#like does it have something to do with the shift from “reviews” to “comments”?

[quoththemaiden]

I saw your tags in the poll comments and I had to jump into your ask box. If you want to reply to comments, don't be afraid to do it! People love nothing more than to interact with the author. People comment to express their love for your work, and I can promise nothing make them more happy than to have a reply from the author!!! It's a "my comment had been seen and made them happy, yeah!" feeling.

My tags, for context:

This poll is wild to me. Tumblr's interpretation of fanfic etiquette seems completely backwards from my internet upbringing.

Back on ff.net, where the number of reviews wasn't even a sortable field, it was still uncool for authors to respond to the reviews. Every fic would end with "Please R&R!!!" but actually interacting with reviewers was the kind of thing you were supposed to grow out of as you went from a socially clueless young teen to a socially competent older teen. Saying "That's exactly what I was going for!" or "Oooh just wait, you'll love it!" or "I'm so glad you liked it!" was really just patting yourself on the back for being awesome, and saying "No, you don't get it--" was too defensive. (Putting "I've been blown away by the response to this fic" in an A/N is sufficiently self-effacing if used sparingly, though.)

On AO3, looking at the comment section of a fic and seeing that an author has responded to every comment with "Thanks!!" or "❤️" feels similarly desperate to me--

--and not just cringey, but also vaguely unethical because it's artificially doubling the number of comments on a site that does allow sorting by comments. Like, let your fic stand on its own merits instead of trying to game the system with fake reviews.

But on Tumblr, there's those AO3 etiquette posts going around saying "kudos are for if you finish reading a fic; comments are for if you enjoyed it." And that just feels backwards. Shouldn't kudos be for if you enjoyed the fic enough that you think it should be boosted in the rankings so more people read it? Comments, on the other hand, are mandatory on every fic you read unless you can't find even a single good thing to say about it. (And you're still obligated to rack your brain a bit to see if you can at least pull out a "Wow, that was an interesting premise!" or "I really love this trope so thanks for writing this!" or "This was such a fun line!" and just try not to be too obvious about damning with faint praise.)

I've had authors respond to say, "Hey, sorry I haven't responded to your comments yet, but I've been reading them" and I'm always like... my dude, that's not how this economy works. You write fics and I leave comments. You don't have to write fics and respond to comments. Take a load off.

Obviously if I say something particularly insightful it's nice to hear the author's thoughts back, and I've had some cool conversations about their inspirations... and the friend I talk to literally every single day is someone where we both loved each other's fics 20 years ago and we got started talking because of it... so it's not like I think it's never okay to respond to a reviewer.

(And, frankly, a lot of my comments are a couple paragraphs long or I'm leaving a dozen comments in a short timespan, so it hasn't usually felt weird when authors do respond to me to comment on some highlights.)

It's just absolutely baffling to look at that poll and see that 88% of authors do or think they should respond to comments, so I'm clearly in the vast, vast minority.

It's absolutely, mind-bogglingly wild. And since it's purely a cultural thing, being in the minority means I'm wrong, and I need to come to grips with that. Like, I'm going to need to actively, consciously work on flipping my judgement-o-meter from "responding to comments is inappropriately clingy and must be actively avoided" to "responding to comments is good and expected" because the former is a social norm I internalized decades ago and now I need to go through the active work of completely flipping what's rude and what's polite -- which is a thing that happens all the time as we get older, of course, but it was a shock to encounter it here.

[femme-foucault]

This is actually really interesting to me (especially as someone who has used SEO data involving Google searches as pertaining to user personalization factors involving personalized data (including geographical region) versus contextualized data (trending analytics, for instance), keyword data, etc. in some of my political discourse research). I am curious as to the wider contexts of these searches because I know that as much as those of us on the left want to believe that people who vote third party ideologically for reasons such as Palestine are a more influential force than they actually are, they are a fairly small minority even in swing states. So those people are not likely to be enough of a population to radically ask "change my vote" when they expected Harris to win and be self-righteous versus Trump winning and panicking like many of them (though not all) did in 2016 and I think more than are willing to admit are doing right now. I would imagine people who abstained entirely for some of the same reasons might be reconsidering, but why use those keywords? Sure, not everyone is used to how to use keywords in the most optimal way, especially based on generation, in a way those of us who grew up with search engines often take for granted. But I am interested in the wording here and the reasons behind it.

My guess without further context -- with the caveat people's knee-jerk reactions are often wrong and that is why data and fact-checking is so important -- is that without knowing the scale of how many people are Googling "change my vote" that it is a minority because the fact is if 5 people Googled that search query on October 5th and a 100 people Googled on November 7th, that graph reads the exact same way as if 5000 people Googled on October 5th and 100,000 people Googled on November 7th so an exponential increase in queries is not that useful when tracing trends in search engine queries without accounting for scale. One possible way that to bridge the discrepancy between what I talked about in the last paragraph and the possibility the graph does reflect a large scale change in searches in a way that is not being visualized in the screenshot is the the possibility undecided voters who abstained and changed their mind (again) are using keywords liked "changed" instead of "vote late" which would give them accurate results (namely, that they can't). But yeah, without more context, I don't know and that's interesting to think about but also something that might be really hard to study.

I'm going to McFucking Lose It

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“You look upset?” Rogers’ voice startles you. You sit straight and rub the stitch from your forehead. How long has he been there? 

“Do I?” You wonder.  

Three days in this place, sifting through scraps and musty old receipts, and it’s starting to bleed through. Oh, don’t think of the blood. You grip the desk and shift in the chair. 

“I guess,” he shrugs. “Something wrong? I can get you a different chair.” 

“Chair, uh?” You look down, “no, that’s fine. Actually, I think I’m probably almost done.” 

“Good,” he says.  

He crosses his arms and turns on his leather sole. He starts to pace. He does that a lot. If he’s not sat in the arm chair or disappearing to wreak havoc out of sight, he’s there, walking back and forth. Back and forth. Combing his fingers through his hair, waving his hand in a wordless argument, moving his lips silently. Even if you hadn’t witnessed it that first day, you could tell he’s a man with a lot of pent-up anger. 

You go back to tallying it all up. Your stomach somersaults as you hover the pencil along the columns and review the numbers. Honestly, you are done, you just don’t know how to say what you need to. To tell this man what you discovered. 

“You’re breathing heavy again,” he stops and turns to you, “what’s the matter?” 

“Asthma?” You lie. He grimaces. 

“You got something for that?” He asks. 

“No...” you look away guiltily. “Alright, I don’t have asthma,” you wiggle the pencil nervously then tap your nose without thinking. What are you doing? You still it and put it down. “I’m done, okay, and, er...” you suck in air through flared nostrils, “you gotta promise you’re not going to freak out.” 

“Freak out?” He echoes as if the concept is absurd to him. 

“Yeah, because it’s not good news.” 

“Spill it,” he steps closer to the desk. 

You lean back in the chair and look up at him. A shank of his dark hair slips past his ear and the sheen of silver strands on his chin catch the light. His jaw squares under his thick beard. 

“Okay, but like just remember that it’s this Warren guy...” You clasp onto the armrests as you talk. “Oh boy, right. I’m not sure how to say it...” your eyes skitter back and forth. When you look back to him, that vein is bulging in his head. Just say it before he explodes! “He stole. A lot of money. And he actually hid it quite well but... yeah, I can show you--” 

“Amazing!” He claps and his face lights up. You flinch and your eyes go wide. Huh? He looks almost happy. 

“It is?” You flutter your lashes as the fog fades away from the edge of your vision. 

“You did it,” he said. “Get up. You gotta tell the boss.” 

“Huh? Me? You can’t--” 

“You’re the one who knows numbers. Grab the book, let’s go,” he commands. 

You don’t dare disobey. You grab the ledger and stand so abruptly, the chair snaps on the axle. You give a sheepish smile and scurry around the desk. 

He waves you out of the office. You’re all too happy to oblige at the realisation that you’re close to being out of here. He takes you down the hall and stops you at that same door. He knocks and waits until he gets an answer from within. 

He ushers you in ahead of him and shuts the door with a heavy click. That man, Buck, or Bucky, or Barnes, or whatever he wants to be, sits behind his desk. He is just as unimpressed as the last time you saw him. 

“Steve,” he greets the other man. 

“Go on,” Rogers nudges you with his knuckles. “Tell him.” 

You hold the book up in front of your chest and sway, “may I?” You nod towards the desk. 

Barnes gestures to the empty space and you approach. You put the ledger down, flipping it to face him. You turn the pages back and start at the beginning. 

“So, I was going through it all. This Warren guy. You see, here are the expenses, then--” 

“I don’t need the exes and ohs, doll, just get to the business,” he insists. 

“Right, I know you’re a busy man so I wouldn’t want to waste your time,” you chuckle nervously. “Alright, well,” you stand straight. Your head feels bubbly. “He stole a whole bunch money!” You say it a bit more chipper than you mean too. “Oops, well, not that it’s a good thing but...” 

Barnes’ eyes narrow and his chin ticks. You gulp and chew your lip. Shoot. 

“Sorry, don’t be mad. It wasn’t me, you know, I just added it up and--” You rock backwards and tip.  

You’re saved from hitting the floor as Rogers catches you and puts you back on your feet. He keeps hold of you, an arm across your back and his other hand on your shoulder. Barnes watches with unyielding derision. 

“Holy hell, she got something going on in her head?” Barnes asks. 

“She’s fine.” Rogers insists. “Look, Buck. We figured it out. You got everything you need to off that guy.” 

“Off... you’re going to kill Warren?” You squeak. 

Barnes gives you a sharp look and you seal your lips. Why did you say that? Your vision pulses and the colours blur. You feel yourself tilting and your head falls back. You slip into darkness to the shallow noise of your own breaths. 

When you wake again, you’re in a car. Rogers’ car. It’s dark and he’s silent. You look over at his shadow as he drives. You don’t recognise the streets outside the windows. 

“Noooo,” you sit up and pull on the handle as panic course through you. “Nooo, please, don’t kill me--” 

“Hmph?” He grunts and grabs your arm, pulling you back against the seat. “Sweetheart, if I was gonna kill you, you wouldn’t be awake right now.” 

“Oh god, so you would?” You screech. “I don’t know anything. Consider it all forgotten. Out of my head... oooh, my head.” 

“Calm down. Have some water,” he points to the cupholder. Your water bottles firmly in it. “Boss is happy. You did a good job.” 

“Oh, okay, right. Yeah. I’m a good accountant,” you say. You cringe and take the water bottle. You uncap it and clear your throat. “I’m sorry.” 

You drink deeply as he keeps his foot on the gas. You feel a bit better. You put the water back and wipe your hands on your skirt. 

“Um, Mr. Rogers?” You eke out. “Where are we going? You don’t have to say but I’m just asking.” 

He snorts quietly, “gotta pick someone up. You just stay quiet and don’t move.” He pulls up in front of a house. It looks like a really normal one. “Can you do that without passing out?” 

“I...” you look between him and the window, “I’ll try.” 

[jolalibrary]

20. rainier grey

frankie morales x f!reader | epilogue of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. flirting. they're no longer idiots. an: the end

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key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

You sure you got everything from the house, baby? I think so! Does this mean you're giving the keys in?

Unpacking another box, you slide a photograph onto the shelf, right next to his. You smile, shifting it, trying to make your things look like they belong as much as his.

Evidence of you already slotting in. Books sitting with his, plants finding homes in corners that look as though they were made for them.

Yeah. Unless you've changed your mind? Not even a little bit. Good. Because I already handed them in. And what if I had said I thought I’d forgotten something?

The bubbles in the corner appear, fluttering and twitching, until they vanish. You roll your eyes, grabbing a tissue-wrapped small artificial cactus, placing it, and tilting your head as your phone vibrates.

You know I’ve checked the place twice. Did the sex chair go into storage okay, by the way?

Even from here, you know he snorted. A breathy laugh, one that has and will always make your lips press together before sliding up into a smirk. You giggle at it, imagining him trying to suppress it if he's with people. Shaking your head at the image as you see him typing.

You gotta stop calling your office chair a sex chair. Well, the only thing that happened in it was that. Gonna drive now, you menace. Hurry home, baby.

Sighing, you rip the tape from the underside of the box and flatten it, staring at the wasteland of boxes that have taken over his living room. Despite the chaos, you feel like you're finally home, for the time in a long time.

A thing you'd whispered to him when he'd hooked his leg over yours in bed this morning.

Steam billowed, carrying the scent of spices, tomatoes, and herbs blending into the air as you hear the front door open.

It brings a smile, tugging at the corners of your mouth, even though this should feel ordinary by now. A thing you should be used to, it feels like the first day all over again.

No more boxes, all unpacked, places for everything and newly learnt routines that you know to listen for.

Head turned to the doorway, hearing one thing after the other landing in the bowl: Keys, wallet and two thuds of his boots being removed.

