the dirt and making their way back once more to the university lobby.

this was the place where these eight students met, all with different objectives and from all walks of life. yet, as different as they are, they got along and went through hell together, for each other. the short lived three years were filled with so many troubles, yet they pulled through together.

truly, they were more than friends. they were family.

seungjae took his leave first, being the family man he was. yebeom had to rush to a family event, and yeseul was going to catch a meal with bokgi. (yeseul promised bokgi to give him a chance once they graduated, and so she kept her promise.) jiho and solb were silently headed off in the same direction with their only conversation being “i’ll drop you off” by jiho and solb nodding. (joon hwi and sol only eye them, making mental notes to tease their ex-roommates.)

“are you going home?” joon hwi asks as sol grabs her bag. after graduating, sol made the decision to move home for the time being, to pay off her loans and support her family and ease her mother of some financial burden. joon hwi has opted many times to help, even wanting to pay off her loans. he had no loans, and after he sold his uncle’s mansion, he had a huge sum of money along with the inheritance. but sol couldn’t do it, she needed to work for this herself.

“yeah. i promised byeol i’ll help her with her work and catch a movie with her too. it’s been long since i could just spend time with her.” sol says. the lobby was now empty, with a few students walking in and out. sol looks at the lady justice statue, almost reminded of the many times she stared at it to remind herself of why she chose law. why she chose this profession.

together, they walk out, holding hands for the first time openly in their school. they were no longer students, and there was no point hiding from others anymore. she was just kang sol; he was just han joon hwi. no more ‘second round judicial pass’, no more ‘uncle killing nephew’, no more ‘klutz’, no more ‘twin failure’. just them.

joon hwi takes the bus to sol’s home, still in the ground floor apartment by an alley. sol’s mother invites him in, but he quickly declines, saying he needs to run some errands back at his own apartment. well, it wasn’t a lie. he just shifted in and he certainly had to clean and unpack.

when the apartment is packed with law books stacked neatly in his bookcase, the floor dusted and mopped, furniture clean and the fridge stocked with fresh groceries, he picks his phone to find seungjae sending the group their photos. there’s numerous comments on how yebeom is already missing us, and even jiho gives a ‘tch’ as a reply in the chat. he notices an unread text from his professor and opens the chat box.

you’re on my speed dial for cases. don’t ignore me.

joon hwi scoffs. he sets his phone aside as he flops back on his bed, for the first time processing all that has happened.

he can’t wait for the future.

(on his wall, he hangs a childhood photo of him and his uncle. on the frame, it has a tag with his daily reminder to judge fairly, and to make sure no one suffers unjustly.)

-----

the next few years for joonhwi are an adventure. his experience in the prosecution office is busy and stressful, but with jiho working just next door, he finds comfort in having him by his side. he battles many cases, slowly but surely, making a name for himself. instead of being known as the man that solved his uncle’s murder, he was now known as the prosecutor that never loses.

the study group kept in touch, meeting every two weeks for dinner at a barbecue place. somedays, they drank. on others, they just chatted and kept the plates of pork coming. seungjae did his best to join, but with his toddler kid, things were difficult.

seungjae took a year after his hearing to be with his wife, and take care of her during her pregnancy. he then decided to work as a forensic examiner. if he couldn't practice law and help people with it, the least he could was to uphold it and enforce it. his job was new and interesting, but he humbled himself to push through his training. he meets the group when they are dealing with criminal cases and helps them out as best he can.

the study group also took turns meeting his kid, and would always love babysitting. sol, as expected, was the best with chaotic duo bokgi and yebeom. instead of dinners some nights, they met at his house to catch up with him and spoil his kid. (seungjae couldn’t stop it. when the kid was born, he immediately gained 7 new aunts and uncles, ready to spoil and pamper him.)

his relationship with sol grew as well. working such long working days was tough, but they tried their best. sol would sometimes deliver homemade stews to his apartment and joon hwi would deliver jjajamyeon with her extra pickles on some nights. they met on the weekends, where they would just go to the park and take strolls or hole up in joon hwi’s apartment to work on their cases together.

sol was doing exceptionally well as a new attorney, almost successfully appealing to all her clients. her clients love her, not only for winning, but for always being so caring to them. many say she still keeps in contact with some clients, even after the case has been closed. while she thinks it is no big deal, sol’s career was climbing up. her loans were fully paid, and she has begun looking into apartments for her family and her to shift out of. that alley brought too much danger, especially with byeol growing into a teenager and her mother’s joints weakening.

sol b took that gap year to work at an administrative office at a law firm, before deciding to continue her law career to gain experience before moving forward to be a judge. throughout the gap year, she split her time on herself and therapy, as well as on her study group. she found herself wanting to be a judge, not for her mother, but for herself.

jiho and sol b also started dating each other shortly after they graduated, when joon hwi spotted sol b and jiho holding hands when he was leaving his office. they only told the group a few months later. but of course, everyone knew by then. ever since then, they caught sol b and jiho smiling a bit more, even if their smiles were just the slight curl at the corner of the lips.

yebeom was doing well in his law firm, handling mostly small cases, but he was content since he had a fun time handling the many cases and making visits to meet clients instead of being stuck in the office. bokgi was a human rights lawyer, with most of his cases about the discrimination of citizens in any aspect. he fought for the rights of those of different sexual orientations, races and religions and was extremely happy being able to do that.

yeseul was defending women of all walks of life, from their unequal treatment to domestic abuse. she was passionate and has made headlines a few times over the years when she chose to speak out about her story. she was well known in this area, being the first few lawyers to be a victim of domestic abuse and defending them. she also kept in contact with professor kim and made regular visits at the legal clinic.

bokgi and her only started dating a year after the graduated. bokgi respected the reasons and her space and yeseul found herself falling in love with him. after all, he stood by her all this while for the whole three years and have seen her at her worst. more than that, he treated her with respect and loved her equally, even after all that.

one day, as joon hwi and sol spent their day on the sofa at joon hwi’s apartment, joon hwi was nervous to ask this question. sol was busy looking at different apartment listings.

