#Post inspired by a fic where the guess was Canada and it really got me. It's not even an island...

[houip]

Playing in stars and time, then coming to the conclusion that the forgotten country is any English majority speaking country is like just wild to me. You looked at a storyline of the crushing trauma cultural erasure and thought "this must be the UK".

[kaleidodreams]

2024 Fanfic in Review

List of fics completed this year Yuri!!! On Ice Solace Inconvenient Crush (Current WIP) Sailor Moon Eternal Dream (actually written a few years ago, but only posted this year) Waking From A Dream

Number of words written: 124,934 words posted, but not all of them were actually written this year. Like I said above, "Eternal Dream" was actually written all the way back in 2021 (I think? Maybe 2020.) for the Drops of Moonlight zine, but manufacturing delays meant I wasn't allowed to post it online until this year. And I think I wrote most (if maybe not all) of "Solace" at the end of last year. A lot of "Inconvenient Crush" was also written a while back, so it's really hard to say how much I actually wrote in 2024 (keeping in mind what hasn't been posted of IC yet)!

Your most popular fic: Definitely "Solace", with 64 kudos.

Your personal fav: "Eternal Dream", probably?

Your fav scene: I really like the scene at the diner where Otabek agrees to be in a secret relationship with JJ in "Inconvenient Crush". I don't think I actually wrote it this year, but it was posted this year, so I'll count it.

A fic or scene that challenged you: I wouldn't really call it a "challenge", but I think "Inconvenient Crush" is the fic I've actually researched for the most, especially concerning this final arc, taking place on a camping trip at Elora Gorge in Canada. I'm sooooo not the camping type! I went a couple of times with my Girl Scout troop -- not unlike JJ's cousin, Camille -- but that was about thirty years ago, and the troop leaders took care of the tough stuff like building fires, so about all I really knew about camping beforehand was what I learned while watching Laid-Back Camp. *laughs* So, yeah, the camping scenes have been a struggle to write. (None have been posted yet, BTW, although the camping trip does start in the next chapter, which I plan to post on New Year's Day.)

A line of writing you’re proud of: Oh, man, I don't know. I guess I like the vows I wrote for "Eternal Dream"? Especially when they're exchanging rings: "This ring is a symbol of my eternal promise to you. Accept it, and know that I am yours and you are mine, forevermore." Again, I didn't write that this year, though. Hmm, I think I wrote this little exchange between Otabek and JJ from "Inconvenient Crush" this year that I find amusing? "Do you still consider yourself a virgin, since we apparently haven't 'gone all the way' yet?" "I…don't know? Kinda? Technically?" He arched an eyebrow. "You're 'kinda technically a virgin'?" "Well, it sounds kind of stupid when you say it like that," JJ muttered, stabbing at a piece of celery with his fork.

A comment that touched you: All of them! (Well, except the ones that were from obvious bots or scammers, of course. Also, I got into an argument with one commenter on an old Sailor Moon fic of mine who kept insisting that it was a terrible story because it mixed canons (it did not -- I do mix canons sometimes, but not in that fic) and that it was mostly an original anime-based story despite me (the author!) telling them several times that it was it was an entirely manga-based Alternate Reality fic, with the first scene pretty much being a novelization of a scene taken directly from the manga. That was annoying. (And I still don't know why they felt it was based on the original anime. They brought up another ficlet of mine that they claimed mixed canons, but that one actually was 100% based on the original anime, showing Hotaru's POV of a scene that didn't even happen in the manga, so they just seemed very confused about canons... I don't even know. Probably just should have ignored them, honestly.))

Something that inspired your writing: "Eternal Dream" was directly inspired by @floraone's Haruka/Michiru wedding fic, "I Pledge Myself To You". I just loved the idea of creating another culture's wedding traditions and had a lot of fun envisioning what an Elysian wedding ceremony might be like.

Your proudest accomplishment: Sailor Moon Rare Pair Week again, I guess?

Do you have any writing goals for next year?: Finish "Inconvenient Crush". That's pretty much it, along with writing a short one-shot for a project one of the Discord servers I'm in is planning. After that, I need a break. I won't say I'm going to retire from fic-writing, because there are a couple of unposted stories I would really like to finish, but I've been feeling burned out for a while now, so I think I'm just going to take at least a few months (maybe a year?) to just chill, read a lot of fanfics I've been meaning to read, and play a lot of Sims.

[netherzon]

Timbits Disappearing Act

Whelp, recently I mentioned an old fanfiction I read awhile ago that had an idea I liked, but a plot that I didn’t really, so here’s my take on it I guess?

Inspired by this post, although it ended up more like Canada is still just invisible. Its in the tags on that post that I mentioned the other fic

Also sorry about the ending, I couldn’t think of anything more satisfying than whatever people imagine Alfred had to do to earn the timbit’s forgiveness.

Very few nations knew this about him, but Canada loved donuts. Almost as much as he loved maple syrup. If he had to choose, he’d probably rank donuts in third place. First place would be maple syrup, obviously. Second place would be maple donuts.

He never tried to hide this fact, but almost nobody knew because most of the nations couldn’t really see him. 

He had theorized before about why that is. He used to think maybe it was because he wasn’t likable enough, but he’s pretty much as likable as a nation can be, and nothing changed. Then he thought maybe he wasn’t exciting enough, but even inventing a sport where people tied knives to their feet and tackled each other on purpose hadn’t changed anything. That’s when he started thinking: maybe it wasn’t him exactly, maybe it was circumstance.

There were so many nations. Very few of them ever actually got to talk during a world meeting. Dialogue was not split evenly. It was a competitive environment, and while Canada wasn’t bothered by competition per se, having a say during the global meetings wasn’t usually something he was motivated to do.

He was cozy where he was. He used to be a bit resentful of his brother, how people just seemed to pay attention to him naturally. Alfred just always seemed to have the spotlight. Over time though...

“America!” 

he learned to appreciate the benefits of near invisibility.

Alfred’s attention moves back to the front of the room, where Austria had been giving his presentation. Matthew takes the opportunity to lean over and grab another timbit from the box his brother stole from him.

Austria was glaring up at Alfred from his spot by the podium, “How many times do we have to tell you not to bring food to meetings?”

“Well, it worked after four, but this is the nineteenth time your askin me that, so my bet is on a number higher than nineteen,” Alfred says with a winning smile. 

Multiple sighs and groans echoed around the room.

“Huh,” Matthew mutters around a mouthful of donut, “even Austria is getting on your ass about it now. You really should stop eating at meetings, Alfred.”

Alfred’s smile doesn’t slip an inch as he spins in his chair to flip Matthew the bird, and Matthew laughs in response.

Across the room, England frowned, “what kind of maths is that supposed to be? If it's the nineteenth time, then it didn’t work after the fourth.”

Alfred continues his chair spin till he’s gone 360 degrees around to point back at Arthur, “Yeah, except for it did! I haven’t brought any food to a meeting since the fourth time y’all told me not to!”

“America, you have two boxes of…,” Germany frowned, “What do you call those again?”

“Munchkins,” Alfred answers automatically, glancing innocently over at Matthew, “they’re from Dunkin.”

Matthew sucks in a breath and almost chokes. Alfred scoots over to pat him hard on the back, but keeps his eyes on Germany. Matthew tries to glare at his brother anyway. Hopefully he got his point across without words. If my windpipe wasn’t full of delicious TIMBITS right now, you’d be in so much pain. 

“Right,” Germany says, clearly confused to see Alfred waving his hand in the air strangely, “whatever they are, you have two boxes of them. Sitting right in front of you.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t bring those,” Alfred replies simply.

Matthew, recovered from what would have been one of his most embarrassing deaths yet (even if it was only Alfred who noticed), decides to enact his revenge. First though, he’ll grab another handful of timbits.

“Then who did?” Arthur asks.

Alfred points directly at Matthew, his finger almost poking his brother’s nose. His brother, who is frozen with one hand deep in the box of timbits, right in front of everyone at the meeting. 

“Canada,” Alfred says.

There was a moment of silence, and the whole room seemed to pause. Everyone was looking in Matthew’s direction. He could feel himself starting to blush with embarrassment. Alfred looks pleasantly surprised; he hadn’t been expecting that to work either, but it would be nice to not be the only one in trouble for once. Figures the first time Alfred rats me out suddenly everyone can see-

“Who?” he hears.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me!” Alfred cries, throwing up his hands.

Matthew releases a breath, half relief and half disappointment. He grabs both boxes of timbits and slides them back towards his seat.

“Canada!” Alfred says again, still pointing, “Right there! The nation of Canada? My brother?”

Everyone just looked confused. 

“The one covered in donut crumbs!” Alfred continues. This makes Matthew glance down at his suit. There were a couple pieces of glaze sticking to his tie, but it wasn’t that bad.

“He brings donuts to every meeting! Every time I get yelled at for having donuts, Canada is the one who brought them. He’s practically addicted!”

Austria is rubbing his temples, “None of this is even important,” he snaps, “I do not care where the doughnuts originally came from. The problem is I can’t even hear myself think over the sound of you chewing.”

Alfred sighs, exasperated, and reaches towards Matthew and the two boxes of timbits, “It's not my fault you have super hearing, Beethoven.” Matthew scoots away, clutching the boxes close to his chest.

Austria’s face flushes, “Beethoven was deaf,” he scoffs, “and German.”

Alfred is looking solely at Matthew though, “bro, you cannot be serious.”

Matthew shakes his head solemnly, “you disrespected my timbits, bro. Disrespect the timbits, and you lose timbits privileges.”

“Wha-, so you’re really not gonna share anymore?” Alfred asks, incredulously.

“You know why it has to be this way,” Matthew says in the most serious voice he has.

“Aw c’mon, Matt, they’re not that different.”

Matthew narrows his eyes with actual irritation. “Go on, dig the hole deeper, I’ll wait.”

Alfred does the smart thing and pauses to consider the options. Insist on being right (because he is) but also end up arguing with Matthew and no donuts, or talk him into sharing...

Alfred puts on what he calls his ‘straight-talkin face’. “Alright, what do ya want for ‘em?”

[buckys-black-dress]

campus - bucky barnes x fem!reader (college au)

a/n: hey y’all! so. this is my first ever fic being posted here! i’m super excited to be sharing my work on here :) that being said, thank you for reading! please feel free to share/reblog/leave comments, but please do not repost my work! this lil one shot was inspired by the song campus by vampire weekend. enjoy! - ali

wc: 3.4k

You worked in the evenings at your coffee shop on campus during the week. Being that you went to school in a major metropolitan city, there were endless amounts of students bustling in and out of the shop daily. Day in and day out, it was pretty repetitive. The same kids, stressed, ordering a coffee and snack, and then sitting at a desk or in the upstairs attached library for hours on end, cramming or stressing about some test that was probably the following day. 

But there was one part that always made your day brighter, no matter how horrible your day had been thus far. 

Him.

His dark, long brown hair that looked soft to the touch, his large physique that had you melting in seconds, and his voice. 

He was always kind when he spoke to you, never short or rude. He always took his time to ask you how your day was going, took the time to learn your name, and even sat with you in between customers at the counter. 

Today, it was him sitting through the lunch rush, and while you whirled around the coffee machines and mugs, he watched you and made conversation while you steamed milk for the next latte that was ordered. 

“So, what are your plans for the winter break? Seeing any family?” He questioned, looking down into his own mug of dark brew. 

“Yeah, usually I go up to Canada to see my family there. I miss them a lot around this time of year, can’t wait to see them.” You shrugged your shoulders with a smile. “How about you, Bucky?”

Bucky hummed, wrapping a large hand around the body of the mug and pulled it up to his lips. 

“Yeah, not as far as you, though. Can’t wait to see my ma and sister. Miss ‘em to death.” He matched your grin. 

“Aw, how is she? Doing better now?” 

You recalled one day where Bucky came into the cafe, head hung low. You immediately poured him a cup and sat with him as he talked.

“She’s doing great now, thank God. Would’ve had to take off from school to stay with her if she didn’t, and she’s still so young. No one deserves to be bound to a hospital bed when they’re a kid.” He spoke brightly, glad he could say Rebecca was out of the hospital.

“That’s amazing, Buck! Glad to hear it.” You grinned even brighter than you had before, and Bucky couldn’t help but to stare at the sparkle in your eyes. 

You were a shy girl, and Bucky had initially first seen you in your sophomore art class. For you, it was a core requirement, but Bucky was taking courses aimlessly, trying to figure out what he wanted to do. He was at school on a football scholarship, and almost everyone knew him and his teammates. But as soon as he spotted you in that class, he knew he had to get to know you. It was hard at first, he’ll admit. You weren’t quite as responsive to him as he’d hoped, but over time when he would see you more often, he would make more conversation and you eventually warmed up to him.

You never knew what to do with Bucky. At first, you thought he was pranking you when he tried to talk to you. But over time, you let your guard down. You often fantasize about him and what it would be like to be with him. You fell for the side of him that was kind and caring, the soft side. Others saw the big, brawny football player, but that couldn’t be further from who he actually was. 

“You know, you should come to our party tonight.”

You scoffed at that. 

“And why, Bucky, would I do that?” Your tone was incredulous.

“Because, sweetheart, I want you to meet my friends?” The nickname made your heart flutter, beating wildly against your chest.

“I’ve already met Steve and Sam, and as far as I know, no one else is relevant.” You countered.

“I- Well, you’re right, but I want to have fun with you! I never see you outside of work or school.” Bucky’s eyes shone with pleading, basically begging you.

“I… Fine, maybe I’ll drop by after work��” You compromised, but Bucky’s smirk grew. 

“Yes! I’ll see ya at eight, doll, but I gotta head out and help set up.” He tapped the counter and stood up from his stool, flashing you one last smile before heading out the door, the bell ringing above it.

And fuck, you couldn’t wipe that damn smile off your face. 

-

Eight o’clock couldn’t roll around fast enough, and as soon you clocked out of work you practically ran to your apartment. Your roommates were out, so you picked out the best outfit you could put together in half an hour. 