It's all a routine now, something normal. Dinner is divided between whoever arrives home first. If he gets home first, he starts it, the two of you relying on the board on the wall to keep track. The one that's a vibrant array of colours—butterscotch orange, dinosaur green, and rainy day blue—highlighting the various shifts, jobs, and school pick-ups your month has in store.

This week, it’s a lot of orange. Things are picking up, with more word getting out about Frankie’s business and what he can do. The reviews are trickling in, and you know he’s already quickly outgrowing the summer house in the back garden. You commented on it when the two of you made the decision, something he assured you would be fine. You still agree that paying for two homes wasn’t a wise choice when he was already taking a risk.

Risky—a word you could never use to describe him. But a word you let him have, relenting, melting into his arms as you bid goodbye to the office he made you, with the promise of a better one in the future.

Now, standing in the kitchen that used to be just his and is now ours, you count in your head the seconds until his arms slide around your middle, his mouth pressing a kiss to your head.

“Smells good.”

Turning your head, fingers sliding under his chin—you steal a kiss, and another, sliding your digits around his jaw before they’re tangling in his hair.

“Could get used to this.” You hum against his mouth, murmuring a what that makes him smile, smirk, right up against yours. “You in our kitchen.”

“Well, it has been months now—I’d hope you’d be used to it.”

Shrugging, running his hands up down your arms, he steps back and leans on the counter. On the days when he beats you home, you bring home stories of Harry, customers and the random paint name you’ve found that you make him guess the shade of until he gets it right. Tonight, you ask him how his day has been. A mundane question, a thing that arises every day and yet the answer is never the same.

He talks about another enquiry, how the photos of your old office space, in the place you once called home, had inspired another couple to get in touch. And you try not to smirk, to wear a knowing smile, but instead nod, stirring and grabbing plates as he folds his arms and keeps his gaze on you.

A thing you thought would have lessened, but hasn’t.

“You need my help with this one, or?”

Shaking his head, folding his arms—looking you up and down as he traces his tongue across his bottom lip.

“What?”

“We said if we did this you wouldn’t try and do it all.”

You might not groan outwardly, but you do inwardly. His brows raise as though knowing so too, a thing which almost drags a laugh out of you. Almost.

“Come here,” he says, hand extended, finding your slides in as he drags you close. “I appreciate you, you know that?”

“I do.”

Good, he whispers, brushing your cheek with his thumb—the roughness of it making liquid heat spark in your stomach as you bite the inside of your cheek.

“You want a hand dishing up?”

Shaking your head, you kiss his wrist. “No. Go change—you can’t do it all.”

His snigger stays in the kitchen with you, long after he’s left to go change.

Luca told me something interesting at drop off.

Not sure I want to know.

Apparently, we’re getting a dog?

Little shit. No. He asked me and I said I’d think about it.

Well, apparently he thinks that Saturday when we pick him up we’re going to get him a dog that lives at our house.

Fuck.

Fuck indeed.

Are we against a dog?

It takes a second for the squeals to calm down.

Your arms may be scratched, and you may have wanted to sob as you tried to build the crate on your own, but the joy thrumming inside you as Frankie wrestles the puppy and Luca screams with laughter makes it all worth it.

It feels right that there are two bowls on the kitchen floor, both sitting on a plastic mat covered with paw prints.

It makes the home feel complete, even with a wet patch on the rug, even with your new shoe marked with tiny teeth marks, and even though you're exhausted beyond words.

Grinning, you lean back on the couch, watching Frankie pretend to bark and growl as the puppy tries to nip at him. The two alternate between rolling around, evading each other, the creased laugh marks on Frankie's nearly enough to make you get on the floor and join him, just to brush your fingers against them.

Instead, you teasingly poke the boy next to you. “Luca, what do you want to call him?”

Mouth sliding from side to side, Luca shuffles and bounces along the sofa before his head comes to rest on your arm. Frankie shifts to playing a version of tug-of-war. “Tyler.”

“Tyler?” Frankie asks, pausing to stroke the retriever's ears.

Luca smiles and then beams. “Like tyrannosaurus.”

Somehow, you suspected you should have seen that coming.

“Okay, well, Tyler needs to go to the toilet. Do you want to try and take him?”

Luca, nodding and smiling, taps your arm. “Will you come with me?”

“Of course I will.”

As you stand, you catch sight of Frankie beaming up at you, warmth flooding your cheeks and ears at the sight of it.

What are you doing for lunch, baby?

Well, I was going to treat myself to a coffee and maybe a sweet treat. But what are you thinking?

I was thinking of letting Tyler out, bringing you fast food and sitting in the office at Harolds?

Oh, it’s been a while since we’ve done that. I like that our roles have reversed here.

I know. Do you know when Harold will let you have lunch?

Delivery is almost away, and then I just have to do a few bits.

I’ll be there in an hour. I’ve missed your face today.

Sounds good. Maybe you should have spent more time with it this morning then, than between my legs.

I have zero regrets about how I started my day.

“Have you seen the yard—I think that’s enough room for Tyler, how much bigger can he even grow after a year, and look here...”

Your fingers loop in between his, tugging him, practically dragging him with you to the kitchen window—the slightly overgrown grass and white fence greeting the two of you.

It’s the eleventh house the two of you have seen. Fingers brush over his thumb as he follows you around the rooms in a house that’s spacious, with three bedrooms, and two-and-a-half baths. It’s airy, light—ridiculously bright.

But it needs work.

A thing you can tell he’d thought on sight, even if the most he’s done is make a snort or a hum.

You suspect Frankie is paying more attention to the things wrong with it, than what is right. Missing some of the things you point out to him, too busy calculating square footage as the two of you walk around it. Ignoring your opinions on floor-to-ceiling bookcases and hallway mirrors, if the two of you could get a bigger bed than you both have now.

You do think he catches that you think Luca should have the largest room—your reasoning dripping from your tongue that he needs space as he grows up, that you both have a bigger closet in the second biggest.

“—And, we'd probably need to get him one of those beds soon, the ones where he has space under for a pull-out or a desk. The closet is decent, but we’ll have to get him some drawers too.”

Your fingers trace along the doors of the closet as he blinks, coming back to you, to the house, to the room.

“Wait—what…”

And you smile. Not just with kindness or joy, but with everything. Push it outwards, hoping it stretches its warmth out over the entire room, hoping it’ll surround him, maybe he’ll allow it to wrap itself around him as you tilt your head.

“I think this should be Luca’s room.”

Walking towards you, the heels on his boot sounding on the wooden flooring. “Baby, you can’t think that. For one, this house is—“

“Perfect,” you finish, palms finding his cheeks, thumb stroking the hair on either side of his lip. “It’s perfect, Frankie.”

You can see it, even if he doesn’t say it: it isn’t.

You’ve suspected for a while that he has an idea of a home the two of you should have. He’d whispered it to you three months ago in bed, head buried in your neck, fingers fanned over your hips as he talked about garden size, a pool, a workshop and even an office.

In some capacity, this house ticks some of those boxes. It has a spacious kitchen, it has a decent yard and a pool that needs a deep clean. There’s a room that could be an office, but would most likely be a spare bedroom for friends, for Benny or one of your own.

And, you’re grinning. Watching him smile in response, all radiant like he thinks you’re the reason the world rotates.

Then he says it, the thing which has been ticking behind the scenes. Unsaid, unspoken—ignored as though it doesn’t have its own pulse. “You deserve better.”

You don’t mean to, but your forehead wrinkles, brows knitting together as your smile fades into a thin line. Feeling it, etched and written across your face as shame works across him. The evidence of a battle he’s having with himself—something churning, twisting as you slide your hands down his neck and loop them at the back.

It’s clear now it’s been needling him—likely making his chest tight, wrapping vines around his chest, all thick and full of spikes, as he rolls his neck and sighs.

Tilting your head, trying to keep your tone level, you whisper, “Baby, what do you mean?”

Because the realtor is downstairs.

Not wanting to cause a fight—a scene. Your skin prickles as you momentarily panic that you’re whisper isn’t a whisper, when his mouth opens, but no sound leaves it. Worry tangles in your head, and in your throat as you move closer. Wanting more words to appear, to conjure, tell me, tell me, tell me, burning a hole in your tongue as you need him.

Your hand brushes his cheek, forehead smoothing out—concern replacing earlier confusion. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The edges of your mouth twitch. “And, I love this house.”

He snorts, shaking his head as you glare.

“Don’t… don’t do that, Francisco. Don’t think for me because you’ve concocted some image of what I want.”

Letting his eyes hang down, he sighs. “I’m not–I’m not doing that.”

“You are. You… you’re looking at each house as if it has a checklist to meet—like it’s being measured against something.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You sigh, dropping your hands from his face. And you miss touching him the moment you do. Wanting to place them back, have him take your wrists and put them back, but you’re already folding them, shaking your head as you stare out the window.

“You can’t be mad at me for wanting the best for you.”

You snort this time, narrowing your eyes as you shoot him a glare that says you can, and you will.

“If, and I mean if we take this house, I… I want, no, I need to do a lot of work on it. Because you deserve the house of your dreams, and admittedly, I can’t afford to give it to you. Because houses are fucking expensive, but I can make it for you.”

Biting down on your lip, you glance, catching the sight of him running a hand over his face. Fingers pinching the inside of your arm as you try not to let tears bubble, swim and then fall.

“I… I don’t want that.”

“What do you mean?”

You look up, blinking away the tears. Seeing the doubt spread across his face, like he wants to rewind the clock—take back ever saying you deserve better.

And you don’t want to fight, not with him.

“Frankie… I don’t want it to be my dream house, I want it to be ours.”

He takes a step towards you. “I know.”

But you raise your hands, not pushing him back, but not inviting him in either.

“But you don’t. You’re not picturing a doorframe we can keep measuring Luca growing up. You’re not thinking of warm Sundays with our friends around the pool—and you’re not seeing the lick of paint needed so our bedroom is a little dimmer, so your eyes don’t burn from all the off-white.

“I don’t need an office—I like working with you and at Harold’s. And, yes, I’m not walking around thinking you won’t have to do anything to this house, because, of course, you will. You’re good, you have an eye. We wouldn’t even be thinking of buying something bigger if you weren’t. But, you started a business a year ago—we can’t afford perfect. But we can buy good and make it perfect. If, and when you stop thinking of me, and instead us.”

Brushing a hand over his face, he takes a moment. Swallowing a sigh, an annoyed grunt. His fingers itch at his forehead, pushing strands of hair under his hat before he drops it and stares at you.

“You really want this one?”

Nodding, you roll your lips. “What about you?”

And so he looks around. Hands digging into his jacket pockets, walking in slow footsteps around the room—

Hoping you've helped him see it, picture it, with all your earlier ramblings.

Where the wooden trunk he made will go, the bed you just talked about—the prints of stars, spaceships and galaxies. He glances out of the window, spotting the long drive and the trimmed grass—the quiet neighbourhood that he could teach Luca to ride his bike in.

He feels you come up behind him, arms sneaking around his waist, his hands clutching your fingers as he smiles.

“You want to take another tour, Morales?”

He smiles, nodding, before he turns in your arms so he’s facing you, clutching your face as he kisses you. One which is full of sorry’s and love.

He lingers his palms on your face, just for a fraction. “Will you tell me all the other things you picture as we walk around?”

Grinning again, like before. One which would rival the sun and the beauty of the full moon on a clear night sky.

“Sure,” you whisper, taking his hand, leading him out of the room that in several months will be his son’s.

I’ve packed our case and it’s in the shower in our en-suite, so do not turn the water on without looking. Luca’s is half done, but just need you to help me with a few last-minute bits?

Can I ask why our suitcase is in the shower or am I missing something?

Luca is being nosy. He goes into our bathroom but not into the shower. Trying to keep a surprise from him is harder than you think when I apparently “have lying face”.

You do look very suspicious when you lie.

Good job I don’t have to lie for a living.

Is he behaving?

We’ve baked cookies for tomorrow—even if he thinks it's for a movie day. And he’s currently using my iPad to talk to Sam.

I keep hiding in rooms with boxes so he doesn't ask me things.

Rainy, baby.

I know, but it's only a few more hours, right?

Yeah, promise. Sam called me earlier, and said she has managed to get Monday off so she can meet us there on Sunday—says we should pick somewhere in the park so she can surprise him properly.

Do you want me to get to thinking and then text her?

If you don’t mind baby? I should be done here around 7.

Sounds good. Gives me something to focus on until you're home.

You sure you're doing okay?

I’ll be better when we tell him tonight, I’m feeling really bad about lying to him even if it’s for a good reason.

I promise you, the moment he realises we’re going, you’ll see how it’s worth it.

I know. Plus, the promise of you in Mickey Mouse ears is really keeping me going.

The photo of you getting off one of the rides is what is keeping me going.

Mean.

But I love you.

Love you too.

Peaceful—that’s how you’d describe it.

Condensation slips under your fingers, sliding under your wrist, pooling at the watch strap as you hear him shouting something to someone as he makes his way over. The music is quieter over here, the loud voice that attempts to synchronise with the lyrics seems less shrieking, and more full of harmony.

