#Network Effect (in pencil only) would that be an asshole move or would it be a charming little treat for the next reader to find?

[grand-line-shenanigans]

For those of us who cannot comprehend big numbers (me) I have done the math. FOUR FUCKING YEARS. SECUNIT WHAT THE FUCK.

[truthofherdreams]

people can surprise you (or not)

OR, the reversed How to lose a guy in 10 days AU nobody asked, but everybody gets. (ao3)

Dmitry looks up from his laptop, swallowing down a sigh. The meeting has been going on for what feels like hours now, with no sign of it finishing any time soon. Gleb has rejected two dozen article ideas so far, which is a record even for him. Nothing is fresh enough for BuzzClick’s editorial line. Dmitry has been working here long enough to read between the lines – nothing is clickbait-worthy, nor has the potential of going viral. Which, in Gleb’s world, means it’s useless.

Five years of studying journalism for this bullshit, Dmitry thinks bitterly. What would his father think? Still, when yet another moronic idea gets dismissed, and with a pointed elbow in the arm from Vlad, Dmitry finally raises his hand. “I’ve been working on something,” he admits. Then, with a hand wave from Gleb to go on, “About the scams happening on Instagram right now, and how companies use gullible, young women to promote their products for free.”

Gleb raises an unimpressed eyebrow and folds his hands on his chest, and Dmitry prepares for the inevitable lecture. “And why should BuzzClick’s audience care about this, exactly?”

Because your audience is a bunch of teenager fools who don’t know any better, Dmitry thinks. But he has his answer prepared, thankfully, and instead he offers his boss a placarding smile. “Social networks and the evils of capitalism? It’s a millennial dream, people will love it. Not to mention it never hurts to show how naïve and gullible young girls are, am I right?”

Gleb remains silence for a few seconds, so much so that Dmitry believes him interested, or at least intrigued enough to want to hear more about it. But then, “No. Anything else?”

“Excuse –”

“I said no, Sudayev. Moving on.”

Dmitry is left gaping at his boss, unable to believe his eyes and ears. Gleb royally ignores him as he listens, then rejects, yet another idea from someone else. Dmitry is too gobsmacked to do anything else but stare for long seconds, until Vlad puts a hand on his arm and leans closer to him. “Better luck next time, boy,” he whispers.

“This isn’t fair,” Dmitry finds himself replying like a petulant child.

He swallows his anger with a sip of burning coffee, which does nothing to quiet the fire inside him. The article is good, he knows. Good enough to move him from clickbait list articles and onto a real journalistic job at last. It’s been five years of this bullshit, and Dmitry has had enough. But Gleb refuses to give him a chance, for reasons Dmitry has never understood – some rumours of an old rivalry between their fathers, which is the most moronic excuse ever. Holding grudges can only go so far, and Dmitry has had enough.

“I have an idea,” another man says, raising a hand in the air, then pushing his glasses up his nose. Gleb turns to him. “Some kind of social experiment. About how – how, you know, nice guys finish last.”

Dmitry forces himself not to groan out loud, even more so when a smirk appears at the corner of Gleb’s mouth. “Go on.”

“I was thinking about – seeing what happens when an alpha male is an asshole to a woman, and when a, well, normal man does it. How long it would take for the woman to dump either of them.”

This seriously is the most moronic idea Dmitry has even heard in his life, and he’s heard his fair share of bullshit in this meeting room. But Gleb is actually thinking about it, the fucking idiot, and Dmitry wants to die. As if BuzzClick didn’t already have enough of a sexist reputation as it was, no, let’s jump right into Nice Guy territory! Jesus fuck…

“Interesting…” Gleb mutters, because of course he does. This whole thing is a fucking joke. “We would need an alpha male for the other half of the experiment, though.”

Dmitry wants to chuckle at the obvious jab toward his colleague, but then all eyes are on him, and his laugh dies in his throat. He blinks, once, twice, before he truly understands what basically everyone in the room is implying. “Nope. No way.”

“Why not?” Gleb asks in a very rhetorical tone.

Dmitry is having none of it. “Because you’re asking me to be an asshole to some random woman just to prove a very sexist and offensive point like I’m some guy on Reddit who has no idea women are actually people?”

The tension in the room is so thick you could cut it with a butter knife, but Dmitry refuses to look away from his boss, defiant. He knows it to be useless, of course -- you either obey Gleb or pack up and leave, tail between your legs. But he would like to think he is making a point, even though his colleagues are exactly the Reddit type he was talking about. Not exactly the sharpest pencils in the box, the whole lot of them.

“How about,” Gleb starts, his tone saccharine sweet, “You do this, and I have a look at this little article of yours?”