The walk to Bucky’s fraternity house was jittery, your hands shaking uncontrollably, and it wasn’t just because of the frigid November air. 

It was exactly eight. Music was booming, you could literally feel it from the front porch. Not a minute late or early, and you were wondering why you were so nervous. Of course, it was because of Bucky, but also about the prospect of a party. You don’t go to many at all, and to go to a college party was more or less social suicide. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself, let alone in front of Bucky.

You lifted your hand to knock and after a minute or so, the door pulled open. 

And that was definitely not Bucky. 

“You here for the party?” The guy said, a brunet just a bit taller than you, but you could tell he was older than you.

“Uh- yeah-” You barely got out before he pulled you in by the arm. 

“Great, uh, I don’t have too much time for formalities or anything, but drinks are there,” he said, pointing to the kitchen, “and if ya gotta yak, please, for the love of God, do it in a toilet.” He said, leaving you in the middle of the hallway with people stumbling around you, mumbling apologies as you bumped into countless people. 

You felt like looking for Bucky was hopeless, so you stayed by the drinks for a bit, seeing if he’d come by, and after a few minutes, he turned up.

But of course, not alone.

“Y/N! You made it, I was wondering if you bailed on me!” He was basically yelling over the music.

“Oh! Yeah, I made it, I guess.” You tightly smiled, giving a fake laugh.

“Where are my manners! This is Nat, ot Natasha. We’re in the same Human Sexuality course. ‘ve known her since freshman year, can always count on her.” Bucky announced, pulling the interest of the redhead that he walked in with. 

She extended her hand with a smile as you shook her hand.

She’s fucking gorgeous. Of course Bucky’s here with her. Fuck. Why did you think he would hang out with you tonight? 

“So, Y/N, what’s your major?” Natasha asked you, her soft voice pulling you out of your intrusive thoughts.

“I uh, I’m an English Lit major with a minor in Cognitive Psych.” You responded, wanting to be done with this conversation. Done with this whole party, actually, at this point. 

“Oh shit, that’s so cool! I’m just a boring Criminal Justice major,” she answered, taking a sip from her drink.

Suddenly, her eyes lit up, looking at you in shock.

“Buck! Get this girl a drink! She’s just been standing here empty handed!” She slapped his arm, causing him to curse.

“Fuck, Y/N, let me get you something. Any preferences?” Bucky asked, already turning to the counter. 

“Uhm, not really, just no beer. Tastes like shit.” You huffed out a laugh, looking down at your hands until Bucky handed you a cup that was almost full.

“Vodka lemonade, doll, sweet enough where all you taste is the burn.” He smiled a wide smile that made you realize something. Bucky was drunk. 

“Thanks, Bucky.” You smiled and took a sip. He was right, it wasn’t strong at all, but by the time you looked up, Natasha was pulling him back to the dance floor, throwing her arms around his neck and swaying to the beat. His hands almost immediately found her hips, moving at the same pace.

Somewhere deep in your chest, you felt a pang. You knew that of course, you had no claim over Bucky. But you thought that after really getting to know him that there was something between you two.

But seeing his gaze never waver from Natasha, you guess you’d thought wrong. 

Setting your cup down on the counter, you felt a hand land on top of yours, and he spoke before you could.

“Hey, another rule I forgot to mention. Never leave your cup unattended. We try to keep a clean act here, but some assholes always slip through.” It was the same brunet from earlier.

“Oh… I was actually just about to go…” You mumbled.

“Leaving so early? You make me feel like a horrible host!” He yelled dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Oh God, you don’t even know me, do you?” He questioned.

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t.” You responded, fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“Well, nice to meet you. I’m Tony, but I prefer ‘Greek God’ or ‘Ruler of the Universe,’ up to ya.” He smirked.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Tony. I’m Y/N.” You shook his hand, looking around. You just wanted to go home at this point.

“So why do you look like someone just killed your cat, Y/N?” He asked, leaning back onto the counter.

“I just… don’t really think this is my scene, I guess.” You shrugged. It was the truth, this wasn’t where you wanted to be on a Friday night. But you came for Bucky, and right now he’s dancing with a gorgeous redhead on the dance floor, while you stand in the kitchen talking to a stranger. 

“I see… have you come to one of our parties before?” He asks, scanning the crowd.

“Uh, just a few with my old roommates, but not too many, but Bucky invited me…” Your words trailed off, spotting him in the crowd, head thrown back laughing at something Steve or Natasha had said. 

“Ah, I see. Bucky.” Tony smirked. “You like him, don’t you?” He questioned.

“What?” You paled, “No! He’s just a friend, we’ve had a few classes together, that’s all.” Your face turned beet red as you looked down at your feet. 

“Listen, Y/N, I don’t know you very well, but I can tell you’re not dumb. If you like him, tell him that. I almost waited too long to tell Pep, but now we’ve been together a whole year and I can’t imagine my life without her. What’s the worst that could happen?” Tony proclaimed, bounding away and pulling a strawberry blonde girl, who you’re assuming is ‘Pep.’

And although Tony’s word instilled an unusual wave of confidence in you, what you were met with when you turned your head towards Bucky made it disappear into thin air.

There he was, in all his long-haired, muscly glory, kissing Natasha. 

Oh.

Alright.

Your mind was blank, and before you knew it you were out of the house and running back to your apartment, ignoring your roommates calling you from the couch as you held back tears. 

Of course Bucky would never go for someone like you. 

-

Waking up and having to go to class on Monday was a feat on its own. But going to work?

Impossible.

You had been avoiding going on campus all weekend, although you had to go in for a studio hour. But all in all, you managed to avoid Bucky. Thank God you didn’t have to work on weekends. 

But alas, Monday came, and Monday meant work. 

And work meant Bucky.

You took your time clocking in and pulling on your apron in the back and as you emerged, you were met with tons of customers waiting in line.

No Bucky yet. 

Hm. 

An hour into your shift, you’re whirling around behind the counter, completing orders, when he walked in. Bucky quietly sat himself down at the countertop and waited for you to greet him with a mug of hot coffee and a smile.

All you could manage was a tight, rushed smile while placing the mug in front of him haphazardly. 

Bucky’s brows furrowed as you kept up your work, not even stopping to speak a word to him. He waited and waited, but you kept to yourself and served the countless students that walked into the cafe. 

Needless to say, Bucky was confused. 

“Hey, Y/N?” He finally piped up after almost two hours of watching you. 

“Oh, yeah, need something James?” You asked, focused on pouring the right amount of milk into a cup. 

James.

You never called him James.

“Uh, no. Just wanted to ask you if everything was alright?” Bucky inquired, hoping you’d give him something. 

“Yeah, just working.” You replied shortly. 

“Oh. Alright, doll.” Bucky took the hint, you thought. 

But he still sat there until you got off your shift, which is exactly what you did not want. 

While walking out of the cafe, you didn’t even look in Bucky’s direction. You walked right out, and by the time he saw you leaving he was sprinting out of his seat, but you had disappeared into the crowd of people walking about. 

The next day was more of the same. Bucky sitting and waiting, and you sneaking out to avoid him.

On Thursday night after work, you waited for the elevator in your apartment building, and just as the doors were about to close, a tall, burly blond slid his way in.

“Oh, hey Y/N.” He nodded down at you.

“Hi, Steve.” You muttered, looking down at your shoes.

“How ya been? Haven’t seen you around that much lately.” He asks.

“Oh, just busy with work and school, finals and stuff are coming up.” You answered, pursing your lips. 

“Yeah, Bucky’s been mentioning that he hasn’t spent time with you in a while. You should talk to him.” He looked at you. 

“Steve, are you here on behalf of Bucky?” You asked, anger raising inside you.

“Well, no, not really. My girlfriend Peggy lives on the 13th floor, so I gotta head out, but just… talk to him, Y/N? He misses you, I think.” Steve punctuates his sentence with the elevator doors sliding shut and leaving you with your thoughts.

-

Of course, you didn’t follow Steve’s advice. You didn’t know how to really act around him now, but you didn’t want to completely cut him off. 

So the following week had been a bit of the same, but Wednesday came, and that’s when it all blew up in your face. 

After work, you snuck out from the back, but the alleyway that was usually empty had one single person there, waiting for you.

“Hey doll, can we talk?” 

Fuck.

“Uh, yeah, sure what’s up?” You asked, standing a mere distance from him. 

“It’s just… why have you been avoiding me?” Bucky sounded unsure, like he was crazy.

“Bucky, I’ve just been busy, I’m sorry-” You started, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“Y/N, please. It’s been almost two weeks and you haven’t said more than five words to me. Did something happen? Did I upset you somehow?” He sounded desperate, like he was really trying. 

But all your mind could think of is him that night. His arms around Natasha, his lips attached to hers. 

And then it went to all of the moments you two shared. Hours of conversations, pet names, talking about everything under the sun.

“Bucky, I just… I don’t understand.”

“What, what don’t you understand, doll?” He was pleading with you here. 

“That party… why did you invite me?” You carefully asked.

Bucky looked confused now. “Because I wanted to hang out with you and have fun?”

You shuffled your feet against the gravel, scoffing at yourself.

“So why did you spend the whole night making out with Natasha?” You asked, pretty boldly if you would admit it to yourself. You were never one for confrontation, but Bucky had put you in a corner. 

“I… doll… I’m sorry, ya gotta believe, it was never my intention to make you feel unimportant,” Bucky’s eyes flashed with realization at what he’d done, “I was drunk out of my damn mind because Tony was pregaming and… I’m sorry, Y/N.” Bucky bowed his head in shame. 

“Just… was I all a game to you? Someone who was just there to comfort you when you needed it? Did I… ever mean anything more to you?” Your voice was meek.

“Y/N, please, look at me.” Bucky’s hand found your cheek, tilting your head up. “You are the sweetest, kindest, most intelligent person I’ve met in my entire life. There is no one else like you.” He spoke passionately. 

“Then… why can’t I be enough?” Tears pooled in your eyes. “Why can’t I be the one you hold when you dance?” Why can’t I be the one who gets the guy?

“You have to believe me, I was drunk, Y/N. I know that’s no excuse, but I’m so, so, so sorry. I was just afraid. You’re always so quiet, I never know how you’re feeling, so I just assumed you weren’t interested in me the way I was interested in you. I thought I was chasing a dead end.” He confessed.

By now, fat tears were running down your face, being gently wiped away by Bucky's large thumbs. 

“I just- I know I don’t talk much, but I always talk to you. It was so hard for me to open up to you and when I saw you with Natasha I just… I thought I had driven you away. I thought you’d found someone better because I wasn’t enough for you.”  You barely choked out the words.

“Sweetheart, you are more than enough for me. I come and sit with you at work for hours just to hear you talk. I just didn’t know how to tell you without freaking you out.”

By now, the both of you were crying, trying to understand how you got here.

“I’m sorry, Buck. You’re just so different. I never thought someone like you could like someone like me.” 

“Doll, please. I wouldn’t shut up about you to Steve, he was going insane.” Bucky cracked a smile, thumbing at your cheek still.

You giggled at that, sniffling. 

“Look at us. Two big idiots, huh?” You laughed.

“The biggest idiots. But I think I’ll be an even bigger idiot if i don't do this.” He  mumbled.

“Do what?”

Before the question could leave your lips, his mouth was on yours, capturing it in a sweet kiss that you didn’t even know you were longing for. 

After coming out of your daze, your eyes fluttered open when Bucky pulled away.

“What was that for?” You breathily asked, bringing your fingers up to your lips. 

“It was to show you how sorry I am. I wanna take you out and show you off, Y/N. I wanna make you my girl. Whaddaya say?” Bucky was smiling, but you could tell he was nervous.

“Sure, Buck. I’ll be your girl. But you gotta take me out for dinner first.” You smirked, clutching Bucky’s face in your hands. 

“I’ll take ya wherever ya wanna go, sweetheart. I’d take you to the moon if you wanted.” 

[theplanetprince]

Fanfiction Review

I can already tell this is gonna be super confusing bc I've been writing fic since I was 12 but have since gone through so many identity changes. But let's play anyway!

Thanks for the tag @redead-red

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

My current library is 8. I don't actually write fanfic too often unless a specific idea intrigues me-- or something in the fanon just doesn't line up with me. I do have at least 4ish more stories planned and maybe a revised version of an ancient story from when I was young. 2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

166,451! Pretty neato!

3. How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

Uh, in no specific order,

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (lost to purging)

Doctor Who (you ain't gonna find these)

Sonic

NiGHTs into Dreams

Dead by Daylight (<3)

Danny Phantom (my beloathed) Supernatural (my other beloathed)

and uhhhh, I think a bunch of various other video games I can't remember. For the sake of brevity I'm gonna put the rest under the cut.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

This is actually pretty funny bc I have so few fics released. I only get emails for certain ones all the time, so I wrote this part out by guessing, but I ended up not needing to change it. (also, don't read most of these; they're old and bad)

1. Schrodinger's Adolescent, 337 Kudos (Danny Phantom)

2. Teen Years and How to Survive Them, 97 Kudos (Secret Trio)

3. Two Fake Feds Come up the Laneway the other dayyyyyy, 56 Kudos (Letterkenny/Supernatural)

4. Brother's Keeper, 40 Kudos (Halloween, DBD)

5. Beginner's Guide to Destroying the Moon, 37 Kudos (Sonic)

5. Which of your fic do you want more attention for?

I'll be real here, I still enjoy most of the work I did for both Beach House Bummer, and Beginner's Guide to Destroying the Moon. I just wish I got more love for the latter bc I might be inspired to finish it lmao.

6. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I really try to! I love the long rambly comments I get on Schrodinger's because I can feel those people are giving me the same passion I put into my work-- Though most of the time I get the generic "post more" or "update plz" which I dunno I'm grateful for the interaction. Still, I don't really want to repeat like "I'm trying my best, dude." about 12 times a day.

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I'll be real I only have two completed fics rn-- but I can tell you I had this one fic that I wrote when I was fourteen where the ninja turtles had to burn down a lab full of half-born mutant embryos, and like I remember writing that and then going to middle school the next day like "They don't know I'm a literary genius."

8. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Probably the Letterkenny/Supernatural crossover-- I feel very strongly about SPN and how people take it way too seriously, so when I found out it was filmed in Canada. It used famous Canadian actors from the show Letterkenny, it felt way too good to pass up. I do hope to write in that space again when I'm feeling less depresso-espresso.

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yeah. It's probably a big reason why you'll never see the tmnt fics for a while. I also used to write a lot of OC stories, and this was back in 2014 so like those were def hit the hardest. I'm glad to say it's like... subsided for the most part. I don't get hate as much as I just get really confusing and creepy comments, which don't hurt my rejection-sensitive-ass as much.

10. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Hahahaha, no.

I am kind of bad at writing it, and I don't really like writing it. Which yeah that makes sense. My friends sometimes when they find out I write fanfic as a joke they'll send me some of the worst examples smut they can find and to test my talent I'll try to rewrite it to make it some kind of titillating-- but alas it just isn't my forte. The cons of being an asexual I guess.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Uh, yes and no? I think I had one of my older fics stolen, retranslated, and then retranslated again to English? That was so long ago tho.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but I'd love to give it a shot sometime.

13. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Honestly, it's sonadow. I know it's cringe but I'm free, dammit. Outside of that I guess my favorite dynamic is jock/nerd, which you've probably gleaned from my resume here fhsdkjf.

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I've been working on Teen Years and How to Survive them since I was 16, I only started making headway on it when I was 19-- so I feel like that speaks for itself hskjhg.

15. What are your writing strengths?

It's been told to me that I'm very funny and I write convincing dialog that captures a character's voice. Which is extremely flattering despite the fact that I feel like I'm tricking you all.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

probably scenery and landscape, if I'm honest. I also accidentally keep creating scenes just for the dialog instead of action or environment.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I think as long as I can guess what they're saying from context clues, and the writer is courteous enough to include body language and the like, then it's mostly harmless. I love including a bunch of references in fic whether it's cultural, historical, or just like a quote from a movie or something so I have a bunch of tabs open regardless it wouldn't be too inconvenient for me to fire up google translate or something.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!

19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Probably Schrodinger's Adolescent, it really opened up a lot of doors for me in the DP fandom and I got to meet a lot of cool people because of it. It really cheered me up from a dark place. And despite me writing it initially out of anger and spite its grown into this soft thing that really means a lot to me.

20. What fic are you most proud of?

Honestly, I can't pick. I'm both embarrassed by them all and yet glad they bring people some form of comfort.

Uhhhh who to tag-- I don't really know

@ten0rreaper is the only one I can think of-- whoever else I guess can have at it. I'm not very good at these things lmao.

[heyktula]

Fic Breakdown for Closer, Chapter One (aka, the DVD Extras)

So, chapter one of Closer, the first installment in Somewhere in Canada (the Terror kink AU)... went up today! And let me tell you what, I am hype because this is my very first longfic in the Terror fandom, and it's centered around a subject very near and dear to my heart—BDSM. It's a love letter to power exchange, the sheer joy of kink, conventions, and sex education.

Like other fic breakdowns I've done, this'll be in three parts—technical notes (like POV and stylistic choices), story notes (like characterization and kink info), and then, instead of the editing section I usually include, I'm going to talk about specific lines at the end.

I blame Edward for the line notes, tbh. I love him, but he's a himbo, and many things went unobserved in the course of this story.

(Okay, fine, it's not entirely his fault. Some of it is that he's just so steeped in kink that he doesn't think twice about a bunch of the stuff going on.)

Technical Considerations

Inspiration: So this fic is a love letter to kink, and kink education, and conventions, which in my experience can be life-changing opportunities to meet people with similar interests, and also to be able to do some exploration of your own and figure out what makes you tick. I'm pretty sure there's an AU version of me that makes their living off kink education and the convention circuit, but (un)fortunately, in this particular universe, I am a fic writer (and, occasionally, a paid one as well).

Closer is also a love letter to rough physical play. I remember sitting in my very first workshop on the topic, and just being wide-eyed that a) this is a thing, b) it looks fun. (It is, actually, fun.) There's a ton of reasons I love it—and hopefully, after Closer concludes, you'll be able to see some of the reasons why—but I also love that physical play doesn't have any financial barriers to entry. (The irony of Edward "rich boy" Little being heavily into it has not escaped me.)

Timeline:  Hilariously, I actually started this verse for a Fitzier fic—it takes place six months from Closer, at the winter version of the conference—but while I was working my way through the Fitzier setup, I was like 'fuck it, I should write a quick one-off joplittle to establish the verse', and lo and behold, my "quick one-off" turned out to be sixty k, and it runs parallel to a Tozer/Irving that I  have yet to write, but which is visible in Closer if you squint. So, uh, oops.

So this story fits into a very specific space in the timeline—that is, it's prior to Fitzjames and Crozier having met, but it's after the (second) Cracroft/Crozier breakup. (If you were wondering if that's why Francis isn't running his own damn booth, yes, that's why. He's very likely depression drinking in London at this very moment.)

Setting: I wanted to stay true to the spirit of the whole, you know, boatload of white men going to Canada and being confused, but I wanted them to go for better reasons. It's so rare that we get shows set in Canada, you know? And I feel very passionately about our winters here, in that I complain about them while they're happening, but I do also kind of enjoy the challenge, in a really fucked-up sort of a way. So I set the fic in Canada too, and then, because I was explicitly setting it here, I also got to lean into a bunch of Canadian stereotypes (like Goodsir living his best life in plaid and denim and the inevitable Tim Horton's jokes) and I actually had a lot of fun doing it, so I guess that was something I learned about myself.

Story Considerations:

Primary Kinks: So most people involved in BDSM have a "thing"—you know, the thing that they care about more than they care about any other things. And one of the most fun things for me about creating an AU like this is going through the characters and figuring out what everybody's niche is. Like, it makes sense to me that Hickey would be that edgeplay asshole that's in the kink scene specifically so he can fuck with people. Tozer having a military fetish (and also being a bit of a kink snob) totally fits with his whole "now what the bloody hell do people think that means?" speech.

If you've ever been to a fetish convention, you've seen guys like Blanky, who have been in the scene forever, and made their name handcrafting BDSM gear. They're easy to talk to, and will totally tell you about that time they ran an entire scene using only items found in their kitchen. You've seen women like Sophia Cracroft, who have a cluster of people surrounding her at all times, and who is never short of someone who will bring her tea if it looks like she's thirsty. And you've also seen guys like Ross, who are reasonably famous in their areas of expertise—the kind of guy that you see across the hall, and you're like "shit, is that James Clark Ross?" (And it is! Holy shit!)

Canadian Kink: So! I live in the prairies, and it's as conservative as hell out here. That means there's some specifics to kink culture that I'm not sure translate to other parts of Canada—and they definitely don't translate back to England. For example, every public event I've ever been to (by which I mean every event that wasn't being held in someone's house) has mandated that penetration cannot occur during the event. No toys in orifices, no bits in other bits, no mucous membranes touching, no oral, no fingering, no handjobs, no intercourse, all that kind of stuff. I'm not convinced that you couldn't have sex in a dungeon in, say, Vancouver, or Toronto, or any of the other bigger centers—but that hasn't been my experience in the prairies, and I kept those restrictions for plot purposes in Closer. (Sorry, Jopson. I promise I still love you.)

Canadian weapons laws being what they are also means that some of the gear that's totally okay in other places (like butterfly knives) is totally illegal in Canada (sorry, Tozer. No apologies for you, Hickey.). The sap gloves that Edward is mourning are, unfortunately, one of the items that get lost in the shuffle. Sap gloves are pretty neat—they're leather gloves which are weighted with lead on the knuckles/backs of the hands. They make your punches harder, but they also protect your hands—and, for somebody like Edward, who does a lot of punching when he plays, that protection is definitely beneficial. Plus, they're a bit of a signalling thing—having a set of sap gloves hanging off your belt makes it very clear what kind of things you're into, and I think Edward is a bit bereft not having that this weekend, because he's not used to having to make those introductions cold.

Edgeplay: There's sort of a, er. Spectrum of what is and isn't considered to be "acceptable" kink, even within the kink community. Some kinds of kink are seen as more publicly acceptable, and some kinds are relegated back to the fringes and the dark corners. In the context of Closer, that means Tozer, Hickey, and Little are our resident edgeplayers. This isn't a judgement on the type of play they do (well, it is a judgement on Hickey, but we don't have time to go into *gestures* all that), but it is a statement about the way that type of play is perceived. Sophia Cracroft can, with very little finessing, put photographs of her in rope suspension onto her various social media accounts, and as long as she's clothed, it's perfectly acceptable content to just have out there, and people are going to call it artistic and Instagram-worthy. Tozer, on the other hand, ain't getting any recordings of interrogation scenes he's run posted anywhere except to Pornhub.  (The less we say about Hickey's knife-play, the better.)

Similarly, because the rough physical play that Edward does looks fairly intense from the outside (and is pretty intense from the inside), he gets to live in the not-that-publicly-acceptable area of kink. The area of kink where they usually put the crash mats at the far end of the dungeon, because that way, if you don't want to watch two people whaling on each other with their fists, you don't need to see it. This "stigma" is important in Edward's conception of himself, because on one hand, we see in his conversation with Goodsir that Edward absolutely knows his shit and, hero-worship of Crozier aside, has the knowledge base to be a fantastic educator in his own right—but we also see the subtle kinkshaming coming from both Hickey and Tozer about where Edward's place is in all this. That is to say—Edward's place is with them, in the dark shadowy spots, and not in the "socially acceptable" circles that Crozier's circle of people (Jopson included) are perceived to be running in. (There's a sense, coming from Tozer, that there's no point in Edward pursuing getting onto the org committee for the conference itself, because they won't want someone like Edward there—but, again, that's some pretty insidious kinkshaming coming from Tozer, and we could all just let that go and be better for it. Goodsir clearly doesn't feel like Edward's presence would be a detriment.)

So, yeah. I'll excuse Tozer's kinkshaming bullshit temporarily, as he needs to sort himself out. I don't think he's trying to drag Edward down so much as he just thinks Edward's being a bit delusional, and wants to save him the disappointment when Jopson invariably rejects him for being way too kinky and intense. (If Edward is moping around all weekend, he'll be in the hotel room, and how's Tozer supposed to get his dick sucked by random hookups then? "Yeah, come on back to mine, don't mind my roommate, he's a moody bastard and won't participate even if we ask." Not winning any prizes there, lads.)

I won't excuse Hickey's kinkshaming; he's definitely trying to make Edward feel like shit on purpose. I could speculate as to the reasons, but they're probably gross. (I mean, I know the reasons. Hickey's gonna Hickey.)

(There's a whole entire essay I could write about incorrect assumptions that literally everyone is making about the type of play Thomas Jopson must be into, based on his nice hair and nice eyes and nice smile, but I'll just let Jopson handle those corrections on his own, as he's very capable of doing so.)

Concerning the Chapter Title: If you were gonna take a risk, Neddo, the social was the time to do it—and you done fucked that up, sweetheart.

Tomorrow is another day. Give it another shot then, yeah?

Line Notes:

Edward looks across the hall again, cringes. “No, fuck, that’s—no, I think that’s Sophia Cracroft, Sol, I’m not—Christ. Sophia Cracroft, Jesus.”

I will never not find this introduction to Edward Little fucking hilarious, because he comes off as so competent from Jopson's POV when he's arguing with Hickey in the parking lot, and yet the moment we see Edward in his own POV, he's just a mess. I love him very much, but he's a mess. This was one of the deciding factors in the dual POV as well—I knew going in that the brunt of the story was going to be from Edward's POV, but weaving in those occasional Jopson bits lets us see how Edward looks from the other side.

(Also, Tozer three hundred percent knows exactly who Sophia Cracroft is, because he demonstrates that, like, two sentences later, meaning that he’s literally just winding Edward up here, and it goes right over Edward’s head. God.)

It’s the older guy across the hall that’s laughing his ass off, but the cutie is standing right next to him, looking down at his phone, his ears charmingly pink. 

As a reminder, Edward is wearing a white tank, and just stretched his arms out behind his back. The nipple piercings are very obvious, Jopson was three hundred percent staring, and Blanky definitely caught him and is laughing his ass off about it.

“…I know what this is about,” Tozer says, tying an orange bandana around his left bicep.

The orange bandana is a hanky code thing—which, yes, it's dated, and it's not really in use anymore, but Tozer seems like the kind of guy that would tattoo his kinks on his forehead just so everybody could see them if they would all fit. Failing to find any way to gracefully do that, we instead have the orange hanky ("anything goes") on the left arm ("top").

(Older guy, thankfully, is wearing a ring on the fourth finger of his left hand. Cutie isn’t. So there’s no obvious problems there.)

Jopson not wearing a ring indicates literally nothing about whether or not he's available, but I guess whatever makes Edward feel better about himself is fine. He's right with his assumption about Jopson, in this case, but it's literally nothing more than a wild guess, and the mental hoops he's jumping through only exist to make him feel better about himself.

(Esther usually attends these events with Blanky—but somebody needed to hold down the fort in London this time, and so she's in London at present. It's for the best, she can check on Francis every so often.)

[Hickey] sticks his hand in the pocket of his latex cargo shorts...

I won't take criticism on this fashion statement, constructive or otherwise.



So, that's it for this week! Chapter two, Aware, goes up next Friday! See you then! And if you have questions or anything in the meantime, you can always drop me an ask on tumblr or Curious Cat!

[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (3/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

Rating will be explicit in later chapters. This chapter 3.8k words. (ao3)

Notes: As previously warned, this fic includes adultery. But as someone messaged me to ask, there are no kids involved.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

________________________________

Chapter 3

The first thing David saw when he got out of his Uber in midtown was a big red sandwich board on the sidewalk that said ‘99¢ PIZZA!’.

