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nordschleifes · 11 months

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chapter two — moscow mule

➝ after two intense days, fernando decides to take his racing team to a tapas bar. charlie considers staying at the hotel, but something tells her that if she doesn't go, she might seem unfriendly. little does she know that that night will show her a completely different side of fernando.

➝ word count: 5,9k

➝ warnings: mentions of sexual harrassment, therapy session

➝ author's note: yeah, it will be a chapter a day around here. tagging @christianpulisic10 and @alonsogirlie as requested. enjoy!

Charlie felt a little uncomfortable as she followed after her colleagues down the cobbled street. It wasn't that she was the only woman in the group, or that they were going out drinking on a Tuesday; it was because of who made the plans to go out to a bar in Jerez de la Frontera.

Fernando's invitation didn't surprise Charlie, given his attitude lately. Fernando, even beyond treating her with more respect than in their McLaren-Honda days, seemed interested in developing some kind of friendship with her. At first, she thought he was teasing her, the way he asked her so many questions. That is, until the previous Thursday.

She was in her office at the factory, sitting at her workstation, drinking a cup of lemon ginger tea, and watching an onboard video of Fernando in Bahrain when she heard Fernando’s voice down the hallway. Charlie knew that he was coming over to the factory almost every day at that point for video and photo shoots for the marketing department, and for simulator sessions.

Turning her eyes back to the screen, which showed Fernando making a wide line to avoid the raised curb at the apex of turn eight, Charlie took another sip of tea as she tried to ignore his approach.

— Hi, Charlie — he greeted her, leaning against the wall of her cubicle. His hair looked damp and was sticking up at strange angles. “He must have been in the simulator”, Charlie thought.

— Hi — she murmured, pulling her headphones down to hang around her neck.

— What are you watching there?

— Your race in Bahrain last year — Charlie said, setting her teacup down on the desk. He crouched down beside her, one arm resting on her desk.

— Cute cat — Fernando said. It took her by surprise, and she glanced over to him. His eyes were fixed on the photo of Ron that was pinned just below her race season calendar — I had one, once.

Charlie raised an eyebrow.

— You did?

— Yes, her name was Cleo. Linda liked cats and wanted one to keep her company.

— What happened? Did she die?

— Linda?

— Of course not, I'm talking about the cat.

— No, no, she's doing very well. She’s with Linda in — he paused for a few seconds — Argentina, I guess. Linda took her after we broke up.

There was a moment of awkward silence between them.

— Do you miss her?

— Linda?

Charlie shot a sidelong glance at Fernando, making it obvious she didn’t care about his ex-girlfriend.

— Oh, Cleo. Well, a little, but deep down, I've always preferred dogs. More active, you know.

— Yeah.

There was another moment of awkward silence as Fernando continued gazing at the photo of the orange cat. Through Charlie’s headphones, the sound of the Renault engine drowned out the other conversations across the office.

— What's its name? — Fernando finally broke the silence.

— Its name?

— Your cat. What's its name?

Charlie pursed her lips, realizing what he was trying to do. He was trying to get close to her, create some camaraderie, or worse, strike up some sort of friendship. “This is just a dirty trick”, she thought, shifting in her chair.

— It doesn’t matter — she replied, dryly.

— But I told you about my cat.

— You mean your ex-girlfriend's cat, right?

— We adopted her together, so she was my cat too.

Charlie sighed, running a hand over her face before looking up at him again.

— Look, I was over here preparing your first race of the season, and you came over here bothering me about my cat. If you don't have any input on racing in Bahrain, I strongly recommend you go find someone else to bother.

— I just asked you your cat's name...

— And I can only imagine what you want with that, so please go bother the IT guys and let me get back to work.

Fernando sighed and stood up. He was staring at the cubicle wall again, but at a different point than before.

— Will you at least tell me your father's name? — he asked, pointing to the photo of her next to a man tinkering with a dismantled engine sitting on a table

— His name is Jamie. And he is not my father.

— No?

— He’s my grandfather. Now, go away.

Fernando pursed his lips and turned around, mumbling “have a nice day” as he left. Charlie put her headphones back on and tried to concentrate on the video she’d been watching again. However, her coldness did not cause Fernando to give up, quite the contrary. It seemed that Charlie's reluctance to interact with him made him try even harder to get closer to her, to breach the walls she’d put up for him. Little did Charlie know that he would eventually succeed.

It happened on a two-day trip to Jerez, Spain, for annual tyre testing for Pirelli. Fernando had taken the entirety of the first day of testing, while Lance would take the second. It was tiring to spend a whole day at the circuit, but Charlie thought it was better than alternating half-days like Mercedes had planned to.

— Fernando — Charlie called, waving him over to the pit wall. He was talking to Edoardo, one of his physiotherapists, and made a gesture with his hand that looked like a phone back to him as he walked over the pit lane. He tied the sleeves of his green race overalls around his waist, leaving his white fireproof undershirt visible. Charlie couldn’t help but notice the way it was sticking to his skin.

— Yeah? — he asked, causing Charlie to notice where her eyes were. She swallowed hard and scrambled to remember what she wanted to talk to him about, blurting out a question instead.

— Are there any problems?

He smiled.

— Well, my sister said she would be here to watch testing, but she missed her flight, so we were trying to get her re-booked to try and get her here this afternoon.

Charlie nodded, looking again at the computer screen in front of her, trying to find the telemetry that she remembered that she wanted to discuss with him. However, Fernando had other ideas.

— Do you have siblings?

— In theory — she muttered.

— What do you mean, ‘in theory’?

Charlie sighed and rolled her eyes.

— I have two younger brothers, but I think I've seen them two or three times in my entire life, so…

— You were raised by your grandparents.

Charlie glanced at him, a bit startled by how he’d deduced that.

— How did you know that? — she asked quietly.

— It was more of a guess, since you have a picture with your grandfather in the office — he said, leaning his elbow on the pit wall’s rail — What about your father?

— I don’t know who he is — Charlie replied.

— But, how? — he asked. He sounded almost indignant at the idea — Your mother…

— My mother never told me who my father is, as she said that she doesn't like to “remember the mistakes of her youth” — she said, trying to tamp down the irritation in her voice — Now we can concentrate on your telemetry and not about who fucked my mother?

Fernando smiled like he was trying to stifle a giggle.

— As you wish — he said, resting his hand on his hip and turning his attention to the screen.

The day of testing seemed endless, with Pirelli technicians insisting that they test all available compounds and asking for feedback on their performance. The fact that Fernando was also in the process of adapting to the car didn't make Charlie's task any easier, because he also wanted feedback on the times he was doing and where he could improve his lap times.

However, after 130 laps and a rather uncomfortable journey back to the hotel, she was excited to have a shower, lie in bed, and read the book she had brought with her — an autobiography of an actress who discussed the relationship with her mother. It had been a suggestion from Hannah, her therapist, as a way for them to begin exploring issues surrounding Charlie's upbringing, and from what she'd read on the flight to Jerez, it was a very good place to start.

However, Fernando thought it would be a good idea to take the team to an authentic Spanish bar as a way for him to get to know everyone better. And, if she knew her colleagues, they would never turn down a chance to relax and drink, especially with a two-time Formula 1 world champion picking up the tab.

— And you, Charlie? — the driver asked, smiling — Are you coming with us?

— No, thank you.

— Why not?

— I just think there are better ways to enjoy my night than watching you get drunk with your mechanics and having to drag you back to your hotel at the end of the night.

He laughed.

— First, it's Checo who likes to get drunk, not me. But I understand the confusion, since we both speak Spanish and for you Brits, we are all the same.

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but Fernando continued.

— Second, I'm pretty sure I don't need anyone to drag me back to the hotel unless they have a very good reason to. And finally, it seems like you need to relax. This is your chance.

— I'm fine, thanks — she murmured, looking out the window of the briefing room, crossing her arms.

— I can see that — he said. He clearly wasn’t convinced — We’ll meet in the lobby at eight.

As the group walked through the streets, following Fernando, Charlie ruminated on the fact that the driver seemed to know that she would change her mind and join the group in the hotel lobby. She’d prepared a lame excuse, and could feel her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but to Fernando’s credit, he didn’t rub it in her face. All he said was that he was grateful that he had his entire team there.

The procession squeezed its way down narrow streets, everyone chatting and laughing as they walked. Charlie condemned herself for not bringing a jacket or jumper, feeling chilled in the late February air. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Fernando led the group to a dark wooden door, opening it to let everyone else in ahead of him. Charlie glanced at the sign affixed to the wood as she stepped inside.

— Tabanco La Pandilla — she said softly. The scent of sweet wine and something that reminded her of the ocean filled her nostrils, and the interior of the bar reminded Charlie strongly of typical English pubs, though with undoubtedly Spanish features in the architecture and the decor. The walls were covered in vintage posters for bullfights and black and white photos from around Jerez, elegant handwriting in the corners of them indicating the place and date they were taken.

— Charlie — someone called out. She looked away from the photo she was poring over and she saw Raúl sitting in a corner — Come sit here.

As she approached the table, she realized that there weren’t many vacant chairs to choose from, since Mikey and the mechanics were already occupying most of them. Almost all of them, apparently, as she had chosen the one that Jimmy, the team’s social media admin, had already claimed.

— That one is free — the mechanic said, pointing to the sole remaining empty chair.

It was the one right next to Fernando.

Heaving a sigh, she made her way over to the chair, settling down silently with a serious expression on her face. Charlie could feel Fernando’s eyes on her, which made her feel unsettled. She pulled her cell phone from her purse and looked at it in an effort to distract herself.

— You know it's not very polite to be on your cell phone when you're out with friends, right? — a male voice murmured beside her. When he looked up, he found Fernando with a small smile on his face.

— I was checking the time.

— Do you have other plans later on?

— What if I do? — Charlie asked.

— I'm happy to keep an eye on the time so you can enjoy your evening — he replied, holding up his left wrist. He showed her the royal blue watch he was wearing, with a large square face, outlined in yellow. Inside, there were three bands in red, yellow and blue, which were the base of the hands, while all the black and silver internal gears were visible behind the face.

— A Richard Mille? — she asked. She would recognize his watches anywhere. When she was with McLaren, the brand signed a sponsorship deal with the team. It obliged all of the trackside staff to wear the watches given by them, a special model with the orange strap and black dial.

— Yes, RM 67-02 — Fernando said with a smile — Richard designed it exclusively for me, based on the colors of my helmet. We even partnered up last year and developed one based on the armor worn by the Samurai…

— It's awful — Charlie said, dryly, cutting him off.

— What? — he said, shocked.

— Let's face it, Richard Milles are terrible watches. They’re over-the-top, you can hardly read the dials, they’re huge and heavy on your wrist, and a lot of them look like children’s toys anyway, which, considering how expensive they are... They’re all flash and no substance.

— I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to disagree with you...

— As always — she murmured.

— Richard's designs are well thought out and not at all cluttered, plus the colors are really nice and the size seems ideal to me.

— You never had to wear that awful watch he made for McLaren — Charlie replied.

— Of course I did. We all got one of those in 2017, don't you remember?

She was about to respond when one of the owners of the place approached the table. He was a middle-aged man with graying hair and a wide, excited smile on his face.

— ¡Bienvenidos a nuestro tabanco! ¡Es un honor recibirlos aquí! — the man said. Fernando smiled at him politely.

— Les agradecemos por estar disponibles para recibirnos hoy — Fernando said — Tenemos muchas ganas de experimentar lo que tienes para nosotros hoy.

— Oh, estoy seguro de que les gustará lo que tenemos para esta noche. ¿Podemos empezar con las bebidas?

Raúl translated for the man — the owner, apparently — and everyone started to place their orders. After taking orders for a variety of beers and a shot or two of the famous Andalusian sherry, the man glanced at her.

— Y la señorita, ¿qué desea?

— He wants to know what you want — Fernando said.

Looking up at the man with the notebook in his hand, Charlie smiled.

— A Moscow mule would be excellent.

Suddenly, she heard laughter next to her.

— A Moscow mule? Charlie, you know you're in a tabanco, don't you? — Fernando said.

— Of course I do, I saw the sign.

— Then… You should know they don't have those kinds of drinks.

— What kind?

— You know, girly drinks.

Charlie clenched her jaw and pursed her lips, feeling rage creep up the back of her neck like a tingling wave under her skin. “Don't let him get inside your head”, Charlie recalled Lewis telling her. It was a mantra that she repeated sometimes when dealing with Fernando, a plea that she not lose control and slap him across the face.

But then, Fernando decided to provoke her one last time.

— If you don't know what to order, I can recommend a bar that's more to your tastes, one that has those kinds of girly cocktails.

Before Charlie realized what she was doing, she stood up abruptly and stormed away from the table, the protests of her colleagues becoming distant to her ears. Her throat felt tight and her eyes burned. Once again, he had disparaged her, calling the things she liked feminine, insinuating they were lesser, suggesting that she didn’t fit in.