A muscles spasms in Dmitry’s jaw. He hates this situation very fucking much. And yet, still. “Fine.”

“Good. You both have ten days to find a chick and give her all you’ve got. Let’s see how long the poor girls last.”

It’s all a game to them, and Dmitry finds himself a reluctant player.

His father would be ashamed.

 …

 Anastasia has always thought that, out of the five of them, Maria’s smile was the brightest. She smiles with her entire body, not just her mouth, and it makes her all the prettier. It is especially obvious tonight, Maria losing her natural shy demeanour to smile and laugh as she recalls a story. Anastasia’s chin is in her hand as she leans on the table and listens, with a smile of her own, her fingers playing with the straw in her cocktail.

“And this morning, she sent three dozen roses to my office. Three dozens, Nastya!” she exclaims loudly.

It is when Alexei comes back from the bar, shouldering his way through the crowd to drop three shots of vodka on the table. He winks at Anastasia before sitting down by her side. “Sounds to me like Masha finally found her match.”

“Nana will be so proud,” Anastasia adds with her chin up and a shake of the head, making her little brother laugh.

Even if neither of them say so out loud, they all know it wasn’t always that easy -- Nana may be a great many things, kind and loving and so much more, but accepting that one of her granddaughters was gay, well. Let’s just say it was a process. But maybe it will be better now that Maria has found someone she loves and who loves her back. Anastasia hopes so. Nana still has Olga and Tanya to give her as many great-grandchildren as she wishes, after all.

“Know what it means, though,” Alexei adds with a elbow to Anastasia’s side, which makes Maria laugh.

Yes. She knows it all too much, and is not exactly looking forward to it. Anastasia grabs the shot of vodka in front of her, downs it, and winces. The alcohol burns down her throat and stomach, but doesn’t calm her nerves. Quite the contrary.

“Yes, because god forbid I have a good, fulfilling job and an apartment of my own, if I’m not also married with children. My celibacy eclipses all my other achievements in life.”

“What kind of feminist nonsense,” Maria jokes, and laughs when Anastasia throws a peanut at her face. She dodges it easily, and retaliates with the cherry from her cocktail. It hits Anastasia’s nose, and Maria’s next words hit right where it hurts. “Like you know how to be in a relationship anyway.”

She gapes at her older sister. “What does that even mean?”

Maria gives her the best Olga look she can muster, the one the eldest sister always favours when one of the youngest -- often Alexei -- does or says something wrong. But where it is effective with Olga, it is lost on Maria’s kind features and gentle eyes. Anastasia only scoffs at her in reply.

“It means, when was the last time you dated someone, Nastya?” Alexei asks.

She glares at him, the traitor. “I’ll have you know I date a lot of people.”

“When was the last time you dated someone for more than a day?” Maria clarifies.

Which. Not helping. Anastasia opens her mouth even as she keeps thinking, but not a single name comes to her mind. True, she hasn’t dated a lot of men in her life, but she doesn’t see what is wrong with that. It’s not like she needs to be dated someone to have a fulfilling life, and it’s not like she feels lonely. She likes being on her own, and doesn’t particularly envy her sisters for being married with children. It’s never been something she’s wanted for herself, and she won’t force herself to want something she doesn’t need.

Of course, Nana doesn’t see it this way, and Nana will soon decide that Anastasia is too old to be single. Which will lead to a procession of dates with proper Russian gentlemen, all of it arranged by her grandmother. Anastasia doesn’t particularly look forward to it, even if she can see it looming in a corner ever since she blew her twenty-fifth candle.

“Aloysha is single too. I don’t see anyone doing anything about that.”

“I’m busy,” Alexei replies. It’s his go-to answer, and it always works. Because he’s the only one in the family who’s still at university, now working on his doctorate in history. “I don’t have time for socialising.”

Anastasia offers him an unimpressed stare, even more so at his innocent smirk when he downs his shot of vodka. “I’m busy too and yet…”

“Come on, Nastya. Just admit it.” Anastasia directs her stare toward her sister. “You simply suck at dating.”

“I don’t -- I’m not -- no!” she sputters. “I could date if I wanted to. I just don’t want to.”

“Oh really?” Maria singsongs. The mischievous look doesn’t suit her. “Wanna bet on it?”

Alexei snorts a laugh into his beer, but otherwise doesn’t comment, leaving both sisters to stare at each other -- one challenging, the other murderous. It reminds Anastasia of all the bets they had as children, to climb trees and steal candies and annoy Nana’s employees. It often ended in one or two of them grounded and, on a particularly gruesome occasion, in Alexei spending a week at the hospital for a nasty-looking bruise despite his meds.