You were only hovering on the outskirts to call to see if Tyler was okay, and then you found yourself lingering. A moment needed, not questioned or protested.

You know that's why he’s been biding his time. Watching, eyes flicking to you just in case you beckon him to come. Now, you smile as he approaches, it pulled from you with so much ease it's reactionary at this point, no thought. Just a-Frankie-smile, all his, hopefully forever his.

The once-warm air has now cooled, whipping the fabric around your frame as he saunters over.

“Wondered how long it would take you.”

Snorting, he takes a sip from his glass—letting it wet his lips, admiring the same view you have been for some time.

Slipping his hand around your waist, you move closer with ease. Hip moving to hip, cheek coming to rest on his shoulder—contentment filling your bones when he brushes his fingers up and down your back.

“You cold?”

“Not now.”

And he smiles, light—it coming with ease now that he has you back by his side.

“Missed you.”

“That’s because you’re a needy boy, Butterscotch.”

Snorting, he buries it in your neck—light, airy—before pressing a kiss to your head and turning to watch those moving on the dance floor. The soft glow of twinkling lights shimmering in his brown, fingers teasing up and down his white shirt.

The moment is only punctuated by a distant sound—a shift in melody embedded into the night breeze. It takes a second, one far too much before you recognise the tune, the song. Smirking to yourself as you remember your passionate rendition in his car the other week. An updated version to the one over a year ago. The look the same, though, all grin, all teeth and almost crinkled eyes.

You feel him turning your head, eyes meeting his.

It’s simple, uncomplicated—a movement that seems rehearsed as you move, leaning, resting your head on his chest as you feel a soft sigh escape his lips.

“When we do this, we’re eloping.”

Brow arching, he smiles. “When?”

“Like you’re not desperate to slip a ring on my finger, Morales.”

Snorting, resting his chin on your head, you take a comforting breath.

Hearing him swallow, you look at him, finding his tongue flicking against his teeth as he stares ahead at the party. “What if I was… desperate?”

Smirking, finding his eyes now on you, even if his head is facing forward. “Well, Frankie, maybe I’d be desperate to say yes.”

Have I told you today you’re beautiful?

Are you texting me from across our hotel room?

I am. I can see your smile in the mirror.

How the roles have reversed. You look good in a suit, have I told you that?

Told me I look good in a different kind of suit today.

Oh baby, you always rock that one very well.

Can’t believe I’m marrying you today.

Can’t believe there’s a chance I’m going to be married by the real Elvis today.

I hope he says uh-huh-a-huh.

If he doesn’t, I say we annul and try again.

You do really look beautiful.

You should take a photo with Will’s camera—I guarantee I’ll get sauce down me.

You and white.

It’s actually rainier grey, but maybe I should have worn butterscotch.

Not sure I’d have survived that. Already pretty close to falling apart at the sight of you now.

Shut up and come here and kiss me.

AN: The End.

God, I was emotional last week, but as much as I am this week, I'm just grateful. Grateful you've all followed, that I got to tell this exactly how I wanted to. But, mainly, that you let this pair into your hearts. I love you, thank you.

[sleepynoons]

dr. ratio x gn!reader, sfw, not beta read

cw: explicit language

notes: college!au ratio is scrumptious + i love trying new characterizations of such a well-written character. some emotional angst regarding insecurities + never feeling good enough. platonic btw, though feelings spark at the end. also, requests are now open – please read all of my acc + request rules, which are linked in my nav. finally, repeat after me: YOUR HOBBIES DON'T HAVE TO BE YOUR JOBS.

YOU HAVE got to be shitting me.

you gawk as you stare at the student across from you. piercing eyes, gold laurel accessory adorning indigo hair, apron crisp and clean – why the hell is the veritas ratio here?

you’re a simple student. day and night, you’re studying to pass your classes and working a part-time shift as a barista at a local café to scrape in a little bit of extra cash. the difference between you and ratio is more than the distance between heaven and earth. the only time you ever interacted with your college’s “legendary genius” was at a study review session for one of your classes that he happened to be a teaching assistant for.

the first ten minutes of the session were wasted because ratio was criticizing the hell out of another student. to be fair, the latter was acting like an asshole. you had overheard some of the snarky comments they made about ratio as you all were waiting outside the classroom. but ratio was equally, if not more, biting and ruthless as he made comeback after comeback after comeback. you didn’t have a good opinion of him either. and so, you snuck out of the review session and never attended one led by ratio again.

you try to shift your expression into a more amicable one as you sit down next to him. out of all the places to meet him again, you would have never predicted it to be at your favorite pottery studio.

it’s fine, you think, it’s not like he knows who i am.

you’re not good at pottery – mediocre at it, at best. but the feeling of the wet clay against your hands, how pliable and cool and malleable it is, is soothing. even the sheer act of throwing a ball of it onto the wheel is stress-relieving. you frequent this studio once every few weeks or so, and it’s become something of a third home to you, a place that you can run away to really at any time.

ratio has accolades in the arts as well, especially renowned for his sculptures, so pottery doesn’t seem too farfetched. yet you’ve never seen him here before.

you’re deep in thought, until a steady voice interrupts with a call of your name.

you perk up, looking around. another call of your name. there’s no one else in the vicinity besides you and ratio.

you squeak in surprise. “oh! yes, um, hi, ratio! what’s up?”

ratio’s response shocks you. he asks, “i am having trouble with pulling the sides of my bowl up. would you mind showing me how to do it?”

what. ratio needs help – and your help at that? you quickly pull yourself together, though, because you’d rather not get berated by him.

“y-yeah, sure,” you acquiesce. “what are you trying to make?”

for the next hour or so, you guide ratio through the very few basics of pottery that you’ve become acquainted with. of course, ratio catches on very speedily, but contrary to your initial impression of him, he listens with rapt attentiveness and asks questions only when necessary. the final result is a round bowl with scalloped edges.

during your next visit to the studio, which is a week later, you run into ratio at the entrance. you both nod politely in recognition, remaining in silence as the studio manager helps the two of you set up. this time, ratio does not reach out to you. you notice that ratio creates another of the bowl he made (and you helped with) last week.

you don’t visit the studio again until a month later. midterms season plus additional shifts at the café because a coworker had quit without a two-week notice took up all of your time. yet, here ratio was again, already throwing as you settle at your station.

it’s weird, really. when and why did ratio pick up pottery? no one else on campus seemed to know – indicative by the lack of gossip regarding the genius –, and after a brief exchange with the studio staff that you’ve become familiar with, they thought he was simply a new frequenter.

you’re suddenly feeling courageous. maybe it’s because of the accumulated stress from the past month or the lack of caffeine, but regardless, you’re feeling bold enough to initiate conversation with ratio.

so you start easy, to seem casual. “hi, ratio,” you chirp, even adding in a small wave to appear extra friendly.

he glances up and nods before concentrating back on his work. you take that as your cue to get started as well. 

after half an hour, from the corner of your eye, you see ratio pause his wheel and stretch, judging and evaluating the progress he’s made. you notice that he’s making something new, a wide plate with a shallow rim.

“nice work,” you offer.

“thank you,” he states.

you sigh. now, you’re just getting irritated. going about this in a roundabout way is clearly not working.

you set down your tools and stare right at ratio. “i’m curious,” you ask, “why pottery? i’ve never seen you here.”

“you’re not here often either.”

you groan internally. of course he’s focused on the trees instead of the forest. “i come often enough to know the other regulars, and you were definitely not one of them up until a month ago.”

ratio breaks away from his work and looks back at you. even though you’ve seen him in person a few times now, his eyes always manage to glimmer so beautifully that they steal your breath away. “is one not allowed to pick up a new hobby? or are your conceptions of a so-called ‘genius’ limited to that of a naturally gifted workaholic?”

you have to think for a moment before responding. ratio seems rather uncomfortable with the term “genius.”

you muse, “maybe. you’re the closest thing to being a genius that i know, and you seem to be winning awards all the time. that can’t be possible if you’re not working hard all the time. but… it’s good to know that pottery’s just a fun activity for you.”

he asks, “is it for you?”

“yeah, i think it is.” you smile, though it’s more for yourself. “look, i’m not particularly gifted at anything, not even at pottery. but that’s fine because you don’t have to turn your hobbies into work.”

“i don’t agree with you.” you tilt your head in confusion, slightly wary because you don’t want to debate or argue. ratio continues, “the notion of separating work from hobbies is clear, but claiming that you are not particularly gifted is unnecessary self-deprivation, no? i’ve seen your work from class, and it’s very obvious you have certain strengths.”

you roll your eyes and scoff. “that doesn’t mean i’m talented at anything. everyone has strengths, that’s true, but it’s not like i’m doing anything impressive enough to get on the front page of our university newspaper.”

ratio states your name, but it sounds more like a stern rebuke. “i don’t take pride in being called a genius.”

“why? because you didn’t get nominated last year?”

he corrects, “for the past few years.”

the genius society, the most prestigious nonprofit in the world, offers a scholarship program that selects and nurtures the brightest college students globally. despite all of the research and leadership ratio has contributed, he has never once been accepted, let alone waitlisted, for the program.

you think you have a better idea of the kind of person ratio is. maybe he’s more like the sun to your earth, more tender-hearted and relatable than you had assumed.

“make sure the clay is evenly distributed in the center of the plate,” you note. you know he doesn’t need empty words of sympathy or comfort.

“i will.”

the two of you work until you’re both done; he finishes his plate and you a medium-sized soup bowl because you had accidentally shattered the only one you had.

before you leave, though, ratio calls out to you. (you notice you like the way he says your name.)

he says, “please, call me veritas.”

you chuckle and nod. (he notices he likes the sound of your laugh.) 

“i’ll see you soon, veritas.”

[bbanghiitomi]

| RRL (reviewing relationship lessons)

synopsis: dating kang haerin feels like waking up on a friday morning, looking forward to what may happen tomorrow (saturday), and tomorrow again (sunday)... then anxious about what may come next, then you're happy again because there's really nothing to be afraid of.

— newjeans!khaerin! × newjeans!fem!reader

(⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)(⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)(⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)(⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)(⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)

[posted in relationship advice forum!]

kittygokhrn • online

[my girlfriend...]

> what should i do when my girlfriend is upset and i don't have any idea why?

comments:

guestuser_1253 commented

> why is she upset?

user16277 commented

> tough, skill issue

guestuser_7937 commented

> the best option is to talk to her about it, you will never know why or what to do if you don't ask her.

"man these comments sure are useless..." haerin mutters under her breath as she shifts her gaze behind her laptop, as she sits on the dorm's sofa — she catches a glimpse of you from the kitchen, talking to minji while baking cupcakes and cookies. haerin feels a sense of jealousy, also guilt. she doesn't quite understand why you're so distant today, it's only tuesday and you haven't told her what the problem was, it's already getting inside haerin's head and is making her overthink about what she may have done wrong.

but alas, what the last commenter said was right, she's never going to know unless she asks you, it's not like you're going to telepathically tell her nor are you going to tell her without her asking. this is the worst part of becoming kang haerin, the lack of initiative and not being very confrontational about stuff... no matter how big or small it could be.

well it's hard — very, for someone like haerin confrontation isn't as easy as shutting up and waiting, maybe because waiting hurts less? or at least she can expect the worst and not be surprised, give her some time! she's just learning, and learning means making mistakes and adjusting of course.

it's not just her anymore, it's you and her.

which means anything she does may affect you, well great! no one told her it'll be that way. things just don't happen because of nature, somehow haerin remembers what she once read in a book before: existence precedes essence, it means that one person guides themselves towards their destiny through their choices.

haerin shudders thinking about it, that means whatever happens to her is her fault and only her fault. now, back to you — she remembers how sweet you were yesterday but today seems different, obviously you're still sweet but not as sweet (enough to give someone type 2 diabetes) as you were yesterday and that sucks for haerin because she loved your sweetness.

haerin tries to think back to what she did yesterday that may be possible to get you acting this way, but no matter how scrunches her face, she couldn't think of any reason why you're being so distant. if she continues waiting or not doing anything you may get more upset!

gosh, what did i do for her to act like this?

seriously, she doesn't know. given the fact that you're dating her for only 2 months, of course she's still trying to grasp your emotions, your actions, and your mood... you've been friends with her alright? she likes you, by a lot! the thing is that, haerin was never the type to really make a move when she was still crushing on you, which really meant you did most of the initiatives to get her to do something and she wasn't able to get to know you more aside from what she already knows.

it's embarrassing for her really...

haerin sighs and closes her macbook, she stretches and places the gadget on the wooden table in the living room before standing up and making her way to the kitchen to see you and now danielle as minji had to leave to help hyein with her school work. haerin glides her hand on the countertop, you're busy mixing the ingredients and your furrowed brows were the proof to your effort.

danielle on the other hand is watching over the oven to make sure none of the cookies are burnt.

