#i started a spreadsheet with a list of their songs so you know it's serious 😭

[bloodmoonlich]

Hey bestiiiiiie!! did u get a chance to listen to 5sos? and if you did, which are your favorites?

Hi babes!! Omg yes I've started my quest to become a 5sos fan! I've only listened to youngblood and a few of their collabs so far, but youngblood is such a great album and very much my style! I didn't realize I've heard a few of the songs before so that was a fun throwback. My standouts so far are:

I'm almost caught up with 2024 albums I want to listen to and then I'm gonna do a full discography listen for 5sos 😊

What are your faves from youngblood? You might have told me in my post from awhile back, but I can't find it for some reason

[the-iceni-bitch]

I’m Going to Take Care of You

Pairing: Thor/Fem-Reader

Words: 3502

Summary: A fun night out with the Avengers makes you realize you want something more from you friendship with Thor.

Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content, size kink adjacent, fluff, SMUT, 18+

A/N: Whoo, I managed to keep it under 4000 words this time y’all. I loved writing Thor though. He’s such a sweetheart and really treats our reader right! Please enjoy and message if you want to be added to my permanent tags list!

“I got shots, bitches!!”

You set your carefully balanced tray on the table in the middle of everyone and started distributing tiny glasses around, grinning around the table as you did so.

“Goddamn it, Y/N. You and Nat are trying to kill us” Clint groaned as he took his shot from you and looked at it like he was about to throw up.

“Suck it up Barton.” Tony scolded. “These girls are out drinking us and refuse to black out before they do. Knock it back.”

You made sure everyone got a glass before taking one for yourself and settling back on the couch.

Nat downed hers easily and gave you a knowing grin once the taste hit her tongue. Clint, Tony, and Sam tossed theirs back together and immediately started spluttering and coughing. Steve paused before bringing his glass to his lips when he saw their reaction.

“Son of a bitch, what the fuck is this?” Tony exclaimed, grabbing a glass of water and chugging it as Clint headed to the bathroom, looking like he was going to hurl. Nat clapped her hand against Sam’s back as he tried to get a hold of himself. Steve was just looking at his shot with abject horror.

“We’re in Oslo so I got us Aquavit!” You grinned at Tony as he stared at you murderously. “Oh, my god Rogers, suck it up and drink it, it’s not going to kill you.”

Steve gave a shrug and chugged it, sucking air through his teeth and wincing as he swallowed. “Jesus Christ.”

“I’ve told you a million times, Y/N, you’re the only one who can drink that shit.” Nat laughed at you as Sam waved her off, his coughing fit finally ending.

“You’re all just pussies. Where the fuck is Thor? He always appreciates new liquor.” You searched the club for that giant golden retriever of a man before you heard his deep voice behind you.

“Is that more liquor? Excellent!” he exclaimed as you turned yourself around to give him a grin and handed him the last shot. He threw it back without hesitation and gave an appreciative nod. “What is this delicious nectar? We should get a bottle.”

“Thank you, sweetie.” You said, giving the rest of the group an exasperated look as you headed over to the bar, and returned with a full bottle of the spicy liquor and two clean highball glasses. You poured yourself and Thor two hefty portions and sat beside him on the couch.

“You two are insane.” Tony said, shaking his head as you tossed your drinks back and poured two more. “How are you still standing, Y/N? You’ve had almost as much to drink as a literal god!”

You just laughed at him giddily. You were pretty drunk at this point, but there was no way you were going to let anyone outdrink you tonight, you wanted to let go.

You had just finished your fifth mission with the Avengers. You had been apprehensive when you first moved onto the compound six months ago. You of course already know Nat and Clint, but it was a tight knit group, and you sometimes felt like a spare tire.

You spent most of the first few weeks in the lab, working on your serums and formulas, doing calculations into the small hours of the morning. Tony did his best to engage you, but you both only had the most basic understandings of each other’s fields. You did develop a healthy respect for each other during that time though, and you started to feel more at home.

Nat had finally convinced you to join the rest of the team for a workout after you had been there for a month. You were concerned about losing yourself and accidentally injuring someone, but Nat almost shoved you onto the mat to square up against Steve. She sat there with a smirk as the group watched him chase you around the mat, growing more and more frustrated as you slid out of his reach over and over. When you accidentally threw him into the ceiling one handed, you were sure they were going to shut you out. But Thor started laughing hysterically as the rest of them started teasing Rogers, and just like that, you were one of the group.

Thor and you bonded the most for some reason. You made each other laugh constantly, and being able to complain about your crazy families with someone else was a relief. You’d often stay up late together watching stupid movies or drinking some new liquor or beer you had discovered. He had once mentioned that he missed the tasted of mead, and the next day you surprised him with several large bottles you had gotten from a friend who brewed it on his property upstate. Sometimes when you got drunk enough, he’d let you braid his hair in intricate styles, not feeling an ounce of embarrassment when Tony would give him shit the next morning.

You became sparring partners as he was the only member of the team who could actually get you in a hold, and that translated well to you partnering on missions.

This latest one had been a doozy, busting an arms dealing ring that was suspected of distributing old HYDRA equipment. It was a success overall but had been exhausting. Nat and you always did your best to come up with some sort of morale booster after a mission and you somehow had convinced the team that a night of clubbing in downtown Oslo would be just the thing.

“Aww shit, is this Ghostface Killah?” You asked the room as a new song started. “This is my song! Let’s dance!”

“Girl, you have the best taste in music.” Sam said as he followed you onto the dance floor while Nat tried to coax Steve and Tony to join you. Thor tossed back his drink and strode after you.

The Norse God was a surprisingly good dancer. He didn’t seem to have the hangups you noticed from most white guys about their movements.

“This is a good song!” He shouted at you over the music “It reminds me of ‘Krakemal’.”

You had no idea what he was talking about so you just grinned at him as you whipped your hair around and swung your hips, losing yourself in the music. You loved dancing.

The song ended too soon and Tony came to let everyone know that Clint had finally stopped vomiting and the group was going to head back to the safehouse. Thor threw you over his shoulder as you headed out the door, making you squeal as he gave your ass a playful slap, not putting you down until you were walking down the street. He grinned down at you and started telling you a story about a snake. You were staring at him, breathless and giddy from the alcohol and you laughed when his story reached its conclusion, suddenly realizing that you were going to sleep with him.

He walked forward to chat with Steve and Nat put her arm through yours to chat.

“Sooooo…” she said slyly. “What’s going on with you and Point Break?”

“Oh god, Nat. I’m pretty sure I’m going to let him fuck me tonight.”

She laughed at that, tossing her head back. “Jesus Christ, it’s about time!”

You slapped her arm lightly and told her to shut up.

“You couldn’t have come to this realization a little earlier, Y/N? Now Tony’s going to win the bet!”

“Fuck, you perverts bet on when me and Thor would sleep together? Was anyone else in on this?”

“I mean, it was just me and Clint to start off then Tony found out and looped in the rest of team into it. He made a spreadsheet and everything. Rogers took some serious convincing. That big puppy thought it was ‘inappropriate and mean-spirited.’ Of course, then he walked in on one of your sparring sessions where you let yourself get pinned by that himbo a little longer than necessary and turned over his money with no problem.”

“Great. You guys are such good friends.” You said sarcastically.

“Not our fault you two idiots don’t have the emotional intelligence to just get to it. I’ve gotta tell the rest of the team to make sure you guys have some privacy.”

You hissed and tried to grab her as she scampered away to talk to Tony, who turned back and gave you a thumbs up and massive grin. You slapped your palm into your face and rubbed your thumb and forefinger into the ridges above your eyebrows.

“So, Natasha told me I should come back here and talk to you. She wouldn’t tell me what about and just laughed when I asked.” Thor had a look of slight confusion on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, pulling the bottom edge of his shirt up enough to expose the top of his boxer briefs and give you a glimpse at his happy trail. You felt yourself clench and fought the urge to moan.

You arrived back at the safehouse then, and Tony and Natasha did their best to usher everyone upstairs discreetly. She gave you a wink as she followed behind Steve at the back of the group and disappeared from view.

“So, more drinks?” Thor clapped his hands and rubbed them together, heading into the kitchen as he shed his coat.

“God, yes!” You followed him, removing your own coat and tossing it onto the couch. You had no idea how to approach this without making things painfully awkward.

He found an opened bottle of mead and poured you each a glass, leaning back against the counter as he sipped at the sweet liquor.

You peered at him over the edge of your glass as you contemplated your next move. His plain white tee was just tight enough that you could see the shape of the muscles in his torso. His arms were crossed, making his thick arms flex deliciously. You wanted to take a bite out of his bicep. You moved your eyes back up to his face and found him staring back at you. Neither of you said anything as you gazed into each other’s eyes.

“Fuck it.” You said, tossing back the rest of your drink and setting the empty glass on the counter before you took three steps forward and pressed the front of you body into him, pulling his face down to yours and kissing him hungrily.

You felt his posture change as he set his own glass behind him before grabbing your hips and drawing you even closer to him. You felt his cock starting to harden through his jeans and you let out a moan. He growled softly into your mouth before bringing one hand up to the back of your neck and drawing you away from him briefly as he studied your face.

“How drunk are you, Y/N?” he asked, a look of concern on his face.

Your inebriation had faded on the walk home and that kiss had sobered you up considerably. “Just buzzed.” You told him, breathlessly.

“Good.”

He didn’t say anything else, just put a hand on your ass and lifted you to wrap your legs around him as kissed your neck, scraping his teeth along your collarbone.

“God, keep doing that.” You said, twisting your hands into the back of his tee as he dipped his tongue into the hollow of your throat.

He gave a low hum against your neck and you felt it resound in your core, a rush of arousal soaking your panties as you felt your cunt throb with desire.

“Not gonna make it to the couch.” He whispered into your neck, sucking softly and raising a small bruise.

“Fine.” You couldn’t focus on anything, his mouth was so good and felt like it was leaving a trail of fire wherever it met your skin.

He moved forward and lowered you onto the counter gently. He brought his mouth back up to yours and kissed you softly as he moved his hands from your hips to the buttons of your blouse. He started undoing them slowly, his thick fingers moving nimbly down the front of your torso. Once it was fully open, he slid the blouse down your shoulders and discarded it to the side.

He brought his large palms up to your breasts and kneaded them gently. You groaned into his mouth and drew him closer to you with your legs, forcing the hem of your skirt up around your waist. You ground yourself into the front of his jeans desperately.

His fingers found the clasp at the front of your bra and unhooked it as he brought his mouth down to your breasts. He pressed the flat of his tongue against one nipple before swirling his tongue around it and sucking on it softly, making you gasp.

“Fuck, just like that baby.” You scrabbled your fingers over his back as he mouthed at your breast and drew his shirt over his head. He broke his contact with your skin for just a moment to throw the tee somewhere else, then moved his attention to your other breast, laving his tongue over the nipple slowly and making your pussy clench so hard it was aching.

“Shit, Thor, I need you.” You whined at him, clenching your thighs around his hips, trying to get some sort of friction to relieve the tension you were feeling in your core.

“I need to make sure you’re ready for me, beautiful. Don’t you trust me?”

“Mmmmm, yes!” you gasped as one of his hands moved your panties aside and he brushed his fingers against your folds, making you twitch.

“Oh, good girl. I just want to make you feel good, sweetheart.” He swirled one finger through the arousal at your entrance before inserting it at a deliciously slow pace.

You clenched around him immediately, letting out a whimper as he started moving it in and out of you slowly, stretching you from the inside a little further each time before adding another finger.

Your breath hitched and you tried to buck your hips into him but his other hand moved to press against your abdomen, pinning you to the counter.

His face came back up to yours as his fingers flexed inside of you. He brushed a soft kiss against your lips as you swallowed a moan.

“I know pretty girl, but you’re going to be happy I’m taking my time in a few minutes.” His third finger slipped into you as he gave you another kiss before he moved his face between your legs.

You did your best to keep from screaming when his tongue found your clit and started drawing soft circles over the tiny bundle of nerves. He curved his fingers inside you and pressed them against your sweet spot before he stretched you even further by adding a fourth finger.

You bit your lip so hard you drew blood. His tongue had increased in pressure and speed while his fingers stretched you so good. When he started sucking you lost it. You let out a thin wail as your body went rigid with pleasure, releasing to make every muscle tremble. He kept his fingers fucking into you at a steady rhythm as you rode it out. He removed them once you had finished and you let out a groan at the feeling of emptiness.

He smiled up at you before giving your pussy a kiss and standing up, releasing his hold on your abdomen. “I think you’re ready now gorgeous.” He murmured around a grin.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at him as he drew your soaked panties down your legs and threw them to the side with the rest of your clothes. He then unzipped your skirt and added it to the pile before he moved his fingers to the fly of his jeans.

You felt your pussy clench as he drew the zipper down slowly and you stared at him through your lashes darkly. He bent over briefly to remove his pants and underwear and when he stood up, all the air rushed out of you as you understood his insistence on preparation.

He had the biggest cock you had ever seen. It was almost as thick as your wrist and quite a bit longer than the span of your hand. Your mouth filled with saliva as he gave it a few pumps and stepped closer to you, dragging it through your slick folds to coat it in your arousal.

“I’m going to go slow, love. You promise to let me know if it’s too much?”

You bit your lip as you nodded at him, not trusting the integrity of your vocal cords at the moment.

He bent forward over you and gave you a gentle kiss as he breached you with just his tip and you let out a sigh. He drew his hips back slowly before moving into you a little further. He continued this slow pace, pulling out just a bit and before breaching you further, waiting to feel you stretch and relax around him before he pushed into you more.

It seemed like forever before his hips were flush against yours and you were stretched around the whole length of him. You had never felt so deliciously full and you let out a low moan to let him know how good you felt.

“You’re doing so good baby.” He whispered to you and you couldn’t help giving him a wide grin that he returned. “I’m going to move, now, ok?”

“Fuck, yes please.” You whimpered as his hips started to move.

He kept his mouth on yours as he picked up the pace, exploring every inch of your mouth with his tongue.  You tangled your hands into his hair and snapped your hips to meet his thrusts, the only sounds your soft moans, the slap of flesh on flesh, and the obscene wet sucking sounds your pussy was making as his cock thrust in and out of you.

You felt your pleasure starting to coil in your core and you cried softly into his mouth, urging him on as he moved one hand between the two of you to work your clit.

You came around him suddenly, every muscle in your body vibrating as the biggest orgasm you’d ever had ripped through you body. You had to bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming, and he growled into your ear as his paced picked up even more.

He drew your knees up to your shoulders as he kept thrusting into you. The change in position was too much for your overworked clit and you came again immediately, tears leaking down your cheeks as you tried your best to be quiet.

He saw the tears and started to slow down, a look of concern written all over his face, until you hissed at him.

“Don’t you dare fucking stop.”

He gave you a grunt that may have been a laugh and rotated your legs to your right side, the twist in your spine arching you so your chest pressed up into his, the coarse hair dusting him rubbing against your sensitive nipples and making you whine.

You felt yourself building again and you dropped your head back against the counter, preparing yourself. Thor’s hips started to stutter as your final orgasm wracked you, and he released right behind you as you twitched and fluttered around him. He bent back down to kiss you, his long hair brushing against your chest.

You opened up to him and let his tongue run against yours gently as he slowly pulled out of you, leaving you with a soft ache between your legs.

“How you feeling sweetheart?” He asked you, one hand cupped against your cheek as he watched your face, wanting to be sure he hadn’t hurt you.

“God, that was amazing.” You grinned at him, groaning as you stretched underneath him, knowing you were going to be stiff and sore tomorrow.

He gave you a swift kiss before scooping you off the counter and wrapping you around his torso. You nuzzled yourself into his neck as he started to carry you upstairs.

“Let’s get you a bath, beautiful. Make sure you’ll be able to walk in the morning.”

You laughed softly against his skin. “Mmmm, baby you know just what I need.”

“Of course I do, Y/N.” He looked into your eyes, a serious expression on his face. “I’m going to take care of you.”

You couldn’t express how happy that made you so you just hummed against his shoulder as he kicked open the door to the bathroom. You didn’t even care that you had left your discarded clothes downstairs for poor Steve to find when he woke up for his morning run.

Permanent Tags:

@drabblewithfrannybarnes​

[mrsslrss]

2019.

Welcome to my annual accounting of things I loved, 2019 edition. 

I’m realizing the pattern here is to start this with a reflection of how I rang in the year but 2019 crept in pretty calmly: no big bugs to kill, no spontaneous sobs to a Sharon Van Etten song. On the first day of this year, I woke up and cleaned the house and, I don’t know, probably went to Big Bear and got a coffee and took a nap. Since it’s nearly the end of the decade, I could start there, but I couldn’t tell you where I was for New Year’s Eve, 2009; if I had to guess, I’d put myself at a friend’s house on the North Shore, drinking PBR with the guys and listening to pop-punk. That winter I was convinced I wouldn’t return to Poughkeepsie, I was so miserable, but when I did things started to fall into place.

I think my goal for this year was roughly something like, Just put your head down and do the work. When you are tempted to get fed up and wither from frustration or have a big ego about not getting what you want, just put your head down and do the work. I don’t know if I did that, exactly, if I really stuck to the goal, but every so often in a particularly challenging moment the goal would come into focus at the front of my mind and I’d sigh and acquiesce and nod at the work ahead of me. I got a lot done, I think; in this way I got a lot done. It was nice to be reminded about how the process can be the goal -- something I thought about a lot this year. Sometimes the goal looks like a result, but it’s really the habit I’m after.

I’d like to keep that up next year. 2019 was a year of cultivating; 2020, maybe, will be a year of action. Or maybe not! Maybe nothing flowers until 2021 or beyond. Or maybe I start tearing things up by the roots in 2020, who knows! 

So anyway. Here’s to 2019, and here’s a list (more or less alphabetized -- why not!) of ten things that helped me make it through.

annie’s homegrown birthday cake bunny grahams

My official snack of the year. Over the summer I was visiting MZ in Brooklyn and we got snacks at their neighborhood grocery store and I bought these, which are meant to celebrate the 30th anniversary of this snack company, taste like funfetti cake, and are definitely meant for/marketed to children. But anyway I ate the whole box and then sought them out at every Whole Foods in my vicinity (because I went online and WH is apparently basically the only place you can find them?) and started preaching the good word to anyone who was looking for a snack. By, like, September I had eaten so many of these that I could no longer stomach them, so I’ve been on a brief hiatus, but still: snack of the year.

keeping lists

I started this year with a big digital spreadsheet called “2019 things” where I intended to keep lists: all the new albums and songs that struck me, all the old albums and songs I got obsessed with, the places I wanted to travel in the year. I kept adding tabs: the books I finished, my financial priorities, stuff I wanted to make sure to read or watch. I was pretty diligent about updating them -- I wrote down every book I read, but definitely forgot to add a couple albums; I never made it to Philly this year. I started keeping gratitude lists (analog) towards the end of year, too, because in college a friend told me it helps rewire the brain away from pessimism, or something. 

meditation

Before this year, I’ve never had a serious relationship with meditation, but it always seemed like the kind of thing I would like. In mid-January I got struck by the urge to try it, so I did, and kept it up for a few days, and then I fell off, and then I got back on, and now, somehow, it’s been three-hundred-something days of it in a row. I have learned to find a quiet moment in a nice corner of my room before work, but also in a tent in the Catskills, in a guest room in Wales, in a hotel in Georgia, on a walk through Brooklyn, in my childhood bedroom. My life and brain don’t feel, like, enormously different or changed, but that’s good; it feels useful to keep showing up to something without expectation.

my siblings

Having a big family means every year is inevitably a big year for someone, but this was, somehow, a big year for all of my siblings. Mostly good things: health and healing, a wedding and a graduation, a license acquired and a course of study started and jobs well done. It doesn’t feel good to get into the hard stuff here, but there was a lot of that, too -- a lot of grueling bullshit overcome. After the wedding I almost texted everyone just to say how proud I was of all of them, but naturally I chickened out. But I really am proud!

navy blue

Longtime readers of, uh, *gestures wildly* whatever this is may recall that last year I claimed I only wore black but might be interested in navy blue? This year I determined that navy blue is so good: the color of the deep ocean, the night sky, my first Catholic school uniform. I bought navy jumpsuits, a sweatshirt, a scrunchie. I wore navy-adjacent eyeliner just in the corners of my eyes most days of July and August and September. I’m wearing a navy blue sweater right now. A good year for navy. 