As Charlie walked away from the bar, down the dimly lit street, tears began to stream down her face. She felt anger consuming her as she cursed at herself for not having some sort of comeback for Fernando, for not putting him in his place. She should have slapped him. Or even better yet, she should have called Mike and quit her job on the spot. She thought about what it would take for Fernando to be fired, realizing it would take something incredibly serious, nothing short of literal murder, more likely.

— Stupid, stupid, stupid — Charlie muttered, as she continued walking down the street. She’d gone a fair distance before realizing that she had no idea where she was going. At some point she would have to get to the hotel. She glanced down at her phone, trying to open a map, until she walked into something.

She looked up from her phone and realized that she’d run into the back of a man, standing and chatting to two other men. They looked like they were in their twenties. They were each wearing jeans and puffer jackets. They were each holding a bottle of beer, and reeked of cheap cologne, booze, and cigarettes. As she stared at them, the man Charlie had bumped into smiled at her, but it was not a kind smile — it was a smile that made Charlie’s skin crawl and her stomach churn.

— Miren lo que tenemos aquí — the man said, taking a swig from his bottle — ¿Estás sola, princesa?

Charlie took a step back and tried to swallow down her nerves. She had no idea what he said, or what to say in response. She knew very little Spanish, limited to a few greetings and how to count to ten, whatever she’d picked up from being with Carlos Sainz when he was with McLaren. The man repeated himself as Charlie visibly hesitated, stepping closer to her.

— ¿Qué es, princesa? ¿El gato te comió la lengua?

— Debe ser sorda, Pablo — the man on the right, with curly hair, said, with a laugh.

— No, ella puede oír. Me escuchas, ¿no? — he said, pointing to his ear. Charlie understood that it might be a question about listening, so she nodded, taking another step back — Ves, ella escucha.

— Pero no responde nada. Esa perra debe ser muda — the third man said, his voice deep and gravelly.

— Si es muda, mejor para nosotros — the curly-haired boy said, running his tongue over his lower lip — De todo modo, es hora del postre.

She could feel the adrenaline kicking in, making her feel hyper-aware of her surroundings. She wanted to run away, but she felt frozen on the spot as the men got closer, their eyes dark and sinister, murmuring things in a language she didn’t understand. She felt one of the men wrap his hand around her wrist, and understood what they wanted. Charlie knew she wasn't going to get rid of them until they got it.

— Vamos, princesa, no seas mala — the first man murmured, tightening his fingers around her arm — Si no, tendremos que utilizar la fuerza.

Fear had rendered Charlie unable to say anything. She couldn't scream, couldn't protest, couldn't call for help. With more tears streaming down her cheeks, she realized exactly what was about to happen to her, on some dark street in Jerez, all because she got into a fight with an asshole coworker.

She hadn’t expected this night — and maybe her life — would come to such a ridiculous and tragic ending.

— Cariño — she thought she heard someone say through the fog of dread that shrouded her mind. Her throat was getting tighter by the second, and she could feel a nervous sweat breaking out across her lower back — ¡Espérame, cariño!

The words seemed to have a repelling effect on the men who were surrounding her, their expressions startled as they watched someone approach behind her. "This is a trap, I’m so fucked", Charlie thought, gasping when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She was about to try to run before she realized who had been calling her name. Fernando stepped in front of her, his expression mixing relief and concern.

— Por favor, mi amor, nunca vuelvas a hacer eso — Fernando said, cradling her face gently in his hands, his thumbs caressing her cheeks — Nunca, nunca más. Casi muero preocupándome por ti.

He pulled her into a tight hug, nestling her head in the crook of his neck, cradling the back of her head with one of his hands. Wrapped in his arms, Charlie felt a whirlwind of emotions. Her confusion only grew when he whispered in her ear in English, requesting that she follow his lead and not say anything.

As the man that grabbed Charlie’s wrist backed further away, Fernando returned to run his hand through her hair, tenderly.

— Perdóname, mi ángel, realmente fui un idiota contigo. Pero no salgas así, sin rumbo. No sé qué haría si te hubiera perdido, mi corazón — he said, planting a kiss on Charlie's forehead before hugging her again, his hand resting on the back of her head — Gracias por encontrar mi novia. No sé qué sería de mí sin ella.

If the three men said anything in response, Charlie didn't hear them. As Fernando held her close, her face buried in the white sweatshirt Fernando was wearing, she forced herself to focus on the sound of his heart pounding against his chest instead. Being in such close proximity to someone she didn’t like was strange. It was even stranger to her that she wasn’t feeling annoyed, or even disgusted with such close physical contact with him. What she felt then, wrapped in his arms, wasn’t anger, but safety and relief.

— Gracias, buenas noches — he said, before pulling away slightly to look into Charlie's face. She could feel that her tears had smeared her mascara — Vamos, cariño.

As Fernando led her down the street, still holding her hand, she felt like she was having some strange out-of-body experience. She was just a spectator, unable to act or intervene. Walking next to her, Fernando seemed to be talking on the phone with someone, but the way her pulse pounded in her ears stopped Charlie from being able to tell who she was talking to or what they were discussing.

— Necesito que vuelvas al hotel ahora. Por favor, no puedo explicar por teléfono. Charlie está bien, dile esto al resto del equipo y que se queden al tabanco y disfruten de la noche. Si, te espero. Hasta luego — Fernando said, before putting the cell phone back in the back pocket of his jeans — Are you okay, Charlie?

— Yeah — she replied in a whisper.

— I'm taking you back to our hotel, okay?

— Okay — Charlie said, finally managing to find her voice. She felt a strange, pleasant heat rising around her shoulders. It was a welcome relief in the chilly night air that prickled at her skin, even under her thick woolen sweater.

The rest of the walk to the hotel was a blur. Neither her or Fernando said anything. There wasn't much to say. She was still processing what had almost happened that night, all because she was unable to keep her anger in check, especially where Fernando was concerned. However, contrary to what she expected to feel, given the situation, she didn't feel angry with him.

The only thing she felt was guilty.

As they got to the hotel lobby, Charlie spotted Edoardo standing by the reception desk, looking at his phone. When he looked up and saw the two of them there, the expression of concern on his face changed to relief.

— Thank God you're here. Are you all right, Charlie? What happened? Can I help?

— Edo, I'll explain later — Fernando said. He cut himself off as soon she placed her hand on his fingers, which were still on her shoulder.

— I'm fine — she replied, her voice hesitant — I just need to go to my room.

— Do you have your key? Those guys didn't steal anything, right?

— It's in my purse — Charlie said, running a hand over her cheeks, wiping away her tears with the back of her sleeve.

The three of them rode the elevator to Charlie’s room in silence. Edo helped her find her key card and Fernando stepped into the room first, giving a cursory check before signaling to the other two to enter. Charlie trudged to the bed and sat down on the mattress, still in disbelief over the evening’s events. It replayed over and over in her mind. She shook her head, as if it could physically eject the memories of the men’s sinister, knowing smiles and the rough hand around her wrist.

— Here, drink this — she heard Fernando say from in front of her. She opened her eyes, and saw him bent over, a soft expression on his face as he offered her a water bottle. Without protesting, she drank the water, realizing how parched her lips and throat were. Then, she propped the bottle against her leg and looked up at him.

— Why?

Fernando blinked, confused.

— Sorry, I don’t understand.

— Why did you run after me?

He sighed.

— My initial intention was to apologize and bring you back to the bar. But when I realized you were gone, I — he hesitated for a few seconds — I knew you didn't know the city and didn't speak the language, which, unfortunately makes you an easy target for bad people. I feared the worst, so I asked a guy that was in front of the bar which way you went and I followed.

— Why did you defend me from them?

— Because I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something bad happened to you.

— But it was my fault...

— No, it's not. It's my fault, Charlie. I'm the one who was giving you a hard time, and made you react that way. I apologize for everything that happened today.

She couldn't deny that there was sincerity in the way Fernando was speaking to her and looking at her. His eyes were filled with obvious guilt. “Maybe he is actually sorry,” Charlie thought, sniffling.

— It’s alright. I'll be fine.

— You will be, I'm sure — he said quietly, before getting to his feet — Well, I'll let you rest. You go back to England tomorrow morning with the team, right?

— Yeah.

— Excellent. But if you need anything, message me. You have my number on Whatsapp right? I know you don't have Instagram anymore since I...

— Oh, I still do. I blocked you — Charlie muttered.

He stopped for a few seconds.

— You blocked me on Instagram?

— After your third or fourth request to follow me — she replied quietly.

— Ah — Fernando said, trying to disguise his discomfort with Charlie’s admission — Well, you know how to reach me. Good night, Charlie.

— Good night and — she paused for a few seconds, her eyes locked with his — Thank you. Honestly.

Fernando looked at her for a few moments, and then smiled.

— It was the least I could do — he replied, placing a hand on Edo's shoulder. His physiotherapist also wished her a good night before following Fernando into the hallway.

When the door closed, Charlie let out a heavy sigh, realizing the tension that had built up in her muscles. Perhaps a bath would help cleanse her body, and maybe, her soul of everything that had happened that night. There was one thing she needed to do before she did anything else, though.

Removing her phone from her purse, she unlocked it and logged into Instagram. Going into the search bar, she typed in a name and found the correct account immediately. So Charlie tapped the blue button and then the confirmation that popped up on the screen. Finally, she clicked the 'follow' button, dropping her phone onto her bed. “Maybe he feels better now”, she thought, as she walked towards the bathroom.

That night, her sleep was disturbed by nightmares. The next morning, Charlie woke up to the sound of her cell phone alarm feeling more tired than she had been when she’d gone to bed. However, she couldn't afford to stay in bed any longer, as she had to be at the airport in an hour.

The trip back to the UK was uneventful, and she took the opportunity to sleep during the flight. On the way to Northampton, she shared a car with Mikey and three of Fernando’s other mechanics, all chatting animatedly about the results from testing, and what their hopes were for the season.

However, Charlie couldn't think about sectors, telemetry or lap times. All she could think about the previous night, how Fernando had suddenly appeared from the darkness and embraced her as if she were the most precious thing in the world, and not someone he hated.

She sighed, deciding that this was something she’d need to talk about with Hannah.

Her session with the therapist had been scheduled for that Friday, late afternoon. Charlie started therapy in early 2016 as a way to deal with the anxiety she had begun to suffer from after a miserable season with Fernando and his constant haranguing and requests that she be swapped for another engineer.

However, she hadn't been Charlie's first choice, as she believed that a psychologist specializing in sports medicine could best help her. However, one session with the one that McLaren kept on retainer was enough for the therapist to tell her that her issues ran deeper than performance anxiety, and that he would recommend a colleague of his. Fortunately, his recommendation proved to be the right one for her.

— Charlie? — Hannah said with a smile. She was standing in the doorway of her office, with her curly hair tied up in a kind of bun and wearing an orange suit that looked vibrant against the dark color of her skin — Shall we?

— Yes.

After entering Hannah’s office and settling into the white armchair, Charlie dropped her bag on the side table. Then she took a deep breath as her therapist settled into the chair across from her.

— So it's been some time since our last session, has it? About 10, 15 days?

— Yeah.

— Then I think you have plenty to tell me. Shall we start with the book I recommended?

— Actually — Charlie said — I wanted to talk about my last trip.

— Oh, you had a work trip, right? Where was it again?

— Jerez — she answered softly.

— Is that in Spain? — Hannah asked, and Charlie nodded — Oh, I imagine that was quite interesting considering your relationship with…

— I'm not sure if interesting is the right word, Hannah — Charlie said quietly.

— Did something happen, Charlie?

— Well, not during testing. That bit all went as expected. But later, the night after testing was done, Fernando invited everyone to go to a bar.

— Everyone but you?

— No, he invited me as well, and I went. It was one of those traditional Spanish pubs that looks like a basement, I can't really explain it. But he and I ended up arguing because I ordered a Moscow mule, so I left.

— You argued over your choice of drink?

— He said it was a girly drink, that they didn't have that kind of stuff in that kind of bar, and he kept teasing me, so I lost my patience with him. But, after I left the bar, I ended up getting lost in the streets and I ran into — she paused for a few seconds — Some guys.

Hannah nodded, waiting for her to continue.

— They were drunk, speaking Spanish, but you could tell what they wanted. They cornered me, and I couldn't scream or call for help — Charlie's voice cracked, her eyes filling with tears.

— Did they do something to you?

— No, they did not. They couldn't because… Fernando followed me.

The therapist raised an eyebrow.

— But…

— He said he asked a guy who saw me leave the bar which way I'd gone and he went after me. He arrived, put his hands on my face and then hugged me. Then he said something to the guys and managed to get me out of there.

— And then what happened?

— We went to the hotel, where we found his physiotherapist, Edoardo. And the two of them went with me to my room. Then, Fernando gave me water and told me if I needed anything I could send a message that he would do his best to help me. I thanked him, and he said it was the least he could do, because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something bad happened to me.