"hey..." haerin calls out to you, eyes on you while you whisk the eggs. "hmmm?" you simply reply, haerin blinks yet her face has no reaction. she simply leans on the counter, with you being on the other side of the kitchen island and her on the other.

haerin pouts, moving her hand with her index finger sticking out as she reaches for your bracelet, which she made by the way. haerin pulls it gently, just to get your attention and which was of course — successful. you lift your head slightly to get a glimpse of her, with your eyes you see her looking up at you with her cat-like eyes, her contact lenses making her pupils look much more prominent.

you kind of feel the way your heart skips, wasn't part of the plan by the way — you didn't want to ignore haerin but you wanted to make her feel that you were quite disappointed with her dismissive behavior yesterday, when she brushed off min heejin in exchange for peace (an alone time with you). it's not like min heejin was mad or anything — actually, she didn't even mind it but of course, you did and you know haerin didn't even realize that she completely dismissed their ceo for you.

you don't like that! you don't like when people get ignored because of you! you know haerin, giving her a timeout even through being away from her by a small distance is enough to make her feel like something has to be wrong or out of the ordinary.

you know she doesn't like spending a day without talking to you or at least receiving hugs from you... and it's only 2pm!

"why are you ignoring me?" haerin asks, her voice is muffled by her arm that is folded on top of the counter in front of her face. the tone of her voice seems like she really wants you to know that it's bothering her, and correction — you're not even ignoring her, you literally greeted her when she woke up!

"i am not ignoring you haerin." you tell her, you see the way she scrunches her nose but only for a few seconds before she looks down again and back up at you. "in fact, i'm baking for us and i greeted you good morning earlier." you add, leaning close to her — haerin lets go of your bracelet when you shift your hands to place the bowl aside.

you really need her to be more specific about what she wants to know, because you're sure she's wondering if she's done something and all she has to do is ask.

you see danielle placing the newly baked cookies just beside haerin, haerin doesn't even spare any glance at the tray but just follows your traces. danielle leaves the kitchen to answer the telephone call from heejin and now it's just you and haerin.

haerin hums. "did i do something wrong yesterday?" she asks, fully leaning onto the countertop. you sigh as you stand in front of the kitchen island, a few meters away from her.

"it's not wrong, i guess... it's just not proper." haerin pushes herself up when you answer, her eyes widening. "w-what did i do?" she asks, though she tried to exclaim, her voice came out gentle and almost like a whisper. you know she's almost panicking, so you give her a small smile and walk to her side, not forgetting to grab the bag of icing.

"haerin, look — i know you love me but yesterday, i feel like you could've responded a little more attentively to heejin-nim yesterday. she was asking us nicely if we wanted to eat lunch with her, you know us three?" your shoulders slack, then you shrug, giving her a small smile. "you sounded uninterested and although you really wanted to spend the whole time with me — you shouldn't have shrugged her off like that. still, i love you haerin." you squeezed the icing out of the pipe and onto the cupcake.

"sorry... i got a little too carried away." haerin looks at your hands as she reaches to scratch her cheek, feeling her face warming up in embarrassment.

you remain quiet for a few minutes, finishing the icing before you place the bag down and face her, lifting your hand and touching her shoulder, then your fingers press against her neck. "i know... it's okay." you whisper, looking at her face — the way you stare made her flustered, feeling the familiar sound of her heart thumping banging in her ears.

she wants to stare back at you but you're making it hard for her.

baby boss (haerin-g)

[baby boss sent an image]

chicken nuggets...

chicken...

nuggets...

hi haerin!

you want chicken nuggets?

how many?

20...

chicken nuggets...

oh, okay!

i'm with minji-unnie, we're otw home!

i love you...

y/nnie...

kiss...

lol :P i love you too haerin!!!

(⁠〃ﾟ⁠3ﾟ⁠〃⁠)(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠)(⁠っ⁠˘⁠з⁠(⁠˘⁠⌣⁠˘⁠ )

HUGS AND KISSES!!!!

"bleh, you and your weird girlfriend." minji fakes disgust as she closes her eyes and turns her head away from you. "why are you spying on our conversation?" you ask, raising a brow at her, turning your phone sideways where she can't see the screen. "you have your screen brightness as bright as the sun on a sunday morning, probably that's why anyone within the distance of 50 meters would be able to read your messages." minji answers, still has her eyes shut as if she's got someone throwing acid at her eyes.

"okay... you didn't have to go off like that by the way — hey manager-nim! let's get 20 chicken nuggets for haerin!" you raise your hand, your manager looks at you and minji through the rear mirror and nods. "okay! there's a mcdonald's drive thru nearby." they answer before looking back at the road. minji finally opens her eyes and looks at you. "why does she want 20 chicken nuggets?" she asks, leaning on the seat.

today, you had a schedule for a magazine cover photoshoot with minji and although it was such a fun experience to have with your oldest member — it sure is tiring, this is why you never forget to thank the staff around after the schedule as they make the job a whole lot easier for you.

"because she wants some. why is it even a question?" you look up and then to minji — minji laughs and shakes her head. "oh nothing, just didn't expect her to have a borderline addiction to chicken nuggets. like — 20? guess she really did want to impress you before." minji shrugs, eyes shifting to the window and following the buildings with her eyes.

"i do think chicken nuggets are great — i'm happy to share that sentiment with her." you giggle, feeling your heart jump in joy — sometimes minji feels like if you were an inside out character, you'd probably only have like at least 5 joys, 5 angers, 5 fears, 5 disgust and 5 sadness — you express emotions 5 times more intensely than haerin.

imagine how crazy that is?

minji laughs when she imagines haerin having like 1/2 joy, maybe 1 anger, 1 disgust, 1/2 fear and 1/2 sadness and thinking about it more made her burst out laughing so hard.

"what is wrong with you?" you ask minji, watching her clutch her stomach in laughter. "oh my god... nothing — you and haerin are so perfect together!" minji dramatically wipes a tear off of her eye as she speak.

"you're just jealous and bitter." you scoff playfully, minji shrugs and lets out one last snicker. "you and hanni always say that." she shakes her head.

baby boss (haerin-g)

[boss baby sent an image]

hey this is us in another universe

;)))) how do u feel about that girl?

flattered actually,

spending my life with u again even in another universe is a dream

:'(((

i'm supposed to be flirting with you

and you're also supposed to be interacting with other celebrities there

but i don't mind talking to you

(⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡(⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡(⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

pshhh... i feel lonely here

i don't see why i, a 17 yrs old girl should be talking to adults

i don't know why i'm here anyway

'cause it's ur job

don't worry!! it's only for today, after that we can cuddle!

doesn't that excite you???

yeah, it does excite me

great!!!

i'm excited to go home now...

great...

so, ur just gonna stand in a corner? tapping your phone?

better than talking to strangers,

i miss you so bad.

:(((

i miss u too bb

so... what do u want to talk about?

anything actually, just ask me a question

good, would u love me if i was cursed by an evil witch and became a horse?

why a horse out of all animals?

i think you would be a frog, the small kind of frog.

and you'd be slimy because the witch knows you hate being slimy.

well it sounds like you won't love me

i would!!! if you were a slimy frog, i'd keep you in a large tank with the perfect ecosystem for you to thrive.

and i'll watch you every day.

i said a horse.

but i want you to be a frog,

what if i was the evil witch?

what..?

oh, heejin-nim is asking me to stop messaging you for a while lols

that sucks, should i bring my phone down?

you should! event's about to be over. hang on a bit!

"you smell so nice..." you whisper, head buried on haerin's back — she lays on her side, offering her back for you to lean on. "uh huh, thought you'd like me more if i smell like a watermelon." haerin snickers, a proud smirk written on her face as she feels you smothering her behind, rubbing your cheeks on her clothed back, arms wrapped around her waist. "you really do smell like a watermelon, i love it so much." you mutter, voice muffled by her tshirt that's been sprayed by a perfume resembling the scent of a fresh watermelon.

haerin had just gotten home from her trip out of the country and though she was tired, she couldn't help but give you the satisfaction to get a whiff of her watermelon scent that she bought from a store in her trip, thinking of you while on her way to pay for it.

"cool, if only hyein wouldn't take a bite out of me, i would be willing to smell like a watermelon everyday." haerin declares.

[posted in relationship advice forum!]

kittygokhrn • online

[gift ideas]

> i'm planning to surprise my girlfriend with a gift, what's something that's really romantic but simple?

comments:

usergo728294 commented

> a heartfelt message

guestuser77867 commented

> maybe some kisses and hugs??

guestuser_5667 commented

> a really cute ring!

"ah, thanks manager! me and haerin are off to get something, we'll be alright don't worry!" you link your arms with haerin's as you pull her to the exit of the building, you look at her and see her sharp eyes even with a cap on her head. you smile and tilt your head, beaming at her direction — her eyes relax at the sight of your face, it brings a smile on her lips even if it is covered with a mask.

"won't they go looking for us?" haerin whispers, both of you make your way to a sidewalk — it's only 5pm and after practice have just finished, you decide that it would be a good idea to hang out with her for even just a short amount of time — even just walking around the park and looking at anything, it's enough time to keep your head from going insane with the amount of burden work has left you.

you intertwine your fingers with hers, swaying both your hands together as you two walk in a moderately occupied street. although you'd like it better if it was just you and her, you can't help but at least feel a little more like an ordinary human loving someone with all these people around — it made you feel less of a robot, and it feels like you're just like everyone else.

"they probably will but, we'll be alright, right? i'm with you and you're with me, i don't have anything to be scared of." you say, moving closer to her — closing the gap between you and her figure. haerin looks away for only a bit, her eyes even as they were covered with the cap — looks like there were glimmering stars inside of them. "right, i'll make sure no one bothers us." haerin puffs her chest proudly, trying to seem big and mighty but all you can see is a cat — like a cat that stands on its two paws with it's two other paws raised.

"uh huh, bet no one will bother us if you hiss at them." you laugh, feeling the way your cheeks warm up at the sensation of her hand. "they won't." she says.

your eyes spots a small vendor selling beunggo-ppang — you pull down you mask and you look at haerin with a grin on your face. "let's get some snacks!" haerin tries to balance herself when you start pulling her to the vendor, approaching the stall with a bright smile. you buy two of the snack and reach out to give the other one to her.

"we have so much on our plate right now, so many events — photoshoots, filming... sometimes i wish we could get a long vacation or something." you start to talk once again when haerin takes your hand again and holds it tight, she looks at you as you speak, holding her snack in the other hand of hers. you look forward, seeing the sunset peeking behind the tall buildings as the light illuminates on your face.

haerin looks down on the snack on her hand, analyzes the warm fish-like bread, and sees the way the smoke wafts around. she then turns her head to look at you and feels the way her stomach twists, the way her heart thumps and her cheeks feel warmer than usual.

"i do too. if we get the chance to go spend a day even for only one day, where no one can recognize us. where would it be?" haerin asks, eyes looking for your eyes — she sees the sunset reflecting on your pupils. you stop walking and you stand near a playground at a park, it's empty with every kid and their guardians making their way home.

"me?" you point your index finger to yourself. haerin nods and underneath a mask is a smile on her lips.

"yes you."

"huh... if we had a chance to go somewhere without being recognized... i think i would want to go to an arcade." you answer before taking the last bite out of your beungo-ppang, haerin tilts her head as she looks at you, wondering what made you choose an arcade as your answer. "why an arcade?"

"i mean why not?" you shrug.

"i expected you'll answer like a theme park or a beach." haerin says. you laugh and nod.

you look at the dark sky, turning dark blue then to haerin's eyes. "well, both are nice too but whenever i think of theme parks and beaches, i prefer being with you guys. and if it were just the two of us, i wanted to be in a place like a local arcade — you know like, the two of us and maybe some other people who don't know us. and we'll feel like an ordinary couple doing couple stuff!" haerin nods.

"then it would feel less suffocating and scary, then we won't have to worry about what we don't know, what we expect and what may happen." you add, you take off your mask to fully show the smile on your face. haerin feels her heart clench, something not out of sadness — maybe, a bit because she wishes she could actually have you without being scared of a lot of things then again, she has you and you have her, what's there to be afraid of?

she's so happy that you feel that way about her, that you're as desperate as she is and as eager to do stuff together and cherish each other's presence. it makes her feel special, like haerin other than being an idol has something to be proud of. "i wish we can stop cosplaying and playing pretend to be highschool students in a mysterious world. but i really don't regret being an idol, besides having all these people who care about me i also met you." you tell her, haerin has completely forgotten about her snack — hand reaching out to hold you.

"y/n!" you get surprised with her outburst, she furrows her brows before the untouched snack on her hand falls on the ground and she starts looking for something in her pockets. "haerin..?" you mutter.

"here..! look, i have this ring for you." you watch as she shows a golden ring with a diamond ring — something she saw when she was doing her advertisement for dior. "—! is... that a ring? i know it is but, what for?" you ask, taken back.