“Ew.” He shuddered and turned around, seeing the bar he was looking for a couple of doors down. The Distillery, it said in an understated serif font. Doubting that any distilling actually took place there, he took a breath to steel himself and went inside. He opened his Tinder app and quickly sent a message: I’m here.

The hostess took in his Neil Barrett shirt with black lightning bolts adorning the shoulders, and her haughty expression shifted into a smile. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to meet someone, but…” He looked down at his phone again. “I don’t think he’s here yet.”

“Well, you’re welcome to wait at the bar.” She pointed it out, her wrist jangling with bracelets. On a Tuesday, even this tourist-hell adjacent bar wasn’t completely packed, but there were only two empty seats that he could see. With a fluttering hand wave to indicate he’d do as the hostess suggested, David made his way over, taking the stool between a group of bros in business suits and a lone tourist.

He’d been browsing Tinder for a lack of anything better to do that afternoon, and after swiping left on half a dozen guys who listed Crossfit among their interests, and as many women who listed ‘influencer’ among their jobs, David had matched with a guy who appeared to be a nice balance of bookish and handsome. Andrew’s tortoise-shell framed glasses and his flirtatious smirk raised David’s hopes that he might get a decent conversation out of this hookup. The fact that Andrew suggested they meet in midtown had almost been enough for David to call the whole thing off, but then he’d looked at the smirk again and agreed.

The bartender approached David. “Get you a drink?”

David looked up from his phone. “I’d love a French 75 if you have Hendrick’s.”

The bartender nodded. “Can I get you another one?” he said to the man beside David, pointing to his almost empty beer glass.

“Sure, thanks.”

David saw that Alexis had posted a selfie with Stavros in a New York club the night before. He hadn’t even known she was in town.

“Gotta say, I don’t really know what to do with my eyes when there’s no TV behind the bar,” the tourist next to him said suddenly.

David looked up, frustrated that someone was trying to make small talk with him, and blinked a couple of times. “That’s what your phone is for.”

The man talking to him smiled sheepishly. “My battery is terrible so I try not to use it too much.”

“Okay.” David opened his Tinder app but without read receipts, he couldn’t tell if his date had seen his message or not. He glanced around the bar, looking for a man who looked like Andrew’s picture, but he still didn’t seem to have arrived.

“I’m Patrick,” the guy next to him said, holding out his hand for David to shake.

David looked at his hand for just a beat too long before tentatively taking it. “David Rose.”

While he was far from famous, David’s name did inspire a spark of recognition in certain circles. Patrick showed no such recognition. His handshake was firm, skin dry and fingertips calloused. David extracted his hand quickly just as the bartender delivered their drinks.

“What do you do, David?” Patrick asked.

“What’s it like, being from a town small enough to strike up conversations with strangers in bars?” David said, trying to shut the conversation down with a dollop of cruelty.

Patrick didn’t take the hint or if he did, the hint only served to amuse him. He just grinned back at David. “It’s pretty nice, actually. What’s it like living in New York?”

David finally looked the guy up and down. Mid-range denim jeans, wash-and-wear cotton weave light blue shirt, too-short haircut that emphasized the roundness of his face. Cute, with big brown eyes that in the right context could be devastating — the eyes were definitely his best feature.

“In answer to your first question, I’m a gallerist.”

Patrick nodded as if he was considering that. “Hmm, okay. What’s a gallerist?”

David squinted at him, his glass at his lips. “Pretty sure it’s right there in the name. Or do you need me to explain what an art gallery is?”

Laughing and flushing with embarrassment, Patrick held up a hand. “Okay, I deserve that. I guess I’m asking what exactly is involved in being a gallerist?”

“Why?” David asked, his whole body recoiling at the questions from this earnest stranger.

Patrick shrugged. “Just making conversation.”

“I cultivate an aesthetic that centers around outsider art, mostly.”

“And what does that mean?” Patrick asked in an overly patient manner that made David feel like he was being made fun of.

Huffing out an impatient breath, David continued, “I arrange to display artists’ work in my space, I cultivate relationships with buyers, host cocktail receptions for special exhibitions, that sort of thing.” His rings flashed in the dim light of the bar as he used his hands to enunciate each point.

“Sounds like interesting work,” Patrick said, his eyes never leaving David’s. It was unnerving, and a little sexy.

“Let me guess, Patrick. You’re in town on business,” David said, already looking back at his phone to show how disinterested he was in the answer. Trying to get the upper hand again.

Patrick chuckled. “Guilty. I’m attending a tax seminar in Hoboken, and I took the ferry over. This is my first time in New York.”

David’s head whipped up at that. “Well, that’s adorable. Why are you at this bar, though? Shouldn’t you be… going to the top of the Empire State building or something?”

“That’s a bit cliche, isn’t it?”

“Everything about you screams tourist, you may as well lean into the stereotype,” David responded.

“Everything about me screams tourist?”

David rolled his eyes. “Yes. Your whole…” He gestured to encompass all of Patrick. “... vibe.”

Patrick looked down at himself and then back up. “Is that what you’re doing with that shirt and the rings and that drink and with checking Tinder every two minutes? Leaning into the stereotype?”

David gaped at him. He’d been trying to insult this guy a little bit, just enough so that the conversation could be over. He hadn’t expected Patrick to be able to match him.

“Wow, okay.”

Patrick suddenly looked regretful and a little scared. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that in a… homophobic way. I’m not used to talking to people so much more sophisticated than me.”

Sniffing, David looked back at his phone. “No, I imagine not. Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

David turned us phone over on the bar and drank half his drink in one gulp. “My date is flaking on me. And after he made me come up to midtown.”

“Is that bad?” Patrick asked. “Not the flaking part — that’s obviously bad — I meant the midtown part.”

“Not if you’re a tourist trying to get your poster on camera for the Today Show.”

“Ah.” Patrick’s lips twitched. “That would be during the… day though.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Only barely.”

David drummed his fingers on the bar. “You’re from Canada,” he said.

“Come on, I only said ‘sorry’ once.” Patrick said with a grin.

“Your accent is unmistakable,” David said, and then indicated himself. “I have dual citizenship. I was born here, but my parents are Canadian. They still have a place outside of Toronto.”

“Oh, yeah? Where did you spend your childhood?”

David rolled his eyes. “Everywhere. My parents are Moira and Johnny Rose.” When Patrick looked at him blankly, he continued. “My mother’s an actress. My father founded Rose Video.”

That made Patrick’s face light up. “I worked at a Rose Video in high school!”

“How fun for you.” David finished his drink and pulled out his wallet. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to make my escape.”

“Oh.” Patrick’s face betrayed his disappointment, which was interesting. “Who am I going to talk to now?”

David looked over his shoulder at the men in suits who’d been getting louder and drunker. “Those guys?” he said, cocking his thumb at them.

Patrick made a disgusted face. “Yeah, I’ll pass.”

It occurred to David for the first time to check Patrick’s left hand. A simple wedding band sat unassumingly on his ring finger. Not that wedding rings said anything about a person’s sexual preferences anymore (if they ever had), but it did say something about this Patrick’s motivations. Either he was just alone and bored in New York and looking for someone to chat with, as it appeared on the surface, or he was looking to cheat on his wife or husband with someone he wouldn’t have to see ever again. David had been on the receiving end of that kind of attention from more than a few wives and husbands over the years. It never felt great, in the end.

On the other hand, those brown eyes were a little bit devastating. And under his cheap Oxford shirt, Patrick’s arms did look nice and strong.

“I guess I could have one more drink,” David heard himself saying.

~*~

“I’m sorry, but that is the most boring fucking job I have ever heard of. If you say it again, I will literally fall asleep at this bar,” David said, tipping the last of his third drink into his mouth.

Patrick grinned widely. “Business manager at an electrical supply company,” he whispered close to David’s ear.

David masked a shudder by theatrically letting his forehead hit the polished surface of the bar, trying not to get distracted by how sexy Patrick’s voice could apparently be, even when he was talking about his dull job.

Patrick laughed and picked up another slider from the plate they were sharing.

“I mean, I know it’s not as glamorous as being a gallerist—”

“You’re right, it isn’t. It isn’t glamorous at all,” David said, debating if he should order one more drink. If he did, he’d cross the line from pleasantly buzzed over into drunk, and that was probably a bad idea for a number of reasons.

“I mean, I’m not the… what was it? ‘Rembrandt of Wall Street’?” Patrick said, referring to something they’d overheard one of the finance bros say before they’d cleared out to go hit another bar. They’d barely suppressed their giggles at the time, and now David allowed himself a full-out laugh, Patrick laughing right along with him. David leaned over in Patrick’s direction in his mirth, losing his balance slightly and catching himself with a hand on Patrick’s denim-clad thigh.

He let his hand stay there just long enough that it still plausibly fell within the realm of an accident, but he took careful note of a tiny catch in Patrick’s breath, and the way he licked his lips as David righted himself. Interesting, he thought.

Patrick had had only had two and a half beers over the last few hours (counting the one he’d almost finished when David arrived), so at least David knew he was in full possession of his faculties. Not that it mattered; why was he worried about whether Patrick was drunk?

Because you want to fuck him, his inner voice supplied. Which was depressing because this very funny, surprisingly attractive button of a man was definitely married, likely to a woman, and nothing good was going to come from going down that road. Best case scenario, Patrick would reject him immediately, being the upstanding person that he was. Worst case scenario, something would happen between them and David would end up getting his heart stepped on.

Patrick was looking at his phone. “Wow, I had no idea what time it was. You don’t have any idea how late the ferries run, do you?”

“Do I look like I ever go to New Jersey?” David asked, taking a bite of the last slider.

Laughing, Patrick flagged down the bartender and asked him the same question.

“You’ve already missed the last one,” the bartender told him. “Separate checks?”

“Shit,” Patrick said at the same time David said, “I’ll take the check.”

“What? No, you don’t have to do that,” Patrick said.

“Please, you saved me from a shameful retreat when my date bailed. It’s the least I can do.”

“I guess I can take a cab back to Hoboken?”

“A cab through the Lincoln Tunnel will cost you at least seventy-five dollars,” the bartender said to Patrick as he handed the little black folder to David.

“Oh,” Patrick said, and David could tell that was a lot of money to him. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for picking up the check.

“I could call you an Uber,” David offered.

“You’re already paying for the drinks and the food, David; I can’t ask you to do that.”

He started to say that the money meant nothing to him, but then he had an idea. “Well, then you can crash at my place and catch the ferry in the morning,” he said as he stuck a credit card in the little pocket and set it on the edge of the bar, trying to seem nonchalant.

He wasn’t looking at Patrick but he could feel his surprise. “Oh… I don’t… I can’t…”

“That’s not a pick-up line, I literally just mean you can crash there. I’m not trying to—”

“No, I know,” Patrick said quickly. David finally looked at him and his eyes were very wide. “It’s just too much of an imposition for someone I just met. And what if I’m an axe murderer?”

David tried to suppress a smile, his lips twisting. “Well, are you an axe murderer?”

“Are you?”

The bartender put the check in front of David, and he quickly filled out the tip line and scratched out his illegible signature. “Yes, but I’m taking a sabbatical from the murdering.”

“What a coincidence, me too,” Patrick said.

“Then it’s settled,” David said, pulling on his leather jacket. “Come on.”

He didn’t really expect that to work but when he headed for the exit, Patrick pulled on his own (much more weather-appropriate) winter coat and joined him.

An Uber appeared like magic a mere minute after he summoned one, and David held the door open for Patrick, letting him get into the car first. Patrick sat silently as they crawled down 9th Avenue, looking out of the window at the storefronts.

“Is there traffic like this at any time of the day or night?” Patrick finally asked.

“It clears out eventually,” David said, watching Patrick. He was fidgeting with his hands, playing with his wedding ring, and David felt a stab of guilt. Yes, there was a level on which this was innocent, but there was another, more true level on which it wasn’t, on which the touch on Patrick’s thigh had been calculated, and the invitation to his apartment a tactic. Still, he could back out and let the innocent explanation for inviting Patrick back to his place become the true one. It wasn’t too late to be honorable for once in his life.

They finally arrived, and David tried to look a little more graceful than he usually did shoving on the sticky vestibule door of his building. He mostly succeeded.

“I can find you an unused toothbrush,” he said as he led Patrick up the stairs. “And if you want to shower tonight or in the morning, I can get you a towel.”

“Thanks again, David. This is incredibly generous.”

David unlocked the door to his apartment and opened it, gesturing for Patrick to go in. “Please, I have a spare bedroom, it’s really no trouble.” After taking Patrick’s coat and carefully hanging it up in the hall closet, David moved deeper into the apartment, flipping on lights as he went. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“Uhh… yeah. Thanks.” Patrick walked over to the living room windows. “This is a really nice apartment.”

David filled a water glass from the pitcher in the fridge and carried it back out to Patrick, standing at Patrick’s side and following his gaze out the window. “It’s not as nice as the apartment I used to have, but it’s fine.”

“What happened to the apartment you used to have?”

David raised his shoulders in a sort of shrug. “Turns out my father’s business manager was embezzling from him a few years ago. He was caught, but he hadn’t been paying taxes for a while so we had to pay…” He suddenly couldn’t think of the word.

“Penalties?”

“Right, penalties. So we had to sell off some stuff, including that apartment. Also, as you can imagine, the video business isn’t what it used to be,” he said with a smirk.

“Yeah. So do you not have a Netflix account out of, like, solidarity?”

David laughed. “No, I have a Netflix account. Why, did you want to watch something?”

Patrick shook his head and set his water down on a glass end table. “I should probably get some sleep. I’ll need to be up pretty early in order to make it back to the seminar for the morning session.” He continued to stand rooted on the spot, though, making no move away from David’s side.

“Did you need to charge your cell phone?” David asked. “You mentioned earlier—”

“Oh. Yeah, thanks.” Patrick pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. David made a face at his cheap Nokia phone with the chipped edges, but he opened a drawer under his coffee table and pulled out a tangle of different chargers, some of which had been left behind by people he’d dated. He quickly found a suitable one and plugged in Patrick’s phone.