“sol, can i ask you something?” joon hwi asks, grabbing her hand. sol nodded, eyes still focussed on her screen.

“would you... would you want to move in with me?” sol’s hand stops scrolling as the words sink in and she slowly faces her boyfriend.

“i... i don’t know. i mean, byeol and umma will be left alone, right?” sol says, her voice quiet and soft.

“we can live near them. i think the lease of the apartment is ending soon, anyways.” joon squeezes her hand.

“but... i don’t know if i have enough money to get an apartment for them and us. joon, i really want to, i really do. but...” sol’s eyes are uncertain, and joon hwi sees her eyes guilty, almost like she feels bad for saying that.

“we can get the apartment in instalments. you can buy one for your mom and byeol first and we will slowly pay for ours.” he says. placing a finger under her chin, he raises it so her eyes meet hers. “sol, they are going to be alright on their own.”

sol nods her head and reaches up to pull her boyfriend’s face to hers, letting their lips connect. his lips are soft against hers, as she taste the slight coffee taste from his mug. it’s almost frenzy, from what started as a simple kiss lead to a fight for dominance. without knowing, sol is straddling joon hwi, as his hands pull back her long hair.

when they pull away, he feels her hot breath on his face, and her face burning red, embarrassed at how she acted.

“should we get back to looking at apartments?” joon hwi asks, a small smile on his face, ultimately an act of tease to her. she quickly nods and climbs off of him as they look at apartments together. joon hwi gives her a knowing smirk, before sol swats his arm and they resume scrolling.

and it was true, when professor yang had him on speed dial.

he was just about to leave for a coffee and bother jiho for a bit at his office one day, when a call came in from professor yang.

“han joon hwi.”

“professor.”

“you’re needed, now. meet me at hankuk university in thirty minutes.” and the call disengages. it was a habit of his professor’s, to give blunt replies and just cut off without saying goodbye. he slips on his blazer and grabs his briefcase before picking up the call from sol instinctively. so much for listening to orders, even though he wasn’t a student anymore.

“called you too?” he asks once he picks up, scribbling on a post it note, noting his early leave from the office.

“what else? gosh, i really hate it when he hangs up like that.” sol replies, a twinge of annoyance in her voice.

“i’ll pick you.” joon hwi says, as he leaves his office, then knocks on jiho’s door. jiho’s head pops up from his laptop, before nodding in acknowledgement.

“no, don’t bother. i’ve already caught the train.” sol replies and joon hwi hears the familiar beeping of train doors. sol knows she’s got to hang up soon, if she doesn’t want to irritate other commenters on the train.

“love you.” he says back. sol’s face is blushing red, but she’s lucky everyone on the train was busy on their phone.

“i love you too.” she whispers before hanging up and storing her phone away in her handbag.

when they meet at the doors of hankuk university each time they are called in for a case, they can’t help but to think of how far they’ve come. sol, the girl with bad grades and on a scholarship. joon hwi, the top student with a hidden secret. yet in a matter of years, they blossomed together with their friends on their routes.

professor yang is by the lady justice statue, and when he looks up to see his students stroll in with authority and confidence, he gives a knowing smile.

shall we start?

[freddie-weaselbee]

Grade A Business//F.W.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Brief semi-nudity, slight language, two suggestive comments, y/n drools on fred but like in a cute way

Summary: As one businessman makes a trip across the ocean to talk to new investors, he meets his new partner, someone a lot more familiar than he was expecting. 

Prompts: Only One Bed with dialogue prompts “if we get caught, I’m blaming you” and “I don't want to be alone”

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Day 2 of @theweasleyslut‘s 2k writing challenge

  Fred had never gotten used to traveling on Muggle airplanes. He never had a need to before, not with everything being a train ride, floo network, or apparition away. But as he and George progressed into adulthood, and the businessman life no less, they found themselves constantly on the move and needing a fast and easy way to travel without drawing suspicion. Except for the one time that Fred’s magical briefcase set off every airport security system imaginable, but he’d learned from that mistake. 

He was relieved to be exiting the JFK airport in New York City, clutching his luggage and thanking Merlin that his feet could now touch solid ground. Being in one of those huge steel contraptions was nothing like flying in a broom. He had no control over anything and it drove him absolutely insane. Luckily, he was safe now, and one step closer to being done with this awful business trip. 

At the beginning of their business endeavors, Fred and George would travel together, trying to pick up business at other locations for Weasleys’ Wizards Wheezes. But as the shop grew and the locations became more and more foreign (so far having shops in Paris, Cairo, and Madrid) the brothers realized that the operations would have to be solo missions to allow for the other to run the shop for longer periods of time. Usually Fred didn’t mind taking the trips by himself. In fact, he rather enjoyed the alone time and flexibility in schedule. But this meeting was supposed to be a big one, and he was feeling quite nervous about having to tackle it himself. 

Big investors located in the states were meeting with him to discuss opening a joint operation in New York City, combining his shop with another renowned wizard business that they deemed would be most profitable. Fred groaned internally just thinking about it. He didn’t want to have to share this new shop with anyone, no matter what the new investors thought. What if the other co-owner was a horrible person? Or worse, what if they had no sense of humor? They’d ruin the Weasley reputation and make it some boring book store. Or puzzle shop? Honestly Fred didn’t know much about the other business, just that he already didn’t like it. 

Hailing a cab, a trick his sister-in-law Hermione had shown him years ago, Fred lugged all of his prototypes--skillfully hidden from Muggle eyes and detection systems by layers of spells--into the trunk before hopping in, giving the address of the hotel the investors had booked for him. He was about to shut the door when a panting scream startled him enough to make him stop. 

“Wait! Hold the cab!”

Doing as he was told, Fred kept the door open and allowed the stranger to climb in, suitcase and all. 