"for you. because i love you! and i wanted to give this to you, i don't know why but i really really — really want you to have it." she rambles, you look at it and sees the way the diamond glimmers. "you think i deserve it?" you ask again, feeling hot tears well on the corner of your eyes.

"you do. seriously, that's why i got it because i couldn't help but think of you when i was looking at it." she explains, grabbing your other hand and slipping it on your ring finger.

"how did you know it fits?" you ask, looking at the ring on your finger, mesmerized by the way it shines.

"i... kind of just felt your fingers and went with my intuition." she laughs and shrugs, the way her eyes bend make you weak.

"i love it! it's so beautiful." you giggle, ecstatic.

"yeah i know, that's why i got it for you." haerin pulls her mask down and pulls you in a tight hug, you feel your heart jump and you let her be as she wraps her arms around you. "hey..." you mutter.

"i love you." haerin mutters, burying her face on your shoulder, sobbing. you place your hand on her waist, looking at her. "i love you too." you whisper, giggling in happiness.

[posted in relationship advice forum!]

kittygokhrn • online

[my girlfriend is sad]

> what to do if my gf is sad?

posted 18 hours ago...

your eyes scan the monitor of haerin's macbook, seeing the words from a website haerin have recently visited — she's asking a forum website, consulting strangers for help with you and her relationship. yesterday, after a schedule that lasted almost a whole day — you came home with the group and stayed inside your room, unmoving the whole time. maybe it's the neverending work, the lack of sleep, and the amount of coffee you took but you were feeling so sad.

you were lying on your side on the bad, sad and alone, haerin peeked to see you and felt compelled whether she should lay next to you or leave you be.

haerin entered your room, not forgetting to knock but you were so lost in your thoughts you have completely ignored her. she stood beside the bed, looking at your frame trying to decipher what may be the reason behind your sadness but have come to a conclusion that she may not know why.

the truth is that, you are also clueless to what is the reason why — you don't understand why you felt like this and don't understand why you can't understand.

you're just sad and tired.

haerin sat next to you in the bed, but kept her hands to herself. you still have your back facing her that time, it's not like you were ignoring her but you just didn't have the energy to turn around and talk nor even say anything about it.

haerin wanted to ask but she's contemplating if you would want to talk about it because she understood that there are times where people are just sad for no reason, it happens to her when she's feeling like a burnout.

it still bothered her, she really wanted to make you feel better but at the same time, she didn't want you to think or worry that once you tell her what you felt, you would think haerin sees herself as the problem.

after a while, she decided to leave your room and found herself in the dorm's living room, her macbook on the coffee table by the sofa. she sat on the sofa and started typing on her keyboard, that's where she found herself asking for help on the website and after waiting and more waiting, and some thinking — haerin fell asleep on the couch.

today, as soon as you wake up, you find her lying on the sofa, in a deep slumber.

you smile at the sight and crouch to the level of the sofa to take a good look at haerin, sees the way her eyes flutter and the way her chest rises. you get the urge to pinch her cheeks but resort to poking her cheek.

"love you haerin." you whisper before leaning in to kiss her temple and standing up to close her macbook before leaving to cook breakfast in the kitchen with the other girls.

[theyoungeragrippina]

✨ 15 gentlebeard fic recs ✨

i have spent the last month trawling the pages of ao3 for you, dear reader, to find the best ofmd fics. all the works on this list:

are longer-form (generally 40k+)

have no steddyhands (simply not my thing)

are generally, all around brilliant (well-written, had me kicking my feet and giggling, laughing, or crying)

are complete!

part 2 and part 3

A Heart Unsated by roughwinds

48k, explicit

"Stede Bonnet has just moved into Orange Crescent. There’s a house on the corner, opposite Stede’s own, with a garden full of flowers and a gleaming motorbike on the driveway. He’s forgotten to buy sugar.

Edward Teach has his morning disturbed by his new neighbour. Enamoured at first sight, he invites Stede round for a chat, and then another, and then another.

This is the story of them."

man i normally avoid fics with lots of alma and louis in them because its just not for me, but literally every second of the family bonding in this was so wholesome i was forced to change my entire mind.

all you left me was a pearl by @sightofsea

88k, mature

"1717. The Golden Age of Piracy. Stede Bonnet sets about wooing the love of his life through any means necessary.

Things do not go as planned."

every day i wish for a precise memory erasing potion to be invented so i can read this again for the first time. i would devour like 2000k more words of this if it was offered to me. brilliant.

forgive & forget by @fool-for-luv

44k, mature

"It hits him then, like a wave breaking on sand, loud as thunder when it crashes, then trickling away into little rivulets flowing back home, murmuring one word over and over and over. Ed.

The problem is, Stede doesn’t recall ever having met anyone named Ed."

so sweet and wonderful, and i wish there was more.

#gentlebeard is trending! by regional_catastrophe

41k, teen

"In which Stede accidentally convinces the pirating world that Gentlebeard (or Blackbonnet or Stedward; there's a poll) is canon, reunites his crew, and gets his boyfriend back."

hilarious & silly & great, but also the most compelling notes of any fic i've ever read. a proper learning experience.

if music be the food of love (then darling, you're a feast) by @fool-for-luv

107k, unrated

"“Hey, so, those two, right, they get together in the end?” Ed asks.

“I would protest spoiling it, but I think it's rather obvious, isn't it?” Stede says. His nose wrinkles as he smiles. “The tension is certainly there from the beginning. It just takes them a while to get there.”

“Good. Would have been a shit story otherwise.""

i love sassy stede and i love ed who is a grump and i love that they share one single braincell at any given time.

If You Were Mine to Keep by @mysterybees

162k, explicit

"Caught between the gallows and the end of an English sword, Ed accepts the Act of Grace: marry into the aristocracy, leave the English ships alone, and live to sail another day. But who in their right mind would ever agree to marry the mad devil pirate Blackbeard?"

Worth every second of tiredness I felt after pulling an all nighter to finish reading.

It's Only Right by hexuponye

53k, explicit

"A modern AU based on Imagine Me & You, in which Edward is a florist who does the flowers for Stede's wedding."

mary gets to be a little silly sometimes too as a treat.

pliocene by unfortunatelyobsessed

75k, mature

""man, it's just ocean for miles.” Ed motions out to the waves, where there is no sign of any sort of ship, their small dinghy pulled far up on the sand. “I told you when the clouds look like seagulls you take fuckin' cover. Goddamn ocean mutinied me.”"

william golding wishes he did something this brilliant and significant when he wrote Lord of the Flies. the best deserted island story.

quite a career shift by @stedesparasol

157k, explicit

"Stede's been posting book reviews on Youtube for two months now. It's taken him that long to finally get a comment, and the person it comes from is rather unexpected."

rip stede you would've LOVED booktube. furious i can never really watch his content.

Semaphore by komodobits

124k, explicit

"Talking things through as a crew is easier said than done, and honest communication has never really been Stede’s strong suit. When it comes to Ed, he is willing to try."

so good that i was properly and truly laughing and gasping and 'oh no-ing' out loud while i read it.

Such Joie de Vivre by @louciferish

94k, explicit

"Professional thief Edward Teach is tired of hole in the wall apartments, shitty pub food, and skipping town every few months to keep the cops off their tail. He’s well past the age he meant to flee the country and retire, and all he needs is One Last Job to set him up for life. When he hears that some rich bastard outside of town has just the sort of treasure he’d trade his good knee for, Ed sets out in disguise to get the lay of the land."

i (so so foolishly) avoided reading this for a while because i simply didn't think i was one for nanny aus. i was so, terribly wrong. don't make the same mistakes i did. showstopping. incredible stuff.

The Chains of Flowers are Fragile Things by @grandmastattoo

62k, explicit

"Stede can't see the shop he's inherited from his late father as anything other than a burden, another insult added to a life that's going nowhere fast. Then he meets the charismatic man who owns the tattoo studio next door, and Stede finds himself forced to consider the idea of home."

maybe i love tattoo shop owner ed fics, sue me. i love this stede and i love his embarrassing mistake tattoo.

The Love Experiment by karawrites

65k, mature

a married at first sight (aus) au. i didn't know i needed it until i read it.

Water/line by @the-gentleman-mermaid

60k, teen

"During a raid on a smuggler ship, Ed finds a merman named Stede locked in the hold."

So good that I would actually pay the author real person money to do a similar story but where Ed is the mermaid.

Where the Daylight Begins by @xoxoemynn

116k words, explicit

"Modern day AU slow burn featuring a pining Ed, a clueless Stede, found family, roughly a million animals, and a very magical house."

This one sort of gave me House on the Cerulean Sea vibes; it was so much fun and genuinely necessitates a proper use of the word whimsical.

[wistfulforstars]

For What It's Worth - Part 5

Rex x Reader

Summary: Rex prepares himself to leave you behind as the battlefield calls, but his superiors have something else in store.

Warnings: reader is afab, reader isn't present this chapter, Rex is shipping out, Fox continues to be a bro, General Skywalker is easily manipulated, I play fast and loose with military protocols, mature sexual content in later chapters, minors: get out

Tag List: @bambiswriting @jessyhazy

If anyone would like to be added to the tag list, please comment below or message/ask directly.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Rex could not figure out for the life of him why briefings had to be so early. 

Not that this one was unexpected, the 501st had been planet-side for a week. The boys appreciated the leave, and The Resolute was in need of a distinct number of special repairs after their last run-in with the Separatists. 

General Skywalker (who, to be perfectly honest, was more the cause of the repairs than the seppies were) and General Koon gave the briefing, and even though Rex knew it was coming, his heart still sank at the thought of leaving you.

You had made remarkable improvements in the last week, now able to limp around your apartment like a champ, at least for short amounts of time. Your doctor was very pleased, but had expressly forbid you from going back to work before two more weeks of recuperation and at least one more physical. You were most irate.

For his part, Rex had been spending all his time at your apartment, helping you around your home, learning how to use kitchen utensils and a cookbook (he only burned something beyond recognition twice), and running errands to the shops in your area. You had somehow gotten ahold of some civvie wear for him, and he was barely noticed on the streets. Alentia was grateful to be able to go back to her own job, and Rex couldn’t remember enjoying a leave more. 

He’d never experienced domesticity before. He’d never cooked for anyone or run down to a corner store for snacks, or spent a week curled up on a sofa. You were going to have to record the soap opera you’d gotten him into. He didn’t think he could miss it if Sirin and Jera actually got together.

In a week, all by yourself and barely able to move, you’d shifted his world beneath his feet. You’d made him think maybe he could have something simple and sweet after the war. Maybe something that made it all worth it in the first place. He’d caught himself staring into jewelry stores with a full heart and entirely empty pockets several times, wrenching himself away with reminders that it was too soon, and his position was too precarious, and right now he could offer you too little.

And for now, well, he supposed that little daydream was over. These briefings usually ended with a mission plan laid out and orders to give the boys. A ship out date, a plan of attack, and a certain trooper named Fives to find and drag out of 79’s were all looming in his very immediate future.

He didn’t want to go. For the first time since he’d donned it, his armor felt far too heavy. 

Standing at silent attention next to Commander Tano, he caught Commander Wolffe’s (non-cybernetic) eye. His brother raised an eyebrow and jerked his head at the battle plans the generals were pouring over. 

Okay, so maybe he’d been a little more quiet than usual. 

“...should be enough to establish an outpost,” Skywalker finished up. He raised his head and glanced at all the senior staff. “Does anyone here have anything to add?”

The room was silent. Perhaps it was the early hour, or perhaps they all knew that Anakin Skywalker would do whatever he damn well pleased, comments or no. Admiral Ularen stifled a yawn, and the general nodded.

“Alright, you all have your orders, we depart in two days. Dismissed.”

Rex grabbed at his datapad and made sure that the briefing had downloaded to it. He’d review the details later, after he broke the news to you. 

He had just turned to leave when General Skywalker’s voice sounded out again, “Captain Rex, would you stay behind a moment?”

On instinct, Rex turned on his heel and stood at attention, “Of course, sir.”

Anakin smiled, “At ease. Could you follow me, please?”

They left The Resolute’s bridge for the officer’s break room just down the hall. It was seldom used, though sometimes Rex and a few others would finish paperwork in the dead of night right next to the caf machine. 

When the door opened, Rex’s blood froze. Commander Fox sat at the table, sipping dark caf out of a disposable cup. He looked perfectly at ease. 

Anakin had already pulled out a chair, “Have a seat, Rex.”

As he did so, Rex stared daggers at his brother. There was only one possible explanation for his presence here, and if his hunch was correct, if Fox had done what he suspected, it was all over. His relationship with you, his position, his rank, his hope for a future. All because of fucking-

“Commander Fox is wanting to steal you for a few weeks,” Skywalker said cheerily. 

…What?

Rex turned his head to stare at his brother, then back at his general, “I…pardon me, sir?”

Anakin shrugged, “As he’s been explaining it to me, anti-clone sentiment has been growing on Coruscant. The Guard has been keeping track of several attacks on civilians that may be linked to the movement, and a rally is apparently being held sometime in the next couple weeks.”

