#i need you to know that i got SIX NOTIFICATIONS for this singular ask

[madnessofmen]

Shell shock? What? Come on Corporal, get out of that daze. We have more pressing matters to get to. I have a very important question. Would you still love me if I were a worm?

Yes, sir. I would fill a mason jar with mud and carry you around in it at all times to make sure you were safe. (A shell goes off a few dozen yards away, throwing dirt and debris into the air. It lands with a series of soft patters in the ankle deep mud of the trench. I stare at the ground for an uncomfortably long time, watching the soil soak up the water and become mud. My thoughts are far far away. You wait expectantly. I finally look up.) Can I also be a worm?

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly 5. Recording Studio 3B

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w., r.b x n.w.

warnings: Brief mention of pregnancy, Steve in his King!Steve era briefly, again with the misogyny

A/N: Happy Stranger Things Day! I want to say thank you to everyone who's reading this old and new readers alike! Every notification makes me so excited and I'm just happy to be here, ya know?Listen, I know we're really Steve-centric right now but you got to trust me on this, we are laying a FOUNDATION here right? Remember we're covering six years' worth of drama and we are just getting started, trust me!

wc: 4.8k

MASTERLIST����

Previous Chapter 🎹🎺

***

STEVE: Yeah, I know I had fucked up. Like, as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. I don’t know why I did it, I think I felt threatened or something. Listen, I think about what happened all the time and there isn’t one singular moment that we can pinpoint where everything went south, really, we all made mistakes, a lot of them. But sometimes, I can’t help thinking to myself that if I had just handled that day at the restaurant better, our whole lives would’ve been different. Or… who knows? Maybe not, maybe we were always meant to end as bad as we did.

***

June 7th, 1983–Los Angeles, California

A few days after your lunch with the Downsides, you see your own face peaking at you from the cover of a Subrosa magazine on a grocery store newsstand. 

You glance around before surreptitiously crouching down for a closer look.

It was a grainy picture of you and Steve, sitting across from one another at lunch, clearly in conversation. The picture had been taken from outside the restaurant and framed in such a way that it looked like it was only the two of you dining together. You can tell by the looks on your faces that it was before everything had blown up—the two of you looked like you were enjoying yourselves.

Sultry Songstress Sees Upside with the Downsides’ Flirty Frontman reads across the top of the page, and you gag. They sure do love their alliteration over at the Sub.

You briefly wonder to yourself what Steve and the others will think of this once they see it. Shrugging that thought off, you toss the magazine into your cart.

***

You actually find out pretty quickly what Steve and the others think about the cover later that evening when you receive a call from an unknown number.

“Hi, it’s Robin,” you hear from the other line as soon as you pick up.

“Hi Ro—”

“Robin Buckley, from the Downsides? I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at lunch the other day when my friend made a huge ass of himself and— ow, Steve that hurt, God.”

Sounds of some sort of physical struggle echo through the telephone line until you decide to interrupt.

“Hi Robin, of course I remember you and your ass of a friend, what can I do for the two of you? Also, how did you get my number?”

You’re more curious than bothered when you ask the latter question.

“Four.”

“Pardon?”

“Four. There are four of us. See, you asked what you could do for the two of us but it’s not just me and Steve. Nancy and Argyle are here too—” At this point, you hear a faint ‘hello’ and ‘what’s up’ from the background—"For the sake of full disclosure I felt that I should mention that. Jonathan is visiting his family in Lenora Hills, otherwise, I’m sure he’d be here too. Oh, and to answer your question I got your number from Murray.”

“Uh-huh.” 

You glance at your wristwatch; there’s a party in the Hills that you were planning on going to and you were going to have to leave soon if you didn’t want to be stuck in traffic all night.

As if she had read your mind, you hear some shuffling on the line before Nancy decidedly takes over the conversation with a much more serious tone.

“Hi, sorry to bother you this late but we wanted to ask if perhaps you had seen the latest issue of Subrosa? It seems like you and Steve are on the cover.”

Exhaling a laugh, you answer, “Yes, actually, saw it at the grocery store today, sorry you guys didn’t make the front page, I’m sure you’ll get them next time.”

“What? No, I mean, have you read the article? They’re printing lies about you both,” Nancy stutters out, indignantly.

“They’re saying that you and Steve had a private lunch and that he’s been seen sneaking out of the Hotel Mormont for weeks and that you might be pregnant? They’re even alluding to a fight breaking out between him and Jason Carver of all people.”

 This causes you to fully chortle.

“I wish, that guy deserves a few punches to the face. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though, everything they say about me is a lie.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t they supposed to have some journalistic integrity? Don’t they get in trouble for printing lies like this? Have you tried to contact their editors about this?”

The confusion you feel about this conversation is outweighed by how weirdly touched you feel that these girls who had only met you once seem so offended on your behalf.

“No, I mean, it’s a gossip rag, not like The New York Times or anything,” you placate, “and after all the terrible things they’ve said about in the past, I’m kinda just glad they got a half-decent picture of me.  I appreciate you all calling about it though.”

And then, after a beat, you address the band’s lead singer, who has been oddly quiet throughout the whole exchange.

“I hope being pictured with me didn’t sully your reputation, Flirty Frontman.”

Really, you didn’t care if Steve was bothered by the whole thing, you just hoped that he wasn’t making his bandmates call you on his behalf. You didn’t know what to make of the guy quite yet. On one hand, he was completely sweet to you most of the lunch, he spent the meal asking you questions about yourself and refilling your drink without you having to ask. But the tantrum he had thrown reminded you a little too much of the dangerously self-absorbed musicians that had grown sick of these last few years.

“Me? No, I’m fine. Did you see how great my hair looked?”

You laugh silently at his answer. His hair did look great in the photo, but you were not about to give him the satisfaction of letting him hear that from you.

He continues, “Plus, they never really said anything terrible about me. They’re like, totally after you which is why Nance and Rob have been so worried, I guess. Are you good?”

His question comes out more hushed than everything else he’s said, and you are once again reminded of the earnest smiles you exchanged across the table a few days ago.

“I’m fine, Harrington, this is a regular Tuesday for me.”

With that, you bid goodbye to the band, citing your lateness, but not before expressing a very sincere thanks for their naïve concern.

The unexpected phone call makes you hit traffic, as you had predicted. You spend nearly an hour and a half in the back of a cab, the whole time, you can’t stop replaying the conversation you just had in your head.

Maybe there was more to the Downsides than met the eye?

***

This theory is proven, in part, after Hopper sends you a demo recording of some of their songs the following week.  

The Downsides, you quickly find out, are good, like very good. Their music is like nothing you’d ever heard before: experimental and fun but polished and very technically sound. Steve’s vocals are annoyingly impressive—his growly timbre grounding the lighter sound and keeping it from sounding too saccharine. You can see them dominating the charts and blowing The Letterman’s and every other one-trick band out of the water.

The track they wanted you to jump on was part of the demos Hopper had sent out. It was called “Feel It”, a romantic song, tinged with melancholy but paired with an upbeat synth sound.

You had been sent a copy of the lyrics that included a cue for you to come in.

You practiced your part for days, agonizing over how you wanted to deliver the lyrics, and eventually, you came up with exactly what you wanted to do after making some minor adjustments.

You were actually excited to record the song until you remembered that you would have to come face-to-face with the band’s two asshole guitarists again.

On the day of the recording, you tried your best to be early, but you had been up tossing all night which caused you to oversleep then you lost your keys, and you were moving at the time, so your things were all over the place. You also had to turn around and come back when you realized you had forgotten the gift basket of cookies you were planning on bringing for the band—something left over from a package Charles Riva's team sent you as an apology for him blowing you off. All in all, you were about thirty minutes late.

You pulled into the Starcourt parking lot a harried mess and as you rounded the corner into the studio, you could hear the booming voice of Eddie Munson.

“She’s probably stuck circling the parking lot trying to find some working-class sucker to park her car. Harrington, why don’t you go check out there? Maybe you’ll get papped again and get another 5 minutes of fame.”

You hear Steve respond and while you can’t make out the words, you can tell he’s annoyed, embarrassed, or possibly both.

You can see the faces of every other band member fall like dominos as they each caught sight of you rounding the corner to stand directly behind Eddie.

Eddie though doesn’t seem to pick up on what’s clearly written on all their faces and persists through his tirade, “She’s only coming for the photo opp anyway—she doesn’t care about any of this.”

It’s Argyle who finds his voice first, “Eddie, man, isn’t that her?”

Eddie whips around and with comically wide eyes, looks down at you, grimacing.

You consider telling the guy off but decide against it.

If there is one thing you have learned these years it’s that while the male artists can throw fits, yell, scream, and even damage equipment without anyone as much as blinking an eye, one emotional misstep from you and you would be branded a diva. They would say you were difficult, rude, and find any excuse to toss you aside like they had so many women before you and you refused to let them have that satisfaction.

So, instead, you smile at the band, eyes lingering on Eddie for just a moment longer than on anybody else, to let him know that you had heard him, and then say brightly, “Sorry I’m late everybody. I brought some cookies.”

***

EDDIE: Yeah, it was a dick thing to say, and I regretted it immediately and not just because she brought us cookies.

I wasn’t—that wasn’t me.

I was just so angry about everything that I had lost, and I didn’t know where to put it all and then she shows up: this rich, spoiled girl who just seemed to float through life without a single fucking care or struggle, and suddenly I had an easy target.

I felt bad about it until she changed my fucking lyrics.

***

Unlike their guitarists, most of the band seemed pleased to see you and you spent a few minutes greeting everyone and handing around cookies while Eddie and Steve kept their respective distances—Eddie, sulking in a corner and Steve doing a poor job at pretending to tune his guitar.

“Okay kids let’s give the voices some space to do their thing,” Hopper says waving them through the door sounding more like a disgruntled parent than a manager.

In the end, it’s just you, Steve, Murray, and the sound booth tech. The latter two are busy prepping the sound and mic, leaving you and Steve standing in the back.

“Hey, I wanted to apologize about what I said the other day at lunch,” he leans in close to your ear, his eyes transfixed on his shoes.

“I didn’t mean it—not really. I guess I was just lashing out because, well, they keep changing things about the band without even talking to us. First, they made us go pop, then they made me give up lead guitar to Eddie because his previous band didn’t want him anymore, and then it seemed like they wanted to replace me with you and like, it’s not that I wouldn’t want you it’s just that—well they never even asked what we wanted, you know? I was frustrated about that, and I took it out on you and I’m sorry about that.”

You watch him as he digs the toe of his sneaker into the carpet, eyes downcast, clearly waiting for you to respond. You’re too busy contemplating his words, however, because an apology was the last thing you were expecting from him, much less such a sincere one.

Out of all the difficult men you had dealt with in your life—producers, musicians, lawyers, managers, former flings, hell, even your own father—you had never received an apology from any of them regardless of how poorly they’d treated you.

Steve’s eyes finally trail up to meet yours, searching your face for signs that he didn’t say the wrong thing yet again.

Seeing no trace of dishonesty on Steve’s face, you decide to trust the apology for what it is and nod in acceptance.

“I get it,” you say, and truly, you did, “I’ve had most of my career decisions made for me, and a lot of times, they weren’t really what I wanted. It makes the whole thing feel kind of…empty, doesn’t it?”

His face floods with relief as he nods along in understanding.

“Yeah, like does success matter if we can’t do things our way? Me and Rob, we’ve been best friends since we were little and this has always been our dream and now that it may be coming true, it doesn’t feel like we imagined. I guess that’s kinda stupid though, expecting things to be like you imagined them as a kid,” he laughs at himself nervously.

“No, it’s not,” you counter, “that’s not stupid at all.”

You understand Steve’s disillusionment completely because it mirrors your own.

“Listen, I get how you feel, trust me, but you got to keep going. You guys are good, and I think you could all be big one day and then it’ll be you who’s calling the shots and then you can kick me and Eddie to the curb,” you clearly say the last part in jest but that doesn’t stop the shame that rolls across Steve’s face.

“Hey, don’t say that. You’re really talented and we’re lucky that you’re doing us this favor. We’d be even luckier if we could get you to stick around. Munson I could give or take, though.”

His joke makes you laugh so loud that Murray turns around and glares.

***

Steve was sent into the booth first to record his final vocals for the song, leaving you to observe.

As they set Steve up, your eyes kept bouncing over to the newly appeared Eddie, trying to figure out what exactly he was doing there.

“I wrote the song,” Eddie explains, after catching your eye.

“Oh,” you say, not bothering enough to hide your surprise, “well, congratulations, it’s a good song.”

You catch him eyeing the plate of cookies at your side. You open your mouth to offer him a cookie, but the echo of his words rings fresh in your mind, so instead, you reach for one and make a big show of savoring it.

Steve records his part of the vocals in five takes. He appears a bit nervous at first but eases into his groove rather quickly.

As the audio engineer is setting up the booth for you, you feel your own nerves rise. You wanted this to go well. You wanted to impress Steve and Hopper and even Eddie.

They signal you into the booth and the first two times, you record the song exactly how it’s written. Then, on the third one, you switch up the final chorus.

The original lyrics were: Fear in your heart, can’t conceal it/ But baby, my loves your cure, can’t you feel it? / Lay your hope bare next to mine/ and even if the world caves in, we’ll be fine

You changed the lyrics to: Fear in your heart, can’t conceal it/ But baby, my loves your cure, can’t you feel it? / Lay your flaws bare next to mine/ because when the world caves in, I’ll leave you cryin’

The change was slight, you thought, but meaningful.

The original version—Eddie’s version—was too hopeful. It was a boring portrayal of lovers staying with each other through thick and thin.

Your change added some conflict and dimension to the narrative. You made it better.

“What the hell was that?” Eddie pushed past Murray to yell into the mic that fed into the booth.

You roll your eyes at him dramatically interrupting your take, “I was just trying something out.”

Hopper pulled Eddie back by the shoulder while Murray wrestled the mic from him.

“Woah, sweetheart, pump the breaks. That was good. Better than the original. Can we run that one more time but with your lyrics instead? Harrington, we’ll re-record some of your parts too.”

Hopper has to all but carry Eddie out the door after he hears that.

***

EDDIE: The thing that pissed me off the most was that her version of the song was better. I just didn’t want to admit it because I wrote that song about Chrissy, about how even though I was so scared I was going to fuck up our relationship, she understood that and was willing to work through that with me. Her version was much closer to what actually happened and that hit a little too close to home.

***

“Woah, what did you two do to Eddie?” Robin demands as soon as you and Steve are dismissed into the hallway. “Hopper pretty much had to drag him out in tears!”

You worry at your bottom lip, caught in the wondering eyes of the group. At the time, you felt like you were doing the right thing, but now you wonder if you had forgone the common courtesy of at least letting him know you had changed the song. You didn’t want to come across as unprofessional as he accused you of being.

“I should probably go talk to him,” you say in response.

“Geez, Robin. Was the third degree really necessary there? This is just like last week’s DMV visit all over again,” Steve chastises as they all watch you walk away.

***

You find Eddie in the smoking area, cigarette in hand. “Hey, listen can we talk—"

Eddie turns dangerously to face you, cutting you off.

“You know what your fucking problem is? No one’s ever said no to you so you think you can do whatever the hell you want and that everyone else just rolls over and gives it to you because you’re so pretty and charming and rich.

“Well, you may have the rest of those assholes fooled but I see right through you, okay?”

Your eyes narrowed in response before you snap back.

"First of all, you don't know anything about me, so stop pretending that you do. I have worked hard to be here, just like the rest of you, and as far as this song goes, my name is going to be attached to it too, so I have just as much of a right to give input as you or Steve. It was wrong that I didn't say anything to you beforehand, sure, and I apologize for that, but let's not pretend that you've been the epitome of professionalism here either because you've been an ass to me since we've met, and I don't know why but I won't stand for it again. Fuck you, Eddie Munson,” you spit out before turning on your heel and stomping away.

***

EDDIE: That was hot, not gonna lie.

***

“Are you really going to let some mangy metalhead from Bumfuck, Nowhere keep you from finally doing what you want?” Murray asks exasperatedly when you call him to complain about the exchange later that night.

“Listen, I’ve recorded a lot of songs in that studio, some of them great, most of them mediocre, but today blew all of them out of the water. The band’s never sounded better and neither have you, frankly. If you gave up the chance to finally write your own songs and sound this good while doing it, that would be flat-out idiotic. You know that, right?”

The line goes still.

“Yes,” you finally say.

“Great, now that that’s settled, why don’t you get some rest, huh? Ruining Muson’s day must have tired you right out.”

You exhale a laugh before saying goodbye.

Although you would never say it to his face, you were grateful for Murray. It was nice having someone looking out for you.

***

MURRAY:  Brenner loved the track. After that, we had a very short time to make a lot of big things happen. The Downside’s debut album was already 70% recorded, but now that we had a whole other person on vocals, we had to scrap a good portion of the work they had already done and rerecord with our new vocalist. We couldn’t even celebrate our victory because we were just getting started.

Those poor kids had no clue what was coming.

***

When your phone rings a few mornings later, you suspect it’s Murray again with an update on the song, and while you’re right about the message, you’re wrong about the messenger. 

“Hi, it’s Steve, uh, Harrington. Obviously,” you hear a familiar voice crackle over the line.

“Oh? And to what do I owe the honor Mr. Obviously?” you respond.

“Oh, very funny. Listen, I wanted to call and let you know that we just heard from Hopper that Brenner and his guys liked our song, and they want us to continue, you know… recording together and stuff. So, yeah, would that be something you’re interested in… being a part of, you know, the band?” his voice wavers a bit as he asks.

“Is that even a choice?” you fire back, “I was under the impression that once Brenner gave the go-ahead, it was pretty much a done deal.”

He clears his throat in response, “I think you deserve to have a choice. I talked to the rest of the band, and they agree and if you don’t want in, we’ll back you… even if that means breaking our Starcourt contract.”

The line goes silent as you contemplate the gravity of what Steve has just said. The Downsides would be willing to put their own career at risk just to assure you the luxury of choice.

The answer was easy after that.

“I’m in,” you say after a few moments of terse silence. “I want to be a part of the band.”

You can all but see Steve pumping his fist on the other side of the line.

“That’s great! That’s great news. I’m glad my asshole tendencies didn’t put you off,” he laughs, relieved.

“I mean, it was a tough sell,” you tease back, “but I think we can be good together. The band, I mean.”

You wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing when his joyous peals of laughter stop suddenly at your words.

“Actually, um, about that,” he begins, once again nervously, “I’m really grateful that you’re giving us—the band—a chance and that you were nice enough to record the single with us in the first place. And, I mean, I know I’m already pushing my luck with the universe and you but maybe—uh, maybe today it’s my turn to be the luckiest guy in the world? Who knows?”

You have absolutely no clue what he’s getting at, and you let him know as much.

“Right, hm, I was wondering if I could take you out, on a date, to celebrate us becoming a band but also like, you know, a date. I know I made a total ass of myself, but I really like you, and I think you're gorgeous and talented and smart. I know I may not deserve another shot, but I would love it if you gave me one.”

You’re at a loss for words. First, you’re not even sure if you want to trust Steve fully, not quite yet. Sure, he apologized, but a part of you wonders if he only did it to get on your good side once he had seen how your pre-established infamy could serve him after that Subrosa article ran. Murray mentioned how radio runtime for the few EP songs The Downsides had in the rotation tripled since the publication. It definitely wouldn’t have been the first time you were being used like this.

Even if you could find it in yourself to look past that (and who knows, maybe you could?) there was still the matter of what Murray and Hopper had so delicately mentioned that day at lunch.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I don’t think that would be very professional. Especially on account of our…  front-facing, romantic narrative.”

“Our what?”

***

MURRAY: I thought that Hopper had gotten his team on the same page about the more personal aspects of the band’s arrangement, but apparently, I was wrong. None of them had any clue what was going on and the thing about running a ruse is that people that are in on it kind of have to know that they’re in on it.

A few days before we began re-recording, the girl called me all in a tizzy because she accidentally spilled the beans, not knowing that Harrington had no clue at all about the plan.

I then call Hopper; it turns into this whole thing. We had to arrange an emergency meeting with the two of them and the entire legal team.

A bit slow on the uptake, that Harrington kid, but he got there. Eventually.

He was harder to convince than the girl, though. At least she didn’t have a problem with lying to the public. But Harrington was all about that Midwestern “integrity” and “letting the music speak for itself”. Hop eventually had to spell it out real simple for him: either they do this, or the entire band was cooked.

STEVE: I guess after like 15 years the ruse is finally up, huh? Yeah, the relationship was fake. Or, at least, it started out that way. Listen, it was complicated and we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

But, if you’re asking about what I was thinking when they finally told me their plan, well, I wasn’t happy or on board at all. It felt like we had already given up so much of ourselves for this—like, where do you draw the line, you know?

But then Hopper reminded me that it wasn’t all about me: Nancy had dropped out of college to be in the band, Jonathan…he had his sick little brother to take care of, and even Munson was going to be in trouble if he didn’t fulfill his contract with Starcourt.

It was selfish to say no, in my opinion. And really, what was I losing? I got to make music for a living and parade around, pretending to date a total hottie while doing it. I mean, the only way it could’ve gotten better was if the relationship had been real.

***

After what feels like days—but is most likely hours—with the Starcourt legal team, you and Steve are finally released with a very long grocery list of instructions that include a minimum number of required public appearances; a very specific list of acceptable PDA; and interestingly, enough, a sample NDA in case either of you wanted to “be involved” with anyone on the side.

“Nothing says romance like NDA, right?” you weakly joke in an attempt to break the ice.

“How are you so okay with this?” Steve shoots back, seemingly stunned.

“Well, it’s not like this is my first rodeo, or my fourth, or my sixth.”

And before he can question further, you tell him everything, starting with Jason fucking Carver.

***

STEVE: I couldn’t believe it. They had been forcing her to pretend to be involved with all these guys for years. It was super fucked up, but she stuck with it. That’s how much she wanted it. How could I possibly let her down after that? Especially with my own selfish, dumb feelings? She was right, we needed to keep it professional, no matter how hard that was going to be for me.

NEXT CHAPTER 🎤

Taglist: @rexorangecouny , @persophonekarter

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

in which harry is the right person at the wrong time. 

a/n: hi lovelies! here is my christmas fic for @goldenbluesuit​ ‘s xmas challenge! i chose the song ‘baby, it’s cold outside’ and it’s my FAVORITE xmas song, so i’ve included bits and pieces of the song throughout the story! hope you all like it, and happy holidays! pls rb and send feedback bc they’re very helpful :) 

WORD COUNT: 9.6k of ex lovers to lovers, teacher!harry x lawstudent!yn filled with slight angst, missing someone dearly, and fluff

WARNINGS: mentions of alcohol consumption 

COME INTO MY INBOX AND LETS TALK ABOUT ‘BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE’ i’d love to know your thoughts! 

pls rb to share! <3

17 December 2020

A chilly and snowy night was upon you as you took a shot of hard liquor. The face of disgust appeared on your face as the liquid slowly went down your throat after you hammered the shot of tequila. 

Normally, you wouldn’t pregame when you were going to your friend, Addie’s, house where you would drink some more, but you needed to shake off your nerves that you felt at the moment. You took a deep breath after taking your second shot and you had physically felt yourself starting to relax. 

Rolling your head to stretch your neck out, you decided it was time to leave since it was nearing seven in the evening. You called yourself an Uber because of the alcohol in your system and you were planning to sleep over Addie’s place since she said she would bring you back in the morning before you had to go to work. 

You waited for your Uber by the front door while you looked in the mirror, putting your black beanie onto your head. You were bundled up in a black university sweater, a camel color coat over, along with tan lounge pants and a pair of black boots. Once you got a notification that your Uber driver, Jason, was in front of your house, you grabbed your overnight bag and headed out the door. 

You placed the hood of your sweater over your beanie so you got more warmth since it was quite cold. You were never one for the cold weather, which is unfortunate since you lived in London. You cherished the days where it was sunny and warm; the sun bright and warm as you laid on the grass in complete content. 

You missed those days. You missed the days where you didn’t worry about a singular thing. 

Looking out the window, on your way to your destination, you watched the snow slightly fall, hitting and building up on the ground while the pedestrians walked through the streets, bundled up in thick layers of clothing. Some people were with others, walking hand in hand or hugging each other through the cold. Even though it was freezing cold outside, there were smiles on their faces because the hold of one another was enough. They could get through the worst snowfall, but if they were in each other’s arms, it wouldn't matter; they could get through anything. 

The cold had reminded you that you were missing a pair of strong arms that should’ve been around you through this season, but you were completely frozen—left out in the cold to warm yourself up. 

You sighed and the car stopped in front of Addie’s place. You thanked your driver, wishing him a ‘Happy Holidays’ before you got out and buzzed your best friend’s apartment onto the buzzer system; hearing one back, you entered the complex while brushing your shoes onto the floor mat, so you wouldn’t slip while going up the stairs. 

You were grateful the building was warm, and you’re sure Addie would crank up the heat for you since you would always complain how ‘bloody cold’ it is all the time. 

Once you opened the door, you were met with your entire friend group who were all lounging around in the living area. They all faced the door once you walked in, seeing who the last friend to arrive. Greetings were sent towards you, Addie and Nic got up from their spots on the couch that they’re going to lose because behind them, Elijah and Niall were getting up from their spots on the floor to steal it. 

“Hey! There you are! We were all waiting for you,” Addie said, giving you a hug. 

Nic went in for a hug before she pulled back and looked at you suspiciously. You looked at her confusingly, wondering why she was looking at you the way she was before she said, “Did you party before you came here?” You furrowed your brows until you remembered that she probably smelt the alcohol that you took before you left. 

“Oh, uh, just took a couple of shots before I came here.” The two girls understood quite well, thankfully. 

“No worries! Come join,” Addie welcomed you in. The two went back to the living area, only to see that their spots were taken, so they grabbed the two boys’ arms, yanking them out of their seats. You chuckled as you walked to Addie’s room to put all of your belongings. 

Once you did that, you exited her room the same time the bathroom door opened across her room. The person in front of you was the reason why you were so anxious before you left; why you needed to relax for a bit and mentally prepare yourself before going to Addie’s place. 

The person in front of you was Harry Styles. 

The person who had your heart. 

The person you were deeply in love with still. 

The person who was your ex boyfriend. 

“Hi,” he said surprisingly, smiling a bit. 

“Hi, Harry,” you replied, inching towards him as he met you halfway. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders as you did the same around his waist, resting your cheek onto his chest. The hug was warm and comforting, like it always was, and you looked forward to these kinds of hugs every time you saw him. But your heart ached every single time. 

Pulling away, you gave him a small smile before you two walked out of the hallway and to where your friends were. There was laughter between the two girls and guys as Niall was telling them a joke. Nic was the one who saw you and Harry first, and her laughter died down. She looked at you concerningly, giving you those eyes as if they were asking if you were okay, and you nodded your head to reassure her. You and Harry join the group; you sat on the loveseat on one side of the rectangle wooden table, while Harry sat on the floor on the other side. 

You tried joining in on the conversation and laughter, but you couldn’t help but take sneaky glances back to Harry, only to find him getting glances at you as well. 

It was hard to focus on anything your friends were saying when Harry was in the same room, but you realized it was also difficult when he wasn’t in the same room because then you were wondering where he was. 

It wasn’t easy being friends with Harry after the breakup, good friends, especially; and it pained you to actually act normal around him when all you wanted to do was scream, cry, and have him comfort you. But you did your very best to maintain a cool, calm, and collected mood whenever you’re around him, although inside, your heart was racing and everything you said seemed incoherent. 

You tried your best to avoid him after you two split, and he did as well, but being part of the same friend group just didn’t go well with your wishes. You two had to suck it up and be normal around each other.

Being with Harry was possibly the best eight months of your life. To some, it’s not the longest amount of time, but he was one of a kind; you couldn’t find anyone out there like him--not like you were looking anyways. It genuinely felt like you’ve been together for years, and when you two were celebrating your six month anniversary, your friends had questioned you saying ��It’s only been six months?!’

Your relationship with Harry was all things blissful. It was pure happiness and love, and you wouldn’t want it with anyone else. You two rarely got into fights, and if you did, it was most likely a petty and annoyed argument that would have you two back in each other’s arms only twenty minutes after. He was your fresh breath of air that made you laugh and orgasm…multiple times. 

It was all smiles and laughs until it wasn’t. 

You two had gotten together the second semester of senior year. Meeting at the library because you couldn’t reach a book, it didn’t take long for you both to get together. You had known him for two weeks until he asked you out on a date where he kissed you for the first time. The dates and kisses continued on for six months until you mutually decided to call it quits. 

It wasn’t an easy decision, but considering that Harry was going to a different school that was in a different country for his master’s degree in education for the fall semester, and you were also in the midst of your career; interning at a law firm didn’t quite clear up your schedule, only making you busier by the hour. There was barely any time for the two of you to spend time with each other with how busy and hectic your lives were, so there would most likely be no calls coming in or distant texts that were sent out to make it seem like the void had disappeared. 

Like two mature adults, you and Harry called it quits after the summer. He moved away to get his master’s and you kept yourself busy at the law firm. It wasn’t easy--still isn’t easy, but it was for the best. The both of you needed to focus on your careers and yourself before you two were ready enough to get back together. That’s if Harry wanted to get back together anyways. 

Of course you wanted to get back together with him, but you didn’t know where he stood on that, or if he was even seeing someone. Throughout the two years that he was away, you only saw him during summer and winter breaks, so he could possibly be seeing someone whenever he goes back to school. But now that he had moved back again, your mind was spiraling because now you got to see him more. 

Finally, you broke out of your trance, once again thinking about Harry, you saw him looking at you. The both of you completely tuned out to the conversation and laughter coming from your friends. You held your wine glass up, Harry doing the same while smirking before you both sipped your drinks, hoping the sweet wine would relax your bodies. 

Nic was picking out a small paper out of the Santa hat Addie was holding. She took a quick peek at it before, smirking to herself before Addie moved over to you for your turn. As you chose your Secret Santa, you hoped it was a good one. It’s not like you didn’t love your friends, some of them were picky, and by some, you mean Nic. 

You looked at the piece of paper, smiling before shoving it into your pocket. Addie moved onto Harry who was the last one to choose, and you watched him as he looked at the paper like it was a poker hand. He raised his brows, smirking before he looked up and started to fold the paper. Your eyes looked down at his polished hands, noticing that he still wears the same rings as he did when you first met him. Your favorites were his initial, thinking how incredibly sexy and alluring they looked on him as he walked around confidently. You’ve stolen them multiple times as well, even if they were too big on you, but the thought of walking around with Harry’s name on you just seemed so enticing. 

Niall’s laughter brought you out of your sensual thoughts about Harry’s hands and you realized you were caught staring, and Harry knew exactly what you were looking at with the amount of times he’s caught you staring and fantasizing about his hands. Plus, you openly told him that you had a thing for his hands. 

A smug smile was seen from Harry, so you took your attention away from him and towards your friends. 

“So, what do we say? $50 limit?” Nic suggested, and Elijah rolled his eyes.

“Why are you trying to make me broke? You know I have a huge family, like, 15 cousins!” Elijah debates. 

Nic gasped dramatically. “I’m offended you don’t consider us family, Eli!” Elijah playfully rolls his eyes again, turning his head to the side as he smiled into his shoulder, blushing a bit. 

You chuckled at their playful banter. You’re a bit surprised they hadn’t gotten together yet because ever since you met them, you could practically feel the tension between them. They were just too stubborn to admit that they liked each other. 

“Okay, how about we make it maximum $30?” Harry pitched in. Your eyes had immediately averted to him, and it was like he captured you just by the sound of his voice. “We have exactly six days to get our gifts,” he added. Your friend group has always been one for procrastinating. Everyone is so busy these days that it gets harder to plan hangouts where the entire group could go, but you were all family, so if the gatherings were at three in the morning, everyone would be there. 

The group agreed, telling him that was a solid number. You caught Harry’s eye and he softly smiled at you. Giving him one back, you suddenly felt nervous as he smiled, so you chugged the rest of your wine and walked to the kitchen to open a new bottle to bring to the living area.

The bottle made a loud pop sound, which earned an in sync ‘Woo!’ from the group as it was a tradition you all created whenever a new bottle of wine was being opened. Smiling to yourself, you poured yourself a glass before downing it. As you were doing so, Harry walked into the kitchen with his own glass in his hand. 

“Hogging all the wine, aren’t you, Y/N?” He teased to clear the awkward and anxious tension between you two, and luckily, you stifled out a giggle. 

“You know me and my wine.” You refilled his empty glass while taking a sip of yours. Once you fill it halfway, he clinked your glasses together before taking a sip. His lips meeting the sweet but bitter taste of red wine that you so wished was your lips. The way he curled his lips into his mouth and licking his lips, tasting the flavor had you daydreaming such sultry things about his lips. 

You cleared your throat, breaking yourself out of your gaze. “How are you, H? How’s work?” 