“not” by big thief

My song of the year, which I knew from the first time I heard it. So much of this year (the news, the planet, global catastrophes, mass violence, etc. not to mention personal failures) felt hopeless and dreadful, but also so constant and exhausting that I wasn’t sure I could keep summoning anger, never mind do it in a useful way. I love this song because it is about abjection in the same way it isn’t about anything, about absence as presence, about not-knowing as knowing. It is desperate without being hopeless, explosive without being violent, or maybe: violent without being harmful. It’s about transcending language and different kinds of language and using whichever tools you have (Words are good enough). It’s about being swallowed whole by the everything-ness, a theme that came up in so much of the work I loved this year, the subject of an essay I’ll never write (lol). Music Twitter™ got into an argument about whether this band is good; I feel so sure of my love for this song (and most of what this band does) that I, for once, didn’t immediately assume I was a fool, or being had, just because someone disagrees with me. Instead it felt delicious and special to resonate with a thing that doesn’t resonate for everyone, a rare and generous experience for me. Imagine that.

pottery

At the beginning of the year I signed up for a ten-week session of pottery classes at a studio in Georgetown, and then when I told M, he wanted to join (by which I felt incredibly endeared). Then it became ten more weeks, then ten more, and since then we’ve gone nearly every Thursday night. Some things that are nice: learning to to make something with my hands, especially after staring at a screen all day; not being able to look at my phone or read the news for several hours (related: so many of the Democratic debates happened on Thursday nights!); having a standing weekly date with my favorite person. Nearly everyone in our lives got lumpy bowls, vases, etc. for Christmas this year, of which we are very proud.

“rooms on fire” by stevie nicks

This year, Stevie Nicks became the first woman be inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame twice and so Rolling Stone interviewed her about her fabulous career. In the interview, Rob Sheffield said his favorite song of hers is “Ooh My Love” from The Other Side of the Mirror, which is an album I had never listened to before, so I started listening and the first song just hooked me. It’s so dramatic and magical and moody! It’s right up there on the Apple Music-generated playlist of my most-played songs of the year.

stockholm

For several years one of my repeated resolutions was “go to Scandinavia.” Sweden has always been the big goal, but Oslo seemed possible for a minute, and in 2013 I did briefly entertain the idea of going to graduate school in Finland. (Imagine!) This year I got really fed up of having not really, you know, taken a proper vacation since starting my job, so I took a full week off after my sister’s wedding and planned a solo trip to Stockholm. Each day of my trip I woke up whenever I woke up and I explored a different island; I went for long runs, drank coffee, ate kardemummabullar, took the subway across town, saw a one-of-a-kind Viking ship. I burst into tears at the Moderna Museet, ate through a vegetarian tasting menu at the Fotografiska, had an extremely lovely spa experience. I read three books in a week. I loved every second of it.

wigs

I bought a big gaudy pink wig this spring in anticipation of seeing Sasha Velour’s one-woman show in New York -- or, I told myself I bought it for that reason, but I think I really just wanted the possibility of wearing a big gaudy pink wig at will. After the Sasha show, I wore it to see Robyn at The Anthem, and was delighted when, after I put a picture on Instagram, a handful of people in my life thought I had a) dyed my hair pastel pink and b) grew my hair ~half a foot over the weekend. (I wish!) I think I’ll wear it for our house’s beach-themed NYE party, too.

everything else 

frequent, long drives with M; songs about solidarity; the #saltypod; custom t-shirts; craving waffles; having an e-reader; the concept of “the archive”; choosing kindness; threatening to move to rural new england to work on a farm; being in love

[beckzorz]

Out of Nowhere (17/21)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC Summary: An offhand comment at work draws Jesse Kaplan into the orbit of Bucky Barnes. Bucky’s excited at the prospect of normalcy, but there’s nothing normal about falling in love with the Winter Soldier. Words: 2104 A/N: The song for this chapter is “Ces Petites Choses” by Jean Sablon from Anthologie (1932-1948). Hope you enjoy!

PART 17: “CES PETITES CHOSES”

“I fucked up last night, that’s all. That’s all. I fucked up, I regret it, and that’s all.”

Tears clouded Jesse’s vision. She stumbled blindly back to her room and shut the door as quietly as she could. Her bed welcomed her back with open arms.

Jesse sobbed into her pillow, her whole body aching. The SHIELD shirt twisted uncomfortably around her chest. She yanked the shirt off with a cry and threw it across the room before collapsing back into a ball.

How could she have been so wrong?

She’d had five glorious minutes of hope. Surely after everything he would’ve been happy to know she loved him. Wasn’t love the most normal thing in the world? Wasn’t being happy worth dealing with a little awkwardness? No, he’d crushed her dreams as easily as he might a bug under his boot. Five minutes. Five minutes of warmth in her chest, and now she was worse off than ever. Before, even if she’d been too afraid, there had still been still some secret strain of hope. Now even that was gone.

Jesse wrapped her arms around herself. She tried to suppress her lingering hiccups and tears. Over the week she’d spent at the safehouse, Bucky had seemed further and further away with every passing day. Then he’d come back, and oh, how wonderful it had been, but now…

Bucky was lost to her.

It shouldn’t have hurt so much. Hadn’t she been preparing herself for this the whole time? Since almost the beginning, she’d been conscious of thinking more of him than he did of her.

Jesse had said goodbye to Bucky plenty of times. She’d not grown used to it—whenever he left, her heart wrenched—but she knew what to expect. And she knew she could survive it. But this time was different. He might not have known she was listening, but then again, who knew? He was a supersoldier. Maybe he did hear her. Maybe he’d known she was listening, and he’d decided to let her know his feelings in a way where she could save face. He’d never been cruel before. Why start now?

Before she’d heard what he’d said to Natasha, she’d wished she’d known what was going through his head. Now she just wanted to forget everything. If there was ever a time to get drunk, it was now. But raiding the cabinets for the single bottle of whiskey would require going downstairs, leaving her room, facing them both…

No.

She’d stay here, where she could protect herself with a locked door, a steady stream of tissues, and a welcoming bed. For whatever reason, Bucky had shut the door on her for the last time.

He’d done enough damage. Time to shut herself off to him once and for all.

—

“Jesse?” Natasha called.

Jesse sighed. It was nearly ten o’clock now, two hours since her aborted confession. “What?”

“Bucky’s leaving. Come say bye.”

Jesse’s heart plummeted. What the hell, Natasha? If Bucky was leaving, he could damn well come up and say goodbye himself. But Jesse was more afraid of the Black Widow than she was obstinate. So she dragged herself out of bed and found the too-small t-shirt.

Maybe this here could really be a final farewell. After what he’d said this morning, after he hadn’t come back to her, Bucky couldn’t think of returning to the safehouse. It wouldn’t make sense. If he regretted what he’d done last night, why would he put himself in that position yet again?

No, Jesse decided. He wouldn’t. She tugged the shirt down over her head and wriggled her arms through. This was her chance to say goodbye on her own terms.

She looked herself over in the mirror. Her eyes were a little bloodshot, but she didn’t think it was obvious she’d been crying. If they hadn’t heard her, they might not know. Jesse tried to recreate that happy smile of before, but it was beyond her reach. She managed something that looked close to content, at least.

Jesse stepped out of her room and pulled her door shut. The moment the latch clicked, a slam echoed from downstairs. She froze, then hurtled down the stairs with wide eyes.

Natasha stood alone, her face tight as she frowned at the front door. She tilted her head and dragged her eyes to Jesse.

“Sorry, you just missed him.”

Jesse blinked. She sat heavily on the stairs, the shock jarring her bones all the way up to her teeth.

“He left?” she said dimly.

Natasha winced. That was answer enough.

“He left.” Jesse opened her mouth, then closed it. Her throat itched. She swallowed back tears and rage. An ache spread through her tightening chest.

She’d come down to say goodbye on her terms! How could he have left? After everything he’d said, she’d assumed he’d want to say goodbye. Fine, last night was a fluke—but didn’t he care about her? Caring about her was his entire argument. So why would he have abandoned her like this? Her hands shook; she curled them into fists and ground them into her knees. She hadn’t been this angry since Bucky had chastised her for being sympathetic to Mike at Current Relief.

Back then, she’d had Bucky right in front of her. Right now, the only person in reach was Natasha.

Jesse flicked her burning eyes back up from the closed front door to the Black Widow. Natasha was leaning against the doorframe to the living room, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her zip-up hoodie. She was watching Jesse with a guarded expression, and she spoke before Jesse had a chance.

“I’m so sorry,” Natasha said.

Jesse opened her mouth, then closed it. She dropped her head into her hands with a whimper. How could she take out her anger on someone who felt bad?

“Why would he leave? Does he hate me so damn much?” Tears began to pool in her eyes. “I know—I know he thinks he fucked up last night, but for god’s sake, we were friends!”

“What do you mean?” Natasha asked.

“I heard you two,” Jesse mumbled. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “This morning. I heard what he said. That I’m stupid.” She let out a humorless laugh and dug her fingernails into her palms. “Trust me, I feel it now.”

Natasha let out a breath between her teeth. “Ah.”

Jesse sniffed again. “Yeah. Ah.” She scooted over to lean her head against the stairwell wall. “I don’t blame you, in case you were wondering,” she added. She stared past Natasha at a vague spot on the far wall. “You know, I was going to just… confess. I was happy for like, five whole minutes. I thought he’d—well, nevermind. I didn’t even get to say goodbye!”

“Jesse, I really am sorry.”

Natasha’s voice was unusually gentle. Jesse had never heard her be so genuinely apologetic. It was enough to channel her out of her fog.

“Yeah, me too.”

Jesse stood up and headed back upstairs. Natasha didn’t stop her.

—

It was almost dinnertime by the time Jesse ventured downstairs, forced out of her room by her grumbling stomach. Natasha was working on a large laptop at the kitchen table with her back to the wall. She closed the computer halfway when Jesse came in.

“How are you doing?” she asked.

Jesse shrugged. “I’m alive, aren’t I?” She didn’t want to talk about it. She’d cried on and off all day. Enough was enough, at least until after she’d eaten. The only quick food she could find was spaghetti. She filled the electric kettle and pulled out a pot before she thought to include the other person in the room. “Did you want some pasta?”

“Sure,” Natasha said. “Thanks.”

As Jesse puttered about getting dinner ready, Natasha made increasingly aggravated noises at her computer until Jesse had to roll her eyes and ask, “What?”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Natasha said. She narrowed her eyes at Jesse, then shrugged. “What the hell, you’re the one this is all about. I can’t tell who was responsible for getting you on the list at Current Relief.”

Jesse paused, wooden spoon clutched tight in her fist. It had been over a week since anyone had spoken to her about her abduction. Richard hadn’t mentioned it—had he known anything about it at all? Impossible to tell. But Natasha… Natasha knew it all.

Except, apparently, who the hell had done it.

“Are you serious? Aren’t you supposed to be brilliant?” Jesse blurted.

Natasha’s typing stopped abruptly. Jesse froze as she realized just what she’d said. Who she’d said it to. Was she about to die in a safehouse?

The Black Widow giggled. “You’re a riot, Jesse.”

Jesse sagged against the counter next to the stove. “For a second I thought you’d murder me.”

“Bucky’s already shot me twice,” Natasha said. “I don’t care for it to happen again.”

Jesse didn’t answer that. After a moment Natasha winced.

“Shit, I’m sorry. That—”

“Forget it,” Jesse interrupted. She turned off the stove and drained the pasta. The steam billowed up from the sink and clung to her face. Jesse willed herself not to cry, not to react at all. She mixed in some butter and garlic, then plated up the spaghetti. She sat down and shoved Natasha’s plate over to her. “Here. All done.”

Natasha didn’t try to finish her apology. Jesse could feel Natasha’s eyes on her as they ate, but she stared resolutely at her food until Natasha twisted her computer around.

“Here,” Natasha said, forcing Jesse’s eyes up. “What do you think?”

Jesse swallowed and squinted at the crowded spreadsheets. “What even is it?”

“Timesheets. Analyses of computer usage. And there was no one logged into a computer at time you were added onto the list.”

Jesse looked at the spreadsheet of computer logs. Each computer was tagged with a room. She identified a few computer labs with six or ten stations, but there was a suspicious absence.

“What about the server rom?”

“What do you mean?” Natasha leapt to her feet and was at Jesse’s side in an instant. Jesse blinked; she’d never seen Natasha move so fast.

“Um, there’s a computer in the server room.”

Natasha pulled the computer in front of her and switched to a series of video feeds. She blew one up bigger than the others—there was the server room, narrow and dim and full of blinking lights.

And one computer station by the door.

“So there is,” Natasha murmured. “Interesting. Thank you.”

She picked up the laptop and left the room, her dinner abandoned. Jesse twirled her fork through her spaghetti and propped her cheek on her hand as she stared into space.

Seven minutes later, Natasha came back. Jesse twisted her head to watch her come in, but Natasha had stopped in the doorway, her expression severe. Jesse’s stomach twisted.

“What?” she asked.

“I need you to confirm something,” Natasha said, voice low and angry. Jesse shrank in her chair, but nodded. Natasha slammed the laptop in front of Jesse. The black and white feeds of the server room and its hallway were side by side. Both were marked 1:24 AM.

Natasha hit play.

A tall thin man with a baseball hat and a dark jacket rounded the far corner and hurried down the hallway, brim blocking any view of his face. He shoved open the door to the server room—Jesse looked at the other feed—and ducked inside, folding himself into the chair at the computer terminal. All Jesse could see of him was his back and the pale skin of his neck. Her hands trembled.

“This is when you were added,” Natasha said. Her tone was gentler now, soft and soothing, but Jesse shook her head to shut her up. She knew exactly what this was.

The man in the video sat with his shoulders were hunched up nearly to his ears as he worked. His body blocked the screen, but Jesse could imagine it well enough. After three minutes, at 1:28 AM, he stood up and rushed out of the room and back away down the hallway.

The most Jesse had seen was a sliver of the man’s cheek, but with everything else it was enough. She shook her head, tongue like lead in her mouth.

“Do you know him?” Natasha asked.

“I…”

“Do you know?” Natasha pressed.

Jesse clutched the edge of the table. Her knuckles were white and the tips of her fingers red from the tightness of her grip. She nodded and cleared her throat. “That’s Mike.”

A/N: 😮 The plot thickens!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let me know what you think :3

[thesorceressyennefer]

This is Our Song

Summary: Lucas and Mike argue over whether “Every Breath You Take” is Lucas and Max’s song or Mike and Eleven’s song (spoiler alert: it can be both). Pairings: Lucas/Max and Mike/Eleven Word Count: 1516 AO3 Link

Lucas and Max’s apartment. Hawkins, Indiana. December 1993.

Lucas looked up from the spreadsheet he was reading and rubbed his eyes. He looked over at his best man who was on the phone at the moment and asked, “Did you hear back from the florist yet, Dustin?”

“Negative,” Dustin replied, covering the speaker of the phone with his hand. “I’ve left two messages already”—he held up two fingers to emphasize this point—“if they don’t call me back by 10 a.m. tomorrow I’ll drop by on my lunch break.”

Lucas nodded.

“Did you pick out the cake yet, Lucas?” Will asked as he folded invitations.

“Shit, no,” Lucas groaned.

“How can you not have a cake yet?” asked Mike. “What have you been doing?”

“What have I been doing?” Lucas asked, outraged. “Setting a date, booking a venue, making a guest list, choosing a color scheme, picking a caterer, finding a photographer—“

“Okay, okay,” said Dustin, now off of the phone. Dustin threw his arms in between them like he was breaking up a physical fight. “We’ll get to the cake soon, but first, that was the DJ. He confirmed the date and wants to know if you have an specific song requests, including if you’ve thought of the song for your first dance yet.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” said Lucas. “For our first dance, we’re dancing to ‘Every Breath You Take’ by The Police.”

“What?” Mike snapped.

“What do you mean what?”

“You can’t dance to that song!”

“Uh, why not?” Lucas asked, annoyed.

“It’s mine and Eleven’s song!”

“What are you talking about?” Lucas asked, incredulous. “It’s mine and Max’s song. It has been since the Snow Ball in ‘84.”

“Well it’s been mine and El’s song since then too!” protested Mike. “It’s the first song we ever danced to!”

“Well, Max and I had our first kiss during that song! And first kiss beats first dance!”

“Guys, come on,” said Will, but Mike and Lucas continued to argue.

“Yeah, haven’t you guys realized that song’s actually from the point of view of a stalker and it’s pretty creepy?” asked Dustin.

“It’s not creepy!” Mike protested.

“Well, Max’s nickname for me is stalker, so it fits us perfectly!” said Lucas.

Dustin rolled his eyes and allowed Mike and Lucas to go back to arguing with each other.

A few moments later, the front door of the apartment opened and Max walked in followed by Eleven.

“Are you guys fighting about more dumb wedding stuff?” Max asked.

“Yes!” said Mike at the same time Lucas said, “It’s not stupid!”

Max walked over to Lucas, made like she was going to give him a kiss on the cheek and then blew a raspberry on his face instead. Lucas’s mood instantly improved.

“We’re talking about the song for our first dance,” Lucas said as he rolled his eyes in disgust at Mike and Eleven kissing hello.

“Oh that’s not stupid,” said Max, taking a seat in Lucas’s lap. “And there’s no need for an argument. We’re dancing to ‘Every Breath You Take.’”

Lucas threw his arms up, “Thank you! This guy”—he gestured to Mike—“says we can’t dance to it because it’s his and Eleven’s song.”

“It is!” Mike argued. “It has been since El and I danced to it at the Snow Ball!”

“I already told you!” said Lucas, raising his voice a bit. “Max and I kissed for the first time during that song!”

Mike and Lucas stared at each other for a few seconds before Mike whipped his head towards his wife at the same time Lucas turned to his fiancée.

“Tell him!” they yelled to their respective significant others.

Max and El shared a look.

After a beat, El gently said, “Mike…”

“Yes!” said Lucas, throwing his fist in the air.

“What?” screeched Mike. “El, it’s our song!”

“Mike...  they had their first kiss to that song.”

Lucas and Max smiled smugly at Mike.

“Well, that settles the first dance debate…” said Dustin. “Let’s move on to something less controversial... is anyone going to have a fit over the color of the table linens?”

*

“You don’t really think ‘Every Breath You Take’ is their song, do you?” asked Mike as soon as the door to Lucas and Max’s apartment swung closed behind them.

They turned right and started walking towards their car which was parked around the corner.

“I do,” said El. “But it’s also ours. We can share.”

Mike breathed out and watched the swirl of warm air rise up and disappear. After a moment, he said, “But if they dance to it, everyone’s going to think it’s their song.”

“So?” asked El.

“Well… well…,” Mike struggled to put into words why it matter. “It’s ours though. When I hear that song, I think about how it felt when you walked into the gym that night and it reminds me of how lucky I am to have you.”

“Lucas and Max dancing to that song won’t change that,” said El. “You should’ve heard Max complaining about wedding planning today. They don’t need us giving them a hard time about the song they dance to on top of everything else.”

Mike thought about how stressed out Lucas had been lately. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“If you wanted it to be our song you should have said you wanted a real wedding when we decided to elope,” El teased.

“I couldn’t wait any longer to marry you, though,” said Mike, grabbing her hand and pulling her into his arms so he could gently bop his nose against hers.

Eleven smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her forehead against Mike’s, just like when they danced at the Snow Ball. Mike didn’t care about how it hurt his neck to lean down that far these days. El didn’t care that she was freezing on this especially cold December night. They stayed like that, in the middle of the sidewalk, for only a few moments, but both of them thought they could’ve stayed like that forever.