“Okay, well, spare bedroom is right over there,” David said, returning to Patrick’s side and indicating the door next to the one that led to his own room. The atmosphere between them felt heavy, and David knew he should move away from Patrick, go get him a towel or something to defuse things, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

Then Patrick made a tiny move of his head, infinitesimal really, in David’s direction, and that was all David could take. He met him more than halfway, mouth on Patrick’s and hand coming up to cup the back of his head. The kiss was relatively chaste, but there was no question that Patrick was on board for it, his lips nipping at David’s bottom one, one of his hands clutching at David’s bicep. David felt a bit like a dam was breaking on the desire that had been building between them all night, and he let himself enjoy the few blissful seconds of that kiss.

“And when I said I wasn’t trying to pick you up,” David whispered when they parted, “that didn’t mean I was averse to picking you up.”

Patrick’s still held onto his arm, but his facial expression was pained. “David, I’m married.”

“Yeah, I noticed the ring.”

“To a… to a woman. I’ve never done that before with a guy. So…”

“Oh.” David did take a step back then. So that’s what this was. A small-town closet case who’d gotten married under false pretenses. Not exactly what he’d hoped he was signing up for. “Is it a religious thing? Are you one of those guys who’s been scarred by conversion therapy?”

Patrick shook his head quickly. “No, nothing like that. I really thought…” He ran his hands over his face. “Holy shit, how could I not know that that’s what kissing someone is supposed to feel like?”

David couldn’t help preening a little bit at that. “I don’t think I’ve ever been a sexual revelation to someone before.”

With an uneasy chuckle, Patrick let himself drop onto the sofa. “What am I doing? Why did I come here?” he murmured, almost to himself.

David sat down on the sofa too, leaving a space between them. “Look, it can end right here. You go sleep in the guest room and I’ll go sleep in my room, and…” He threw up his hands. “And in the morning you won’t even have to see me, because I’m not really a morning person, so…” He trailed off into an uncomfortable silence.

Patrick was fidgeting with his hands again, twisting his wedding ring. “My intention wasn’t to… treat you like an experiment, and that must be what this seems like. As if I set out this evening to go to a bar in a big city and meet an anonymous man so that I could test drive a… another sexual orientation.”

David gave him a sheepish shrug. It didn’t not seem like that.

“I started talking to you for the exact reason you said: I’m from a small town where you make conversation with the guy sitting next to you at the bar. But David, I…” He looked up finally then, and fuck, those brown eyes were exactly as devastating as David had feared they could be. “Thinking about it now, I was attracted to you from the moment you shook my hand, and I honestly don’t know if it’s just you or men in general, but if it is men in general that would certainly explain a lot of things about my—”

David put a hand over Patrick’s to stop his manic motion, and it simultaneously stopped his mouth from moving, the tumult of words drying up as rapidly as they had started. It was a relief. Patrick’s openness was turning David inside out; he wasn’t used to being around people who said exactly what they were thinking, who didn’t play games, whose every word wasn’t calculated to manipulate.

“It’s okay. Whatever you’re feeling is okay. And whatever you want to do is okay,” David said, and then winced. He was definitely going to regret this, but he couldn’t help himself. The idea of helping this man discover a new side of himself was too tempting to resist. “I can be… if you need to test things out and see the way you feel with a man, then I can be that. For you.”

Patrick’s eyes widened, then dropped to David’s lips. “Why would you do that?”

“Umm, because you’re hot?” David said flippantly, trying to lighten things up. “And because it seems like you need a push in the queer direction,” he added with a gentle laugh.

A quick smile flashed across Patrick’s face before his face turned serious again, his eyes still trained on David’s mouth. And then he leaned in.

Chapter 4

[yaz-the-spaz]

Beautiful Monster (Part 3)

so this is the last installation that will be posted on tumblr! the complete fic will be posted on ao3 later tonight has now been posted on ao3!

also this was supposed to be my New Year’s Day gift to you guys but i just didn’t have a chance to review it like i wanted to in time so it’s just gonna have to be a (way) belated New Year’s gift lol but on the bright side inspiration did happen to strike for the threequel fic during the interim of me finalizing the edits for this fic so it all worked out in the end and you’ll actually be getting a double feature/double belated New Year’s present cause the latest chapter for that will be up soon too (most likely by tomorrow)!

Summary: Zayn is a homeless vampire who, unbeknownst to Liam, has been routinely breaking into Liam’s van for a warm place to sleep. When Liam catches him in the act things end up going in a direction no one expected. And then shit gets weirder. Because Liam might also be hiding some secrets of his own…

Part 1 here

It’s a Thursday afternoon when Niall pops by out of the blue.

The doorbell rings and Zayn goes to answer it cause Liam’s in the middle of feeding the dogs their dinner. He figures it’s probably just someone trying to sell something anyway and he’d rather just let Zayn be the one to tell them to bugger off, but he snaps up when he hears a familiar voice on the other side, that familiar Irish brogue that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Um…hello. You’re not Liam. Liam does still live here, yeah?”

Zayn nods politely. “He does. Who’s asking?”

“His mate, Niall. And you are?”

Zayn perks up at this news, seemingly excited to be meeting a friend of Liam’s, sticks out a hand and smiles brightly. “Zayn, Liam’s live-in booty call.”

Liam blanches, rushing over to the door stiffly.

“Um, Niall, hey,” he says, ushering Niall inside quickly, hoping the previous topic of conversation goes forgotten. “I didn’t know you were in town, when’d you get in?”

“Just a couple hours ago. Only here for the weekend really, but I came straight here cause I had to see my Payno of course. How’ve you been, mate? Pretty well I’m assuming,” he says with a grin, dropping his bags just inside the door and turning back to size Zayn up appreciatively.

“Uh, yeah, you know, same old, same old mostly. Work’s been good and the dogs are okay, can’t complain. Zayn is—” he stops, not quite sure how exactly to describe what Zayn is and opting instead to just skirt around it. “Zayn’s been a great help. He’s just, um, he’s staying here temporarily until he can get back on his feet.”

“Oh…okay.” Niall nods but he still looks a little confused, though he doesn’t inquire any further, maybe sensing somehow that it’s not something Liam’s really eager to talk about right now in front of present company.

Zayn smiles at Niall politely, offering to take his coat and Niall shrugs out of it obediently, kicking off his shoes in the process.

Niall follows Liam into the kitchen as Zayn goes to put up his coat and bag and when they’re a safe distance away Niall leans into him and says, “So, what exactly is going on here? Is this, like, a roommate situation? You short on cash or something and renting out your couch? Or are you two dating and you decided to jump the gun and let him move in early or…? Cause, I mean, I know I miss a lot sometimes when I’m gone especially when I have no cell service but when I last FaceTime’d you a couple months ago you said you still weren’t seeing anyone and now you’ve apparently got a live-in boyfriend? What’s the story there?”

Liam shrugs, avoiding Niall’s eyes. “None of the above but also sort of…all of the above?” Liam sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s complicated, okay? But he’s not my boyfriend. We’re just…”

“Sleeping together while you let him stay in your house till he gets back on his feet?”

Liam looks at him miserably but Niall raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I’m not judging. If it works, it works. As long as you’re happy, you know? That’s all that matters to me. And I mean, he’s well fit so, y’know, good job there.” He smirks. And then a thought seems to occur him and leans in a bit closer, lowers his voice even more, serious now. “Does he know about your…you know?” he asks.

“No,” Liam says emphatically. “And I plan to keep it that way.”

Niall nods solemnly in understanding, dropping the subject and Liam’s grateful.

Niall’s the only “normal” mate he’s got who knows about his secret and has still stuck around. But he travels a lot, always backpacking through Europe or spelunking in Asia or hitchhiking across the Americas (yes, Americas as in plural, as in hitchhiking his way from Canada all the way down to Argentina) so Liam usually only really sees him about twice out of the year most years—for the holidays and whenever else he happens to be in town and decide to pop by Liam’s out of the blue like he’s just done. They’ve been friends pretty much since they wound up roomed together at uni, where Niall, the only actual geography major Liam had ever met, would stay up late talking Liam’s ear off about all the places he wanted to travel to (not that Liam minded cause Niall’s a great storyteller and Liam actually learned a lot from him over those years about all sorts of different places). When Niall discovered travel blogging and found out there was a way he could actually get paid to travel he jumped at the opportunity and has been pretty much steadily country-hopping ever since they graduated. They talk on the phone as often as they can when Niall’s got service or access to decent working wi-fi and Liam’s got a whole drawer full of postcards Niall’s sent him over the years. But even though they don’t see each other as often as Liam would like Niall’s still one of his best mates and apparently still knows him too well.

He stays for dinner and after a bit the slight awkwardness hanging in the air seems to dissipate and the three of them are eating and talking like they’ve all known each other for years instead of just him and Niall. Niall regales them with stories of his latest travels; an incident with goats stealing and apparently trying to eat his luggage in Papua New Guinea, the triumphs of winning over and befriending the meanest donkey in all of Greece, how he was unofficially adopted by one of the elders in a bamboo-weaving village called Ngũ Xã and now has a Vietnamese grandmother.

Liam laughs so much his cheeks are sore by the end of the night, as are his abs, but such is the usual with Niall. As is also the usual with Niall though is the inevitable goodbye and Liam’s already dreading it before it comes but he’s still glad to have had this surprise visit at all even if it was a bit awkward at first. As he hugs Liam goodbye Niall promises he’ll be coming home more often from here on out though and that’s enough to warm Liam’s spirits for now despite his too-sudden departure as Niall sees himself out with a wave and bright grin, rucksack slung over his shoulder. And then Liam is alone with Zayn again. Alone with his own uncertainties and feelings and his messy thoughts.

*

“So what do you guys actually do at these conferences?” Zayn asks in the van on their way back from another highway roadkill stock-up just before Liam’s due to leave again. “Do you just, like, sit around eating barbeque, crushing beer cans against your heads, arm wrestling and organizing pissing contests whilst talking about construction stuff?”

Liam snorts, flashing an amused grin at Zayn. “Is that what you imagine we do? Like a giant frat party or something?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, it certainly sounds kinda like one. I mean you meet every month at some super secret location that—considering you have such shoddy service the whole weekend has gotta be, like, way out in the wilderness somewhere—just to eat a bunch of meat and drink beer with a bunch of other guys for three days. Sounds a hell of a lot like something a bunch of frat boys would do to me.”

“Bit unfair of you to assume that everyone who’d go to a construction conference is a guy, and a butch one at that,” Liam says deftly trying to change the subject.

“Touché. In retrospect, I guess that was an unfairly stereotypical judgment to make,” Zayn concedes with a nod. “But seriously though, what do you guys actually do besides grilling meat cause I’m having a hard time imaging what riveting events you could possibly get up to at a construction conference that would make everyone wanna come back as frequently as every month. D’you lot, like, exchange insider secrets on the performance of the construction trade in the stock market? Make elaborate bets on who’s gonna sell the most piping this year? Build a giant secret fortress in the woods? I mean, like, what is it?”

“Christ, look, it’s just a gathering of a bunch of like-minded people where we can just get together and blow off a bit of steam for a few days, okay?” he snaps, tone a bit too terse, a bit too defensive, although it’s not entirely a lie. Not really. But anyway he hadn’t even meant to snap, it’s just Zayn’s asking too many questions and it’s both not the time nor is Liam in the right mood or headspace to deal with being given the third-degree right now, even if it is half-jokingly. He’s wound up and on edge and he just really, really wants to get on the road already and be far away from here and away from Zayn and all his questions. “It’s not that big a deal, alright, so can we just drop it?”

Zayn raises his hands in defense. “Okay, okay, sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I know you tend to get kinda testy and stressed out before these things, I didn’t mean to upset you, I shouldn’t have pushed.” Zayn’s quiet for a little while before he says softly, tentatively, like he’s afraid of setting Liam off again, “But maybe—I mean, I don’t know if you’re allowed to bring, like, a plus one to these things, but maybe…if you are…maybe one time I could come along with you—I mean, only if you want of course—but it’d just be nice to meet some of your mates, you know? I mean it’s been three months and I haven’t met any of them yet except for Niall, although, like, if you don’t want me to that’s cool too, I totally understand, but I just thought it’d be nice to, like, hang out, you know, like outside of the house.”

Fuck. There Liam goes again not thinking about anyone but himself. He hadn’t even considered that Zayn might feel like Liam’s hiding him. Like he’s a secret to be ashamed of. He wishes he could tell Zayn that that’s not why he hasn’t met any of Liam’s friends. That it has nothing to do with Zayn himself or their current living arrangements or Liam being ashamed of him and wanting to hide him away or keep him a secret.

But he can’t tell Zayn any of that without inviting more questions that he won’t be able to answer so instead he just mutters a noncommittal, “Maybe,” and leaves it at that, knowing full well it’s an empty half-promise because Zayn knowing anything about what actually goes on at these weekend gatherings would be a monumentally bad, bad idea.

*

Predictably he finds out anyway.

*

“What the he—Liam?” There’s a gentle touch at his shoulder. “Liam…Liam?”

Liam blinks gritty eyes open to bright sunlight streaming down on him, Zayn’s blurry face slowly coming into focus above him, sunlight bracketing his head like a halo. There’s a soreness that penetrates every muscle in his body, every fiber of his being, sunk down into his bones, his very cells, pumps through his blood like a visceral thing, but none of that’s new. This isn’t where he’s supposed to be though. The previous day is a blur and as usual he’s groggy as all hell but he’s aware enough to know immediately that this is not where he usually wakes up. Not where he’s supposed to be waking up. The grass, the trees, they’re too familiar. As is the face still currently looming above him.

“Zayn?” Liam croaks hoarsely in confusion, trying to sit up, to re-acclimate himself to this body.

“Are—are you…okay?” Zayn says, eyes full of concern as he looks Liam over.