“Thanks,” you said, Fred noting your distinct British accent and strikingly familiar features. “I really need to get to my hotel, I appreciate it--”

“Y/N?”

Shocked, you finally looked at your ride partner’s face for the first time. Soft brown eyes. Freckled face. Bright ginger hair. 

“Fred?! Fred Weasley?” You knew for a fact you weren’t mistaken, this was definitely the Fred you remembered. Or maybe it could have been George? It had been so long since you had seen either of them. Since Hogwarts, in fact. 

Luckily, Fred nodded, confirming your belief that this was the older Weasley twin and saving yourself from heaps of embarrassment. “Y/N L/N, what are you doing here?”

Fred and you both wore matching grins, stretching from ear to ear. What an insane coincidence. What were the chances that you two would be in the same cab, in the same city, in the same foreign country?

“I’m actually here for business,” you said. “After Hogwarts I opened my own shop--”

“Excuse me,” the cab driver interrupted, wasting no time with politeness nor formalities. “But I have cars lined up behind me and I don’t know where you wanna go little lady. So let’s get on with it, if you will.”

“Oh, yeah of course. It’s, umm, oh shit which hotel was it? It’s on 53rd and 10th, I know that…” You trailed off, trying to remember what your hotel was called. You dug around in your purse, hoping to find a piece of paper with the name on it. “I think it was called--”

“Lotus Hotel.”

It was Fred who had interrupted you, once again, and once again you were just as bewildered as before.

“That’s right,” you said after a few seconds of confused silence. “Yes, yes the Lotus Hotel please,” you told the driver with confidence. Turning back to Fred you tried in earnest to understand what was happening. 

“So same location?” the driver asked, to which Fred confirmed before you were speeding off down the crowded streets of the city. 

“Oh, I get it,” you said in understanding. “Same hotel as me?”

“That is correct, love. What are the odds?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a half suggestive half just plain goofy manner, awkwardly shuffling so that his long legs had room amongst your many bags. 

“That is quite a coincidence,” you agreed. “Funny thing is, I didn’t even choose the location. I have a business meeting in the morning with possible investors and they set everything up for the stay.”

Fred’s mouth practically dropped open at what you had said. “You’re kidding. These investors don’t happen to be Robbie Goldstein and Rachel McMillan, do they?”

“Ok, you need to stop doing that,” you said, officially freaked. “That’s the third time you’ve predicted something and it’s starting to creep me out. You never were very good at legilimency.”

He hushed you quickly, hoping the cab driver hadn’t caught onto the magical term you just used. Thankfully, he was too focused on the roads to notice. 

“Ok, Y/N, one last question.”

“And then you’ll explain how you know all this?”

Fred ignored your question and continued with his own. “You said you opened a business. Are you perhaps meeting with another business owner to discuss a collaboration on a new store opening in the city?”

“Yes!” you said, eager to know how Fred could have known that. Was this another one of his pranks? Did he have hidden cameras in the cab somewhere? “How do you know all this?”

He only laughed, a joyous and very relieved grin overtaking his face. Sticking out his right hand, he grabbed yours and shook it eagerly. “Well, Miss L/N, it’s a pleasure to be reacquainted. I’m Frederick Weasley, your new potential partner.”

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

“You know, you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Oh thank Godric, I was worried you’d think I was grown up and mature now.”

You laughed heartily as you dragged your bags out of the cab, thanking the driver before he grunted annoyedly and drove off. Your drive from the airport had gone faster than expected, mostly due to the fact that you and Fred had so much to catch up on. 

After he and George had left Hogwarts in their grand exit, they’d created the shop they’d always dreamed of, parking it right in the middle of Diagon Alley. You, on the other hand, went about creating your success in a much more conventional way. After finishing your last year of school, you started working full time at Zonko’s at Hogsmeade, trying to save up enough money to start your own business. 

Many long hours and tiring days later, you opened up your little place, a toy store and puzzle shop. It was a similar setup to what the Weasleys did, but as you described it, “my toys don’t blow up in the user's face.”

You were now very excited for tomorrow’s meeting, the one you had been dreading beforehand. Your business was much smaller than Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes and this would be your first international location. You were afraid that the owner you would be forced to work with would be some stuck up rich big whig who wouldn’t allow you to keep any of your small business charm in the new location. But learning that you would be working with Fred, well that was a relief for many reasons. 

Fred rang the hotel desk bell, chatting happily about ideas for the shared shop and new products that fit with what both of you wanted to do. 

“Hello there,” said the hotel receptionist, coming around the corner. “What can I do for you today?”

“Two night stay for Frederick Weasley,” said Fred. “Should’ve been booked by Robbie Goldstein.”

The young man typed quickly into his computer before offering Fred a hotel key card. “Here you are Mr. Weasley, room 504. We serve complimentary breakfast from 6 to 9 every morning down in our west hall. If you need anything don’t be afraid to call down and we’ll assist you in any way we can.”

Fred nodded at the man. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” He turned to leave before you grabbed his shirt sleeve and pulled him back. 

“Wait for me,” you said. “I’m not finished talking to you yet.”

Fred smiled and waited behind you as you took your turn at the desk. 

“Y/N L/N, also booked by Robbie Goldstein.” 

He clicked away again but paused for a few seconds, seemingly confused. “You said Y/N L/N?”

Starting to get nervous, you nodded. “Yes, that’s me. Is the reservation not there?” You didn’t want to think about having to find somewhere else to stay, especially because it was getting so late. 

“Oh no,” the man replied. “It’s here all right.” Ignoring the confused looks you and Fred were giving each other, the receptionist handed you a hotel key card and gestured to the elevator. “Thank you for choosing to stay with us. You’ll be staying for two nights in room 504. Don’t forget to enjoy our complimentary breakfast from 6--”

“I’m sorry,” Fred interrupted. “But that’s my room. You did say 504, right?”

“Yes sir,” he replied, not bothering to try to understand the predicament. “Mr. Goldstein booked one room for the both of you.”