Harry’s cheeks warmed up at the simple nickname. “I’m doing good, yeah. Work is good. The school is great.” This was Harry’s first semester teaching, and he absolutely loved it. He loved being in the classroom setting, interacting and making sure his students understood the material. He wanted to teach elementary kids, but that would require knowing various subjects when he wanted to focus more on ninth grade English. 

“I’m happy for you,” you confessed. You were happy for him, but you wanted to be happy with him. “I know you’re a great teacher, and your students must love you.” You bumped him with your hip gently. 

“They’re great. A couple of them have this weird crush on me for some reason.” 

“I mean how could they not.” You realized you said that out loud, and you’re fully blaming the alcohol and the few glasses of wine that you already had, leaving you with a rosy cheek tint glow. Harry didn’t say anything but smug as he continued to sip on his drink. You slipped past him to join your friends, and Harry followed. Addie gave you a knowing look, hoping to communicate with just her eyes as she saw you and Harry walk out of the kitchen together, and you simply nodded, gesturing that you were okay. 

The rest of the night went by quite fun as the boys helped Addie hang up the rest of her decorations while scoffing and rolling her eyes because they weren’t cooperating. You and Nic were sitting on the floor watching and laughed, pouring yourselves more glasses of wine. Your heart skipped a few beats as you watched Harry the entire time, laughing and smiling, and sometimes looking over at you just to get a simple glance at your face to suffice his heart from the heartache of not being able to hold or kiss you. 

You’ve always liked shopping alone. Shopping with Nic and Addie could be stressful, no matter how much you loved them. You would only go to the shoppes with them if you weren’t looking for anything to buy, but since you were Christmas shopping and the stores were getting busier counting down to Christmas day, you had passed on their invitation to shop with them. There was nobody bugging or nagging you, causing you to get distracted; just you, a basketful of snacks, and Christmas music playing through your headphones. 

You couldn’t wait to give your Secret Santa gift because you’ve put a lot of thought into it ever since you found out who your receiver was. You’ve been doing Secret Santa with your friends since the third year of college. At first, your friends group was only you, Nic, Addie, and Niall—you’ve known Niall since you were sixteen, and you met the girls your first year of uni—until Nic met Elijah during the second semester of junior year, who was quickly accepted, and then you met Harry. 

You’ve all become a close knit of friends, and each and every single one of you have met other people, but there was nothing like this group. With bonding and connecting so well, all you needed was each other, and you couldn’t be more grateful. 

As you were looking at the collection of whiskey, you felt a body brush passed you, slightly bumping into you as they tried getting through the narrow aisle. You jolted forward a tad bit, making you take a step forward to let the person behind you pass through. 

“So sorry,” the familiar voice said. The music playing through your headphones was not even halfway up since you still wanted to be aware of your surroundings, but you could recognize that voice anywhere. 

Turning around to look at the person behind you, sure enough, it was the one and only. 

“Harry?” You called out, taking out your headphones. He turned around, and once he saw you, he immediately smiled. 

“H-Hi. I didn’t expect to see you,” he nervously blurted out a false statement. He knew that this was your go to store and you would always drag him there because they always had your favorite snacks in stock. 

You chuckled. “Yeah, I didn’t expect to see you here either.” Unlike his statement, yours was true. When you were with him, he would always ask you why you couldn’t stop at any of the other shops because this one was on the other side of where you lived. But you simply told him that it was because you would feel like you would be cheating on this store with the others because this was your go-to place, and the employees here were just lovely. 

“Shopping for yourself?” Harry asked. 

You looked down at your basket. “Oh, no. For my Secret Santa. What about you? What are you doing here?” 

“I, uh, I was on this side of town and,” he turned around to face the wine section before grabbing a bottle of Pinot Noir. “Just needed to get this,” he said as he held it up. 

“Night in?” 

“Hmm, yeah,” he nodded. 

“With…someone, or?” You tried your best to not show your anxiousness when you asked him if he was having a night in with someone that’s not you. 

Harry’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “No, no. Not with anyone…” Your shoulders relaxed and a small smile appeared on your face. You slightly nodded your head, containing your relief. “You look great!” He complimented. You were wearing your work attire; a black pencil skirt with a white silk, semi turtleneck long sleeve, and a black coat thrown over. You were also in nude heels, which weren’t the best to shop in, but you had forgotten to bring a change of shoes. 

You blushed. “Thank you. I came here straight from work.” Harry’s brows raised. You were always one for a sense of style, so he wasn’t surprised that you would look this good going to work. 

“Really? How is work going, by the way?” 

“Good, actually. I’m still interning at the law firm, so I’m pretty busy. But overall it’s great! A lot of research, mock cases, and sometimes the interns get to sit and watch in the courtroom. It’s pretty thrilling,” you said excitedly. Harry smiled, missing how you would explain things so eagerly. “This is my last year interning, so hopefully I could work at the law firm I’m already interning at, and become a permanent lawyer there.” 

“I’m sure they’d love to have you there. You’re great, really. They’d be stupid to let you go…” he trailed off. There was a double meaning to his words, and you were wondering if Harry thought he was dumb enough to let you go. Not wanting to dwell on his words any longer, you murmured a soft ‘Thanks’ to him and smiled. Harry nodded, mentally beating himself up over his words and how he was really the stupid one to let you go. 

“I, uh, should go, or my sister will be suspicious,” you chuckled. “I hope you have a great night, Harry.” You grabbed a bottle of whiskey before walking passed him. You weren’t even done shopping, but you couldn’t be in the same room as him without thinking of the memories that had always lingered, making you nostalgic and sad because you don’t know if you would be able to make more memories with him. 

Harry was left alone in the aisle as he watched you walk over to the register to pay for your items. Just when you were done, you looked up, giving him a soft smile and waving at him before you turned around and walked out of the store. Harry’s heart fluttered, but at the same time, it was pounding through his chest. He mentally cursed himself for being so nervous around you, making an awkward tension fill the air. He couldn’t tell you what you were really doing at your store--no, he couldn’t. 

Because what would you say if he told you that he’s been going to your store ever since you two broke up and whenever he’s in town just because it reminded him of you. The four walls somewhat mended his broken heart as he felt comfort inside of the shop because some of his best memories of you are in this very store. And since he couldn’t step into your apartment to immediately feel at home, your favorite store would have to do…for now. 

Right when you entered Addie’s home, you were met with the loud music of the holiday season, along with Addie, Nic, and Elijah singing the lyrics to one another as they jumped and danced with a glass of their preferred alcohol in their hand. 

They hadn’t heard the door open since the music was quite loud, so you took the opportunity to take a quick video of them as you smiled at your lovely friends, who felt so careless at the moment. Once the song ended, you put your phone away, and Eli was the one who spotted you first. 

“Ah, there she is!” He walked over to you, giving you a big hug. You giggled as he slightly picked you up from the ground and twirling you. You were sure that he was already buzzed, and you were wondering how many glasses he’s had already, or if he pregamed by himself to calm himself down for talking to Nic, just like you had done to prepare you for a night with Harry, which you hadn’t done tonight. 

There was a part of you that wanted to take a shot or two to ease your nerves, but you realized that you needed to stop doing that because as far as you know, you and Harry are most likely going to be friends for a long time. So, drinking almost every week did not sound fun to you. 

Nic poured you a glass of wine, clinking your glasses together as you took your first sip of alcohol that night. You helped Addie set up the food onto the table along with some Christmas designed plates and utensils. Just as you were counting the utensils, you heard a loud Santa laugh coming from Niall, making everyone turn their heads towards the door. Niall walked in, carrying a bag-full of presents and Harry followed with a three foil wrapped aluminum trays in his hands as he chuckled at Niall’s way of making himself known. Your face immediately heated up at the sight of your ex-boyfriend because he looked good. 

Although you loved every version of Harry, there was something about Harry Styles in the snowy winter that made your knees weak. He was bundled up in a sweater with a coat tossed over, and he wore boots. His hair was slightly messy from the wind as he shook off the snow that had fallen onto his locks. His nose was always red too, and when he would press a kiss to your cheek, you would feel the icy cold tip of his nose, contrasting to your warm cheeks. And it’s a tragedy that you’ve never spent a winter season with him when you were together, only two Christmases after the breakup. 

Winter Harry was your favorite, and all you wanted to do was snuggle up with him. 

Niall and Harry made their rounds to greet everyone, and Harry would always make sure you were the last one he greeted, just so he could hold and hug you a little longer. 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Eve,” you said once he got to you. He smiled and chuckled, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You laid your head against his chest, taking in his scent and natural warmth, even though he just came from the cold. “What’d you bring?” You asked once you pulled away. 

“I brought the cheesy garlic bread, brussel sprouts, and crab cakes,” he smiled. 

You gasped. “Your specialty. My mouth is already watering.”’ You clapped your hands in excitement. 

Harry giggled, leaning against the kitchen countertop. “Sure is, and it’s some of your favorite dishes of mine too,” he remembered. You blushed, heart fluttering as he didn’t forget your favorite foods. 

Harry was always a chef of his own; he loved cooking. Learning from Anne, he made it his mission to make his own homemade food after he moved out, and she would always tell him that you could always show your love through food. From there, he learned more about cooking and seemed to love everything about it. Whenever the group has gatherings for special occasions and everyone agrees for a potluck, Harry always made sure to talk to everyone and see what they wanted him to cook. 

When you two were together, he did the majority of the cooking. There would be times when you wanted to help, but he would simply tell you that you needed to let him do it and relax. That was something you loved about him—he was always a giver and didn’t expect to receive anything back, in more than one way. 

You and Harry were definitely ones for staying in, and he would always whip up the best food that was filled with so much love and flavor. 

“Once you two are done loving over there, we’d like some help over here!” Niall called out from the dining area. Your eyes widened as Harry’s cheeks turned pink. Harry held his arm out, gesturing you to go first, and you walked out of the kitchen as he followed behind you.

The group’s attention and eyes were on you and Harry, and your brows furrowed as you mouthed a ‘What?’ at them, and they instantly went back to setting up the food as if nothing happened. You turned around to look at Harry confusingly and he shrugged his shoulders, just as confused. 

The music was playing, the decorations were lit up, and the food was settling into everyone’s stomach, followed by drinks as a warm feeling laid over everyone. It was overall a great time with them as it always was, and since Christmas was coming up in just two days, the merry feeling was always everyone’s moods. 

As everyone was laughing and having a great time, Addie had gotten a knock from her neighbor, asking if everyone could keep the volume down. Everyone was holding in their laugh because you all hadn’t realized how loud you’ve gotten. 

“I’m pretty sure they knew it was going to be a long night when it was just the three of them dancing and screaming,” you pointed out to Addie, Nic, and Elijah, and they all laughed, agreeing. 

“Wait, what?” Niall asked confusingly. 

“Right when I walked in, they were screaming at the top of their lungs. Wait, I have a video.” You pulled your phone out of the front pocket of your sweater and showed Niall the twenty second video. 

He cackled. “Hey, thanks for waiting for us,” he teased, giving your phone back to you. 

You leaned back onto Harry’s leg, since you were sitting on the floor and he was sitting on the chair behind you, and you looked up at him to show him the video. He leaned forward, placing his forearms on his thighs as you shifted closer to him so you were sitting in between his legs. Harry’s lips curled into his mouth, and he was grateful that you weren’t facing him because he was flustered. You pressed play, and he watched as he chuckled, watching his friends have a good time.

“Wait, I also wanted to show you this video,” you mentioned once the video was over. You scrolled through your pictures, and Harry was watching you go through your camera roll. He saw pictures of buildings, food, you and the girls, and some of them were just of you. Before he could really think about your own pictures, you found the video of your family dog and showed Harry. 

As you and Harry were watching the video, your four other friends were eyeing you two and whispering things to each other suspiciously. Nic took a few pictures of the moment because the sight was just so cute, but everyone was wondering when you two were getting back together. 

And you were wondering the same. 

For a few minutes, you and Harry were in your own little world as you two talked about your family; never making the effort to change the position you were in--you had just turned your body so you could see him better. You’ve missed times like these where everything else, outside of the bubble you two created, didn’t seem to matter. The way his eyes gleamed when he talked to you had lulled you in, making you depart from every thought you were trying to create while the only thought that dawdled was Harry. 

“Alright, let’s pass out our Secret Santa gifts before we’re all too drunk,” Niall suggested, popping yours and Harry’s bubble. You moved out of between Harry’s legs to sit beside him where you were before. You looked up at him, softly smiling and he gave you one back. His eyes looked like they wanted to say something, and you so badly wanted to crawl into his mind to know what he was thinking. 

Everyone agreed, getting up to grab their gifts. Addie also grabbed the Santa hat that you had to wear if it was your turn to pass out your gift. The Santa hat had been through four Christamases with the group, and it was the little things that made you happy.

Addie decides to go first since she was the host. She put the Santa hat on before she started. “First one! My Secret Santa is…Elijah!” She walked over to him, giving him her gift as he smiled, thanking her. He opened her gift and gasped as it was a new headset for his PlayStation since he was always talking about how one side was completely dead. Addie placed the hat onto his head as he grabbed his gift. 

“So, this one is for…” he smiled before walking over to the other end of the couch. “Nic.” Her eyes widened, taking the gift from his hands, and he took a seat next to her on the floor. She ripped open the wrapping paper before she paused, looking back at him. It was a large rectangle frame of pictures of her and Eli with a note in the middle saying ‘4 years as best friends, countless laughs, and one question unasked. Will you go on a date with me?’ Nic squealed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. It was like he was proposing to her because she screamed out a loud yes. “Life is too damn short. I can’t wait to go another day without calling you my girl, so I wanted to take my chances,” he told her. You smiled at them, realizing it’s been too long, and you were so happy for them. 

It was Nic’s turn, which she completely forgot about because she was so overjoyed, and she walked up to Harry to give him her gift. He thanked her before opening it, receiving a set of nail polish, a few face masks, a vanilla candle, and a gift card to one of his favorite restaurants. 

Harry was up, and he was a bit nervous for this one. You knew that it could either be you, Niall, or Addie since you were the three left without gifts. He stood in front of the fireplace as everyone looked at him. You thought he looked absolutely adorable in that Santa hat, which you think every single year. He slowly walked over to Niall, making him beam, but turned around and walked over to you, earning a ‘Hey!’ from Niall. 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Eve,” Harry greeted you, handing you your gift. You smiled brightly, grabbing the box. It was a quite heavy box with brown wrapping paper with reindeers on it and a large red bow. “I wrapped it myself,” he smirked, playfully flipping his shirt hair, and you giggled. 

You ripped the paper and opened the box, eyes softening. In the box, there was a graphic tee, your —and his—favorite fresh perfume by Jo Malone, five pens with your first and last name engraved in the middle, a Cravings cookbook from Chrissy Teigen and a yellow and white vertical striped apron with the words ‘Summer Lovin’ with a sun embroidered at the top. Your eyes watered at the words at the special but emotional meaning behind it. 

Two months before you and Harry broke up, you knew it was the end. You both agreed that you would spend two months together before you had to part ways with one another. It was the most special and fun summer you ever had, but emotionally, it was the worst. Knowing that you weren’t going to be together anymore by the end of it was behind the facade of the endless laughter and love. You really didn’t want it to be over, but you understood and needed to grow separately and blossom with your careers. 

The words behind the embroidered apron was from one summer night. You and Harry had a bonfire at the beach, and you were cuddled up with him as he held a blanket around the both of you. You had tequila disguised like water as you held your bottle up to the best summer loving. You wished the circumstances were different, but if it’s meant to be, then he’ll come back to you. 

“You’ve always wanted to learn how to cook and I’ve seen that you’re starting to on your Instagram stories, so I thought these were the perfect things to get you so you could be a proper chef now,” he said with a soft smile. 

Harry truly paid attention to the small details of your life. Together or not, he intently listened and observed without anyone knowing. He nailed it down to the small details; from the perfume, the pens, and the apron. The sentiment behind it was what made the gift so special, and the person who gifted it to you completed and made it so much better. 

As your vision had gone glassy, you sat on your knees, reaching up at Harry for a hug. He bent down to your eye level, sitting on his knees as well as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You held him tightly, sniffling into his shoulder as a rush of overwhelming emotions hit you. Your heart fluttered and pounded at the same time—a feeling that was familiar to your body when it came to Harry. 

“Thank you so much. This is the most thoughtful gift ever,” you said into his shoulder. This gift was number two on the list of gifts you’ve received from him, following Harry himself as your number one, of course. 

Harry pulled his head back slightly to press a kiss to the side of your head. The gesture had made your heart swoon and you smiled against his shoulder. Everyone was watching you two interact, and they all thought this was finally the moment where you two would get back together again. They’ve all seen you two suffer enough being without each other, along with the heavy tension that there was. All they wanted was for you both to be happy. 

You pulled away from him, looking up at his green eyes as they stared into you. He offered you a small smile that took your breath away before he wrapped one arm around your shoulder, bringing you into his side as he wasn’t quite done holding you. 

After a few minutes, your friends had let you have your moment before Niall complained how he didn’t have a gift yet. You and Harry chuckled, letting go of one another, and he placed the Santa hat onto your head before you slowly started walking over to Niall. When you handed him his gift, he cheered happily before opening it. You had given him several customized guitar pics with his initials printed onto them, a leather notebook since he liked to write songs, and Proper 12 Irish Whiskey, which was fitting because he’s Irish and he likes Connor McGregor. He thanked you with a big hug, picking you up off the ground with one arm as he held the alcohol bottle in the other. 

Addie was the last one who hadn’t received a gift, and Niall was her Secret Santa. He gave her a bunch of makeup with your help, and a tupperware set, which she had been asking for since everyone always took her containers because she liked hosting so many parties. 

The rest of the night had gone on for a few more hours before everyone was pretty tired, deciding to call it a night. Everyone helped clean up, making sure to help Addie with the dishes and putting or throwing stuff away. Although you were cleaning, you loved your entire group. This was your family--the closest people to you. The ones who know everything about you and would laugh at you when you fall before falling with you. You were entirely grateful for everyone in this room, and you couldn’t have asked for a better group to spend more holidays and days with. 

After the cleaning was done, Niall and Eli started to head out, not before Eli was satisfied with the amount of goodbyes he gave Nic with how long the hug was. Niall had to physically pull him off, telling him the Uber was outside. 

You were washing your hands before Harry walked over next to you, handing you a towel to dry off your hands. “Thank you,” you muttered, shyly smiling. 

“Uh, I wanted to ask if you wanted to come over?” He proposed. Your brows raised at his question. You and the girls had planned on having a sleepover after, but the prospect of going home with Harry had sounded much better (no offense to your friends). 

“I was planning to sleepover here…” you decided to innocently tease, even though you knew you were going to say yes. 

“I already asked them, and they said I could take you. I could drop you back off here if you want. So, the answer is up to you,” he smirked. A blush appeared onto your cheeks, admiring the fact that he asked your friends for permission if he could take you home. 

“There’s bound to be talk tomorrow,” you teased, lightly nudging him.

“I’ll take my chances,” he smiled, a hopeful look presented on his face. 

You breathed out a chuckle, looking at him for a moment before you nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.” Harry’s eyes widened as the corners of his lips turned up. You grabbed your phone and your coat before walking over to Addie and Nic who were both cuddled up on the couch, saying goodbye to them. They sent you a playful wink, and you rolled your eyes as nerves startled to settle in your stomach. 

You followed Harry out of the door, the cold air brisking past you as you walked to his car. He opened the passenger and you thanked him before getting in. Harry started the car and the song that was playing was ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside.’ It was a song you loved ever since you were a little girl, and you remembered the times you and your mom would always sing it in the car. You smiled at the memory, humming as you hoped it would be a way to distract you from the anxious feeling that you have. 

You started humming to the tune as quietly as you possibly could, but Harry heard it as he started to hum it as well. You looked at him through your peripheral vision, noticing that he started to tap his fingers against the steering wheel. 

You were about to start singing until you noticed that he pulled into his driveway, so you contained yourself and closed your coat, getting out of the car as you followed him into his home. You’ve only been inside his home three times--those three times being when he would suggest everyone hang out there. It was a lovely place and whenever you were sitting on his couch, you had wished you shared the space with him. 

Harry lit up the fireplace, placing the metal shield in front of it before turning back towards you and smiling. “Make yourself comfortable. I’m just going to get us some hot chocolate, if that’s alright?” He asked, wanting to know your preferred drink. 

“Sound good.” You hung your coat onto the coat rack before walking over to his turquoise velvet couch and taking a seat, getting comfortable to an extent, not knowing how comfortable you should get. 

Not long after, Harry came back with a wooden tray, and he placed it on the coffee table in front of you. There were two mugs filled with milk, two hot chocolate kits, and spoons. 

“I made these for my students, and I just so happened to have two extra kits, so this will be fun,” he smiled, and you gave him one back appreciatively. You thought that it was cute and sweet of him to give something to his students for the holiday season. Normally, teachers don’t give them anything, but Harry wasn’t just any other teacher. 

A somewhat comfortable silence fell over you two as you both made your own hot chocolate, and you listened to the fireplace roar. Once you two were done, you clicked your glasses together before taking a sip. The warm and comforting drink made you smile and was overall delicious. 

Harry didn’t know what to say or how to say what he really wanted to say. It felt like he had non stop thoughts running through his head, but when he opened his mouth to start, there was a delay. An overwhelming feeling took over him and he wanted to yell at himself for not saying how he really felt. 

“Y/N-” 

“Harry.” 

Just like before, your minds had been in sync, causing you both to speak at the same time. A light laugh came out of both of your mouths. 

“You go first,” you told him. 

Harry took a deep breath. “How’re you doing?” He asked. Out of everything he could have said, that was the only question that came out of his mouth, but he figured it’s a good start to getting somewhere. 

“Truthfully?” He nodded. “I’m doing okay. I’ve managed to distract myself from worrying about the future with work, and so far, it’s been helping.” 

“What are you worried about?” Harry wondered curiously. He could feel his heart pounding through his chest, and if he’s being honest, it’s been that way the first time he saw you…ever. 

“Worried if I’m gonna be where I want to be career wise, and…” you trailed off. 

“And what?” He encouraged you to continue. His stare was so intimidating and deep that the words flew off your tongue, making them unforgettable. “Ba--Y/N?” He called out for you, noticing how he almost slipped up and called you ‘baby,’ and you so wished he hadn’t stopped himself. 

You finally mustered up the courage to speak your thoughts. “I’m afraid that I’m gonna be alone,” you said honestly. 

Harry’s brows furrowed, shaking his head instantly. “You’re not alone, no. You have your family, all of us--your friends, me-” 

“You?” Your brows raised. 

“Yeah-” 

“Harry, you’re the reason why I’m so worried…” you confessed. You were starting to get frustrated--not at Harry, but at yourself because you had planned to have this conversation a different day. You tried to calm yourself down, and Harry could practically see that you were getting angry at yourself. You had a certain stressful and frustrated look that he would notice when you started to beat yourself up over things. And throughout the months of being with you, especially when you were in the midst of law school, he learned how to calm you down. 

Harry placed his hand on your knee; the touch being unexpected to you, but it had brought you immediate comfort. He pulled you into his side and you rested your head on his shoulder, looping your arm under his, the one that’s on your leg, and hugged his arm. Harry’s other hand touched your arm, caressing and soothing you. His actions had felt very natural and familiar to him. He would comfort you like this when you were feeling stressed. Normally, he wanted to cuddle you tightly, but this was your preferred way to calm down because in a way, he was still holding you, and you were still in control and didn’t feel like you were suffocating if he had held you tightly.

You stayed like that for a few moments, and you had calmed down a bit already, but you just wanted to be close to him and cherish the moment. 

After a few minutes, you pulled away and turned towards him, smiling softly. Your heart warmed at the fact that he remembered exactly what to do when you started to feel anxious, and you may have fallen in love with him even more…after all these years. 

“Now, wanna tell me why you’re so worried?” He asked softly, not wanting his tone to be pressuring, and you’re grateful for it.

“I’m worried I’m going to have to live a life without you. It terrifies me to think about you going out and meeting someone, and I would have to watch you get married to someone else that’s not me. That you would be sharing this home with someone that’s not me.” Your eyes start to water, and you had mentally told yourself that you wouldn’t cry, but you didn’t believe yourself in the slightest. “Watching you love someone else is going to be the most difficult thing I would have to do.” 

Your tears had fully fallen down your face, which is unfortunate because you both had such a good day with your friends and it was nearly Christmas. Quickly wiping your tears away, you got up from the couch, and headed towards the door. Harry was confused until he saw you grab your coat, putting it on. In a flash, Harry got up from the couch, walking towards you. 

“W-What are you doing?” He asked. 

“I really can’t stay…” you told him sadly. You had no idea how you were getting home or back to Addie’s since it’s snowing, so you don’t know if there were any Ubers out, especially at this time. “This evening has been…so very nice, Harry.”

“You don’t have to leave. Baby, it’s cold outside, c’mon,” he pleaded with worried eyes. Your heart melted at his words and the name that he used to call you, making you pause in your movement. 

“Please,” he pleaded softly, taking a small step forward, and your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up at him. There was a dead silence between you two that was tension filled, and you had no clue what was going to happen next until he opened his mouth. 

“Mind if I move in closer?” He whispered. The sound would barely be audible if anyone else was there, so he said those words specifically for you to hear. 

You shook your head, and he took another step forward. Your bodies were a centimeter away from being pressed up against one another, and your heart was beating so fast, making your hands shake and tremble. He looked down at you so intently that you were under his spell, and you were conflicted as you wish you knew how to break the spell as his green eyes looked deep into you, luring you in even more. 

You took a deep breath. “Kiss me already,” you breathed out. Harry’s heart nearly stopped at your words, but he slightly smirked as he blushed, brushing your hair behind your ears before taking your face into your hands and leaning down to place a deep and passionate kiss onto your lips. 

This feeling, this touch, this man was what you’ve been waiting for these past two years. Throughout those years, you felt like giving up; accepting the fact that he wasn’t going to love you again. But he had proved you wrong in the simple brush of his lips and tongue that were in sync with yours, making the spark between you grow bigger and bigger. The spark that had never lost its power, but was on pause.

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him closer as the other hand was wrapped around his back. Harry had you pushed up against his front door, and you had the urge to lift your leg up to wrap it around him, but you resisted. 

Harry wanted more, too. His hands trailed down from your face to your back, closing the nonexistent proximity between you, and guided you back to the couch. You were walking backwards, completely trusting him that he wouldn’t let you fall as his lips never left yours. 

You giggled once the back of your legs hit the couch, falling onto the soft material as Harry hovered over you, laying in between your legs. He looked at you for a moment, studying every freckle, the crimson color on your cheeks, the curve when you smile, your glimmering eyes, and your cute nose. He knew that it was exactly how he remembered. After a couple of years being separated, a beautiful face like yours was hard to forget. 

“You’re quite crazy to think I’d want to live the rest of my life with someone else when you’re right in front of me,” he suddenly said. Your eyes widened at his confession. “Never wanna be without you ever again. Thought you didn’t want to be with me when I came back, so I just didn’t bother. But you have no idea how much I missed you. I missed you so much.” 

He placed soft kisses all around your face as he spoke, leaving you feeling so tender and soft as he was so gentle with you. For someone who’s on her way to becoming a lawyer and always having to have an answer for everything, you were speechless. The words that you’ve been waiting for for so long were music to your ears. It rolled off his tongue so smoothly, slick like honey, and you connected your lips with his again, swirling your tongue against his as you devoured his words. Hands finding their way to his hair, you gripped on his locks and pulled just the way he liked it, earning a groan from him, and you smirked against his mouth. 

You pulled back, leaving him breathless. Swollen lips, blushed cheeks, and smiles plastered on his face, you said the words you’ve been itching to say. “I love you,” you blurted out. The words had rolled off your tongue so effortlessly, making shivers run down Harry’s spine as his eyes watered up. “I was listening to Elijah earlier, and he’s right. Life’s too fucking short to not have what you want.” 

He took one of your hands into his, bringing it up to his lips before placing a kiss onto the back of your hand. Your other hand was playing with the curls that laid delicately on his hands, scratching it lightly. 

“Missed hearing you say those words.” He smiled, tears making their way down his face. “I love you too. So, so much that you have no idea how I feel when you walk into the room and I see your beautiful face. I love you. I love you. I love you, baby.” His affirmations had caused you to softly sob—the two of you a crying mess from the obvious but unspoken love that was finally being released again. “It’s always been you. You’ve always been my girl, did you know that?” You tilted your head a bit. “Never gonna go a day without reminding you that you are, because you’ve never not been my girl. Had to love and admire you from afar, but just wanted to hold you and kiss you.” 

“You can kiss and hold me all you want now, my love,” you reassured him, and he dug his face into your neck, placing a soft kiss against your skin. 

You smiled so brightly as your heart felt so happy and overflowed with love, and he matched your grin, feeling the same way. 

The two of you kissed each other for a bit more, whispering sweet words, and laughed and talked about anything and everything—truly catching up with one another. 

“Oh.” He got off of you, making you slightly pout from the weight of laying on you that you already missed. “I actually got you another gift.” 

“Harry…you already got me enough.” It was true. Along with the thoughtful gift, he was your true Christmas miracle. 

“I know. But this one, I wanted to give to you in private, and this is the perfect moment, so let me do this?” He looked at you with sweet and pleading eyes with a small smile on his face. Who could ever say no to that adorable face? Certainly not you. 

You nodded, and he shot up, heading towards the stairs. “Give me thirty seconds,” he said before rushing up the stairs. 

You heard him shuffling up there, and the sound of a drawer opening and closing. Thirty seconds later, he was walking downstairs, holding a white box wrapped in a red bow. He sat back down next to you, looking into your eyes as he spoke. 

“This is what I wanted to give you when we were alone. It didn’t matter the outcome of how things turned out between us tonight, I just wanted to give you this because I think you’ll appreciate it. It reminded me of you when I saw it, and I knew I had to get it.” He handed you the box with slightly shaky hands. 

You untied the bow, taking the top off. A gasp came from your mouth as you picked up the chain. It was a little gold sun pendant, symbolizing your summer together. You studied the charm for a moment, delicately touching it as you teared up at the meaning behind it. It matched quite well with your embroidered apron, and the two together would be quite the match. 

“Thank you, Harry. This is so sweet of you.” You leaned forward, giving him a hasty kiss to his lips, smiling against them. “Help me put it on?” He nodded eagerly. You handed him the necklace before turning around, lifting your hair. You felt the cool metal chain hit your skin along with Harry’s lingering touches across your shoulders, causing your skin to pebble. He placed a quick kiss to your neck before pulling away. You turned around to meet his eyes as you smiled. 

“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m so happy. Merry Christmas Eve, Eve, baby.” 

“Merry Christmas Eve, Eve, my love.” 

You cuddled into his side as the silence took over. The only thing was heard was the pounding of your love-filled hearts along with the cracking of the fire. Sure, it was cold outside, but right here in Harry’s arms, you were warmer than ever. 

please come into my inbox and talk about your thoughts and feelings on this! also feedback is appreciated, thank you for reading! <3

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU Pt. 6 (1, 2, 3, 4, 5)

---

tw: general howard stark warning

---

There is a buzzing by his ear.

At first, Tony doesn’t really notice it, waking up in short increments before being pulled back under. But he keeps waking, unsure what keeps tugging him out of his dreams, hand flapping around his face as he tries to stop the incessant ringing.

“Blergh,” he mumbles into his pillow.

Batting his hand around to quell the source of annoyance, he comes to grip his phone, squinting as it lights up inches away from his face and vibrates against his palm. For a second he thinks it’s his alarm, but then he remembers that he didn’t set one. It’s a succession of text notifications cascading down his screen that alerts him out of the slope of slumber with a start.

The only time his phone goes off like this is an emergency. The first thing he registers is that it’s only eight-minutes after seven. He blinks, sight clearing from the sleep wedged in his eye as he reads the flurry of still-incoming texts.

> so thanks for last night > yknow > for the ride > i mean > you know what i mean > anyway > so that folder i gave you had my BIO notes, not econ > im such a doofus > i need them back > don’t bother looking at them lol > can we meet up?

Tony groans, eyelids heavy as anvils. Jesus christ. He didn’t get home until four after dropping this guy off and he’s already up and bothering him? What gives?

Exhausted and annoyed, he tucks his phone under his pillow and sets it on do-not-disturb for extra measure. There ain’t no way he’s getting up at seven on a Saturday for fucking class notes. Prick.

In his opinion, he’s filled his quote of good deeds for the month and he doesn’t need to be up for another few hours. Whatever it is, he thinks, snuggling into his pillow, he’s sure it can wait.

---

The next time he wakes it’s just after nine. There’s a gap in his curtains allowing a sharp shard of sunlight into the room where it directly pierces into his eyelids. 

He groans tiredly into the drool patch on his pillow, willing sleep to come back to him, turning on his other side, gripping the edges of the quilt and tightening it around himself until he is firmly cocooned within it. It’s nice and warm, and sleep is such a rare commodity to him so it’s novel to bask in its dregs. But there isn’t any more sleep to come he’s quick to realize, giving up after a few minutes and blinking up at the ceiling. 

Nine is practically six. It’s criminal to be up this early.