“Course,” Liam says automatically without thinking. That gets him an even more concerned look from Zayn and Liam sits up properly, trying ineffectively to clear his throat of the raspiness that he already knows won’t fade for at least another couple of hours as he rubs at his eyes and takes in deep breaths of the crisp winter air to wake himself up fully.  It’s not until he’s more alert and full awareness of the situation catches up to him that he realizes just how fucked he is—how this must all look to Zayn—and finds himself scrambling for some sort of halfway believable explanation but coming up completely blank.

He’s naked, covered in dirt and possibly a bit of blood, being woken up in his own backyard miles from the “conference” Zayn believed him to be at and smelling like absolute filth. And his first response had been to act like everything was totally fine and this was all completely normal—which it is for the most part, for him, with the exception of waking up in his own backyard. Zayn though is looking at him like he has two heads and Liam shakes his head quickly, trying to backtrack.

“I mean…um…” Liam falters, grasping at straws for to how to explain any of this without revealing everything he’s tried to keep so carefully hidden. “…Would you believe me if I said I was kidnapped and I have no idea how I got here?” he tries.

Zayn just blinks at him.

*

“So…your not-butch, not-all-male, not-douchy mates from the construction conference...that you just told me wasn’t at all like a frat…kidnapped you, stripped you, and left you naked and covered in dirt and blood in your own backyard…all as part of some sort of elaborate hazing ritual?” Zayn repeats slowly, squinting at Liam dubiously.

Liam nods, fidgeting in his seat at the counter in a lame attempt to avoid Zayn’s eyes. He’s showered and fully clothed now and nursing a mug of tea Zayn made for him to “warm him up” after being left naked in the freezing cold for so long. He doesn’t bother telling Zayn that he doesn’t really need it. The cold doesn’t much bother him in his other body, and even once he turns back it takes a little while for normal human sensitivity to really set back in anyway.

“So, then, are they gonna bring back your van too? And your clothes and all your other stuff that got left there?”

Liam looks up at him, startled two-fold. One, because he hadn’t expected Zayn to actually believe him, though he supposes he still might not but it could just be that he doesn’t wanna pry and is just willing to go along with it because he thinks it’s what Liam wants. And two, because he hadn’t thought of any of that himself and is now wondering how the hell he’s gonna reach the others to let them know what happened (and see if they can bring back his stuff for him) without his phone.

“You know, on second thought, I don’t think I wanna meet your friends after all if they’re the kind of arseholes that would pull some shit like this and just dip. Leave you with your dick swinging in the wind. Literally…” Zayn says, plopping into the seat next to him at the counter and shaking his head.

To be continued...

[Read the full rest of the full fic now on ao3]

[sunlitblue]

Sigh Not So

this was not requested, but i missed my boy race, so here’s a (long) fic based on my favourite scene from much ado about nothing, which is my favourite shakespeare play. it’s also heavily inspired by a modern re-imagining of the play, which i am in love with, called nothing much to do. 10/10 would recommend watching, even if you’re not an english lit nerd like me. enjoy! <3 (PS if u can spot the quote from the original that i squeezed in near the end, then you’re legally required to marry me, sorry i don’t make the rules) (also the title is a ref to a quote from the play, i’m a nerd sorry)

It felt a bit melodramatic to call Race Higgins your enemy, but it was near enough to the truth. The truth was that you had liked him, once, maybe even more-than-liked him, but, as you grew older, the qualities you had once liked in him became obnoxious. It used to loosen you up when he made stupid jokes about whatever was happening, but now he was little more than a class clown who couldn’t take anything seriously. As you grew up, friendly roasts began to sound a little more serious, and, by the end of high school, he was the nearest thing you had to a sworn enemy.

You managed to fight with him about anything, from the correct translation of your Latin homework to the DC and Marvel cinematic universes. It was fun, sometimes, but mostly just exhausting. Sometimes, you wondered if it wouldn’t just be easier to get along, for your friends’ sake, if not for your own, but then he would make some ridiculous comment about how Parks and Rec was better than The Office and you would remember that he was the worst.  

He was annoying at track practices, when his hair was impossibly curly, and his eyes glittered with happiness, and he insisted that his team needed half of your soccer pitch to practice for field events. He was annoying in class, when he argued with the teacher about the underlying racism in Anthony and Cleopatra and, sure, he may have been right, but who cared about correctness when you went about an argument in the completely wrong way.

(“You,” Katherine would say every time that you brought this up. “You care about correctness, especially when it’s opposing Shakespeare.”

You ignored her. What mattered was that it was Race arguing with the teacher, and he was always wrong, even when he was right.)

He was especially annoying at parties, when he’d flirt with anyone who breathed – except you, of course. The way he nonchalantly joked with everyone else, and pretty much ignored your existence, except to tease you about your hair or something you had said, made your blood positively boil.

(And, Davey was wrong: you weren’t jealous of anyone, not even a little bit.)

He annoyed you at parties, but his absence from Jack Kelly’s annual Halloween party left a gaping hole. You were dressed as Jim Kirk, from Star Trek, and you had expected him to tease you as soon as you got to the party, insist that you had yourself pegged wrong and that you were definitely more of an expendable red shirt, than a royal yellow. You would respond in kind, with a snarky comment about how he had less personality than a Vulcan commander and all would be right in the world.

But, he didn’t show. Or, if he did, he managed to keep quiet the entire night which, considering who you were dealing with, just made the former more likely. Towards the end of the night, you found yourself leaning against a wall in the living room, talking to a girl that you kind of knew, dressed as Wednesday Addams, and a boy that you didn’t recognise, in a full Batman costume, face-covering cowl, and everything. Maybe, you had had a little too much of the definitely not kid-friendly punch that Romeo had whipped up, or maybe you were just tired, but, when the conversation lulled, Race popped into your mind.

“Hey, you haven’t seen Higgins around tonight, have you?”

“No,” the boy answered, clearing his throat. “I mean, no, I haven’t. Why?”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but you were almost certain that his voice was pitched a little lower than it had been earlier in the conversation. You frowned, it was probably the alcohol.

“No reason, I just feel like everyone’s here and he’s, like, not. It’s weird. And, it’s so uncharacteristic of him to let a night go by where he’s not the centre of attention.”

You winced a little at the harshness in your tone, and the boy must have picked up on it, too.

“You’re being kind of hard on him, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes.

“No, I’m giving him the same treatment he gives me, all the time. And, besides, it’s not like I haven’t tried to get to know him – it’s not my fault he’s the biggest douche canoe this side of Canada.”

You couldn’t see the boy’s face in his costume, but you thought that he might have been frowning.

“What do you mean ‘tried to get to know him’? From what I’ve heard he’s a pretty dope guy.”

You scoffed. Did people still say dope?

“Dude, I think I would know. We used to be really good friends, like, maybe even best friends when we were in middle school, and then I guess he just lost interest, like he always does. He’s got the attention span of a studious gold fish, I swear.”

“Well, did you ever talk to him about it? Maybe, it was just a miscommunication kind of thing.”

“Ugh, as if. If he stopped talking to me, it isn’t my job to figure out what his issue is. I just,” you huffed in frustration. “We’re all here, having a good time and making fools of ourselves and he’s just missing in action. Although, I bet if he did come to this party, he’d be dressed as Peter Pan, the boy who never fucking grows up.”

The boy flinched, and you wondered for a second if you had gone too far.

“That’s harsh. You should try to give him a chance, maybe he actually wants to try to get to know you, again,” he said, before drifting off like some mysterious faerie. You weren’t sure when during the conversation the girl had left, but, soon, you were standing alone. You stood there for a moment longer, wondering idly about who that guy thought he was, anyway. You finished the drink in your cup and sauntered off to find some more of that magic punch, not giving the boy in the Batman costume a second thought.

The conversation only drifted through your mind again the next morning, when you woke up, groggy and confused, on Jack’s couch. Maybe you were a little harsh, but you had given Race the benefit of the doubt, once upon a time. He had been one of your closest friends, once upon a time.

You still remembered the last proper conversation that you had had with him. You were twelve, sitting in your bedroom and playing video games, when he paused the screen and turned to you with an oddly determined look on his face. He asked if you had heard the rumour that someone was spreading around school, that you and he were dating. You said you had, still a little confused,  and he gave you this intense, unforgettable look, before asking what you thought of it all. You laughed at the idea, telling him, perhaps a little dishonestly, that it was super gross. He was like your brother, you said. You didn’t think much of it, at all. Why would he care, anyway? He had that pretty girl, Zoey. Finch had said that he had seen them holding hands at Sarah J’s party, so you didn’t want to ruin anything for him by admitting that you sometimes wished that the rumours were true. You pressed play and kicked his ass in Tekken. 

The next Monday, at school, he acted like nothing was wrong, but, after that, the pair of you started to drift apart. You stopped playing video games together, playful barbs became antagonism and, by the time you reached high school, you had nothing left of the friendship that you had once shared. It was sad, sure, but you weren’t a chaser. If Race didn’t want to be your friend, then so be it.

You didn’t think again about the conversation with Batman boy, or what you might have done wrong to get Race to hate you, until a few nights later, when you were sitting at home alone. You were trying to convince yourself to get up and get something done, maybe cook dinner or do your homework, for once, but, instead you were scrolling through your unexciting Instagram feed. You idly double tapped on a few photos, exhaled out of your nose in lieu of laughter at some stupid memes, and then you reached a picture that Albert had posted, from the weekend’s party. It was him and a couple of other boys grinning at the camera and you were about to scroll past, when you saw a familiar costume. It was yellow and black, with the tell-tale Batman logo on the front, but, this time, the wearer had the hood off. Shit. Shitshitshit. There, in the Batman costume was Anthony Higgins. You had accidentally complained about him to him. Sure, you and Race weren’t the best of friends, but you didn’t want him to think you were an asshole.

You fumbled to your contacts app and called Katherine. She’d know what to do, you were sure of it. After she had got done laughing at you, she offered you a solution: Talk to Race and apologise for what you had said. You knew, logically, that that was your only option, but you really wished that the world would end before you had to apologise to Race Higgins. You couldn’t stomach texting him and figured that you could just grab him after school the next day.

The day went by a little too fast, and, before you knew it, the bell had rung to signal the end of your last lesson. You resigned yourself to your fate and made you way to Race’s locker, which was just a few doors down from yours. He was alone, thankfully, and looked more than a little surprised to see you heading his way.

“Hey,” you tried to smile when you reached him, but you were sure it came across as more of a grimace.

“Hi,” he answered, barely looking at you as he moved books from his locker to his bag.

“Race,” you tried again, putting a hand on his forearm to stop his fairly violent rifling. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He glanced down at where your hand touched his arm and sighed, turning to you, looking a little deflated.

“Fine. What’s up?”

You took a deep breath.

“Look, I didn’t know it was you that I was saying that shit to at Jack’s. And, I know it was shitty of me to be saying that to anyone, but I didn’t mean most of it. You’re on my nerves half the time, and making fun of me the other half, but that was mean. I’m sorry.”

He looked shocked, and a little pensive.

“It’s, um. It’s okay, Y/N. It just made me kind of sad that we aren’t friends anymore. I mean, we were good together.”

He met your eyes, and you were struck by how much you had missed the way they shined when he was being sincere.

“Yeah, uh, me too. We made a good team. I miss that.”

He looked like he was going to say something else, when Albert came up behind him and put two hands on his shoulders.

“Race and Y/N? Having a civil conversation? I’m entering the lottery on the way home, because today is a day for miracles.”

Race rolled his eyes at you and you laughed.

“Fuck off, DaSilva, you’re not even old enough to get a ticket,” he said jerking the boy’s hands off his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “And you waste enough money buying coffee to flirt with Elmer at Jacobi’s.”

“Nice,” Race laughed high-fiving you, and Albert stuck his tongue out at you, before stalking off because he didn’t have a good comeback to dispute the truth.

There was a beat of silence, and before it started to get awkward, Race spoke again.

“Uh, if you’re serious about being friends again, we should hang out some time, maybe go to the arcade?”

You smiled at him, brightly.

“You sure that’s a good idea, Higgins? I’ll smoke you in ice hockey, like I always used to.”

“Uh, you wish. I’m the ice hockey king, baby.”

You punched him in the shoulder and made plans for that weekend. That had gone better than you had expected.

It wouldn’t have been true to say that you had changed your mind about Race right away. You had fun with him, from that first day at the arcade, onwards. It was still a little awkward and there was always a little tension in the room, but you worked through it. You were seniors, you could be mature, if you tried.

(Although maturity certainly seemed to be in short supply when you and Race giggled, together, at the matching sixty-nines that you got on your history pop quizzes, or when he whispered “that’s what she said” in your ear at almost every sentence that came out of Mr Bunsen’s mouth in bio.)

You didn’t hate him, not that you ever really had. You hated that, now, his stupid jokes made you laugh, because you were included in them. You hated the warmth you felt in your chest when you said something that made him laugh, and you especially hated that crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiled at you, sincere and earnest.

You, realised, gradually, that you and Race had never been enemies – you just responded to what you thought was his hate in kind. It was easier to keep roasting one another, when neither one of you broke the cycle. That conversation at the party had been a turning point, for both of you.

Although, you still seemed unable to talk about the elephant in the room. You and Race never discussed how the animosity had begun between the two of you. Bringing it up would force you both to admit how stupid you had been, and neither of you were very skilled at admitting fault. It was easier to ignore it, to dance around it, than it was to deal with it. It was on your mind more often, now.

You wondered what had really happened, because something had to have happened, right? The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. People don’t just stop being friends and turn to enemies, like flicking a switch, especially not two fiercely loyal people, like you and Race. You didn’t mention it, though, for fear that you would slip back into old habits.

You liked Race, you realised, even if the two of you were incapable of having a conversation about emotions. You grinned at one another in private moments of understanding, warm with that feeling you get when you spend time with someone who has the exact same sense of humour as you. It was really good to be his friend again, until it wasn’t.

The argument had started by accident. Race was coming over on a Thursday, after school to work on a project for history. You were determined to get better than a sixty-nine for this one, even if that was the golden number. When Race had rung the doorbell, your mum had welcomed him in, pleasantly surprised to see him. You always had a feeling that she was sadder about your losing Race than you were. She was convinced that the two of you were soulmates, even when you were kids in the playground. She called it a mum’s intuition. You called it heteronormativity, but, anyway.