Your eyes widened and you looked at Fred, silently asking him to help you figure this out. But instead, Fred just broke out laughing, having to brace himself on the front desk. 

“I guess that’s what you expect when you let two investors who specialize in pranking shops make the room accommodations.”

“This isn’t funny Fred,” you said, although you had to give Robbie and Rachel credit for this joke. Turning to the receptionist, you sighed and ran your hands through your hair. “There’s at least two separate beds, right?”

He glanced down at his computer screen before looking back up at you with a guilty smile. “Well, about that…”

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

“Alright, I’ll take the couch, I’m sure it’s a pullout, it has to be.”

Fred stood in the doorway watching you mumble mostly to yourself. As tired as he was and as much as he wanted to just lie down and sleep, somehow watching you freak out about the sleeping arrangements was a much better use of his time. 

He watched as you threw the pillows and cushions off of the couch and felt around for a lever, something, anything that would allow you a place to rest. Your face lit up as you felt a small impression and yanked with all your might, only causing you to thump backwards onto your butt on the hotel room floor. 

Kicking off his shoes, Fred jumped onto the bed, sighing as he let his body relax. “Come on in darling, there’s plenty of room for the both of us.”

He opened one eye slightly, just enough to see your reaction. You were trying again to make the couch open, although you both knew that it wasn’t a pullout. Nevertheless, you kept pulling at every spot you thought could make a difference. 

It reminded Fred of the good old days, back at Hogwarts when you two were so close. You were always so stubborn, and he didn’t realize just how much he had missed having you in his life. He always wondered what happened to you after he and George left, but with the shop opening up and the war around the corner, he never had the thought to write you or track you down. He hoped this time after you two parted ways you would still remain in touch. 

You groaned loudly, slapping the couch with one of the pillows you had thrown earlier. Nothing was going as planned and you couldn’t be more annoyed. 

“Fine,” you huffed. “I’ll just sleep on the couch, no need for a pullout.” You stomped over to the bed and angrily pulled the blanket from off of him. 

“Hey!” he shouted, trying to grab it back but you were too quick. “That’s not fair, it’s cold!”

“If you get the bed,” you said, wrapping yourself up, “then I get to stay warm. Now go to sleep, I’ll see you in the morning.”

He couldn’t help but giggle at the small bundle of you wrapped up in the hotel quilt, looking like an angry little burrito. Standing, he unbuttoned his shirt and threw it in the corner, followed next by his undershirt before he unbuckled his belt. He turned to face you slowly, feeling your eyes on him as they peeked out of your wrapping. 

You quickly turned your gaze and glared at the floor. “What are you doing?” you said, hoping Fred didn’t see the blush rising to your cheeks. He did. 

He continued to undress, leaving him only in a pair of red boxers that left little to the imagination. “Going to bed, as you said,” he replied nonchalantly. He grabbed a toothbrush from his suitcase and made his way to the bathroom, making sure to walk extra slowly and give you a longer show. 

“This is so unprofessional!” you yelled after him. 

“We’re not business partners until tomorrow, love,” Fred said with a mouthful of toothpaste. “As far as I see it we can do anything we want tonight.”

Rolling your eyes, you shed the large blanket and grabbed an oversized t-shirt from your bag, hoping you’d be able to change before Fred finished in the bathroom. As he emerged, he saw the tail end of you throwing the shirt on, flashing your thighs and part of your panties for half a second. He averted his eyes out of respect, but that didn’t stop his imagination from running away with what he just saw. 

You shuffled past him, taking your turn in the bathroom. How in the world had this happened? How had a nice catch-up with a friend turned into an awkward back and forth the night before the most important business meeting of your life?

All you wanted to do was fall asleep, go through with whatever tomorrow brought you, and pretend like this never happened. But as you came out of the bathroom, you saw that Fred had taken the blanket back, leaving you with nothing except your t-shirt and an uncomfortable couch. 

“Fred, let me have it,” you said, trying to yank it from his grip. 

“No,” he mumbled, voice muffled by one of the many pillows he was cuddled with. 

“Frederick Gideon Weasley, give me the blanket now or so help me…”

Instead of responding, he just reached out and patted you on the top of your head before rolling over and pretending to snore. He was infuriating. 

You sulked back to the couch, accepting your defeat. You pulled out all of the clothes in your bag, hoping they could form as some sort of makeshift blanket. But after a few minutes of shivering and curling into the smallest ball possible, you realized that you’d never manage to sleep like this. Fred was staring at you, partially amused and partially concerned. You looked away. 

“You can always share with me, you know,” he said, patting the bed next to him. 

You scoffed and turned away. “Like I said, Fred, we’re soon-to-be business partners. Imagine how that would look! I’m fine right here, thank you.”

After a few seconds of silence you snuck another look at him. He hadn’t moved an inch, and was instead looking more concerned than before. “You’re going to freeze to death over there.”

“Well maybe that’s because someone stole my blanket.”

“The blanket comes with the bed, and the bed comes with me. Take it or leave it.”

It took everything in you not to scream. You wanted that warm, soft, comfortable bed more than anything at the moment. You needed it. Oh but it would send such a bad message if anyone ever found out…

“If we get caught I’m blaming you,” you relented, trudging over to the bed and crawling underneath the covers, ripping the blanket from a very amused Fred. 

“Who’s gonna catch us, Robbie and Rachel? They’re the ones that set this up! Trust me, nothing’s going to happen.” 

“It better not,” you said. “And make sure you stay on your side of the bed, I mean it! No touching.”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Fred said, rolling slightly closer to you. “You act as if we’ve never done this before. We’ve slept with each other dozens of times.”

Your face went red at his words, wishing he would have phrased it a different way. 

“You know what I mean,” he said quickly, hearing how his words came across. “But the amount of times we’ve cuddled up in the Gryffindor common room or up stargazing in the astronomy tower. It’s just me, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

“We were also 17 and a lot closer back then,” you retorted, remembering the fond memories you had from your high school days. 