There’s an unusual flurry of texts on his phone, some from Rhodey, but most of them are from Parker, an endless ladder of increasing franticness. 

Tony tosses his phone to the end of his bed carelessly. 

It’s been literally less than twelve hours since he’s had to deal with the shithead. Surely whatever was lodged up his ass couldn’t possibly be as important as Tony ignoring him. 

Swinging his legs off the bed, he stands and stretches his arms up high, fingers curling. The stretch feels good and he takes a quick sniff of his armpits to gauge if he can forego a shower for the third day in a row. 

The stench is wicked. It’s possible that he’s overdue.

He strips off as he heads towards the adjacent bathroom, naked and nursing a semi.

He can’t help but shudder as his back meets the cold tiles, the intuitive shower head following his body with a mechanical whir, miscalculating its aim and spraying him in the face.

Ah. That will need to be recalibrated, he notes. 

But, he can’t say he really minds, tolerating the spray, even as it hits his mouth like a fire hose. He ducks his head to wet his hair, reaching blindly for the touchpad to dial down the pressure. Once the water is to his liking he reaches down to take himself in hand, leisurely stroking himself.

It’s just a perfunctory part of his morning ritual; he doesn’t really have anyone in mind as he brings himself to full hardness, just the fleeting memory of lips around his cock, the next of a well rounded ass, not feeling particularly creative. 

Okay, so maybe he pictures some big, brown eyes and dark hair he can run his fingers through. And maybe he goes off like a rocket. That’s his business.

Anyway, once he’s out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he inspects his appearance in the mirror. The bruises on his face are still pretty gruesome, deep purple and beginning to yellow around the edges. The cut on his lip seems to be well and truly scabby.

Turning to the side, Tony takes observation of his overall torso region; his stomach is not as defined as he’d like it to be - probably due to his affinity for carbs and sweets, if he’s honest. Between a few fingers he can pinch the skin and pull it a little -- and look, he’s a bit soft around the middle, but he lifts, alright. Maybe he isn’t exactly steel cut like the dudebros on the football team who have made being ripped their life mission, but he has musculature under the adipose.

Is he a little self-conscious about it? Sure. Is he worried about it enough to give up garlic bread and cronuts? No. Especially when he spots a new chest hair nestled comfortably between his pecs.

Probably a bit too proud of himself because of a singular piece of hair, Tony gets dressed in a pair of jeans that have seen better days, speckled with singe marks and thinning at the knees and a singlet, slinging on his leather jacket for the finishing touch. 

He almost forgets the bot.

“Look at you,” he says, to the mangled mess of metal on his desk. Scooping the injured, beeping bot Tony stuffs it into his backpack. “Come here, darling. Shh, you’re okay.”

Peering both ways out of the hall to ensure the coast is clear, he quickly descends the stairs, shushing the bot the whole way.

On the ground floor, he pauses when he hears voices coming from his father’s office. It takes a second to recognise the voices, his father and Stane arguing over one another, loudly, then softly. He tries to listen in, catching somewhat audible hisses about the company finance officer.

Careful to avoid the floorboards that squeak he tiptoes to the kitchen to pocket a few muesli bars and a water bottle from the fridge. 

The voices get progressively louder as he sneaks to the front door, silently saluting their maid as he passes. She waves back at him, offering a sympathetic smile as he goes out the door. 

His heart pounds as he reaches his car, parked around the corner street. 

“Alright, baby,” he grins, revving the engine. “Let’s go.”

---

“The fuck?”

It’s hard to be sure, but perhaps Rhodey doesn’t expect Tony’s unannounced arrival at his front door. Not if the furious scowl and bunny slippers on his feet are anything to go by.

Nonetheless, he slips past the front door, welcoming himself into his friends home, despite the exasperated outcry of for fucks sake Tony, it’s Saturday and it’s not even noon, can’t you call ahead? 

No, he can’t call. Well, actually, he reconsiders, heading down the hall to the basement, his friends footsteps echoing behind him, he probably could, but it wouldn’t make anyone less mad at him, so what’s the point?

Besides, judging by the empty driveway and barren living room, Rhodey’s family is already out, he’s not sure what the issue is.

“The issue is I am tired, man,” his friend complains, following him down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Me too, honeybear, freakin’ exhausted,” Tony mutters, skipping down the stairs. “Go back to bed. I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”

“Oh sure, and let you solder your fingers together again. Nah. Not taking the fall for that.”

“I’m not going to solder my fingers together. I’m a pro.”

“Unless you need me to remind you of last summer,” Rhodey takes a seat at the workbench, “I suggest you shut up.”

“You’re rude, you know that?” Tony asks, retrieving the bot from his backpack and setting it upon the bench. “I’ll have you know that I’ve learned since then.”

“And yet you still refuse to wear gloves,” his friend sighs, settling heavily upon the adjacent chair. There’s a comfortable quiet between them while Tony works, carefully settling all the pieces onto the table, moving each with care.

It’s hard to miss the weight of observation on the back of his neck, but he lets his friend drink his fill before he’s ready to speak.

“You fuck up something?” He points to the bot.

Tony shakes his head, pressing the solder into the circuit board. “No. Well, yes. The coding is perfect, as usual, but this idiot isn’t any smarter than a Roomba. He’s meant to be smarter.”

“So?

“He is smarter. I dunno, sometimes he messes up,” Tony mumbles, reaching blindly for the bent-nose pliers before Rhodey places it in his hand. “He’s not bad, just dumb. It’s not his fault.”

“And again, what happened? Did you run him over?”

“No, the old man got sick of me playing with ‘toys’. Dumb-dumb here met the wall in a very dramatic fashion. It was an Oscar-worthy performance.”

There’s a sigh from behind him.

“Does that explain your face?”

Tony glances behind him and smirks. 

“You mean my dashing good looks?”

“Tony.”

“Honestly? I got into a fight with a feral racoon that ran off with some old lady’s purse. It nearly cost me an eye, but I saved the day. She called me a hero, gave me some stale crackers from her purse and then gave me her number.”

“Tony.”

“Fine. I was skateboarding. I was in the middle of executing a super complicated kickflip but lost control when an enlarged gutter rat scurried in front of me. I flew headfirst into the gravel. Very embarrassing. That work?”

“Tony.”

“Look, just leave it will ya? God, you’re like a nagging wife. Pick whichever story makes you feel all nice and fuzzy inside.”

Rhodey is suddenly before him, waving something in his face. “Your phone, jackass. Your better half is calling?”

Huh?

Tony blinks, gently setting down the pliers and the chip he’d removed, taking his phone. It vibrates, Your Better Half flashing across the screen. 

“Parker, ugh.” 

He really should have changed the contact name by now, he thinks, swiping to answer.

“Alcoholics Anonymous,” Tony answers by way of greeting. “How may I direct your call?”

“Ha ha, very funny, asshole. So you are awake. I’ve been trying to contact you all morning.”

“I know. I’m beginning to think you actually might have separation issues,” Tony says. “I just got rid of you like eight hours ago.”

“I’m calling about the folder. Didn’t you read my texts?“

“Oh, I read them,” Tony settles back on the stool and continues to work on the main circuit. “See, I was just ignoring you. Hoping you’d take the hint, but I forget subtlety is lost on you.”

“Look, I need my notes. Can we meet up?”

“Right, for Bio,” Tony rolls his eyes. “Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“No. I, uh -- I have a test first period. I need to study for it.”

“Uh-huh. Just remember, the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. You’ll be fine.”

“I take AP Bio, asswipe, I’m aware of that. Can I just get it back, please?”

“You take AP Bio? Was that an admin error or something?” he asks, holding the chip he’d retrieved earlier up to the light to inspect for any damage. 

It looks to be ok. The damage to the bot overall seems to be mostly cosmetic, couple of scratches, a few dents. Nothing that a few replacement panels wont fix. Whatever he hasn’t already got stored here Rhodey will surely have spare parts, it’ll be fine. God, what would he do if his friend didn’t lovingly tolerate Tony using his space for storage and barging in whenever he lucks. It’s lucky Rhode’s parents are so chill though, unlike his own. He may be a hot-head but he’s practically a saint compared to -

“ - hello? Are you still there? I can hear you breathing.”

Tony blinks. “Right. Your notes. Look, I’m kinda busy. I have a life outside of you and I don’t actually care about your academic integrity, so, you’re gonna have to wait.”

“For how long?”

“I’ll drop them off this evening, like six-ish. Hey, maybe we could do that interview with May if she’ll be around.”

“...I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“C’mon, I already told you I’m not actually hot for your aunt. I’ll be professional.”

Rhodey shoots him a bewildered look.

“That’s not what -- look, whatever. Just don’t be late okay. I have a life outside of you too.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I’ll try and not get in the way of your weekend plans of crying while you masturbate.”

“I literally hate you.”

“And yet you aren’t denying the crying. Anyway, I have to go now, try to clean yourself up before I get there. See you at six, bubby,” he hangs up, cracking his neck before refocusing on his mangled creation. “Now where were we?”

“What the fuck.”

Tony pauses, pliers in hand. There is a particular expression on Rhodey’s face erring on the side of confused and haunted. 

“What?”

“’Bubby’?”

“Don’t say it like that - it’s like an inside thing. Don’t repeat it to him, alright, he’ll get pissy. And then I’ll get pissy.”

“You know it’s just a project, right? You two aren’t actually married.”

“Thank god. Could you imagine being married to that guy?” Tony shudders. “Scary.”

“Two weeks ago you said he was the bane of your existence. Now you have ‘inside things’ with him? You saw him last night?”

He sighs, shoulders dropping. Yeah, he doesn’t really have a good explanation for any of that. 

The thing about himself, Tony’s found over time and trial, is that he really, really likes to press buttons. He likes to test variables, wants to see what would happen if he did something he wasn’t supposed to, and map out the world as it occurs in motion around him. Curiosity means he likes to test the parameters, to see what can yield, what will bite back.

More often than not that kind of impulsive brand of curiosity has gotten him in some sort of trouble. Turns out not everything and everyone appreciates being tested - and many things like to lash out when pressed.  

Parker, Tony has found, is somebody that doesn’t yield or bite. If Tony was a betting man he’d have placed his money on the boy being more of a yielding type - but what he does is he presses buttons just as much as Tony does, buttons he didn’t even know he had to be pressed. 

And that very much interests Tony.

He just doesn’t know what to do with that information, except to keep pressing.

“I’ll explain later,” Tony promises, mentally crossing his fingers. “In the meantime, can we forget about Parker and focus on my broken baby here?”

Rhodey relents, but Tony knows that look in his eye. He’ll be hearing about it later and at the most inconvenient time. And he’s gonna tell Pepper.

Wonderful.

He really should change Peter’s contact name in his phone.

---

By the time he leaves the Rhodes residence and heads to his next destination, his robot is in somewhat in working order again. It remains fairly immobile though, just until Tony can replace the damaged infrared and touch sensor. It clicks its metal claws sadly towards Tony in the passenger seat as he drives.

It’s a Roy Orbison kind of day, so the music is loud and the guitar is heavy as he makes the drive to Harlem.

And if Tony frees a hand to pat the bot on its’ metal head every so often, that’s his business.

When he reaches the other side of the city he parks in his usual space at a nearby lot and contemplates whether or not he should leave the malfunctioning bot in his car for the sake of being professional. It clicks at his jacket, weakly grasping the material as if on a plea - and damn, Tony knows the thing isn’t actually sentient but what kind of asshole would he be if he left it here for the day.

Heart squeezing with sympathy, Tony delicately places him in the backpack, leaving the zip partially open for ‘air’.

Next, snacks.

While he’s retrieving a pack (or two) of Reeses, he comes across Parker’s folder that he’d stashed there last night. Their conversation from earlier returns to the forefront of his mind.

Look, Parker might not be the knuckle-dragging, monosyllabic dumbass Tony initially suspected that he was, and yeah he was savvy as demonstrated during their trip to the rental market - and yeah, definitely smarter than his social circle would suggest, and is absolutely and a source of constant surprise to Tony - but is he AP Bio - or AP anything material? 

Time to find out.

The first thing that Tony notices is that the notes are definitely not for Bio. They’re for Econ, as initially prescribed. 

The second thing he notices, as he flicks through the papers, skimming over the complicated graphs and annotated research, is that what he’s reading is actually good. 

Well, I’ll be darned, Tony thinks, eyes getting progressively wider as he flicks through the pages. Not bad at all.

Makes him wonder why Parker thought he was missing his Bio notes though.

The answer to that becomes clear when a crumpled envelope falls out of the stack onto Tony’s lap. He picks it up, at first thinking it’s a part of the research, but pauses. It’s open and it’s addressed to May Parker.

“Um,” he says.

It’s from Queens Presbyterian Hospital, which should make him drop it as if it were burning. It doesn’t, though. Either it’s meant to be included in the folder, or it’s not and that’s why Parker has been acting like a crazy-ex all morning.

Hmm. Tony sits there, torn, debating whether or not to look into it, the overdue stamp standing out against the crisp paper like a warning sign. On one hand, he’s running kinda late and, y’know, privacy or whatever -- on the other, his fingers are already itching to know what’s in it.

Mind your own business, he can already hear Rhodey saying, mind your own business, Tony.

Curiosity and a distinct lack of a moral compass wins, as always. Just a quick peek, that should be okay, right? The envelope is already open anyway, so, it’s not like anyone will be able to tell.

God, this is none of my business, he tells himself, even as he’s retrieving the letter from within and starts reading it. 

Oh.

Tony quickly stashes the letter back into the envelope and back into the folder. Yep, definitely none of his business. 

Yeah, he really shouldn’t have done that. Big fucking yikes on his behalf. And yep, there’s the guilt -- or at least he thinks the stomach churning is guilt, it could be the stale muesli bar he ate on the way.

Nonetheless, it hangs over him like a dark cloud as he picks up his backpack and heads out to the garage across the road. What kind of asshole looks into someone’s mail because they can’t help themselves. This dick, that’s who.

Fixing a grin he doesn’t really feel, he heads to the back office. He knocks on the window, ducking his head into the open door.

“Yo,” he waves to the man sitting behind the desk. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Hey kid,” the man looks up, smiling before his face drops. “Tony, your face. What happened?”

“This? It’s nothing --”

“-- is that why you couldn’t come to work yesterday? Not that I mind,” the man stands up. “Are you okay? Was it --”

“-- Was it nothing to worry about? Absolutely,” Tony holds his hands up in surrender. “Just an unfortunate encounter with a wild, feral squirrel in Central Park. I tell you, they’re deceivingly cute, but they’re pests. Totally out of control.”

“Tony.”

“Jarvis,” he interrupts, gesturing to the cars in the garage behind him. “C’mon. Look, let’s get to work, okay? Save the violins for later.”

And by later he means never.

The man sighs, world-weary, looking at him like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. At first he’s certain his boss is going to push the issue, but it must be a day for dodging bullets because he relents.

“Alright, kid. I got a ninety-four Ford sedan back there with your name on it. Busted fan belt, overheated engine. Probably needs a new set of spark plugs while you’re at it.”

With a grateful nod, Tony heads back, locating the vehicle in question. It’s rusted to all hell and probably not worth the cost of repair, but he gets stuck into it anyway, keen for a distraction. He sets his bag and bot down near him while Jarvis blasts Alice Cooper’s Poison.

Tony might not have all the answers to life’s problems, but this is something he knows how to fix.

---

He probably distracts himself a little too well, because by the time he’s wrapped up with the Ford it’s already five-thirty and he’s a mess of engine oil and coolant.

It’s only when Jarvis squeezes his shoulder and points to the clock on the far wall does he realise that he’s lost his sense of time. How the fuck is he supposed to clean up and get all the way from Harlem to Queens at this time of night?

“Ah, crap,” Tony mutters, setting down his socket-wrench in his toolbox. “I’m late.”

“Late for what? You got a hot date or something?” Jarvis asks, stepping back to give him some room as he rushes to the staff bathroom. 

“What, no,” He calls back, running the faucet and pumping soap over his hands. “I gotta go see about a guy.” He struggles to hear his boss over the running water but he doesn’t have time to stop and figure it out. 

“From school?”

“Yes, and a prime pain in my ass,” Tony mutters, drying his hands on his jeans, walking back into the garage. “Anyway, see you Monday, chief?”

His boss nods, passing Tony his earnings for the week in cash. Tony should have known to dash and run because he starts hearing the proverbial violins when Jarvis clamps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in a way that is more paternal than Tony is comfortable with. 

“You know you can call me, you have my number. You come up and see me and the missus whenever you want.”

Tony fake snores.

“Jarvis.”

“We have a spare room,” he insists, shrugging sheepishly and stepping back. “It’s yours at any time.”

“I see you enough, okay, don’t push it. I’ll see you Monday,” Tony draws him into a one-armed hug and claps him on the back. “Don’t you worry about me.” 

“Don’t make me worry.”

“No promises,” Tony salutes, slinging his backpack on shoulder and walking backwards out of the garage to the street. “Hug the missus for me.”

Jarvis salutes back. 

With that he sprints across the street when there’s a gap in traffic, bot snapping gently at his hair as he runs.

Sweaty and sore, he is full of energy, a sense of accomplishment coursing through his blood, like an afternoon of work can only provide. He should fire off a text, he thinks, as he starts the ignition and heads out onto the road, yeah. Let Parker know he will be late.

And he does genuinely mean to send a message at the next traffic stop, but then Queen starts playing on the radio and Tony isn’t a fool, okay, he turns that up loud.

Next traffic stop, he promises himself.

---

“I’m beginning to think you can’t read the time,” Parker opens the door with a scowl. “You said six.”

Wincing in the hallway, Tony looks at his phone. Six-fifty-nine. It’s not totally his fault, okay. There was a pile up along the way and traffic was a nightmare of  ridiculous proportions. He swears he’s gonna be the first person to invent a commercially viable flying car just for the sake of personally avoiding road congestion.

“Yeah, so. Here’s the thing: I had things to do, okay, priorities --”

“You and your priorities, I swear to god --”

“Here,” Tony cuts him off, passing him his folder, letter neatly inside where it isn’t going to obviously slip out. “Your folder, dumbass.”

Peter grips it, holding it to his chest as he stares at Tony for a moment, before passing it to the nearest flat surface, a weathered and small table that holds their keys.

“Okay, thanks,” Peter nods, smiling grimly, looking behind his shoulder. “Appreciate it. You can go now.”

“So where are the Econ notes,” Tony blurts, wincing as he plays dumb. “I mean, if you had something prepared.”

Peter blinks, surprised. “Oh, uh. Um, It can wait until Monday, can’t it?”

“The assignment is due Wednesday.”

“Right. Um, just give me a sec --”

“Is that Tony?”

May appears behind Peter, smiling brightly. Tony waves, rocking back on his feet. 

“Hey, Missus Parker.”

“Hey there, handsome,” she hip-checks her nephew, joining him in the doorway and glancing between the two. “You didn’t mention we were having company tonight, Pete.”

“He’s not handsome and he’s not staying --”

“-- I was just dropping something off,” he looks to Peter. “And excuse you, the lady has spoken and I have to agree. I am handsome. Some might even say that I’m debonair.”

“And some might say that you’re deplorable.”

“Hmm, I think you mean adorable.”

That prompts a smile out of Peter. He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his chin up, all haughty.

“Tony Stark, you are many things, but adorable isn’t one of them.”

He leans in, pouting playfully. “Oh come on, Parker. I’m a little cute, aren’t I?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Uh, let me check,” Peter pauses before smiling sardonically. “Verdicts in - jury says you’re one-hundred-percent despicable. Sorry.”

"I’m sure I could sway the jury.”

“I think you mean you could pay the jury.”

Tony nods, pretending to be serious. “Well, yeah. You know, for consensus.”

Peter licks his lips, shifting closer.

“Consensus is important...”

“...Well, if you two are done,” May says after an extended period of silence, tying her hair back into a ponytail. “We were just about to head out to a Thai place around the corner. Tony, you should join us.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I should go --”

The rest of his words are cut off by a truly monstrous growl of his stomach. He winces, scrunching up his nose sheepishly. He probably should have eaten more than Reeses all afternoon.

“Well, I guess that settles that,” May says, stepping out of the doorway and beckoning Tony in. “Come in. Sorry about the mess.” 

It’s with Peter still staring at him that he reluctantly enters their apartment, brushing past the other boy. It looks the same as it did the other week, mostly tidy and smelling like incense. There’s a sizeable stack of unfolded laundry on the dining table, however, that wasn’t there before. 

Tony’s distracted by a pair of dancing-bulbasaur boxers sticking out of the pile when May leans in close to sniff at his hair. 

“You’ve got something in your hair, honey. Is that paint?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, palm coming back streaked with green. “Oh, uh, radiator fluid,” he explains, holding up his hand. 

“Can I ask what you did to your face?”

“I saved a homeless guy and his beef-sandwich from a pack of rabid, angry dogs. No need to call me a hero.”

May looks at him oddly. “Oh, well, if you say so. Go get yourself washed up and we can head out.”

The burn of Peter’s stare follows him all the way to their bathroom.

---

The meal is less awkward than Tony thought it would be.

Well, for him at least.

Over larb and khao pad they’d gotten through an informal interview with May about her experience as a caregiver with a single income. Not only was it informative for his own future financial independence, but she has been generous enough to speckle in colorful anecdotes of her nephew’s upbringing. Parker’s face has been getting progressively redder all night and it has nothing to do with the spice in his food.

Tony has enjoyed the evening thoroughly.

“ - and of course, we were lucky we hadn’t decided to go cheap on the health insurance. Especially when Pete here broke his wrist at gymnastics when he was eight.”

Tony barely holds back a snort. 

“You did gymnastics, Parker?”

Peter tips his head back to stare at the ceiling and sighs. The flush seems to be creeping down his neck too, Tony observes gleefully. He stuffs a large mouthful of rice in his mouth to mitigate the urge to tease. 

"Yes, he was very good, weren’t you, Pete? So talented, you should see his medals.”

“Stop, please.”

“C’mon, no need to be embarrassed, Pete, you were amazing,” she says. “You’re still a flexible little bug, aren’t you?”

Tony chokes on his rice.

Peter has his eyes squeezed shut and looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 

“May, I’m literally begging you.”

“Uh,” he beats at his chest with his fist, swallowing roughly. “So how long did you do that for?”

“Until I was fourteen.”

“Why’d you quit?”

There’s a very deliberate, weighted pause. May and Peter share a look between them and Tony gets a deeply uncomfortable sense that he’s just stuck his foot in it. Retract, he thinks, already regretting opening his mouth.

“Well,” May clears her throat, her tone light. “After my husband, Pete’s uncle Ben died, we moved away and we had to make some... financial cuts at the time.”

The bite he’s just taken goes to ash in his mouth. God, he really is a big idiot isn’t he. He’d assumed that May never got married to the man in the photos or that they’d just divorced, he didn’t realise that he’d passed - and so recently, too. Welling up with shame, he can’t stop himself from glancing at Peter, who’s staring at the table, lips pursed.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to - I didn’t know. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” May waves her hand dismissively, but her smile is strained. “Anyway, what about you, Tony? You’re severely asthmatic, right? That must have been hard, growing up if you wanted to play sports.”

Tony’s eyes widen.

“Yes, um, so hard. Luckily I’m not really an exercise-y kinda guy. I personally prefer to keep a heart rate below eighty beats per minute.”

“Did you have any hobbies growing up?”

“Yeah, driving my parents crazy,” Tony says, glad for the shift from the somber topic. “Escaping from nannies, seeing how quickly I could get them to quit.”

“You like tinkering,” Peter says quietly, looking up. “You mentioned, before. Cars and stuff.”

He shrugs, starting to feel as if he’s under the microscope, especially when Peter looks at him, eyes glittering with thinly-veiled interest. 

“I mean, I don’t know. I like - building stuff, I guess. Machines and robots, y’know, cars. It’s like, whatever.”

“You want to be the next Elon Musk or somethin’?” Peter asks, not unkindly, resting his chin on his hand.

“Nah, I wanna be the first Tony Stark,” he scratches his cheek, suddenly bashful. It’s an uncommon feeling for him. One hard to avoid, however, particularly when there is a boy who Tony doesn’t really hate who’s asking about his life like it might matter. 

He clears his throat. “Anyway, mostly it was just me cataloguing all the ways I could make the vein in my fathers’ head pop. I’m still working on that.”

May looks between them, smiling.

“Sounds like you were a handful.”

“Sure was.”

Still is, apparently, no matter how much he tries to stay out of the way.

The silence that follows is punctuated by the sounds of cutlery scraping across plates, of shrinking ice cubes rattling against glass. It feels pensive at the same time as it does thorny, like Tony opened the door to let someone in but accidentally let out a few ghouls.

And despite knowing he’d stepped on a landmine with the Parkers, he can’t help but wonder what other pieces of the puzzle he’s missing. Why Peter doesn’t live with his parents. Not that Tony is invested in him or anything.

He just doesn’t like mysteries, that’s all.

May excuses herself after to head to the bathroom not long after. It’s during that time that the waiter brings the check, which Tony takes immediately, slipping in some of the cash he’d gotten earlier, despite Peter’s protests. He was gonna do it anyway, even if he didn’t have the letter in the back of his mind.

“Stop paying for me,” Peter says after he passes the check-book back to the waiter. “Your family is rich, I get it. I’ve told you, I don’t need your charity.”

Tony shakes his head. It’s not worth mentioning that the only money he spends doesn’t come from his family.

“It’s not charity. Do you really think I’m that nice, eh? C’mon. Maybe I like lording it over you.”

“Well, at some point I’m going to pay you back.”

“And when that time comes I’m not going to accept your money.”

“You will,” Peter smiles wryly down at his plate. “I have my ways.”

“As do I, sweetums. Now, do me a favour: shut up and finish your larb.”

Peter does, but something about him shifts. It seems more quiet and contemplative, his eyes staying longer on Tony than they normally would. He wants to tell him to take a picture, but for once, Tony thinks it’s probably best if he keeps his mouth shut.

---

Back at the apartment, Peter goes to retrieve his ‘Econ notes’, taking the folder from the table and retreating to his bedroom. In the interim, May offers to let Tony stay over, inviting him for what he’s sure would be a rousing game of Mario Kart. 

He politely declines.

“You sure? Winner gets to choose a movie.”

“I should really get home,” he says. “Thanks though. And thanks for dinner.”

“No problem. Thank you for paying, you didn’t have to do that. Let me pay you back.”

“No need. Think of it as payment for your services and letting us pick your brain tonight.”

She reluctantly accepts with a lot less pride than what her nephew displayed and that makes Tony feel a little sick, because it’s evident that she’s a proud and stubborn woman by nature. Her acceptance, albeit laboured, speaks volumes as to the reasoning behind it.

What takes him by surprise is when she hugs him goodbye and kisses his cheek.

“You’re a good egg, Anthony. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

It’s probably the most maternal touch he’s had since, well. Probably since he last went to stay with Jarvis and his wife. Fidgeting in the hold, he’s not sure if he wants to squirm or to sink into it.

May leaves when Peter comes back in, a familiar stack of notes in his hands that he passes to Tony.

“You gonna kiss me goodbye, too?”

“What?” Peter blinks.

"Uh, never mind,” Tony waves the papers at him. “Thanks for this.”

Peter looks around to make sure they’re alone before leaning in rather promptly. 

“Wow, hold up on the proximity there,” Tony inches back, startled by their sudden closeness. “I was joking about the kiss --”

“You read the letter, didn’t you,” Peter whisper-hisses.

“What? Letter? What letter?” Tony says, voice strangled. “I don’t know of any letter.”

He gets a painful poke in his chest for his lies.

“Don’t play dumb. It wasn’t where I left it.”

“I’m not -- ow, quit poking me.”

“Then stop lying. You’re unbelievable -- don’t you know that opening someone else’s mail is a crime?”

Tony’s shoulders slump as he concedes.

“Look, it was an accident, it just slipped out. And also, it’s not technically a crime, if the envelope was already open.”

“Oh and the letter magically opened itself and forced you to read it.” 

“That could be argued.”

“Why couldn’t you mind your own business?“

Sick of being poked, he shoves the papers between his arm and his ribs to hold them and takes Peter’s fingers in his hands, squeezing the digits when they struggle to break free of his hold.

“I should have, I admit it - I didn’t think, okay, I’m sorry. Is she okay?”

Peter stops struggling, looking over his shoulder again.

“I don’t know,” he leans in again to whisper, “I only found it yesterday, I haven’t spoken to her yet. Look, I know you hate me, but can you please not tell anyone about this?”

“Why would I tell anyone?”

“I don’t know, because you’re the devil, and you get a kick out of seeing me suffer?”

“True, but I’m not going to tell anyone. Promise. That would make me look like an asshole and you like a martyr. Ergo, I shut my cake hole and continue looking better than you.”

“You’re a real prince charming,” the other boy huffs, but seems to take him at face value. “If I find out differently I’m going to come after you. You’re going to need dental work afterwards.”

Tony lets go of their joined hands, balling his fists and raising them to his face, mimicking what the other boy had done last night. 

“You wanna tousle, huh?”

He gets a light shove out the doorway for his attitude.

“Alright, smartass. Get the fuck outta here already.”

“Going, going. Goodnight, princess.”

He mock bows, peering up under his eyelashes, momentarily arrested as he watches Parker roll his eyes and bite his bottom lip in an attempt to smother a smile. 

His heart continues to beat a bit oddly all the way down to the car, where he sits in contemplative silence for a few moments until the sound of metal clicking shifts him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, hey you,” he coos, gently retrieving his bot from his bag and placing it in the passenger seat, instantly feeling bad. “I didn’t think I would take so long. I’m sorry.”

Placing a seatbelt over the bot and buckling him in, Tony begins to narrate his night to him as he pulls off the curb and begins driving.

“I guess that Parker isn’t so bad,” he tells the bot, who swivels its head in response to his voice. “I mean, he can’t dress for shit and has questionable tastes in friends - oh, and cannot hold his liquor - but I dunno, baby-bot. He’s okay. Don’t tell anyone I said that, though -- and oh my god, did I mention he did gymnastics, what a fucking dork...”

The thoughts churn and buoy him until he pulls up to his house nearly an hour later. From the driveway he can see his fathers office light still on.

The sight of it makes his stomach drop, all good cheer gone in an instant. 

“Damn,” Tony whispers to himself, tapping his knuckles against the steering wheel. This time of night on a Saturday can only mean one thing and he is really not in the mood to be in the crosshairs of whatever his father and Stane are up to.

But before he can work himself into a worry his phone vibrates in his pocket.

> hey, look, thanks for not being a total dick tonight about everything > and last night as well, I guess > yknow what i mean < ur welcome < by the way, i’m proud of you  > for what < not finishing off ur aunts beer tonight < takes strength < asking for help is the first step > omfg i take back what i said > ur the worst < and ur a pain in my ass > they have creams for that u know > anyway, g’nite, butthole > p.s. you’re still not adorable Tony smiles down at his phone. < goodnight bambi The bot clicks at him, breaking him out of his train of thought.

“Don’t look at me like that. Let’s go in, but you gotta keep quiet, okay.”

He manages to avoid detection and attention from anyone, despite accidentally stepping on a squeaky floorboard. Maybe it had something to do with the record player and raucous laughter coming from the office.

In any case, Tony’s just happy to make it back to his bedroom. There, he toes off his sneakers and starts getting ready for bed, stashing the leftover cash into a drawer.

It makes him think about Peter’s reluctance for Tony to pay for over the last couple of instances, and how freaking annoying that is. And rude. 

Honestly, the dude should count himself as one of the lucky guys - Tony is not that magnanimous. He doesn’t experience an impulsive, unthinking eagerness to provide for just anybody.

Oh.

Tony stills in the middle of his bedroom.

Oh no.

He knows what this is.

“This is bad.”

---

*

*

---

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny,  @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers @starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen

[sittingoverheredreaming]

Same Prompt Party! Usagi: New Year’s Fireworks

I told myself that I would get this done much sooner than the last minute because I’ve grown as a person since the last same prompt party, but that was a fucking lie ahaha. Here it is, though, just shy of 2,200 words!

______________________________________________________________________

Fireworks weren’t supposed to start until midnight. Everyone knew that. But when Usagi opened a groggy eye to check the time after the first roaring booms, it was barely ten. Not that she knew that right away-- the clock was still up on the nightstand, entirely out of sight from the mattress’s current position on the floor. She had to fumble around for her phone instead, as careful and quiet as she could ever be. Only then did she see that it was a touch past ten, and that she had more notifications than her phone could display, the last several of which were texts from Mina.

still time for you to come out!

lots of hot guys here tonight, what mamoru doesn’t know can’t hurt him ;) ;) ;)

kidding, of course. i miss you!

Usagi turned her phone over and curled her body back around Chibiusa. Apart from a scrunch of her little eyebrows, she seemed undisturbed by the growing ruckus outside. Usagi put a hand on her tummy anyway, just in case she needed some comfort. 