She chatted his ear off as she waited for you to come downstairs, talking about how much she had missed having a boy around, and how glad she was that the two of you had patched everything up. You caught the tail end of the conversation as you made your way down the stairs.

“What ever happened between you two, anyway?” your mum had asked, innocently enough.

Race laughed uncomfortably.

“Oh, I guess she just got too busy for me. I’m glad we’re friends again, now, though.”

Your mum agreed, and you fumed. Almost as soon as you had pulled your bedroom shut behind you, you gave him A Look. He was alarmed.

“What?” he asked.

“What do you mean ‘what’? Do you seriously think it’s my fault that we stopped being friends?”

He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“Oh, about what I said to your mom? I mean, yeah, it kind of was. You stopped inviting me over or replying to my texts, so I just figured you were busy,” he sounded unsure of himself.

“You stopped talking to me, Race. Was I supposed to be super nice to you when you always acted like you’d rather be anywhere else when I was in the same room as you?”

He scoffed.

“Are you being for real? We were fine, we were doing great, and then you started hanging out with Katherine or Davey instead of me, which is fine, but it was so not my fault.”

“You pretty much begged for space that day when you asked me about the stupid rumours about us dating, or whatever!”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“I cannot believe we’re talking about this. We were twelve, we were stupid!”

“And, now, you’re deflecting,” you replied. “We were best friends, Race. I just wanna know what happened between us.”

He sighed and flopped on your bed like a petulant child. His blue eyes were stormy, and they looked familiarly intense.

“Fine, it was kind of my fault, I guess.”

You kept yourself from fist pumping.

“It’s just, I felt so stupid!” he continued.

“What do you mean?” you asked, gently, this time, sitting at his feet on the bed.

“So, that day? When I asked you about the stupid middle school rumours?”

You nodded, motioning for him to go on.

“I had the biggest crush on you, and I figured that that was your way of letting me down easy. I was like your brother, right? It sucked. And, whenever we hung out, after that, I just felt so frustrated. I was mad at me, for being stupid and catching feelings and making everything weird between us, but I guess it was easier to just lash out at you. It was dumb, but I don’t think I like anything in the world as much as I like you, you were the first person that I ever felt any anything for. It sucked.”

He scrunched his eyes shut and looked ready to disappear.

“Wait,” you said, still processing his words. “’Like’, as in, present tense?”

He sat up straight.

“I – what?”

“You said like, like present tense like, like currently like.”

He cleared his throat and his eyes scanned the room, as he searched the walls for something.

“Uh, slip of the tongue, whatever. You said like way too many times just then.”

You waved your hand. Semantics.

“Do you, um, like me, as in like-like me, present tense like me, Race?”

He sputtered for a moment, and then swallowed drily.

“I guess, it’s stupid. It kind of never went away, if you can believe it.”

You could believe it. It wasn’t hard to believe, since you could relate. He was waiting, nervously, for you to say something, but your words didn’t seem to be working. Instead of speaking, you moved across the bed, so that you were sitting next to him, both of your heads leaning against the wall.

“I, um,” you took a deep breath. “Uh, same.”

His head snapped to yours and he searched your eyes for humour. He sighed, shakily, and then let out a soft laugh.

“’Same?’ I practically confess my love to you and all you’ve got is ‘same’?”

His eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Well, what else do you want me to say?” you protested. “That I don’t hate you? That I never wanted to hate you? I just figured that you didn’t want to be my friend, anymore.”

“God. We are idiots.”

“Yep,” you agreed.

You sat in silence for a moment, letting the realisation of what you had just admitted wash over you. Race suddenly turned to you.

“So, what happens now?”

You shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. You weren’t sure what you were nervous about now, but the tumble of feelings in your stomach insisted that looking at Race’s eyes would ruin you, so you stared at the white wall in front you.

“Because,” he said, putting a hand on your knee like he was bracing himself. “I kinda wanna make out with you, like, romantically?”

A laugh bubbled out of you and you turned to him, finally. You had been wrong, before, about the consequences of meeting his eyes. They weren’t storm-blue anymore. They were blue like the sky on a sunny a day. They were blue like the ocean, when you’ve spent months away from the sea. They were a sight to behold.

You turned your whole body to face him and gently slipped a hand to the back of his neck, playing with the blonde curls there. You leaned into him, and just before your lips met his, you muttered a word, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Same.”

You leaned in and kissed him, with years’ worth of hidden feelings, and he smiled against your lips. You pulled away after a bit and looked at his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, but they were as blue as ever. You wondered how you had ever pretended to dislike eyes as beautiful as his.

 TAGLIST: @bencookisagod @broadwayandbookblog @theygivesyawhateveryouwant @crazymecjc

[nobravery]

The Neighbor — Part. I

a Shawn Mendes Series.

Requested: No.

A/N: Finally I’m posting something. I was inspired at the very beginning but I believe that it’s getting worse and worse this story, rip it’s completely unrealistic whereas I always write in a way as realistic as possible. But never mind, I had fun. It’s always a pleasure for me to write. Also big shoutout to @babyshawwn because she’s the Queen of the Fics, and @illumendes my fav cunt who told me to go on. Ah, and @saysweartogod for your name.

WordCount: 3,815

Two weeks later. It was almost midday. That day, the sun didn’t put in an appearance, but it wasn’t raining for all that. It was just kinda cloudy. y/n was working on her classes in her bedroom, while Emily was keeping an eye on the spaghetti carbonara, reading some school books and with music in her headphones. Both were very concentrating, when y/n thought she heard someone knocking at the door. She didn’t hear anything more, so she shrugged her shoulders and plunged back into her sheets of paper. But she heard the knock again. So she frowned, before calling Emily from her bedroom. Obviously the latter didn’t hear whatever, but y/n ignored that. « Emily, someone’s knocking, go and answer the door! she yelled a little louder. » No answer from Emily. Emily, I’m going to kill you, she thought. Then she stood up, came out of her bedroom and quickened her step; entering the living-room, she immediately saw Emily who acted as if nothing was happening. But when she saw y/n, she removed her headphones quickly. « Hey y/n, is there a prob? – Yeah, I called you like two or three times but obviously you didn’t hear, I understand why now. Someone’s knocking at the door, y/n informed eventually. – Ah? Who’s this? the other inquired. – I don’t know, I’ll get it. » So straight away y/n rushed to the door, not wanting the person on the doorway to wait even more. She unlocked it, pressed the handle and finally opened the door. The guy in front of her was so tall that she had to raise her head to look at him. His hair was brown, curly, nicely done and looked very soft. Clad in a white tshirt, he was smiling at y/n; his teeth were perfectly lined up and as white as his tshirt. His mandible was well-traced as well and she could guess that his zygomatic bone was too. Hands in his jeans pockets, his brown eyes were looking at her, and she noticed it a few seconds later. « Hum, hello? she managed to say finally with a smile. How may I help you? » Then she heard Emily who was still in the kitchen saying something like « Who’s that? ». Meanwhile, the guy was smiling even more. « Well, I’m your new neighbor and I didn’t have the time at all to buy sugar. I was wondering if you had some. » The young girl was gazing out at him, and frowned weakly at a moment, but still smiling. « Yeah, we have sugar for sure. Come in, don’t stay outside the door. » So the guy complied and immediately Emily joined them near the entrance. « Hello! the newcomer said. What’s up there? – Euh… » Definitely y/n was looking for his name that she didn’t know yet, turning her forefinger in circles and pressing her lips together. « Oh sorry. Shawn. I’m Shawn, he saved her eventually. I was wondering if you had some sugar, he explained to Emily. » y/n approved with a nod, while her friend had her eyes wide open, meaning she understood. « Okay, Shawn, I’ll get it, I’ll get you what you want. » She dashed towards the little cupboard above the sink, and finally grabbed the sugar. She rejoined the two others after. « Here is it, she declared, holding the sugar box out to Shawn. » He took it right away, and he thanked her with a smile. « I’m Emily. And this is y/n who let you in. – Nice to meet you, he greeted. Have you been longer here? » Emily and y/n looked each other in the eyes, then y/n finally replied. « No, we’ve been here for a little more than two weeks. We just settled. – We’re there for studies, added her flatmate. For a year. We’re not even from Canada. – Wow, I see, and what do you study? Do you enjoy Toronto? » As Emily was going to have a quick look at the spaghetti before she could forget them, she let y/n and Shawn carried on the conversation. « Criminology is our major, Anthropology our minor. Both are interesting. » With that, Emily who was still hearing what her bestie said, came back a few seconds later. « We do enjoy Toronto, she continued, although we don’t know everything yet. But the vibe looks cool there. – Yeah it is, the young boy simply answered. » All three had been talking for two little minutes about Canada and especially Toronto and U of T, before the time when Shawn announced that he had to leave. He greeted his neighbors, having a final talk with them and finally joined the door; the girls went with him. « Hope to see you soon! he called once he crossed the doorstep. – Obviously, you live just nearby, Emily replied. – Yes, true but I’m leaving soon. – Vacation? questioned y/n. » Shawn laughed a bit then smiled. « Not really, but let’s consider that yes. – Oh okay, well, Emily said. When will you leave? – In four or five days. – Fine, I hope you’ll enjoy! » He smiled by way of thanks, told his two neighbors that he will go past again to give them back the sugar box and a few seconds after, he got back to his door and returned home. The girls, who just closed their door, could hear his one shut. While y/n was on her way to set the table for lunch, her friend had still her hand leaning against the door, thinking. « You’re coming? y/n asked her. Lunch is ready right now! » Emily complied and finally took a seat opposite her best friend who was serving them with pasta. Then y/n immediately noticed that she was kinda preoccupied. « What are you thinking about? she inquired when she took a seat as well. » Emily chewed before answering. « I don’t know, didn’t you have a feeling of déjà-vu? I mean, when you saw the guy. – Ah, Shawn? No, why? I should have? This is absurd, Em, we don’t know anybody here. Moreover I don’t know any Shawn. » Nevertheless y/n was thinking about what her flatmate said, in vain, when the latter replied to her. « I know that, me neither, but I’ve the impression that I’ve already seen him somewhere. Never mind, I’m probably too tired. »

An hour later, the two girls were playing a game of chess on the table when they heard a knock at the door. « This must be Shawn. I’ll get it again, declared y/n. » Emily nodded. Meanwhile, the other reached the door and opened it. Indeed, it was Shawn on the doorstep, the sugar box in his hand. « I didn’t want to bother you earlier, so here I am. Thanks for the sugar, he said, giving it back to y/n. – You’re welcome, we can help each other, among neighbors. » They smiled at each other. « By the way, maybe you already know it but it’s Canada Day in two days, I’m going to celebrate it with some friends, I wanted to know if you wanted to join us, if you don’t mind, of course. » At the time, the young girl said nothing, because she didn’t know what to answer, quite simply. So she called Emily out and the latter came, practically straight away. « What’s going on? Is everything okay? » Then y/n beckoned to Shawn to repeat what he had said just before, so he did it, asking again in front of the two flatmates. When y/n seemed hesitant about accepting, and unlike her Emily looked completely in. « Hey, come on! she encouraged. Let’s have fun for once. » y/n thought a bit, rolled her eyes and finally she gave in. « Well, Shawn spoke, I’m delighted you have accepted, I’ll see you in two days so! » Then they said goodbye to each other and all of them returned to their respective apartments. Emily and y/n went back to their seats and to their game of chess. « It’ll be cool, we will have fun in two days, Em said as her mate was focusing on the game. – Hum hum, yes! she replied while moving one of her two knights. I guess so. » In actual fact, y/n wasn’t the one who had often parties — which didn’t mean that she didn’t like parties —, contrary to her best friend, who had always said that y/n didn’t know how to have fun whereas it was actually wrong, and who never missed the opportunity to live it up and to hook up with some guys during parties. But this didn’t stop Emily from being as serious and invested as y/n when it came to studies. Both were rather intellectual; indeed their favourite places ever had always been libraries, places full of books at least. Besides, they had met each other for the very first time in a library. « Checkmate, Em, she declared a few minutes later. – What? How’s that? No? Already? » She looked for another move to do, but she found nothing. « Checkmate, y/n repeated with a smile and amusedly this time. » Emily murmured something which looked like a « Too bad », and asked to take a revenge on her, but she lost one more time. « You should tell me how you can do that. You just checkmated in six moves. – Girl, you know I’ve been playing chess for ages. I’ll teach you one day. » Em smiled, while y/n was putting away the chess set in a storage drawer. Then she retraced her steps and went back to her bestie. « I think I’m going to– – Library? » y/n sighed loudly, rolling her eyes out of despair. « Not at all, let me finish my sentence. I’m going to buy blank sheets and I’ll try to find some cool postcards for my family. You’re coming? » But the other didn’t answer; she was smiling widely. It was a mocking and mischievous smile. « What? Why are you smiling like that? Did I say something funny? » Emily continued to smile in the same way as before. « Nothing special. I was wondering… – Hm? » She finally burst out laughing, making y/n, who was preparing her stuff to go outside, frowned. « You know, the neighbor… Shawn… He’s rather cute, uh? Do you think he’s currently single? » y/n let her billfold down, with the element of surprise. « What? I don’t know, Em, I don’t care about that, it is not our business– – Hm hm, you still love bets and challenges? – That doesn’t change actually, said y/n. » Even though she was rather a good loser usually, she was afraid of what her friend could say about Shawn. Emily was the kind of person who could challenged the others to do everything and anything. But it was always harebrained ideas. « What if one of us tried to get off with him for Canada Day? It could be funny. » y/n shook her head straight away, which meant no. « Certainly not, I decline this. But you can. That’s your genre to do this, not really mine. I’m the one who wants serious things. » Emily shrugged her shoulders. « You’re not funny, y/n. But okay, I’ll try during his party in two days, she explained. That could be really fun. – Obviously. One more on your list of conquests, her flatmate replied in a sigh, taking her bag. » They looked each other in the eyes; Emily’s one were full of challenge. « You’re crazy, Em, the other added. He might have a girlfriend who’s just next door and we don’t even know about it. You’ll see blurry when we’ll arrive and when he’ll say something like “and this is blablabla, my girlfriend”. » Her best friend shrugged her shoulders again, and then y/n asked her again if she wanted to go outside with her. Em declined, wanted to study a little. So with that, her friend went to the door, unlocked it, opened it and shut it again behind her. She was now in the corridor. She walked right up to the grey metal elevator, pressed the button to call it and then turned her gaze on the floor in an automatic way. The elevator arrived at her floor few seconds after, and its doors opened. When she raised her head again, she found someone who was familiar to her inside the lift, in front of her. « Hey, y/n! You’re going for a walk? – Hello again, Shawn, she replied while they inverted their positions, and she pressed the button that allowed to keep the elevator doors open. Yeah, last-minute shopping. » They talked for about five good minutes, about everything and nothing, whereas they had already talked together earlier. He asked about Em, what she was doing at the moment, what they haven’t discovered in Toronto yet. Also he questioned if both of them were still in for Canada Day. « Of course, she confirmed. We both are. That will be great. Thank you. » Shawn smiled at her, his hand pressing against the wall. His hands. y/n noticed how large they were. « Okay, I’m gonna let you go so, he finally declared. » After saying goodbye to each other, the elevator led y/n to the first floor and she left the building.