Fred huffed and returned to his side. “I’m not saying we weren’t. I just wish you weren’t acting so different now. It’s like we’re barely friends anymore…” His voice drifted off, wishing that he could go back and change the past. It had been 8 years since he last saw you. 8 whole years. Maybe things would’ve been different if he had tried to stay in touch. You’d never even visited his shop in those 8 years, never seen everything he was so proud of. He was stupid to think that one reunion was going to bring back a friendship that was practically already dead. He was even more stupid to think that maybe, just maybe, fate was giving him one last chance to shoot his shot, close to a decade later. What a right idiot he was. 

On the other side of the bed, less than a meter away, similar thoughts raced through your mind. 8 years. Why hadn’t you, in 8 years, made one trip to visit their shop. Sure, there was a war going on and you were busy starting your own shop, but things had been fairly calm the last few years. Why had you never reached out? Almost subconsciously, you reached out physically for Fred. Your hand brushed up against his back before you tensed and drew back. You both stilled for a few moments, before Fred rolled over, facing you. 

The two of you just stared at each other, both playing mental images of what your lives could have looked like the last 8 years if just one of you had done something. 

“You’re not seeing anyone, are you?” Fred asked, breaking the silence. You shook your head. He moved closer. 

“Are you?” you asked. He shook his head. You moved closer. 

Your faces were now about a foot apart. You moved your hand to rest it between your face and the pillow. Fred copied your actions. You laughed softly, the movement causing a strand of hair to fall into your face. 

Fred reached his hand out to move it before hesitating. “Can I?” His voice was so soft, so full of care. His hand hesitated in the air for a second before you nodded. He brushed the strands behind your ear, fingertips so gentle that you got chills up and down your spine. He let his hand linger before it moved to cup your face. “I’ve missed you.”

You smiled and leaned into his touch. “I’ve missed you too, Freddie.”

His hand left your face and moved down to your waist, eyes not leaving yours in case you ever grew uncomfortable. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to him just like you used to do all those years ago. You buried your face in the crook of his neck and hummed contently, before both of you slowly drifted off to sleep. 

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

“Freddie, Y/N! How are ya!”

Robbie Goldstein, a plump man with fading hair ran up to greet you and Fred in the lobby of his and his partner’s office, shaking both of your hands fervently. 

“Hey Robbie,” said Fred, slapping the man on the back. “I’m glad to be here.”

“Same with me,” you said, glad you could finally meet the man with whom you’d been discussing business through letters in person. 

Robbie looked between the two of you, sly grin on his face. “Ah, so I see you’ve already met them. Wouldn’t happen to be because of a little mishap at the hotel last night, would it?”

You groaned internally, hating that someone else knew about the previous night, but Fred only laughed and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

“A great prank, I must admit, but Y/N and I actually go way back. I’ve known her since I was 11 years old, so nice try. I couldn’t imagine how that would’ve gone if we were complete strangers.”

Robbie’s face fell a little before he shrugged and nodded his head in defeat. “Well, what are the odds of that?”

“Astronomical,” you said, giving Fred a subtle tap with your foot. 

Robbie gestured for the two of you to follow him into the conference room where discussions about the new business would commence. “Well, I’m glad that you two seem to get along then, this is going to make things a lot easier. Oh, and don’t worry about arrangements tonight, I’ve decided not to let my joke stretch on and I booked another room for one of you for your last night in town.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, one that didn’t go unnoticed by Fred, and stepped into the conference room. “Thanks Robbie, that makes things a lot easier.”

“Yeah,” said Fred hesitantly, “thanks for that.”

He shut the door behind you and straightened up. There was no place for personal feelings in this business negotiation. He needed to do what was best for his company and yours, no distractions. No thoughts of crushed hope that suddenly plagued his mind. 

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

Fred hated the bed he was sleeping on. Granted, it was the same bed as the night before, but this time it felt different. It felt like it was mocking him. You had been the one to offer to change rooms and it seemed like you couldn’t wait to get out of there and to your own bedroom, free of any Weasleys. It made Fred sick to think about. 

He had just gotten used to the idea of something happening between the two of you. Last night, it all seemed perfect. You had cuddled the same way you had before, talked like nothing had changed. Hell, he even woke up with you lying sprawled out on top of him, a little trickle of drool falling onto his chest. He didn’t mind. 

But now, everything that happened the night before seemed like a dream. 

Fred knew he’d at least get to see you sporadically from now on. Your business negotiations with Robbie and Rachel went great, and the two of you, three counting George, were going to be combining forces and opening a joke and toy shop in the city sometime within the next year. It went exactly how Fred had wanted it to go, and yet so horribly wrong at the same time. 

He didn’t want to only interact with you as a business partner and casual friend. He wanted so much more than you were willing to give him, and having to see you and write you and work with you was going to be torture for him. He buried his face in the pillows, gripping the large blanket to his chest, wishing it was you instead. Stupid Robbie and his stupid pranks and stupid business and--

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Fred lifted his head to check the clock. It was 2 in the morning. Who in the world would be knocking this late at night? Fred slowly got out of bed, too tired to bother putting anything more decent on. He looked through the peephole of the door but his eyes were too blurry to make anything out. Groaning, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. 

Standing in front of him, clothed in the oversized t-shirt from last night and a pair of booty shorts, was you, looking nervous and embarrassed. Fred hadn’t noticed the previous day, but the shirt you had been wearing was one of his old Quidditch practice jerseys, all beat up and way too huge on you. He remembered the day he gave that to you, or rather when you stole it from him because you complained about it being too cold. Fred had to hold back a laugh at the irony. 

“I, umm,” you started, not knowing what to say to him. How were you supposed to explain that you missed him so much that spending one night away from him was too much for you to bear? How last night had been the best sleep you had in years because of how content and at peace he made you feel. How could you convey all of your feelings to him at this very moment?

“I don’t want to be alone.”