She could have gone out with everyone, even with a six month old. There was generally little they did all together that couldn’t accommodate a baby. There wouldn’t have been any fuss if she’d asked for it. Last year’s party at Haruka and Michiru’s house had even been alcohol free, just because she couldn’t drink. It had seemed like everything might have been okay then-- it was the first year they rung in in peace, Usagi was pregnant with their promised princess, and if their powers had deserted them and the crystal towers of Serenity’s palace had yet to rise, that couldn’t compare to the hope that lit up Usagi’s heart the same as the fireworks lit up the sky.

But like the fireworks, it was short lived.

Usagi shifted her arm under her head. She’d read in a book-- she’d tried very hard to read a great many books before Chibiusa was born-- that you weren’t supposed to let a baby sleep in bed with you, but she hadn’t been able to stick to it. A bed was so large if you slept alone. But she’d done what she could to be safe. No pillows. A blanket only for her feet, because even in socks they got so cold. She wore layers of sweaters to bed. Sometimes when she woke up she was drenched in sweat beneath them, but always when she woke up Chibiusa was breathing. It was a fair trade.

And she hadn’t done it the first few months. Newborn Chibiusa had slept in her crib beside the bed, though Usagi probably didn’t deserve credit for that because she’d had Mamoru in bed with her then. It had been easier-- not easy but easier-- to leave Chibiusa where she was supposed to be. It was only around the four month mark that he’d sat on the edge of that very same bed they’d shared and said “I feel like we’ve played our roles and run out of script.” His voice was so low that she almost hadn’t heard, that she knew he hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all, but it had been the end of it all the same. She’d asked him to leave. She hadn’t told the others yet. She didn’t need to give them the idea before they came to it on their own.

She ran her hand softly along Chibiusa’s face, then through her hair. Her straight, dark hair that shone red-brown in sunlight but otherwise had no hint bubblegum pink. That had been the proof. They weren’t in the future they thought they were fighting for. The future Mamoru and the others had signed on for.

There was another crackle and a bang. The room lit up for a few seconds before dropping back into its long shadows. Usagi wished they would stop. What was there to celebrate? If last year had been the first year without war, this was the first year without hope. The first year where everyone would know there was nothing keeping them tied to Usagi. The first year Usagi was bringing in alone, or very nearly.

Her phone buzzed again and she didn’t bother to look what it was. Everyone had their own things to do, and even as they made a show of trying to bring her in, they were still off doing them. And that was better. She’d never meant to trap anyone, however much she wanted them to stay. She was never like Serenity in that way. Maybe that was why she no longer was Serenity.

She tried to make herself sleep instead of thinking. It had always been such an easy thing, but even that was different now. Always exhausted, hardly able to sleep-- was she even Usagi still? Was she anything? What was left of her that hadn’t faded alongside her powers?

More bangs, one after the other, bounced against her ears to join the cacophony of thoughts between them. It took her a long moment to realize the noise was not paired with the flashing lights of more fireworks. Usagi shot up. Someone was at the door, pounding their fists against it by the sound of it. She hesitated for a moment over Chibiusa-- she was sleeping so well, even moving her over to the crib seemed cruel. She kissed her cheek and left her there, willing her with all her might to stay still.

Usagi threw a robe over her pajamas and hurried to the door as the knocking grew somehow more insistent. She didn’t yell that she was coming for fear of waking Chibiusa. Whoever was at the door didn’t seem to have the same concern.

“Usagi! I know you’re in there. I will break down this door if you don’t open it right--”

Rei stopped short as Usagi flung the front door open. “Shhh! Chibiusa is asleep.”

“Sorry, sorry. You weren’t coming.”

This was the part, Usagi knew, where she was supposed to snap back that she was, and comment about Rei’s impatience or whine about how unfair she was or make some sort of production, but she didn’t have the heart or the energy. A beat passed in silence. Rei frowned.

“I decided,” she said as she stepped inside and shrugged off her coat, “That we can’t bring in the New Year like this.”

“Like what?”

Rei looked her in the eye, still all fire even without Mars. “Don’t like what me. You’re hiding away here when you should be with me. With us, all of us.”

“I have to take care of Chibiusa.”

“So? We love her. Or let her stay with Mamoru, wherever he’s living now.”

Usagi’s stomach dropped. Rei wasn’t supposed to know, no one was supposed to know. It was her most awful secret. She didn’t know if she felt angry or sad or relieved that it was out, maybe all three, or nothing at all, or--

A soft thump from the back of the house broke her train of thought. “No, no!” she hissed, running back to the bedroom as Chibiusa began to wail. The mattress was not spectacularly thick, the fall to the ground was only a matter of inches, but still. Inches could be enough, and then Usagi would have nothing, nothing left at all. She scooped Chibiusa into her arms. The little girl quieted immediately. She looked fine, not so much as a red mark anywhere she might have hit the ground, no blood, no bruises. Startled, probably. That was all. Usagi held her tight anyway.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

Haven’t you heard of privacy? A Usagi who no longer existed snapped from deep within the Usagi who did’s head. “It’s safer this way. If she’s not in the crib. It’s safer like this.”

She watched Rei take it in, the mattress on the floor next to the bed frame, the lack of pillows, the singular blanket, Chibiusa’s crib gathering dust in the corner. “Usagi… what are you doing?”

What does it look like? and What I have to, and What are you doing, Rei? sounded in the back of her mind, but Usagi only shrugged.

“We’ve been waiting for you to say something, anything. Mako thinks you need time, but god, Usagi, how much time could you need?” She put her hands on her hips, readying for a fight Usagi didn’t have in her. “I’m not starting a year with you lying to us.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Like hel--” She looked at Chibiusa, face dipping towards sheepish before hardening again. “Like heck you didn’t! There have been three times you’ve said Mamoru was here when he--”

“Rei. What does it matter?”

Rei’s jack went slack. She mouthed through several silent words, through surprise and anger and emotions too quick for Usagi to catch. “We’re your friends.”

“For how much longer?”

“What?” Rei looked furious enough that she might have slapped Usagi if she weren’t holding a baby. 

Usagi held Chibiusa a little tighter. “It’s over Rei. I’m not Serenity, you don’t have to stay.”

“Have to-- after everything, you think-- over?” Rei stopped her foot and turned out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Chibiusa began wailing again.

Usagi rocked back and forth to try and calm her down, but not thirty second later Rei banged her way back in. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re scaring her.”

Somehow, Rei thought the correct response was to pluck Chibiusa out of Usagi’s arms. Infuriatingly, it worked. Rei bounced Chibiusa against her shoulder and Chibiusa stopped crying in favor or yanking on a hunk of Rei’s hair. “I’m not going anywhere, and neither is anyone else.” The anger in her tone was undercut with the cooing voice she took on when speaking to Chibiusa. “After everything we’ve been through--”

“After everything, this isn’t even the future you were fighting for!” Usagi felt might cry, not the big wails that used to bring her comfort but the awful, hopeless tears that left her dry and exhausted-- more exhausted-- in the aftermath. “All that, and now it’s just… this. You were promised a different world, and I couldn’t give it to you. I messed it up somehow. Of course I did. Of course, stupid Usagi... but now you don’t have to be stuck with me. You can just live your life, you don’t have to ruin it anymore.” 

“Usagi…” Rei gently placed Chibiusa in her crib and grabbed Usagi into a hug. “That’s not how it is at all.”

Usagi started crying in earnest, glad she could hide her face in Rei’s chest. “You don’t have to pretend--”

“Cut that out,” Rei barked, but she stroked Usagi’s hair with all the same tenderness she’d shown Chibiusa. “I’m not your friend because of the Moon Kingdom. That’s why we met, but that’s not why I’m here now.”

“It’s not?” Usagi hiccuped.

“I’m here for you. And god, I never wanted-- Crystal Tokyo scared the shit out of me, and I know I’m not the only one. When it started to look like things would just be normal, it was a relief.”

“But…” Usagi couldn’t think of how she wanted to protest. It didn’t sound like it could be true. Crystal Tokyo had seemed cold and severe, but it was the good future, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it what everyone wanted?

Rei pulled away to look Usagi in the eye. “If I had a choice, this is the future I’d pick. Except--” she pressed her knuckles against Usagi’s head. “I’d change it so you don’t try and hide everything.”

“I thought if you knew, you’d leave, too.” Usagi stared at the ground.

“Stupid.”

“I am.”

Rei flicked her nose. “Shut up. Help me get this mattress back where it belongs.”

Usagi helped her-- or tried to, by some measure-- hoist it back on the bed frame, and then before she could protest Rei had found pillows and blankets to pile on top of it. She climbed in and gestured for Usagi to join her.

“You’re not doing this alone, even if you want to.” Rei put her arms around her. “You’d have to move far away and change your name to get rid of us, and even then I’d probably still find you.”

Usagi laughed despite herself. “Probably.”

“Let us help you. Let me help you.” Rei brushed some hair off her face. “You look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted.”

“Go to sleep, then.”

Usagi wanted to tell Rei it wasn’t that easy, but the next thing she knew she was roused by the pop and crackle of more fireworks. Her head was still on Rei’s chest, and something warm pressed against her back. Ami curled against her on the silver of open bed space. Flashes of light illuminated Mako and Mina sprawled on the floor. Usagi swallowed a sob, but it tasted like warmth instead of despair. She closed her eyes again as the fireworks escalated to their finale outside, feeling a small sparkle of hope begin to bloom again in her chest. The new year, their whole new future, had arrived, and she wasn’t facing it on her own.

[angelsswirl]

Petrichor

Six

"Thought I saw your shadow under the door. Just a trick of the light I've seen before. I can never tell what's real anymore. Anymore. Anymore."

Irene broke into the apartment with a huff. She scowled at her drenched umbrella. She placed the offending accessory into Jisoo's shoe. That's what she gets for not opening the door.

She intended on telling her just that, as she trudged further into the living room.

"Do you know what the word 'petrichor' means?"

Irene yelped.

She turned to Jisoo. The alpha was dramatically staring out the window. Watching New Yorkers scramble to get away from the torrential downpour.

"...What in the late 90s, early 2000s music video is going on here?"

"It's the smell that comes after it rains." Jisoo is still staring out the window.

Irene has never tried harder not to laugh at something in her entire life.

"What's wrong, Jisoo? How long have you been standing there?" Irene looked around the room for a camera. She was surely being punk'd right now.

"I feel like petrichor." Jisoo said as she continued to stare out the window.

"What does that even mean!?"

"She called me. I tripped over myself trying to get to my phone. She asked if I wanted to have sex with her like she didn't know that I have never wanted to do anything more in my entire life. And then she hung up."

Irene sighed as she took a seat on the couch. She crossed her arms, mentally preparing herself for Jisoo's definitely impending meltdown.

"A little odd, but not seeing a problem yet."

"She asked if I wanted to have sex, and then we didn't."

"That was the most assholish thing you have ever said to me. And that's saying something because you talk a lot. So, I'm going to let you rephrase that before I punch you in the face."

"No. You don't get it. She didn't have sex with me because she was doing it with someone else. And then she came over here like she didn't." Jisoo finally turned to look at Irene. Irene is sure Jisoo would have a 5 o'clock shadow if she possessed the ability to grow one.

"Well, did she come over to rub it in your face?"

Jisoo's eyebrows furrowed, "...No, she came because I asked her to, Lia wasn't feeling well and I needed her help...but it felt like she was rubbing it in." Jisoo pouted.

Irene chuckled softly, "You're so oblivious. Anyhow, I'm sure I don't have to tell you, she can fuck who ever she wants."

Jisoo stomped her foot petulantly, "But why couldn't she want to fuck me?! Why am I always second place?"

Irene sighed, her lips forming a deep, concerned frown, "Where is this coming from, Chu?"

"Jihyo's getting married."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And it shouldn't be that big of a deal, but she's the mother of my child, we coul-could've worked it out. Been a family, but no. I'm never anyone's first choice." Jisoo sat down on the couch next to Irene, her face cradled in her hands.

"Are you sure you would've wanted that. To be mated and married to Jihyo? You said the next morning you barely remembered her name, and she had told you it twice like a minute before."

Jisoo uncovered her face and thought about it for a few moments, "No. We'd probably kill each."

"Exactly, so how could you be first place if you never even put yourself into the race?"

"I think I liked you better when you were mean to me."

"You like me anyway you can get me."

They both laughed softly.

"I'm still mad. She could have told me she couldn't come over."

"She's an omega and you told her a child was sick. What was she supposed to do? Five bucks says she completely forgot where she had been ten minutes earlier as soon as she got here."

"Could you just let me hold my grudge that is heavily justified in my head?"

"If you want to be single for the rest of your life, by all means, hold that dumbass grudge, but don't come crying to me when she kicks you in the crotch."

"Why are you here anyway?"

"Oh yeah! I wanted to kick your ass in PUBG. Seulgi's pregnant and she's mad at me, so I ran away. " Irene jumped up to find Jisoo's laptop casually.

"Seulgi's pregnant!?"

"Yeah. Must be in the air or something." Irene shrugged nonchalantly.

"...Something's wrong with you."

"Pot. Kettle. Black."

~•~

"How do you keep getting in here? Don't I have security?" Rosé made a mental note to fire someone later.

"Have you made up your mind?" Joy asked, completely ignoring the previous questions hurtled her way.

"Hello to you, too." Rosé rolled her eyes. She came around her desk to sit on top of it, her arms crossed at her chest.

"Answer the question, Chae."

"You walked into my job and demanded that I mate you. And then when I said 'Hell no' you told me to think about it. Now you're back, asking if I made up my mind. Did you think you were going to get a different answer?" Rosé had to hold back a laugh at that. Surely, Joy didn't think she could be manhandled into mating her.

They had broken up months ago. It was mutual, or so Rosé had thought. They were headed in two different directions in life and would probably never end back up on the same path. But all of a sudden, Joy was pushing it.

"So, what are you trying to say?" Joy huffed. Her giant loop earrings swinging as she did so.

"I don't want to mate you. I don't want to court you. I want you-"

Joybgasped, "I want you too, Rosé!"

"-OUT OF MY GODDAMN OFFICE!" Rosé seldom raised her voice, it mainly happened during a meeting with the CEO of Spectrum. He was an asshole, and very talkative.

Outside of that, Rosé could count on one hand how many times she had yelled at someone, including this one.

Normally, she felt bad afterwards. She was an alpha and most of the time when she yelled, people noticed, people felt it, especially omegas. But even as Joy whimpered and crocodile tears formed in the corner of her eyes, Rosé couldn't bring herself to care.

"But why not?!" Her bottom lip jutted out and her arms crossed over herself.

"Because I love someone else!" Rosé actually surprised herself there a bit. She didn't mean for that to explode from her mouth and into the expanse of her office. But that didn't take away from the fact that it was true. She just hadn't planned on admitting that yet.

"You do?" Joy asked with a slump of her shoulders.

"You do?"

Both Rosé and Joy startled. Rosé glanced at the space that was between her and Joy before pulling away.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?"

"Yeri...she let me up. I came-I came to bring you lun-you love me?" Your thoughts are running a mile a minute. You can't keep your sentences in order. And your hands are sweaty. It's taking every ounce of dexterity you have not to drop Rosé's lunch on the ground.

Rosé glanced at Joy before walking around her and towards you slowly, "I-you don't have to say it back, but yeah. I love you. And you probably think it's too soon, but I do. A lot."

There were about ten different emotions playing across your face. The most prominent being surprise, maybe? You're a bit difficult for Rosé to read.

"I-I-you love me?" It's just a whisper this time. The suprise morphing into disbelief and confusion more than anything else.

Rosé nodded and Joy huffed.

"Oh." You mumbled softly. Rosé pressed a gentle hand to your cheek, and you let her, "Oh." You mumbled again, this time with a slightly different inflection in your voice.

~•~

You didn't know what you were feeling. You were happy and sad and excited and mad and confused and terrified and glad and guilt-ridden all at the same time.

It made you sick to your stomach.

You're sitting alone in your apartment. It's been three days since Rosé. Your phone sat idly in your hand. Waiting patiently to be used.

You needed to call someone. To talk to someone. But you're not sure who would understand any of this.

You eventually decided on Jisoo. Because why not make this even more hard on yourself?

After several rings it went to voicemail. Which, hurts to say the least. You can't help but think Jisoo is screening your calls.

But, you're nothing if not a masochist.

You called again. It goes to voicemail again.

After the first call, it hurt. After the second call, it hurt even more. After the third call, it pissed you off.

You're mad now.

You: At least let me know you're alive, you giant gaping asshole.

Jisoo turned her read receipts off to spite Irene, so unfortunately, you will never know if she sees it or not that way.

About three minutes later your phone lit up with a notification.

It's an Instagram notification. It's Jisoo's Instagram notification.

You rolled your eyes, but opened it anyway.

It's a picture of Lia with Jisoo's friend, Kai. Lia does not seem to be enjoying herself.

The caption is only one singular emoji:👶🏻

You blew out a puff of air, at least you knew they were alive.

You scrolled a bit into the comment section. It's mainly just viewers saying how cute Lia is. But there's a couple that caught your eye.

You should do another video with Y/N!

Yeah, but where's Y/N?

You might accidentally on purpose like that second one. It's a question you needed the answer to too. And maybe once they found out, they could tell you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 2

New Assignment

moodboard created by @chuuulip

Character(s): dark!Bucky, later dark!Steve, too

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

Summary: Our reader deals with the grief and paranoia of what she has witnessed, but she finds herself drawn into the belly of the beast.

Notes: I am reposting this fic here. It was originally on ao3 but now it’s on tumblr too! If you read, I love feedback and would love any comments you have. And if you can, please share! Anyhow, enjoy :)

You didn’t sleep that night. You could barely remember returning to your apartment. Turning off your car, locking it, punching in your security code at the front door, climbing the six flights to your bachelor loft. You could recall your door clicking shut and the chain sliding into place. Sitting down in the only chair and staring at the blank television screen. The sun rose through the window, at first a blood orange, softening to an amber, and finally the soft yellow of the morning.

Your alarm chimed, dampened by the leather of your bag. You leaned over the arm of your chair painfully and reached for the handle, dragging it up and over onto your lap. You dug inside and dismissed the ringing reminder. You were not scheduled for any tempwork today but you hadn’t rescheduled your alarm; as you often cursed yourself for. You were about to drop your phone back where you got it when a notification flashed across your screen.

‘Did you get home okay last night?’ Allie texted, another following quickly. ‘I didn’t hear from you.’ You were home, alive, but were you okay? You blinked, swallowing through the dryness of your mouth. You unlocked your phone and quickly replied with a fib; ‘I’m fine. I must have forgot and fallen asleep.’ She answered swiftly, ‘Good. I was worried. There was a robbery last night near my building. The guy was killed.’

I know , you thought, instead sending a singular ‘Oh,’ and shocked emoticon. You locked the phone and tossed it onto your couch, well away from you. You were stiff when you stood, a sleepless night sat in a cheap Ikea armchair was ill-advised. You stretched, trying to shake the cloud away from your head. It was as if you were seeing the world through tinted glasses.

You made your way to the bathroom, trying to pull the elastic from your ponytail which had sagged to the nape of your neck. You broke it in your efforts and hissed, throwing it against the mirror. Your eyes met those of your reflection and you blanched. Your eyes were dark with fatigues, your skin almost sallow, face puffy from tears. You looked like a different person; felt as much.

You reached over, past the shower curtain, and twisted the old four-pronged faucet which gave a whine of metal on metal. Water spattered onto the tile and you withdrew your arm, slowly undressing as you avoided another glance at yourself. Shoes, socks, blouse, pants, underwear, all in a pile in the corner. You would have to throw those out. They felt tainted.

You stepped under the steamy flow and it embraced you, melting the ice which had formed along your muscles. As your hair absorbed the water, you leaned your head back and breathed deep; as if it were the first you had drawn since the night before. As if it were your first and last. You shuddered and the tears began again; melding with the drops falling from the shower head.

By the time you felt clean, if you could call it that, your head throbbed from crying. You stepped from the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel. You secured it at the top of your chest and went to fetch a trash bag from the kitchen. You dropped your clothing into the plastic liner and tied it tightly, dropping it by the door. You would toss it later.

You dragged your feet to the next room where your bed awaited, the sheets and blankets still askew from your last slumber. You fell upon the mattress, hair damp, towel loose around your form, and closed your eyes. Sleep came quickly, out of physical necessity, rather than mental clarity. Your rest was tumultuous and filled with vision of blood and your own demise. It was the most exhausting sleep you had ever experienced.

The first week was filled with grieving. You went to work, did what was needed, and returned to your apartment to mull in silence. You were still overcome with the haze; so detached from all around you. You could pretend it was normal; smile, say hello, ask “how are you? Oh me, I’m good. What can I do for you?...”

The second week was when the fear set in. The nightmares had become more clear and you couldn’t help but look over your shoulder wherever you went. Even in your own apartment. What if you had been seen? What if it had been a trap and they had seen you as you left? What if you hadn’t waited long enough? What if they found you?

You told yourself it was merely paranoia. As it was, you weren’t important enough to be a threat. In your own life, you were little enough to be noticed by the people in the fluorescent-hued offices you were sent to. If you had been found out, would you not have been dealt with by now? You just needed to get over it. Move on. You were alive...and that man was dead. Even if he was a criminal, a drug dealer, a murderer himself; he was dead.

It was another early morning but as of late, you were always awake before your alarm could hasten you. A bowl of yogurt, some granola on top, with a glass of orange juice, some toast and jam. Same breakfast every day. Dress in the dark, unplug your phone, pack your work bag, slip on your flats, a jacket over your arm in case it rains. Keys, stairs, car. Fuck, you hadn’t checked your new assignment.

You sighed and dug your phone out of your bag, your email shone brightly from the screen in the lowlight of early morning. You pressed on the first email; that day’s date, and waited for the winding circle to load. Stark Tower, front desk. Monday to Friday assignment. Special pay, $22/hr, clearance required before commencement. Report to security office upon arrival.

Your phone slipped from your hand but you caught it before it could slide down your leg and onto the floor. Why hadn’t you read it before you said yes? Because that was your habit. You had nothing else in your life so you took whatever would pay. These last weeks, you had merely accepted anything which crossed your screen. Hell, you had worked enough jobs that you could handle it all. Dentist office, insurance company, high-brow CEO. It was all the same. This would be no different.

If you saw those men again, the ones you dreaded even thinking about, what would you do? Nothing. They didn’t know you saw them; couldn’t know. You had nothing to fear. Would you even see them? The odds that they would be at Stark Tower the week you were there were slim or that they would have any reason to stop by the front desk if they did. It was just another job.

You dropped your phone back in your bag and started your car. If you didn’t go now, you’d scare yourself out of it. It was all in your head. Maybe it was. Maybe you hadn’t heard that man die. Maybe you hadn’t seen Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes with their guns pointed at him. Maybe, maybe, maybe...but you had.

You pulled up to Stark Tower; there was a parking garage below. You were stopped at the window and reported your purpose. “Return here with your credentials and we’ll give you a proper pass. For now, take this temporary one,” The man in the booth instructed, handing your a slip. You drove on ahead and found an empty space. You killed the engine and hung your head for a moment, gathering your wits. Reaching for your bag, you forced yourself out of the car and locked it, looking around the parking garage with a gulp. It was different than the concrete maze behind Allie's building. This one was as pristine as the rest of Stark Tower; shining, metallic walls and pillars, lines formed by electronic lasers across the tarmac. Who knew a parking lot could be so fancy?

You found your way to the stairs which the arrows told you led to the public entrance. You held onto the rail as your feet were heavier which each step. You pushed through the metal door and found yourself at a door just inside the foyer of Stark Tower, opposite the automatic glass doors which lined the front. You looked around, the digital lettering reading ‘Security’ catching your eye.

You crossed to the desk, stopping before the glass which separated personnel from public. “Hello,” You greeted as the man turned to you, his dark uniform marked with a simple label across his left lapel denoting his department. “I’m a temp sent from Blue Binder Temp Agency.”

“I.D.” The man demanded and waited for you to produce your wallet. You slipped your driver’s license through and he typed into the computer just to his left. He held up the card and squinted. “Y/N?” He turned to you, “I need a second form of I.D. to confirm.”

You dug around and offered him your birth certificate. He inserted both your license and certificate into a slot and they were swiftly kicked back out, a copy of both appearing in a tray below. He returned your documents and typed once more into his computer. “Fingers on the desk along the outlines.”  You looked down and red dots appeared on the metal ledge before his window in the pattern of fingerprints. You placed your hands as he advised and the red dots flashed and disappeared. He pointed to a small black dot along the metal lining his window, “Look at the camera.” A flash caught you off-guard as your eyes found the small device and his printer began to work once more.

He held up a plastic card, attaching it to a lanyard and slid it through the slot. Your picture, name, and clearance were listed on the front; the other side was only a barcode. “Scan this for entrance and at the parking garage. You’re all set.” He looked over your head and waved, “Next.”

You stepped aside as the person behind you moved before the glass and you looked around. Where exactly were you suppose to go? You turned back and the security officer caught your eye, rolling his own before pointing across the foyer. You followed his finger and spotted the large, circular desk opposite him. Ah, yes, that empty seat must be for you.

You crossed and found the hinged section of desk meant to swing open and allow you to get behind the mammoth. You spotted a vague red square just beside it and scanned your newly-acquired ID card before slinging it over your neck. The desk unlocked and you opened it, stepping inside and closing it behind you.   You tucked your bag beneath the desk at your feet and sat in the large rolly chair. It was by far the most comfortable that you had been allotted in your work. You booted the computer, reading through the briefing left for you in a file upon the desk. It was straightforward enough; your usual work. Greeting, handing out maps, reading from the list of frequently asked questions. A greeter more than a clerk. Well, it was easy work for good pay. You couldn’t complain.

[whats-the-story-tc]

17th of March, 2020

"The One with the Messages Upon Messages"

Sit down for this. Grab some refreshments. It's gonna get real.

It was 8 AM in the morning when I checked the platform mentioned in my previous post and saw that our class chat was the only empty one. (Well, okay, it's technically a chat for both classes in our year but whatever.) So, it's empty, right? After about five minutes of persuading myself to be brave, I sent the following messages:

S: "...and this is the only empty one left. 🦗🦗"

S: "We officially start [classes] tomorrow, right?"

It didn't take a minute for me to get a response that made my heart stop.

V: "Yes. 🙂"

I completely freaked out, let me tell you. I was not prepared to see that name and profile picture flash up, especially not that soon.

S: "Nice. Until then, I'll learn how to use this platform somehow. 😅"

Bookworm Friend (BWF in texts): "Me too, I think. 😁"

V: "Won't be much of a secret 🙂"

V: "If you'll want to use the video, you'll need a webcamera/your phone's camera and a headset/phone."

S: "I'll manage that, thank you. And I'll find an acceptable backdrop somehow. 😂"

[A/N: When V said you, she was only talking to me. In our native tongue, the singular you, which she was using there, differs from plural you.]

I was ecstatic! 8 AM of Day 0 and we'd already had a conversation. Things simply couldn't get any better than that...

Yeah. I guess I didn't know what was gonna go down yet.

It was about 11:40 AM-ish when I got a Google Classroom notif which made me stop cleaning in my room. There she was, Miss V mode activated, with one bloody long message. Even here, we had to share a course with the other class. Fantastic. I was just about to complain into my diary when a message notification from The Platform That Shall Not Be Named flashed up, sent by someone with a Very familiar profile picture. But only upon opening it, after screaming about it profusely, did I realise that it wasn't sent into the class chat.

V sent me a DM.

V: "Would you please tell [Curly Friend] to give me a valid e-mail address, because I can't send him the classroom code.."

I was bloody losing it. She could've chosen anyone from his class (WE AIN'T EVEN CLASSMATES) or who's friends with him, but no. For whatever reason she might have had for it, V approached me. She wanted my help. And I was honestly incredibly honoured that she did.

S: Sure!

And I immediately slid on over into Curly Friend's DMs to tell him about it. Okay, it was moreso me screaming at him to message her before I die from a cardiac arrest. His response? "Ok calm yo gay ass". Lmao. Nobody's ever told me that before but it was long overdue. And as I was speaking to him, I got another message.

V: "thank you 🙂"

I really need to make a "Thank you!" counter. I'm still entirely sure it's what we say to each other most often.

V: "but you can invite him here, too"

S: "To the English server? I just need to send him the code for that, right? 😅"

V: "yes, i think he'll know what to do"

S: "He definitely will. I'll send it right away."

And then, all was silent for until about an hour, when the folks from the other class started getting active in the chat. And with them, so did V, chatting as eagerly as I've never heard or seen her before. Of course. Classic introvert. Put her behind a screen and she'll thrive. When some guys tried to convince her to give us unlimited time for the upcoming test, she even sent a selfie (A FUCKING SELFIE) where she's with her cat, saying "The kitty tells me not to listen to you." YOU DON'T GET IT THAT IS THE CUTEST SHIT EVER.

Then things went apeshit. From my idiot of a cousin using informal pronouns with V to invite her to a video call (she was chill about it though, just told him not to do it with a smiley) and people cursing casually in the general chatroom meant for everyone in the server, to the other class boys adding some guys who haven't gone to my school for about 3 years now and have nothing to do with V. Things started turning into an animal farm instead of a server and me and my friends were outrageously bored. It took them some convincing, but the result was this DM:

S: "Miss, I know, saving space and we're covering the same thing and stuff, but... can't we separate the two classes instead? Just here, on [The Platform That Shall Not Be Named]. Some of us are starting to go mad."

My friends' circle kept on fuming and I waited. The response arrived in some 10 minutes.

V: "Well, we could."

S: "If it's no trouble for you, Miss, we'd be thankful 😅"

And thus, the woman of so many of my dreams stepped into action, changing from dorky, fun, lower-case-and-emojis V to serious, determined, pristine grammar Miss V seemingly in the blink of an eye. She created two separate chats. Of course, it was not an easy or a fast process, inspiring messages like "put me back into [my class] bitch", that made my blood boil. She threw one of the additional boys out and demanded the other's name. "Those, who won't disclose their real names will be kicked out. Sorry." After he made up some silly ass fake name, V just wrote: "I don't have a student like that, ban." And as we all reacted to it with hysterical laughter in the form of emojis, V just writes: "That's that." AN. ICON. Go home, everybody. V wins.

The next minute, in our fresh, new class chat for only my class this time, the following message arrives:

V: "Dear [Class], I separated the two bunches, because they couldn't behave."

The six thank you–messages that followed (one of them mine) is pretty telling. And V was pretty fucking mad. Before I texted her about it, she was completely silent, but now, she was agitated. Her later message to a girl looking for the class chats writes: "Everyone can only see their own [class], because SOME PEOPLE started trolling the others."

That evening I had homeroom over The Platform That Shall Not Be Named, as my homeroom teacher finally learned how to use it since yesterday's Messenger call, when she mentioned asking V, who was sitting next to her during the faculty meetings all day, to teach her. I would've paid good money to see that, to be honest.

See, guys? This is why I'm so in love with who V is. She's a lovable little dork, yeah, but she's so much more. Always right there when you need her, whatever for, and takes it incredibly seriously until the very second the deed is done. I couldn't be more thankful for having her in my life.

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

[artificialqueens]

Of oil paints, monologues, and 36 questions (3/3) - Sashea - Silver

A/N: hey guys, I just wanted to say again thank you so much for the lovely feedback on the last chapter! I’ve loved writing this, so I hope you enjoy! 1 & 2

The following day was scorching. In comparison to the summer days that had gone before, the glowing sphere of fire in the sky seemed brighter, more intense, and the air appeared thicker; humid. Tarmac along sidewalks had began melting, getting stuck aggravatingly in the grooves of walkers shoes as they commuted from one place to another, trees unmoving with the lack of breeze circulating the spaces between buildings. The continuous bustle of the city that never sleeps proceeded relentlessly, overheated citizens and tourists clad in next to nothing and yet, still complaining of their inabilities to escape the heat.

Shea stood still. She didn’t mind the weather, irregardless of the sweat that dripped down her makeup free face, and loose strands of hair that fell free from an overly loose bun sticking to her glistening forehead and flushed cheeks. Her black stretchy cotton shorts felt too tight, and her cream tank top too loose as she spent her afternoon in the air conditioned confines of one of the colleges dance studios. Preparations for her final performance of the semester had taken over her days; completely. Twirling slow adagios to whirling lightening allegros, blocking sets and arranging countless props by herself all day, had left Shea nothing short of exhausted.

The room was bright. Brighter than it was outdoors, somehow, with the white walls and mirrors refracting beams of sunlight around the room sporadically, light wooden floor at Shea’s feet being made barely visible.

She sighed, tossing her script to the corner of the room, where her jacket sat neatly across a folding chair. Every word was engrained in her mind. Syllables, sentences, pauses and emphasises all ran on a repetitive loop through her focused state of mind, even as she forced herself to quell the impending worries of non ironically forgetting months worth of work. She knew she wouldn’t, positively, though the nagging persistence of that singular voice in the back of her head told her otherwise.

Glaring at the script in exasperation for longer than she admittedly should have been staring at an inanimate object for, she slouched over to the barre, the mirror in front of her covering the whole wall, unrelenting. Shea knew she didn’t look great. Rivulets of sweat ran down her neck and in between her cleavage, much like they did her forehead, causing her tank top to become both damp and see through. Musing to herself that perhaps having the effort to put a bra on before she left her dormitory the morning prior may have been a good idea, possibly, she gripped on to the barre.