Many hours later, it was about a quarter past five, y/n just returned to the condo. She had spent a lot of time at a library in the centre, after buying what she had to buy. She had got lost in books and hadn’t pay attention to the time. She crossed the doorstep, and entered the apartment. « Hey, y/n, finally! Where were you? » Emily was sitting on the sofa, reading a whodunnit. « I did what I had to do, and as you can guess, I went to a library! It was very huge. You should have come, you missed something dude! – Ah? You’ll show me next time so. » After putting down her bag and stuff, y/n sat next to Em on the couch. The latter put her book on the living-room table, and the newcomer told her everything in details about what she saw in town, how the library and stores were… And eventually she told her that she passed Shawn as she went to the lift. Emily didn’t really comment about it. « You should have come with me outside if you wanted to pass him. If you want to catch his eye… – Yeah, patience… » y/n smiled at Em, who gave it back to her.

The following day, y/n just woke up. It was already twenty past ten. It was unusual for her to wake up at this time, because she was rather an early bird. For once, it was Em who was awake first, because when she came to the kitchen, she had already breakfast. « Hey y/n, her friend called her, what’s up? This is the first time you’re the second one to wake up. – Nothing much, I don’t know. There’s a first time for everything in life. » Actually, she didn’t sleep well. And Emily knew why. « You’re still thinking about Chris? she ventured. » y/n flinched and winced when she heard this name. « Yeah, maybe. I don’t want to talk about this. About him. » This guy, Christopher, was y/n’s ex with whom she had been for almost two years. She was really in love with him, and she thought it was mutual. But the day which had marked their breakup was the one when she had found out that he was cheating on her with a girl she had always hated, and that for several weeks. And the worst was that both were still dating, while it had been already nine months since the split-up. « Don’t even think about him and his slut anymore, Emily recommended to her while pouring her cereals into her milk again. They’re not worth you giving them attention. » y/n approved with a simple « hum », while eating some French toasts and drinking her milk. She was just trying to hold back her tears. « I know this ain’t easy, Em carried on, but you have to try. They’re toxic. You mustn’t think about these assholes. – I know, Em, her bestie retorted. And you’re totally right. »

Two hours later, Emily had gone into town in her turn, but y/n didn’t want to go outside for the day, feeling a little tired this morning. Em should be back very soon. y/n was watching TV, when someone knocked at the door. Surely Em, she thought. She didn’t hurry over answering the door, dragging her feet. She opened the door eventually. It wasn’t Em. It was Shawn. Again. « Heya, Shawn, how may I help you? – Hey, y/n. Is Emily there? – No, she’s in town. You can wait inside if you have to see and talk to her. » He frowned, which surprised the young girl. « What? she asked. » He grinned weakly. « Actually I wanted to see you. » So she pressed her hand on her clavicule. It was always the sign that she was nervous; nobody knew, except herself and Emily, obviously. « Oh. I’m listening. You want to? she suggested him, inviting him to enter. – No, it won’t be very long. » Shawn was staring at his feet, and finally he raised his head, looking his neighbor in the eyes. « I wanted to ask you something, actually. y/n… » The latter flinched for the second time in a morning. What did he have in mind? Did she do something? Did she say something? Thousands thoughts crossed her mind in one millisecond. She was looking at him. She got lost in his eyes. He was so neutral, and usually she could perceive what people thought and how their emotions were reflected through their eyes. But this time, she couldn’t perceive anything about him. Because his eyes weren’t talking.

A/N: So here was Part. I. I’ll try to post a Part. II very soon whether you want it or not lmao, idk when exactly, given that I haven’t written the end yet lmao I don’t even know how to end the story so rip me but I’ll find, don’t worry lol. As usual, any feedback is appreciated and welcome, it’s always a pleasure to know your opinion, etc.

[valencing]

hockey opus part two

dear @disarmd, it is i, your esteemed hockey bnf. last week, i started writing hockey fic based exclusively on your brilliant and inspiring primer/prompt post. as we discussed, any additional hockey knowledge would only interfere with my Art. for example, you wrote: 

this is connor mcdavid… he was like super extra special talented, got given Extraordinary status (like as an official designation) so that he could play with kids much older than him, and then they called him McJESUS and expected him to SAVE THE OILERS…so like you’re young and talented and everyone has crazy expectations like CRAZY and he’s like “okay, like i do want to be the best, but obviously that is a lot of pressure but it’s fine i’m… fine.” Saviour!! Pressure!! Try hard!! 

this is dylan strome. he’s like not that good in the face just if we’re being super honest, so i chose a picture where you can’t see his face…he was drafted the same year as connor and they played together on the OHL team SO THAT’S LIKE STEVE AND BUCKY, BASICALLY, aaaaand just like with Steve and Bucky, AND ON AN EQUALLY SERIOUS LEVEL, while Connor has gone on to do GREAT (like this year he has the most points scored of anyone in the whole entire league at this very moment), Dylan Strome was DRAFTED AND THEN SENT BACK DOWN TO THE AHL (like the minors) because he’s not a good enough skater and BASICALLY EQUAL TO BEING KIDNAPPED AND TORTURED BY HYDRA, THAT’S AN OBJECTIVE FACT…So Dylan is s u f f e r i n g...but like!!!! being surpassed by your bff. mAYBE A DARK SPIRAL? maybe someone needs to be saved. maybe it’s connor who crumbles under the pressure and needs to be saved!!! so many things!!!! 

which tells me all i need to know to write connor/dylan. here's the fic, in faithful accordance with your vision, not to mention content warnings for alcohol, depression, violence, and suicidal ideation. 

*

The first time Connor maybe saw Dylan again, he was in a cab on his way home from an afterparty. He'd started levitating a few inches off the ice halfway through the game and then scored literally hundreds of points. As a result, he'd had kind of a lot to drink at the party, which was why it seemed likely that Dylan wasn't really there.

Connor's cab was stopped at a light when he heard something outside in the street. It sounded like Dylan saying "There you are!" but in kind of a mean way. Dylan was his friend. His best friend. His––never mind. Connor would know that voice anywhere. But he hadn't heard it since that terrible day when he and Dylan were torn apart. When they took Dylan away. 

Filled with a sudden, desperate hope, Connor lowered the window and peered out into the darkness. Dylan was wearing a uniform Connor didn't recognize. He didn't look too friendly.

"NHL," snarled Dylan. "Oiler. Watch out."

"Dylan?" Connor didn't understand, but he stretched out a hand to his buddy anyway.

"I'll kill you," said Dylan. Then the light turned green and Connor, helplessly, left him behind.

*

"It wasn't him," said Connor's original character teammate Joey, when Connor told him what happened. "Come on, bro. Dylan's in the AHL now. We're never gonna see him again."

"You don't know that!" Connor said. "Sometimes people get out…I've heard stories."

"Santa Claus ain't real, pal," said Joey.  "Now listen…how many points are you gonna rack up tonight? One thousand? Two thousand?"

Being reminded of the game made Connor's heart sink. That was the problem with hockey. First you played a game, then they made you play another game. Sometimes weird shit happened on the ice, like the players on the other team would temporarily turn into swine or whatever, and people would go nuts as if Connor did it on purpose.

"What if I didn't score at all? What would happen then?" Connor tried to keep his voice steady.

Joey just laughed loudly and slapped him on the back. "Good thing we'll never know."

Connor closed his eyes. Only one person had ever seen him as a full person and not just a hockey saviour. "Oh, Dylan," he whispered. "I miss you."

*

"And the winner is CONnorrrrrr McDAAAAAAAvid," said the announcer after Connor scored the final goal of the game. "McDavid five THOUSAND points, Other Guys ZERO."

"Oilers five thousand points," called Connor, but the shouts in the arena were already drowning him out.

"CONNOR! CONNOR! CONNOR!"

"Oilers! Oilers! Oilers!" mumbled Connor, but it was no use. He skated slowly and extraordinarily over to his teammates.

"Nice work, McDavid," said Joey. "Guess we'll let you stay on the team for now. Haha!"

"Good move with the flock of doves," said Connor's coach. "That really got in their faces."

The doves had just randomly appeared, like all the other inexplicable crap that started happening after he and Dylan began playing for different teams. "That wasn't me," said Connor.

"You don't have to pretend around us," said Coach. "We know who you are."

"Who?" asked Connor, trying to follow.

Coach winked. "Let's just say we're all counting on you. Canada is counting on––"

The sound of machine gun fire cut him off. "Get down!" Connor yelled. He hurled himself on top of several of his teammates to protect them. The shots were coming closer and closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see black skates, clomping closer and closer, cracking the ice with every step. Connor looked up. It was––

"Dylan?"

"Shut up!" Dylan growled. He stamped down on the ice again and took aim.

"No, Dylan!" Connor yelled. "Shoot me first!"

A shot rang out, and Coach fell. Drops of blood hit the ice and froze. Connor crawled over to Coach. He was still breathing. Connor pressed his hand to what seemed like an unimpressive shoulder wound and looked up at Dylan. A mask obscured half his face. Dylan had always been a little insecure about his looks.

"You don't have to do this, bro!" Connor said.

"I do though," said Dylan. He whipped out a knife. But at that moment, there rose a mighty storm, and the wind blew Dylan back across the ice, and Dylan fell, because he wasn't a good enough skater, and then the wind lifted him up and bore him away.

"That wasn't me," said Connor immediately, because all his teammates were staring at him like what the fuck.

The medics were converging on them. Coach groaned softly.

Joey said, "Do we have to cancel tomorrow's game now? Justin Trudeau and Queen Elizabeth were gonna come."

Connor felt a stress headache coming on.

Coach grimaced as he was loaded onto the stretcher. "Gotta figure out what's going on. No game. We'll take a week off."

Connor's headache lifted. A week off! All of a sudden it felt like there was more oxygen in the arena. "Thanks, Dylan," he whispered gratefully. Then he saw how everyone was looking at him. "Sarcasm! I was being sarcastic."

"If that was your buddy, he's a goddamn psycho," Joey said. 

"Good point," Connor agreed. Dylan always did have his back.

*

During the investigation, no one had to go to hockey practice. Connor kept his phone off so he wouldn't have to talk to anyone. Once he tried to leave his house but when he looked up from the front porch, an airplane was skywriting WHAT WOULD MCJESUS DO overhead, so Connor decided to go back inside.

By the second day, Connor was getting worried about letting everyone down, so he went into his workout room to do his hockey exercises. Sooner or later the break would be over and he'd have to be in top form so no one would get mad at him. Just thinking about messing up on the ice made him feel sick to his stomach. It was almost a relief when Dylan crashed through the window, tackled him from behind, and rolled them over and over until they came to a stop by the treadmill with Dylan on top.

Connor reached up to pull at Dylan's mask. Dylan glared at him. "Oh, Dylan," said Connor. "To me you are beautiful."

Dylan let Connor pull the mask off. His face was gaunt. He looked like the ghost of the man Connor once knew.

"Bro…what have they done to you?"

"Everything," said Dylan hoarsely. 

"Was it the AHL?"

"Ssshh," said Dylan, looking from side to side as if someone else was listening. "I can't trust you. You're the target."

"I'm Connor!" said Connor. "Don't you know me?"

"I only know suffering," said Dylan. "That and death. Nothingness. The void." He looked searchingly into Connor's eyes.

Something about what Dylan was saying sounded appealing. "They don't play hockey in the void, do they?"

"No," Dylan growled. "They don't."

"Good," said Connor. "Take me there."

"What?"

"Deliver me," said Connor. "I'm ready." He smiled up at Dylan and waited for his final release. How lucky he was, to leave this terrible world. How grateful he was to go with Dylan's body pressed close to his.

Dylan raised his knife. At that moment a gentle breeze wafted the scent of flowers into the room, along with the sweet sound of distant harmonies. Dylan blinked down at Connor in confusion. The knife dropped from his hand. "Connor? Davo, is that you?"

"Duh," said Connor. "Of course it's me."

"Oh my god, Davo," babbled Dylan. "I dunno what I was doing. Did I hurt you?"

"No," said Connor sadly. It looked like he wasn't going to be murdered by his true love after all.

"I'm so sorry, bro. I'm gonna show you how sorry." And then Dylan's mouth was on Connor's, and it was almost everything Connor had ever wanted. Dylan kissed him desperately, touching him everywhere as if trying to make sure he was still whole. "I can't believe I almost destroyed your hockey career," he whispered. "I can't believe I almost ruined Canada."

"Not your fault," Connor muttered.

"Now you can still save the Oilers!" said Dylan. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying," said Connor. "Everything is fine."

THE END