Sadly for herself, Anastasia has never been one to back down from their games and challenges. “What kind of bet?”

“Let’s say,” Maria starts and purses her lips, stirring her cocktail with the straw. “When is Nana’s gala again?”

“Next Wednesday,” Alexei chimes in.

“Next Wednesday. I bet you can’t find a guy tonight, in this bar, and keep him until next Wednesday. Prove me wrong and introduce him to Nana during the gala. As your boyfriend.”

“A guy? Any guy?”

Maria sits a little straighter in her chair, looking around her at the crowd of people. She seems to be scanning each and every one of the men in the room, pondering on each one, until her eyes sparkle and a smile stretches her lips. She raises a hand to point one finger at someone across the room. “This guy!”

 …

 Dmitry tries not to cringe too much, but it’s a lost battle at this point. His colleagues are all gathered around a table, piece of paper and pen between them, laughing like assholes at the list they are making. Mainly, the list of shit Dmitry will have to do for this stupid fucking article. They’re having a blast about it, like they made it their life’s goal to traumatise a poor girl for clicks, and it makes him sick in the stomach to witness it.

Why he accepted, Dmitry will never know. It goes against his integrity, as a journalist and as a man, but those kinds of jobs just don’t fall in your lap every day. He had to fight to become a journalist, even a shitty one, and it’s not like any publication is going to open their arms to him when he only has BuzzClick on his resume. So it’s either do this shit or go back to working at McDonald’s, and he’s had his share of customer service to last him a century.

He stands up suddenly at one particularly bad joke, deciding that he needs more alcohol if he’s going to survive the night. His beer is lukewarm by now, and he wants something stronger to settle the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

He barely makes it to the counter before someone shows up by his side, and he’s ready to give a mouthful to whichever colleague followed him. Only it’s not them. It’s possibly the prettiest girl he’s ever seen -- a head smaller than he is, with strawberry blonde hair and mesmerizing eyes. He can’t tell which colour they are in the darkness of the bar, blue or grey or something else. But beautiful, they definitely are beautiful, and so is she.

“Hi. I’m Anya.”

There is confidence in her tone and the way she holds herself, and Dmitry can’t look away. He’s always loved a woman who knows what she wants, and tonight is no different. “Dmitry. Want something to drink?”

She frowns at him, just for a moment, before she asks, “ру́сский?”

The use of his native language takes him by surprise, even more so coming from a woman with such a flawless French accent. He couldn’t have guessed, but he knows his French to be slightly rough around the edges. Just enough to be recognised by fellow Russians and to categorise him as ‘not from here’ by some. “Санкт-Петербу́рг,” he replies with ease.

“Пу́шкин,” she says. Ah. Not so far from where he grew up, then. Neighbours, even. Then, switching back to French, “But I’ve been living here since I was a little girl. And a Cosmo, please.”

Dmitry grins at her, before he manages to catch the attention of a bartender. “Cosmo and a vodka on the rocks, please.” Then, turning back to her, “My mother and I moved to France when I was ten. Lyon, not Paris. That came after.”

“Interesting,” she says, and takes a step closer to him. “And what brought you to Paris?”

Damn, but those eyes. He can’t look away from them, even when she offers him a mysterious smile and blinks down. There is something about them, and her, that have Dmitry want to know more, to know everything. It’s never happened before, and he has his fair share of experience with women. But her… Her!

It takes Dmitry a few seconds to remember she asked a question. “Journalism. Well, if you can call it that, really.” He wrinkles his nose. “I work for BuzzClick.”

She makes a face. Yeah, BuzzClick has that reputation. “Top ten worst websites of all time. You will not believe number four!”

He laughs and, just in time, grabs their drink and hands her the colourful cocktail. “Yeah, something like this. Not proud of it, but it does pay the bills. What about you?”

She takes a sip of her drink, looking at him above the rim of the glass and beneath her lashes, and Dmitry’s knees go weak. Damn, but he’s a goner. “I’m in charge of the Truth Of My Dreams foundation.”

Dmitry blinks at her, speechless for a moment. Because of course she would be in charge of such a foundation, making the dreams of almost-dying children come true all over the world. Of course she would.

“Beautiful and selfless,” he can’t help but comment. It makes her blush and look away, even more so when he finds the nerve to go on, “Wanna get out of here?”

When she looks back at him, there is a determination and hunger in her eyes like he’s never seen before. Dmitry makes a silent thanks to the universe because, whatever he did right, he sure didn’t deserve that beautiful of a twist of fate.

“Yes, please,” she says, and takes his hand.

He ignores the grins and hoots of his colleagues as they leave the bar.