Cold, icy metal beneath the grip of her clammy palms startled her, initially, the definitive contrast in temperature causing her to recoil. Clutching it again, she relaxed, shoulders falling and legs elongating along with her arms, muscles becoming less tense and joints clicking satisfyingly. She kept eye contact with herself in the grand mirror, watching as the veins in her neck became more prominent when she tilted her head from left to right, front to back, reminding her of the extremities she’d put her overworked body through throughout the entirety of the day.

It must have been eight hours. At least eight hours, she acknowledged, the small clock on the wall telling her it had reached six o'clock in the evening. She’d arrived at the empty studio at around ten in the morning, with one the theatre assistants telling her it would be vacant all day. Shea jumped at the opportunity, rarely coming across the unexpected opportunity to have an entire studio to herself in order to practice on a weekend. A Saturday, of all days of the week.

Her phone had remained perched on top of her jacket that sat on the folding chair for most of the day, only dragging herself over on tired legs to check on it when the small electronic device vibrated with a notification. On a number of occasions, it was Trixie. The first time, she’d asked Shea if she was free for the day, only for Shea to respond with a miserable no, definitely not, and another time was to remind Shea that she was suppose to be at Sasha’s art studio at six thirty.

Shea blinked. Six thirty, Sasha’s studio. The clock on the wall continued ticking inconsiderately, unforgivingly, hitting ten minutes past six before Shea could allow herself time to breath, time to do anything.

Around the room, props were scattered haphazardly in all directions. A broken umbrella, a regally engraved sword, a single artificial plastic rose and a misplaced candelabra. They outlined the premise of Shea’s monologue without explaining a single factor. Leaving it a mystery, almost. Sheet music was littered around the piano in one corner of the room, Shea’s bag overflowing with various miscellaneous objects on the floor next to it.

She’d have to collect all of her belongings and organise the props in to the cupboard down the hall before even attempting to make her way to Sasha’s - that she knew for certain. She knew she’d be late, too, exceptionally so. The thought was displeasing. Very rarely was Shea ever not punctual, and even rarer was she late to a pre organised gathering; regardless wether it was with one person or fifteen.

Gripping her phone that she had just picked up tightly in her hand, Shea felt the familiar rhythmic vibrations of an incoming phone call. Sasha. Her name lit up the screen fondly, the image that Shea had set as her caller ID causing the corners of her mouth to curl up in to a small, humble smile.

In the captured moment, Sasha’s head was resting awkwardly on Shea’s shoulder, her beanie slipping off of her hair and a blissful, intoxicated smile plastered across her face. It was taken in a blur, mid laughter, on Katya’s uncomfortable vintage couch in the low light of candles and ignited blunts, where both girls felt comfortable.

Shea’s thumb hovered over the screen, the back of her other hand rising to wipe the droplets of irritating sweat from her brow. Inhaling deeply, she accepted the call, ignoring the option to press loud speaker as she knew the volume of her phone would echo Sasha’s deep, drawled out voice throughout the room that was notorious for acoustics.

Lifting the phone to her ear, ignoring how her small rosé earrings clacked against the screen inconveniently, she acknowledged just how out of breath she was. She inhaled deeply again, allowing as much oxygen in to her tight, drained lungs as possible, noting not to practice without a break for upwards of eight hours anytime in the foreseeable future.

“Hey!”. Shea exhaled as she spoke, voice cracking and reverberating down the phone line towards Sasha. She could almost hear the other girl grin, lips parting and gleaming teeth protruding perfectly as her tongue poked between them unwittingly - and then she heard it. The musical chuckle met her ears instantly, followed by seemingly mute chatter in the background.

“Hey yourself!-”. Beamed Sasha, excitement evident in her words. Shea laughed airily in response. “-you sound out of breathe, are you alright there?”. Sasha concluded, questioning Shea, tone remaining light and teasing as she giggled lowly. Shea huffed, beginning to pace around the large room anxiously as her fingers ran through the damp tendrils of hair framing her face.

“Sorry, I’m in the studio, I’ve been practicing all day”. Admitted Shea, leaning her back against the nearest, cold brick wall. She allowed her heart rate to decline, oxygen levels returning to something resembling normal. Humming, Sasha nodded along to Shea’s words, momentarily oblivious to the fact that Shea couldn’t see her through the phone line, was unable to see the fond expression that had settled upon her face. She sighed to herself.

“Take a break, darling”. Sasha settled on eventually, realising how disheartened and exhausted she got with her own craft after hours on end of working. Shea’s eyebrows furrowed, sunlight blasting through the large window in the room and directly in to her eyes, leaving kaleidoscopes and rainbows in her line of vision every time she moved her gaze from one place to another.

“I will, I just need to wrap up here and then I’m done until next week - for the most part”. Shea corrected herself mid sentence, fully self aware that she wouldn’t be able to take more than a days break. She had to work, had to improve. Sasha hummed her agreement for the second time, hearing Shea’s deep, breathless inhalations and exhalations still travelling through the speaker of the phone, allowing the blonde girl to rush directly to the reasoning behind the phone call - rather than a text message.

“So, I’m at that little coffee shop by the theatre, you know the one?”. Sasha queried, eyes flickering upwards to meet the sign of the coffee shop, characteristically deteriorated wooden sign in the shape of a steaming mug drawing her in. Customers hurried in to the establishment, as they did the same exiting, bypassing the individuals situated inside and around the red leather booths.

“Yeah, I know the one. The studios are around the corner from it”. Recalled Shea, strolling across the floor of the studio in her worn ballet slippers and to the window, spotting the coffee shop - Peppermints - that she knew Sasha was describing. It was quaint, familial. Adorable, certainly.

“Yeah, that’s the one!-”. Grinned Sasha, cheeks rising in glee. “-I was just wondering if you wanted anything from here? I’m ‘gonna get a coffee and then head over to my studio”. She announced, shuffling from one foot to the other as she leant her hip against a graffitied lamppost outside of the coffee shop.

Gulping, Shea halted. Turning her body away from the window, her eyesight focussed firstly on the chaos that had erupted around the studio, and secondly on the miniature clock upon the white washed wall. Fifteen minutes past six. Time was not on her side. It was opposite, anything but. It was admittedly; her enemy. Her singular rival unable to be defeated within the coming minutes in order to make it to Sasha’s studio by six thirty.

Groaning audibly, she threw her lethargic body on to the folding chair at her side, sighing furthermore as she got the previously elusive opportunity to relax her legs and spine that had been deprived of a break for longer than her mind.

“Girl, I-”. Shea began, though paused promptly in order to rub her bleary, almost teary eyes. Yawning, Shea felt Sasha’s empathy pore spiritually into her subconscious. “-I’m running so late right now. I don’t think I’ll make it to yours by six thirty. Hell, I don’t think I’ll make it to yours by seven thirty at this rate and-”. Shea paused again, willing her thoughts to drift away from herself as she heard Sasha begin to speak.

“Shea, breathe-”. Soothed Sasha, voice exiting her lips calmer than it did on most occasions, despite said most occasions being the epitome of calm and serene. “-stay in your studio. I’ll get coffee, and then come up, alright? I have a sketch book and some supplies with me right now, it’ll work out just fine”. Sasha’s words continued to put Shea at ease, continued to help her smile grow from a seed to a magically, extraordinarily bloomed sunflower.

Shea sniffed, eyes gawking at Sasha’s offer. Reaching her free hand up to rub tender circular motions in to her cramping neck, her eyes fluttered closed in contentment. She pondered the other girls suggestion thoroughly, the sound of Sasha clearing her throat drawing her out of her self inflicted trance after countless, innumerable seconds.

“I don’t want to make you have to go out of your way or-”. Shea scuffed the toe of her ballet slipped across the rickety, wooden floor boards at her feet, eyes drooping and forehead creasing. Sasha shook her head to herself, through made a point of vocalising her certainty to the dark haired girl with a soft sigh as she stepped away from the graffitied lamppost that had previously been supporting her body weight.

“Listen, with all the respect I can offer, you sound awful right now-”. Both girls chuckled at Sasha’s truth laced words.

Honesty.

“-the last thing you should be doing is walking all the way to my studio. It’s so much easier for me to get to the dance department than it would be for you to get to the art one”. Finalised Sasha, stepping in to the coffee shop that she was still stood in front of, a smiling man dressed in a questionable tweed suit holding the door open graciously for her. She offered him a quick smile, before focusing the majority of her attention back on hers and Shea’s phone conversation.

“Thank you”. Whispered Shea, exhaustion and surprised gratitude overwhelming her drained being. Thank you. Sasha gathered what she meant, essentially.

Shea was thanking her for her words and her proposition, her kindness and her charitable nature. She was thanking her for not being forceful, for allowing Shea an option. An opinion. Shea assumed that Sasha understood, thoroughly. Understood what it meant to fully submerse yourself in a world of creativity and surrealism, only to be dragged out harshly by a hurricane of dismissal and reality, and for the cycle to repeat itself endlessly. Relentlessly.

Sasha smiled softly, hand reaching in to her pants pocket and retrieving a haphazardly crumpled up bill.

“What’s your coffee order and number of the studio?”.

*****

Shea perched, standing in the same position she had been minutes previously in front of the wall length mirror. Her cooling, drying hands gripped the metal barre tightly and with intensity, manicured fingernails digging in to her palm and leaving red crescent moon indentations.

Her face still appeared flushed and sweaty, despite her attempts to manically fan herself with both her discarded script and her hands. Scrutinising her own reflection further, Shea tugged down her hair from the worse for wear bun, dark waves cascading effortlessly down past her shoulders in waterfalls of lusciousness. Better, Shea noted, paying little attention to the baby hairs sticking numbly to the perimeters of her glowing face and the slight frizz that had developed on the underside of her head.

She swept her hair over her shoulders, feeling the strands tickle her nude back where her tank top had ridden upwards, bunching around her waist. Giving herself a vague once over in the mirror, she began stretching. Arm extensions and fingertips glided elegantly through the air, posture and outstretched leg a perfect line perpendicular to the barre.

Her eyes burned under the luminosity of the room, the sunlight outside becoming stronger in the hours before it would set; daytime dwindling. With her lashes fluttering closed, and a mere fingertip connected to the barre, keeping her both balanced and grounded, she let out a ragged breath. Her earlier exhaustion was prevalent, overwhelmingly so, as she began yawning mid way through her meditative post-practice routine.

Manoeuvring her limbs so that she stood up straight once again, back resting uncomfortably on the stable barre, she tilted her head backwards, sighing in relaxation when it came in contact with the mirror, a support for her tired and aching neck.

“Black coffee with a shot of espresso and sweetener - over ice?”. Shea’s eyes flashed open, her body jumping away from the barre and mirror, heart pounding in her throat. She blinked slowly, vision blurry, the sound of the Perspex door to the studio clicking closed meeting her ears.

Sasha stood across the room with simultaneous confidence and nervousness, two coffees balanced precariously in a cup holder in one hand and a brown paper bag that was labelled Peppermints in the other. Her bleached blonde hair laid in soft waves, combed and sleek whilst being noticeably fluffy against the dark, wine red cotton of her loose shirt. Black cutoff distressed shorts, and equally as intentionally worn sneakers and backpack accompanied the tentative smile that she had painted across her uncertain face.

Shea’s eyes sparkled, teeth nibbling at her plump bottom lip as she crossed the room to Sasha on slow strides, bottoms of her ballet slippers skidding along the wooden floorboards. They stood close, yet far enough away from each other that Shea couldn’t quite make out the distinctive faint freckles that she knew adorned Sasha’s pale skin across her nose and cheekbones, or the flecks of cerulean blue that she recalled ran throughout her grey irises.

Sasha’s eyes flickered under her thick eyelashes, taking in Shea’s appearance. She looked good. Granted, Sasha immediately acknowledged the lacklustre, exhausted aura that surrounded her, yet she looked good. She looked to be in her element, her art; her expression. With her hair wilder than she probably would have liked it to look on a regular basis, and her tank top that Sasha couldn’t help but observe was noticeably see through, Shea looked like the definition, the epitome of theatre. She admired her dedication.

Accepting the coffee graciously from Sasha, her warm hands wrapping gratefully around the cool condensation covered plastic cup, Shea ushered Sasha further in to the room. The blondes eyes widened at the sight of the extravagant, grand studio, unfamiliar with this side of the college.

“This is insane-”. Mumbled Sasha, high, lightbulb littered ceiling towering above her. Stalking over to the window, Shea trailing behind her, she registered just how elevated they were, people looking less like ants and more akin to microscopic cells. “-I never even knew that the college had studios like this, let alone this many floors up”. She chuckled to herself, Shea standing at her side in amusement, frolicking in Sasha’s awestruck state.

“I like it up here. I prefer it to the ground floor studios, they’re always so busy”. Addressed Shea, lips wrapping around the straw poking out of her coffee cup, the refreshingly sweet yet earthy beverage entering her mouth, before she felt it enter her system like a stream connecting to a river. A river flowing, cascading in to the ocean.

“It seems very you”. Sasha drew her attention away from the window and to the dark haired, hazel eyed girl stood elegantly next to her. Shea smiled, albeit apprehensively, before lifting herself by her forearms on to the windowsill ledge that doubled as a spaciously accommodating seat.

Signalling for Sasha to join her, she felt the smallest gust of air travel through the open window and across her warm skin, goosebumps rising instantaneously. Sasha discarded her backpack on the floor beneath her before she placed her own iced caffeinated drink and the paper bag on the ledge next to Shea, beams of light hitting her hair and casting a warm yellow glow across her cheekbones. Shea offered a reassuring smile in return.

Sasha propped herself up with ease, biceps visibly tensing under her body weight and Shea’s intense, burning focus. Inhaling slowly, seemingly repeating her earlier relaxation techniques, Shea’s gaze faltered, travelling to the clock upon the wall. From a distance, Shea gathered it was six thirty. It could have been seven thirty, or eight thirty, but Shea doubt she would have cared all that much. Sasha grinned.

“I uh, got you a cookie-”. Offered the Russian girl, shuffling the paper bag towards Shea. “-I figured you’d be hungry, too, after practicing all day”. She empathised, the elation on Shea’s face combined with her quietly mumbled thank you, making her smile exuberantly. Opening the bag, the fresh scent of baked goods hit Shea’s senses, memories of grandmothers kitchens and Sundays at church.

“What about you?-”. Shea questioned, bitting in to the soft treat, melted milk chocolate sticking to the corner of her mouth. Sasha lifted an eyebrow in confusion, sipping lightly at her own drink. “-have you eaten?”. She elaborated.

Sasha smiled warmly, though she nodded her head along to Shea’s caring words. Her ruby painted lips continued to suck slowly at her own straw, pigmented colour transferring on to the plastic surface even as she tried her hardest not to smudge the intricately applied substance.

“I had a sandwich earlier, I’m good-”. Clarified Sasha, crossing one leg over the other. Right over left, body tilted to face Shea. “-How, uh - how’ve you been?”. Her fingers twitched nervously, though her eyes glowed with both mirth and intrigue. Genuineness.

Shea swallowed the remnants of the cookie, throat bobbing visibly as she did so, head tilting quizzically to the side as glanced up from under her batting lashes. She scrunched up the paper bag. Nails, digging in to the flimsy paper rather than the palm of her hand, shoulders slumping and relaxing. Leaning her side against the clear glass window, which was unexpectedly cool under the rays of blasting sunlight and the heat of the air, Shea mirrored Sasha; crossing one leg over the other.

Left over right. She looked uncomfortable. Frigid, even. Sasha did, too, hands twirling a lock of her own hair around her index finger whilst her foot bounced to a non existent beat. Shea toyed with numerous responses in her mind, possibilities seeming infinite - an undiscovered galaxy of words, phrases, and facial expressions.

They were mere acquaintances. Both girls understood that much, were undeniably in agreement. Neither knew the other, really. With the security blanket and defence of intoxication ripped away, Sasha felt almost like she’d dreamt the whole night they’d spent together, talking - being vulnerable. Shea felt naked. She knew her tank top was damp and see through, yet she felt naked, completely, stripped of her confidence; her front. Void of every detectable characteristic that made Shea, Shea. Sasha felt like she’d stepped out of order, scribbled her colouring pencil too far out of the lines, ruining the drawing.

Shea didn’t think she had an eraser, though she mulled over beginning a new, uncharted picture. Using pastels instead of pencils, or ink instead of paint, maybe. Possibly.

“We should um, I have my sketchbook with me, let’s just-”. Sasha began rambling, syllables tumbling out of her mouth before the darker haired girl could begin to convert them into legible, coherent words. Leaning down, she pulled her bag up on to the ledge, flecks of glitter spilled across one arm strap that Shea just knew wouldn’t have come from Sasha. She’s not glitter. She’s oil and graphite, not sparkle. Neutrality.

Shea jumped, hand slapping down on top of Sasha’s sketch book, the blondes deep orbs widening. Both blinked once. Recoiling noticeably, Shea allowed her hand to brush across Sasha’s, blurs of red streaking beneath her touch, her fingertips. Mouth agape, words dancing precariously on the tip of her tongue, Sasha uncrossed her legs, only to recross them in the opposite direction. The sketch book slid to the side.

“I’ve been good”. Blurted Shea, her own clammy hand squeezing Sasha’s warm, calloused one once before she retracted it, resting it on her own bare knee. Sasha’s eyes darted up to meet Shea’s, a titillating grin resting pretty on her lips.

“Less high than you were at Katya’s?”. Sasha teased, atmosphere lifting, rising to meet Shea’s grin that appeared. Shea laughed first, airily, Sasha following, deeply.

“A little-”. Shea hummed easily, to which Sasha sniggered amusedly. Sweeping her hair away from her face, Shea felt her inner temperature begin to decrease slightly, sweat no longer prickling at her hairline and cheeks flushed pink instead of red. Less intense.

They were mere acquaintances. Acquaintances that knew details about one and other that they would never think, never dream of telling another soul unless forced to. They’d confided in each other under canopies of rainforests, summer tree houses and flames in confidence. In trust.

Shea tapped her nails rhythmically across the expanse of her knee. Katya’s beloved 36 questions theory didn’t seem as delusional on recollection as it once did.

“-I haven’t smoked that much in a long time”. Finished Shea, Sasha’s eyes crinkling as she chuckled. Picking up the sketch book that had slipped from her grasp, Sasha flicked it open, pulling a HB pencil from a side compartment of her bag, though kept her focus firmly on Shea.

“Oh, you’re not the only one. I swear to god I was still stoned this morning”. Confessed the blonde, who began scribbling away at the blank page in front of her, the date written in an italicised cursive font accompanied by ’Shea’ in block capitals. The grin that met Shea’s face reached her eyes, almost. Sasha liked it, liked that she’d caused it to appear.

“Girl, I wish I was still stoned right now”. Shea joked, a strand of hair blowing across her face and restricting her eyesight, the sky outside darkening noticeably under thick clouds and sparse gales. Sasha’s forehead creased, eyebrows knitting together in inquisition. She narrowed her eyes, taking in Shea’s demeanour. Her focus was centred on her lap where she tapped her fingernails anxiously across her leg, somewhat irritatingly, even as she kept a tight hold of her rapidly emptying coffee cup in the other hand.

“Rough day?”. Sasha lowered her volume, her decibels, softened her tone. Shea was grateful. Her head had began pulsing tenuously, signs of a tension headache due to overworking emerging, the throb behind one eye a tell-tale signal. Rubbing her hand across her forehead, soothing the pain momentarily, Shea hummed accordingly, nodding her head.

“It’s just trying to get everything done, I feel like a ball of stress ready to combust and pass out at any minute, y'know?”. Shea chuckled to herself, the image that she’d conjured up in her own mind humouring her. Sasha smiled uncertainly as worry tugged at her subconscious, though her eyes glimmered in understanding.

“I said it earlier, but you really should take a break-”. Sasha slouched forward, the empty space between herself and Shea lessening, pencil remaining clutched tightly in her hand. “-it’s not healthy to physically and emotionally drain yourself all of the time”. Shea understood that Sasha’s goal was not to patronise, instead to protect, make her aware of what she already knew. She shrugged regardlessly, defensively.

“You know how it is, when you love what you do so much, it never feels like you’re working-”.

“Until you crash”. Interrupted Sasha, words hitting Shea imminently, striking through her once undefeated façade. Sasha was familiar with it. Too familiar, maybe. Spending your days and nights absorbed in the passion that grew endlessly for art, or theatre, only for it to become the one thing that you begin to despise most at certain moments.

Shea gulped. Sasha’s piercing gaze combined with her own acknowledgement told her that she was right. Undeniably so. She’d burnt out, energy levels diminishing into nothingness and yet the will to make herself stop - vanishing.

“Trixie told me the same thing this morning”. Settled Shea, pouting. The Russian chuckled in response, pencil tapping at the corner of her mouth, the smell of wood and graphite infiltrating her nostrils as she moved it back and forth out of habit. Shea’s eyes followed the movement, traveling from the dimple in the blondes cheek, to the pencil just about touching her matte red lip, and to the tip of her tongue, poking between her teeth.

“You should listen to her, she’s not wrong”. Sasha bantered, one eyebrow crooking. Bringing the pencil back down to the sketchbook perched on her thigh, she watched intently as Shea reached the last dregs of her coffee, placing the empty cup down next to her.

“Alright, point taken-”. Sighing, Shea motioned towards the mostly blank page of the sketchbook. “-though you clearly haven’t stopped working, so can you really say much?”. She retaliated, flicking her hair mockingly over her shoulder as a light smile remained on her face.

Sasha’s jaw dropped, mouth agape. Shea snickered at her reaction, removing her hand from her own knee and instead resting in flat on the ledge next to herself. Pursing her lips, Sasha began vaguely outlining a genetically female body shape on to the paper, Shea’s eyes darting to follow the lines she made.

“I guess I asked for that, didn’t I?”. Breathed the elder of the two girls, a flush creeping up her fair cheeks. Shea, still giggling to herself, nodded her head slowly, thoughts over how to explain her creative vision for her costume to Sasha, without portraying herself as inept, whirling through her brain.

“Oh, without a doubt”.

*****

The sun didn’t set as quickly in the summer months. A rose gold, amber tint swept across the city instead, windows glowing citrine and shadows concentrated granite. It was nice, regardless, the grey area between day and night, light and dark existing for longer than it would ever dare to in the autumn, or winter. Shea grew to like it; or love it. Loved the way that the warmth made Sasha’s usually ashy, white blonde hair appear peachy, and her freckles more pronounced, more prominent and noticeable.

Sasha smiled at her from across the window ledge, lipstick beginning to fade as the small, barely there clock on the opposite wall of the room ticked away without a thought.

“How do you feel about this?”. Sasha distanced her pencil from the paper, flipping the notebook so that Shea could see the completed design that had transpired from her mind, to her hand, and on to the paper. Shea’s jaw went slack, before a grin spread widely across her face, from cheek to cheek. Squealing excitedly, the dark haired girl lifted a hand to cover at her mouth.

Sasha had captured her vision, her costume effortlessly. She’d transformed Shea’s unintelligible mumblings of if the early victorians lived in space in the future, maybe 3016, but monochrome, in to a realisation. Sasha felt proud, optimistic, her smile mirroring Shea’s sceptically.

“That’s it!-”. Shea grasped at Sasha’s shoulder excitedly, pointed acrylic nails pressing uncomfortably in to Sasha’s skin, though Sasha didn’t care - didn’t need to tell her. “-that’s actually it! I - I love it!”. Continuing to project her excitement, she paid close attention to how Sasha seemingly deflated, became lighter, worry over what Shea would think drifting away.

“Are you sure about the lace? I mean we could-”.

“It’s perfect”. Shea finalised, satisfaction encompassing her entirely, squeezing Sasha’s shoulder for a second time before she pulled away, allowing the other girl to place the sketch book down in between them. Sasha blushed, Shea’s eyes locking with hers and flashing intensely.

Perfect; maybe. Sasha refocused on the sketch in front of her, boxing off the corner of the page, leaving an empty gap that she titled simply measurements. Sliding off of the window ledge and rummaging aimlessly through her bag, Sasha pulled out a neatly wrapped fabric measuring tape, presenting it to Shea whose eyes flickered in confusion. Sasha retracted her hand.

“Huh?”. Shea murmured, none the wiser. She followed Sasha off of the ledge, situating herself next to the blonde. Standing up, Shea was taller than Sasha. Not by much, granted, yet enough to make Sasha feel smaller than she would usually; more vulnerable.

“Sorry I - I thought you’d prefer to measure yourself rather than have me do it”. Looking up to see Shea with her eyebrows furrowed, Sasha forced herself to swallow her hesitation. Her fingers twitched, Shea’s strong shoulders contrasting against the soft, sheer fabric of her tank top. Squeezing her eyes closed momentarily, she felt Shea step noticeably closer to her, the distance between them lessening.

“I don’t mind you doing it, at all. I wouldn’t know where to start”. Shea chuckled to herself, pointing to the tape measure curled around Sasha’s nimble fingers. Sasha blinked, blankly, mumbling a quick, barely audible ok.

“It’s just shoulders, waist, hips, leg length”. Spoke Sasha, though she couldn’t decipher wether she was telling Shea or herself, if she was reassuring herself that she wouldn’t have to step in to Shea’s personal space for longer than needed or if - she didn’t know.

She didn’t know. “Fine by me”. Shea hummed teasingly, a surprisingly lustful glimmer projecting from her eyes and wanting smile tickling at her lips. She stood still when Sasha motioned for her to do so, shoulders and back straight. The Russians hands were seemingly suddenly everywhere and nowhere all at once - pressing against the sun kissed skin of her shoulders and the toned muscles of her waist, along with her soft hips and thick, defined thighs.

Shea thought she wanted them to travel. Wanted them to go on a discourse and dip under the neckline of her tank top, up the hem of it, touch her stomach and further. She acknowledged that the calloused yet soft skin of Sasha’s palms could have left the outside of her legs, and instead moved to the softness of her inner thighs. Shea would have shivered, would have pulled Sasha up and smiled at her, irregardless of the sensations and feelings that she brought to the surface.

She liked it, anyway. Despite Sasha never touching more or touching for longer than she was required to, stepping away from Shea’s deeply breathing body and scribbling down measurements in her sketch book.

“Let me just, get your overall height and then I’ll be done-”.

“Five eight, give or take-”. Shea exhaled, voice shaking more than she would have liked it to. “-saves you the trouble”. She continued, a grateful look plastering itself across Sasha’s face. The blonde nodded in response, though she kept within the same proximity to Shea. Inches apart, barely, heat reverberating between their bodies.

“Cool, I guess we’re done-”. Sasha paused to swallow. “I’ll um, text you when I’m close to finished?”. She proposed, tossing the measuring tape so that it landed on top of her bag that still sat perched on the window ledge.

Shea pondered her response carefully.

The sun had set further, though the aforementioned wall clock had ticked to a halt. Compared to the earlier pink cast, the room appeared almost orange in the later hour, flecks of fire and magenta splashes. Sasha’s ruby lipstick had faded more, more than it had when Shea last caught her self staring at her lips, her straight white teeth nibbling anxiously at the plump bottom one. Her hair looked white again. One strong, pure beam of light striking up half of her face, making her eyes more protuberant than ever; green sprouts that Shea hadn’t noticed previously making themselves visible. Shea nodded her head, making a confident reach for Sasha’s hand that laid at her side.

Sasha inhaled sharply, chest heaving substantially as her eyes tagged on to Shea’s rich, hazel chocolate ones. Interlacing their fingers, she could feel Shea’s throbbing pulse beneath her touch. Thump. Pause. Thump.

“Actually, no-”. Contradicted Shea, shaking her head and pulling Sasha even closer towards her by the grip of her hand. “-we’re not done”. She concluded. Demanded, almost. Sasha’s eyes bulged, crossing as Shea stood centimetres away from her, their fronts pressed together.

Sasha was dumbfounded, awestruck. The feeling of Shea’s strong thighs pressed up against her own, combined with the contrast of her soft, plush chest drew a low whimper from her croaky throat, even as her eyes slipped half closed. Shea disconnected their hands, instead choosing to wrap her own securely around Sasha’s shoulders, fingers linking at the back of her neck; tugging lightly on the delicate, bleached baby hairs at the nape.

Sasha could feel Shea’s warm breath hitting her face, the corner of her mouth. She smelt like baked cookies and earthy coffee and Sasha wanted nothing more than to taste it for herself, to connect her lips with Shea’s, have the very essence of chocolate surrounding her. Consuming her.

Moving her hands to rest on the small of Shea’s back, Sasha could feel the contours of her spine, her muscles flexing tantalisingly. Her eyes had fluttered entirely closed, Sasha’s following seconds later as their lips connected, barely, brushing against each others with a featherlight touch. Sasha pressed Shea closer to herself, she could feel the slight dampness of Shea’s tank top against her, began imagining what their bodies would feel like under the confines of bed sheets, clothing removed and inhibitions lessened.

Pulling away, Shea inhaled deeply, only to reconnect their lips with a heightened sense of passion, lust, care. Sasha kissed like she was painting a masterpiece, an intricate portrait in reds and pinks and oranges and yellows, that she would hang centred between her best works.

Shea tugged a little harder on the baby hairs at the nape of Sasha’s neck, kissing as if she was giving the performance of a lifetime; only for Sasha. She pictured them in an empty theatre, Shea pirouetting and moving gracefully around the stage, a low spotlight following her with Sasha sat in the audience - the only person in the audience, smiling back at her gleefully, adoringly.

Sasha pulled back, eyes remaining closed. Shea moved her hand around from the back of Sasha’s neck to her cheek, caressing the soft skin tenderly. Huffing out a breathless laugh as Shea continued, the blonde lent her forehead against the other girls, eyes flashing open, meeting Shea’s reciprocation.

“I like you”. Sasha murdered, Shea’s thumb occupying itself by stroking the dimple that appeared on Sasha’s cheek when she smiled. Shea grinned, placing a fleeting peck to where her thumb had smoothed over before, heart beat pumping wildly in her chest, blood running ferociously through her arteries and veins.

Stepping back in order to make better, prolonged eye contact with Sasha, Shea dropped her hands to Sasha’s waist, the shiver that ran visibly through the shorter girls body making her grin; contentment.

A low breeze carted itself throughout the room, sunlight almost completely obliterated from the sky, vibrant cranberries and purples replacing it. It was darker, essentially, though Shea could make out the freckles in Sasha’s face with ease. Easier than she could earlier in the night, when they sat at opposite ends of the window ledge in confusion.

“Can we make a deal?”. Questioned Shea, face exuberayting hope, need. Her fingers slipped under the neckline of Sasha’s shirt, rubbing at her collarbones gingerly. Sasha arched an eyebrow, Shea’s touch against a usually unaffected area of her body a welcomed sensation. She cleared her throat.

“Depends”. Sasha laughed easily, frivolously. Her own hands rose from the small of Shea’s back to her shoulders, the heat leaving Shea’s skin indescribable; unheard of.

Smirking, Shea toyed with how she could phrase her proposal, how she could lure Sasha, even if she was almost entirely certain that Sasha felt it, too. Felt the tingle that arose under each others touch, despite the rocketing temperature of the grand room, and felt the sense of comfort, familiarity. Sasha felt like she’d been transported back to their night at Katya’s, under the influence and yet completely accordant, at peace.

“If I take tomorrow off, will you come for an actual coffee with me? Like - I’ll take you to a really sweet coffee house and it’ll be really cute and-”.

“Are you asking me on a date?”. Sasha interrupted, shy smiles settling on both hers and Shea’s faces. Shea shrugged her shoulders noncommittally, though the familiar glint in her eye told the Russian that yes, she was. Without a question, without hesitation.

“Would you say yes if I was?”. Shea mused hypothetically, her ramblings leading Sasha to giggle amusedly. She could feel the flutterings in her chest, the uncertainty in her mind. Adrenaline still flowed, incomparable to much else Shea had ever felt, Sasha, too. Fiddling unwittingly with the strap of Shea’s tank top, twisting the fabric between her fingers and tugging subconsciously, Shea rolled her eyes fondly.

Sasha paused, grinning to herself. She placed a gentle kiss to Shea’s awaiting lips, particles of left over red lipstick transferring and smudging further. I would. A final spark of sunlight hit both girls, illuminating.

“Absolutely”.

[mrevaunit42]

Nova vs Chapter 18: This is how we do it

Hello everyone, Mr.E here and back! Thank you for everyone who likes, comments and reblogs this story. it means a lot to me

i want to apologize to those who were waiting for this. I took a month off because in all these nearly 2 years of writing (holy snap that’s next month) and the random bouts were i didn’t post, I never actually took a break. but I’m back, refreshed and ready to keep stories for you amazing people.

Here it is, the finale of the current arc thought of by my good friend @marionette-j2x who was kind enough to let me borrow her ocs *Jelina, Mary and Berry with their lord Kim* and let me write out the arc idea she came up with and a special @thefandombytes who helped me with some translations. thanks buddy, I greatly appreciate it! 