Hannah opened her mouth, as if to say something, but then closed it again, her expression thoughtful.

— And what do you think about that?

— About what?

— About Fernando's attitude.

Charlie pressed her mouth into a thin line, trying to organize her thoughts.

— Well, all of my feelings are kind of contradictory. I'm surprised, since he hugged me, kissed my forehead, kept his arm around me while we walked back to the hotel, tried to calm me down the whole time, I realized that he's not being as nasty as he used to be. It's like he’s putting in an effort on his part to try to have a cordial relationship with me.

— So you notice a change in his attitude towards you?

— Well, a little? — Charlie answered, a little uncertainly. Noticing Hannah's expression, she corrected herself — Okay, yes, the change is considerable.

— And how does that make you feel?

— I'm still suspicious, I don't believe someone can change like that...

— Charlie, you haven't seen him on a daily basis in nearly five years. People can change in that time, even more so in a volatile environment like your job. You told me yourself that you’d noticed how Daniel Ricciardo changed from his first to his second year at McLaren and how that affected your team as a whole.

— But Danny never stopped being polite to us.

— And Fernando isn't being polite?

— Well, he is, but...

— Charlie — Hannah interrupted her — Have you ever thought that maybe your perception of Fernando might be changing?

— What do you mean?

— When we started our sessions, one of the first things we explored was your relationship with him. You were 27 years old, you were starting to become more established in your career and you were particularly disappointed because the driver you were excited to work with and thought was handsome was an asshole. But, I don't think you ever stopped to think that maybe he was disappointed too.

— Hannah…

— The point is, you're not the same now. You're 33 and he's over 40, right? You both have grown and matured. You’ve dedicated yourselves to other projects and dreams, as well as personal goals.

Charlie remained silent, trying to concentrate on her breathing.

— Just like you sometimes don't recognize that woman from 2015, who cried hiding in the paddock after Fernando said something rude, maybe Fernando doesn't recognize the guy that was yelling about GP2 engines and looking like an amateur — the therapist said — And that's okay. What I mean is, are you able to recognize that he is no longer McLaren Fernando, and are you open to meeting Aston Martin Fernando?

Charlie looked down at her hands, contemplating Hannah’s question. It was true that the Fernando she knew now was not the same Fernando she’d met in Woking. He was no longer the driver looking for a second chance in an older team, nor was he the frustrated veteran not given the proper tools to achieve his goals, but someone more mature, with more experience and, more than anything else, still hungry to win.

Just like her.

— I think I am.

#fa #fernando alonso #fernando alonso x oc #fernando alonso fic #fernando alonso fanfic #formula one fic #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula one x oc #formula 1 fic #nordswrites

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musicrunsthroughmysoul · 4 months

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The show last night was not bad, but after writing a post that I will not post yet about my criticisms of it, it's actually making me rethink my perception of the album (which was not overwhelmingly positive to begin with, hence why I haven't said anything about it yet).

I'm just going to say that I liked Gigaton a whole lot more than I liked Dark Matter (and guess who didn't play a single fucking song off of Gigaton last night! I was surprised to find out that they played "River Cross" on Tuesday, though), and I'm not even sure that I liked more songs off of Gigaton than Dark Matter. You know...that's kind of weird. What it represents, and all that. It's weird to me. And my other post that I will post later will explain this a bit more.

I was going to put this in the tags but man, I'm disappointed in my own thoughts, and I just know that if anyone else willingly (or not) chooses to read them, I'm only going to disappoint you all more. So here is your choice to skip reading this post. This is your fair warning.

PJ (on their last live U.S. tour date): here's a bunch of songs off our new album!

Me: Thanks! I dislike it even more now. 🙃

Like, holy hell bitch, that's not how live music is supposed to work!!!!! That's literally not why bands go on tour! ...it's fucked up! I mean, I don't think I could say that it was a bad show in spite of that, but I have DEFINITELY been to WAY BETTER shows. :(

And yes, a small part of my salt is that they didn't play "Daughter" (my favorite PJ song but also one of my all-time favorite songs EVER) or "Present Tense" or "Betterman" or "State of Love and Trust", I will admit. I already waited six years to see Pearl Jam live. Now I have to wait probably forever again to hear my favorite song live in person? Maybe this is deeply privileged of me to say this, and if so, I apologize for not [yet] thinking deeper about this comment and its impact on others who have never gotten to see the band of one of their very favorite songs live and might not ever, but I'm just not a fan of having to wait forever again to MAYBE hear my favorite song live in person. I am actually a very patient person, but the thought of that wounds me.

I guess sometimes you get to hear the songs you don't want to hear ("Black" and "Spin the Black Circle" - because I hate them, and "Inside Job" - because of what it symbolizes/means to me) more than the ones you do. I guess that's life and it will always be unfair. But with those implied lemons, we do get to choose how we make lemonade, and I think my choice will be that I will not actively choose to see Pearl Jam live again. That's how I feel right now, and maybe, when my feelings about the show aren't as raw (and I'm not still so drained and tired) and I have more time and distance from it to think about it, my feelings will change...but for now, that's how I feel.

#crystal visions of lilies in the valley #hero something something by The Bangles #is my mood about this right now #at least the opening band was lovely!

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becca-e-barnes · 1 year

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Hey lovely! I love your work so much honestly you’re absolutely amazing! I was just wondering if you’d ever write anything for sbf!bucky again? I re read your work about him all the time and I’m a little bit of a whore for him 😅 no pressure whatsoever, it’s just that sweet baby has my heart 🥺

Sbf!Bucky has been really heavily requested recently and now I feel like I've been neglecting him 😩 I really enjoy writing him and it lets me dabble in my dream of being a milf some day

But I feel like he has a real sweet tooth. He's a dessert guy, 110%. Not like your husband or your son.

From the very first Sunday that your son brought Bucky over for dinner, he's been so into your desserts because a good dessert is something he's really missed during his last couple of years at college. It doesn't even really matter what you make, every week he tells you it's even better than whatever you made the Sunday before.

The store bought, dry cakes he sometimes treats himself to don't even come close to the fluffy sponges you make for him. He tells you your lemon meringue is better than the one his aunt used to make and your pies are probably a cure for sadness. He exaggerates but at least he sounds sincere.

And it's nice. It's nice that he appreciates your effort. It's nice that your desserts actually get eaten and enjoyed. It's nice that you're not sitting at the dinner table alone after lunch. Company is nice. Compliments are nice.

"I know it's late but I don't want you to think I'd forgotten." You made yourself busy in the kitchen, talking a little louder so Bucky could still hear you in the dining room. He usually helped you plate up dessert but not today.

"What are you talking about?" Bless him, he sounded so confused. "I can give you a hand if you like?"

"No, it's okay. Close your eyes." You thought your instruction was clear enough but Bucky still protested.

"Just close your eyes, Buck." You could've sworn you felt him raise his eyebrows but he did as he was told anyway.

You set the plate in front of him and laid a little dessert fork above his placemat. "I know your birthday was last Tuesday but I thought we could still celebrate it today. You're only 24 once." Bucky opened his eyes to the most mouth watering slice of chocolate cake he swore he'd ever seen in his life.

Two thick layers of moist chocolate sponge with a rich chocolate icing in between. The cake must have been heated for a couple of minutes, making the icing warm enough to make the layers slide slightly. Thick, warm chocolate sauce rolled down the sides, taking with it a light dusting of powdered sugar, almost washing away the single lit birthday candle. The plate was decorated with a perfect scoop of cool vanilla ice cream and some fresh strawberries, left overnight in a teaspoonful of sugar to draw out their juice.

"You didn't need to make a whole cake just for me!" His genuine excitement was heartwarming, quickly blowing out his candle before wax melted onto his dessert.

"Sweetheart, I make a whole cake just for you every week. Happy birthday." You lifted the little dessert fork, slicing through the sponge with it, making sure to add a little ice cream and a slice of strawberry before raising it to his lips.

You could swear he actually moans when the cake passes his lips. He makes the same noise at dessert every Sunday and you swear you never get tired of hearing it. It's so close to the noise he makes when he first sinks inside you and God, that sound is beautiful.

Your foot grazes his leg, gently but deliberately and there's a battle going on behind those eyes when he takes the fork from his own mouth. On one hand, your husband is in the next room, sitting beside your son, Bucky's best friend. On the other hand, Bucky needs you to know how much he appreciates this. Appreciates you. And if he's honest with himself, your husband and son being so close has never stopped him before.

"Fuck, you've ruined me." He groans, pressing his lips to yours in a hurry. Somehow you manage to stifle your surprise, catching up when he presses you back onto the dining room table.

"You and those fucking desserts. It's not fair. You get me half hard during dinner and then you feed me the best chocolate cake I've ever had? Do you know how unfair that is?" His hands are all over you, pulling your skirt up in between frantic kisses.

The chocolate cake is all but forgotten, the ice-cream left to melt while Bucky kisses your neck before he tugs your panties off, tucking them into the back pocket of his jeans.

#asks answered <3 #anon #becca writes spice #sbf!bucky #son's best friend!bucky #I am not a dessert girlie at all #I haven't reread my own sbf!bucky stuff in months I should do that #he's so fun to write for #for anyone following the 'becca buys a house' saga #I went to see the house I liked last week and it's not for me #the street was kind of noisy and I just know it would freak me out 😭#I have a viewing booked for a house on Wednesday night #it's in a really quiet area a bit closer to home but I'm not sure I love the property #and it's probably not likely to increase much in value #might cancel that viewing tbh #because I found one this afternoon that I'm really excited about #I love the area #I'm going to book a viewing on Monday but it looks like I could walk straight into it #loads of potential too #pretty good location for public transport #off street parking for my car #the kitchen has a cute little built in wine cooler 🥺#and the most exciting part imo: THE BACK GARDEN IS FAKE GRASS #I'D NEVER NEED TO CUT THE GRASS #I don't know why that excited me so much but it really did #fingers crossed it's not like the last one!!#tw: food #tw: food mention #tw: cheating

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naminethewriter · 10 months

Text

One's Hometown, One's New Home

Chapter One: Quiet Meeting

Masterpost | Next | Ao3

@tss-anxceit-week

Summary: Janus’ hometown is a usually quiet place where everyone knows everyone. So when someone new moves in, they’re usually the hottest topic of local gossip. The newcomer then comes by the library Janus works at, he can’t help but chat with him a little. Doesn’t hurt that he’s good looking as well.

Content Warnings: None

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ah, hello Janus. I hope you are having a lovely day?”

Janus looked up from the book he was looking through for damages. He had already done the same for a few books that had been returned to the library within the past week and only found a few, not noteworthy wrinkles and tears.

“Judy, welcome,” he greeted the old woman standing in front of his station with a smile. “Yes, it’s nice and quiet today. No school class coming through.”

“Oh, those little rascals aren’t so bad. It’s nice to see the town so lively.”

“I could see your point if this wasn’t a library and people are supposed to stay quiet in here.”

Judy chuckled. “They’re just kids, cut them some slack.”

“I am,” Janus argued. “They’re respectful with handling our books, at least. But I can still appreciate the days where I don’t have to deal with them, right?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s only fair. Anyway, I’ve brought you something.” She reached down next to her and pulled up a basket that she set on his station. “I made lemon bars for my son’s visit last weekend and I might have gone a little overboard. Take these and share them with the others, won’t you?”

Janus peaked under the cloth covering the basket and a nice smell spread around him. Judy’s baking was legendary, so he wasn’t about to turn her down. Instead, he was considering simply not telling his coworkers about the treats at all.

Then again, he couldn’t eat all of those by himself.

“Will do, Judy. Thank you very much.”

“Oh, no need for that. Consider it a thank you for all the help you’ve given me.”

“Speaking of which, are you looking for something in particular today?”

“Well, I may have heard that you got a new shipment in last week,” she began with a glint in her eye and Janus knew what her question would be before she asked it.

“Yes, we now do carry that new mystery novel of your favorite author,” he chuckled and her face lit up with excitement.

“Wonderful! It’s in the usual isle then?”

“It is.” He held up his hand when she was about to hurry away. “But I have a second copy right here with your name on it.” He pulled out the book in question and handed it to her.

“Oh, you are a godsent, Janus!” Judy laughed and Janus had to raise his finger to his lips to remind her she was in a library. “Right, right, I apologize. Thank you for saving it for me.”

“You’re very welcome. I can only let you borrow it for two weeks though, we already have a small waiting list.”

“But you said it was on the shelf?”

“I did and it is, but that copy can’t be borrowed for now. At least not while it’s in such high demand. We have three copies. One which will stay here, and two that are available for checkout.”

“And you still saved one for me, how sweet. I’ll make sure to return it as soon as I am done with it then.”

“Please do.” Janus scanned Judy’s library card to make the checkout official before waving after her as she left the building in hurried steps, very eager to start the book as soon as she got home. Janus quietly chuckled as he watched her leave before he got back to work.