Fred wasted no time in picking you up, laughing as you screamed and kicked your legs around. “Fred Weasley, you put me down!”

He did as he was told and threw you onto the bed before jumping, arms and legs spread out, and landing straight on top of you. “I’m so glad you're here,” he said, peppering your cheeks with kisses. He pushed himself up, scanning your face to make sure what he did was ok, but you grabbed his face in your cheeks and pulled him down into a long kiss. Fred smiled through the kiss, almost laughing at how everything was working out. Maybe fate did have something to do with it after all. 

Fred pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. “So,” he said, mischief glinting in his eyes, “how about we put this bed to good use?”

Tag List: @famdomhideout​ @amourtentiaa​

[your-highnessmarvel]

From Bleak to Bright Part Six

All other parts on on my masterlist, link provided below.

AN: damn okay wow i REALLY loved writing this part ommggggg

Warnings: angst, language

Enjoyed this and want more? Send in your requests!

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MASTERLIST

PART SIX

You went to bed late, tossing and turning, replaying Loki’s words in your mind like a mantra. He couldn’t eat too. He suffered just as bad as you did. You fell asleep somewhere around two in the morning, clutching your sheets. The dreams took you back to him, momentarily dropping you in a reality you knew could never exist when you woke up. 

The sky was a deep purple - like a bruise - when you woke up. You lay there, staring at the ceiling. You knew sometime during the day Steve and Nat and probably Bruce would listen to the call from Loki last night. You groaned just at the thought, sighing under the covers. 

You got up and showered, mentally preparing yourself for the day. When you got out, there was a missed call from an unknown number. You entered the contact as Idiot, then opened up the messages to text him. You weren’t sure if Loki had bought a burner or a full phone, but you tried anyway.

Stop calling me.

You didn’t wait for an answer. You got dressed in a green hoodie and black jeans, pulling your hair into a ponytail. 

Your phone dinged.

Do you prefer we talk here?

Oh so Loki had an iPhone. Texting in blue texts and all. 

You debated answering, wondering if it would just spur his insanity. You left your phone in your room, deciding that it would only be a distraction. 

You went down to the kitchen, eating breakfast alone, enjoying some peace before the storm. 

And here it came.

Bruce came barreling through the dining room, eyes round, wide, fear written clear on his features. 

“Loki called you last night!?”he exclaimed, leaning over hands on the table.

That was quick. “The line’s tapped,” you answered, fighting a blush, gulping down the last of your cereal. “And he didn’t say anything about where he was or whatever.”

Bruce sighed, hanging his head. “Did you do what Nat and Steve trained you for?”

You shrugged. “He saw me coming.”

“That was to be expected.”

You struggled with the lump in your throat, fighting the want to go to Bruce and wrap your hands around his shoulders. Tell him everything would be fine. That Loki would never get you. 

But you weren’t so sure about that. 

Instead, you sighed, playing with the last Cheerio floating in the milk. “Bruce,” you began, biting the inside of your cheek. “How - how am I going to do this?”

He looked at you, all that older brother worry written clear on his face. “It’ll be fine,” he said, covering his hand with yours. “We’ll all be there to back you up. He won’t hurt you.”

It came out all in a rush. “But that’s not what I mean. What am I going to do about the fact that he’s my fucking soulmate?” You heaved, fighting tears brimming in your eyes. 

Bruce stood there silently, then took a seat, dusting off imaginary dust from his dark blue t-shirt. “Y/N,” he started, voice low, serious. “The soulmate bond is... the research proves that it’s mostly based off the animal instinct to provide better genes to your progeniture.”

You frowned. “Ew.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s what the science says,” he chuckled, trying to hide the reddening of his cheeks. “And I know that there are stories out there about people finding their mates and it all goes well, but sometimes, it doesn’t. Nature gave you the most perfect match for yourself, but evolutionarily based, it’s all about babies.” 

“Oh my God, Bruce, stop being so gross.” You played with your cereal, fighting your blush. You didn’t want to imagine yourself making babies with Loki because then, that’d be all you thought about. You didn’t want to go there. 

“My point is, little sis,” he continued, tone soft. “You don’t have to fall in love with him. You don’t have to do anything. Trust me. You can get over the bond.”

Nat had told you that you simply got used to the emptiness. Wouldn’t that make you... miserable?

There was a burning in your chest, spreading slowly like melting butter down your limbs. It was longing. 

Bruce got up without a word and left you to your one-Cheerio bowl and coffee. You stared out the window, at the greying sky, the rising sun, the freedom of the world beyond the trappings of the Avenger’s compound. 

Nothing kept you, really, from leaving. There was no law keeping you here. You could actually walk out and find Loki. You weren’t the criminal. 

He was. He was a war criminal. A psychopath. A mass murderer. You could leave here, go find him, tell him you’d stay by his side, but at what cost? Losing your family? Your friends? A normal life? It’s not like Loki would play the good boyfriend and bring you coffee at work. He’d burn the place down for a stupid reason like they didn’t give you enough vacation days. 

All this thinking had you boiling at barely nine in the morning. 

And the one person you wanted right now was Loki.

You cleaned up your dishes methodically, then rushed back upstairs to your room. The sun was now out and shining through your windows, and you used the light to gather a few items into a bag. There was no one in the hallway, which gave you all the peace you needed. Most of the Avengers were out dealing with whatever Loki had unleashed on the city, and the other half, like Nat and Bruce, were downstairs in the computer lab.

You grabbed a baseball cap and loosed out your ponytail. You grabbed your phone. Heart pounding, knowing you must have less than fifteen minutes before you were found, you sent a quick text.

Number. Now.

It took a few seconds until a reply came in. It was a phone number. You quickly scribbled it on the back of your hand, deleted the messages - even though you knew it was futile - and left the phone on the bed.

Something wild was stirring in your chest, something akin to adrenaline. Your blood roared as you leaped out of your room, quietly down the hall, down the stairs, hands trembling as you exited the front door. 