This is not the story finale so no worries, there’s still some more nova on the way. Well I am going to simply let the show get on the road cuz I know a few of you waited a long time for this so here we go.

also here’s the link to the ff page in case you want read this from the beginning or stumble upon this randomly https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11773524/1/Nova-Butterfly-vs-the-Forces-of-Adolescence

Notification Squad 

@hipster-rapunzel @isolated-frequencies @artgirllullaby 

There was a deathly silence that filled the air, a stillness that no one seemed to want to break.

Katrina stood defiant in front of the children, hammer still embedded in the ground before the shifting, almost slithering robes of the cultists, their eyes empty and lifeless.

“Do you refuse to yield?” Katrina asked, body tensed with preparation.

She knew their answer already but never hurt to make sure. Royal bodyguard she may be but she was always fair.

The cultists stared at one another, not a single word shared among them but each agreeing with the same course of action.

Together as one, they surged forward, their thick black robes moving as a singular entity and making it seem like the shadows themselves were lunging towards the group.

“Yep” Katrina muttered to herself as she kicked her weapon into her armored gauntlet, lifting the massive object without pause “That's what I thought.”

Katrina leapt into action, swirling and twisting her body around faster and faster until she was a whirling hurricane of righteous fury.

The cultists paused in their charge, sharing a concern look of regret as Katrina crashed into the frozen foes and sending several flying helplessly through the air.

Katrina was relentless in her attack: Her hammer swept droves of enemies off their feet, scattering and breaking their formation with one blow.

The closest cultists jumped onto the armored figure, trying to use their weight to slow the juggernaut but all that managed to achieve was let loose a sigh of annoyance.

Katrina effortlessly gripped a helpless cultist in her hand, rolling her eyes as she threw them as far as she could, an unseen smirking gracing her lips while the sickening crunch of his bones against the solid stones walls filled the room.

However, Katrina was but one warrior among a sea of enemies and no matter how many she held back, she could not stop them all.

Katrina reached for one of the robed figures who managed to slip under her and bolted towards the helpless children but before she could grasp his hood, another one of his comrades slammed his fist against her chest plate. While the attack had done nothing more than broke the attacker's hand, it had startled Katrina enough. Instincts took over and she turned around, instinctively grabbing head of the unlucky cultist and smashing her helmet into him, sending him reeling to the floor.

“Wait, NO!” Katrina cried but the cultists were swarming and Katrina had no time to lament her failure. She thrust her hammer outward, catching an approaching enemy in the stomach before flexing. With one mighty shove, the nearest cultists skidded the floor with an angry Katrina looming over them.

Jack was the first noticed a few of the robed figures heading their way, a small group that manged to break through Katrina's defense.

Jack wobbled to his feet, his body tired and sore from the previous battles. Two transformations a day had drained a lot out of him but he had no choice but to attempt a third.

“What I do for covy....” Jack muttered wearily.

Jack stood up straight, trying to ignore the aches in his body but before he could even take a deep breath, someone gestured at him with a strange hand sign he vaguely remembered.

“Oh crap” Jack managed to get before he sailed through the air, the dark magic taking hold over him and bringing him closer to the figure.

Jack slid across the floor, wincing in pain as he fell a few feet short of the spell caster.

“You suck!” Jack shouted angrily, struggling to get to his feet “Seriously, my lola can do magic better than you and she doesn't understand what a wiccan is!”

The hooded caster made no indication he heard the half demon. Instead, he broke into a sprint, drawing closer and closer to the helpless Jack.

Jack gripped the stone floor rightly, his claws digging into the tile as he tried to will himself up but he felt like there was a massive weight on the back of his head pushing him against the floor.

“Stop struggling, I need a steady surface.”

“YOU!” Jack snarled when he finally noticed Jelina kneeling next to him, one hand held firmly on her massive bazooka and the other square on Jack's head, planting him firmly to the ground.

“I know you don't need my help right now” Jelina explained, a hint of sarcasm hidden in her neutral voice “But could you please stay down? I need to provide covering fire if we are to escape”

“I hate you” Jack muttered quietly as Jelina began unleashing a barrage of missiles into the thickest parts of the horde.

With hand grabbing at the scuff of Jack's collar, Jelina rose to her feet, hoisting the magician in the air like he was some sort of kitten.

“I don't have a lot of ammo so keep up” Jelina told him flatly

Jack struggled, flailing his arms and legs wildly in an attempt to break free of the mechanical maiden's grip “Well put me down and I'll...”

“No time”

and without warning, Jelina broke into a full sprint, the world becoming a blur of colors that lasted only a moment before Jack found himself unceremoniously dumped next to the still embraced figures of Nova and Connor

“Alright” Jack admitted “that was pretty cool.”

“I'm afraid we have to engage the enemy” Jelina glanced towards Berry and Mary who nodded in agreement

“I forbid it” Kim chimed in defensively “You will not foolishly risk your lives.”

“But master, we...”

“You live to serve me” Kim replied, a finality to his voice “You cannot do that if you are dead.”

Before Jelina could argue, the room was filled with a pinkish purplish light that glowed softly in the darkness.

Amidst the fighting, everyone had forgotten about the still massive dimension portal lazily hovering where the ceiling once was.

The sudden shift in illumination blinded many of the combatants (except Katrina who kept wailing away on her foes unhindered.)

Nova rose her hand to shield her eyes from the glow, Connor's embrace tightening despite the warm feeling that surrounded them.

Something descended slowly. Nova could hear the light fluttering of wings approach, softly growing louder as the source of the light drew closer to her.

Nova squinted, trying her hardest to see past the blazing light.

“What is that?” Nova muttered to herself, leaning forward to get a closer look.

A little gasp escaped Nova's lips, her eyes wide with awe and wonder upon seeing through the veil of illumination.

“Mom...” she softly whispered.

Nova couldn't help but stare at her mother as the light slowly dimmed. She had never seen her mother in her Mewberty form before and despite the descriptions from varying sources, none had done the sight justice.

Her mother's normally fair skin was now tinged a deep, rich purple. Her pink, rose colored wings with fluttered gently behind her. Her long, golden blonde hair was now faded and twisted into two antenna like cones. Star wore sleek, well polished sliver battle armor that had obviously been custom made for the queen given her pair of arms were now six. Her eyes and hearts glowed with a harsh light and for once in her life Nova could feel the royal authority behind her mother.

This was the Butterfly that would not allow anyone to deny her her choice of husband. That was the Butterfly that fought tooth and nail to reunite with her beloved and daughter. That was the Butterfly who defeated Toffee and reformed an ancient dynasty, bringing unity to two warring enemies. That was the Butterfly who connected two dimensions forever.

That was Star Butterfly.

The light faded from her eyes and hearts, returning them to normal.

“Mom!” Nova cried, unable to help herself as she raced forward (with Connor supporting from behind)

She lunged at her mother, locking her arms around her tightly as tears began to pool in her eyes

“Mommy, I'm so happy you're here” Nova sniffled “I was so scared. I thought I wasn't going to see you again a-and the wand! Mom, I'm sorry I couldn't...”

Nova fell silent as Star's hand gently brushed her hair, her touch soft and affectionate while she held Nova closer.

“I'm here. Mommy's got you sweetie. You are safe. Nothing else matters.”

Nova pulled away only to find a relived smile on Star's face, her eyes warm and loving.

“Hey, what about me?” A voice called from behind Star.

“D-dad? You're here too?”

Marco scoffed in mock annoyance as he appeared from behind Star, still well dressed though now rocking another accessory in the form of a sheathed katana.

“My little girl was kidnapped! Of course I'm going to be here.” Marco rolled his eyes playfully.

Nova tackled him, hugging her father tightly while the tears flowed freely down her cheeks

“There, there angel” Marco whispered gently, patting Nova's head lovingly “It's okay. We're here.”

Marco and Star shared a look, one that brought a shiver down Nova's spine.

“OOOOOOO KATRINAKINS!”

Katrina flinched in embarrassment, ignoring the thrashing of the figure whose figure she held by the throat.

“Your majesty, did you have to call me that here? Now?”

Star gave a peppy nod as Marco ushered everyone behind himself and his wife.

“Of course. Katrina, please come back and help the children through the portal. Kim and his maids included. We will take care of this.”

Katrina's mask was indifferent but the fierce warrior's posture changed at once.

“Oh boy” Katrina muttered to the still struggling cultist “You are all in trouble now”

Katrina smashed the figure against the ground and jumped high into the air, effortlessly landing next to Star and Marco in a single leap.

“Okay kids time to go!” Katrina instructed, hoisting Connor by the scuff and tossing him through the massive portal

Connor flailed wildly for a moment before landing on the Diaz's living floor with a muted thud.

Nova stayed back though close to Katrina who now was arguing with Kim about how much trouble he was in.

“In, now” Katrina snarled

“we refuse” Jelina shot back, the trio of mechanical maidens standing between the towering monster and their demon lord.

“I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. You are under suspicion of conspiracy of kidnapping the princess and if I have to take you by force, I will.”

“Wow” Berry chimed in, thoroughly impressed “that sounds bad. Really bad.”

“Ugh, who cares” Mary crossed her arms “We're not going with you.”

“Our master has done nothing wrong. We refuse to comply with your request” jelina added in

“Ladies”

The trio turned to Kim who gestured them to remain calm

“I will go with you”

“Master!” The maids cried out indignantly

Kim raised his hand and they fell silent at once

“My maids will accompany me of course” Kim went on “I will go with you willingly though I suspect you to be honest in your findings.”

Katrina gave a curt nod “We just need to verify if you were working alone or of your own free will. Nothing more.”

Kim nodded “I agree to your terms, shall we?”

Katrina picked up Kim with one hand and the fuming maids in the other, placing them carefully on the floor away from the portal

Sol stared at the demonic overlord and the brightly colored maids that suddenly appeared in his home.

“Whoa” Sol nodded “I'm going to need more cookies” and promptly raced into the kitchen to get snacks for their guests.

Marco drew his katana, tossing the sheath into the portal and onto the couch.

Star took a step forward. There were still dozens upon dozens of cultists despite the countless groaning bodies that littered the floor.

Star took a deep, calming breath. She closed her eyes, imagining a peaceful relaxing field in Mewni she was so fond of.

Marco braced himself, hands covering his ears.

Star's eyes snapped open, her grin bending into a bone chilling smirk.

The cultists fidgeted nervously, their self preservation instincts screaming at them to run for the door.

“So.” Star spoke gently, her gaze scanning the sea of fabric that stood before her “YOU TRIED TO KIDNAP MY LITTLE GIRL!?”

Star's voice boomed with an unearthly volume, shaking the hooded figures externally and internally.

Despite their stoic, inhuman nature, they shuddered at the sound of pure anger laced within the mother's tone.

Star hadn't even waited for a response.

She gestured outward with a single hand and before faster than anyone could anticipate, ribbons of pink energy collided with several cultist chests, sending them crashing into those fortunate enough not to blasted by the righteous fury of Mewni's queen.

Silence as the world seemed to slow, Star's fingers smoking in the stillness

With a screeching battle cry, the figures that remained standing raced forward, hoping to overwhelm the Mewman with their sheer numbers.

Marco rolled his eyes, strolling past Star to place himself between the horde and his wife.

“Marco sweetie” Star cooed lovingly

“Yes honey?”

“Save some for me, will you?”

Marco a gave short nod as he held his katana at his side.

One poor soul made the unfortunate decision to lunge at Marco, thinking it was the most brilliant idea he ever had.

Marco smirked, swinging the flat of his blade against the mid-air foe who tumbled to the floor face first, his nose breaking with a sickening crunch.

Marco charged forward, pushing deep into the crowd while his sword blurred about his body with inhuman speed

Cultists fell at his feet, clutching the various body parts Marco struck achingly, thick, nasty looking bruises already forming.

Marco slashed towards a line of approaching hooded figures and with a flick of his wrists, pieces of hair fell gently to the floor, their owners clutching at their heads fearfully as they backed away from the king.

“got you!” Someone cried from behind, leaping onto Marco's back and attempting to trap him in a hold “Surrender or...”

Crack.

The figure stumbled backwards, a river of crimson leaking from his nose. Marco swiftly turned about and drove the hilt of his katana into the attacker's forehead.

He crumpled to the floor motionless at his feet.

The cultists were giving Marco a wide berth now, surrounding him a very loose circle.

“Look, I just want to go home” Marco told them, motioning with his weapon casually “Just back off and this won't hurt. Well it will hurt but it won't hurt as much as if you make me take you down. What I mean to say the ratio of pain is lessened if you just give up”

“Marco! Stop mathing at them and kick their butts” Star yelled

“You are but a man!”

“But I'm not” a voice called from the door way and stepping out of the shadows was Tom who was as impeccably dressed as Marco.

Marco waved cheerfully with his sword “Oh hey Tom! What brings you here?”

“I figured we could speed this along. Got word that Kim is not a board member and thus fair game. Hey, are we still meeting up for bowling?”

“Totally” Marco nodded in agreement “But this is getting boring. Let's wrap thing up.

“Boring?!” The cultists cried out indignantly but their groans of complaint grew into whimpers of fear as Tom's trio of eyes glowed with a blood red hue.

The CEO of the Underworld grew in size, his limbs and body elongating to an impossible length. his entire form changed, growing and growing as his muscles budged outward ripping the fabric of his shirt. His nails grew and glimmer with a razor sharpness. Glowing orange demonic runes were scrawled every inch of his body as his horns bent and curved backwards, twisting in a tight loop. Flames spread across the normally clean shaven face of the demon until a thick, burning beard made of pure fire crackled against his skin.

Tom let out a roar that shook the very foundation of the world before reaching for a hooded figure, easily plucking him from the sea of his comrades despite his struggling.

Tom swept outward, knocking rows of the cultists to the floor as Marco sprang into action, driving his hilt and flat of his blade into every forehead he could find.

Star took to the skies, bombarded the unlucky souls below with multicolored narwhals, ribbons of concussive force and bright pink gumballs of energy.

Nova watched in awe as the numerous enemies dwindled rapidly before her eyes.

Nova shifted guiltily at the sight of her parents

“They really are amazing.....” She mumbled sadly to herself.

Star waved with a free hand and at her command swirls of pink energy formed at the cultists feet,  spinning faster and faster with a reckless abandon before forming into a thick, powerful pink tornado that swallowed entire figures whole and trapped them in an endless cycle.

Several figures attempted to leap at Tom all at once in hopes of somehow overwhelming the demonic lord but Tom swiped them out of the air, sending them crashing against the solid stone floor before giving them a good punt outside the door.

Marco ducked and weaved through the hooded figures, expertly attacking any cultists who was foolish enough to try and stop him, making sure to give some warning cuts to some clothing for good measure

“That is pretty terrifying” Connor called to Nova, his green eyes wide with awe “I've never seen your parents fight before.”

“I've never seen mom transform before.” Nova replied in a stun awe.

“What is going on here?!” A new voice called from the Diaz household.

The fighting stopped at once with no one sure why exactly everyone had paused.

There was a dull thud as someone fell through the portal into the underworld, the darkness of the room against the illumination from the setting sun on Earth basked the person in a shadowy silhouette

“JACK!” A motherly whine called out and before the young half demon knew it, he found himself trapped in a familiarly tight embrace.

“MOM!” Jack cried out in embarrassment, much to his horror “What are you doing here?! AND STOP TRYING TO KILL ME!”

“How dare you run off to the Underworld without telling me?” Janna scolded, grabbing and pulling on her son's ear “Hmm? What were you thinking?”

“Oww, OWW! sinusubukan ko lang makatulong sa aking mga kaibigan!”

“Really?” Janna peered closer “AND YOU RUINED YOUR CLOTHES?!”

“MOM!” Jack whimpered helplessly

“Don't you mom me!” Janna frowned “I worked very hard to make you those clothes and you can't even keep them cleaned?!”

“I was in the Underworld mom! It's kinda hard to....”

“Excuses” Janna cut in.

“Umm...” Connor said calmly “is this really....?”

“Yep” Nova confirmed, her gaze never leaving mother and son “It's happening”

“and YOU”

A cultist froze as Janna pointed directly towards him, inching closer and closer with a blind rage in her stance.

“M-me?” The cultist stammered

Janna gave him a quizzically stare before punching him straight in the jaw and sending tumbling to the floor.

“not you” Janna scoffed before turning furiously at the towering Tom “YOU”

“Me?” Tom gestured helplessly to himself “Wait, what?”

“You let our son...”

“Mom, it's not...”

“... go on a dangerous rescue mission to the underworld.”

“Wait, Janna it's not like...”

“AND DIDN'T TELL ME?”

Tom taken aback “He just showed up on my doorstep! I didn't really have time to call you.”

“Did you at least give him the armor?”

“He's wearing it sweetie”

“And did you at least walk him here?”

“Janna I couldn't just.....”

Janna shook her head disappointingly “We'll talk about this later.”

Janna turned to face the few cultists that remained and told them in a low, dangerous whisper “get out.”

The cultists shared a surprised look with one another. Was this woman really expecting to...

One of the hooded figures jumped as a battle ax suddenly embedded itself in the floor, barely missing his arm by an inch or so.

Janna leaned in closer, hilt of the weapon still in her hand “I said go.”

The cultist opened his mouth to reply when he felt something warm tickling down his arm. He glanced to find a piece of his robe had been cut off and something red trickling down his arm.

The cultist fled at once, tripping and falling over their fallen in their race to escape.

Silence overtook the room once again before shattered by a loving, excited “JANNA BANANA!”

Janna barely braced herself in time for Star sudden hug attack, the queen of Mewni wrapping her arms tightly around her deputy mayor while bouncing up and down (Luckily she had returned to her normal Mewman form)

“Hey Star” Janna greeted in a lazy drawl, patting Star's back in a friendly manner “Been a while.”

“it has!” Star pouted “You have to tell me how it went in Paris. Tell me tell me tell me!”

“Star” Janna raised a hand to stop the mayor's pawing “Kids”

“Don't worry Katrina's got them buuuut we better go. We need to close the giant portal we left in the ceiling.”

“So...” Tom coughed, slowly approaching his wife “You look...”

“Yes I look good and yes I'm still mad. Come on hothead”

Nova felt strange sense of disconnection just sitting in the living room next to Jack and Connor despite being trapped with a demon's manor just moments before. The adults stood around them in a loose formation, talking about life and things that occurred since the last time they saw each other but Nova could feel the worry roll off of them, their gazes protective yet relaxed though it's probably the several massive Mewman knights standing at every possible entrance into the house, at the ready.

Katrina was sitting on the floor, laughing at Sol who was eagerly trying on her helmet despite the fact it was several times too big and span freely on his head.

“Everything is so normal” Nova said cautiously “ like nothing happened.”

“I know right?” Connor added in, eying his surroundings carefully.

Jack shrugged indifferently “This isn't our parents first battle.”

Nova thought back to her mother's Mewberty form, how majestic and powerful she had been.

“...yeah....”

Marco carefully approached the children, giving a reassuring smile “You guys okay?”

They all gave a nod

“So how many days were we gone?” Connor asked curiously

Marco scratched his chin thoughtfully “about 4 hours?”

“Four hours?! SERIOUSLY?!”

“Yeah, it's still Thursday”

Connor sunk into the couch in disbelief before wincing in pain.

“Connor!” Jack and Nova cried out in surprise.

“I'm fine” Connor tried to wave off their concern but he could the knowing glint of Mr. Diaz's eye

“Ah, first major battle huh? Probably got bruised pretty nicely”

“Connor!” Nova scolded.

“I'll be fine”

“Nova, bandage him up”

Nova sighed dramatically “C'mon Connor.”

Connor stayed still

Jack raised an eyebrow “I will carry you”

Connor shot to his feet at once, allowing the magical princess to lead him to the bathroom.

Connor sat there silently, trying his hardest not to flinch as Nova smoothed out the wrappings around his shirtless chest, her cold hands and the swelling of his bruises making it difficult to sit still.

Nova's face was bright red and she spent as much time as she could staring away from Connor.

“H-hey, you got muscles now?” Nova commented offhandedly

“I-I guess?” Connor coughed “I mean I just invent...but I guess some of the pieces are pretty heavy....”

“R-right....”

Awkward silence fell over the teens who were determined to just get this over with.

“....I'm...sorry....”

“Huh?” Connor turned around only to found Nova staring at him, tears in her eyes.

“This happened because I wasn't strong enough.....my own parents had to come and get me....”

“Nova? I don't...”

“I'm no Butterfly” she muttered sadly “I couldn't even fight off a stupid demon.”

“HE'S NOT STUPID” The trio of maids shouted back.

“You know what my mom did when she was my age? SHE SAVED MY DAD WHEN HE WAS KIDNAPPED BY TOFFEE! I COULDN'T EVEN....”

Nova stopped as Connor held her closely

“Nova, you're okay. Everything's okay. That's all that matters.”

Nova cried freely, wrapping her arms gently best friend.

Connor stroked Nova's hair softly, letting out a relived sigh.

Everything was okay.

Nova trudged her way to her bed after her mother decided it was best for the young ones to sleep. She threw off her father's hoodie and sat at the edge of her bed, preparing to head to sleep. Her father decided it was best if they all stayed home tomorrow given how chaotic today was.

She sighed deeply, holding her mother's devil headband gingerly in her hands.

What kind of princess was she? Not even a month with the wand and she was already kidnapped and endangering everyone. Who knows what could've happened if Connor and Jack hadn't came to save her or her parents failed to reach them in time.

Connor and Jack were asleep downstairs which brought her some small comfort but the failure of her duty gnawed at her entire being.

And as she tried to drift off to sleep, tossing and turning in her bed, all she could think of  is how horrible she was at being a magical princess.

Maybe the nobles were right. Maybe she was no heir to Mewni.

[dreamscript]

The Countdown

Taehyung googles his symptoms and convinces himself he’s got a week to live, Yoongi’s coerced into helping write his will, and you’re just trying not to go insane.

a belated birthday present for the wonderful amazingly perfect @taesthetes !!! it’s three days late, unfortunately. See end for full list of disclaimers and notes.

6.7k words, fluff + comedy, taehyung/reader, normalverse

It begins with a cough.

A singular cough, insubstantial to the larger picture. Taehyung ignores it. That is, until suddenly his chest and throat seize and he feels this strange pressure and irresistible scratchy feeling that results in a whole slew of coughing and hacking.

With a grunt he slumps into his chair and immediately fumbles for his phone. The coughing’s stopped now, but the feeling of impending doom has yet to go away. As do the slightly woozy, borderline-feverish feeling and the sniffling of his nose.

Quickly, before he can possibly drop dead, he dials the number of the one person he can trust in times like these:

You.

(Because his actual doctor–who happens to be his longtime friend–is out of the country.)

// SEVEN DAYS LEFT

“–and my head feels kind of funny and my limbs are kind of sore and everything just kind of sucks, you know?” Taehyung babbles. You nod, half-listening, as you dip the towel into the bowl of water. So far, for the past thirty minutes, you’ve been on wet towel duty. All you have to say for yourself is that neither you nor Taehyung have had any experience in the medical field, and the only afflictions you can handle are a mild bloody nose and minor scratches.

Not fevers and what seems to be a cold, if not a flu. Taehyung tends to exaggerate a bit so you can never be too sure.

“You need to go see your doctor, Tae,” you say, changing the damp, now slightly warm cloth on his forehead. You gently press the cool towel to his skin.

“But I can’t.”

You frown. “What do you mean you can’t?” A question about his financial situation lingers at the tip of your tongue.

“Because he–Jin–isn’t here. Don’t you remember? We were all there last week when he told us he’d be out of the country. He said he wouldn’t be back till like, next month.”

You roll your eyes, all worries about money gone. Of course. He’s surprisingly picky about who gets to take care of him, especially for someone who is typically almost a bit too outgoing and open on a normal basis.

“Well I’m pretty sure all the other doctors in his office are just as capable,” you assure him. “Plus, it’s certainly not helping you at all just lying on the couch burning away.”

“No, no,” he mumbles. “I can’t–doctor’s office–far away.” He groans pitifully and reaches out to clutch your hand. The way he curls in on himself and buries his face into the pillow is so adorable you have to control yourself from squealing.

“Aw, look at you, poor little sick puppy,” you coo, reaching to stroke his hair with your free hand. “I get it, you’re feeling a bit too sickly to drag yourself out of bed and to the doctor’s office, right?” He nods. “Then I guess that’s okay then…but make sure you go there tomorrow. As soon as possible, really. Even if you’re feeling kind of shitty. Because the doctor’s will make you feel less shitty, promise.”

He makes a mumbling noise and it’s only then that you realize he’s drifted off to sleep. His hand is warm and soft. You give it a small squeeze.

//

Back at your house, you relax against the sofa and contentedly sip at the cup of hot tea. Thanks–sort of–to Taehyung, your day had been a bit more hectic than planned. Not that you entirely minded, really. Taking care of him would never be a chore, but it still doesn’t make it any less tiring.

Never have you thought of dipping towels in cold water as tiring, but you suppose anything, if done for long enough, can become rather physically taxing.

“So how’s Taehyung?” Jin asks through the phone. “I hope he doesn’t get sick or anything, the one time I actually have to leave for an extended period. And to a foreign country, no less.”

You groan and rub your temples. “He’s come down with a fever, but I have a feeling it’s just the cold that’s been going around. I still think he should go see a doctor, but he’s absolutely refusing to see anyone else but you.”

Jin curses quietly into the receiver. “Damn. Well, I highly doubt it’s anything terminal.”

“I’d hope not.”

“And it sucks that I probably won’t be able to make or receive any more calls after today until next month…” Jin trails off. “Actually, I think I might be able to do one of those internet calls. You know, through an app? Like LINE or Kakao Talk or Facebook Messenger?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Though you might need a VPN to use those features, especially if you’re not going to have any data. It’s finding a good VPN that’s hard.”

“Hm,” Jin murmurs. “Well, I’ll figure all of that out once I’m settled in. For now I gotta go–flight’s boarding. Talk to you later.”

// SIX DAYS LEFT

Taehyung wakes up god-knows-how-much-later, blinking blearily up at his ceiling. It’s dark and hard to make out, just like everywhere else in his room. Groaning, he turns on his side and shuts his eyes again–except he can’t really sleep since he feels sort of hot but he’s also kind of cold and–

His eyes fly open. This can’t be good. He probably has a fever, and everyone knows that fevers aren’t good. Weakly, he calls out your name, hoping that you’re still around. He frowns, slightly heartbroken, when you don’t answer. You must’ve left, then. He doesn’t exactly blame you. Of course you’d probably have other things to do, and sitting around in a quiet apartment with an unconscious body is probably not one of them.

But–never mind you. Right now, he’s got to worry about himself, because there’s definitely something wrong with him, and while it may just be some common cold, it could also be something much more serious…

(He recalls the last time he wrote a sickness off as “just a cold” he’d fainted, woken up in a hospital bed hours later, and was informed that he did, in fact, have pneumonia.)

Now without a caretaker (no matter how medically inept) and no one else to call upon (who wouldn’t ignore him for the first twenty calls and thirty-two texts he sends, that is), Taehyung turns to the only other thing in the room that could provide him the answers he so desperately seeks:

The computer.

//

You amble into your room, taking off your shoes and stretching. Your eyes scan the kitchen, searching for your phone; you know you’d left it somewhere before leaving the house…

Ah. On the counter.

You walk over and swipe it up, unlocking the screen to examine your notifications. You’ve gotten a few snapchats, two texts from Yoongi, and a missed call and voicemail from Taehyung. Three missed calls, actually. You frown. Tae typically doesn’t call–much less leave a voicemail–unless he’s got good reason to, and considering his condition from yesterday…

You groan. God, you’d almost forgotten. You feel awful now. An entire day has passed since you’d left him home alone, and you’d completely forgotten to check up on him…

With infinite guilt, you unlock your phone and resolve to call him up after listening to his voicemail. It’s really short–less than ten seconds long.

And for the first few seconds, all you hear is silence.

Well, suffocating static and Taehyung’s (at least, you hope it’s Taehyung’s) heavy breathing. Then–a choked sob.

“_______,” Taehyung wails. “I’m dying.”

And that’s all you need to grab his spare key and dash over to his apartment.

//

“TAEHYUNG!” You burst into his place unceremoniously, stumbling over your own toes in the process. With a swift backwards kick, the door is slammed shut and the keys land on the counter with a clink. “WHERE ARE YOU?

“I’m…here…” comes a weak reply. “Bed…room…”

You fling open the door to his room, bracing yourself to see a bleeding body on the ground–

He looks up at you with tired eyes, fingers twitching on his laptop’s keyboard. “So I take it you got my voicemail?” He groans and sets his laptop aside, shutting it.

You nod, slightly shaken. “So? What’s going on? Did your fever reach 104 degrees? That’s really bad, you know, we have to get to you to a hospital–”

“No,” he says, waving his hand slightly. “No, not yet.”

You stop in your rambling and stare at him, narrowing your eyes a bit. “If you aren’t in immediate danger, then why…?”

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not in immediate danger, but, god.” He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “I googled my symptoms, you know, since no one else was around, and after much intensive research, I’ve concluded I have miraculously contracted a terminal disease. And I’ve only a week to live, at best.” Taehyung stops to look at you with baleful eyes.

“Taehyung…I don’t…” you chuckle out of the sheer madness of the situation. “I’m not comprehending. Sorry. If anything, I think you’ve kind of lost it, no offense.”

“Don’t you understand now?” Taehyung pleads, “I’m going to die.”

“No you’re not,” you reply tersely. You’ve had enough of this. He almost definitely has a cold, or something–you reach out and press cool fingers against his burning forehead. “Now go to sleep. You’re just sick–it’ll be fine. You’ll get over it soon.”

“But what if I don’t wake up? What if–”

“Taehyung,” you say, firmly. You look him in the eye for good measure. “Go to sleep before I make you.” You crack your knuckles threateningly and loom over him. Obviously, the situation probably isn’t going to end in violence–he never really puts up much of a fight anyway–but intimidation always seems to get him, especially when most vulnerable. Taehyung visibly gulps.

“Okay.”

// FIVE DAYS LEFT

Taehyung wakes up, feeling something hard pressed up against his cheek. Sleepily, grouchily, he blinks open his eyes, feels around with his hands to identify the unknown object. It’s his laptop. He grunts and wills himself to flop over onto the other side of the bed, though in the process his arm overstretches and brushes against the corner of his nightstand… and he feels yet another unknown object.

The sound of crinkling paper has his eyes opening again. Because he knows, for a fact, he did not write anything yesterday. Taehyung snatches the mysterious paper up, half surprised, half pleased to find that it is in your handwriting:

Tae, you are in idiot. Don’t scare me like that; I thought you were actually dying for a second there!

Anyways, here are your meds. Take them every six hours or so. Don’t overdo it or else you might actually die. Call me if there are any problems.

He grins at the note, feeling a warm something in his chest. And then he feels immediate panic because he’s then reminded of his current situation, entering into Freak Out Mode because he remembers he’s actually dying and he’s only got five days left to live.

Think, think, think, he tells himself. What do people do when their days are numbered and ending fast? They usually go and apologize to all the people they’ve hurt, make sure they don’t leave without regrets… and their things, what do they do with all the things they leave behind–

A will! Taehyung smiles wide at the sudden epiphany. He needs to write a will.

Except, the only issue is that he has no idea how to write one. As useful as the internet is, he’d much rather prefer the guidance of a trusted peer…

Someone like…

He smirks, reaching for his phone.

Yoongi.

//

“Fuck ya want?” Yoongi answers after the fifth call, which is unexpected. Taehyung had been prepared to make at least ten more calls.

“A favor,” Taehyung replies, almost giddy. A bit too giddy for someone about to write their will and is going to die in a matter of days. “I need you to help me write something very very important.”

“Gimme a damn good reason why,” Yoongi drawls, clearly still half-asleep. “Two seconds, Kim. Else I’ll hang up and block your number.”

“Well, if it’s come down to this,” Taehyung says, narrowing his eyes. “Should I remind you of the park incident? I still haven’t deleted the vid–”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.” And then Yoongi hangs up with a click and a beep.

//

Having shamefully forgotten about him yesterday, you naturally make extra note to remind yourself to go check up on Taehyung today.

When you arrive at his apartment, however, you are met with the rare sight of him and Yoongi, together, in a room, alone, sitting peacefully in front of a computer on the ground, working. You slap your cheek just to make sure you aren’t hallucinating.

You take a tentative step towards them. “Hello?”

Taehyung immediately straightens up and turns to look at you. “You’re here! Hi, wow! Come in, make yourself comfortable. It’s actually perfect that you’re here now, because Yoongi and I were just typing up my will, and I was just hoping, as one of my closest friends, that you’d come over and look at it, or something…”

What. You shift your gaze to glare at Yoongi. He intently studies the wall, seemingly blissfully unaware of your presence. Typical ass of a friend. Back to Taehyung it is.

“Why–what…”

“It’s because I’m going to die,” Taehyung explains, with infinite patience. “I need to write myself a will before that happens, so, so I won’t have any of you guys fighting for possession of my things, because we all know how bad those stories go, in which people start backstabbing and killing each other and–”

“Taehyung. You’re not. Going. To die.”