Wednesdays were usually his quiet days. They opened and closed and hour later than other weekdays and the local elementary school’s reading program had the teachers bring in their brats every other week on Mondays, Tuesdays or Thursdays. Janus hadn’t lied to Judy, he didn’t mind the kids all that much, at least not this far into the year when they finally learned to respect not only the librarians but the books themselves and he much more rarely found scribbles on brought back pages.

Still, he preferred the days when they didn’t come.

So, he enjoyed it, working quietly until the automatic doors slid open again to let in another visitor. Janus looked up fleetingly, thinking it would be just a regular coming through, but instead he saw someone he had never seen before.

Which happened rarely. This town wasn’t the smallest, but Janus knew pretty much everyone who lived here at least vaguely enough to recognize them.

Considering the latest rumors, he did have a good idea of who the stranger was.

The man – or male presenting, Janus supposed – stopped after crossing the threshold, taking a moment to look around and orient himself. He wore a hoodie that was too large for his frame with the hood pulled up, so Janus couldn’t make out much of his face, but he could tell that he was quite tall despite his slouch and rather slim built.

And pale in a way that almost seemed sickly.

(Not that Janus fared much better.)

The stranger spotted Janus after a few moments and hesitantly approached.

“Uhm, hey,” he greeted once he stood in front of Janus’ workstation. He kept his voice quiet, and Janus was intrigued by his low baritone.

“Welcome!” Janus greeted with a smile, doing his best to hide his staring. “You must be the new tenant of Mrs. Talbot. Are you adjusting well enough to our quaint town?”

“Why the fuck do you know where I live?” The stranger had taken a step back, glaring at Janus with eyes that he could now make out were a deep brown.

“We don’t get a lot of new people here, so if someone moves in, it’s usually the talk of the town for a bit. And I’m a central person in terms of gossip. It’s nothing personal, I assure you.”

“It’s creepy.”

Janus shrugged. “I can see why you’d think that. But that’s just how it is here. And you’re even the special kind of newbie, so everyone’s doubly interested.”

“What does that mean?!” the stranger hissed. “How am I special?”

“Well, there’s only a few reasons people come here. The first is that they’re moving back. I myself belonged to that category after I came back after going to college out of state. Has the rumor mill going about all the changes that happened in the time they were gone. I, for example, got a lot more into fashion. And grew my hair out. I got so many questions about how I took care of it, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Janus’ rambling seemed to have calmed the stranger down a bit, since he now came over to lean against the station instead of keeping his distance as if Janus was about to jump him.

“Then there’s the people that get dragged here by other locals. Partners, mostly. They often have to endure some scrutiny to see if they’re good enough for whoever brought them here. We have a lot of old ladies with strong opinions on what a good relationship is, so look out for them if you ever start dating while you’re here.

“Third,” Janus was counting down by his fingers now, “are the workers. Transferred to a backwater town like ours often leads to grumpiness, so you can usually tell who’s here because their contract demanded it. Sometimes they warm up to it, often times they don’t and transfer out again as soon as they can. Second to last there’s the nature people who just want to live somewhere with a bunch of trees. And we got plenty of those. And last but not least, there’s people like you. You just show up one day, with no roots, a past you don’t want to talk about and wanting as little attention as possible.”

“You sure make a lot of judgements without knowing anything about me,” the man murmured, but he didn’t look as put off as he did at the start of their conversation.

Janus shrugged. “Maybe. It comes from experience, however. I helped out here even before I finished school and it’s a gathering space for a lot of people. I developed a good sense of intuition that way. Plus, my father was like you, too.” The stranger simply raised an eyebrow. “It’s a long story, maybe I’ll tell you about it if you’d invite me out to a drink sometime.” Janus smirked as the other chuckled.

“Your quite forward, aren’t you.”

“I know what I like and I don’t like beating around the bush.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“You could change that.”

That startled another chuckle out of the stranger. “It’s Virgil. Nice to meet you.”

“Janus.” He took the offered hand and shook it firmly. “I look forward to getting to know you, Virgil.”

#namiswriting #One's Hometown One's New Home #Chapter 1: Quiet Meeting #anxceit week 2023 #anxceit #ts janus #janus sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #original female background character #first meeting #human!au #librarian!janus #multichapter fic #sanders sides #fanfiction #reblogs are appreciated

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allandoflimbo · 2 years

Text

I C E P R I N C E S S ∙ 3

Pairings: Popular Girl!Reader x Outkast!Bucky

Explicit Content - Smut - NO MINORS

Summary:

Bucky Barnes is the quiet boy who gets picked on.

The Reader and her friends run with the popular crowd at Stark High.

As the Winter Ball approaches, she is partnered with Bucky Barnes for a class project. They grow close in an inadvertently secret friendship, which later turns into love.

Only catch is…she’s Steve Roger’s ex girlfriend, and before she was partnered up with Bucky, her friends had planned to use and turn Bucky into Stark High’s new it boy to try and get back at Steve; a disgusting bet.

Another catch: She’s a figure skater at the town’s arena every Tuesday and Thursday nights. Bucky works part time at the rink resurfacing the ice. The other doesn’t know.

Modern AU High School fic - later goes into adulthood.

M A S T E R P A G E - FULL SERIES

Warnings: This story will have a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lot of cursing, and a lot of sex. Oral, praise kink, body worship, overstimulation, etc. you know me. There will also be loss of virginity in this.

Please support your content creators and writers and leave a review.

P R E V I O U S C H A P T E R

The chatter in the room is loud.

It mixed with the sounds of chairs and desks grinding over the floor. Everyone was moving their own to their appropriate spots.

Mrs. Ortiz' voice was even louder. She was lucky if anyone was even really listening to her in the first place.

"Now, this assignment is focused on Psychology analyzing. If you look down, you'll see it's based off a book called Rules by John Will-Brooks. You and your partner will each read every other chapter, taking turns. Each chapter will focus on a type of psychological analysis, and at the end, you will write the information you gather about the person using the questionnaire provided at the end. You'll use that to answer what you gather about the other person. Of course, you're not real Psychologists, so you'll be given a certain answer and script for each one. These are based on real dialogue, real cases. This assignment will last about two months."

You moved anxiously in your seat, crossing your legs at the ankles.

"Hannah, you are with Sasha. Eloise, you are with Daniella. Cameron, you're with Ethan. Eric, you are with Michaela," next she said your name, "you are with James, Jasmin, you're with Chris..." Mrs. Ortiz' voice faded out as your eyes went to James.

It was expected just as much as it wasn't. Irony, they call it.

He sat there in his seat, focused at looking through the new textbook on his desk. He showed no distinctive reaction to Mrs. Ortiz' words and you wondered if he had even heard her.

You still felt terrible about what happened yesterday, but nonetheless, this would be a great opportunity to make amends.

Daniella, that sat next to James, got up to move next to her partner.

You tried to read his body language as he barely lifted his eyes from the pages.

He kept his eyes straight down at his book, gaze completely focused.

He moved onto writing something in his notebook.

It was obvious he wasn't going to be making the first move to sit next to you, and that's what you realize he's doing.

He hated this.

You don't blame him at all for being upset with you.

With a deep breath, you gather your book and notebook in your arms and make your way over to him.

You paused as soon as you arrive by his side. He doesn't look up from his notebook, knowing very well that you were standing there.

His jaw was tense. You hadn't noticed that from afar.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

Even if you wanted to make amends, he clearly did not like you. Especially so soon after you destroyed his Nikes.

Then, he surprises you.

He stops for a second, finally looks at you, and then looks down at the empty chair next to him.

An invitation.

You take that as your cue and you sit.

You swear you can smell lemons and a subtle, but very nice, waft of cologne the moment you sit down.

Despite him looking naturally kind and approachable, you felt uncomfortable.

You timidly set everything down in front of you. You even begin tp tilt your items on the desk into perfect ninety degree angles; not because of your OCD, but because it gave you something to do for about three seconds.

When that's painfully over, you look over at him again.

He didn't even bother glancing up this time. Unsurprisingly.

Should you put yours desks together?

Was he going to be silent the whole time?

You both sit there for a few minutes, wondering if he's thinking the same thing as you:

Who will be the first to speak?

He continues to take his notes and you open your book to review the first lesson.

You take a deep breath and go for it, shifting once more in your seat for good measure. You even scoot up a bit.

"Did you want to do the even numbered chapters and I do the odds?" You ask after a deep breath.

He stops writing and finally sits back in his seat, letting his pen drop.

His movement makes him look taller and you look away bashfully.

You never were so close to him before. You can't help but notice how similarly built he is to Steve. Sometimes it felt like Steve towered over you.

They were definitely the same height; six feet or so.

James was just a little more lean and toned where Steve was bulky. It was obvious how attractive James was. Where Steve had lighter hair, James' was a deep brown, almost black. Where Steve's eyes were blue with specs of green, James' were only blue. Almost grey. Like the sky before a bad blizzard on a cold evening.

Like that night.

The way he sits back like that, now looking at you and waiting, has you on edge.

You don't realize you're staring until you meet eyes and you quickly look away.

He hands you the blue folder with the name "Phycologist #2" written on it.

You take it, reading it over.

He was okay with you doing the odds.

A lump crawls up your throat as you remember what happened yesterday. You grow this deep need to console him, to apologize profusely.

"So, we need to answer these questions first together. And then we'll read each chapter assigned to us, and do the quiz questions after each read to make sure we understood what we read. Is that good for you?" You ask.

He's not looking at you anymore.

He gives you a short nod, almost disinterested.

He's back to fidgeting with his black pen in his right hand.

You tried to ignore that glare in his eyes, the one that said he clearly did not want to be here next to you right now.

As if you already didn't know.

"Uhm. Okay, first question. A long-standing debate in the field of psychology has been whether moving to a new location makes people happier. Do you think this can apply to people who are looking just for change so it's a change in psych or do you think it happens for everyone? Personally I think it happens for everyone."

He doesn't answer you right away. In fact, he takes so long to reply that you start writing down your own answer quietly.

"I think so, too. Especially if it's a stark difference of culture."

It's the first time you've heard him, and at this close proximity, it made the hair on the back of your neck prickle.

His voice.

Like deep and thick honey being poured over a damn Lindt chocolate.

Your movements falter just slightly against your paper, and you blink slowly.

You couldn't help the small smile that grows at the side of your lips.

"Exactly." You say, "it's about the impact and also picking up on the different kinds of life. Like I mean for you, you just came from Europe, right? So this must be so different for you here. This kind of life." It's interesting the way you watch his face go from interested to pure utter confusion.

"Europe?" His voice is a low rumble as he says it. You can't sense his tone. It was a mix between scorn and sincerity.

You raise a brow at him and then look down at his book.

"Yeah, aren't you—?"

He looks at you for a second longer, to the point where you debate if he's trying to have an eye contest with you, and then he looks away with an almost roll of his eyes.

He can't help the scoff that leaves his lips.

"Jeez." He runs a hand through his hair, nearly pulling at the strands.

You watch as his arm flexes through the dark fabric of his shirt.

You shake your head and place your own arm down on the paper in front of you.

"I don't understand?"

You hope he can see how sincere you were.

"Yeah, maybe don't try then." He snaps back. His eyes finally flicker back to you, the disdain in his eyes so visible it makes you recoil, "Please.

Your mouth opens and closes, unsure of what to respond with.

Judging by his tone and energy behind it, he was holding most of his negative feelings in. It catches you off guard for just a bit.

You hated this. You hated that he assumed something that isn't true about the kind of person you are. You hated that everything that kept happening was proving the exact opposite. You hated that he had been bullied and you didn't even know.

You know you've been oblivious in the past, but you never once saw anyone being rude to him before. This week was the first time.

"I didn't mean to drop that paint on you," you say, your voice lowering, "I'm truly sorry about that." He scoffs again, "I am! I was actually on my way here to apologize for what you overheard on Monday. I'm very sorry."

He doesn't say anything but his eyes do stay on his paper, unshifting.

You know why he's upset. You do.

You're not dense.

The last few months opened your eyes. It was a sharp wake up call to realizing who you were and who the people around you were. You hope you can convey that with the next few words you're about to say.

"Look, Matt Murdock is an asshole. But I'm not like that."

The roll of his eyes and the snarl on his lips is palpable.

You feel your teeth clench at his reaction, and this time, your eyes are the ones that go hard and cold.

This boy, just like everyone, knew nothing. But the truth was, you didn't know him either.

This was a game of tug-o-war, and in the middle was a big metaphorical puddle of shame waiting for one of you to fall in.

The silence that follows after his comment settles between the both of you like a heavy blanket.

"We're done here." He says, closing his notebook.

You're surprised at his quick departure. There was no possible way he would just leave. Right? You still had two months of this.

"We still have to go over this chapter—"

He's already standing up, grabbing his backpack and his things off his desk.