If only Nat and Bruce were here, it could give you a head start. 

You slid into the garage through the side door and took the keys to the Jeep. It was a thirty minute ride to the city, and you were not about to take the Maserati.

You slid into the Jeep, breathing erratic, and threw your bag into the passenger seat. The second the garage doors were open, you sped out. 

The Jeep wasn’t the most fast car, but it took you the edge of the property in a matter of seconds. You’d never driven like that before; wild and fast, but you had to get away as fast as possible. The country turned into the suburbs, blurring by you, but you only had eyes for the distant, gleaming horizon of New York city. 

You kept looking in the rearview mirror, but no one was tailing. A frantic tremble had begun in your fingers, urging you to press just a little more on the gas pedal. 

When the city began to manifest itself, molding out from the horizon, you ditched the Jeep by the side of the road. You left it visible enough and grabbed your bag, hitching it on your shoulders. Leaving off at a small jog, you left behind not only the Jeep but also the life you could have had if you’d never met Loki. 

There was a tenacious voice reminding you that Bruce would suffer from this. 

But the pull in your belly, deep within your chest, was calling you elsewhere.

You made it through the back streets of the city, slowing your pace to a walk. By now, Nat and Bruce would have noticed you gone. They would have seen the message you’d sent to Loki and his response. Maybe they’d try contacting that number, but you knew for a fact, Bruce would be in a car on his way here. The Jeep definitely had a tracker. 

You went into a Deli Meats, catching your breath in the doorway, your heart hammering vehemently in your chest. 

You asked to borrow the phone and they had a fucking honors system so you bought a sandwich and dumped it in your bag. No appetite. 

The phone only rang once before he answered.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in New York,” you answered, breathlessly.

“Have you been running?”

“Obviously.”

There was rustling on the other side of the phone. “They know you’ve left,” he said. “They’ve tried tracking this number.”

“And did they succeed?” you asked, heart in your throat. 

“No.” He inhaled sharply. “I want to trust you, y/n,” he mumbled. 

“Then come and get me,” you replied, your mouth dry, your heart hammering. “I’ll meet you wherever.”

He laughed, more like a hum than a chuckle. “Okay.”

He gave you an address on the other side of town, and told you not to call a taxi or an uber. He said if you made it there on foot, without any intervention by either the Avengers or your brother, he’d know they hadn’t found you. Or that you weren’t being followed. He had eyes everywhere. 

You thanked the clerk and left in a hurry, mentally replaying Loki’s instructions on the directions. Just the sound of his voice had been a relief, like taking a long, deep breath after being under water for so long. 

Something sharp had lifted from your ribs, where there’d been an imaginary knife twisting. 

The day had warmed, the city had awakened, and there was no way to identify you within the crowds moving steadily. You kept your eyes to the ground, the cap low on your brow, your hair around your face. 

The address Loki had given you was a subway’s sandwich, squeezed between a Moroccan restaurant and a hair salon. You frowned. Was this the right address? It was closed, the sign hanging in the door, the lights off in the store. 

You pulled on the door slightly, and it opened, your heart leaping as a wind of fresh air swept against your hot cheeks. 

Stepping inside, the eerie silence greeted you. No one was there. Only silence and the dark store. A fridge where they kept the cold drinks hummed, the blue light beckoning. You went to it, ripping it open wildly and grabbing a water bottle. As you chugged it, you pulled a rolled dollar from your pocket and put it on the register.

“No need for that.”

You jumped, spilling water all over your green hoodie. With a curse, you set the bottle on the counter and grabbed for the napkins. 

“I’ve got it.”

He was close now, and you could smell pinewood, your senses invaded by him. You looked up. He smiled, his lips pulling gently at the corners. Your heart was hammering wildly, but you swallowed, looking down at him as he looked down at you. He wore the same all-black ensemble as two weeks ago, his short raven locks pulled neatly behind his ears.

He was a specimen. 

His hands, which you swore were previously empty, came up with a green t-shirt. “More fit for the current weather,” he said with a quirk of his brow. 

You licked your lips, carefully reaching for the garment, fingers grazing his. A short shock slithered through your arm. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, feeling heat crawl into your cheeks. 

You motioned for him to turn around, and with a roll of his eyes, he did. You quickly changed, discarding your hoodie in the trash. Once you were done, he turned and took one good look at you.

“Wow,” he said, making your heart sputter back to life. 

“So, what now?” you asked, both to dispel Loki’s current fixation and to actually know what was the plan. 

He straightened. “I have to get you out of the city.”

“Okay,” you breathed. “Where?”

But he didn’t have time to answer. Something came crashing through the front windows, loudly, sending a million little shards of glass flying. As quick as lightening, Loki came rushing to you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, shielding you from the tiny little projectiles. 

You felt the heat of him, the pressure of his arms, his front against yours, your cheek against his chest. You smelled him everywhere. You sensed him on every inch of yourself. He invaded your senses, and for a brief instant, that nagging pull in your belly ceased. 

And as quickly as he came, he vanished. When you opened your eyes, fingers trembling, the smell of him clinging to you, he had changed his attire. The illusion previously placed on him, the one of the elegant man dressed in all black, had made way for the God. 

Long, golden horned-helmet on his head. The same green and gold breast plate, the black trousers. And in his hand, a golden staff, the tip gleaming menacingly, a blue light hovering within it’s extremity. 

Standing before you both, on the glittering pieces of the broken window, was Thor and Tony. The former stood in the light of day, his hammer raised, light gleaming off of it threateningly. Tony stood, arm erect, suit gleaming red in the mid-morning sun. 

“Nice work, kiddo,” he said, the helmet coming undone, revealing his face; stricken with fear and concentration.

Loki turned a glare on you, eyes dark, and your insides burned. Tony was making it look like you had a hand in this. That you’d betrayed Loki.

You opened your mouth to say something, but Loki took one step towards you and grabbed your wrist.