“Yes I am!” He looks desperately at Yoongi. “Yoongi! Tell her I’m going to die! You believe me right?”

Yoongi looks at him, then you. His expression looks dead. In fact, he looks much closer to Death itself than Taehyung does. “Yeah. Totally. Taehyung’s going to die,” he says tonelessly. “How unfortunate.”

You roll your eyes. No matter how sarcastic, you really weren’t expecting Yoongi of all people to play along.

“Okay, well, if you’re so convinced that you’re going to die, why don’t you go to the hospital then?” You glare down at Taehyung.

He shakes his head. Stubborn ass.

“Because I don’t trust any of the other doctors!”

You give him a look and he stares back up at you, wild-eyed.

“What do you mean you don’t trust any of the other doctors? Did something happen? Did you read the reviews online?”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s just–Jin is the only doctor I know who would hit me upside the head and tell me I’m being dumb. And I need to take care of myself. And that I’m getting kinda fat. Mostly he tells me I’m dumb though.”

You blink at him. Taehyung blinks back. You snap your head over to look at Yoongi, who shoots you a look from the corner of his eye. And, in that brief moment, it is tacitly understood between the two of you that if Taehyung were to die of anything by the end of the week, it would be the result of his own stupidity.

“You–you do realize what you just said, right?”

Taehyung nods miserably. “Look, it sounds kind of weird, but he’s the only guy who would do that and that just exemplifies the amount of trust–”

“But–Tae. Your argument is so fucking ridiculous I don’t even know where to begin.” You stare at him, shock still evident on your face. He scowls slightly. “Like. First of all, how the hell does insulting his patient make him a good doctor–”

“Because–!”

“Two, how does not insulting one’s patient make a doctor untrustworthy, and three, just what the hell?”

“Y-you just don’t get it!” he huffs, resigned. He crosses his arms childishly and coughs in indignation. “Jin and I just have a special connection!”

“Uh huh. That still doesn’t change the fact that your argument is ridiculous.” In fact, you think, it makes it even worse.

“Whatever.” His current attitude reminds you of your teenage years.

“_______,” Yoongi says quietly. “Leave him alone–he still needs to rest.” You side eye Taehyung, then turn back to Yoongi.

“Fine.”

As you and Yoongi leave, you can vaguely hear Taehyung sniffling about “fake friends” and “dumb doctors.”

//

“Taehyung’s really worried, you know,” Yoongi says. You roll your eyes and scuff your shoe against the sidewalk.

“No shit. I’d venture to say that he’s a bit too worried.”

“He’s anxious,” Yoongi says, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. You eye them enviously. Stupid guy’s pants and their absurdly big and deep pockets. “And also paranoid,” he adds after a moment. “Try to take his actions with a grain of salt, eh?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “As if I haven’t figured that out already. It still doesn’t change the fact that he’s been so ridiculously stubborn on the matter, though.”

Yoongi shrugs. “And just yelling at him all the time isn’t necessarily going to make him have a change in heart, if he’s as stubborn as you say him to be.”

You frown. Just whose side was he on? “Oh? At least it helps me vent a bit of my frustration.” You know you’re sounding kind of petty, but you’re currently a bit more than irked. Can’t always keep up the Collected demeanor, after all. Life’s a struggle.

“I can see that.” Yoongi stops and turns back to look at you. “Just–keep his feelings in mind, okay? Pay close attention to them. And him.”

You give him a strange look. “What do you mean by that?”

Naturally, of course, Yoongi chooses not to answer. Instead, he takes a sharp turn, down an alleyway, slipping easily into the shadows. You roll your eyes. You’d expected just as much.

// FOUR DAYS LEFT

“I can’t believe I’ve got four days left to live and you don’t even care!” Taehyung moans mournfully, holding his hands out in front of him as if begging for you to give a fuck. You sigh and hit him on the head. Even though his fever has since died out (thankfully), he’s still absolutely convinced his situation is only getting worse, increasingly dire.

“You’re not going to die,” you say for the umpteenth time. “At least, not within the week. And not from whatever illness you think you have.”

“Bronchiectasis,” he says. “And it’s terrible!” He throws his hands up in the air now for added emphasis. “My lungs become irreversibly damaged and I can’t clear up any mucus and bacteria starts to breed and everything just gets infected–” he pauses to suck in air “–so then I won’t be able to breathe and then I’ll die. It can’t be cured either, by the way!”

“And you’re convinced you have this because?” Yoongi asks from the couch. He’d also decided to drop by, just to help Taehyung finish writing up his will. Much to your chagrin.

(You’d smacked him upside the head when you found out, hissing, “Don’t encourage him!” Yoongi merely shrugged, saying that Taehyung would eventually need to write a will, anyway. What better time than now to write it? “It’s called frontloading your work,” he’d said. Ass.)

“I coughed,” he says. “That’s on the list. And I’ve been coughing a lot.”

You stare at him, speechless, but with a million things to say. It’s just the matter of thinking of what to start out with that’s making it hard for you.

“Taehyung…”

He hurriedly holds up a hand at you. “No, no, I know what you’re about to say. Listen. It’s not just the coughing–you know. I mean, that’s the main part, but symptoms of bronchiectasis also include fevers and shit, too. And also the condition in which you cough up blood–hemoptysis, I think it’s called–which I haven’t exhibited–yet.”

As Yoongi looks on at the two of you bickering, back and forth, he can’t help but recall an earlier conversation with Taehyung:

“Hm, well, Jin is easy. I’d leave a note to him, telling him that it’s okay, it wasn’t his fault I died. What I had was terminal and irreversible,” Taehyung says, tapping his chin in thought. He frowns. “As I thought, coming up with last words is kinda hard. Like, a part of me wants to sound Cool and Collected while another part of me is totally freaking out and over the top emotional about it.”

Yoongi nods, not really listening. He’s trying to proofread Taehyung’s will, and, if he were honest, currently wondering just how the hell Taehyung managed to make it past middle school with his writing skills. There hasn’t been a single paragraph void of basic errors.

“And for Jimin, oh gosh, Jimin,” Taehyung groans. “He’s going to be so sad! In fact, I think he might pass out before he can even hear my final words to him. I think I need to say something comforting to him, maybe like ‘Even in death I’ll still be your best friend!’” Taehyung frowns. “No, no, that’s kind of dumb. Gah–I give up. I’ll think of something cooler later.”

Yoongi hums. “Have you thought about what you’re going to say to everyone else, then? What about me?”

“Hey, I can’t tell you that, can I? I have to keep it a secret, a surprise! It’s a surprise!”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Sure.” He deletes a gibberish sentence. “Then, what about, you know…her?”

At that, Taehyung quiets down. He lets out a soft puff of breath. “I–don’t know,” he says, finally. “I’m still so conflicted, Yoongi. I’m like, I want to tell her all the things, but then I’m still a total wuss, so…”

Yoongi sighs. Troublesome. “You know,” he says. “I really think that should tell her your feelings. If you don’t, we both know you’re going to be moving on with some serious regrets.”

Taehyung remains silent. Contemplative. He doesn’t talk for so long that Yoongi goes back to editing his will.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he says, quietly.

“Yeah?”

“When I’m gone,” Taehyung mumbles. “Promise me–you’ll…take care of her? You know, in a best friend kind of way. Look out for her for me. In my place.”

Yoongi studies his expression: forlorn, broken, anxious.

“Okay.”

Presently, he silently wishes Taehyung luck. Taehyung and you.

“–but since I’ve only got a few more days left, I’m bound to start coughing up blood, so when that happens, I’ll be sure to call you up so you can see the evidence for yourself.”

You sigh, exasperated. Just as you’re about to say something, however, Yoongi decides to bring the tension in the room down a notch, and unceremoniously drops Taehyung’s laptop in front of him.

“Enough with all the arguments,” Yoongi says. “Taehyung’s still got the final two sections of his will to write. Can’t have him dying with an unfinished will.”

Your reaction, for the most part, is expected. Which is why he’s able to dodge the pillow that’s hurled at him, remain impervious to your frustrated groan, and doesn’t even flinch when the door slams shut.

Yoongi smirks.

// THREE DAYS LEFT

Jimin comes over and visits on Taehyung’s supposed third-to-last day on Earth. He brings with him a bouquet of flowers–you’d raised your brows and he’d simply shrugged, unwrapping them from their plastic covering and plopping the colorful arrangement into a vase–and some of Taehyung’s favorite snacks.

Taehyung squeals with joy upon seeing the snacks, and then smiles brightly up at Jimin. His focus always seems to be on food. Unsurprisingly.

“Wow, thanks so much, Jimin,” he says, tugging open a bag of chips. “I didn’t think you’d come and visit, with you being busy with work and all…”

“Well, one’s always gotta make time for their friends, right?” Jimin bashfully scratches the back of his head. “Especially those in need.”

“Jimin,” Taehyung says, beginning to munch happily on the snacks. “You’re an angel.” The so-called angel laughs. Taehyung smiles back. The sunshine streaming in from the window glints off both of their faces in a manner that makes them look so innocent and happy…

Only for the moment to be ruined by Taehyung’s sudden coughing, and then his groans of not having an appetite and “if only this goddamned cough would go away!” With a flick of a hand you push him back and tuck him into his bed.

Jimin looks down at his friend, concern etched over his face. “What’s he come down with?”

“I’d say the flu, but he supposedly has this fatal bronchitis or something,” you say.

“Bronchiectasis,” Taehyung corrects weakly. “Unlike bronchitis, it’s irreversible and deadly. And I’ve only got three days left to live!”

Unsurprisingly, Jimin believes him. “What? Oh my god–have you seen a doctor about this yet? There has to be some way, you know. Just the other day I was reading an article about advancements in the medical field since the nineteenth century–I mean, come on. It’s still too early to lose hope, you know. I mean, it’s never too early, you just got to–”

“Jimin,” you say. “It’s okay. And no, he hasn’t seen a doctor about this yet, because he’s very distrustful of any doctor that isn’t Jin, who conveniently happens to be in China for a month. And he doesn’t have any sort of coverage over there apparently, so he can’t be contacted.”

Jimin gasps, covering his mouth with both hands. “Oh no, that’s just so–that’s so terrible!” He turns and looks at Taehyung, desperately grabs both of the boy’s hands. “I’m so sorry that this has happened to you, I wish I could do something…” You can see tears beginning to well up at the corners of his eyes.

Quickly, before the situation can get any worse, you remove Jimin from Taehyung and gently push him out of the room.

“Wait, I’m not done yet!” Jimin struggles against you as Taehyung calls out to him. You’re reminded of those dramatic scenes in movies and plays in which the star-crossed lovers are forcibly shoved apart by their own family and friends. Oh, the woe.

“Jimin,” you whisper into his ear. “He doesn’t actually have a terminal illness. Just extreme paranoia and gullible…ness.” He looks at you with confusion evident on his face. You manage to walk the two of you out of the room, shutting the door behind you.

“Huh? So was he just lying to me?”

You shrug. “No, as far as he knows, he was telling the truth. But the truth in his mind’s all twisted and fake. So he technically was lying to you, but without meaning to. Anyways, I’ve got to get back in there before the idiot starts thinking I’d abandoned him and begins to cry out–just ask Yoongi for the details.”

“Um, okay.” Jimin looks bewildered but pulls out his phone. “Tell Taehyung I gotta run. Work.”

You give him a nod and head back into the room, where Taehyung asks for a hug and then drifts off to sleep. After you hug him, of course. He smells like sunshine and happiness.

And also bitter cough syrup and feverish sweat.

// TWO DAYS LEFT

On his second-to-last day, you spend a good deal of the morning scrubbing at Taehyung’s carpet, wall, and just about every surface he’d managed to bleed onto.

“Ah’m goin’ tuh blweed out ‘n dah,” Taehyung says dramatically, voice nasally. He readjusts his grip on his nose, shifting the wad of tissues between his fingers.

“For once in a long time, I’m actually inclined to believe you,” you mutter. Hair tied back, you let out an undignified snort as you accidentally inhale the fumes of the carpet cleaner. “Seriously, how much blood have you bled out from your nose? This has got to be like your third nosebleed since waking up this morning.”

He grumbles unhappily. “Kin ah let go naw? Mah fungers are crampin’ ‘n ah bet mah nos-trols are misshap’n.”

You glance at the clock. “No, you can’t let go now. You’ve still got at least a minute left–bear with it. It takes time to form a blood clot, you know. And of course your nostrils will be misshapen. That kinda comes with the whole pinching your nose thing.”

He pouts.

//

You’re just making yourself a nice bowl of cereal–that you’d procured from Taehyung’s pantry, of course–when you hear a high-pitched shriek come from the bathroom.

“COME HERE!” Taehyung yells. “IT’S–IT’S HAPPENING!”

You jog over to the bathroom with building concern as he continues to shriek and yell and act completely out of his mind. The door is ajar, and you can see Taehyung bent over the sink, staring into it with undisguised horror.

“What’s happened now?”

He points at the sink with a shaking finger. “I–I was just washing up, when I started coughing a whole lot again, and then, and then I felt this kind of slimy thing at the back of my throat and–” you lean in to see what he’s pointing at “–THIS came out! I told you! I’ve begun to cough up blood! I’m a dying man.”

You let out a snort from your nostrils. Sure, true to his word, that is blood. But it is thick and dark, not bright and runny.

“The blood that you ‘coughed’ up is just the blood clot that formed from your nosebleed,” you say, with assurance. Mostly slight annoyance. You go to tug him out of the bathroom. “You’re not actually coughing up blood. The clot must’ve slid from the back of your nose to your throat–a common occurrence, by the way. You’re not dying. You’re fine.”

“But what if it isn’t? What if it’s truly hemoptysis?” he challenges. He refuses to budge. Sighing, you give up and reach down to one of the sink cabinets, finding a canister of salt. (Why he ever put that in there is a complete mystery to you, even after all these years.) Wordlessly, you fill a cup with water and shake a bit of salt into it, then stir the mixture with the end of his toothbrush.

“Here,” you say, handing the saltwater to him. “Gargle your throat with this. It’ll help, or some shit.”

Reluctantly, Taehyung obeys. He empties the cup out and rinses it, sets it out to dry.

“Good, now, sleep,” you say, pushing him out of the bathroom and to the bed. He manages to stop you at the living room, hanging onto one of the sofas for dear life.

“Wait,” he begs. “I don’t wanna sleep! Not yet!”

You raise a brow at him. “So what do you suggest we do instead?”

He looks up at you with a pout and those puppy eyes. Oh, you’re fucked. You’re a goner and you both know that.

“Can we…watch movies instead?” He sticks his lip out even more. You try to resist but immediately give up.

“Ugh,” you say, plopping down onto the sofa. You pat the spot next to you and Taehyung happily sits down. “Fine.”

He smiles widely and immediately turns to TV on, starting up Netflix. You smile wryly at his happy expression, defeated. Damn him.

//

Two and a half movies in and Taehyung’s softly snoring away on your shoulder, having lost his battle to exhaustion in the midst of the epic duel between Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom in their scene from the first Pirates of the Caribbean.

You roll your eyes and mutter something about him being childish, and attempt to pick him up…only to fail. Heavy…

With a resigned grunt, you go to his bedroom to instead retrieve his blankets and a pillow, gently laying him down on the sofa. Just as you get up again, however, his hand shoots out to clutch at your wrist.

You look down at him, surprised. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Stay,” he rasps, completely ignoring your comment. “Please?”

You merely gulp and nod.

And stay you do.

// ONE DAY LEFT

You wake up in his apartment with a cramped back, having fallen asleep sitting up, slumped over the sofa and positioned on the ground. Urgh. You arch backwards, letting out soft grunts as your back makes satisfactory popping noises.

Taehyung wakes up an hour or so later, and by then it’s mid-afternoon. You proceed to shove some porridge down his mouth while he tries to weasel his way out of the “sick food.”

He fails, of course.

The rest of the day proceeds fairly normally, though there’s this strange tension that hangs in the air, and doesn’t quite make itself present until later in the evening…

“_______,” Taehyung calls. His voice is soft and vulnerable-sounding. As if any louder, he’d be overworking himself. He’s back on the sofa again, with you sitting on the ground next to him. Again.

“Yes?” Your tone is gentle in response. Absentmindedly you stroke his hair. You’d been using his current condition as an excuse to run your fingers through his soft locks–to “comfort him,” you’d justify.

“I’m sorry.”

Taken slightly aback by his words, you look down at him. “Sorry? What for?” Even though his sheer idiocy does get on your nerves at times, it isn’t necessarily something he has to apologize for. After all, sometimes one’s anxiety could get the best of them.

“For making you go through all this,” he confesses. “I know you probably have other things to do but–”

“Shut up,” you say. He looks shocked. “While it’s true that yes, I do have other things to do, taking care of you obviously takes precedence. I’m not doing this because I view it as some sort of job, okay? I probably wouldn’t do this if I didn’t want to…”

He smiles at you weakly. “Is that so?”

You nod. “Duh, of course. You’re important to me, so of course I’d do all of this for you.”

He hums contentedly and flutters his eyes closed. “In that case, thank you.”

“No problem.” You smile at him. He looks so peaceful.

“I mean, not just for taking care of me. I’m also talking about everything up until now, you know. So kind of thank you for being a great friend and sticking around with me. Even though sometimes you can be kind of a bully and make crude jokes that directly attack my manliness.”

You snort. “So much for sentimentality.”

He whines. “No, I’m serious, though! Thank you for always being there for me, and, and, helping me study, and do you remember our weird jokes about hula hoop mating dances and pterodactyl noises? Gosh, I miss those days. Oh, and thank you for teaching me how to play Mario Kart, and then for letting me kick your ass in said game–”

“Excuse you–”

“–and for accompanying me on our crazy 3 AM Pokemon Go night runs, for all those pizookies we shared and sweets you baked for me, and for letting me vent my frustrations about my dumb classmates, and, and–” Taehyung doesn’t get much farther because his voice begins to crack and the tears that have been fighting at the corners of his eyes have begun to free flow down his face. He lets out a choked sob and smears his snot on his covers. You’re slightly disgusted but also deeply moved by his words.

“Tae…”

“I just–I just,” he sobs. “I just wanted to say thank you, and that I really wish I had–had more time with you, and Yoongi, and everyone else. I know I probab-b-bly have a few more days t-t-to live, but I just wanted to get it out, you know? Before it was too late.”

“Tae, you’re not–”

“I know! I know you’re going to tell me that I’m not going to die, but what if? You can never be too sure and so I just wanted to tell you all that anyways!” He sniffles. “And finally, I know this is kind of random, but I really need to say it, and it’s kind of stupid that even near my own death I still am so fucking scared to say it but–”

He takes a deep breath.

“I like you. Like, really, really like you, more than a best friend. I know I always tell you you’re my closest friend, and that’s true, but like–oh god, I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.” He pauses to let out a bitter laugh. His arm is slung over his eyes and so he misses the way your eyes widen and your jaw drops. “You probably think I’m kind of an annoying ass after this entire mess, but I just really needed to tell you, that’s all. Can’t go on to the next world with any regrets, I guess. I hope you find your happiness, I really do. I just wish–I just wish–”

“Taehyung.”

He whimpers and rubs his arm across his tear-swollen eyes. “Yeah?”

“I like you too.” Gently, you push his arm from his face. He looks up at you, teary-eyed and effectively shaken by your confession. You carefully press a soft kiss to his cheeks.

Maybe it’s from the sheer shock of the situation, or his sickness, or maybe both, but whatever the reason, Taehyung suddenly faints, passing out between his sheets. You sigh and kiss his forehead, bidding him an unheard “good night.”

// LAST DAY LEFT

The next morning, you get up early, roll off the sofa, and scare yourself shitless when you see a body directly across from you. Remind yourself it’s Taehyung. Get red-faced remembering last night. Then feel kind of sad, kind of annoyed, because the kid thinks that he’s still going to die. And that today’s his last day.

Thankfully, salvation comes in the form of a phone ringing. Or rather, an app on your phone ringing. An internet call.

//

“Are you serious?” Jin sounds livid. You wince as his voice reaches a painful volume level.

“Yes, Yoongi and I tried to assure him but he was just being too stubborn.”

On the other end of the phone, Jin lets out a slow, staticky sigh. “I can’t–I can’t believe this. I lose connection for a week and this is what happens!” You can imagine him throwing his hands up in the air in sheer exasperation. “Imagine what your lives would be like if I hadn’t installed that VPN and completely disconnected myself for a month!”

“I’d really rather not, thanks.”

Jin lets out another sigh. “Alright, well, since the kid’s so adamant on my professional opinion, then let me speak to him.”

“Um,” you say, glancing over at Taehyung. He’s still sleeping peacefully on the bed. “He’s not awake, yet. And even then I’m not sure, he may become kind of defensive or maybe he’ll insist that you have to personally inspect him or something.”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ve got a couple of things up my sleeve.” You raise your eyebrow but decide not to comment. You’re not sure if you want to know.

“Er, okay,” you say. “I guess I’ll um, wake him?” A part of you doesn’t, not wishing to see this whole thing reach its resolution, to finally have to come to terms with last night’s whole rollercoaster of emotions.

“Please.”

//

“Well?” You say, a hand on your hip. “How did it go?” It’s a question you already know the answer to; it’s written all over him, from his flushed face to the way he awkwardly rubs the back of his head.

“Uh,” Taehyung says. “It was…reassuring.”

“And? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

He looks down at the ground, thoroughly embarrassed. “I’m…an idiot.”

You grin. “Happy we both came to that conclusion.”

But then he turns to look up at you, and smirks. “But I’m still your idiot.” He pauses. “Right?”

You roll your eyes but hold your arms out to him. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought this was some elaborate plot orchestrated to get us together by Yoongi and Jin. But yes–you’re my idiot. Now, let’s go out and get some pizookies and pizza, yeah?”

He grins. “Sounds like a deal.”

“You’re paying, by the way.”

“What?”

happy late birthday cat, i hope you celebrated it well and had a lot of fun…! there’s no jungkook in this fic, which is unfortunate, considering your obvious bias towards him…. ;)))

speaking of biases, there is also unfortunately no taeyeon or ailee and i sincerely apologize for that…. i couldn’t think of a way to fit them in D:

i hope you liked this story, i had a lot of fun writing it, heh. <3333

#RAT LIVES ON

(also, i was thinking of a dumb pun by naming this story like “the catdown” instead of the “the countdown” yea hyeah that was bad ok bye)

a/n: yes, i know, the whole shit about the VPN was just me bs’ing. i just needed an excuse, lmfao.

anyways, this fic was inspired by “the last will and testament of uzumaki naruto” by blushinglotus on fanfiction.net

…ahem. i really do need to be getting back to doing my 100 pages of chem. and for once, i’m not exaggerating. i legitimately do have 100 pages to read and take notes on.

….i’m fucked.

[sualkmedeiors]

How to Know If It’s Time to Switch Your Engagement Platform

Writing this article has me thinking of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. You’ve got Goldilocks looking for the right home to crash. Ultimately, she has to make a critical life decision between the temperature quality of hot, cold, and ‘just right’ porridge. Identifying the right engagement platform can feel very similar. If you’ve been using one for a while, it might be time to re-evaluate the temperature of your results.

This blog reviews three key considerations for determining that it is time to invest in a more appropriate system.

Simplicity Without Sophistication (System Is Too Simple)

When initially building a company or trying marketing automation tools for the first time, a company might select a solution that is just “good enough” and not too complex for their team. This can be motivated by a number of factors. Typically, it is the result of having a marketing team that is just beginning to implement digital engagement strategies.

With so many new concepts presented within digital marketing, many marketing managers determine that it is safer to go with a system that appears ‘easy’ during their evaluation.

The challenge for many teams that are new to digital engagement is that most platforms look easy at the beginning. But they quickly become limiting to the long-term capabilities that marketers really need. Once the first four to six months of a digital marketing strategy are launched, marketers find themselves boxed in by a lack of sophistication. And now, they’re forced to look for more without a system that can deliver on more mature objectives.

Getting Started with Digital Marketing Strategy

Let’s take a look at a few introductory campaigns that marketers start with when they initiate their digital marketing strategy. Some examples of early marketing campaigns include:

Simple lead follow-up workflows and sales notifications

Basic drip email campaigns based on a single indicator of interest

One-time email sends

Newsletters that require manual creation of content and uploading of contacts

Single occurrence events or tradeshows that happen infrequently

Generic emails that contain little-to-no contact-level personalization

Generic landing pages that contact little-to-no contact-level personalization

The commonality between these items is that they target a single objective at a single point in time, often leveraging generic messaging. To many that are new to engagement marketing, getting these initial campaigns started may appear confusing or time-consuming. However, it is typical for marketing teams to mature past these initial campaigns within the first two to three months of using a marketing platform.

In contrast, more sophisticated digital marketing campaigns listen to interests, learns preferences, and adapts engagement over time. More advanced marketing programs are non-linear and able to adjust the focus of communication to match the behaviors of target audiences in real-time, keeping the pulse on the most relevant touches for each individual.

Deeper Strategy = Deeper Needs

As digital marketing campaigns become established, the typical company wants to begin personalized messaging, timing, and follow-up to match the preferences and interests of their target audiences. To accomplish this level of personalization while maintaining efficient marketing operations, it is important to have a solution that is designed to deliver results at scale.

The challenge that simple systems have is that by the time marketers get used to their basic functions, they leave little additional functionality to create more sophisticated campaigns with the same level of ease. Ultimately, they either lack functionality, lack a connected contact history, make it challenging or impossible to configure multi-dimensional campaigns or make it overly complex to deliver multi-touch, multi-channel, multifaceted campaigns. In contrast, the right marketing engagement platform delivers simplicity and sophistication that you can rely on as you grow your digital marketing strategy year-over-year.

Answer:  Look for simplicity and sophistication. Work with your marketing engagement evaluation experts to example more sophisticated workflows (use cases) that look toward the future of your initiatives.

Limited by Your Systems (Data Extensibility)

Another key indicator that motivates marketers to switch marketing platforms is that it is very difficult to incorporate the desired events, history, or data from other systems into the definition of their target audience. This can be the result of many limitations, though there is a number worth noting:

Disconnected systems

Lack of access to constraints

Lack of variety in constraints

No ability to filter by the absence of history

When marketing automation platforms were initially introduced, they were largely designed to ingest the implicit data supplied by other systems. Then, they would query that data to assign audiences. More modern platforms improved a bit on this logic, extending connected event data to time-based constraints and basic conditional formatting within audience definitions.

The Ability to Drive Results

Current-day leading engagement platforms have taken data-extensibility to an entirely new level and automatically multiply the value of connected history simply by connecting them to their centralized audience hub.

For example, rather than simply ingesting a contact activity, the leading automation platforms translate the touchpoint into the following formats (at a minimum):

Real-time interactions

Updates to real-time interactions

Historic interactions

Historic updates to interactions

Anti-interactions (or absence of activity)

Lack of updates to interactions

For custom objects and custom activities, this multiplication of marketable information may be even more extensive.

Additionally, light-weight automation platforms may have access to the basics of an activity or record from another system. Yet, they will lack access to the customized records, fields, or settings within external databases. Sophisticated engagement platforms are able to connect the full extent of records (native and custom) within your other platforms, along with native and custom fields that have been added to those records. With this connection comes the reliability that the marketing team will be able to articulate all of the campaigns and personalization requested by the business and required by the target audience.

Look at the Long Term

Similar to the first reason described for making a switch, over time, access to the right marketing events and history becomes more important to articulating a personalized and engaging audience experience. Many marketers start out feeling as though the basic data points will be enough. But, in four to six months they have hit a wall in terms of data capabilities and are back evaluating marketing automation systems.

Answer: Ask your marketing engagement vendor to provide an explanation of their data model and test audience and communication scenarios within those systems that match both the short-term and long-term objectives of your marketing approach. Make sure that the platform selected is not too lightweight. Ensure it will support your goals over the next one to two years.

Exhausted by Execution (System Is Too Complex)

The last consideration when planning for long-term marketing automation success is the ability for your system to scale operations so that marketers do not have to build any portion of a campaign twice.

Let’s face it. Much of the structure of a marketing campaign boils down to a core, repeatable approach. The purchase of a marketing automation platform is typically to reduce the strain of digital engagement on the overall organization. The right platform should remove the activities and steps. It should not create a whole new series of work on top of the already busy schedules of your marketing team.

This topic relates back to the first reason for considering a switch. Many of the initial campaigns that companies want to articulate have a singular or linear focus. Campaigns quickly become multi-dimensional to deliver the right level of engagement in support of identified audiences and personal interests.

Bringing this back to the core development of a digital marketing campaign, let’s review the standard steps needed to build out an event campaign with appropriate communication.

A) Invitation

B) Registration

C) Tracking attendance

D) Following-up based on attendance.

Many companies have even more steps than these within their event programs. Let’s start with the basics.

Marketers should look for the following core components for each stage within the overall campaign:

Define the communication audience

Create appropriate:

Emails

Text messages

Landing pages

Forms

Track responses

Connect:

Attribution & build reports

Audiences to appropriate communication by stage & response

Find a Solution for More Than Just the Basics

These are just the essential steps needed to support the creation of a net-new marketing event campaign. I am exhausted just thinking about them. Basic automation platforms require the marketer to manually create each of these items (in-whole or in-part) each time a new event is  supported. While some systems may look simple on the surface, a hidden issue is that they do not scale well. This requires the marketer to build things from scratch each and every time a new campaign is delivered.

In contrast, sophisticated marketing engagement platforms reduce the total number of times that a campaign is created from scratch, enabling whole campaigns & multi-step flows to be cloned with the single click of a button. Additionally, leading platforms make it simple to update assets across the cloned campaign all at once through reference values that can be changed in a single location. For example, marketers may want to swap in a new banner or event date-time for all emails, landing pages, and content within the campaign.

Move to Sophistication

Sophisticated marketing engagement platforms greatly reduce the time it takes to launch new campaigns. They allow marketers to reference a shared program/campaign library. These systems enable your team to share best practices, improve reliability, and work from demonstrated results without having to recreate the structure and content from scratch.

Answer:  How often do you find yourself configuring the same campaign settings over-and-over? If you are having to repeat tasks more than once or twice, there is likely a better way. Reach out to top-rated marketing automation providers and ask them to share benchmark data around the efficiency of using their platform. Also, ask your vendors to compare the steps for creating multi-step campaigns to that of other solutions within their space.

Time to Make a Switch?

Is it time for a switch? Maybe you’ve been delaying a switch to a better marketing engagement platform. This could be for a number of reasons.

Sophisticated marketing engagement platforms have a plan and a path for helping you migrate to greener fields. The same capabilities that you may be looking for to help drive broader marketing accomplishments allow more sophisticated platform experts to quickly move you onto the newest system.

Balancing out the needs of today and the needs of tomorrow can be a complex task.  When reviewing your current capabilities, does your team consistently bring up the shortcomings of your automation systems? If so, it could be time to re-evaluate your solution and work with a more sophisticated platform.

As always, I enjoy hearing from other marketers and I’d love to hear stories about when you finally made the decision to adjust your solution set. What benefits did it bring to your team? Additionally, what made you land on that decision? Let’s keep the conversation going in the comments.

The post How to Know If It’s Time to Switch Your Engagement Platform appeared first on Marketo Marketing Blog - Best Practices and Thought Leadership.

from http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/modernb2bmarketing/~3/EO23zSx4fzc/how-to-know-if-its-time-to-switch-your-engagement-platform.html

[darkammarketing]

How to Know If It’s Time to Switch Your Engagement Platform

Writing this article has me thinking of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. You’ve got Goldilocks looking for the right home to crash. Ultimately, she has to make a critical life decision between the temperature quality of hot, cold, and ‘just right’ porridge. Identifying the right engagement platform can feel very similar. If you’ve been using one for a while, it might be time to re-evaluate the temperature of your results.

This blog reviews three key considerations for determining that it is time to invest in a more appropriate system.

Simplicity Without Sophistication (System Is Too Simple)

When initially building a company or trying marketing automation tools for the first time, a company might select a solution that is just “good enough” and not too complex for their team. This can be motivated by a number of factors. Typically, it is the result of having a marketing team that is just beginning to implement digital engagement strategies.

With so many new concepts presented within digital marketing, many marketing managers determine that it is safer to go with a system that appears ‘easy’ during their evaluation.

The challenge for many teams that are new to digital engagement is that most platforms look easy at the beginning. But they quickly become limiting to the long-term capabilities that marketers really need. Once the first four to six months of a digital marketing strategy are launched, marketers find themselves boxed in by a lack of sophistication. And now, they’re forced to look for more without a system that can deliver on more mature objectives.

Getting Started with Digital Marketing Strategy

Let’s take a look at a few introductory campaigns that marketers start with when they initiate their digital marketing strategy. Some examples of early marketing campaigns include:

Simple lead follow-up workflows and sales notifications

Basic drip email campaigns based on a single indicator of interest

One-time email sends

Newsletters that require manual creation of content and uploading of contacts

Single occurrence events or tradeshows that happen infrequently

Generic emails that contain little-to-no contact-level personalization

Generic landing pages that contact little-to-no contact-level personalization

The commonality between these items is that they target a single objective at a single point in time, often leveraging generic messaging. To many that are new to engagement marketing, getting these initial campaigns started may appear confusing or time-consuming. However, it is typical for marketing teams to mature past these initial campaigns within the first two to three months of using a marketing platform.