"I'm leaving early." He says, eyes darting to the door. It's then that you see another teacher there waiting for him. He eventually sighs and gives you another glance as he shoves his book into his backpack, "I can't fail this assignment. We can continue this tomorrow." You raise a brow at him as he stops and looks at you for another hard second. Then, his eyes look away for a bit, as if he's realizing something. You're wondering what he's thinking, but you don't have to wonder much longer, "I actually won't be here tomorrow."

"Oh," your eyes drop as you think, "Maybe we can meet up somewhere after school? Maybe you can come over? Or I'll go to your place. That's all I can think of. That or we can wait until Thursday."

You weren't tone deaf, but damn were you insistent of making right.

You can see on his face how much he hates this. If this were some kind of mystical novel and the author was describing this exact moment, right here and now, they'd say his dislike for all of this was as palpable as a lonesome revengeful Viking holding a box of venomous cobras over his enemies' body.

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek.

He really needed this A. Was this worth it? If he wanted to keep his GPA at the high percentile, he needed this bad. He didn't know if he trusted you enough to wait until two days from now, when the second lesson was due by then.

He hated everything about this.

Your place or his?

He never thought he'd even have to ask such a question when it came to you and him.

He almost laughs.

He looked at the teacher that was waiting for him at the door and his eyes drift back down to you in your seat.

You and your friends already took all his dignity at this school. He wasn't going to let you do it in his own home.

"I'll come over." He says.

As soon as Bucky parks his car, he turns to his mom.

"How are you feeling? Nervous?" He asks kindly.

She smiles at him.

"A bit. But I'm also a little excited."

Bucky looks away and nods.

"You're high up."

"I might finally get that lung transplant." She says, running her thumb over her son's cheek. She holds her nebulizer bag closer to her lap, "We should be excited, honey."

He smiles sweetly at her.

He was anxious to see how her appointment would go. Based off his own personal research, she was a perfect candidate for a lung transplant, but he was afraid this was too good to be true.

"I am." He pats the middle console, "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

He gets out and walks over to the passenger side. He helps her step out his car, closing the door behind her.

He makes sure to keep his one arm stilling linked with hers.

She uses him for support as she stands, her right hand going into the crook of his elbow, holding him there.

"I'm going to need you to run to the store for me tonight. I wanted to make some lasagna for dinner. What do you think?" She asks as they walk to the entrance of the medical facility.

He opens the door for her as they walk into the chilly air.

"I think it sounds great," his face falls, "Shoot."

"What's wrong?"

"I forgot I'm supposed to study at someone's house." He shakes his head. Family always came first, "I can still go. I'll make arrangements."

"Oh, that's alright. I'll have your dad stop by."

Bucky felt his heart shatter, knowing his dad already had too much to worry about tonight. He was also getting older.

"It's fine, I'll let her know I can't make it. You're more important."

He didn't even have your number, so he's not sure how that plan would even work out.

"Absolutely not. You're going to go." Bucky opens his mouth to retaliate but she stops him, "You're going. End of discussion." He closes his mouth and nods, continue to walk her to the reception desk.

They walk a little more and he waits for the inevitable question.

"So it's a girl study partner?"

He could feel a tingle up his back at the thought of seeing you that way. Revolt and hate. That's the kind of feelings a person like you deserved.

"Trust me, mom. She's not a nice person. I just want this A. Only reason I'm doing this."

A warm chuckle leaves her lips.

"Oh, she can't be that bad."

"She is. She's bad company and so are her friends. I'm going there just for the lesson and then I'm going straight home."

You're drying your hands with a paper towel near the sink when you hear a knock at the front door.

You curse to yourself as you grab your phone and quickly look at the clock.

You completely lost track of time trying to help prepare dinner for your parents.

They were both physicians in two different ERs, so they usually weren't home on Wednesdays until after seven PM. Morning shift.

That meant that tonight you had to help with dinner for when they came home. Usually when they had the graveyard shifts, they'd have something ready on the stove before they left. Out of kindness of their hearts.

Even though you didn't think it was necessary for them to do that every time, especially when you had more than the reason to help them out, you clung onto it. Mainly because it was one of the last remaining things that happened here at home that made it feel like it was still that; home.

You go through your foyer and open the door.

James stood there in a black jacket and dark jeans. He held his book in one arm and his other hand was running through his hair. He looked like he didn't want to be here at all.

He still wasn't even trying to hide it.

You don't let that discourage you.

"Hey," you give him a small smile, "Come on in." You step aside for him to walk in.

The second he steps foot into your house the awkward tension is already there.

You close the door quietly behind him.

You watch as he looks around. The last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable.

You home was dimly lit, the only light on was a lamp in the living room and a soft light over the island in the kitchen.

He notices how homey it feels in here. He also notices all the family photos, especially the ones near the stairs at the front.

"My parents won't be home for another hour or so." You tell him, "Can I take your jacket?"

His eyes flicker over to you immediately.

"No, it's okay." He mumbles, stuffing his left hand into its pocket.

You nod and look away.

You tell him he can leave his shoes at the door and then you point to the dark wooden stairs.

His shoes he actually does remove, leaving him in black socks.

"We can actually go up to my room. Just be careful with these steps. They can get slippy."

He trails behind you and follows you into your room.

You sense his hesitancy to come in all the way as he takes a quick scan.

Your room was nice, he wouldn't deny that.

He notices a few books on your desk and some on a book shelf; mostly fiction. Against your wall on the floor was a pair of white ice skates.

You walk over to your desk and grab your book and notebook.

On your desk was a picture of you and another guy hugging, maybe a few years older than you.

He was placing a kiss on the top of your head.

"You can take a seat." You motion blindly towards your bed nonchalantly, looking for something in your desk drawer.

James makes his way to your bed. It's white and fluffy and still made; pristine.

You finally turn around to face him, and he looks down at your hand. You had been looking for a highlighter.

Classic Yellow.

He doesn't know why his nerves are on high end right now. He doesn't know why he's so nervous about being in a Stark High's princess' bedroom. What he does know is how annoyed he is by your complete oblivion to how incredibly cruel and mean you are and don't realize it. He can't even put into words how much it pisses him off to see you treating him like you or your friends never did the things you did.

You really did all live in your little world with your little perfect lives.

He's seen it for years and he saw it looking at the photos downstairs and now your room. Happy photos everywhere, trophies and metals. For what, he doesn't care.

He's brought back to now when the bed dips down with your weight.

You open your book.

"Alright, do you want to read the first lesson? And then I'll do the questionnaire at the end and we can go from there? Same for lesson two?"

He clears his throat and pulls out his notebook and book.

"Sure."

The behavior is mechanical for the next twenty minutes.

He talks, you respond. He asks, you respond. You ask, he answers.

He watches you as you read everything correctly and answer everything correctly. You were clearly very smart and seemed to take your academics seriously. The fact that you were both able to set your tension aside to focus on your school said a lot about the both of you.

Yeah, he knew what it said.

It said that you were both trying goddamn hard to avoid the huge elephant in the room.

"So that was the last question." You say, writing down your notes in your notebook, "We're covered for tomorrow and Friday." You look up when he doesn't respond, but you see him writing, too.

When he finishes he slides his pen into the spine of his notebook and closes his text book. He starts to pack, getting ready to leave.

You clear your throat.

"Bucky," the second you say his nickname his head snaps up, confused, "I saw it on your notebook." You don't know what look he's giving you but whatever that look is, it makes you feel not too great. He stares at you for a second longer before taking a deep breath and moving off from your bed. His jaw is tense.

He huffs from his nose and looks at you once more. You stand up until you're standing in front of him. You had to tilt your head a bit up.

Definitely Steve's height.

He gives you a cold stare that nearly chills you.

"I should go." He whispers out, eyes on your floor.

You tug on the sleeves of your shirt, debating on how you should stop him, but your words get stuck in your mouth.

You're at lost for what to say as he leaves your room abruptly, leaving you standing there, open text book still on the bed.

N E X T C H A P T E R

Tag list: @dinoswierdmom @sebsgirl71479 @wintasssoldier @melimelbean @steadygoopangelhairdo @prettywhenicry4 @bonkybarnes106 @undeadhoneydew @midnightvitality @ene-rene @ccmarvelxx @hanahkatexo @gr33nleo

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #bucking imagine #marvel #modern AU

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calicohyde · 1 year

Text

ABOUT

Hi! I'm Jack. I'm 29 and I use he/him pronouns. I write horror, erotica, and romance. I paint and draw with oils and markers. I make prints and merch, currently to-order and by hand. I read tarot and make tarot decks too. I also make writing and planning videos. I'm a Pisces and I live in the Midwest United States. I'll be using this blog to post about all my creative endeavors, tips and inspiration, and share others' work. Everything is tagged for easy filtering.

Where To Support Me!

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Priority Projects

Curse The Messenger adult paranormal horror, sapphic romantic subplot, first novel in a quartet publication goal August 2024

Eddie is a Seer, or someone born to involuntarily prophecize in her dreams. She and her sibling Fred run a private investigation business finding lost things for the witch society that has shunned them both for being clairvoyant. Then secular, or non-witch, Jessica begs them to help her solve a murder that the police have determined never happened despite the gory crime scene.

[tag, playlist, taglist form]

Any Publicity Is Good Publicity adult romantic comedy, achillean, stand alone novel

Asher is a punk rocker who is forthright to a fault. He writes a diss track about politician Gwaine after Gwaine doesn't deliver on his campaign promises. When he starts getting asked about the song by the press, Gwaine goes to a show to see what the fuss is about. Ash sees him in the crowd and gets off stage to perform it directly in his face. So obviously Gwaine hires him as a sensitivity coach.

[tag, playlist, taglist form]

Minimalist Tarot Deck launch goal June 2023

Cryptids & Creatures Tarot Deck launch goal January 2024

Other Projects

5+1 format kink positive erotic romance novella | high schoolers who made a deal with the devil - they're all grown up! | corporately owned superhero is seduced to the "dark" side of neurodiversity and socialism by hot monster | serial epistolary 1920s mafia boss/vigilante journalist enemies to partners in crime to lovers

Content Warnings You can expect content applicable to these tags to appear on this blog. If you need or want something else tagged, send an ask about it and I'll let you know promptly and without judgement if I can do that for you.

I use the citrus system for content rating. That means I'll tag using the terms orange for suggestive content, lime for mature content, lemon for explicit content, and grapefruit for extreme kink or gore.

DO NOT FOLLOW IF:

∙ you are under sixteen years old ∙ your main blog has a H4rry P0tter url

You might not WANT to follow if:

∙ you are an "anti" or are pro-censorship, including for such content as RPF (Real Person Fiction), "non-con", etc ∙ you are not comfortable viewing content about sex, romance, kink, polyamory, etc. This content will not be tagged unless it's explicit. It will not be hidden behind a cut unless it's very long. ∙ you are not comfortable viewing fictional violence. I will never post real world violence for any reason. ∙ you are not comfortable with casual swearing/profanity, including reclaimed slurs. This content will be frequent and never tagged.

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DO send me asks about: My WIPs, OCs, fic, and art | writing and art in general

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DO NOT hit on me, send me sexual fantasies that involve me, or try to cyber with me. I'm comfortable with sexually explicit asks about fandom figures, original characters, sex/kink/relationships as a general topic, and even discussing real world experiences! But I am not "available" or a sexual object.