“You don’t regret eloping, then?” Eleven asked, pulling her head back so she could look at Mike’s face.

“Of course not,” said Mike. “But sometimes I do wish I had gotten to stand in front of everyone and tell them how much I love you.”

“You already did that, remember my birthday? You gave a 20 minute speech about how much you love my hair.”

“I was drunk, okay?”

“Yeah, too bad everyone else wasn’t as drunk as you,” El teased.

Mike huffed and started moving again. He swung his hand, intertwined with Eleven’s, between them as they walked.

“But seriously, Lucas and Max’s wedding planning has got me thinking… what do you think about renewing our vows? This time we invite everyone.”

“Yes,” El said immediately.

“Great! We can do it two weeks before Lucas and Max’s wedding, and then we can dance to ‘Every Breath You Take’ before they do!”

“Mike!” Eleven sounded exasperated, but she was smiling.

“Kidding, kidding…,” said Mike. “I was actually thinking November.”

“Almost a year from now…” El wrinkled her nose. “Why so far away?”

“Well, last time the day didn’t really mean anything, it was just the first day the courthouse was open after our graduation,” said Mike. “I was thinking we could pick a date that meant something… Like November 7th, maybe?”

Eleven smiled. “The night we met?”

Mike nodded.

“That sounds perfect.”

*

Max laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to de-stress from all the wedding planning. Lucas laid next to her, reading a horror novel, half-asleep already.

“Do you ever think we should elope like Mike and El did?” Max asked.

“Every goddamn day since we started planning this wedding,” said Lucas. “But then we wouldn’t be able to claim ‘Every Breath You Take’ as our song.”

Max paused for a moment before saying, “Hm, you’re right.” She turned onto her side and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” said Lucas as he closed his book and sat up. “I’ll be serious. Do you really want to elope?”

“No, Lucas, I was being serious about you being right. We can’t let Mike and El steal our song. At this point I’ll marry you just for the opportunity to piss off Mike.”

“If only I had known that when I proposed, I would’ve led with that.”

“Yeah,” said Max. “All I wanted to hear was how our getting married would annoy Mike. None of that crap about how much you love me or how I’m your best friend or how you want to stalk me for the rest of my life, so can I please marry you so you don’t have to become a creepy pervert.”

“You remember all that crap I said pretty well for someone who’s only marrying me to annoy my best friend.”

Max kicked his leg and said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” said Lucas. “You know, I think our wedding is going to be perfect.”

“Of course it will be,” said Max. “Because it’s going to be ours.”

This is technically set in between the two fics I’ve already written for The Window Series. But the lack of windows, extra Mileven content, and general standalone-ness of it made me decide to not link to the rest of the series in the beginning. But if you want to check out the other Lumax fics in the series, part one is here and part two is here.

[endowrites]

1, 3, 10, 11, 12, 13, 17, 25 for your writer ask meme! (feel no obligation to answer them all, there were just so many good questions!)

[Get to Know Your Author!]

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

Probably my first novel project?? I’m honestly still terrified of not being a good enough writer to tackle it just in general. I talked it over with a critique partner a few months back and we both agreed that it would work better as a novelette or short story, so that’s definitely what I’m going to end up doing should I choose to pursue it further, but yeah. I dunno.

(For context, it was a story that took the red herring from the movie “Ex Machina”, where Domhnall Gleeson’s character cuts open his arm because he thinks he might be a robot, and actually ran with it. I really liked the idea, but my first draft was far too info-dumpy and I can’t stand that ;_;)

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

I cannot write out of order. Not at all. It’s chronological or nothing for me. Part of it, I think, stems from the structure by which I operate just in general - the way I organize myself is very linear because my brain likes to go off on fractal-level tangents and I spiral down crazy rabbit holes that make me anxious and confused. I’ve got to keep things in order, and the best (and only, for the time being) way I’ve found to do that is to just stick with writing linearly. It sucks, because it means if I hit a snag it derails me for months sometimes, but I consider that a worthy consequence, considering the alternative.

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

I write almost exclusively to the Skyrim Atmospheres track. I put it on repeat and just zone out for a few hours. I listened to it so much last year, in fact, that it was my number one played song on Spotify for 2017 and skewed all my damn listening stats. grumble grumble

As for writing around people - if I need to crank out some words and don’t have any serious blockage problems, I will typically go to Starbucks or something for a few hours because being around a bunch of faceless people actually helps me for some reason. But if I’m blocked, the only thing that works is locking myself in my apartment, taking my router, chucking it out the window, and forcing myself to suffer through it alone. 

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

Precision! I used to waffle on for thousands of words, saying in twenty pages what could have been said in two. Figuring out what needed to be said and what didn’t, as well as to what varying degrees each proverbial dial needed to be tweaked to, was a long, arduous, uphill battle that I’m still struggling with even now.

12) your weaknesses as an author

Plot. I can’t plot to save my damn life. I’m honestly a pantser - I tried outlining, but it didn’t work so well. Pantsing is fun in the moment, but the instant the first draft is done and I try to make something coherent out of it, it all just... crumbles. That, and I just don’t have many profound story ideas that are worthy of being written about, tbh. It’s why writing short stories and original fiction has been so difficult for me. 

Something that’s taken me a really long time to come to terms with is the fact that I just need to write, and not worry about originality or even coherence at first. I just need to write.

13) your strengths as an author

I’m honestly a terrible judge, but based on what I’ve gleaned from critique partners and beta readers over the years, my dialogue and sentence structure are pretty decent. Dialogue scenes are always the ones that I find easiest to write, and the fastest to write, so I guess that’s a good thing! It’s kinda meant that over the past few months, almost all of my writing projects have focused on conversation moreso than action, and also why my main Voltron fic right now is stuck because I was a ninny and wrote myself into a fight scene corner ._.

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

Answered here!!

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

Oh man - there are a couple. I’ll limit myself to one from each of my main three WIPs right now.

Geartooth:

The castle is an open tomb, and Shiro is too friendly withthe dead to pull himself out.

Blonding (Final Draft):

The paperwork on Minato’s desk demanded diligence. The lists ofninja lining the book in his top drawer demanded understanding. The names inthe bingo book beneath it demanded blood. Those were emotions he was familiarwith, and they didn’t scare him in their familiarity.

But when he spun in his chair and looked out the otherdirection, the price of life lost its label. A village wasn’t another line in aspreadsheet. Children weren’t numbers.

He imagined Kushina, a bundle of blankets and warmth in herhands, cooing into the face of a baby that bore his face. There was no pricefor love. And yet here he was, the father to ten thousand children, and theyall seemed to look up at him like he knew the answers to every question.

Only a shadow could lead the shadowed.

‘You’ll do fine,’the portrait said again. Minato, for the life of him, hoped it was right.

Project Hubcap (my novel):

Gabriel narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, like you said you wouldn't dare touch myshit?" Marigold said, bending her knees and waving her hands back andforth like an off-duty circus performer. "'I wasn't touching anything,'"she mimicked, and Gabriel hissed. "'I was just looking around is all!Ignore the big blocky bulge in my back pocket; I'm just happy to seeyou!'"

"Alright, shut up!" Gabriel said. "You'vemade your point. Christ, you're even more of a bitch when you're drunk than youare normally."

"That's how it tends to work, sweetheart,"Marigold said, hiccoughing.

[bevioletskies]

20 questions [16/20]

characters: peter/gamora, guardians-centric

fandom: avengers academy/marvel cinematic universe

summary: wasp has a new competition in store for the students of avengers academy, and there’s money involved. so obviously, peter and gamora have to pretend to be a couple in order to win. wait, what?

chapter preview: the school festival commences, yondu gets some horrifying news, and peter and gamora discuss what love means to them.

word count: 5889 | total word count: 118k

a/n: chapters 15 through 17, also known as the chapters where peter and gamora watch the entire original star wars trilogy. yay?

ao3 | previously | next | masterpost

Unfortunately for Gamora, ever since she and Peter had passed Natasha’s little test, it seemed as if her social calendar was filling up rather unexpectedly, the floodgates having been opened for Janet to bombard her with pre-prom all-girl events, including sleepovers, salon trips, nail appointments, and...dancing lessons.

“I have danced plenty with Quill,” Gamora had said hastily upon seeing Janet’s digital event spreadsheet (it was colour-coded). “Thank you, Janet, but I’ll pass.”

She had also somehow gotten roped into being on the set-up committee for the fundraiser festival. So, on Thursday evening, she found herself hanging up decorations, while secretly wishing she was back on the Milano, watching The Empire Strikes Back with Peter (“Gamora, this movie is perfection”).

“I heard you guys got your outfits all sorted,” Janet said cheerily. The two of them were stringing up white holiday lights around the quad, while the other volunteers were making signs, setting out tables, and checking the electrical wiring. “Have you decided on your hair and makeup yet?”

“Not quite, but I figured I could consult you for that,” Gamora replied. Janet beamed - clearly, it had been the right response. “I also have a little surprise in my outfit, for Quill.”

“Well doesn’t that sound sexy?” Elektra purred from nearby, where she was painting the banner for the kissing booth. “I have a thigh-high slit in my dress. Matthew always did like my legs the best. What’s your surprise?”

“Nothing like that,” Gamora said, annoyed. “It’s my shoes, actually.” She found the picture of said shoes on her phone and held it out for the other girls to gather around and see. Janet let out a squeal of excitement.

“Oh, he’ll love that,” she sighed. “It’s very sweet of you.” She turned back to the task at hand. “And your six-month anniversary is this week, isn’t it? You have anything fun planned?”

Gamora froze, her hands still in mid-air in an attempt to detangle a section of lights. How could she have forgotten? The two of them had buckled down on their relationship “timeline” recently, mapping out the trajectory of their breakup in the way they planned for missions. In her defense, it wasn’t like she had a colour-coded digital spreadsheet. Hell, the Guardians’ only semblance of organization was a shwarma receipt taped to their fridge door, with their grocery list written on the back of it. Instead of check marks, it had tallies - they couldn’t be bothered to make a new list every time.

“Quill has a surprise for me,” she lied smoothly, recovering. “I have no idea what it could be or when it’s happening, but I trust him.”

“I’m sure it’ll be romantic as always. Your trip to New York was super cute,” Janet gushed, wrapping up the last of the lights. “Nat told me Peter was constantly cheering you on during training. I think it’s sweet how much he adores your badass-ness. I mean, who wants to be with someone who can’t appreciate a girl for everything she is, right?”

“Hear, hear!” Elektra called, raising her paintbrush in victory.

Gamora, feeling particularly bold, decided to embellish a little more. Partially because talking about Peter had become second nature as of late, but also because Elektra was starting to irritate her. “Quill walked into a door when first saw me during a combat exam. He told me it was because he’d been amazed by what he saw, that he’d never seen a girl like me before. It’s...kind of sweet.”

“Kind of? That’s the cutest thing I’ve heard all week, and I heard Lucky sneeze this morning.” Janet stared at Gamora, scarily serious. “Do you know how cute dog sneezes are? It seems pretty clear to me that you and Peter were made for each other.”

Gamora turned away, fussing at another knot that didn’t exist, hoping the others couldn’t see the mixed emotions written across her face. Made for each other, she scoffed to herself. She had told herself, time and time again, that her chance at a normal life had ended the moment Thanos had first stepped onto her homeworld, ceased to exist when he’d grabbed her by the ankles and hauled her away from her parents’ bodies. The very notion of love - any sort of love, be it familial, platonic, or romantic - was laughable for a girl like her, a child raised as a weapon. And yet, here she was, at this academy that she never thought would exist in her lifetime, meant to house all sorts of heroes, anti-heroes, anti-villains, and reformed villains alike, living their lives of various degrees of heroism, sprinkled with “normalcy”, whatever that meant. So yes, maybe romantic relationships were in the cards after all, but she was still so unsure of whether it could ever happen with Peter.

She had fantasized about it, of course, the different scenarios that could come about. Combat practice that ended with her pinning him to the ground (as always), leaning in to peck him on the cheek for his troubles. Him attempting to pass her notes in class - he already did that every now and then, asking for help with a certain question, or to meet with him after school, but she could imagine him to be the type to write song lyrics that made him think of her. A post-mission adrenaline rush, resulting in frenzied kisses against his bedroom door before it became too much and not enough, her practically throwing him down on the bed, straddling him in an instant, wondering why Peter’s belt was too complex to remove within seconds. That last one had featured in Gamora’s mind more than once, that was for sure.

Aside from what she was sure to be just her own imagination running wild, what Gamora couldn’t picture was how they would deal with the more unsavory parts of herself, the thoughts that lingered on what she had done and the people she had done it to. Her first kill at the age of nine. Her first massacre at the age of twelve. Inflicting physical torture by thirteen, and psychological warfare by the time she was fifteen. Gamora was getting better at tackling them all on her own, of course. She wasn’t quite as “gloom and doom” as Nebula, she didn’t think about the inevitability of death the way that poor Bucky Barnes did, but sometimes there would be a twitch in her muscles, or a glimpse of a face in the crowd, that would take her back to “before”. Sharing a bed with Peter had helped combat the nightmares, but it was when she was awake that her brain decided to take her psyche and play. She wasn’t about to tell him any of that, knowing it would result in him hovering, prodding, and fussing like he always did. She didn’t need him to take care of her, and he knew that, but he would try anyway.

Gamora didn’t return to the Milano until late into the night, wondering if any of the Guardians were even there. It was always a toss-up between them sleeping on the ship or back at the dorms, though Rocket was usually the most consistent presence on the Milano, since his own night terrors led to him tinkering away at 3 AM. It was something they never talked about whenever they caught each other wandering around, bleary-eyed and trembling, too numb to speak. “Hello?” Gamora called out as she entered the common area.

Peter was sitting on the couch in the dark, the tablet in his hand being the only source of light. It left a soft glow around his face, highlighting the darkness of the bags under his eyes, the visible clench in his jaw. He looked oddly serious until he seemed to have registered the sound of her voice, his head snapping back up. His grim expression was instantly replaced with his signature grin. “Gamora, hey. Wasn’t expecting you back.” He quickly closed what it was he’d been looking at, though she could have sworn she saw a picture of her face on the screen.

“Thought I’d take my chances, see if you were here instead of the dorms. You’ve been spending a lot of time on the Milano lately, more than usual,” she commented. She considered sitting right next to him, but it felt too intimate when no one else was around to fill the space. She settled for the armchair instead. “Any reason?”

He patted the armrest he was draped over. “Milano’s my girl. She was out of commission for so long, I guess I wanted to keep her company, like she’s a sick pet or something. Is that weird? Yeah, that’s kinda weird.”

Gamora shrugged. “Not that weird. Your attachment to the Milano is to be expected, considering all you’ve been through with...her,” she acquiesced. “What were you looking at?”

Peter glanced back at the tablet in his hands, as if he had forgotten it was there. “Going through our Google Alerts, actually. Pepper set it up for me so I could keep track of our press. Lots of stuff about you and me, especially with that video of Groot.”

“You still feel guilty,” she guessed, eyeing the near-permanent crease between his eyebrows. “Quill, it’s okay.”

“It’s not that, not anymore,” he sighed, leaning back. “It’s more like, there’s a lot more people invested in our ‘relationship’ than I thought, and not just our classmates. When we started this whole thing, I thought it’d just be Janet and Kamala, because they love that kind of stuff. But there’s drawings of us. There’s couples recreating the kissing selfie from Central Park. I asked Cap about this yesterday, and he said he gets the same thing with him and Carter, that it’s all part of the job, but it’s still freaking me out. He told me not to look into something called...fan...fiction?”

Gamora wasn’t sure what he was talking about either, but moved to sit next to him and clasp his hands in between hers. “And it will pass once word of our breakup spreads. We’ve seen what the media is like in this world - fast, fleeting. We will be yesterday’s news before tomorrow’s headlines are even written.”

Peter looked down at their entangled fingers, squeezing. “Profound. I like it.” she pulled away after a moment of comfortable silence, shooting him that warm, almost flirtatious smile once again. He never really knew what to expect whenever she looked at him like that, or how he was supposed to interpret it. He chose to pretend Gamora really was flirting with him, that she was inviting him to flirt back. “What?”

“Janet reminded me that our six-month anniversary is this week,” Gamora replied. “I told her you had a surprise for me.” She stood, moving towards the hall. “Anyways, I’m going to bed now.” He was disappointed to see her hand coming to rest on the handle of her own bedroom door.

“Wait, what are we doing for our six-month anniversary?” he called. His stomach turned slightly at how legitimate it felt as he said it, like they had been actually dating for six months instead of faking it for three.

“Like I said. Surprise me.” She grinned before disappearing into her room, leaving Peter feeling slightly disgruntled, but mostly stunned. Well, damn.

______

The entire Academy seemed to have woken up earlier than usual on Friday morning, eager for a school-wide event that, for once, wasn’t some sort of invasion or fight. Not to mention the fact it also got them out of attending class - Janet van Dyne, everyone’s friend, the perfect event planner, and secret genius.

As it turned out, Peter and Gamora were the only ones on the Milano that night, which made him somewhat curious as to why she had slept in her own room instead. She only seemed to do it whenever the others pointed it out and embarrassed her, but with them being alone...Peter shivered a little. Okay, maybe she had a point. There was no telling how stupidly brave he would try to be if there was no one else around to mock him for trying.

Regardless, they had a relatively peaceful breakfast together, chatting quietly about their respective festival gigs, enjoying the lack of interruptions or teasing from the others. It felt like all the clichés in the world coming together for Peter when he admired the way the early morning light illuminated Gamora’s face, the red undertones of her dark hair more prominent than usual. And if Gamora was eyeing the scruffy bedhead that Peter was sporting, wondering if he would object to her running her fingers through it, he didn’t need to know.

“By the way, a group of us are playing a surprise show at the end. Don’t tell anyone,” she said, setting her spoon down into her empty cereal bowl. “Me, Drax, Adam, Barnes, and Gwen.”

“That sounds amazing,” Peter replied through a mouthful of Cheerios. “In the quad?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “Janet’s got a couple cameras set up so she can film the show and put it online. Said it would be good for boosting the public’s perception of us, though she claims all the photos of our dates and the selfies that I’ve sent her are doing a fine job already.” She twirled the spoon around absent-mindedly. “I looked at some of the articles you talked about last night after I went to bed, and it’s even more than I realized. It’s honestly overwhelming how invested people are.”

“We’re a good-looking pair of badasses from space,” he shrugged. “In hindsight, not that surprising.”

“And so humble,” Gamora teased. “I suppose it sells better papers than Matt and Elektra. A law student and a socialite’s daughter is hardly worth anything beyond the society pages.”

After breakfast, they dressed and made their way to the quad, where it seemed as if every single student was currently bustling about, whether to help with last-minute setup, or to wait in nervous anticipation. Some students, like Nebula, had opted not to participate or volunteer, whether they were too busy, too lazy, or couldn’t be bothered (...like Nebula).

“Over here, Gamora!” Janet called cheerfully, gesturing for her to join Elektra and Colleen at their station.

“See you later,” Peter said, leaning in to kiss her without a spare thought. He was slightly alarmed to find Gamora also tipping her chin up in response to meet him halfway, an automatic movement on both their parts. Janet cooed in the background as their lips met briefly, before Gamora pulled away, biting her bottom lip in the way that made every thought evaporate out of Peter’s mind. He watched her leave, wondering when the careful calculation of every hand-hold, every kiss, had turned into second nature.

The fundraiser started off with a bang - literally, as Tony, Rhodey, and Pepper flew over the crowd, providing a light show with the use of their modified reactor beams - and the energy remained high throughout the day. Despite not being particularly close with Colleen or a big fan of Elektra, Gamora still found herself having fun with the other girls. Elektra especially was more endearing to her, once she stopped bragging about her and Matt’s exploits of both the hero and the sexual kind.