Rex’s stomach started to untangle itself. He was apparently not in trouble. But all of this still didn’t explain why Fox would want to steal him. What Fox was even doing here.

“The Commander tells me that the Guard is spread too thin. Between the threat of the rally and continuing to protect the senate, the chancellor, and the streets, he doesn’t have enough officers of experience and rank to coordinate the guard. Since the 501st is the only legion planet-side right now, and since you have real conflict experience, not to mention an excellent reputation for doing more with less,” Anakin smirked at that. “Fox has asked if I’d be willing to leave you here, under his command, until we return from our newest mission.”

Rex tried to keep the utter shock off of his face. He turned to Fox, who was smiling pleasantly, nonchalantly. His thoughts turned to you for just a moment, sitting on your couch, saddened by the knowledge that he’d come back and tell you he was shipping out. Then he remembered he was sitting next to his commanding officer, a loveable shithead with the talent for reading thoughts and feelings, and he shook the image away.

“What about my men?” He turned to his general. “It’s not…it wouldn’t be right to leave them without someone they can turn to.”

Anakin snorted, “What am I, invisible? The 501st will be fine for a single mission, Rex. Commander Tano and Jesse will act as their immediate superiors, while Commander Wolffe, General Koon, and I will supervise the coordination of all the troopers.”

“I…but…”

“We aren’t forcing you, captain. You can join the mission as planned or you can stay here and assist Fox with the Guard.”

Rex was reeling. He could stay on Coruscant. With you. He could stay until you were better, until you could walk entirely under your own power and cook for yourself and…

He cleared his throat, “What…” he began, turning to Fox this time. “What exactly would this assignment entail?”

His brother tried to hide his smirk, but Rex saw it for what it was.

“Nothing you haven’t done before,” Fox gestured with his hands. “Help me coordinate troopers and prioritize special persons of interest who may be under threat. The victims of the previous attacks, the chancellor, senators like Organa or Amidala.”

Rex very deliberately did not look back at Skywalker as heard that last name. The pieces had fallen into place, “I see.” He paused for just a moment. “Well, if this is the best way I can be of service to the Republic, then I accept my assignment.”

Skywalker clapped his hands together, “Excellent! I’ll leave you two to hash out the details. I have some other business to attend to.” He placed his hand on Rex’s shoulder as he turned to leave. “Good luck, captain. I know you’ll make the most of this mission.”

Rex tensed, but Anakin left the room without another word. As soon as the door was sealed, Fox let out a low chuckle.

“Other business he says,” he folded his arms. “Like Amidala isn’t just getting home from a midnight session as we speak.”

Rex narrowed his eyes at his brother, “What the hell, Fox? Why would you go all the way to Skywalker spouting some story about how you can’t handle the Guard-”

“Thought you’d be excited,” the commander shrugged. “You get to stay in the same city as your girl, go home to her when your shift’s over, make sure she’s okay for a little while longer. And…I wasn’t lying. The Guard is spread too thin, and the chancellor won’t give me any more troopers for the moment. I know what you can do, Rex. I’ve seen the mission reports. I saw a win-win, and I took a stab at it.”

Rex shook his head, “You told him Amidala was under threat, didn’t you?”

“Sure, I’m not above a little emotional manipulation to ensure my men don’t get swarmed. I work with politicians every day, Rex. I’ve picked up a few things.”

“Is she even in danger?”

“Of course she is,” Fox rubbed his eyes. “When is that woman not in danger? She stands for more controversial causes than every other senator combined. No sense of self-preservation, that one.”

“She and him have that in common.”

They laughed together, and the rest of the tension in the room dissipated. Rex looked at his brother, grey hair starting to sprout up amongst the black, and wondered if he looked as equally tired.

“Thank you,” he murmured, and Fox smiled.

“Bout time. I only got you out of shipping off to the battlefield.”

They stared at each other a moment longer, and Rex felt a rush of gratitude for his brothers, for the only family he’d ever known, “You didn’t have to do it, by the way.”

Fox broke eye contact and stared down at the floor. When he spoke, his voice came out smaller than Rex had ever heard it, “At least this way, one of us can…” he paused, shook his head, and met his brother’s eyes again. “At least this way I can live vicariously through you.”

Rex exhaled, slowly, “You’ve never acknowledged it before. That there was something between you and Ularen’s-”

“She was my secretary, before Ularen’s last one had a mental breakdown,” Fox’s jaw had gone tense. “I…ran into her a few days ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Rex thought he had problems, but he couldn’t imagine…

Fox just stood, and fiddled with his belt, “It doesn’t matter anymore. There was nothing I could do for my…situation-”

“So you did something for mine.”

For just a faction of a second, Fox looked like he might cry. But he simply squared his shoulders, and nodded once stiffly, “Take the rest of your leave, report to guard headquarters after your troopers ship out. I’ll give you a full briefing then.”

Before Rex could respond, his brother had his helmet back on and was already out the door.

He stood there for a minute… two… three… ensconced in the surprise of his new reality. Then he slowly brought his comm up, and typed a message to Jesse.

Rex: I’ve been assigned to a different mission. You’re up. Start looking for Fives NOW.

His heart was weighty, but his steps were light as he left The Resolute and took a speeder home. You were waiting.

[natashaslittlegirl]

Whatever you want - Romanoff's Assistant

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS. MINORS DNI +18 ONLY.

Summary: You and Natasha attend to the Stark Family's Party.

Boss ! Natasha Romanoff x Assistant ! Reader

Warnings: none

Natasha Romanoff's Masterlist RA Masterlist RA Account Chapter III aesthetic

The week passed already, with your new routine, wake up, get Miss Romanoff's coffee, work until your lunch break and continue until the end of the shift. She didn't have many patients this week, it was more meetings and duty calls.

Miss Romanoff was pleased when you brought her the fully signed folder.

You started your friday a earlier than, got your coffees and headed to work. Once you were on the 27th floor, you left the coffee at Natasha's desk and reviewed her patient's files. You hear the elevator door open and saw your boss walk by.

"Good morning, Miss Romanoff."

"Morning, Y/N, come to my office in five minutes."

"Yes, Miss Romanoff."

You waited for her to settle down and knocked on the door to enter, she asked you to sit down and you saw her open the drawer of her desk. She handed you a gold metallic card and with your name on it. This was the card that she mentionated when you two talked about your contract.

"I need you to go buy yourself a dress for tonight, whatever your preference is, not so short, heels and if you want a purse. Don't worry about the amount, buy whatever you want." She took a sip of coffee and then continue talking. "You have the rest of the day off, go now. Oh, and I need you to leave me your address and phone number on your desk so I can send James to take you to the event," James is her personal driver "just in case, I'll wear black, you can go now."

"Yes, miss romanoff, do you need anything else or me to buy something for you?"

"No, it's fine, thank you." She didn't look at you again and you assume it was time to go.

You left written your address and number on a post it note on the desk, put the card in your wallet and head out to the barista. You're thinking of going with Kate, if she has some free time to go shopping for tonight, you are always open to second opinions.

You enter to the shop and see that it is empty, weird. You greet Kate and ask her if she can come shooping with you.

"If you can't it's fine, Kate, I can go by myself and send you pictures." you said that when you see her hesitate.

"And miss seeing you in a tight dress? You're crazy, let's go." You see her take off her uniform, a brown apron, grab her bag and you go to the door, she turns the sign from 'open' to 'close' and you leave to the center, not before locking the door. You two walk the avenues until you find the Saint Laurent store, a very kindly woman asks you what youare looking for and guides both of you to the clothing dress sector.

Kate starts to look from one side as you from the other one, she shows youa blue dress but you feel that does not go with you, you just shake your head and she hangs it again. You keep looking more in the part of the black dresses, they never fail. She shows you a red one and that might be an option so you keep it separate from the rest.

Finally in the fitting room with three dresses. The red one Kate found and two other black ones you picked out. The first dress, the red one, is long, with a delicate neckline, sleeveless and a slit on the left leg that goes from the thigh to the ankle.

The second, a black one just like the red and the third, black, tight, until a little above the middle of the thigh with a slit also on the left side, neckline under the breasts, not as subtle as the previous dresses, you won't have to wear a bra with this, but you think that this is the one.

Of the long dresses, Kate thought black was the finest, but the reaction she had when you went out with this was the last thing for you to decide.

"Romanoff is going to have a cardiac attack and a pool between her legs as soon as she sees you." That is a very Kate comment.

"Are you serious or are you just playing around? Does it look good?" In fact it fits you well, it fits you perfectly. It straightened you waist and made you see a more delicate figure.

"Y/N/N, how your ass looks in this dress is going to be what lands her in the hospital." You couldn't help but laugh out loud at her comment, but deeply you just hope Miss Romanoff sees you like that.

You also chose a pair of black triangular point high heels and a patent leather envelope.

You two spent a while more walking through Central Park until you decided to have lunch, you chose an italian restaurant. You both ate alfredo pasta while we talked about everyday life. Kate went back to the cafe while you made your way home, took a nap with Lena for about two hours, it was still early. When you woke up you made a coffee and took a bath to start getting ready. As you go out notice that you have a message from an unknown number.

Unknown number

James will pick you up at 7:45, be ready. NR.

You smile at her message, add and answer her.

You

Yes, Miss Romanoff.

You take the dress out of its bag and admire it, it's beautiful. You start to dry your hair, let it loose, luckily you don't have to straighten it since you already have straight hair.

You do a subtle makeup, concealer, foxy eyes and mascara. Red lipstick and gloss, a little highlighter and voila. You look at the time, 7pm still have time. You choose the accessories, a gold necklace just the right length for your neck with a dangling chain that ends between your breasts to give more style to the neckline of the dress, a matching bracelet, gold earings and two rings on your left hand.

You prepare the envelope, lipstick and gloss, deodorant, perfume, wallet and that's it. You put on the dress and heels, a touch of perfume and ready. You take some photos in front of the mirror that is in the living room, feed Lena, give her some kisses and sit on the couch to wait for James.

7:45pm you hear a horn outside your building and at the same time your phone rings indicating a message.

Miss Romanoff

James is outside. NR

You

I'm going.

You kiss Lena and leave the apartment, lock the door and go down the elevator, eighteen floors is a lot to go down the stairs in high heels. As you go out you see James, a tall man in his forties, you guess, he is standing next to the car, waiting to open the door for you.

"Miss, Y/L/N?"

"Yes, it's me" you get in the back once he opens the door and he drives you to the event. It's not your first time at an event like these, but she doesn'y have to know. James leaves you at the door with the instruction to go inside and wait for Miss Romanoff there.

You hope no one recognizes you, thats's kind of impossible but, come on, let's see what the night awaits.

You entered at the event and a lady at the reception asks for your name to be able to pass, she gives you a card in case you need to leave. The room is full of people, it's beautifully decorated, white curtains on the walls, round tables with silk tablecloths and golden chairs.

Before you can continue looking at the decoration you see her walking towards you, her hips slowly moving from side to side, mesmerizing. She is so beautiful. Long black dress with a slit on the left thigh, a plunging neckline with delicate straps, stiletto heels and a black handbag as well. Just a necklace as an accessory, she definitely doesn't need them, she's amazingly stunning.

"Y/N," she stops in front of you "Come, I want to introduce you to some investors."

"Yes, Miss Romanoff." She turns around to walk and her hips look so much more mesmerizing from this angle.

Natasha introduces you to three investors, she tells them about you degrees and your work in her company. She talks so proudly about your work that you can't recognize her, is she really proud of you, well, what you achieved? Or is she just showing you off as a trophy?

You talked about the company, what they were willing to invest in and what they wanted to win with it. Taking advantage of this charity event, Miss Romanoff, convinced the three men to donate in favor of her company and later, in the week, you all would have a meeting to go deeper in matter.

She has an enormous ability to make people do what she says, she seems to cast spells, you don't know how she does it, but you'll do anything she asks of you.

Miss Romanoff catches your eye and tells you to head to the bar, she orders two martinis and hands one to you as you both sit in the tall gilt chairs. You see that she opens her purse and takes out her phone, she looks intently for a message, smiles and types her reply, which you can't see actually and puts her phone away.

"Y/N, I need you to pay attention to me," when people start with that phrase something important is going to happen "there is a woman coming now, who I need to associate with my company in some way, any way actually. I need you to get her attention and try to convince her to donate for Romanoff's company, do you understand?" She takes a sip of her martini and raises an eyebrow waiting for your response.

"Yes, Miss Romanoff, but why me? I'm sure you can convince people better than me."

"Because I say so and you are going to do what I order you, is that clear or do I have to repeat myself?"

"No, Miss Romanoff. I will do as you order." You see that characteristic smirk on her face.

"Good girl."

You run out of words. She really just called you good girl? oh my-

"She's here." she says looking at the the door cutting off your thoughts, You see the woman you have to convince. Miss Romanoff gets up from her seat and pat your thigh for you to follow her, you swallow hard and go after her.