In contrast, more sophisticated digital marketing campaigns listen to interests, learns preferences, and adapts engagement over time. More advanced marketing programs are non-linear and able to adjust the focus of communication to match the behaviors of target audiences in real-time, keeping the pulse on the most relevant touches for each individual.

Deeper Strategy = Deeper Needs

As digital marketing campaigns become established, the typical company wants to begin personalized messaging, timing, and follow-up to match the preferences and interests of their target audiences. To accomplish this level of personalization while maintaining efficient marketing operations, it is important to have a solution that is designed to deliver results at scale.

The challenge that simple systems have is that by the time marketers get used to their basic functions, they leave little additional functionality to create more sophisticated campaigns with the same level of ease. Ultimately, they either lack functionality, lack a connected contact history, make it challenging or impossible to configure multi-dimensional campaigns or make it overly complex to deliver multi-touch, multi-channel, multifaceted campaigns. In contrast, the right marketing engagement platform delivers simplicity and sophistication that you can rely on as you grow your digital marketing strategy year-over-year.

Answer:  Look for simplicity and sophistication. Work with your marketing engagement evaluation experts to example more sophisticated workflows (use cases) that look toward the future of your initiatives.

Limited by Your Systems (Data Extensibility)

Another key indicator that motivates marketers to switch marketing platforms is that it is very difficult to incorporate the desired events, history, or data from other systems into the definition of their target audience. This can be the result of many limitations, though there is a number worth noting:

Disconnected systems

Lack of access to constraints

Lack of variety in constraints

No ability to filter by the absence of history

When marketing automation platforms were initially introduced, they were largely designed to ingest the implicit data supplied by other systems. Then, they would query that data to assign audiences. More modern platforms improved a bit on this logic, extending connected event data to time-based constraints and basic conditional formatting within audience definitions.

The Ability to Drive Results

Current-day leading engagement platforms have taken data-extensibility to an entirely new level and automatically multiply the value of connected history simply by connecting them to their centralized audience hub.

For example, rather than simply ingesting a contact activity, the leading automation platforms translate the touchpoint into the following formats (at a minimum):

Real-time interactions

Updates to real-time interactions

Historic interactions

Historic updates to interactions

Anti-interactions (or absence of activity)

Lack of updates to interactions

For custom objects and custom activities, this multiplication of marketable information may be even more extensive.

Additionally, light-weight automation platforms may have access to the basics of an activity or record from another system. Yet, they will lack access to the customized records, fields, or settings within external databases. Sophisticated engagement platforms are able to connect the full extent of records (native and custom) within your other platforms, along with native and custom fields that have been added to those records. With this connection comes the reliability that the marketing team will be able to articulate all of the campaigns and personalization requested by the business and required by the target audience.

Look at the Long Term

Similar to the first reason described for making a switch, over time, access to the right marketing events and history becomes more important to articulating a personalized and engaging audience experience. Many marketers start out feeling as though the basic data points will be enough. But, in four to six months they have hit a wall in terms of data capabilities and are back evaluating marketing automation systems.

Answer: Ask your marketing engagement vendor to provide an explanation of their data model and test audience and communication scenarios within those systems that match both the short-term and long-term objectives of your marketing approach. Make sure that the platform selected is not too lightweight. Ensure it will support your goals over the next one to two years.

Exhausted by Execution (System Is Too Complex)

The last consideration when planning for long-term marketing automation success is the ability for your system to scale operations so that marketers do not have to build any portion of a campaign twice.

Let’s face it. Much of the structure of a marketing campaign boils down to a core, repeatable approach. The purchase of a marketing automation platform is typically to reduce the strain of digital engagement on the overall organization. The right platform should remove the activities and steps. It should not create a whole new series of work on top of the already busy schedules of your marketing team.

This topic relates back to the first reason for considering a switch. Many of the initial campaigns that companies want to articulate have a singular or linear focus. Campaigns quickly become multi-dimensional to deliver the right level of engagement in support of identified audiences and personal interests.

Bringing this back to the core development of a digital marketing campaign, let’s review the standard steps needed to build out an event campaign with appropriate communication.

A) Invitation

B) Registration

C) Tracking attendance

D) Following-up based on attendance.

Many companies have even more steps than these within their event programs. Let’s start with the basics.

Marketers should look for the following core components for each stage within the overall campaign:

Define the communication audience

Create appropriate:

Emails

Text messages

Landing pages

Forms

Track responses

Connect:

Attribution & build reports

Audiences to appropriate communication by stage & response

Find a Solution for More Than Just the Basics

These are just the essential steps needed to support the creation of a net-new marketing event campaign. I am exhausted just thinking about them. Basic automation platforms require the marketer to manually create each of these items (in-whole or in-part) each time a new event is  supported. While some systems may look simple on the surface, a hidden issue is that they do not scale well. This requires the marketer to build things from scratch each and every time a new campaign is delivered.

In contrast, sophisticated marketing engagement platforms reduce the total number of times that a campaign is created from scratch, enabling whole campaigns & multi-step flows to be cloned with the single click of a button. Additionally, leading platforms make it simple to update assets across the cloned campaign all at once through reference values that can be changed in a single location. For example, marketers may want to swap in a new banner or event date-time for all emails, landing pages, and content within the campaign.

Move to Sophistication

Sophisticated marketing engagement platforms greatly reduce the time it takes to launch new campaigns. They allow marketers to reference a shared program/campaign library. These systems enable your team to share best practices, improve reliability, and work from demonstrated results without having to recreate the structure and content from scratch.

Answer:  How often do you find yourself configuring the same campaign settings over-and-over? If you are having to repeat tasks more than once or twice, there is likely a better way. Reach out to top-rated marketing automation providers and ask them to share benchmark data around the efficiency of using their platform. Also, ask your vendors to compare the steps for creating multi-step campaigns to that of other solutions within their space.

Time to Make a Switch?

Is it time for a switch? Maybe you’ve been delaying a switch to a better marketing engagement platform. This could be for a number of reasons.

Sophisticated marketing engagement platforms have a plan and a path for helping you migrate to greener fields. The same capabilities that you may be looking for to help drive broader marketing accomplishments allow more sophisticated platform experts to quickly move you onto the newest system.

Balancing out the needs of today and the needs of tomorrow can be a complex task.  When reviewing your current capabilities, does your team consistently bring up the shortcomings of your automation systems? If so, it could be time to re-evaluate your solution and work with a more sophisticated platform.

As always, I enjoy hearing from other marketers and I’d love to hear stories about when you finally made the decision to adjust your solution set. What benefits did it bring to your team? Additionally, what made you land on that decision? Let’s keep the conversation going in the comments.

The post How to Know If It’s Time to Switch Your Engagement Platform appeared first on Marketo Marketing Blog - Best Practices and Thought Leadership.

from http://bit.ly/2SlQp7b via IFTTT via Blogger http://bit.ly/2zfxhz4

[racheltgibsau]

How to Know If It’s Time to Switch Your Engagement Platform

Writing this article has me thinking of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. You’ve got Goldilocks looking for the right home to crash. Ultimately, she has to make a critical life decision between the temperature quality of hot, cold, and ‘just right’ porridge. Identifying the right engagement platform can feel very similar. If you’ve been using one for a while, it might be time to re-evaluate the temperature of your results.

This blog reviews three key considerations for determining that it is time to invest in a more appropriate system.

Simplicity Without Sophistication (System Is Too Simple)

When initially building a company or trying marketing automation tools for the first time, a company might select a solution that is just “good enough” and not too complex for their team. This can be motivated by a number of factors. Typically, it is the result of having a marketing team that is just beginning to implement digital engagement strategies.

With so many new concepts presented within digital marketing, many marketing managers determine that it is safer to go with a system that appears ‘easy’ during their evaluation.

The challenge for many teams that are new to digital engagement is that most platforms look easy at the beginning. But they quickly become limiting to the long-term capabilities that marketers really need. Once the first four to six months of a digital marketing strategy are launched, marketers find themselves boxed in by a lack of sophistication. And now, they’re forced to look for more without a system that can deliver on more mature objectives.

Getting Started with Digital Marketing Strategy

Let’s take a look at a few introductory campaigns that marketers start with when they initiate their digital marketing strategy. Some examples of early marketing campaigns include:

Simple lead follow-up workflows and sales notifications

Basic drip email campaigns based on a single indicator of interest

One-time email sends

Newsletters that require manual creation of content and uploading of contacts

Single occurrence events or tradeshows that happen infrequently

Generic emails that contain little-to-no contact-level personalization

Generic landing pages that contact little-to-no contact-level personalization

The commonality between these items is that they target a single objective at a single point in time, often leveraging generic messaging. To many that are new to engagement marketing, getting these initial campaigns started may appear confusing or time-consuming. However, it is typical for marketing teams to mature past these initial campaigns within the first two to three months of using a marketing platform.

In contrast, more sophisticated digital marketing campaigns listen to interests, learns preferences, and adapts engagement over time. More advanced marketing programs are non-linear and able to adjust the focus of communication to match the behaviors of target audiences in real-time, keeping the pulse on the most relevant touches for each individual.

Deeper Strategy = Deeper Needs

As digital marketing campaigns become established, the typical company wants to begin personalized messaging, timing, and follow-up to match the preferences and interests of their target audiences. To accomplish this level of personalization while maintaining efficient marketing operations, it is important to have a solution that is designed to deliver results at scale.

The challenge that simple systems have is that by the time marketers get used to their basic functions, they leave little additional functionality to create more sophisticated campaigns with the same level of ease. Ultimately, they either lack functionality, lack a connected contact history, make it challenging or impossible to configure multi-dimensional campaigns or make it overly complex to deliver multi-touch, multi-channel, multifaceted campaigns. In contrast, the right marketing engagement platform delivers simplicity and sophistication that you can rely on as you grow your digital marketing strategy year-over-year.

Answer:  Look for simplicity and sophistication. Work with your marketing engagement evaluation experts to example more sophisticated workflows (use cases) that look toward the future of your initiatives.

Limited by Your Systems (Data Extensibility)

Another key indicator that motivates marketers to switch marketing platforms is that it is very difficult to incorporate the desired events, history, or data from other systems into the definition of their target audience. This can be the result of many limitations, though there is a number worth noting:

Disconnected systems

Lack of access to constraints

Lack of variety in constraints

No ability to filter by the absence of history

When marketing automation platforms were initially introduced, they were largely designed to ingest the implicit data supplied by other systems. Then, they would query that data to assign audiences. More modern platforms improved a bit on this logic, extending connected event data to time-based constraints and basic conditional formatting within audience definitions.

The Ability to Drive Results

Current-day leading engagement platforms have taken data-extensibility to an entirely new level and automatically multiply the value of connected history simply by connecting them to their centralized audience hub.

For example, rather than simply ingesting a contact activity, the leading automation platforms translate the touchpoint into the following formats (at a minimum):

Real-time interactions

Updates to real-time interactions

Historic interactions

Historic updates to interactions

Anti-interactions (or absence of activity)

Lack of updates to interactions

For custom objects and custom activities, this multiplication of marketable information may be even more extensive.

Additionally, light-weight automation platforms may have access to the basics of an activity or record from another system. Yet, they will lack access to the customized records, fields, or settings within external databases. Sophisticated engagement platforms are able to connect the full extent of records (native and custom) within your other platforms, along with native and custom fields that have been added to those records. With this connection comes the reliability that the marketing team will be able to articulate all of the campaigns and personalization requested by the business and required by the target audience.

Look at the Long Term

Similar to the first reason described for making a switch, over time, access to the right marketing events and history becomes more important to articulating a personalized and engaging audience experience. Many marketers start out feeling as though the basic data points will be enough. But, in four to six months they have hit a wall in terms of data capabilities and are back evaluating marketing automation systems.

Answer: Ask your marketing engagement vendor to provide an explanation of their data model and test audience and communication scenarios within those systems that match both the short-term and long-term objectives of your marketing approach. Make sure that the platform selected is not too lightweight. Ensure it will support your goals over the next one to two years.

Exhausted by Execution (System Is Too Complex)

The last consideration when planning for long-term marketing automation success is the ability for your system to scale operations so that marketers do not have to build any portion of a campaign twice.

Let’s face it. Much of the structure of a marketing campaign boils down to a core, repeatable approach. The purchase of a marketing automation platform is typically to reduce the strain of digital engagement on the overall organization. The right platform should remove the activities and steps. It should not create a whole new series of work on top of the already busy schedules of your marketing team.

This topic relates back to the first reason for considering a switch. Many of the initial campaigns that companies want to articulate have a singular or linear focus. Campaigns quickly become multi-dimensional to deliver the right level of engagement in support of identified audiences and personal interests.

Bringing this back to the core development of a digital marketing campaign, let’s review the standard steps needed to build out an event campaign with appropriate communication.

A) Invitation

B) Registration

C) Tracking attendance

D) Following-up based on attendance.

Many companies have even more steps than these within their event programs. Let’s start with the basics.

Marketers should look for the following core components for each stage within the overall campaign:

Define the communication audience

Create appropriate:

Emails

Text messages

Landing pages

Forms

Track responses

Connect:

Attribution & build reports

Audiences to appropriate communication by stage & response

Find a Solution for More Than Just the Basics

These are just the essential steps needed to support the creation of a net-new marketing event campaign. I am exhausted just thinking about them. Basic automation platforms require the marketer to manually create each of these items (in-whole or in-part) each time a new event is  supported. While some systems may look simple on the surface, a hidden issue is that they do not scale well. This requires the marketer to build things from scratch each and every time a new campaign is delivered.

In contrast, sophisticated marketing engagement platforms reduce the total number of times that a campaign is created from scratch, enabling whole campaigns & multi-step flows to be cloned with the single click of a button. Additionally, leading platforms make it simple to update assets across the cloned campaign all at once through reference values that can be changed in a single location. For example, marketers may want to swap in a new banner or event date-time for all emails, landing pages, and content within the campaign.

Move to Sophistication

Sophisticated marketing engagement platforms greatly reduce the time it takes to launch new campaigns. They allow marketers to reference a shared program/campaign library. These systems enable your team to share best practices, improve reliability, and work from demonstrated results without having to recreate the structure and content from scratch.

Answer:  How often do you find yourself configuring the same campaign settings over-and-over? If you are having to repeat tasks more than once or twice, there is likely a better way. Reach out to top-rated marketing automation providers and ask them to share benchmark data around the efficiency of using their platform. Also, ask your vendors to compare the steps for creating multi-step campaigns to that of other solutions within their space.

Time to Make a Switch?

Is it time for a switch? Maybe you’ve been delaying a switch to a better marketing engagement platform. This could be for a number of reasons.

Sophisticated marketing engagement platforms have a plan and a path for helping you migrate to greener fields. The same capabilities that you may be looking for to help drive broader marketing accomplishments allow more sophisticated platform experts to quickly move you onto the newest system.

Balancing out the needs of today and the needs of tomorrow can be a complex task.  When reviewing your current capabilities, does your team consistently bring up the shortcomings of your automation systems? If so, it could be time to re-evaluate your solution and work with a more sophisticated platform.

As always, I enjoy hearing from other marketers and I’d love to hear stories about when you finally made the decision to adjust your solution set. What benefits did it bring to your team? Additionally, what made you land on that decision? Let’s keep the conversation going in the comments.

The post How to Know If It’s Time to Switch Your Engagement Platform appeared first on Marketo Marketing Blog - Best Practices and Thought Leadership.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8217493 https://blog.marketo.com/2018/10/how-to-know-if-its-time-to-switch-your-engagement-platform.html

[maxslogic25]

How to Know If It’s Time to Switch Your Engagement Platform

Writing this article has me thinking of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. You’ve got Goldilocks looking for the right home to crash. Ultimately, she has to make a critical life decision between the temperature quality of hot, cold, and ‘just right’ porridge. Identifying the right engagement platform can feel very similar. If you’ve been using one for a while, it might be time to re-evaluate the temperature of your results.

This blog reviews three key considerations for determining that it is time to invest in a more appropriate system.

Simplicity Without Sophistication (System Is Too Simple)

When initially building a company or trying marketing automation tools for the first time, a company might select a solution that is just “good enough” and not too complex for their team. This can be motivated by a number of factors. Typically, it is the result of having a marketing team that is just beginning to implement digital engagement strategies.

With so many new concepts presented within digital marketing, many marketing managers determine that it is safer to go with a system that appears ‘easy’ during their evaluation.

The challenge for many teams that are new to digital engagement is that most platforms look easy at the beginning. But they quickly become limiting to the long-term capabilities that marketers really need. Once the first four to six months of a digital marketing strategy are launched, marketers find themselves boxed in by a lack of sophistication. And now, they’re forced to look for more without a system that can deliver on more mature objectives.

Getting Started with Digital Marketing Strategy

Let’s take a look at a few introductory campaigns that marketers start with when they initiate their digital marketing strategy. Some examples of early marketing campaigns include:

Simple lead follow-up workflows and sales notifications

Basic drip email campaigns based on a single indicator of interest

One-time email sends

Newsletters that require manual creation of content and uploading of contacts

Single occurrence events or tradeshows that happen infrequently

Generic emails that contain little-to-no contact-level personalization

Generic landing pages that contact little-to-no contact-level personalization

The commonality between these items is that they target a single objective at a single point in time, often leveraging generic messaging. To many that are new to engagement marketing, getting these initial campaigns started may appear confusing or time-consuming. However, it is typical for marketing teams to mature past these initial campaigns within the first two to three months of using a marketing platform.

In contrast, more sophisticated digital marketing campaigns listen to interests, learns preferences, and adapts engagement over time. More advanced marketing programs are non-linear and able to adjust the focus of communication to match the behaviors of target audiences in real-time, keeping the pulse on the most relevant touches for each individual.

Deeper Strategy = Deeper Needs

As digital marketing campaigns become established, the typical company wants to begin personalized messaging, timing, and follow-up to match the preferences and interests of their target audiences. To accomplish this level of personalization while maintaining efficient marketing operations, it is important to have a solution that is designed to deliver results at scale.

The challenge that simple systems have is that by the time marketers get used to their basic functions, they leave little additional functionality to create more sophisticated campaigns with the same level of ease. Ultimately, they either lack functionality, lack a connected contact history, make it challenging or impossible to configure multi-dimensional campaigns or make it overly complex to deliver multi-touch, multi-channel, multifaceted campaigns. In contrast, the right marketing engagement platform delivers simplicity and sophistication that you can rely on as you grow your digital marketing strategy year-over-year.

Answer:  Look for simplicity and sophistication. Work with your marketing engagement evaluation experts to example more sophisticated workflows (use cases) that look toward the future of your initiatives.

Limited by Your Systems (Data Extensibility)

Another key indicator that motivates marketers to switch marketing platforms is that it is very difficult to incorporate the desired events, history, or data from other systems into the definition of their target audience. This can be the result of many limitations, though there is a number worth noting:

Disconnected systems

Lack of access to constraints

Lack of variety in constraints

No ability to filter by the absence of history

When marketing automation platforms were initially introduced, they were largely designed to ingest the implicit data supplied by other systems. Then, they would query that data to assign audiences. More modern platforms improved a bit on this logic, extending connected event data to time-based constraints and basic conditional formatting within audience definitions.

The Ability to Drive Results

Current-day leading engagement platforms have taken data-extensibility to an entirely new level and automatically multiply the value of connected history simply by connecting them to their centralized audience hub.

For example, rather than simply ingesting a contact activity, the leading automation platforms translate the touchpoint into the following formats (at a minimum):

Real-time interactions

Updates to real-time interactions

Historic interactions

Historic updates to interactions

Anti-interactions (or absence of activity)

Lack of updates to interactions

For custom objects and custom activities, this multiplication of marketable information may be even more extensive.

Additionally, light-weight automation platforms may have access to the basics of an activity or record from another system. Yet, they will lack access to the customized records, fields, or settings within external databases. Sophisticated engagement platforms are able to connect the full extent of records (native and custom) within your other platforms, along with native and custom fields that have been added to those records. With this connection comes the reliability that the marketing team will be able to articulate all of the campaigns and personalization requested by the business and required by the target audience.

Look at the Long Term

Similar to the first reason described for making a switch, over time, access to the right marketing events and history becomes more important to articulating a personalized and engaging audience experience. Many marketers start out feeling as though the basic data points will be enough. But, in four to six months they have hit a wall in terms of data capabilities and are back evaluating marketing automation systems.

Answer: Ask your marketing engagement vendor to provide an explanation of their data model and test audience and communication scenarios within those systems that match both the short-term and long-term objectives of your marketing approach. Make sure that the platform selected is not too lightweight. Ensure it will support your goals over the next one to two years.

Exhausted by Execution (System Is Too Complex)

The last consideration when planning for long-term marketing automation success is the ability for your system to scale operations so that marketers do not have to build any portion of a campaign twice.

Let’s face it. Much of the structure of a marketing campaign boils down to a core, repeatable approach. The purchase of a marketing automation platform is typically to reduce the strain of digital engagement on the overall organization. The right platform should remove the activities and steps. It should not create a whole new series of work on top of the already busy schedules of your marketing team.

This topic relates back to the first reason for considering a switch. Many of the initial campaigns that companies want to articulate have a singular or linear focus. Campaigns quickly become multi-dimensional to deliver the right level of engagement in support of identified audiences and personal interests.

Bringing this back to the core development of a digital marketing campaign, let’s review the standard steps needed to build out an event campaign with appropriate communication.

A) Invitation

B) Registration

C) Tracking attendance

D) Following-up based on attendance.

Many companies have even more steps than these within their event programs. Let’s start with the basics.

Marketers should look for the following core components for each stage within the overall campaign:

Define the communication audience

Create appropriate:

Emails

Text messages

Landing pages

Forms

Track responses

Connect:

Attribution & build reports

Audiences to appropriate communication by stage & response

Find a Solution for More Than Just the Basics

These are just the essential steps needed to support the creation of a net-new marketing event campaign. I am exhausted just thinking about them. Basic automation platforms require the marketer to manually create each of these items (in-whole or in-part) each time a new event is  supported. While some systems may look simple on the surface, a hidden issue is that they do not scale well. This requires the marketer to build things from scratch each and every time a new campaign is delivered.

In contrast, sophisticated marketing engagement platforms reduce the total number of times that a campaign is created from scratch, enabling whole campaigns & multi-step flows to be cloned with the single click of a button. Additionally, leading platforms make it simple to update assets across the cloned campaign all at once through reference values that can be changed in a single location. For example, marketers may want to swap in a new banner or event date-time for all emails, landing pages, and content within the campaign.

Move to Sophistication

Sophisticated marketing engagement platforms greatly reduce the time it takes to launch new campaigns. They allow marketers to reference a shared program/campaign library. These systems enable your team to share best practices, improve reliability, and work from demonstrated results without having to recreate the structure and content from scratch.

Answer:  How often do you find yourself configuring the same campaign settings over-and-over? If you are having to repeat tasks more than once or twice, there is likely a better way. Reach out to top-rated marketing automation providers and ask them to share benchmark data around the efficiency of using their platform. Also, ask your vendors to compare the steps for creating multi-step campaigns to that of other solutions within their space.

Time to Make a Switch?

Is it time for a switch? Maybe you’ve been delaying a switch to a better marketing engagement platform. This could be for a number of reasons.

Sophisticated marketing engagement platforms have a plan and a path for helping you migrate to greener fields. The same capabilities that you may be looking for to help drive broader marketing accomplishments allow more sophisticated platform experts to quickly move you onto the newest system.

Balancing out the needs of today and the needs of tomorrow can be a complex task.  When reviewing your current capabilities, does your team consistently bring up the shortcomings of your automation systems? If so, it could be time to re-evaluate your solution and work with a more sophisticated platform.

As always, I enjoy hearing from other marketers and I’d love to hear stories about when you finally made the decision to adjust your solution set. What benefits did it bring to your team? Additionally, what made you land on that decision? Let’s keep the conversation going in the comments.

The post How to Know If It’s Time to Switch Your Engagement Platform appeared first on Marketo Marketing Blog - Best Practices and Thought Leadership.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8217493 https://blog.marketo.com/2018/10/how-to-know-if-its-time-to-switch-your-engagement-platform.html

[archiebwoollard]

How to Know If It’s Time to Switch Your Engagement Platform

Writing this article has me thinking of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. You’ve got Goldilocks looking for the right home to crash. Ultimately, she has to make a critical life decision between the temperature quality of hot, cold, and ‘just right’ porridge. Identifying the right engagement platform can feel very similar. If you’ve been using one for a while, it might be time to re-evaluate the temperature of your results.

This blog reviews three key considerations for determining that it is time to invest in a more appropriate system.

Simplicity Without Sophistication (System Is Too Simple)

When initially building a company or trying marketing automation tools for the first time, a company might select a solution that is just “good enough” and not too complex for their team. This can be motivated by a number of factors. Typically, it is the result of having a marketing team that is just beginning to implement digital engagement strategies.

With so many new concepts presented within digital marketing, many marketing managers determine that it is safer to go with a system that appears ‘easy’ during their evaluation.

The challenge for many teams that are new to digital engagement is that most platforms look easy at the beginning. But they quickly become limiting to the long-term capabilities that marketers really need. Once the first four to six months of a digital marketing strategy are launched, marketers find themselves boxed in by a lack of sophistication. And now, they’re forced to look for more without a system that can deliver on more mature objectives.

Getting Started with Digital Marketing Strategy

Let’s take a look at a few introductory campaigns that marketers start with when they initiate their digital marketing strategy. Some examples of early marketing campaigns include:

Simple lead follow-up workflows and sales notifications

Basic drip email campaigns based on a single indicator of interest

One-time email sends

Newsletters that require manual creation of content and uploading of contacts

Single occurrence events or tradeshows that happen infrequently

Generic emails that contain little-to-no contact-level personalization

Generic landing pages that contact little-to-no contact-level personalization

The commonality between these items is that they target a single objective at a single point in time, often leveraging generic messaging. To many that are new to engagement marketing, getting these initial campaigns started may appear confusing or time-consuming. However, it is typical for marketing teams to mature past these initial campaigns within the first two to three months of using a marketing platform.

In contrast, more sophisticated digital marketing campaigns listen to interests, learns preferences, and adapts engagement over time. More advanced marketing programs are non-linear and able to adjust the focus of communication to match the behaviors of target audiences in real-time, keeping the pulse on the most relevant touches for each individual.

Deeper Strategy = Deeper Needs

As digital marketing campaigns become established, the typical company wants to begin personalized messaging, timing, and follow-up to match the preferences and interests of their target audiences. To accomplish this level of personalization while maintaining efficient marketing operations, it is important to have a solution that is designed to deliver results at scale.

The challenge that simple systems have is that by the time marketers get used to their basic functions, they leave little additional functionality to create more sophisticated campaigns with the same level of ease. Ultimately, they either lack functionality, lack a connected contact history, make it challenging or impossible to configure multi-dimensional campaigns or make it overly complex to deliver multi-touch, multi-channel, multifaceted campaigns. In contrast, the right marketing engagement platform delivers simplicity and sophistication that you can rely on as you grow your digital marketing strategy year-over-year.

Answer:  Look for simplicity and sophistication. Work with your marketing engagement evaluation experts to example more sophisticated workflows (use cases) that look toward the future of your initiatives.

Limited by Your Systems (Data Extensibility)

Another key indicator that motivates marketers to switch marketing platforms is that it is very difficult to incorporate the desired events, history, or data from other systems into the definition of their target audience. This can be the result of many limitations, though there is a number worth noting:

Disconnected systems

Lack of access to constraints

Lack of variety in constraints

No ability to filter by the absence of history

When marketing automation platforms were initially introduced, they were largely designed to ingest the implicit data supplied by other systems. Then, they would query that data to assign audiences. More modern platforms improved a bit on this logic, extending connected event data to time-based constraints and basic conditional formatting within audience definitions.

The Ability to Drive Results

Current-day leading engagement platforms have taken data-extensibility to an entirely new level and automatically multiply the value of connected history simply by connecting them to their centralized audience hub.

For example, rather than simply ingesting a contact activity, the leading automation platforms translate the touchpoint into the following formats (at a minimum):

Real-time interactions

Updates to real-time interactions

Historic interactions

Historic updates to interactions

Anti-interactions (or absence of activity)

Lack of updates to interactions

For custom objects and custom activities, this multiplication of marketable information may be even more extensive.

Additionally, light-weight automation platforms may have access to the basics of an activity or record from another system. Yet, they will lack access to the customized records, fields, or settings within external databases. Sophisticated engagement platforms are able to connect the full extent of records (native and custom) within your other platforms, along with native and custom fields that have been added to those records. With this connection comes the reliability that the marketing team will be able to articulate all of the campaigns and personalization requested by the business and required by the target audience.

Look at the Long Term

Similar to the first reason described for making a switch, over time, access to the right marketing events and history becomes more important to articulating a personalized and engaging audience experience. Many marketers start out feeling as though the basic data points will be enough. But, in four to six months they have hit a wall in terms of data capabilities and are back evaluating marketing automation systems.

Answer: Ask your marketing engagement vendor to provide an explanation of their data model and test audience and communication scenarios within those systems that match both the short-term and long-term objectives of your marketing approach. Make sure that the platform selected is not too lightweight. Ensure it will support your goals over the next one to two years.

Exhausted by Execution (System Is Too Complex)

The last consideration when planning for long-term marketing automation success is the ability for your system to scale operations so that marketers do not have to build any portion of a campaign twice.

Let’s face it. Much of the structure of a marketing campaign boils down to a core, repeatable approach. The purchase of a marketing automation platform is typically to reduce the strain of digital engagement on the overall organization. The right platform should remove the activities and steps. It should not create a whole new series of work on top of the already busy schedules of your marketing team.

This topic relates back to the first reason for considering a switch. Many of the initial campaigns that companies want to articulate have a singular or linear focus. Campaigns quickly become multi-dimensional to deliver the right level of engagement in support of identified audiences and personal interests.

Bringing this back to the core development of a digital marketing campaign, let’s review the standard steps needed to build out an event campaign with appropriate communication.

A) Invitation

B) Registration

C) Tracking attendance

D) Following-up based on attendance.

Many companies have even more steps than these within their event programs. Let’s start with the basics.

Marketers should look for the following core components for each stage within the overall campaign:

Define the communication audience

Create appropriate:

Emails

Text messages

Landing pages

Forms

Track responses

Connect:

Attribution & build reports

Audiences to appropriate communication by stage & response

Find a Solution for More Than Just the Basics

These are just the essential steps needed to support the creation of a net-new marketing event campaign. I am exhausted just thinking about them. Basic automation platforms require the marketer to manually create each of these items (in-whole or in-part) each time a new event is  supported. While some systems may look simple on the surface, a hidden issue is that they do not scale well. This requires the marketer to build things from scratch each and every time a new campaign is delivered.

In contrast, sophisticated marketing engagement platforms reduce the total number of times that a campaign is created from scratch, enabling whole campaigns & multi-step flows to be cloned with the single click of a button. Additionally, leading platforms make it simple to update assets across the cloned campaign all at once through reference values that can be changed in a single location. For example, marketers may want to swap in a new banner or event date-time for all emails, landing pages, and content within the campaign.

Move to Sophistication

Sophisticated marketing engagement platforms greatly reduce the time it takes to launch new campaigns. They allow marketers to reference a shared program/campaign library. These systems enable your team to share best practices, improve reliability, and work from demonstrated results without having to recreate the structure and content from scratch.

Answer:  How often do you find yourself configuring the same campaign settings over-and-over? If you are having to repeat tasks more than once or twice, there is likely a better way. Reach out to top-rated marketing automation providers and ask them to share benchmark data around the efficiency of using their platform. Also, ask your vendors to compare the steps for creating multi-step campaigns to that of other solutions within their space.

Time to Make a Switch?

Is it time for a switch? Maybe you’ve been delaying a switch to a better marketing engagement platform. This could be for a number of reasons.

Sophisticated marketing engagement platforms have a plan and a path for helping you migrate to greener fields. The same capabilities that you may be looking for to help drive broader marketing accomplishments allow more sophisticated platform experts to quickly move you onto the newest system.

Balancing out the needs of today and the needs of tomorrow can be a complex task.  When reviewing your current capabilities, does your team consistently bring up the shortcomings of your automation systems? If so, it could be time to re-evaluate your solution and work with a more sophisticated platform.

As always, I enjoy hearing from other marketers and I’d love to hear stories about when you finally made the decision to adjust your solution set. What benefits did it bring to your team? Additionally, what made you land on that decision? Let’s keep the conversation going in the comments.

The post How to Know If It’s Time to Switch Your Engagement Platform appeared first on Marketo Marketing Blog - Best Practices and Thought Leadership.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8217493 https://blog.marketo.com/2018/10/how-to-know-if-its-time-to-switch-your-engagement-platform.html