“I’m glad to see girls like us, with such terrible pasts, can be redeemed,” Elektra said privately to her during one of their water breaks. “But we must remember to never compromise on how powerful we truly are.”

“That’s a good way of putting it,” Gamora commented thoughtfully. “We still deserve a place to go home to, with people who love us, so we can love them and provide for them in return.”

“Which is why I hope Romanoff can see beyond her own past as well.” Elektra nodded at Natasha, who was standing across the quad, chatting with Clint. He was leaning against a tree, nonchalantly blowing bubblegum as he always was. They couldn’t hear the conversation, but he was apparently doing a good job of making her laugh. “She’s had her relationships with different kinds of boys on this campus, including a bit of a tussle with Matthew that I don’t appreciate, but there’s something about that weird one that has her captivated, even though they already didn’t work out. I confess I don’t understand.”

“He’s her best friend,” Gamora said quietly. “She probably trusts him with her mind and her heart more than anyone else. They’re both strong, in different ways, but they’re stronger together. He played an important role in her redemption, so her attachment was there from the start. She doesn’t want to know what life is like without him in it, and he came into his own full potential partially because of her guidance. It makes perfect sense.”

Elektra raised an eyebrow. “Honey, are you talking about them, or you and Peter?”

Gamora was unsure of how to answer, so her only response was to take another long drink from her water bottle. She found herself desperately wishing it was alcohol at this point.

Peter, meanwhile, was having a blast with Agent Coulson, whose fanboyish enthusiasm for all the various weapons that both Stark and Rocket had donated for their presentation couldn’t be contained. “You might be the only person who calls me Star-Lord consistently,” Peter told him.

“It’s a cool name,” Coulson replied with a shrug and an easygoing grin. “I wish I had an outlaw name.”

“Your name’s already pretty badass,” Peter said, smiling back. “Thor and his crew call you ‘Son of Coul’, like all the time. That’s already pretty cool.”

Coulson’s eyes widened. “Really? You think so?”

Peter patted him on the back. “Hell, yeah, dude!”

The other Guardians were enjoying themselves at their stations as well, with the exception of Nebula, who opted to walk around by herself and occasionally stop by Gamora’s spot to see if she was going to screw up (she hadn’t, of course). Rocket was giving engineering lessons to students wanting to get better at technology, Drax was challenging people to wrestle (though he drew the line at Hulk - he wasn’t stupid), and Yondu was putting on a “magic show” in which he drew caricatures of people using the yaka arrow. Mantis was using her empathic abilities to predict people’s futures with varying success, and yes, Groot was at the kissing booth, receiving cheek kisses and “ooh”s and “ahh”s of admiration from the majority of the student body.

Peter’s grin was so wide, he was sure he looked maniacal, but he couldn’t find himself to care. It was moments like this that left him in awe of the people had chosen to spend his life alongside - not just the Guardians, but everyone else who made being a hero so much fun. He could have never imagined a life like this after being abducted as a child, raised to be nothing more than a thief, and yet, here he was, living a life that was just so... good. Peter could imagine that Gamora and many others had felt the same way at one point in time or another, having lived in unspeakably abusive conditions with abhorrent people. He also hoped that they felt the same way he did about what this school was doing for them, what it meant to them.

He was broken out of his reverie when Gamora walked past him, and more surprisingly, with Nebula and Yondu in tow, Director Fury a few paces ahead of them. “Gamora? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, though she looked distressed, lying through her teeth. At his knowing glance, she relented with a sigh. “I’ll tell you later if I can, okay?”

Once again, Peter found himself watching her walk away, though now his mind was racing with the possibilities of what a meeting with Fury could possibly mean for his friends. It was like he had jinxed himself, thinking about how good everything was going. Clearly, someone was about to deal them a hand that they weren’t ready to take.

______

“What’s all this fuss about, Director?” Yondu said, as nonchalant as could be. He and Nebula seemed to be having a contest on who could sit in their chair more obnoxiously, while Gamora opted to stand a little off to the side, arms folded across her chest. Fury let out a long sigh, though it seemed more world-weary than people-weary (and there was a difference), settling down on the other side of his desk into his leather office chair.

“It’s distressing news for the three of you. Disturbing, even,” he said, his voice somber. “I’d advise you against telling the others, but I have a feeling you’re probably going to tell Quill anyways. But don’t tell the kid, alright? Groot doesn’t need this kind of stress at his age.”

“What is it?” Gamora asked. Nebula sat up a little straighter, hands coming to rest on her lap. Yondu followed suit, the jovial humour in his eyes evaporating near instantly.

"Seems Thanos wanted to send a message.” Fury leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk, steely-eyed gaze fixed on Yondu. “Got one of them Black Order people - and I don’t know which - after your Ravagers.”

Yondu shot out of his chair in alarm, fists clenched. Gamora took a cautious step forward in case he was about to deck Fury. “You better be lyin’ to me, Director,” he hissed.

“I wish I was.” He was doing his best to sound authoritative, though there was an underlying tone of sympathy that told them how serious it had been. “Forty-five of your men killed, somewhere out in space. I got in touch with the authorities, see if I could find out more, but there’s not much I can do at the moment but wait for their reply.”

Gamora and Nebula exchanged looks over Yondu’s head as he sat back down, stunned. “My boys,” he whispered. He sounded as if he were a million miles away, or more accurately, wanted to be millions of miles away, with his crew. “This is all on me, ain’t it. Tryna be a Guardian, and I get ‘em killed.”

"This is our fault, Yondu, I’m...I’m so sorry.” Gamora reached to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Thanos wants to hurt Nebula and I by hurting you.”

“You two don’t care about me!” Yondu snapped, slapping her hand away and turning to shoot her an ice-cold glare. “You only pretend to ‘cause Quill keeps me around.”

“We do care,” Gamora protested, frowning. “Do you know how often I meet with Director Fury, trying to convince him that you and Nebula have done something, anything that could possibly get you both to finally come on missions with us? You’re part of this family, Yondu, with or without Quill. Do not insult me by denying that very notion.”

He glowered for another moment before slumping over, sighing. He turned to look back at Fury. “At least tell me Kraglin’s okay. That boy doesn’t deserve to be done in, just ‘cause I’m here.”

“He’s the one who contacted the authorities about the hit,” Fury nodded, relieved that the worst of Yondu’s anger seemed to have passed. “I’m sorry to tell you all this, but I figured this secret wasn’t mine to keep. Now, Thanos himself wasn’t seen or heard from at the scene of the crime, so it could just be him sending a message instead of doing the deed himself. Either way, we’re on high alert. I’m not about to get his hands on any of you kids. Especially not you two.” He wagged his finger at Gamora and Nebula. “You’ve had enough to deal with, living your whole damn childhood out with him. He’s not gonna get a hair on anyone’s head if I have anything to say about it, and I’m sure you feel the same.”

Nebula, who had been silent the whole time, finally spoke. “I don’t have any hair on my head, Director. Same as you. But I suppose I can appreciate the sentiment.” She cast a glance over at Yondu, who was staring off into the corner of the room, gritting his teeth as if he were in pain. “Thank you for telling us.”

Fury couldn’t even hide his surprise, staring at her in utter confusion. “Alright, I’m kind of weirded out now. You kids go back to the festivities, and don’t let this spoil the rest of your day.”

______

It felt like coming home when Gamora picked up her guitar again, especially after the heaviness of Fury’s reveal. She played like her heart and soul depended on it, soaking in the enthusiastic (and a little off-key) sounds of her classmates singing along to words she had penned herself, every cheer and every clap driving her to push herself harder. What hit her most, however, was the unabashedly wide grins looking back at her. Despite the hardships that everyone had gone through to get here, they all looked so innocent in that moment, so unaffected by the looming horror that could approach them at any time.

The show ended soon after sunset, though the majority of the student population lingered in the quad, cleaning up and chattering excitedly about their favourite parts of the festival. Janet was flitting about as always, taking selfies with everyone and congratulating them on their various successes. Gamora, meanwhile, was dismantling her set-up when she heard footsteps behind her. I must really have it bad if I can tell who it is without looking, she thought, sighing.

“Hey, Quill. You enjoy the show?”

“You were awesome, as always,” Peter grinned, kneeling next to her so he could help with the complex wiring. “I love seeing you play. And it’s been a really long time, too.”

“Too long,” she agreed. “How about your demonstration? How’d that go?”

“Coulson nearly got me with the Destroyer once, but all he did was burn my hair a little.” He ran his fingers through his hair to show her a slightly singed chunk near his left ear. “No big deal, though.”

Finally giving in to the urge, Gamora reached over to ruffle it slightly until the burnt pieces were tucked out of sight. “I can help you trim that later, if you’d like,” she said softly.

“Sure,” Peter replied. “Hey, I was also thinking of watching Empire Strikes Back tonight, if you’re not too tired. We could head to the dorms instead? We helped raise a crap ton of money, we deserve to wake up without back pain.”

Gamora chuckled. It would be the perfect thing to keep her from letting the peril of Fury’s news plague her every thought. “I’m awake enough. As long as you help me pack up the rest of my equipment.”

He held out his hand almost immediately, pinky out for hers to loop with. “Deal.” She hooked their fingers together, eyes twinkling with mirth. Of all the things Peter had taught her about Earth, admittedly, she found this one to be one of the sweetest. A simple gesture he associated with his mom, now another thing that he shared with her.

______

Once again, Peter found himself distracted by the sight of Gamora lying by his side, cocooned in his sheets, watching the screen with the level of focus she usually reserved for combat. It was easy to tell by the concentration in her eyes that Gamora’s silence wasn’t out of boredom, but of engagement. Peter wondered if all the movies he’d been showing her before - romantic dramas and comedies, for the most part - were not for her. Instead, it was the adventures, the engaging characters, the world-building - that was the kind of stuff she seemed to love. The idealistic versions of their own world, things that reminded her of the happiest parts of their lives.

“You’re really loving this,” Peter commented as Yoda began training Luke. “I should’ve stuck to this stuff instead of the rom-coms. It’s more your style.”

“It’s not that I disliked the other movies,” Gamora said somewhat defensively. “It’s just...I’ve never really experienced romance, or romantic love. It’s hard to relate to something that I’ve never had.”

Upon hearing her confession, he began to wonder what she considered to be romantic. Her words implied that she based her understanding of romantic love off of what the movies showed her - Westley’s devotion to doing as Buttercup asked in The Princess Bride, Phil wanting to learn everything he could about Rita in Groundhog Day. Maybe he was wrong (and Peter found himself to be wrong more often than he’d like to), but it felt as if he were basically already doing those things.

When Peter had first met her, he would’ve joked that her idea of love was knives instead of flowers, and desired combat training in lieu of actual dates, but he knew her better now. He had seen her warm-hearted nature in equal parts to her fierce demeanor. She liked history, as evidenced by how immersed she had been on their “date” at The Met. She enjoyed nihilistic literature, and even though Peter didn’t understand it himself, he wanted to sneak a peek through her bookshelf and figure out what she already owned, so he could buy her more books that would make her happy. He wanted to sit by her side while she wrote songs, be her soundboard for lyrics that she couldn’t quite work out on her own. He wanted to hunt down every movie that he could hope to find that she would enjoy, so he could share as many evenings with her as possible, watching her expressions as she experienced them for the first time. And, in time, Peter wanted to help her on her journey that she never spoke about - rediscovering her home, her culture, her parents, in whatever way she could. There had to be something there, records, photos, videos, anything, that would make her feel like part of a whole again. Hell, he was incredibly gone for this girl.

Then, he got an idea.

“Question,” he said slowly after the movie was over. Gamora had ranted for a good ten minutes about the Darth Vader reveal, her face starting to redden as a result of it. She perked up a little, immediately recognizing the cue that had come to signal their incredibly long-standing game. “What’s romantic to you? Forget everything you saw in the movies, or out there with our classmates, or whatever else you’ve seen. What do you find romantic?”

She turned over onto her back, hands moving to absent-mindedly adjust her pillow as she contemplated the question. “I don’t need anything special,” she finally said. “Big gestures don’t impress me. That’s a sign of showmanship, not love.”

“Then what would be a sign of love to you?” Gamora tensed at this, wondering why Peter was looking so deeply into this particular topic. She could only hope that it was a precursor to something she’d been wanting, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up. This was all just conversation, wasn’t it?

“It’s the small things.” Another memory of her parents appeared to her like an old home movie playing in her brain as she considered the displays of affection she’d witnessed in her life. Her mother, who was terrible at cooking, attempting to make her father his favourite meal. She had burnt it terribly, and Gamora herself had complained at the time, but her father had eaten it regardless with a wide smile on his face. Or her father, who wasn’t the most creative of minds, but had some of the steadiest hands, stretching new canvases so her mother could paint beautiful landscapes. “Like remembering my favourite food, or finding some odd knick-knack that reminds them of me.” Her eyes flickered over to where her utility belt was, laid across Peter’s desk chair, where the multi-tool was tucked away. She had found it to be mostly useless, and tricky to handle correctly without having to take pause in what she was doing, something she couldn’t afford to do in combat. However, it had become one of her most prized possessions, not that she would ever tell anyone that.

“So you’d object if they brought you flowers?” Peter pressed on, determined.

“It’s not like I’d throw them out,” she protested. “It just wouldn’t interest me as much. It doesn’t feel personal.” He nodded, thinking it over. Maybe this whole “giant-crush-on-his-best-friend-slash-fake-girlfriend” thing wasn’t going to leave him with a broken heart after all. There would be time, what with everything he had learned about her these past few months. “Question for you, then. If you had to choose between sex and love, what would it be?”

He laughed, startled. He had never known Gamora to think too much about sex, and he certainly didn’t blame her, considering the horrors she’d experienced as a child, with adults commenting on her attractiveness like it was normal. “They’re not always mutually exclusive, you know. I mean, some people don’t want to have sex at all, and some people don’t want to be in relationships at all, but I’ve never personally felt that way myself.”

“Let me rephrase,” she interrupted, her hand pressed firmly against his chest as if to stop another Peter Quill ramble. “What do you value more, sex or love?”

“Love,” he replied easily. As he expected, she looked rather surprised at his answer. “Sex is great - at least, in my opinion - but I think love is always more fulfilling. Love’s what drove me and my mom to take care of each other, for her to share all the pop culture she grew up on, and for me to enjoy every second of it. Love is what got me and Yondu to bond instead of fight, the way the Ravagers were hoping we’d do. Love is why I fight so hard to keep you guys alive, and safe, and happy. It’s what keeps me going every day, to get up in the morning and be like, hell yeah, I wanna kick ass with the people that are important to me so that other people can live their lives without fear. Y’know? And love doesn’t have to be romantic.”

Gamora bit her tongue before she could ask him to elaborate on the kind of love he felt for her. She was too afraid to know the answer, to hear what she was sure was true. “That’s quite selfless of you. I’m impressed.”

“You wound me every time you doubt me, Gamora,” he said seriously, though his stern face was ruined by a cheesy grin. His expression softened as the moonlight began to creep through his blinds, reflecting the silver on her face, illuminating her impossibly long lashes and the light in her large brown eyes. It was a face he’d been waking up next to so often as of late, a face he wanted to wake up to every day. But the spell could be broken at any time, couldn’t it? Not unless he did something, soon. “What’re you doing tomorrow night?” Peter whispered.

“Nothing, really. Why?”

“It’s our six-month anniversary, of course. I think I know what my surprise for you is gonna be. And it’ll be awesome.”

a/n: i'm still banging their heads together, trust me. but oh boy, next chapter will lead to some epiphanies i'm sure you guys will want to see ;)

[7educon]

How to pass time on a long flight

Whether you're coming or going, international flights can be daunting for even the most seasoned travelers. For students leaving to study abroad, the experience can be magnified by the nervousness you feel about what life will be like once you touch down. How well you abate your anxiety lies in how well you plan ahead. Every person will deal with a long-haul flight differently, but most people will fare better in the air if they opt for distracting entertainment options.

You will want to have a rock-solid plan for frittering away several hours of your flight, and I don’t mean working; staring at spreadsheets and writing proposals may burn up hours, but it does not make them vanish. You want these hours to disappear almost without a trace. To become pace with Disciplines you can take help of many Overseas Education Consultant in Mumbai who guides you for career.  Think headphones and Hollywood blockbusters. Getting a lot of work done is fine—rarely do you have 15 consecutive hours without phone calls or texts to disrupt you, so I encourage bringing some work—but work will fail you when you get to the brutal middle hours of this ordeal. Headphones and Hollywood; don’t stray from this. To make a long flight infinitely more bearable, here are some tips that could help:

Bring Your Go-to Gear

When it comes to surviving flights, you can’t be bothered to lug around neck pillows, eye masks, earplugs, noise-canceling headphones, etc.—except on a long-haul flight. Your total carry-on haul should be limited, but you may want to consider some of these relatively small survival tools. Your body and brain will thank you for every small comfort you can provide, and the inconvenience of packing and carrying these around is dwarfed by the misery of 15 hours in flight with crying children, pilot announcements, engine noise and a major crick in your neck. Gear up.

Pack a pillow

There are tons of different travel pillows on the market. Find out which one works for you and go with it. Also, not all airlines provide blankets so you might want to bring your own … or at least a cozy sweater.

Choose your seat wisely

If you plan to sleep for most of the flight, the best seat is usually next to a window so you have something to lean against and you don’t have to worry about your seatmates waking you so they can use the loo. But if you think you’ll be awake, then get an aisle seat so you can get up and stretch your legs easily.

Buckle up

If you’re planning to sleep, make sure your fastened seat belt is visible over your clothing or blanket. That way, the flight attendants won’t have to wake you when they do their safety checks if the seat belt sign goes on. If your seat belt is visibly fastened, they won’t disturb you.

Wear comfortable clothes

The temperature on a plane is rarely comfortable for everyone. You might be freezing, while the person a few rows away finds it too warm. You just never know so it’s best to be prepared. Wear comfortable clothes on a long flight and pack some layers so that you can adjust as the temperature changes on the plane. Pack some cozy socks, too, but don’t go into the bathroom in just your sock feet – put your shoes on!

Board Relatively Rested

Don’t count on a long-haul flight as a good place to catch up on sleep—it’s not. As attractive and intuitive as it seems to get on a long-haul flight extremely tired, hoping to sleep the whole way, you are in for a world of hurt if you can’t sleep for any reason. You will be on the plane long enough to catch a few winks even if you are somewhat rested, and my advice is to take it when it comes; if your eyes start to droop, get out the eye covers and earplugs, and go with it. If you throw away a solid two-hour nap on a few extra rounds of Angry Birds, you might be angry at yourself later.

Build Your Bucket List

Not sure where you want to travel during university holidays? Use this time on the plane to build your study abroad bucket list, noting the food you want to try, places you want to visit, and experiences you want to have.( top overseas college admission education consultant in mumbai)

Create a list of challenges for yourself too. Here are a few examples:

·         Spend one full day speaking the local language.

·         Go on an adventure with a new friend.

·         Send a postcard back home from every country you visit.

·         Learn how to cook your favorite local dish.

·         Writing down your goals will get you even more excited for the adventures to come.

Distract Yourself with Guilty Pleasures

Every person will deal with a long-haul flight differently, but most people will fare better in the air if they opt for distracting entertainment options.

This means that if you're feeling anxious about living in a foreign country, the flight might not be the time to watch a horror movie. Instead, pick out movies and songs that make you feel happy or calm. Music should have a soothing quality (think: Sade, Sting or Santana). When it comes to movies and books, choose titles that make you laugh or those that make you feel hopeful. Don't worry about the artistic merit.  

Avoid coffee

If you have a weak system or are sensitive to caffeine, stay away from coffee.  If you want to argue about the diuretic effects of coffee, do it with someone else – as far as I’m concerned, coffee makes me have to go to the bathroom and keeps me awake, two negatives when it comes to flying. Simple alternative – stick with the ginger ale.