"It's good to see you again," Natasha says after hugging the women "I want to introduce you to my new assistant, Y/N Y/L/N." Natasha runs her hand behind ypur lower back and pulls you in front of her.

"Nice to meet you, Miss?" You ask.

"Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff, darling." what a beautiful name for a beautiful woman.

"It's a pleasure Miss Maximoff." she puts a smirk on her face and oh god why do all the beautiful women do this to you?

"The pleasure is all mine." She turns her attention back to Natasha to ask about her daily life, you take this as an exit and head to the bar again to order another martini.

Natasha's pov

I watch Y/N ​​walk over to the bar as Wanda starts asking questions about my life. Seriously? Is that dress did she choose to wear? Don't get me wrong, the way it settles her perfect  figure against her body, oh, suddenly I find myself jealous of a fucking dress.

"She is hot." Wanda says and I turn confused to see her face.

"What did you say?"

"Don't say no, I always trust your taste in women because, we have the same taste." She winks at me and I roll my eyes.

"She's my assistant, Wanda." I pause to lick my bottom lip, suddenly seeing Y/N talking so closely with the waitress dries my mouth. Wanda hummed and I excuse myself to go get her. I walk to her seat watching her laugh at something the girl behind the bar told her, "Y/N, a word." It came out in a harsher tone than I expected.

"Yes, Miss Romanoff, sorry Kara, we'll talk later." she excuses herself to the waitress as she smiles at her and then looks at me. "What do you need, Miss Romanoff?"

"I need you to do your job, not giggle and messing around with the waitress, that's what I need." again, rougher than I expected. She widens her eyes confused, "I told you you had to convince Wanda, why did you leave?" I try to explain to her more calmly so that she relaxes.

"Sorry, Miss Romanoff, I thought it was none of my business to hear what you were talking about with Miss Maximoff." I see her gulp and start playing with the ring on her left hand.

"It's okay, Y/N, stop doing that," I grab her hand to make her nervous go away. She looks me in the face, "now go and convince Wanda to invest in my company." she nods and before she releases my hand I lean in close to her ear and whisper.

"If you don't convince her of it there will be consequences." I tease her and with that I hear how she lets out a gasp and walks away looking for Wanda.

Your Pov

You feel how your underwear is getting ruined because of Miss Romanoff. You see Wanda talking to an investor so you decide to go to the bar to get some martinis to share with her. Once you have them ypu wait for the man to leave and you approach where she is.

"Miss Maximoff, a martini?" you hand t to her and she gladly accepts it.

"Well, how to say no to such a pretty girl?" She takes a drink and you hear a sigh escape from between her lips as she taste the liquid "It's very nice."

"Indeed," you take a sip of your drink too as you look directly into her eyes, Natasha asked you to convince her, but she didn't say how "Miss Maximoff, have you thought about which company to invest in yet?"

"Not yet, I would like to talk to more people before making a decision. Why? are you here to convince me, darling?" she asks ypur raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe I am, maybe I just want to hear from you, you'll never know."

"Well, if you keep bringing me drinks to share, I might think about investing in Romanoff's company," She looks you up and down, "although, thinking about it, I might invest just to spend more time with you, is that okay with you?" 

"Everyone has their ways." You raise your arms as if excusing you and you hear a giggle come out of her mouth. Wanda and you talked about the company, what she expected from it to grow and win. After talking with Wanda, Miss Romanoff and you went talking to several investors, they all seemed pretty convinced of your proposals.

After a while everyone is called to sit down for appetizers while the investors make their decisions, Natasha and you are at one of the center tables but not in front of the stage. The waiters bring the tasting plates while the money is counted. A few minutes go by and Tony Stark makes his presence, the only thing you can think of is that he doesn't want to go talk to you, although you're more than sure he will.

"Good night everyone, in case there is someone who does not know me, I am Tony Stark, Owner of Stark Industries and today I am hosting this event, in a few minutes I will announce which is the company that raised the most money and the names of the investors will be given in a list to the owner of the winning company, good luck to all!" and after that speech he disappeared backstage again.

you're starting to get nervous again, your leg swings and tremble under the table, Miss Romanoff notices and puts her hand on your thigh. "What's up, Y/N?"

"Nothing, Miss Romanoff, don't worry." she nods and looks back at the screen at the side of the stage, without moving her hand from your thigh, well, that makes you even more nervous.

The waiters remove the plates and Tony comes back out with an envelope in his hands. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winning company is" please not Natasha's "Romanoff's company! please give a round of applause to the best psychologist in all of New York please!"

Everyone applauds as Natasha gets up and you feel her squeezing your flesh for you to get up and follow her, you do it and walk to the stage going behind her.

"Congratulations Natasha!" Tony says handing her the envelope with what you guess, will be the names of the investors. Tony turns his head and looks at you surprised but he doesn't say anything.

"Thank you very much to everyone who invested in Romanoff's company, I promise I will not let you down." People clap again, including you, until Natasha steps offstage and you return to our seats.

You go to the bar to get a glass of whiskey for yourself and a martini for Miss Romanoff. While you wait for the drinks you feel an intense gaze, Natasha's gaze, you can't see her much since you find Tony in front of you, fuck.

"Did you really think I wouldn't come to see you, little one?" He comes over to hug me "I'm so sorry about your parents, I'm going to visit them soon." You half smile at him.

"I'm fine, Tony, and so are they now. Don't worry" The waitress calls you to deliver you the drinks and you thought it was your right time to escape but,

"So, you work with Romanoff now, huh?" he tells you as he turns to see Natasha and so do you, coincidentally she is watching your little interaction.

"Yep, that's right. It's about time I found my own way out. If you'll excuse me, I have to go get her martini, but it was nice seeing you again."

"The pleasure is mine, little girl, say hello to your dad and mom for me, okay?" He hugs you again and walks away. You make your way back to the table and meet Miss Romanoff's confused gaze.

"So, do you know him?" she asks you pointing at Tony with her head.

"Yes, Miss Romanoff." You don't give any more explanations and Natasha doesn't ask you again.

The event ends and James picks you up and drops you off at your apartment door. Miss Romanoff must have called him. You stripped you of your clothes and take a hot bath, in the end, it wasn't so bad.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

[alexanderwales]

Disclaimer: this is a very long ask. Please feel free to ignore it if you're busy, or for any other reason - 'I love your work!' is a decent summary. Hello Mr. Wales! And belated welcome to tumblr from someone else who also spent years seeing tumblr screenshots on reddit and twitter before joining.

I read Significant Digits a while back (immediately after reading HPMoR) and enjoyed it a lot, so thank you for that! More recently, I've tried doing some writing myself, with middling success (a HPMoR, Delve, Mother of Learning and Mage Errant crossover).

One of my readers left a long and fascinating comment on my fic, in which they quoted your review of HPMoR at length: https://forums.sufficientvelocity.com/threads/a-call-to-the-dark-city-delve-mother-of-learning-hpmor-mage-errant-multicross.127432/post-30801851

I found that I disagreed with your thoughts quite a bit, which surprised me! My response is in the next post in that chain, but the gist (ignoring context specific to my fic) is this exchange:

Harry does not win the climax of the fic by having overcome his flaws, he wins it through brutal murder. The biggest organic change he undergoes is from believing in the value of truth to advocating for multiple conspiracies against both the wizarding and muggle worlds, and if that's character growth, I find it ugly.

My (shortened) response:

As Alexander Wales notes, Harry *does* change in HPMOR: he becomes less open, less willing to share information widely, and shifts focus from local issues (people and ethics near him) to what he considers global risks and outcomes. As a reader, I'm not too interested in whether or not the change in Harry's character is in a 'good' direction, or whether or not he becomes a better person, or whether or not his views over time gradually approach my own. For me, the most important thing in a story is that it is *interesting* - and I find Harry's arc in HPMOR very interesting.

I'm curious about if you have thoughts on the general debate there - to what extent do you think writers should prioritise faithful simulation of characters and setting vs. giving the characters an arc with an emotionally satisfying conclusion? Or is deciding initial conditions such that accurate simulation leads to a satisfying character arc and emotional conclusion *the real puzzle*?

Thanks again - I've enjoyed your writing a lot over the years, and expect to enjoy it more soon! (About 10 of my readers have independently recommended that I read Worth the Candle based on the stories I've included in my fic, so it's pretty close to the top of my reading list :p )

(I am obligated to point out that Significant Digits was not mine. I wrote a very short epilogue here, but nothing of the length or complexity of any of the notable fan sequels.)

I've been thinking about how to answer this for a bit, but I think what it comes down to for me is that I want a story to have a clear thematic, emotional, or intellectual through line. I want a story to be about some specific thing, and then take that thing through its paces, and to have us come out the other end having explored that thing in its fullness.

To some extent, I like stories best when they're driving at some singular vision, which I know as a sprawling webfic author probably seems insane. So if the ultimate conclusion is "yes, we should commit conspiracies against people for their own good" then I would like for the early parts of the story to show us why that's the case, ideally by having some truth be put out into the world that causes damage, or by showing how a lesser conspiracy worked to protect something, or whatever else. Or contrarily, if it's the work's position that conspiracies are bad things, then it should show us how and why they're bad, and why this character is making that decision anyway. Or if the work isn't sure how it feels about this thing, I still want them to explore it, to see the different scenarios and thoughts.

I'm an avowed fan of HPMOR, and I am unfortunately the sort of fan that has a lot of critical takes about the things that I enjoy. My biggest problem with HPMOR is that it's not thematically "whole": the individual parts don't feel like they mesh that well together (in my opinion). With that said, I haven't reread HPMOR in a very long time, and my arguments are rusty, so I don't want to give them here.

I think my desire for thematic cohesion is probably work-dependent, but even so, is also probably at the far end of reader preferences. Some people are perfectly happy to read things that are more simulationist in nature: a character does things because that's what they would do, and if this doesn't build up to some grand theme or climactic showdown, so be it. I do think a lot of the trick of writing is making character stuff work in harmony with plot stuff, because you don't want people to feel like "oh, he just did that because the plot demanded it" (though they will say that about almost anything, in my experience).

I don't think that HPMOR is fatally flawed for its thematic wanderings, and I do think there's some sense in which it's best read as a you'd read a TV show with multiple "seasons" which are individually about something but don't necessarily have as solid of a through line. It's just a personal preference thing, I guess.

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

I've also been thinking a lot about closeted pop stars (including Harry) in the time of Chappel Roan. Mostly unformed thoughts but very eager to see what's next for all of them

You sent this a while back anon - and I keep thinking of answering it and each time what 'in the time of Chappell Roan' has shifted slightly and so my answer has got more complicated and the fundamental differences between Chappell Roan and Harry have become more obvious.

I think there's an emotional landscape question about what it means to be a closeted pop star in this moment. I don't know if we can imagine the complexity of this answer - and when we try it's important to include the push back against the fan gaze that is coming from queer artists.

The other side of this question is what it means for his career. And here I think it's worth asking what does it mean that Harry is going to be making pop music in this moment. It's been a time of these massive, interesting, female pop acts. All of whom in their own particular ways say something about themselves and something about pop with their art. It's been a time that Taylor Swift, who has baked cookies for her fans in the past, has told fans to fuck off in songs.

None of this is very Harry Styles. One of the things that has been really interesting to me watching the pop landscape shift this year - is that has really made me define what Harry does. These are I think the key elements to his proposition:

With each album he has had a very big song that spoke to the moment we're in

His aesthetic is striking, interesting and playful (thanks Harry L - but also thanks to hiring strong artists with a point of view for key tasks such as album photography)

In his music there's a lot of space for people to project onto, with particular space for fantasies

The core of the fantasy is the live show and its place of joy

And certainly there's a huge gap between that - and what we've been seeing from other artists recently.

I was listening to a recent episode of Every Single Album and Nora and Nathan were talking about Harry Styles for a while (I can't remember which one and would welcome pointers, because it's not clear from the episode description). And Nathan in particular was suggesting that Harry would need to think carefully about how he presented himself in this space and it wouldn't be enough to be projected onto - he needed to share something of himself. Here Dua Lipa is used as sort of a cautionary tale of what happens if you don't have enough Lore.

It's not that I entirely disagree. I think there's a lot that Harry address in his music that would be thrilling, if he was interested in sharing. When you think of songs like 'But Daddy I love him' or the 'Girl, So Confusing' remix - and imagine what would happen if Harry was interested in playing even near that playground - that's something I'd look forward to. I also think the most effective way to address the way people do and don't talk about his sexuality - would be a song that had an element of fuck you in it.

But I think there are multiple dangers here - and not having enough lore is only one of them. I also think there's a worry of losing what people want from you, by trying to be what people love in other people. (I think this, far more than anything, has been Katy Perry's problem. She's trying and failing to be a more relevant version of herself - but she'd be far more relevant if she'd kept doing what people love from her.