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 2 years

Text

tuesday again 1/31/23

month started on a sunday, ended on a tuesday, very satisfying

listening

Toxic Las Vegas (Jamieson Shaw Remix). this has been on my "silly little walk for my silly little mental health" playlist for three weeks so it's time for its place in the tuesdaypost. part of the appeal is that it's two songs i already like but this remix does something where i go "whoa is that the james bond chord" every time even though it is NOT.

youtube

reading

Bullet Train, a black humor thriller set on a train full of asssassins by Kōtarō Isaka. i have been having... mmmmmmmm. a time. let us say. and i have been clinging to things that i have lost my mind about (mostly cowboys) in order to get through the agonies. so it is weird, now that i am branching out a bit more bc things are on a slightly different tack, to be like "yeah i liked this a normal amount and i agree with the 3.8 goodreads average. i will not remember this in three months." npr said basically: fun little genre piece with no real depth! i don't completely agree with this, bc the book is not action-scene focused! the very few fights are short, blunt, quick affairs. there's a lot of focus on personal ethics and legacies, and a great deal of terror derived from random chance. but yeah it's not really a literary novel.

this was a fast, fun read. a rare example where i liked the adaptation (the recent movie which is a VERY loose adaptation) much more than the original work.

i try not to be picky about sentence structure or work choice in a translated work, bc translation is a tricky business at best, but there were some funky choices here and there that did throw me out of my groove. it's written in present tense, which is fine, but i cannot remember the last time i read a professionally published non-romance book written in present tense. i described the movies as "really wants you to know it took AP English", and the book is similar in an interesting way-- book!tangerine is constantly quoting English literary-canon novels.

the book (and movie) have a very dry sense of humor that clicked with me. "it's not clear why the man is naming fruits". at LEAST two sensible chuckles.

the biggest book/movie divergence is with the character of the Prince: a fourteen-year-old serial killer, who we spend a great deal of the book with, who asks nearly every grownup on this train "why is it bad to kill people?". a rare book in which i actively wanted a child to die. i think this character is much improved in the movie, since the character is both aged up (a young teen boy in the book, an older teen girl in the movie), and given clearer ties to the rest of the cast. however, this adaptational choice does lose almost all of the terror of the random chance the book makes you sit with. in the movie, the prince has a motive. in the book, that kid just ain't right.

had a fun time but not enough of a fun time that i will be seeking out the other novels in the series on purpose. perhaps if i come across physical copies cheap it will ping my memory and i'll grab them, which is how i acquire a lot of my physical books. this feels like im damning with faint phrase, but i did have a fun time reading this! it's just that my brain is a sieve and lately anything that doesn't completely possess me is immediately forgotten.

watching

fallow week bc i have been #gaming. i need to literally put on my to-do list "rewatch The Big Sleep for febslash feb research" maybe that'll get me to actually do it. im going to take this opportunity to complain about how much fucking work it is to write smut. not even the technical stuff bc i do like to write smut that's threesomes where everyone is the same gender and has the same color hair. the hard part is going "okay what's sexy" and then like storyboarding out the sequence of events to make sure everyone's having fun and it CONSISTENTLY stays sexy the whole time. i have never had irl sex with a narrative throughline. difficult difficult lemon difficult

playing

still running around in wolfenstein: the new order making this big beefy boy do jumps and slides. went to the moon. came back from the moon. hit a very fun bug as i try to fight my way out of the london nautica where i crash landed, bc i died, the level spat me out at the last checkpoint, and there were no health or ammo or armor pickups anywhere. just what i could scavenge off the fallen. very unpleasant to fight through a room with 20 health but i did do one whole room before realizing this was a bug. i would not like to play the entire game like this. very stressful. the big boss at the end of the level was also extremely stressful.

but let's talk about the moon, the moon in the fucking sky. how was the moon? was the moon fun? no it was full of nazis. it was also jammed full of sixties computer banks tho. many instruments and dials as well.

as i write this on sunday night i am going to attempt Again to finish the second to last chapter in this game. i am So Close to finishing this game in under 20 hours [ed note, monday night: lmao still have not finished this game]. look at some more computer banks there aren't enough pictures to break up this post.

not sure if this is a side effect of the next-location action movie disease, but wolfenstein is very interested in how areas link together. lots of temporary facilities that have grown ad-hoc roots, lots of trains planes and automobiles. we drive a lot of trucks. we’re in helicopters and subs and moon rockets. we blow up a bridge and scramble through several trains, blowing one of them up. we fuck on a train also can't forget that cutscene. we live in the sewers. we scuttle around in vents. we are in some very far-flung locations but they all look the fucking same bc they are encased in brutalist concrete. i'm sure this is bc it's fun to have a gun battle on a train and on the fucking moon and bc like u only have so many guys actually modelling things for your levels.

this is a very half-baked observation bc i think i am beginning to get a migraine (as i finish writng this on monday night) but let's get this out of the way first: all buildings are political. something something things invented and built for war never actually go away, something something transportation infrastructure to ease conquest continues to keep the colonies within easy reach of the imperial core, wartime infrastructure like highways and bridges as a tool of empire, fascism is a constant state of war which in this game is partly represented by constant shooting and also constant building. something something the unsustainability of not only constant building things but constant growth. something something long linked history of fascist architects who love brutalism. this video game has great visual design and visual shorthands is what im trying to get at. i think.

the london nautica museum/labs/spaceport is a big gun. this is not a subtle game.

making

here's a peek behind the curtain: i talk about cooking when i don't have anything else to report on. but i genuinely did not have anything else going on this weekend bc this took all my fucking literal and metaphorical spoons. this represents like three weeks worth of soup lunch (the red lentil previously discussed on this series) plus two quiches.

why so many quiches lately? i bought two dozen eggs before christmas and thought i would do more baking than i did, which was zero. tried this dal palak recipe, majorly fucked up the proportions of the spinach bc i cannot read the back of a package, and by the time i corrected my mistake i had a fuck of a lot of the spinach/onion/spices. unfortunately i fucking hate the texture of rice plus lentils plus this mixture all together, but felt bad about wasting so much food, so the lentils went into the soup (which i needed to make more of anyway) the spinach mixture went into some quiche (bc i needed to use up those eggs anyway) and uhhh idk what will happen with the rice yet. maybe fried rice to finish off the last three eggs in the carton. this entire debacle used all my spoons for the weekend.

there's also a pork shoulder defrosting (and after that marinating[from last summer's Father's Day Meat Sale i also wish i was making this up]) but that's not very photogenic. i desperately need freezer space and it's been a fucking minute since i had some meat.

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem

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the-fiction-witch · 2 years

Text

Courting

Media Pinnochio

Character Lampwick

Couple Lampwick X Reader

Rating Sweet af

Concept Permission To Court

I stood as I often did on a Tuesday morn, outside the little sweet shop with my broom in hand sweeping the steps and street outside the shop.

"Uuuhh hi y/n" I heard a familiar voice smile so I looked up and I saw lampwick a boy I knew well, he lived on the streets and often got himself into trouble because of it, but we were friendly you could say helped he and I where of a very similar age.

"Oh good morning lampwick, something I can do for you?" I asked

"Well if you have any of those… uhhh burnt sweet bread's, perhaps?" He asks

"I might, why?"

"Well I have a few pennies spare" he says

"Alright, but not a word to my father" I told him hurrying in the door grabbing one of the burnt sweet breads we had on the edge of the counter for cheap and going back out to him

"Aww thank you y/n" he smiled handing over a few pennies not enough for it but it's lampwick so I don't mind giving him discounts "ummm it smells lovely."

"Your welcome, enjoy it"

"I will, ohh and uhh I know you're off early tonight so, did you maybe wanna go for a walk by the beach?"

"Of course that would be lovely lampwick" I smiled giving his cheek a kiss which made him blush hard and scamper off to wherever he was going sweet bread in hand.

I finished up locking up the shop for the day my father long since taken his bed and I heard out into the square standing by the fountain in our usual spot luckily I wasn't waiting long.

"Hi" he smiled fixing his hair a little

"Hello lampwick" I smiled

"So you still want to go?"

"I would love to" I smiled taking his hand he happily kissed my hand and we went for our usual walk along the edge of the beach watching the waves lick the sand chatting about everything and nothing since our last walk together and he kept giving my hands sweet kisses "lampwick" I giggled pushing him away a little "enough kisses"

"Sorry y/n"

"It's alright why do you like giving my hands kisses so much?"

"Well it's the only place I can kiss a polite honorable lady" he says as we sat on the bridges stone walls "without getting her in trouble. That and I'll be honest y/n your hands taste like toffees"

"Do they?"

"Yeah like toffees and lemon drops and other lovely sweets you've been making all day" he smiled

"Starting to wonder if you actually like me lampwick or if it's just sugar contact"

"No! Of course I like you. I really do. I'd court you if I could. But I don't think your father would let me."

"Why not?"

"I live in a upturned boat on the beach? I have exactly four penny's to my name three of which I stole. I have nothing to offer no future or proof o can provide for his daughter"

"Aww lampwick I don't care about that and neither does my father honestly he just wants me to get married so I'd have a husband to help me run the shop"

"Really? Then why do we have to be so secretive?"

"I don't like to worry him" I shrug "you really would like to court me?"

"Of course I would"

"Alright, how about I make dinner tomorrow night and you can come over and probably meet my father?"

"You'd let me?"

"Of course"

"Id be delighted y/n" he smiled giving my cheek a little kiss before he sweetly walked me home.

I made sure dinner would be ready on time my father sat making notes about the shop while I cooked,

"y/n? Why have you got three plates out?' he asked slightly puzzled

"well father we have a visitor joining us tonight"

"a visitor?"

"a visitor"

"I take it a visitor you like very much?"

"very very much and he's very egar to meet you and have chats with you"

"I'm sure he is"

Just then the door knocked so I happily sent over letting him in even if it was clear he was very nervous

"hello sir"

"hello? Mr?"

"oh lampwick sir. I uhh your daughter invited me for dinner"

"I see" he says "come"

Lampwick went over his nerves almost causing him to shake

"you like my daughter?"

"very much sir"

"I take it your looking for the formalities?"

"yes please sir"

"alright we'll see how dinner goes" he says making lampwick sit down at the table with him, I was a little nervous but I served dinner and listened to conversation he was doing his best making a few innocent mistakes but it was adorable to watch until it got late lampwick even helped me with the dishes

"you should get going now lampwick" my father said

"I should yes, it was lovely to meet you and dinner was fantastic y/n" he smiled giving my hand a kiss as he got up ready to go

"lampwick, didn't you have something to ask my father" I reminded him

"of course yes, uhhh I its early days sir but uhh I really really like your daughter do you think it's possible I could have permission to court her?" Lampwick asked blushing hard

My father thought for a moment getting up from the table "yes." He nods and we both breathed a little better "you may court my daughter, but you will not leave her hanging. If you court my daughter I don't want you courting any other girls in town, and if you haven't made some... Formality within the year I won't let it continue. You understand me?"

"yes sir. Thank you so much. And that won't be a problem the only girl I have any interest in is y/n, and a year seems a little long to be honest"

"perfect. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again soon"

"you will, have a nice evening both of you and uhh y/n did you want to go for a nice walk by the river tomorrow afternoon?"

"I'd love to lampwick" I smiled giving his cheek a little kiss before he headed off back to his boat

"nice boy" he says

"he is, he's a lovely boy" I smiled

"you wanna marry him? Don't you?'

"I do" I blushed

"alright, give it time see how I goes. Goodnight y/n"

"goodnight father"

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keefwho · 6 months

Text

March 26 - 2024 Tuesday

11:09pm

5/10

This morning I didn't feel too motivated to clean or maybe I just couldn't decide what so I dusted off my TV area and took a little inventory even though I barely ever touch that part of the room. I took my shower and made spam in macaroni noodles for the first time. It was exactly what I'd expect it to be, and it was good. I also had a pear cup.

For work I warmed up with a couple of value studies of city streets in preparation for a simple cyberpunk background I'd have to do. I finished 2 more of those YCHs today and had trouble on both of them.

After work I took some needed 'me time' but failed to treat myself right. I had conflicting and confusing feelings but either way my body got what it needed. For lunch I made my chicken stew and the lemon pepper I finally got is definitely an ingredient I shouldn't go without.