Get up and walk around

Move around and get that blood flowing. Sitting in one position for 14 hours can be dangerous, as you’re at a heightened risk for Deep Vein Thrombosis. I noticed that every hour or two, a ton of older people did laps around the plane (walking of course). I don’t think it was because they hurt that much more than us young people, it was more so that after 70 years of living on this planet, they know when to listen to their bodies.

Stay Healthy

You may feel cramped, have trouble sleeping and experience jet lag when you land, but a few tips can help you stay healthy on your flight.

Hydrate. Drink plenty of water well before your flight, and continue doing so once you’re on the plane. Air travel can cause some serious dehydration as a result of the lack of humidity in the cabin.

Wear layers and pack some vitamin C tablets so you can stay warm in the cold cabin and boost your immune system mid-flight.

Adjust your internal clock to that of your destination by timing your meals and sleeping patterns with the local time zone. If you wear an analog watch, change the time on it before you board, so it’s easier to identify the time.

Finally, relax and enjoy some time to yourself before the hustle and bustle of your new adventure!

[phyripo]

7 with EstLiet ?? :D

ANOn the fake relationship trope is one of my favorites! thank you c:

also featuring: an unnecessary subplot, Latvia being a shit, ambiguous Finland & Hungary pairings, and Orange Discourse™. really.

human names are pretty obvious, I think - Tuomi is Finland, should you be confused, and Liz is Hungary : D

also on AO3 because it got way too long

I call this

Moments of Gold

Eduard is singing Céline Dion.

Toris leans against the doorpost of the livingroom and watches the back of his bobbing head, his long fingers on the keyboardof his laptop. He’s a good singer, but Céline Dion is an unusual choice. She’sone of those artists he only listens to when something is wrong.

Putting his bag of groceries on the coffeetable, Toris walks into the room to tap his friend on the shoulder.

He jumps out of his chair, interrupting himselfin the middle of singing about how cold the wind was and clutching his heart.He slams his laptop shut with the other hand, cutting Céline off too.

“Don’t – do that, good god—”

Toris laughs. “Sorry. Don’t stop singing on myaccount. Big fan of Céline Dion.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles, cheeks flushing.

“What’s up?” Toris asks, leaning against thedining table, rifling through today’s mail.

“Why would anything be up?”

“Céline Dion,” he says distractedly. He finds aletter addressed to himself, but when he opens it, it’s just a reminder fromthe library that his books are past due.

“You know me too well.” Eduard shoots him aquestioning look, and Toris shakes his head. “But it’s nothing serious, don’tworry.” He pauses, bites his thumbnail. Toris waits.

After a while, Eduard stands up and startsunpacking the groceries, putting them in neat piles on the table according towhere they should go. Their ongoing strife over whether to put oranges in therefrigerator or not is won by Toris this round, mainly because he is the oneputting them away. He does take one before he puts the rest in the vegetabledrawer along with the apples and the lettuce, and starts peeling it when Eduardfinally sighs, sitting back down.

“I did something stupid,” he admits.

“Yeah?” Toris focuses on his orange butlistens.

Eduard huffs. “You know my cousin Liz, right?She’s getting married next month.”

“Hmh. I met her on your birthday last year.” Heinspects an orange part against the sunlight and, satisfied that there are noseeds in it, puts it in his mouth. It’s good.

“And Tuomi, you remember him too?”

“Your other cousin? With the tattoos and thepokerface boyfriend?”

Eduard nods. Silently accepts the orange partToris offers him. “Pokerface boyfriend is pokerface fiancé now. And that’s kindof where the problem starts.”

Intrigued, Toris raises his eyebrows. He has ahard time imagining what the problem could be. When Eduard starts to chew on anail again, he thrusts another piece of orange in his direction.

“Thanks. I, ah… I might have told them I wasdating someone. Just because, you know… They like to tease me about being theonly one who’s still single, but lately it’s just been – hitting a little closeto home, I guess.”

Toris swallows thoughtfully. “That’s not thatmuch of a problem, is it?”

A nervous laugh. Eduard pushes his glasses upand looks at his closed laptop very intently.

“Is it?” Toris asks.

“It is when you know that –uhm.” He takes his glasses off, which is as clear a sign as theCéline Dion. “I told them it was you.”

Toris puts his orange down.

“What do you mean, you told them it was me?”

“Exactly that. I just… It was the easiest. Iknow you, and they know you, kind of, and it’s… I’m sorry.” He looks veryforlorn, even when he puts his glasses back on. Toris can’t help it. He startsto laugh. It doesn’t help when his friend starts to splutter.

“I’m sorry,” Toris hiccups, “but you have toadmit that even for you, that’s ridiculous.”

“Even for me—” he starts indignantly,but Toris interrupts him.

“It’s weird, but I don’t mind, not really. Whyis it a problem? Just tell them we – we broke up if you want to stop lying.” Hepushes his hair out of his face, still grinning.  Trust Eduard to dosomething like this. When the silence stretches on, the smile slowly slips fromhis face. “Ed?”

“No, I— Remember when I told you about Liz’swedding? She’s holding it here in town.”

“Ye-es?”

“Tuomi lives quite a way out…”

Oh. He understands what Eduard is referring to. “We said he could stayover here.”

Eduard smiles wryly. “So that means we’ve gotseveral options. You tell me I’m an idiot and I admit to my cousins that I waslying, we pretend we’ve just broken up when Tuomi comes, or—”

“Or we pretend we’re a couple,” Toris finishes,and the sentence sends an odd little shiver of anticipation through his chest.He picks up the last piece of orange and bites it in half thoughtfully. “Couldwe pull that off?”

Eduard’s light eyes suddenly have a familiarmischievous spark in them, a pleased little something that makes the corners ofToris’s mouth curl up because it reminds him of ill-advised midnight bakingsessions  in college and propositions that ended with both of themhurtling down icy streets in dressing gowns. It’s been a while since he’s seenit. They’ve both been weighed down by their jobs lately.

“I think we could definitely pull that off,”Eduard says.

“Only one way to find out.”

Eduard flips the lid of his laptop up, silencesCéline Dion when she starts wailing again, and opens up an honest-to-godspreadsheet. Toris doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

Eduard puts everything in his spreadsheet thathe seems to think is relevant for them to think of if they want to portray aconvincing couple. Apparently, he convinced his family that they have beentogether for a few months, since the beginning of the year. He’ssuitably bashful about that.

It’s weird, but Toris mainly thinks it’s reallyfunny and gladly teases him about it. The whole situation also makes for goodleverage to get Eduard to do laundry or feed the hamsters.

A lot of things on the list don’t require muchwork. The upside of them having lived together for most of the past of sixyears is that they are well aware of each other’s habits, idiosyncrasies andpreferences in many things. There are plenty of pictures with them both in it,or pictures of either one of them taken by the other. They have many sharedexperiences, and it’s pretty amusing to give what actually happened at certaintimes a romantic twist. It leaves them choking on laughter multiple times, justimagining themselves taking walks on the beach or things like that.

The most awkward thing is when they get to thepoint, about a week before Eduard’s cousin will be coming over to stay for afew days, where they realize that a certain degree of intimacy will be requiredto make the whole thing believable.

After Toris refuses to quit when Eduardsuggests so, the man sighs, pushes his glasses up nervously and says, “Then weshould practice.”

Which is how Toris finds himself trailing hisfingers down Eduard’s arm when he passes him by on the way to work in themorning, and that is actually rather nice. Grounding, in a way. It’s also whythey gradually shift closer together on the couch until Eduard curls his longlegs up and leans into Toris’s side as he reads a book on his tablet, and it’sodd, different, but not weird.

Neither of them are tactile people, but theyare comfortable with each other. And good thing.

They’re sort of avoiding the subpoint on thespreadsheet that says ‘kissing(?)’ – but, hell, if they don’t want to kiss,then that’s none of Tuomi’s business, is it?

The last point has them quickly moving some ofToris’s stuff to Eduard’s bedroom, because it’d be stupid to ask Eduard’scousin to crash on the couch when the two of them have supposedly been sleepingtogether for months.

They lie on the bed for a while, staring at thewooden slats of the ceiling, their forearms touching lightly. It’s a little narrowfor two grown men, but they’ve had worse – it was decided they would take twotents on holiday after the first camping trip.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Eduardasks. Toris turns his head to look at the man’s familiar profile, the steadymovement of his chest. His arm is rather cold despite the summer heat theycan’t quite keep out of the apartment.

“Sure,” Toris says. “It’ll be fun, Ed. Don’tworry about it.”

He props himself up an elbow so he can lookdown at Eduard, hair brushing his cheek. They both chuckle. Eduard pushes theoffending strand behind Toris’s ear.

“If you say so,” he says, still smilingfaintly. His hand is cool on Toris’s cheek when it slips back down.

Toris is quite unsure what he’s supposed tomake of that moment later, but he knows it felt nice, and for now, he’s contentto leave it at that.

Eduard’s cousin Tuomi is much the same as Torisremembers him from that one time they met, if less drunk. He also seems to haveaccumulated even more tattoos since then, which astounds Toris. He isn’twearing an engagement ring, but cheerfully explains that his fiancé, who’s outat sea right now, isn’t allowed to wear jewelry so he thought it would bestupid to get rings. Eduard lights up when the man places his guitar in theliving room, which makes Toris grin. He knows Tuomi is a professional sessionguitarist, so he looks forward to hearing him play at some point.

They’re a musical family, he realizes not forthe first time – their cousin Liz is a songwriter, and Eduard works in musicproduction himself. He wouldn’t be surprised if they’re going to come up withan embarrassing parody song for the upcoming wedding.

Toris and Eduard are in luck that none of theirfriends are in the habit of dropping by unannounced, though Toris does have tofield an awkward call from a very intrigued Raivis, their short-term collegeroommate, while Eduard shows his cousin around the apartment.

He finds the both of them on the crampedbalcony when he’s done, and grimaces at Eduard when raises his eyebrows inquestion. The man chuckles a little, but he doesn’t know that Toris instructedRaivis to send as many embarrassing texts as possible.

The three of them sit there for a while,talking amicably about this and that and nursing cold drinks. The weather hasbeen sweltering for the past few weeks; Liz picked a good time to get married.Toris is very conscious of the way he puts his bare feet up on Eduard’s chair,toes barely-brushing against his thigh. Eduard seems less conscious of how hekeeps brushing his fingers over Toris’s ankle, but perhaps he’s just better atacting.

For dinner, Toris goes and gets Thai down thestreet. Eduard steals even more from him than usual.

No one moves from the balcony until it’s pastmidnight, and Eduard might have taken some time off but Toris has worktomorrow, so he really needs to go to sleep. Tuomi yawns demonstratively anddeclares he’ll follow the example, so they all traipse inside and say theirgoodnights.

Toris and Eduard don’t look at each other whilethey shuck their clothes, a sudden awkwardness settling over the bedroom.Still, Toris is not going to wear anything more than his boxers and a t-shirt;he has no desire to get heatstroke. He sneaks a glance at Eduard when they’reboth lying on their back again, single sheet only pulled up to their hips. Healways looks odd without his glasses on, with his hair falling away from hisforehead. He looks at Toris too. Squints.

“Are your eyes that bad?”Toris asks. “We’re practically crammed together.”

Eduard huffs indignantly. “You know they are.Don’t mock my poor eyesight.”

“I’ll mock you all I want.” But he laughs,happy that the awkward moment has shattered.

“Shut up,” Eduard mumbles, but he can’t hidethe fact that he’s smiling before he turns on his side, away from Toris. “Goto sleep.”

“Night, Ed.”

“Goodnight.”

They’ll be fine.

Unsurprisingly, Eduard is already gone from hisbed when Toris’s alarm goes off. The guy always has been an insanely earlyriser. Toris goes through his morning routine without running into him, though;he’s probably out on the balcony already, maybe listening to music. He does,surprisingly, meet Tuomi, who wanders bleary-eyed but cheerful into the kitchenwhile he’s eating breakfast.

“Please don’t tell me your whole family is likethis,” he sighs.

“Like what?” Tuomi lifts a banana from thefruit bowl. “Do you have any oranges?”

“Early risers. Oranges are in the fridge.”

“The fridge?” he asksincredulously, but he does open it. “I’ve never met anyone who puts theiroranges in the fridge. Also… I don’t know. You’re up early too.”

Toris shrugs, mildly affronted that no oneappears to understand the proper method of storing oranges. He finishes hissandwich while Tuomi peels the orange, then goes to brush his teeth. When hereturns to the kitchen, he does run into Eduard, who’s winding his headphonesaround his phone and wearing a bathrobe. The balcony is chilly in the mornings.

“Hey,” Eduard says, both of them standing inthe narrow door opening, “off to work, hm?”

“Yeah.” Toris flicks a glance at Tuomi, whogestures with a piece of orange.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” he says, grinning.

Toris looks back at Eduard, momentarilyconfused, and then realizes the domestic picture they paint; he in his tackywork shirt and Eduard with his messy hair and bathrobe, hovering in the doorwayjust before he leaves. Tuomi thinks they’re shy. Eduard messes up his hair evenmore when he runs his fingers through it; Toris catches his bony wrist beforehe can start chewing on his nails again and meets his eye.

“I’ll see you this evening,” he says, softlybut probably loud enough for Tuomi to hear. “Have fun.”

“Yeah, no, we will,” Eduard stutters. “Have agood, uhm…”

Toris looks up at him steadily, searching thefamiliar light eyes until Eduard gives a minuscule nod. Then, trying not tothink about it, he leans up to press their lips together. It’s a little toohard to even be considered a kiss, and barely lasts a second, but Toris canfeel himself flushing, for once not from the heat, so he waves at Tuomi anddashes to the front door so fast he nearly trips over his own feet.

Outside, he leans against the wall and tries tocalm his heart. That was ridiculous. They should definitely get better at that.

Still. He touches his lips. Shakes his head. Hebrushes his hair away and rushes down to catch his bus. It’s going to beanother long day.

“You look tired,” is the first thing Eduardsays to him when he gets home. He’s in the kitchen, making dinner while hiscousin sets the tiny table outside.

“Well, I am.” He pulls his red workshirt over his head and throws it vaguely in the direction of the washingmachine at the end of the kitchen. The tank top he wears underneath is stickingto his back.

“Sorry.”

Toris grunts vaguely in reply, then hooks hischin over Eduard’s shoulder to look at the pans just in time for Tuomi’sreturn. Eduard smells like the shampoo he uses, which Toris belatedly realizesis a weird thing to notice, and he shivers when Toris’s hair, which has beenescaping from its ponytail all day, brushes against his neck. Tuomi only smilesand nods at them, taking some cutlery outside.

“That’s a good one,” Eduard says softly, movingthe shoulder that Toris’s chin is resting on.

“I know.” Toris smiles. “How long until this isdone? Can I take a shower before dinner?”

“Go ahead. It’ll simmer for a while.” Hegestures with his wooden spoon, which makes Toris laugh. He feels, more thanhears, the man huff, shoulder jumping.

He promises Eduard to be right out, and takes awonderfully cool shower, letting the water soothe his sore muscles. He wishes hewere as passionate about his job as Eduard is, instead of being stuck in thatstore day after boring day. It isn’t that he hates it, but it isn’t what hewants for the rest of his life either.

Well. This is not the time to think about that.

Dinner is pleasant; Eduard and Tuomienthusiastically share stories about their day, and Tuomi plays his guitaruntil the downstairs neighbor yells up at them to stop making so much noise.When Toris feels his eyes start to get heavy, he first lets his head drop on Eduard’sshoulder, which is actually not that pleasant at all, since it’s rather pointy,and then announces he’s going to bed. He stands up. Stretches. He looks down atEduard, whose glasses flicker with the reflection of the candle on the table.

“Goodnight,” the man says softly. He tilts hischin up, as if in question. Toris inhales sharply in realization.

“Night,” he returns. He puts his hands on thearmrests of Eduard’s chair and leans over to him until his hair brushes againsthis face, which makes him chuckle and push his fingers into it. Their legs aretucked together, Toris leaning against the chair. He, again, tries not to thinkabout anything, but his pulse has skyrocketed and he is very keenly aware ofTuomi sitting just there and how warm Eduard’s fingers are.

But his lips are even warmer, and this timeit’s a kiss for sure, a soft, short brush of their mouths. Toris swallowsheavily when he stands up straight, while Eduard clears his throat.

“Goodnight, Toris,” Tuomi says cheerfully, and itsnaps him back.

“Right, you too.” He scampers inside.

What in the world is going on here?It’s not even weird to kiss him, it’s just… Good.

Which is… Probably a bit not good,all things considered.

When Toris wakes with a start, it’s still dark,and he is shaking, breathing unsteadily. His heart pounds in his throat.

He can’t remember the dream – he hardly evercan – but he knows enough to have to sit up on the edge of the bed and put hishead in his hands. Try to calm his breathing. He can do this. In, out.

“Toris?” Eduard mumbles from the dark. There’sthe snap of his glasses opening. Toris doesn’t think he can speak withoutwheezing.

“Hey.” Rustling, then the mattress dipping nextto him. A hand on his back. Slow circles, ever larger.

Toris presses his fingertips against hiseyelids until the dark dances with sparks. Eduard tangles his fingers in hishair silently, and he leans back into the touch.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be. Do you want some water?”

Toris nods, but regrets doing so when Eduardleaves for the kitchen. He stares at the crack of light coming in from the opendoor until he comes back, then takes the glass of water with a small smile.Eduard sits back down next to him and resumes whatever he’s trying to do to hishair. He hasn’t turned any lights on, for which Toris is grateful.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Toris sayseventually, when he has drained his water. He looks at Eduard with one eye, andthe man shakes his head.

“You know I don’t mind.” He bites the thumbnailof his free hand. “I didn’t know you still had nightmares.”

Toris shrugs. “They don’t happen often anymore.Not like in college.” He studies his glass. Presses it against his wrists.“Usually when I’m sleeping somewhere new.”

“Some— Oh. You could have told me. We couldhave used your room.”

“I didn’t think about it.” Then, when he feelsEduard’s fingers tighten ever so slightly, “Honestly. That’s how seldom theyhappen. I guess I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Okay.” Eduard’s hand is slipping down to reston Toris’s neck. “If you say that, I believe you. Please talk to me if you needto, though.”

Toris half-laughs, “You wouldn’t be a very goodboyfriend if I couldn’t do that, right?”

“Right,” he breathes. Toris can’t help but lookup at him, and when their eyes meet, he becomes very aware of every part of hisbody that’s touching him all of a sudden. Their thighs and arms and Eduard’shand on his neck. They both just breathe.

“Thanks,” Toris eventually says. He soundsraspy.

“No problem.”

Again, Toris thinks, what in the world is goingon?

The next day, Toris sludges his way through amorning shift, and when he comes home, he find Tuomi arguing with Liz overthe proper storage method for oranges. He watches the two of them for a while,dumbfounded as to what she is even doing in his apartment, and where is Eduardanyway? They’re so engrossed in their discussion that they don’t even seem tonotice him. Much as he wants to chime in with his opinion, agreeing with Liz,he decides to back out to go and splash some water on his face.

Eduard is in the bathroom. He’s toweling hishair dry at top speed, and not wearing a shirt. Toris identifies a little wetlump of fabric on top of the laundry hamper as a familiar t-shirt.

“Toris?” Eduard squints at him.

“Yeah,” he says, faintly amused. “What’s goingon?”

“Liz is going on,” Eduard explains unhelpfully.He wrings his shirt out over the shower drain and throws it into the laundry.Then, he puts his glasses on and looks surprised about the fact that isactually in the laundry.

“Liz is going on?” Toris laughs. “She’s arguingwith Tuomi about oranges in the kitchen, so I suppose you’re right, but still.What’s she doing here?”

“Oranges? Nevermind that.” Eduard hobbles tohis bedroom, probably to pick out a new shirt. Toris wanders after him afterquickly splashing his face. He leans against the doorpost and doesn’t noticethat Eduard’s chest is still wet because is not looking at it. At all.