Thor roared something like, “Loki no!” But Loki was faster. Quicker than Tony’s blast you heard charging, quicker than Thor’s hammer. In a flash, the tip of Loki’s staff glowed a clear, crystal blue, and your entire world vanished to black.

SO, WHO’S EXCITED FOR PART SEVEN???

tags:  @subtlemalice @yallgotkik @buckyandlokirunmylife @kaz11283 @legolas-bromance @shylittlemountain @tofeartheunknown @feelmyfckngsoul @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @caffiend-queen @tomhollandsslilslut @lady-loki-ren @nathan-no @rosaline-black @abundanceofcarolines @my-own-oracle @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @marvelouslovely @drbaureid @bored-as-hell-666 @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @theinfinitenerd @toe-vind-ek-jou @ink-and-starlight @blank-bakabane @sunshineonloki @holaamishamigos @palegoopbearlight @heyarely16 @pleaseexecuteme 

[dailypokemoncrochet]

aight sorry about that last ask, i guess i was just stating my opinion but i was definetely agreeing with you about how bad it was!! but yes again sorry i didnt mean it in an agressive manner or anything, and sorry if i bothered you. i understand what you are saying.

Hey, I've had this sitting in my inbox for a bit and I think I should address it for a couple of reasons. This is going to be lengthy as fuck and a little disorganized.

1) What you do on the internet, stays on the internet forever.

2a) You don't need to comment on everything.

2b) And if you comment on something, you don't need to do it immediately without thinking.

3) You're gonna mess up, we all have, and we all do. People will react badly. You will react badly. That's how we all learn.

I think this is SO important for y'all (general) to grasp, especially if you are a minor right now. I understand the desire to interact online for the immediate feedback, as quickly as possible, as often as possible. That's dangerous to do.

For that first point, you (anon specifically) sent this anonymously, so I think you want to keep your blog unattached to this, but you previously replied twice to my other post about it. Even though you deleted it, I still was able to read what you said, and know it was you who said it. The whole thing happened in a matter of minutes of me posting.

I cropped out your name, but yeah that's still at least partially visible in my activity feed. The first reply said something along the lines of "alright alright sorry, this was mine i guess i didnt think it was bad or deserved such a response but im a teenager so what do i know i get it ill just never send an ask again" And the second reply, sent maybe 90 seconds afterward, "and of course i didnt mean this ask in a bad way i wasnt disagreeing with you im sorry im sorry im sorry"

Okay, the context here is in these three posts. One where I said something about my divorce, this ask I answered about it, and this second ask regarding my answer. Basically, I said my depression is spiking because of my divorce, someone asked if my partner dumped me to which I was like wtf, and then someone sent an ask saying that maybe the other anon didn't get it but at least they weren't mean about it.

Even though that last bit happened in maybe 3 in real life minutes, and you deleted it, it still existed and I still read it. I wasn't even particularly LOOKING for something like that. It just popped up in my activity notes. I don't know if anyone else could/did see it. I don't think it was a bad response per se, but you obviously thought about it and decided that you didn't want your name attached to it, but it was already there.

On the second point A, ohhh my god. I mean this in the nicest possible way (exasperated, directed partly at your specific part in this, but mostly Youth in general), stay in your lane. You are a teenager. You should not have commented on my post about a 10 year relationship ending, saying essentially "talk to me about it" because you are a teenager! The relationship existed for more than half of your current age!

This is nothing against you as a person, but you don't have any experience here. You have nothing to offer in this situation. ESPECIALLY if what you tried to offer is a "listening ear". NO. I grew up being the one my parents vented to about marriage issues, and it is so highly inappropriate to dump that on a child, and it is highly inappropriate (however well intentioned!) for YOU to even offer.

You could not even handle the way I reacted to your question. What would you have done if I had started listing the devastating details of my divorce and how it has fucked me up? You flipped at my strong response, and that wasn't even my first response or even truly accurate to the furious, visceral emotions I felt. You almost immediately had to reply. And then reply again. And then reply again. And THEN you thought about it?

Leading to the second point B, take a moment to think about it. Take several moments, preferably. This kind of goes back to you being young (your brain still developing, lack of experience, etc etc), so it's important to repeat this. Think about it, and think through it. I said something about I shouldn't do the critical thinking for you, and that wasn't entirely fair of me. I know how little we (adults, teachers, society) actually do towards teaching critical thinking, so that's not all on you. But if you've got to write out a response to something on the internet, think about:

Do I need to say anything at all? (Am I qualified to, is what I say relevant, why do I feel the need to?)

What kind of answers could I possibly get?

What am I going to do about the reactions I get?

How would I feel if the roles were reversed?

Do I really need to say anything?

Yes, this takes a lot more time than just "thought thought thought words words words send ask" and that's the point! I've got gripes with internet culture being all about the here and right now this very second, but I don't want to go into all that right now. Someone's made another post about it I'm sure.

I actually like the fact that you deleted your replies and sent in this ask several more minutes after the fact. That shows that you did literally take some more time to think about it. That was good flexing of your critical thinking. Please continue to think through how you behave on the internet, and try to do it before someone is mean about it first.

Finally that last point, we all mess up and it is inevitable. You messed up, and you know it. I'm glad that it happened here in a relatively innocuous situation and platform. I know people on like, Twitter, get absolutely eviscerated for less. I still react badly to things, but at least on the internet I can moderate that. It's harder in real life to work through all the feelings you get in the moment, but at least on the internet I don't have to visibly show the stages of processing. I'm trying to give others the benefit of the doubt as much as I can. However, I'm still just a person. I'm going to mess up still, but I do what I can so I mess up less often and less severely.

Anyway, here's the tldr again because that's a lot to read through

1) What you do on the internet, stays on the internet forever.

2a) You don't need to comment on everything.

2b) And if you comment on something, you don't need to do it immediately without thinking.

3) You're gonna mess up, we all have, and we all do. People will react badly. You will react badly. That's how we all learn.