I did today's request well and worked on my animation for an hour, I think it should be done tomorrow. Then I joined BR's server so I could work on AE's avatar with him in the call. He was playing Dragon's Dogma. I had the energy today to get a whole hour done on it and finished his texturing completely. I left afterwards to chill for the night. I watched some Twitch and tried getting on VRchat for a tiny bit before DS was in bed. We did puzzles, started Monster High book 2, and I started the Halloween world in KH2. After she fell asleep, I joined BD in Vrchat for a little over an hour while I ate my dinner. It was pretty nice.

~~~

I'm glad DS woke me up 2 minutes or so before my alarm to tell me about the bridge disaster today. If she didn't tell me and I saw it for myself, I'd have been extremely worried despite the very low chance she would have been on it.

This morning there was furry con talk in my stream chat. I felt left out because I've never been to one and don't know enough about anything to contribute to the conversation. I also have iffy feelings knowing the kinds of things that have happened at cons to people I know. They are both exciting, interesting, and worrying. In some ways I feel like I can't compete with a con goer in terms of being a relevant friend. I feel jealous.

In the evening I had thoughts going on that made it hard to focus but I got through it. I also opened up again about this old easter story about when I was 5 and didn't get any eggs during a public easter egg hunt event. I usually look back on memories like that and re-tell them like they are funny or that I should have moved on by now but the reality is I still feel shitty remembering it. I feel a deep sadness at a lot of childhood memories but I always push those feelings down. Well maybe I'm not over it and I need to do the processing I never got the chance to do.

While in VRchat I made such a strong attempt to maintain some level of perspective taking. I kept trying to visually imagine a soul/consciousness for everyone I was with which actually helped me feel connected a lot. So for brief periods, I actually felt included by other people and they were people I barely knew.

Things I liked about today:

Making chicken stew.

Playing KH2 for DS.

Hanging out in VRchat.

#journal #diary

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gwydionmisha · 1 year

Text

Personal: The New Meds Turn On Me

The new meds side effect wave hit hard and dangerous Thursday, but I'm not sure it didn't start a lot earlier.

Okay, so I had a viscous headache last Friday night for about three hours, which didn't particularly shock me, as my body just does stuff like that. Same Saturday. Normal. Sunday. Monday. I made a note to mention it to the doctor Tuesday morning, but forgot. I noticed Tuesday's headache at the same time was absolutely crushing for three hours, then shut off like a faucett as if it had never been. Which is creepy and wrong. So I'm now weighing if the new meds improvement is worth creepy three hour debilitating headache every day, and if I should call it in the next day.

So Wednesday I wake up to one of my body is very, very bad days. which is a thing that happens sometimes, especially if my body's been to far which between the uncleaner and the extreme heat and this being the worse time of year for my allergies and assorted RL commitments including the doctor is not weird. Plus I'm... I forget how many days in on struggling to type on Klaus Laptop because its hard to lift my arm the extra nine and a half inches, and i'm mostly having to drink with a straw because i go half my wake cycle not being ably to lift a full glass of water that high and I'm dropping things because my arms are fucked. which happens. All of it really stresses out my body though, you follow?

So sometimes the alarm goes off because I have to go somewhere and my body nopes out of it, or tries to. So I'm exhausted. I have the shakes. I end up way late to pick up Goth Millennial because it's just that hard to move. So I drive Goth Millennial around and wait in the car while they do errands. Goth Millennial goes outside to putter in the garden. I lung, then take a nap, all with Tavy glued to my chest, because it's sometimes better after a nap. Resets everything to a more acceptable level of crappy.

I make it all the way up to minimally functional by the time the other Millennials arrive for dinner. One of them had brought pre-marrinated and cooked tofu. Me: I think we should make rice for it. With coconut milk and saffron and Turmeric. New Millennial: Oooo! That sounds delicious! Me: It's possible I'm edging up towards Indonesian happy rice except I don't have any lemon grass. But I do have Bay leaves.... So it ends up with New Millennial Making Rice and the two of us keep consulting on spices until i have to lie down again. The results we excellent.

Tavy is still clearly traumatized from the Uncleaner. He loves techie Millennial. Techie Millennial was the first visitor he let pet and play with him. He hid from the Millennials when they arrived after nap time. He did eventually come out and watch them for a bit and even rubbed against Techies legs, but ran if it even looked like someone might tough her. I'm still so angry about the uncleaner traumatizing him like this.

Really, I just wanted to go to bed after they left, but I needed to stay up for the morning allergy treatment. My body was really not moving well, but I dragged myself there and back, which nearly did me in. I did manage to prep for bed and climb in, which really fucking hurt, at which point the first wave of hallucinations and fast heartbeat and arrhythmia hit. So that was fun. Me: Guess that's it for new Meds. They were amazing while they lasted.

They must have been really busy at the doctor because they didn't get back to me until afternoon. I left a message for my doctor's nurse, conveying that I was having severe side effects and needed to know if I should go to the ER. No one ever got back to me. The heart stuff got really bad for four or five hours, always with visual hallucinations. I thought about calling for help, but my right arm wasn't working and my left wasn't great either, and it's usually eight hours minimum to get seen at the ER and they yell at you if you bring in chest pains that turn out not to be a heart attack, and the pain only happened when I moved so it was likely just torso muscles screaming about my arms.

But the supper high irregular heart beat for hours can't be good. I wrote this waiting for receptionist call back Friday morning. I was 36 minutes in on the wait as I typed this sentence. I really think they should check my heart, but if they are this busy... Yeah. I'm assuming if it was really dangerous, they'd return my call from yesterday instead of continuing to ignore my message.

#Personal

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richincolor · 2 years

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New Releases

In terms of my TBR pile, this is a particularly exciting week for me! Several of my most anticipated reads are coming out on Tuesday. Check out what's on deck:

How to Win a Breakup by Farah Heron

First, math genius and gamer-nerd Samaya gets dumped by her boyfriend. Then he sabotages her job and hooks up with her frenemy. What could be worse? Clearly, her golden-boy ex is winning the breakup. The only way Samaya can get some rebound cred is to find someone new. Even if she has to fake it.

At a volunteer bake sale, Samaya meets a sweet opportunity. Daniel is a handsome hockey jock and a whiz when it comes to lemon squares and brownies. And he agrees to play along. Quid pro quo. He’ll pretend to be the boyfriend of her dreams if Samaya helps him pass calculus.

This may well be the recipe for the best revenge, but Samaya has no idea how complicated it will get. As they whip up an imitation romance, and a bumbleberry pie, resisting each other’s very real charms proves impossible. Samaya finds herself on an unexpected journey of secrets, self-discovery, and the true meaning of moving on.

The Moonlight Blade by Tessa Barbosa

I promised my mother I would never come to Bato-Ko…and yet here I am.

Narra Jal is one of the cursed, cast aside her whole life, considered unlucky. But with her mother’s life on the line, she will return to the city where she was born to face the trials: a grueling, bloodthirsty series of challenges designed to weed out the weak, the greedy, and the foolish. Trials to select the next ruler of Tigang.

Narra has nothing. No weapons. No training. No magic. No real chance of leaving with her life. Just her fierce grit and a refusal to accept the destiny she’s been handed. Even the intense, dark-eyed Guardian she feels a strangely electric connection with cannot help her. Narra is on her own. But she’ll show everyone what the unlucky can do.

Brighter Than the Sun by Daniel Aleman

Every morning, sixteen-year-old Sol wakes up at the break of dawn in her hometown of Tijuana, Mexico and makes the trip across the border to go to school in the United States. Though the commute is exhausting, this is the best way to achieve her dream: becoming the first person in her family to go to college.

When her family’s restaurant starts struggling, Sol must find a part-time job in San Diego to help her dad put food on the table and pay the bills. But her complicated school and work schedules on the US side of the border mean moving in with her best friend and leaving her family behind.

With her life divided by an international border, Sol must come to terms with the loneliness she hides, the pressure she feels to succeed for her family, and the fact that the future she once dreamt of is starting to seem unattainable. Mostly, she’ll have to grapple with a secret she’s kept even from herself: that maybe she’s relieved to have escaped her difficult home life, and a part of her may never want to return.

Belle of the Ball by Mari Costa

High-school senior and notorious wallflower Hawkins finally works up the courage to remove her mascot mask and ask out her longtime crush: Regina Moreno, head cheerleader, academic overachiever, and all-around popular girl. There’s only one teensy little problem: Regina is already dating Chloe Kitagawa, athletic all-star…and middling English student. Regina sees a perfectly self-serving opportunity here, and asks the smitten Hawkins to tutor Chloe free of charge, knowing Hawkins will do anything to get closer to her.

And while Regina’s plan works at first, she doesn’t realize that Hawkins and Chloe knew each other as kids, when Hawkins went by Belle and wore princess dresses to school every single day. Before long, romance does start to blossom…but not between who you might expect. With Belle of the Ball, cartoonist Mariana Costa has reinvigorated satisfying, reliable tropes into your new favorite teen romantic comedy.

While You Were Dreaming by Alisha Rai

If Sonia Patil had her way, she’d be attending her local comic con instead of covering a shift for her boss’s daughter. Since Sonia’s mom was deported and her sister, who never claimed deferred status under DACA, had to forgo college to support them, Sonia’s had her hands full with work, school, and pretending everything is okay at home.

Then Sonia, in homemade superhero cosplay, stumbles into saving her crush James’s life. When a video of the daring rescue goes viral, she—or, rather, a mysterious masked savior—is thrust into the spotlight. Now she’s hiding from TikTok detectives while trying to connect with James. And while she’s drawn to his friendly but oblivious nature, she can’t deny her escalating chemistry with another awkwardly charming boy.

Juggling crushes and a secret identity might just take superpowers. Will Sonia be able to hide in plain sight forever?

Lucha of the Night Forest by Tehlor Kay Mejia

A scorned god. A mysterious acolyte. A forgetting drug. A dangerous forest. One girl caught between the freedom she always wanted and a sister she can’t bear to leave behind. Under the cover of the Night Forest, will Lucha be able to step into her own power…or will she be consumed by it?

This gorgeous and fast-paced fantasy novel from acclaimed author Tehlor Kay Mejia is brimming with adventure, peril, romance, and family bonds–and asks what it means for a teen girl to become fully herself.

#brighter than the sun #lucha of the night forest #while you were dreaming #belle of the ball #ya lit #the moonlight blade #how to win a breakup

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inkblot22 · 2 years

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HII THERE!! I’M BACK FOR MORE ASKS IF IT’S OKAY ♥️♥️ any riddle thoughts? :0 HRU BTW

Hello! Welcome back, you're always welcome here! I'm happy to see you here again, and I'm doing relatively decent, considering I'm currently having brainrot over a very specific character that is not from twst. Also tell me why I drafted this and then left without posting and the cut??? moved???

Anyways, I have a little confession to make. I do have Riddle thoughts, but he's honestly my least favorite twst character. You can cancel me for that later. For now, we have HEADCANONS to do!! Once again, this got way out of hand lmao. I remembered to add how I think he might smell this time too, thankfully :)

Uh, anyhow, tw for captivity, abuse, concerning use of magic, enabling behavior, violent descriptions, and other general yandere themes.

+ Okay so despite his general disposition, Riddle feels like he'd be slightly less strict with his darling. Don't misunderstand, he's still strict, but his favoritism shows in little things.

+ If Riddle is infatuated with you, you can get away with a lot more than say, Ace. Ace is not allowed to wear anything yellow on Tuesdays, and loses his head if he does so. You are allowed to drink honey-sweetened lemonade at nine. That kind of thing.

+ This translates in your private life. No one, not even Riddle, can maintain such an uptight persona at all times.

+ Once again, don't get me wrong. Riddle is kind of just like that, but he isn't as uptight as he is in public. Maybe it's your influence.

+ He definitely blames you. You go to bed late, and he likes to pretend that he's in control of your dreams, so he waits for you to fall asleep. He wants to know what's so great about soda, so he buys it for you and drinks half of it before you can have any. (Riddle seems like the type of guy to have grown up with spinach brownies and only mints as far as sweets go, if you know what I mean.)

+ He's definitely happy he's met you. He's even happier that he has you under his thumb, so to speak. He's experiencing so many new, wonderful things, and you're becoming a better person for it, at least in his eyes.

+You're expected to follow the rules, even if you get away with a little bit of bending and breaking here and there. You have to attend every unbirthday and every birthday, every tea party and every croquet game, and you have to be on your best behavior. Otherwise, you're in deep yogurt. More on that in a moment.

+ Uh, anyways, he's very clingy behind closed doors. I imagine if you get close to him, he smells kind of like lemon, pine, and the barest sweet note of strawberry. It's actually pretty nice, and you've started smelling similar since he demands you use his bath products as well.

+ Riddle uses a few pet names for you. Mostly "dear," "darling," "beloved," but less common and only when you're particularly distraught is "rose petal." You're his delicate little rose petal. This is only behind closed doors.

+ By the way, being lovey-dovey in public brings the wrong kind of flush to his face, so if you want to piss him off, feel free to kiss his cheek whenever you're out on one of your privileged walks.

+ Speaking of which! Riddle does get angry with you a LOT. When he's mad, you need to either move quick to diffuse the situation, or accept the impending punishment.

+ He doesn't have mood swings so much as an eager temper, so more often than not he'll just become slightly offended by a little thing you do and then think about it for a little too long.

+ Punishments are sporadic and cruel. They range from being forced to write 100 times on a chalkboard "I will not disobey," to him using his signature spell on you.

+ In the case you're not magic, Off With Your Head feels physically painful. Your limbs feel as though they're made of lead and your skin tingles with something like electricity. For a mage, it's a more emotional feeling of loss, as well as the weight of the collar, but for non-mages, it's like getting your blood forcefully sucked through your skin with a million metal straws, all hooked up to car batteries and conducting electricity.