“She showed up for lunch,” Eduard explains whenhe has a clean shirt on. “Which is fine, it’s been fun, but she and Tuomi alsomanaged to get water all over me. Have you eaten?” he adds, as an apparentafterthought.

Toris nods.

“Good. How do you feel about going to the lakethis afternoon? I’m afraid Tuomi and Liz are going to break our house down ifwe stay here, and I don’t think Mrs Grumpy downstairs would appreciate that.”

Laughing, Toris agrees to a trip to the lake.No movement will be required at the lake; maybe he can even take a nap, as longas they take a parasol… Which they don’t have, he’s pretty sure. A tree willdo.

He did not anticipate the orange argumentlasting all the way through the car ride there.

Later, when the sky is already turning vaguelyorange and Eduard is, inevitably, turning vaguely red, and Toris didn’t take anap but he is covered in sand and Liz is wearing Tuomi’s shirt as a cape, thefour of them lounge around by the edge of the lake until Tuomi proposes to goget his guitar, which he insisted on bringing, from the car. He and Liz start ascuffle over his shirt. Eduard grins widely, and Toris has to smile at him.

“You feeling alright now?” Eduard asks in anundertone. He pushes his glasses up on his sweaty nose, scrunching it a little.

“Yeah.”

Eduard nudges him with his shoulder. “Good.”

Liz, having won the battle for Tuomi’s shirt,flops down across from them, spilling sand everywhere when she shakes out herlong hair, wavy from the water.

“It’s good to be out for a while,” she says. “Ihad no idea so many preparations went into a wedding. Then again, I guess it’sonly as complicated as you make it.”

The both of them mumble vague confirmations.Eduard sags into Toris a little, like he does when they’re on the couch. Torisshakes his head at the weird tense of the thought; as if it’s a habit thatthey’ve had for a long time instead of a week-old one they forced uponthemselves. Even if forced is a big word.

“But look at you two!” Liz continues. And thento Tuomi as he returns with his guitar, “Aren’t they adorable?”

Tuomi just laughs, and Eduard makes anembarrassed noise, hiding his face against Toris’s shoulder. The sand scrapesunpleasantly between them. How did it get there, even?

“Aw,” Liz continues, grin wide, “don’t be likethat, Ed. We’re happy for you!”

“They’re shy,” Tuomi mumbles, plucking at hisguitar, gently tuning it.

“Only because you’re embarrassing,” Eduardretorts, though he’s still leaning on Toris’s shoulder.

He doesn’t move for a while, even as Tuomistarts playing, and Liz joins him in a medley of classics sung in terribleharmonies. Clearly, Eduard is the best singer in the family. When Liz asks toplay the guitar for a minute, Tuomi orders her to go wash the sand off first,which results in her pointing out how much sandier than her Toris is, which inturn, of course, results in all of them splashing into the water, even Tuomi.

While Toris is attempting to rinse the sandfrom his hair, leaning back into the lake, Eduard hovers nearby. He shakes hishair out. Raises his eyebrows at him in question.

Eduard smiles wryly and asks, “You wouldn’thappen to know why Raivis has been sending me texts with kissy faces in them,would you?”

“No idea,” Toris says, widening his eyes in anattempt at an innocent look, but he starts laughing at the same time, so it hasvery little effect.

“Sometimes I really don’t like you very much,”Eduard sighs. Toris only laughs louder, then gets a mouth full of water whenEduard pushes him over. When he resurfaces, spluttering, his friend isgrinning, the familiar sparkle in his eyes once again.

“What? You can’t dunk me,” he says,faux-innocent. “I’m wearing glasses.”

But these are old glasses, Toris knows that,worn specifically because they might get wet. And he’s not giving up a chanceat revenge. He lunges at Eduard, a battle cry that’s half laughter ripping fromhis throat. They both go under the cool water this time, and up again, andEduard splashes water into Toris’s face when Toris attempts to trip himunderwater. There are drops sliding down his glasses, but he’s grinning whilethey splash around like children.

After a short while, their battle dies down,and Eduard slides his glasses up into his hair. They’re submerged up to halftheir chests now. Tuomi and Liz are shouting in amusement from nearer theshore. Toris sees Eduard’s gaze flick over to them, though he can’t imaginehe’s seeing much of anything at the moment. They hover close together.

Eduard’s fingers are on Toris’s waist, andToris’s own hand floats somewhere near his chest. Fingers curling. He looksover his shoulder at Eduard’s cousins. Liz waves. Tuomi winks. He looks back atEduard. His eyes are sharp without the glasses framing them.

When Eduard leans forward to push Toris’s wethair away from his face, Toris expects the kiss. He touches Eduard’s chest.

He doesn’t expect it to last.

But it does.

It lasts long enough for him to wrap both hisarms around Eduard’s neck, pulling himself up so they’re the same height. Totaste the water clinging to his lips. Feel the long fingers slide down hisback. Eduard is warm. Toris feels overheated.

He can’t say how long it really was, but whenthey break apart, the hooting coming from the shore snaps them both back toreality.

“Get some, Ed!” Liz shouts. Tuomi breaks downlaughing.

“We’re, uhm…” Eduard starts, and doesn’tcontinue.

“We’re getting good at this,” Toris offersbreathlessly, looking anywhere but his face.

The only reply he gets is a weak, “Reallygood.”

By the time they’re back home, everyone isexhausted, so they take turns showering and crash. Toris is grateful for thefact that he doesn’t really have to talk with Eduard.

“Night, Ed,” he says.

“Goodnight,” Eduard replies. “Good dreams.”

“Good dreams,” Toris mumbles into the dark. “Ihope.”

Only two more days.

The next day, a Friday, dawns as sunny as therest of the month, and with Toris pinned in place by half of Eduard’s weight ontop of him. It is very uncomfortable.

“It’s too warm for this,” he mumbles,attempting to push him off. And, ew, they’re sticking together. “Why did youthink that was a good idea?”

“’Cause ‘m very smart, ‘s why,” comes theunexpected, barely decipherable reply, muffled into Toris’s shirt.

Toris has a hard time believing that at thisexact moment. He pushes at Eduard until he moves, looks at the clock and seesthat it is still insanely early – of course, or Eduard would have been up – butnow he’s awake, so he might as well go and take a short shower. With anabsentminded pat on Eduard’s head, he hobbles to the bathroom.

When he’s done, Toris finds Tuomi in thekitchen once more. He is trying to feed the hamsters.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi, Toris. Off to work again?”

“Hm, no. I’ve got the day off. Just couldn’tsleep.”

“It’s the heat.” Tuomi nods in sympathy.

Toris ambles down to the mailboxes after eatinga slice of bread with some honey, saying hi to their grumpy downstairs neighboron the way and speedwalking away from the overzealously religious gentlemannext to her. He has no desire to try to be converted today.

There is a letter addressed to him in the mail,his name and address printed on a neat label. His heart leaps into his throat.He quickly takes the mail back to their apartment, where Eduard is now alsofloating around in the kitchen. His fingers shake when he fumbles the envelopeopen. Eduard chews his disgusting cornflakes slowly, obviously staring at him.

Dear Mr Laurinaitis, Toris reads, and then he has to take a deepbreath before reading the next line. When he does, he presses his lips togethertightly to stop a loud yell from escaping.

“Toris?” Eduard asks softly. He looks up athim, clutching the paper. Grins so widely that his cheeks hurt, lower lipcaught between his teeth. Eduard’s eyes widen. He puts his spoon down and jumpsup.

“Yeah?”

“Yes!” Toris bursts, waving the letter back andforth. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Eduard utters a cry of triumph and throwshimself at Toris, nearly knocking him over with the force of his hug – andnothing about that is acted, Toris can feel it in his bones. Eduard knows howanxiously he’s been waiting for this message, was more confident than Torishimself that it would be a positive one. He wraps his arms around Eduard’sneck, burying his face in them.

“I told you,” Eduard mutters into his ear. “Ifucking told you, Toris.”

“I know, I know.” He pulls his head back alittle, and somehow it’s the most natural thing in the world to lean hisforehead against Eduard’s, their noses touching. Toris is still unable to stopsmiling, and his vision is slightly blurry beyond the turquoise of his friend’seyes, but it doesn’t matter. Eduard’s hands are on his back, barely-moving intiny circles. What part of this is acted, if any part, he can’t tell, and thatdoesn’t matter either.

“Congratulations,” Eduard whispers, his breathhot on Toris’s skin. He slides his fingers around his jaw slowly, and somehowthis is worse, and at the same time so much better than kissing him. They areclose without doing anything else, just breathing. Their legs touch, from kneesto hips. Never before have they done anything like this, but Toris wishes thatthey would. It makes him feel safe. It also makes him feel… Tingly.

A faint cough pulls them both out of theirweird stasis.

Tuomi looks amused, pretending as he is to bevery interested in the lock screen of Eduard’s tablet.

“Uhm,” Eduard says. He removes his fingers fromToris’s face and steps back.

“Should I go for a walk?” Tuomi asks, nowlooking up through his pale eyelashes. “It seems as though you two havesomething to celebrate.”

Eduard actually glances back at Toris as ifasking for an answer to that, but he shakes his head. If anything, he isn’tsure what’ll happen if they’re left alone now, when the warm air seems tocrackle between them. Whatever that is, it probably isn’t much good.

“Sorry,” Eduard just tells his cousin, butTuomi waves it away.

“And congratulations, on whatever that is,” headds, at Toris.

“Oh, well.” He starts grinning again, unable tohelp himself. He catches an undeniably fond look on Eduard’s face. “I’ve got anew job! The historical library in town is – was, I guess – looking for a newcustodian. And it’s me!” He waves a little, awkwardly. Someone like Tuomi, withhis tattoos and his guitar, probably isn’t that interested in old books andwould think it is incredibly boring to hang around them all day, but Toriscan’t imagine anything better. He loves history, as much as Eduard loves musicand his freaky computer codes and the disgusting cereal.

“Congratulations!” Tuomi repeats, moreheartfelt this time. Shaking Toris’s hand enthusiastically, he adds, “That doescall for a celebration! How about I make dinner tonight?”

Eduard makes a strangled noise. Tuomi rolls hiseyes at him.

“I promise I won’t burn down your house. You’ve got tolet that go, Ed, honestly.”

Burn down their house? Alarmed, Toris looksover at Eduard, then back at Tuomi.

“It was only the kitchen,” the man assures him. Not veryreassuringly. “I was fourteen! I panicked!”

“I don’t think Uncle Daniel ever forgave you,”Eduard muses.

With a bright smile, Tuomi says, “I don’t thinkhe did! That’ll be fun at Liz’s wedding tomorrow. Toris, care for some groceryshopping?”

Even when he’s in Eduard’s car, Toris is unsurehow he got roped into this.

Grocery shopping with Tuomi is fun, butexhausting. He bounces through the supermarket, pointing out things he likes toToris from time to time, talking about his fiancé and who he has played guitarfor lately and the song he and Eduard have made for Liz’s wedding. He actuallysings a few bars of that one, which results in an employee giving him a verystrange look indeed, but he seems not to care. Toris is vaguely impressed.

“You know,” Tuomi says, when they’re finallyback outside, the heat slamming into them like a wall, “I really amvery pleased about you and Eduard.”

“Oh?” Toris asks faintly, feeling a trickle ofguilt settle in his stomach.

“Yeah!” He shoves their shopping bag into thetrunk of the car and wipes his messy blond hair out of his face. “You’re goodfor him, I think that’s obvious. Whether as a friend or, you know, a boyfriend.Ed deserves to be happy.”

“That he does,” Toris can’t help but agree.

Tuomi nods slowly, opening the driver’s sidedoor.

“I think you make him happier.” The words aresoftly spoken, but Toris has to lean against the scorching exterior of the carfor a few seconds when they seem to hit him square in the chest like an evenbigger wall.

When he thinks about it – imagining the future,he’s always pictured Eduard there, in some undefined role, but next to him.What if he wouldn’t be? The thought makes him shiver.

“Toris?” Tuomi asks from inside the car.

“I think he makes me happier too,” Toris tellsthe shimmering air over the parking lot.

They spend the afternoon in a nearby park.Tuomi plays the guitar and Eduard refuses to sing until Toris goads him intoit. He really is very good.

This leads to Tuomi telling Toris that the bothof them used to be in a choir – Eduard looks mortified to have this revealed,especially when Tuomi turns out to have a picture saved on his phone of Eduardas a little boy in a frankly adorable purple outfit. The cousins scuffle overthe phone. Toris laughs and doesn’t complain when Eduard flops over his legs afterthe inevitable defeat.

Later still, Eduard anxiously chews on hisfingernails while Tuomi putters around in the kitchen, having shooed him outminutes before.

Without looking up from his book, Toris reachesout and tugs his hand down. He lets his fingers linger on the warm skin of hiswrist and reads the same paragraph three times without parsing a single word.Eduard is still.

Tuomi’s spaghetti tastes delicious. Toris makessure to compliment him profusely until he breaks down laughing and Eduard pushesat his shoulder in embarrassment.

A cool wind rolls into the city by nightfall,so they move inside and play some cards. When Tuomi proposes to turn it into adrinking game, Toris grits his teeth and breathes slowly. He’s trying to starea hole into the tabletop when he feels Eduard’s long fingers curl around hiswrist, then down to his palm and between his own fingers, tangling their handstogether.

“I don’t drink,” he tells Tuomi, who shrugs andtilts his head curiously, but doesn’t ask anything. Eduard squeezes his handslightly.

That night, when they’re both crammed intoEduard’s bed again, Toris finds his friend’s arm and runs his fingers down thewarm skin, feeling goosebumps rise under his fingertips.

“Night, Ed,” he says.

“Goodnight.” He sounds hoarse.

How will this end?

The next day, Tuomi and Eduard put thefinishing touches on the embarrassing song they created for Liz in the morning,and before the afternoon, all three of them walk through the heat to where thewedding will take place, which is just around the corner of the street. Torisfeels slightly guilty about coming along, since he has only been invited as‘Eduard’s boyfriend’, but he can’t very well voice that thought while Tuomi isstill right there, can he?

Toris is caught, for the first time that he canremember, by the thought that Eduard looks good. He has gotten abit of a tan lately, and the top buttons of his neat white shirt are undone,revealing the dip of his throat. Objectively speaking, Toris knows he’sgood-looking, if a bit dorky most of the time, but he’s never… Noticed.Never looked at Eduard and thought, yes, now that’s someone I want to—

He shakes himself. He doesn’t really thinkthings like that anyway, not often.

Not until he really knows someone.Until he’s learned to care about their personality and oddities and the waythey bite their nails or sing along to Céline Dion when they’re stressed.

Oh, god.

How long has he been falling in love with hisbest friend without even realizing it?

The wedding is beautiful; Liz looks gorgeous,and she seems so happy that Toris feels himself get a little emotional too.Although that might also have something to do with Tuomi blowing his nose nextto him. Eduard can’t quite hide his laughter.

Eduard’s parents arrive later in the afternoonto congratulate Liz and her brand new spouse. Toris and Eduard share one lookand bolt.

“We forgot about my parents!” Eduard hisses,while they’re hiding behind the cake, which is a giant thing in several shadesof green. It tasted great. Toris wonders if he can get away with taking anotherslice.

“No, really?”

“What if she tells them we’re dating?”

Toris tugs Eduard’s hand down from his mouth.“I don’t know! Let’s just play along? At some point we’re gonna have to pretendto – to break up. Right?”

They look at each other again, longer thistime. Eduard pushes his glasses up, averting his gaze.

“Right. Okay.”

They needn’t have worried, because Eduard’sparents leave quickly after saying goodbye to Eduard, apparently having morepressing matters to attend to than their niece’s wedding.

“Ah, well, you’re a Mets or you aren’t a Mets,”Eduard shrugs, which makes very little sense to Toris, but he lets it slide. Hegenerally doesn’t see much of Eduard’s parents; he thinks he’s only met themthrice in all the years he’s known Eduard. His own mother used to come overevery weekend in college until he wanted to impress a girl and decided to beembarrassed by it.

He smiles down at his soup. That girl never didlike him very much.

Afternoon weddings are good, he has decided.Even if they are very hot. You don’t have to mess up your entire sleepschedule, people are less inclined to get drunk, and you can actually see thenewlyweds scowl at their cousins(-in-law) when they perform their embarrassingsong.

After dinner, there is some more dancing, thetraditional speeches from friends, and by ten, things are winding down. Nodoubt they’ll go on for a while, but Toris really doesn’t feel much for hangingaround with people he barely knows, who thinks he’s his best friend’sboyfriend. He seeks out Eduard, who’s talking to one of Liz’s new in-laws, andasks him for the keys to the apartment – since they gave the spare set to Tuomi.

“You’re going?”

“Hmh. If you don’t mind.”

Eduard bites his lip. “I think I’ll come withyou, actually. I’ve got to take Tuomi to the airport early tomorrow morning. He is flying out to see his fiancé.”

So he says goodbye to the woman he was talkingto, waves at Liz, who’s dancing with Tuomi’s dad, and walks home with Toris.The cool wind is back, rolling through the street and ruffling his hair, tintedred in the light of the setting sun. Toris catches himself thinking beautiful,and his heart clenches, because it’s nearly over. Their little charade.

But then, does either of them really want it toend? He’s uncertain about the answer to that question. Uncertain if he wants toknow, really.

They laugh about the parody song all up thestairs and into their apartment. Toris pulls his hair out of its half-upponytail and stretches. Yawns.

“It’s not that late yet,” Eduard says, clearlyamused. It is barely half past ten, but Toris is knackered.

“Your family is very tiring,” he jokes, combinghis fingers through his hair. Eduard huffs.

“I can’t say you’re wrong.”

Toris smiles. Looks up at him. The tip of hisnose is a little red, and so are his cheeks. A button or two more of his shirthas come undone. Toris tilts his head thoughtfully.

“Toris?”

Then he decides not to think about it any more.He hooks his fingers into the shirt, fingertips touching hot skin. CatchesEduard’s widening eyes, the familiar-unfamiliar flicker in them. He catches thetiny nod. So he kisses him.

This time, he does expect it to last, and itdoes. Eduard’s hands are in his hair, tangling in the messy strands, keepinghim close. Like Toris was going anywhere. He closes his eyes tightly, presseshimself as much against Eduard as possible. Hands on his shoulder blades – helets his fingers curl into the shirt – and legs tucked together, and his lipsare searing against his own. They are sweet and full and Torischases after Eduard when he pulls back ever so slightly, because he doesn’tthink he’ll ever get enough of this.

And then the front door opens, and Eduardsprings back, pressing himself against the opposite wall in the narrow hall.His lips are red and his breathing hard, and he looks dejected when he seesTuomi standing in the doorway, holding his hands out apologetically.

“Sorry for interrupting,” he grins. “I wasright behind you, I guess I should have known.”

Toris swallows. Eduard pushes off the wall.

“Good catch,” he mumbles at Toris, and then hedisappears to the bathroom. Toris stares after him.

“Sorry?” Tuomi says again. Toris can’t help buthate him a tiny little bit at the moment.

Eduard is pretending to sleep, and Torisdecides not to say anything to him. They’ll figure it out in themorning.

Of course, Eduard is gone when Toris gets up togo to work, which is much more enjoyable knowing he won’t be doing it for muchlonger.

He still isn’t home when Toris gets there inthe late afternoon, and he doesn’t respond to his texts either.

Well, fine. If he wants to be childish, Torisisn’t going to argue with him about that. He’ll have to come around.Eventually.

When Eduard does show up, he brings dinner andlooks suitably bashful. Also weirdly apprehensive.

If Toris was waiting for him to say anythingabout last night, he is disappointed. Eduard seems content pretendingeverything is back to regular. He even sits on his previously-normal spot onthe couch. All of it makes Toris feel unsettled, and vaguely angry. He knows thatwasn’t nothing. Both of them know that. Eduard can’t possibly think it isn’tlike that for him, can he?

All in all, it makes for a rather tenseevening.

“I’m going to go to sleep,” Eduard announces atabout eleven. It occurs to Toris that he could have moved his stuff back to hisown bedroom, but he just…

“No,” he says, standing up.

“What?”

“No, you’re going to listen to me. Please. Iknow you read my messages, and you didn’t respond. I was worried. And nowyou’re acting like—” Toris makes a vague hand gesture.

Shrugging, Eduard says, “I’m sorry. It’s been aweird week, you have to admit.”

“Yes, I’ll grant you that.” Toris steps up tohim, inserting himself into his space. He tucks his hair behind his ears. Biteshis cheek. Sighs. Eduard swallows visibly.

There it is again, that crackle between them.Toris tries to catch it.

“Eduard,” he says, and the man in questionparts his lips, “I swear to you, I didn’t know Tuomi was right behind us lastnight. For all I knew, he was still dancing with some aunt or uncle or godknows who.”

Eduard’s eyebrows crease. He opens his mouth.Closes it. His eyes are bright.

“Then why did you kiss me?” he whispers.

“Why did you kiss back?” Toris returns. “Youobviously didn’t know.”

It’s silent for a long time, but neither ofthem breaks away from the other’s gaze. Toris can feel his heart beating in histhroat like a drum.

“Because I wanted to,” Eduard eventually says.

“Yes?”

“And I want to. And I know… Iknow things have been weird, but I just…” He sighs. “I don’t know, Toris. MaybeI’m getting it all wrong, you know? Maybe we’re both confused.”

“If we were…” Toris thinks for a few seconds.“If we were confused, then we still ought to figure it out. But I don’t think Iam.”

Eduard leans forward, almost touching theirforeheads together, and whispers, “Why did you kiss me?”

“Because I wanted to, Eduard.Because I realized that I’ve never imagined my life without you in it, and whenI did, it scared me. Because it felt right. What more do you want?”

A huff, and a smile edging around his lips.Long fingers on Toris’s jaw. He curls his own hands into Eduard’s shirt.

“Nothing, really,” Eduard says, and he kissesToris.

It lasts.

[arazialotis]

Pinch Of Nutmeg - Part 3

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: 2300

Summary: The reader is a young and upcoming chef who takes up an opportunity in Vancouver where she by chance befriends Jensen.  After several years apart and seeing each other at a convention, (Part One WC:6500) the reader and Jensen try and decide how they should move forward but each go their separate ways. (Part Two) Now, six months after Chicago, Jensen seeks out the reader to see if any feelings remain.

Obviously I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time.

Again, this is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors.

---

Six months had come and gone in the blink of an eye for you. You thought about Jensen often, but avoiding the celebrity gossip sites and twitter helped. You searched through new job opportunities and regardless of Scott's continuous offers, something kept you in your hodunk town. Technically, it wasn't as small as Scott made it out to be. Some parts felt big city but you easily could drive to country living. It was small enough to know every corner but big enough to get lost in a sea of faces.

Whether out of spite or playful fun, you decided on adding a cheese fondue appetizer to the winter’s seasonal menu. One that if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine being in the Swiss Alps.

At home on late nights, you would look up far off destinations. You’d narrowed it down to Iceland or Peru. Both vastly different from each other but both far enough away from here. You had plans lined up for either one. Probably at least a three month stay. Your passport was still active from when you lived in Vancouver. God, you missed that place. That little one bedroom apartment that costed twice if not triple as much as your two bedroom did now. And the meals you would make with such little counter space and crappy appliances. There were also the nights when you and Jay would just order a pizza. You’d set a sheet down in the middle of the living room floor making almost an indoor picnic and talk with him into the late hours of the night.

You slammed your laptop shut, trying to jerk yourself from the memory. You looked at your clock and figured you might as well go to bed. Your cat followed you and once you were settled, he nested down by your legs. What you saw as affection others may think of it as a commensalism relationship. But he meant the world to you. You petted his head gently before you drifted off.

---

Things seemed pretty slow in the kitchen today. You used the extra time to balance spreadsheets and planned an ingredient list for items you would need next week. You popped your head out occasionally to check on staff and help on orders. You had returned all of Scott’s items to him, aside from the cubs cap. You used it as your chef hat instead of the traditional ‘toque blanche’. You still kept one around though incase any high rollers rolled into town.

You were cleaning up a plate’s presentation when a server barged into the kitchen clearly upset with a fondue order in his hand.

“Cody, what’s wrong?” You asked puzzled.

“Some jackass is getting all upset about his order.” He fumed. “He said he needed to send this back and talk to the chef immediately.”

“Did he tell you the issue?” You asked calmly.

“He said he requested freshly grated nutmeg on top of the fondue,” Cody rolled his eyes.

Your heart stopped and you couldn’t breath. It couldn’t be him. There was no way. You knew he could have grabbed your information from the night you left your belongings in his room but you thought he would have contacted you sooner. No it couldn’t be him, you convinced yourself.

“Which he didn’t,” Cody continued. “Because I took the order. I explained to him nutmeg was already in the fondue but if he would prefer more I would be happy to assist…” “You don’t need to defend yourself.” You cut him off grabbing your toque. You threw it at your sous chef. “Please apologize on my behalf and offer to comp his meal and drinks. If there are anymore problems, I will be in my office catching up on paperwork.”

You slammed your door shut leaving your staff to manage themselves. You looked through the paperwork cross cutting last year's trends to the most recent weeks. Even though your eyes focused on the papers you couldn’t help to relive when you first met him. The thought still gave you butterflies and your cheeks turned red. God, what you wouldn’t give to go back to that moment.

“Y/N… Y/N” Your sous chef called out startling you. “Are you okay?”

“Yes of course.” You stated tapping the papers on the desk to organize them together. “What’s going on?”

“I think you should go talk to him..” she suggested. She took your silence as a key to continue. “He said he was offended that the real chef couldn’t come out to apologize herself but that he would still pay for his dinner.”

“Sounds like he is a piece of work.” You softly scoffed.

“Y/N, I think you really need to talk to him…” she almost pleaded. “I don’t know if you are familiar with the show Supernatural…” you tried to look anywhere but at her to hide your panic. “It’s one of the actors, he could give us a lot of bad press if we don’t fix this.”

You settled for a pencil and pretended to take down notes. “I am not going to give him any special treatment just because he has more than 20 followers on twitter.” You mumbled.

“That's the thing, if it was anyone else, you would be out there schmoozing it up.” She argued.

You laughed as you were the farthest thing for a schmooze. “We’re done discussing this. Please get back on the line.” You politely ordered.

She rolled her eyes on the way out and tossed your toque on the floor. Your thoughts were racing to much to care about her attitude. You kept writing down notes but you couldn’t decide what to do. You snatched your keys from your desk and left your chefs jacket in the chair. You briefly yelled you were out of the rest of the night and your sous chef was in charge. You noticed a couple of judgemental gazes but your staff was more concerned as your behavior was off key.

The cold air hit your face in causing you to inhale sharply and tears to form at your eyes. You made your way through the alley and past the dumpsters to the parking lot. Your hands were shaking as you pulled out the keys to unlock your car.

“Y/N!” A voice called loudly confirming your prediction of who it was. “Y/N” This time his voice was closer and a bit out of breath.

You finally forced yourself to look at him. His cheeks were rosy from the cold air and you could see his breath as snowflakes started to fall. You looked back down at your hands and fiddled with your keys.

“How’d you know I’d be out here?” you questioned not knowing what else to say.

He laughed. “You’re a runner.”

You smiled and looked back at him. “I guess I am becoming too predictable.”

He shook his head in agreement. “Yeah.”

“I’ve missed you.” You softly admitted.

“And I you.” He smiled and lessened the gap between you. When you remained silent and he noticed you were shivering he offered a proposition. “How about we catch up over a cup of coffee?”

“Yeah, I know a quiet place up the street.” You pointed.

The both of you walked together in silence. A few minutes into the walk Jay wrapped his jacket around you. You smiled bashfully. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them warm.

“Do you remember in Vancouver, it was a night like this I think…. We were bouncing around the street to keep warm and you started blaring  out…. Ahh shit, what is that U2 song called again?” He questioned.

You knew exactly what he was talking about, the memory came back to you instantly. You never sang in front in of anyone, but when you were with him, you didn’t care about what he thought, you felt free. “City of Blinding Lights,” You smiled fondly.

“Yeah, that’s it.” He remembered. “That’s when I knew.” He confessed seriously.

“Knew that I should have gone into the music industry instead of cooking?” You teased.

He laughed and teased you back. “Yeah, no one has ever matched your varying pitches.” You stopped outside the cafe. “But seriously, that’s when I knew I wanted to be more than friends.” You sighed and felt that same pinch of guilt you felt the night you kissed him. You ignored him and opened the door walking into the cafe.  Once you both had your drinks and found a nook to sit in you started to open up.

“Jensen, I can’t go through this again, I am not willing to have an af..” You started.

“Lana and I are divorced.” He solemnly admitted.

“What?” You were completely shocked. “When?”

“Two months after Chicago.” He disclosed.

“Was it because of..”

“No,” he cut you off. “We were having problems for a while, but you made it easier for me.”

You still couldn’t wave away your feeling of guilt and Jensen could sense it.

He reached over and grabbed your hands from the mug. “This had nothing to do with you, that was between me and her. Okay?”

You briefly rubbed your thumb over his knuckles. “Then why are you here Jay?” “Because I wanted to reconnect with you, I wanted to apologize for not being honest with you before and to apologize for the way things ended in Vancouver.” He explained.

You pulled your hands back away and wrapped them back around your mug. “I don’t know if I can go back to the way things used to be.” You confessed.

“I don’t want things the way the were. I want more.”

You scoffed as you looked into his earnestly green eyes. “You just got out of a relationship, a serious one.”

“Listen, I don’t want to waste anymore time.” He pushed.

“I just don’t think we should rush anything right now.” You explained.

“Why are you so against this?” He realized your cap as was the same when he saw you in Chicago and clenched his jaw. “Is it Scott?” He fumed with jealousy.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter. “Are you kidding me?” You continued laughing but you could tell he wanted an answer. “I have never thought of Scott as anything more than a friend and a mentor. The thought is just absurd.” Jensen still seemed upset. “Is this what it has always been about?” The realization hit you. “You’ve always been jealous of him?” You asked confused looking at him for an answer. His face gave it away. “God, if we had just been honest with each other, huh?” You took a break from your rant and sipped your coffee.

“Well then be honest with me now. Y/N, what do you want?” He demanded.

“I…,” You pondered your thoughts.

“If you’re not interested, please just tell me and I will leave you alone, but I just need to know.” Jensen pleaded.

“I’m scared. I am not good enough for you, I don’t want to make you look bad, what if we lose everything we had?” you confided.

“You could never make me look bad. When I first saw you, you took my breath away. You are more than I deserve. And as for losing what we had, why not chance to make it… to make it better?” He argued.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Do you got a place to stay?”

“We are in the middle of a conversation.” Jensen stated.

“Well, I am not ready to give you an answer tonight. So, either you can stay in my spare bedroom that’s never been used or I can give you a hotel recommendation.” You offered.

Jensen leaned back in his chair and sighed not knowing what to choose.

“Come on,” You stood up. “Let’s put on a movie, and you can decide after.”

The ride back was fairly silent. Jensen was shocked to enter your apartment complex, knowing that you probably could afford more. As you entered you threw your keys on the counter the squeaked for your cat. Jensen continued to analyze, he closed his eyes thinking you didn’t think you deserved better but the truth was you deserved so much more.

You picked up your cat who perched on your shoulders. Usually he would nuzzle your hair but his full attention was fixed on Jensen. He jumped down and went to sniff his legs. To your surprise he nuzzled against his leg and then came back to greet you a second time.

You smiled, “He doesn’t often take to kindly to strangers. Why don’t you pick out a movie, I am going to clean up a sec from work.” Jensen browsed your selves laughing when he saw the collection of old westerns you had. In the past, he would usually suggest them but within 30 minutes you were always out like a light. He picked out ‘Unforgiven’, although he completely acknowledged you would have preferred Casablanca or some other chick flick. He thought it just didn’t seem appropriate given the conversation tonight. He fiddled with the remotes and got it up and running. You came back out, hair down, face washed, and in a hoodie and yoga pants.

“Guess I am not the only predictable one.” You teased.

“Hey, Clint Eastwood is a genius.” Jensen defended as he sat on the couch.

You tossed him a blanket and grabbed your own sitting down on the floor leaning against the couch. But eventually you ended up on the couch, cuddled against Jensen’s chest, his arms wrapped around you as you became more and more tired with your eyes fluttering shut.

“Hey Jensen.” You mumbled.

“Mmmm” It was clear he was drifting off too.

“I’ve always loved you… let’s see if it works” You alluded to his question earlier tonight.

He stroked your hair as the both of you drifted to sleep, perfectly content, more than he had been in a long time.

Part 4

Tags:

@jensen-gal​

[douchebagbrainwaves]

OR 10%

Does succinctness power? To What Extent? But those are usually free. If not, you're in trouble. But anything that grows consistently at 10% a week is almost certainly a better idea than you started with. If you could find people who'd eliminated all such influences on their judgement, you'd probably still see variation in what they liked. When you order online, I think, if one looked, that this would turn out to be one of the only programming languages a serious hacker would want to use Lisp, so much the better.

It becomes: let's try making a web-based spreadsheet and see how far we get. But remember that to get that combination, your startup will have to do is keep telling your story, and eventually go out of business. If free copies of your content are available online, then you're competing with publishing's form of distribution, and that's why so many successful startups make something the founders needed. Users are interested in you if you seem like a winner or a loser, and once their opinion is set it's hard to tell apart, and there would be wrong too. In fact, I've found that you can approach the problem in a qualitatively different way. At least, that's how they see it. Even in college you get little idea what various types of work that depend more on talent are always more admirable. You have certain mental gestures you've learned in your work, and indeed that the reason they don't have any is that they can do is encourage people to do unpleasant jobs is the driver: people would rather be English professors than work in ad agencies, and publishing papers is the way you planned to, but instead forced you to write code that's short in elements at the expense of overall readability? Plus series A terms usually give the investors a veto over various kinds of important decisions, including selling the company.

Success for a startup approximately equals getting bought. But there are limits to how well they'll be able to make something. Everyone knows computer science and electrical engineering are related, but precisely because everyone knows it, importing ideas from one to the other doesn't yield great profits. I'm going to use a more fluid medium like pencil or ink wash or oil paint. We'll end up calling these things is tablets. The manual is thin, and has few warnings and qualifications. Several turned down YC-funded startups after Demo Day, and partly because we fund so many that we have enough data points to see patterns clearly. They forgot that companies about to go public. That means they want less money, but what will make you a better programmer.

Growth is why VCs want to invest in startups is not simply the returns, but also because generating returns from capital gains is easier to read. Because the fact is, almost anyone would rather, at any given time, the great advantage of the two-cycle innovation engine, you work furiously on some problem. They just smelled wrong. A free market interprets monopoly as damage and routes around it. It turned out it was way, way uptown: an hour uptown by air. I'm not as sure that readability is directly proportionate to succinctness as I am that power is, but it could be a 10x return for an angel, and some of the designers intended to have more syntax in the future. It's in their interest for content to be as cheap as possible, and since you have to declare the type of every argument in every call in the program. Readability The quote I began with, that it bumps into new ideas. I've learned a lot about where to live. This seems to me an important question, maybe the most important thing is who you know. A good deal of that spirit is, fortunately, preserved in macros.

That's the reason to launch early, to understand your users. Pretty soon you'll start noticing what makes the number go up, put a big piece of paper on your wall and every day plot the number of simultaneous users you can support per server. So anyone who invents something new has to expect to keep repeating their message for years before people will start to get it through to people that it didn't make sense to charge less than $50,000. It might seem foolish to sell stock in a profitable company for less than you think it will later be worth, but it's an upper bound: Do what you love. And when you see something like wing flutter, where they alternate between doing great work and doing absolutely nothing. Publish articles for free and make money from such investments. I mean things that go behind whatever semantic facade the language is trying to present: getting hold of the internal representation of some high-level languages is to get leverage, so that in retrospect it seems obvious they were going to make a collaborative, web-based spreadsheet, then critics—the language if I did x, and if you have the destination in sight you'll be more likely to have names that specify explicitly because they aren't that they are the same for every language, so they don't affect comparisons much. Having gotten it down to four words: Do what you love is complicated. Blub? It was like being told to use dry water. I think, if I was bored, rather than as a way to save computation than as a way to get fast code is to have the right kind of friends. When you talk about art being good, you also have to be doing something you not only enjoy, but admire.

The dream language is beautiful, clean, and terse. Honestly, no. It's also wise, early on, when they're trying to find their niche. A rapidly growing company is valuable. This was an era when small firms making everything from cars to candy were getting consolidated into a new kind of computer that's as well designed as a Bang & Olufsen stereo system, and underneath is the best Unix machine you can buy. It could take half an hour to read a single page. The problem is not simply a constant fraction of the probability that those 19 year olds will might be higher than that of the other, safer group. Even now I'm suspicious when startups choose SF. You, the programmer, tell them to. Reminder: What I'm looking for are programs that are short because delimiters can be omitted and everything has a one-character name.

But the advantage of these medium-sized rounds is not just that they cause less dilution. If there's something people still won't do, it seems as if society just has to be good for writing the kinds of sales pitches that they do is whether they'd do it even if they succeed the effect on your returns will be insignificant. Bookstores are one of the rare ideas that generates rapid growth. Why did one have to get bought for 30, you only have one page of ideas. I haven't tried yet is to filter based on word pairs, you'd end up with special offers and valuable offers having probabilities of. They weren't tempted by the minor perquisites of power. As I was leaving I offered it to him, as I've done countless times before in the same situation. It's hard to find something that grows consistently at several percent a week, but if you do you may have to be in it yet. When you're trying to make a weak-willed person, but I found that I could tell immediately, by the time it was obvious to ordinary people that this was a big market. If I already have momentum on some project, I can offer a recipe for alienation.

Launching teaches you what you should have been building. There's already something else people in New York have wondered about since the Bubble: whether New York could grow into a startup hub to rival Silicon Valley. And they're full of exactly the right kind of people who are most in demand right now, and what's most admired is to be on it or close to those who are. They offer a convenient list of songs, and whenever you choose one they ding your credit card for a small business. But that's no different with any other tool. I didn't realize it till I was writing this, my mind wandered: would it be useful to have metaphors in a programming language. They're perfectly justified: the majority of people in America, have some amount of insecurity about where, or whether, they went to college. And so, paradoxically, if you can achieve the same level of performance with less effort, surely that's more impressive, not less.

[badgersmash9-blog]

How We Threw A Chic, 200-Person Wedding On An $8,000 Budget

The average age for a woman to get married in the U.S. is nearly 28. I just got married in May of 2019 at the age of 21, just three weeks after my college graduation. And according to The Knot, the average U.S. wedding now costs around $30,000.

My husband (a 22-year-old, also below the average marrying age) and I planned our wedding and related festivities on a budget of just $8,000, which we were privileged enough to receive from our parents — a luxury many do not have. Regardless, we were working with a small budget when compared to today’s standards.

Big weddings are not for everyone, and that’s perfectly okay. For the cost of a marriage license, we could have gone to the courthouse with a witness, and that would have been just as much of a wedding. However, it was really important to us to threw a celebration that all of our friends and family could take part in. For a guest list of 200, that meant some serious money-saving moves.

1. Actually Budget Out Your Budget

It may seem like common sense that your budget should actually look like a budget, but I am completely serious: do not decide how much you are willing to spend on your venue or dress in the moment. Not doing your research and dividing your wedding budget into categories ahead of time could end up costing you thousands more than you plan on spending.

Once we knew how much money we were working with for our celebration, we made a spreadsheet budget where we listed each different vendor or category (e.g. venue, decorations), the total amount we estimated each line item would cost us after getting quotes, how much we had already paid toward that item, how much we had left to pay and how much we planned on giving out in tips. Knowing where exactly we planned on spending each penny allowed us to decide where to cut costs and what needed to stay. This also provided for a stress-free honeymoon, not spent worrying about overdraft fees on our checking accounts from all of the wedding-related expenses.