+ That's not including the weight of the collar, by the way. The collar always leaves a red ring around your neck, a raised, irritated bruise.

+ Riddle has a tendency to not apologize when he's wrong, too, especially to you. He wants to stay the correct person in the room. He can't have you thinking less of him because he didn't like the color you wore and then threw a tantrum because of it.

+ On a completely different note, someone who sees what Riddle puts you through and says jack all is (drumroll, please🥁🥁🥁) you guessed it! Trey Clover, everyone's favorite childless dilf.

+ Trey doesn't let you completely suffer. Sometimes he'll talk Riddle down, and this one time that Riddle lost his temper completely and struck you, Trey was right there with a bag of frozen corn, but other than that?

+ You're on your own, dearest. It's you versus Riddle versus the Twisted world you're stuck in.

#tw dark themes #tw: dark content #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere riddle rosehearst x reader #yandere riddle x reader #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #tw: abuse #dubious use of magic #tw violence #tw captivity #tw yandere #anon asks #anon answered #thank you for sending an ask!!#the blot talks!

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spooniechef · 1 year

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The Dinner Diaries Days 9-11 - Meat Tips

The last few days haven't exactly been massively exciting in terms of menu stuff. In fact, Monday and Tuesday were pretty much one meal of "heated-up meat, some carbs, something that qualifies as a vegetable" supplemented with fruit smoothies. Today was the tuna broccoli lemon pasta (I finally remembered to go pick up some tinned tuna), so that'll keep me going a little. Just I figured I'd mention a couple of tips and tricks when it comes to meat. I'm sure a lot of this is stuff everyone knows, but ... I didn't know this stuff once, so maybe it'll find someone who needs to know.

Steak: Well, specifically rump steak (other cuts are a whole different beast in some respects, but rump steak is cheaper) but apparently this goes for more or less all red meat. Main thing - let it reach room temperature before cooking. Apparently this helps it cook more evenly. Also, if you spice the steak while it's resting to room temperature, the spices have more time to flavour up the meat. On the subject, one of my favourite things to do with a rump steak for flavouring is to leave it to rest to room temperature in a shallow dish, sprinkled with some garlic salt, some onion powder, a little pinch of celery salt, little bit of dried chilli flakes, and a splash of lemon juice. I'm not sure why lemon seems to enhance chilli, but it does, and that little bit of heat will seep into the steak really well. If you're frying it (which is generally how I do it), heat the pan to very hot but not smoking before putting the steak on - that'll sear the steak and keep it juicy on the inside. Honestly, I figure most of this stuff works for all red meats. As for cooking times, I'm not exactly an expert, because I like my steaks very, very "are we sure they're not a vampire?" rare. I leave them a few minutes per side at most.

Chicken: I'm talking quarter-chicken - thigh and drumstick, still attached to each other, skin on. I'm good at roasting a whole chicken, but I got the general vibe of it from roasting chicken legs on their own. The thing about resting the meat to room temperature before cooking holds true here as well, for pretty much the same reasons. In this case, it's more that whatever salt you're putting in your seasoning mix will permeate the skin and make it nice and crispy - similar principle to making crackling (it's a roast pork thing; I'll handle that one another time). Similar blend, too, though I find the lemon-and-chilli thing a bit overpowering with chicken if not brining it. So I generally stick with garlic salt, onion powder, and a little bit of season-all. Just put it in the oven at about 400F (I generally do 200C fan assist, for those working in celcius) for maybe 15 minutes. If you want to check and don't want to use a meat thermometer, find a small, thin knife and jab it deep into the thickest part of the thigh. If the juices run clear, it's okay to take out. If not, leave it in another few minutes. One of the good bits about the skin being crispy is that it's just another way of searing the meat; not as much moisture escapes so you're not in too much danger of overcooking it if you leave it in a few minutes longer than you need to.

That's basically been the it and all of it - it actually took longer to think about how to describe the tips I used the last couple of days than it did to use them. I do this stuff so often now that I don't even think about it. (Honestly, that was a gripe an ex of mine had with me; he wanted me to tell him how I made his favourite dishes and I gave him so many generalities when he wanted specifics. I measure that shit with my heart, is all.)

Anyway, tomorrow's probably going to be largely about the leftovers, but I'm about to round off today's 'being busy' with making chocolate chip cookie dough from a recipe I found on Gluten Free On A Shoestring. I don't generally post recipes here until I know they actually work, and the dough needs to chill for at least twelve hours, so I'm going to make that now with a view to having at least one mini-break from my work-from-home job involve putting cookies in the oven and maybe rewarding myself for the bullshit my workplace is putting me through right now. I'll keep you posted.

#the spoonie chef #tips and tricks

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ladyhoneydee · 10 months

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30 Day Song(fic) Challenge: Day 12

Sorry for missing yesterday, but I'm back today! This Song(fic) Challenge prompt was "A song with a name in the title", and I ended up going with "Polly Jean" from the anime Carole and Tuesday (the soundtrack of which I absolutely adore). This song is so midzel coded, it's not even funny. "We're always here in between / The shadows and flare fluttering"? "Now everything is bittersweet / Like lemon and tangerine / I don't know how to tell you / The feelings inside me"? Hello???

This is the first fic I've written for this challenge where I'm fulfilling a fic idea I've had before now, and I'm overjoyed to be able to cross something off of my long-term list. Writing this also gave me the urge to try to turn it into a whole multichap, so...if I receive enough bullying, perhaps I'll actually do it, lol.

River Flowers

Game: Twilight Princess, post-canon

Pairing: Midzel

Word Count: 1673

Keywords: romance, yearning, dreamscapes

Midna’s long, loping stride ate the paces between them in merely a few bites. Draped in inky silk, her height and speed combined might startle a person less accustomed to her, but Zelda simply opened her arms. Their embrace felt like home. As always, Midna smelled of amber and incense, of night-blooming flowers and musk. With each breath Zelda took, she could feel Midna taking root in her lungs.

Read the fic on Ao3, or under the cut!

Zelda blinked her eyes open, and gazed out at the landscape, as familiar as the lines on her palm. Always a riverside, always at twilight. The sun on the horizon cast the water in burnt orange; the forest leaves to each side were gilded in a shade of pure, bright yellow. Below the surface, water-blooms the size of Zelda’s own head swayed in the current, their golden centers winking up through broad, violet petals. No matter how long she might walk the path beside the water, the sun would never sink nor rise.

It was a place for only her and Midna.

The Twilight Princess had beaten her there that night, even though Zelda had tucked herself into bed earlier than usual, near-giddy with excitement. The connection didn’t always work—she wasn’t quite sure why, yet, but she was keen to investigate—and Zelda hadn’t seen Midna for nearly a week. For Midna to have arrived in their dreamscape before her…

“There you are, slowpoke! I thought you’d keep me waiting the whole night.”

“Never,” Zelda vowed. Perhaps her intensity was a little disproportionate to the situation, but she had spent enough of her life minimizing her emotions for the sake of appearances. Midna was the one person from whom she had nothing to hide.

Well. Almost nothing.

Their embrace felt like home.

As always, Midna smelled of amber and incense, of night-blooming flowers and musk. With each breath Zelda took, she could feel Midna taking root in her lungs.

“I missed you,” Midna murmured. Each syllable pressed the soft underside of her chin lightly onto the crown of Zelda’s head. Even more than the sweet ache of her words, Zelda was driven to distraction by that sensation. She had enough awareness of human anatomy to recognize that that soft pressure was the base of Midna’s tongue at the bottom of her mouth, and the hinging of her lovely jaw. Zelda wanted to press a kiss to that place, the wellspring of Midna’s words. She wanted to absorb every part of Midna into her very bones.

“I missed you more.”

And it was true. Zelda could not say what feelings lurked inside Midna’s heart, but if she felt even a quarter of what Zelda did, the bittersweet tangerine tang of longing should have pushed one of them into action by this point. It was easier to believe that Midna did not love her with the same flavor and depth.

(If not, why were they wasting so much time?)

“Shall we walk?” Midna suggested.

“That would be lovely.”

They reluctantly disentangled limbs from limbs. The loss of Midna leeched warmth from Zelda like a drafty window. She filled in the cracks by taking the other woman’s hand as they set off.

“How have you been for the past week?”

Midna let out a thoughtful hum. “It’s been…” The near corner of her mouth quirked up in a lopsided smirk. “Boring! We’re finally through the worst of the resupplying and memorial services, which means that I see far less of the people than I did before. Which is a good thing, of course, but…” she trailed off.

“But it makes you feel more disconnected?”

“Precisely. I miss having a more visible impact. Of course, there’s nothing I can do to heal the hearts of those who lost loved ones to Zant’s cursed crusade, or ease their grief, and that’s what’s left to do. But I wish that was a power handed down from my ancestors, more than the ability to turn into a giant spider made of goop.” Her mouth curved downwards. “I’d rather be able to heal. Destruction alone is tiring.”

Zelda nodded sympathetically. “I understand. Although…it can be nearly as demoralizing to have the power to heal, but not actually be able to offer the help people need. I’d give anything to have the ability to move objects like you do.”

“That’s right, Hyrule has a lot more physical destruction than Twilea did.”

Zelda nudged Midna in the side gently, a teasing smile on her lips. “You mean to tell me you forgot about exploding my castle?”

Midna laughed heartily. “I neither confirm nor deny.”

They continued walking for some time in a companionable silence, beneath the tree branches with their overlapping tips and dappled light and shade.

Zelda wondered, not for the first time, where this in-between world was. It held pieces of both women: Midna’s shadow and Zelda’s flare, intertwined in the gold and purple they both shared. And yet it didn’t feel like a place they had simply created themselves, a bridge between two minds and nothing more. If Midna knew anything about it, she hadn’t said; Zelda had pored over the remaining mythology texts in the library to no avail. She was beginning to doubt she’d ever find an answer.

Midna’s hand was warm in Zelda’s own, a welcome sensation. Despite the beauty of the dreamscape, it actually provided very little physical feedback, to the point that it was nearly jarring to feel the full gamut of the real world upon waking. Sometimes, it felt magical and unique. Tonight, it just made Zelda resent the dreamscape’s paper-thin unrealness.

“Would you like to swim with me?” Zelda asked abruptly.

It was an impulse, fed by her desire to be able to feel this place, the only place where she could meet with her love, but even with the words off of her tongue and into the open air, Zelda found she didn’t want to take it back. It had been so long since she’d last been swimming, and the thought of swimming with Midna…

Midna was gifting her a wide, wondrous grin, with one long canine poking over her lip in the way that Zelda knew meant she was positively delighted. “Such a suggestion from a sheltered princess! I wouldn’t have suspected it of you.”

Zelda smiled at the teasing. At one point, before she’d grown accustomed to Midna’s occasionally abrasive sense of humor, the ribbing might have stung. Now, she took it for the compliment hidden beneath the surface.

“Perhaps I’m full of surprises,” she shot back.

“I look forward to unwrapping all of them, then.”

Cheeks flaming, Zelda turned her face towards the twinkling river. Surely Midna hadn’t intended it as salaciously as it had sounded. Surely she was just reading into Midna’s words for the meaning she wished to hear.

“Together?” she asked.

“Of course,” Midna answered. She squeezed Zelda’s hand once, twice, thrice.

“Let’s go, then!”

They charged for the river, taking a running leap. Midna whooped. Zelda never once let go of her hand, even as they crashed beneath the surface.

It was about what she had expected, rather than what she’d hoped. The water held a cooler temperature than the air, it was true, but it was still a dull sensation compared to what she might experience in Hyrule. She could hardly feel the current against her body, even as she and Midna began to ever so slightly drift downstream. The only point of vividness in her entire world was the warmth of Midna’s fingers intertwined with her own, Midna’s palm pressed against her own, Midna’s body so close to her own.

Zelda broke the surface with a gasp.

Midna popped up a moment later, eyes wide and shining. She gave Zelda a scintillating grin before tipping her chin back, back, back, to face the sky. “Glorious.”

“Does it feel differently for you?” Zelda asked curiously. “The sensation is muffled for me.”

“Oh, it’s as dim as can be. But how upset can you be with a swim on a beautiful evening?”

Zelda’s breath caught in her throat to see Midna’s hair, free of any elaborate clasp, flowing freely in the water like liquid fire; the sinuous shape of her in the water carving a silhouette against the deep purple and ember-gold of the river flowers far below; the water droplets collecting on the robin’s-egg skin of her throat. She badly wished to kiss them off. “Yes, beautiful.”

Zelda mirrored Midna, flipping her weight up so she too floated on her back. Those familiar, yellow-leafed branches crossed overhead, and she watched them pass. Midna was right—she couldn’t be upset with a swim like this. And yet, Zelda yearned to be with her in more than just their waking dreams.

I want to find you, she wanted to say. Why did you break the mirror? Why do you still hide from me, even now?

Compared to the near-nothingness of the dream-water, the two stubborn tears that slipped from the corners of her eyes practically scalded their path to her hairline.

“I’m glad to have this time with you,” Midna said. Her voice was quieter. Zelda wondered if she, too, was feeling the melancholy of twilight. “It’s my favorite moment of each passing day.”

The use of ‘day’ for Zelda’s sake—as Midna’s people had different measurements of time, which Zelda had never had the privilege to experience—made her smile nearly as much as Midna’s words did. “Mine as well,” she confessed.

The dreamscape spasmed once, twice. A disembodied heartbeat. It heralded the coming end of the dream.

“Already?” Midna groaned. Zelda couldn’t agree more.

“May the skies smile upon you until we meet again,” she whispered. “I hope it’s soon.”

Midna squeezed her hand again. “Enjoy your day, Zelda.”

I want to have more of you than this, Zelda wanted to say. An impossible admission.

Before Zelda could return Midna’s squeeze, her eyelids fluttered open. Grey dawn, grey sheets. She ached for gold, for red, for orange, for purple, for robin’s-egg blue. For twilight, and the love that lingered within it.

She would just have to do her best to manifest it. To try, and try, and try, until she could finally reach across the distance between them, in every sense.

#loz #twilight princess #midzel #loz fanfic #my fanfiction #30 day song(fic) challenge

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