We also learned some financial lessons. Since our parents helped us with wedding costs by giving a lump sum of money soon after our engagement, we were in control of how we used our funds. If we ran out of money, the burden would be on us. While stressful at times, that experience was incredibly beneficial to us in the long run, providing us an opportunity to start talking about money with each other and practice living with merged finances.

2. Ditch the Saturday Night Fever

The venue you end up with can make or break the rest of your budget and has a huge role in determining the look and feel of your wedding. Knowing others who had spent thousands of dollars on their venue alone, we feared at first that our options were slim. However, there are many venues that don’t have a markup, if you are just willing to think outside the box of a traditional wedding venue. By finding a venue that wasn’t marketed as a “wedding venue,” but still had all of the major amenities we were looking for, we saved thousands of dollars.

Additionally, many venues will offer a discount for non-Saturday events. By having our wedding on a Sunday, we saved an additional $500.

Of course, before you commit to an alternative venue and/or day of the ceremony, there are a few things you should keep in mind in order to make sure that you are actually going to save money. While an alternative venue is a great option for many, you need to make sure that additional costs of a venue, such as chairs, tables, and catering, don’t add up to more than the all-inclusive wedding packages that many traditional venues offer. If you are going to go all DIY, make sure the amount you are saving is worth your time and energy.

Additionally, when considering a day other than a Saturday, think about how it will impact the guests you have invited. Some may need to travel for a couple of days just to make it to your ceremony and back. Luckily for us, most of our guests lived within a few hours, and we were able to score the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend so that most of them also had the next day off of work and school. Once we researched additional costs and double-checked our calendar, we were set to have our Sunday evening wedding at a beautiful campground complete with a wooden lodge in the green forests of Oregon.

3. Get By With a Little Help From Your Friends

While you still want to give your talented friends the option of being “just” guests at your wedding, many may be honored to be included in your nuptials in a special way. The photographers, videographer, baker, DJ, day-of coordinator, hair stylist, officiant, and ceremony musicians were all friends and family of ours. Including so many people we love in our list of vendors made our day even more special because it felt like a true community celebration. And because only so many people can be in your wedding party, this is a great way to include other friends and celebrate their talents.

While you should never assume that your friends are going to photograph or coordinate your wedding for free, they may end up offering you a discount on their services. However, you should be careful never to assume or ask for this, as doing so could guilt them into missing out on a large chunk of their main source of income.

If you want to ask your friend to be one of your vendors, offer and be prepared to pay them full price for their services. If they choose to offer you a discount, great! If they don’t, then you are still winning, because you know that your friend will be genuinely invested in how your wedding turns out. We were lucky enough to have some of our friends offer their professional services as wedding gifts. If your friends do the same, just be sure to thank them profusely!

4. Say “Yes” to a Consigned Dress

One of the ways I was able to rack up some serious savings was by choosing an alternate route to purchasing my wedding dress. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something *used*. Isn’t that how the saying goes? If so, I think I found the perfect solution: consigned wedding dresses.

There are a myriad of shops across the U.S. and internationally that sell floor model or once-worn gowns at a steep discount. Many shops even support a charitable cause, such as reducing exploitation of women, providing relief to single mothers, or promoting opportunities for women’s education and women in the workforce. I chose to go shopping at Blue Sky Bridal, where brides can place their own used wedding dress in the shop and earn a sizable commission if it is sold. The Portland, Oregon shop had so many dresses to choose from in all sizes and styles, and almost all of them were tagged at under $1,000. The consultants were fun, professional, and super helpful in the process. The shop also had a beautiful aesthetic, complete with chandeliers, which made me feel as if I was at any other high-end bridal boutique.

Additionally, by purchasing a consigned dress, we were able to not participate in the impact on the environment and potential unfair labor that would have gone into the creation of a new one.

5. Go Green

While we did aim to make our wedding as environmentally-friendly as possible, with things like compostable plates and bamboo cutlery, what I mean here is actual greens. You’ll see bouquets full of leafy eucalyptus and ferns all over Instagram and Pinterest, and they are the perfect way to make your floral budget go far without sacrificing on the size and impressiveness of your arrangements. We were able to save hundreds of dollars by selecting mostly a mixture of frosty greens for our bouquets, corsages, boutonnieres, arbor display, and table arrangements. To add some vibrancy to the minimalist look, we added in some large garden roses as well as hanging ribbons on the bouquets to match our wedding color scheme, candles in jars to the greens on the tables, and a drapery to the arbor display. These minimalist bouquets looked classy and saved us money for other things, like local hard ciders and IPAs to drink!

6. Dig for the Right Diamond

In 1947, an ad agency debuted the slogan “A Diamond is Forever” with their De Beers account. The slogan made once-unpopular diamonds into an emblem of enduring love, eventually showing up in popular books, films, and songs. Today, diamond engagement rings are viewed as a long-standing tradition. However, the popular gem has only been a symbol of love for a little over 70 years. This may seem like a small shift in symbolism, only relevant to advertising folks on Madison Avenue. However, this slogan triggered the boom of an entire industry. As of 2014, the global diamond industry is an $81.4 billion industry, employing nearly 10 million people.

Not only can the purchase of diamond engagement rings and wedding bands force you to shell out several months’ worth of income, but there is also a dark side to the diamond industry. “Blood diamonds,” or conflict diamonds, are diamonds mined in war zones, sold to fund military action. In addition to mined diamonds funding military action, the practice also exploits workers and leads to environmental damage.

So if couples still want to go the route of traditional engagement rings or wedding bands, but are concerned about the harm that their purchase could bring to others, the environment or their own savings, what are their options?

Buying diamond jewelry with a fair-trade company or with diamonds mined in conflict-free countries, like Canada, can ease your burden of wondering who was harmed in the mining of your gem  —  but you will pay a hefty price for your clear conscience. Another option for ring-searching couples is to go with an alternative stone. Though a diamond is forever, it doesn’t mean that a different stone can’t be a symbol of your enduring love. Besides, alternative stones such as sapphires, pearls, and rubies can be more unique, just like the unique love the two of you share.

A great alternative for those who still want a diamond, but can’t afford to shell out thousands for a conflict-free stone, are lab-grown diamonds. These stones have the exact same chemical make-up as mined diamonds at a fraction of the price. While your wedding rings should financially be considered investment pieces, it doesn’t mean you have to spend several months’ worth of income on them.

Reagan Wiltfong is a 20-something writer and content creator living and working in the Seattle area. As a recent college grad and newlywed, she is figuring out all things adulting while she explores the beautiful Pacific Northwest. When she isn’t typing away on her latest project at reaganmckenzie.com, she can be found traveling, drinking great coffee, hunting for deals at local thrift shops and playing tennis.

Image via Unsplash

Like this story? Follow The Financial Diet on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter for daily tips and inspiration, and sign up for our email newsletter here.

Source: https://thefinancialdiet.com/how-we-threw-a-chic-200-person-wedding-on-an-8000-budget/

[amylanchester]

PitchWars #PimpMyBio

Hi, I’m Amy.

This is my first ever PitchWars, and I’m hyped af.

About My Manuscript

Title: More Fierce Than Fire (title comes from here)

Genre: YA Contemporary Fantasy

Word Count: 75,000

Comps: The Young Elites by Marie Lu, The Story of Owen by E. K. Johnston

Sixteen-year-old Abigail Hunter, the best healer in Grady Hospital’s Magical Trauma Ward, has a secret. Ten years ago, Abby wished her mother dead on the worst possible day—the day dragons awoke and brought magical powers to everyone in the world. Abby's angry wish became the powerful spell that ended her mother's life. 

Abby has devoted her life to healing magic to atone for the sins of her past. Though she’s still afraid of losing control, she has become increasingly aware of the threat the dragons pose and frustrated that she is helpless to do anything about it. Hoping to develop the skills required to protect others, she joins a new United Nations-sponsored program which promises to give her the chance to work directly with the dragons and their victims. Training with some of the best young mages in the world, she prepares for the war to come.

And the war is coming. When a group of unregistered mages leads the dragons in a deadly attack on American cities, Abby must decide if she’s ready to join the fight against them, or if she’ll be stuck reliving the mistakes of her past forever. 

A Note About Diversity

Diversity is extremely important to me in my writing. Most of the characters in my book other than my MC are POC and/or LGBTQ. I did not feel that I had the skill or experience to write a first-person perspective for a POC/LGBTQ character, so I didn’t. However, I have been fortunate to grow up in an extremely diverse place, so I’ve included a number of POC/LGBTQ characters (loosely) based on real people. I feel that authentic, thoughtful representation is important in all forms of media and am hoping to find a mentor who feels the same.

MS Pinterest Board

Novel Aesthetic (Quotes & More on My Instagram)

About Me

Let’s start this the way you did back in pre-school. My name is Amy Lanchester, and I’m twenty-eight years old. My favorite color is pink (and has been since long before millennial pink became a thing #ILikedItBeforeItWasCool). More Fierce Than Fire is my first novel. 

I’m “from Atlanta” in the way that most people who say they are “from Atlanta” are “from Atlanta,” in that I actually grew up about thirty minutes away and only moved to the city as an adult. I set my book here because I feel that entirely too many books are set in NYC, London, or Chicago.

I’ve been funemployed for the past year.

I started my first “real job” before I’d even finished my master’s degree, and after working there for three years, I decided I wanted to do a few things before I’m too old/settled. So I’ve traveled Europe:

ALL

OVER

EUROPE

and the western United States:

ALL

OVER

THE 

WILD

WEST

and I finally achieved a life goal in writing this book. I highly recommend taking a “gap year” to anyone who is able.

I live with my boyfriend and our beautiful asshole of a cat, Bret. We found him about two years ago at a local McDonald’s hanging out near the drive-thru. We went back the next day and lured him out with bits of hamburger, and he’s been our lovable jerk of a pet ever since. 

Why You Should Mentor Me

- I am really, really serious about this. I’ve devoted an insane amount of time, energy, and research on this project in the past year and fully intend to see it through all the way. I love and believe in my work. 

- I am crazy meticulous. I come from a STEM background, and I use the tools I learned there in my work. I’m a firm believer in spreadsheets, outlines, automation, and using technology to the fullest. I am a grammar nut who googles everything she isn’t sure about and spends hours nerding out reading style guides and grammar blogs.

- I take criticism well. I’m a fairly self-critical person who is realistic about her flaws and shortcomings. Though I love my work, I know it is far from perfect, and I am greatly looking forward to receiving a thoughtful critique. You won’t hurt my feelings. I want my work to be the best it can be, and I know that takes knowledge and experience I don’t have.

Writing History

I had the idea for my MS in May 2016. It was inspired by this tumblr post which made its way to reddit (a site I love and hate and spend entirely too much time on):

I decided I could write that book, and so I did. I wrote a prologue that I cut and part of the first chapter on a train from Warsaw to Berlin in September. I made an outline when I got back home in October, and I wrote the rest of the book during NaNoWriMo 2016. I did finish my 50,000 words in November, but the book wasn’t done. I had a completed (terrible) first draft of about 55,000 words by the first week of December. 

My first draft was mostly just dialogue and action. I discovered that I hate writing description as much as I hate reading it. So my next several drafts mostly involved adding description to scenes, and it took forever. I cut several scenes and characters entirely during this process and added a few more scenes and characters, bringing my final word count to 75,000 words. My current draft contains very little from the original NaNoWriMo draft, and believe me, that’s for the best.

Writing Style

I am definitely a planner. I would have gotten nowhere without my outline or character spreadsheet. However, most of my character’s personalities came out through writing their dialogue. I used dialogue (that I went back and cut because it was boring and redundant) to solve plot problems and work out motivations in scenes. If I ever got stuck, I just started writing a conversation between my characters, and it solved basically all of my problems. 

How I Write 

I started writing in Scrivener, a program I’d gotten for free when I worked at the Apple Store back in 2010. It helped me a lot with organizing scenes and research. I transitioned to Google Docs after a save file got corrupted and I spent an evening panicking that I’d lost everything (I hadn’t, thank God). Google Docs sucks for long documents, but it saves to the cloud every few seconds, so I suffered through it.

I write at night almost exclusively. My best creative work comes after midnight, and usually once I’m already in bed.

I dread having to get back on a normal schedule because the night owl life is best for my writing.

Favorite Writing Resources

- Excel/Google Sheets

- Grammar Girl

- Chicago Manual of Style (I’m too poor to actually own this, but I use their FAQs and this hyphenation table all the time.)

- Hemingway Editor

- Grammarly

- ProWritingAid

Upcoming Projects Preview

I have so many ideas. I think of new project ideas every day, and I constantly struggle not to get distracted by my newest, shiniest concept. Here are a couple of things I’ve started planning:

- Shakespeare’s plays retold in a combined setting like into the Woods or Marissa Meyer’s The Lunar Chronicles. A central, overarching series plot with individual volumes devoted to some of the plots of the original plays. I’ll be combining side characters from one show with main characters from another.

- A space opera/sci-fi series centered on a girl who rescues an alien from a hostile species at war with Earth’s space empires. The aliens have superior technology and are annihilating the space colonies, but we can’t communicate with them. My MC and her android nanny devise a method for rudimentary communication and are captured by government forces who have ulterior motives.

Stuff I Like

Books

- Harry Potter, obviously. Prisoner of Azkaban is my favorite. I spent years convincing myself I was a Gryffindor like Hermione, my hero, but I’m really a Ravenclaw.

- The Young Elites by Marie Lu

- Exit, Pursued by a Bear by E. K. Johnston

- A Song of Ice and Fire by George R. R. Martin

- Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams

- Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

- 1984 by George Orwell

- Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes

TV Shows

I freaking love TV. 

I’m convinced that if Ray Bradbury had lived in the Golden Age of Television that we’re living through, he would never have written Fahrenheit 451.

A short list of shows I love: Futurama, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Parks and Recreation, BoJack Horseman, Game of Thrones, The Handmaid’s Tale, Breaking Bad, The Wire, Jessica Jones, Broadchurch, Steven Universe, Stranger Things, You’re the Worst, Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

Musicals 

I love Broadway so much. 

I’ve been in (school productions of) Once on This Island, Les Miserables, Into the Woods, and Dreamgirls. Other shows I love include Hamilton, The Book of Mormon, The Last Five Years, Aida, Phantom of the Opera, Evita, The Sound of Music, Fiddler on the Roof, and West Side Story.

Cosplay 

I picked up cosplay a few years back. I didn’t own a sewing machine, didn’t know how to sew, and had limited crafting experience. I taught myself using books, online tutorials, and YouTube videos. Some of my projects:

Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones

Chell from Portal

Luna Lovegood from Harry Potter

Elsa from Frozen

Joy from Inside Out

Eleven from Stranger Things

That was entirely too long, and I’m sorry.

If you read this far, you’re probably my soulmate. Please send me a message on Twitter and let me know. :)

[ulyssessklein]

How to get music bloggers to reply to your email

The typical music blogger gets 348 emails per day.

Ok, that’s a claim that can’t be proven, but the point is that the powers that be who decide on which music gets featured receive a lot of emails, direct messages, @ mentions, and snail mail.

You already know your music is something special, but how do you make editors and writers see that when all you have are a few words to grab their attention?

First off, if you’re really serious about getting featured, commit to making this your part-time job, especially in the beginning. This post will help you map out a plan, then weave a few of those tasks into your schedule every week.

This process starts with lots of research, so get organized with a spreadsheet. It may take some time upfront, but it’s going to save you loads of headaches in the long run. Though your spreadsheet can have any information or function that’s most useful to you, you’ll want to focus on the most relevant contact information for the people who can get you on the homepage or front cover.

This is a good starting point:

First name

Last name

Email

Where they work

Role

Social accounts

Genres they cover

Status on correspondence – reach out dates, followups, replies, etc.

Once you have that set up, you’ll go to town finding every, any, and all people you could reach out to. Even when you get to 100 people on your list, keep going.

To make it easy, we’ve created a template for you. Download it for free here.

Start Local

Who doesn’t want to celebrate the hometown hero? Local blogs, publications, and channels are a great first bet when it comes to getting the attention of a music blogger. Not only will you be up against less competition, it’ll also be easier to speak the writer’s language, i.e. mentioning venues that person will be familiar with, other local acts who’ve asked you to join their show, etc.

You want to provide information that helps the blogger quickly put you and your music in context. If you played the biggest venue in town, that’s going to catch attention.

Find Your People

Your spreadsheet has a column to record specific music genres covered by various writers because you need to keep track of the right people to spend time on. If you’re in a hip hop group, don’t bother sending an email to someone who covers EDM. Find the people who are already interested in and covering the type of music you make.

Keep It Short and Direct

Think about it – if you’re someone who gets hundreds of emails per day, all asking the same thing, and you open one that seems to be pages long, you’re going to delete and move on. The three most important elements a strong email has are:

Personalized introduction: Sending personalized emails is easy using a tool like DropTrack. When you send a message, do not bcc a template email to music bloggers. Doing that may get you blocked altogether, let alone ignored. You don’t need to spend a paragraph flattering the writer, but greet him or her by name, and mention a detail specific to them. For example, if you’re reaching out to a local blogger, you could say: Hello Tim, I saw your review on the show The Screaming Monkeys last Thursday. I also love The Descendents vibe they put out in their first song.

Info + Ask: Your band’s story should be one line. We’ll talk more about how to craft that one line below, in the section Tell Your Story. Your “ask” should be direct and actionable. If you’re sharing your new single and want to see it featured in the “New Local Music” section on the writer’s site, say exactly that. Do not ask the blogger to “let me know what you think.” Not only is that a huge question to answer, it’s also highly doubtful such a vague request will lead to your original goal of getting featured.

Links to Music: Oh, just the whole reason you’re reaching out in the first place. Do not forget to include obvious, clickable links to your music. The links should only be streaming links and lead exactly to what you’re referencing. If you want the blogger to listen to a single, make sure you link them directly to that track (a tool like DropTrack can help).

That’s it. Oh, and a friendly sign-off.

Of course, that little bit of information doesn’t begin to fully describe you and your band, which is where your website comes in. There, include anything you feel helps describe your band and tells your unique story. That’s everything from creatively describing what your music sounds like, who’s in the band, news on past and upcoming shows, and photos. On your homepage, it’s also a good idea to provide press release-style information that a blogger can easily copy and paste from. When you do get featured, you want to make it super easy for the busy writer to create a blurb about you.

Tell your story

Think about what makes you and your band different and compelling. Chances are it’s not necessarily what you’re doing with your music, but rather your personal origin story. Maybe you’re a solo artist who got your start when you inherited your grandfather’s guitar. That’s going to stand out a lot more than telling a music blogger your sound is a mix of folk and top 100 alternative. If you’re having trouble pinpointing your unique story, research some of your favorite bands for inspiration, or check out the Authentic Artist Branding Bootcamp.

Promote yourself to top of inbox

It’s not over once you send out that initial email. Following up keeps your band’s name at the top of a writer’s inbox and increases the likelihood your email will be opened.

For a general follow up, wait at least a week before sending another note. You don’t need to say or provide anything new, just check in to see if the person has had a chance to listen to what you sent over, and then close out with a friendly sign-off.

Any time you get covered by another publication, use that as a chance to reach out again to share the news that you got a mention in so and so publication. Often, hearing that a competitor has taken an interest in you is a good push to get someone to check you out.

Give thanks the blogger way

Any time you get a mention, thank the blogger directly with an email (better yet, a handwritten card if you have mailing info), and share the link with anyone and everyone. Bloggers make money through ad revenue based on how many people visit their site. If they see that by featuring your music their traffic spikes, that’s a good reason to write about you more in the future.

If you feel yourself getting frustrated or deterred, remember why you’re doing this in the first place (it may even help to take a break and go play a little music). Even the most popular bands in the world started with just wanting to get their music heard.

The post How to get music bloggers to reply to your email appeared first on DIY Musician Blog.