I really think the 'if he's interested in sharing' is the key point. If he has any interest in writing any music that comments on his life in a way that is intelligible to listeners - then I think there's real potential. But I think nothing could be more fatal than doing it for the lore.

To come back to Chappell Roan - I just listened to the popcast episode about touring, and read Jon Caramanica's review of Chappell Roan's show in Tennessee. In that he compares the show with the on-line discourse - and basically argues that the way forward, the way to build a career that matters - is to ignore the people who want to talk about you and focus on those who want to be part of the collective experience when you make music.

I hope that this, more than anything else, is the message that Harry takes forward. If he has anything to say, then I'm all for him saying it (although I think the response to Chappell clearly shows that people don't really want popstars to say things). But I think the most important thing for his career will be him continuing to do what he does well.

[harri-etvane]

Hug Prompts Vova and Maks

5- jumping into a hug and 7- hug from behind Although I'm greedy and would love to read them all 😅

Hello love! I'm sorry these took so long, I got a bit stuck into an Angst rabbit hole, but these are just.. almost 1k words of fluff. I hope you enjoy! Please do let me know what you think ❤️ xx

Hug from behind;

Maksym is usually very, very aware of his surroundings - aware of what is behind him, what is in front of him, where the nearest exits are, where to go if they need to get out of somewhere, where the nearest bomb shelter is. It's just part of his every-day, knowledge that helps him do his job to the best of his ability. It also means that he is very, very hard to surprise; he's always alert, always ready - listening, waiting. Vova has often wondered aloud if Maks has the same hearing ability as a bat - a comment that earned him a not entirely gentle jab in the ribs.

Volodymyr slips into Maksym's office noiselessly, padding across the floor in socked feet, a plan in his mind. He knows that Maks is usually difficult to surprise, but he's chosen his moment; there's time locked into Maks' calendar for him to review any upcoming trips and make a start on preparations. It's something he usually does alone in his office so he can concentrate, forming a plan before bringing the rest of his team in on it. His focus is absolute on the maps spread over his desk, a thin red line loosely tracing the route they will take across Europe, dots marking the places they will stop - how long for, who they will meet - what they need to anticipate, to plan for, to forestall. There is something comforting in a way, about planning - knowing that he’s doing everything he can.

He frowns at the route, muttering vaguely to himself, immersed in his own thoughts. When not with Vova, his ever-present awareness is ever-so slightly dimmed; not quite on edge as he ordinarily is, not second guessing every shadow in his own office, every creak of flooring. Vova shuffles a little closer until he is at Maksym's back. He reaches out a hand and places it gently on the other man's waist, expecting him to flinch.

"It's only me."

He receives a soft little hum in reply, a smile somehow still evident in that quiet noise. Taking it as implicit permission, Vova nestles closer, wrapping his arms around Maksym's waist from behind, pressing his rough stubbled cheek against his broad back. It feels like home, here - and he tightens his hold.

"Surprise?" is his tentative little utterance.

He feels a rough bark of laughter thrum gently through Maks, but doesn't loosen his hold, closing his eyes for a moment and breathing in the familiar smell of sandalwood cologne, the warmth of his body.

"Sorry to ruin it. Heard you come in."

"Seriously?! I took my boots off and everything."

"You'd be a terrible spy."

"Good job I'm not Budanov then, hm?"

"Everything okay?" a soft note of concern finds its way into their conversation, Maks pausing for a second, palm flat on the desk; the warmth of Vova at his back is.. nice, calming somehow. He finds an implicit comfort in having Volodymyr beside him, even just his presence is enough.

"Mmm. Missed you-"

"I- I missed you too.”

___________________

Jumping into a hug;

Volodymyr yawns, rubbing at the corner of his eye as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other on the platform, his gaze scanning the train as it pulls into the station. He can feel his heart thumping against his throat, nerves settling in his stomach. He flexes his hand, picking at the skin on the side of his thumbnail, an old habit he seems unable to quite let go of.

What if it’s different now? What if he’s not the same? What if it’s all so terribly formal and horribly awkward and he’s only coming here to be kind?

He brushes the thought aside sharply, wrinkling his nose. Of course it’ll be the same; they’re still the same people at heart - the two of them, no matter how much has changed. Briefly, he looks to the sky, to the quiet, calm blue of it, stretching out, endlessly above him for miles- the call of the birds still like the sweetest music, even now - years later. He takes none of it for granted; the sunrise, the sunset - the growth of the flowers in the gardens, the bloom of the trees on the acres of the Carpathian mountains, the sound of the river. Before, his joy had been so rare, rationed out into scraps that he took wherever he could; a text from Olena, a photograph of his son, a brief meeting with his daughter, a rare smile from Maks - moments shot through with the hideous agony of knowing that they would end. But, he takes joy now in the smallest of things that are simultaneously incomprehensible, the staggering beauty of his Ukraine, independent and free.

This particular joy is something else though, burgeoning inside his chest, waiting to bloom, eager to meet the sunlight. He scans the platform again, a few people disembarking from the train - none of them are the man he seeks though; they are not the right height, the right gait, the right–

Oh.

Before it registers with him entirely, before he realises exactly what he’s doing - Volodymyr  Oleksandrovych is running down the platform, utterly uncaring of anyone watching. He launches himself into the arms of one tall, tanned, mildly bemused man in khaki green, with a battered kitbag at his feet - who catches him without question, holding him as close as he can, enveloping him in an embrace.

“Hello Vova,” Maksym’s voice is gentle, as it always was before, and always will be for Vova, his lips close to Vova’s ear as he holds him up, arms around the smaller man, cradling him close.

“Maks-” Vova’s voice cracks in two, an unexpected sob escaping him, his face buried into Maksym’s shoulder. Neither of them need to say anything else for the moment, content to stand there - holding on to one another, loathe to let go.

[kissmejusttokiss]

It's the summer of 1986, the world has never heard of Vecna, and, somehow, Steve and Robin are still working at Family Video. (Only for the summer though. They have big plans for a cross-country road trip as soon as the kids go back to school and they officially hit a year without the world ending.) Well, working.

Somewhere between the world ending for a second time and them realizing that Keith would rather burn the store down than have to take over their shifts, they stopped caring that much about doing a good job and focused more on doing a job.

(And maybe they started letting things slide... Maybe they just believed people when they said they had rewound the video before returning... Maybe they only sometimes bothered checking that the videos had been returned at all...)

(And maybe they should have realized that this wasn't a sustainable system before the angry mom came storming back into the store with a copy of The Neverending Story that had been filled entirely with Kraft Singles...)

Long story short, they're tasked with checking every. single. video case. in. the. store.

Which is exceptionally boring until Steve starts to find a bunch of notes and doodles inside the videos from the Horror and Fantasy sections. Nothing really to suggest that any of them are related other than the same scratchy handwriting and handful of inside jokes that keep popping up. They're not even reviews, really. More like streams of consciousness that occasionally connect back to the plot of the movies.

And Steve doesn't mean to keep them. He just shoves them in his jeans pocket and carries on, overly irritated that some asshole has gone out of their way to make his job harder, but then he gets home and he just doesn't throw them out. He thinks about it. Thinks about emptying his pockets into the trash and forgetting they ever existed. But then he does the opposite.

He reads them.

There's a lot of them that he doesn't quite understand. Half-baked opinions about movies that he hasn't seen and references to things that he's never heard of. There's also a lot of stuff he wishes that he didn't understand. Paragraphs about loneliness and longing and how utterly terrifying it is to be something so fragile as a human being.

And he doesn't mean to still keep them after he's read them the first time. A big part of him wants to forget them entirely. To burn them in the fireplace his parents never use and move on with his life. But he can't. He re-reads every note. Dissects the meaning of every word. Rents the movies that he hasn't seen and seeks out the sources to every reference he doesn't understand.

Somewhere along the line, he starts talking to this invisible stranger. Throwing out comments while he watches the movies. Whistling along to the cassettes he went out of town to buy. Building arguments to the notes he disagrees with. And, slowly but surely, this stranger becomes just as much a person as everyone else Steve knows and cares about.

A month passes before he manages to tell Robin. Mostly because he feels stupid about the whole thing. It's not like him to get so caught up in something like this. But Robin shakes her head and tells him that the only stupid thing about it is that he didn’t tell her sooner. She asks him if he wants to meet the stranger and, after an agonizing afternoon, she checks the rental history for the store and finds a name.

The next day, Steve is parked outside an old trailer on the other side of town.

He doesn’t know what he expects to happen here. He’s heard about the Munsons before. True stories and tall tales that all seem to agree that they're not the sort of people you make friends with. He remembers Eddie Munson vaguely from parties and rushed deals in the school parking lot. Not exactly someone Steve expected to want to see again after high school, let alone talk to about movies and the oppressive weight of being alive.

But, other than Robin, no one else has ever really seemed to get it before. And, sure, maybe Steve is putting too much meaning into Eddie's words, but what if he isn’t? What if he opens the door and sees familiarity in Eddie's eyes. Someone who understands how truly hard it all is.

So he sucks up the weirdness of it all and knocks on the door. He’s practiced his little speech. (It’s not like he can just open with how much he related to the scariest part of The Shining being the idea of being trapped in the middle of nowhere with his father...) He decided to keep it simple. Centre it on returning the notes and use his neverending charm to entice Eddie to talking to him about the rest of his opinions.

A flawless plan if Steve's ever heard one, even if he is saying so himself.

Except Eddie Munson doesn't open the door.

His uncle does.

“I’m here to talk to Eddie,” Steve says. “He here?”

Wayne lets out a deep breath and, in any other world, he’d probably look intimidating. But, in this one, he just looks tired. “I thought I told y’all to leave us be.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Haven’t y'all done enough?”

Steve feels control slipping away from him so quickly that he doesn't even try to explain before pulling the notes out of his pocket. “I work at the video store, I think-” he stops “that these are Eddie’s... I just wanted to give them back.”

And, upon seeing his nephew's writing, Wayne deflates.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

Steve feels it in his bones before Wayne even answers. Sees every conversation he’d planned disappear in his mind. That connection he’d felt so strongly, the chance of understanding, he doesn’t even hear the words, he just feels them.

He ends up spending the rest of the afternoon talking to Wayne. Nursing a lukewarm beer as he hears about the real Eddie. The Eddie he’ll never get to meet. The guy who got so sick he couldn’t move & still spent his last weeks prepping a campaign so he didn’t abandon his group. Who never got to finish high school but had vague dreams about traveling the country once he did. Who sold off his things and worked extra for Rick so that his uncle wouldn’t have to worry about paying for his funeral. Who couldn’t even be left in peace when he was gone.

And, sure, he wasn’t perfect but who was? He was complicated & real & how is Steve supposed to grieve this guy he never even got the chance to know?

Later, Steve goes home to his big empty house & replays the same video until his eyes are blurry. He doesn’t know what else to do.

But time passes and so does the grief.

Steve still thinks about the Munson’s sometimes. Thinks about movies that Eddie would have liked and the albums he would have been excited to hear. Thinks about him rewatching his favorite movies before the end. About how he might have felt knowing the end was coming no matter what.

He hears about Wayne moving away. He hopes he finds some peace wherever he ends up.

Months after he finds the first note, Steve finds the last. It’s in the last video Eddie rented. One they were almost positive had gotten lost. It’s shorter than the others, writing is less legible. But it’s also written for Steve. Well, not intentionally. But still.

It’s simple. An apology and a request not to fine his uncle for his notes. “I heard somewhere that you don’t actually die until that last person forgets you. Can’t blame a guy for trying to be remembered a little longer, can you?”

And, no, Steve can’t. Not even for a second.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

To a Tea 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc. 

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU 

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary:  A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character:  Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don’t @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved. 

You don’t often miss work, but that week, a burst pipe throws everything off. A morning spent waiting on your landlord, then the next few hours for a plumber, has things a bit off kilter. Even the next day, you’re not quite back on point. 

The patched wall next to fridge reminds you of the disaster and a dingy smell persists. You hope it doesn’t cling to you as you set off for your shift that day. If you can, you want to pick up some hours from others if their up for grabs. Harry doesn’t like Saturday’s, maybe he’ll hand over some. 

You try to leave your problems behind as you catch a bus down to the city centre. You get to the tea shop five minutes before the hour. Jenna’s wrapping up the opening tasks as you go to leave your things in the back. You tie on your apron and unlock the front door for the first customers of the day. 

At first, it’s a trickle. Never very much at all. The early risers who often come alone or if they aren’t, they don’t speak much or very loudly. The smell of fresh baking and the slow rising sun add to the lazy din. 

“Thought the special was strawberry today,” you comment as you transfer macarons from a cooled tray to the display. 

“Eh, it was but we didn’t have enough jam,” she shrugs. “Changed the sign, is all.” 

“Ah, thought my mind was lagging again. Everything’s been off since yesterday.” 

“Eh, how’s the apartment, anyhow? Marilyn said it was something about a leak?” 

“Burst pipe,” you explain, “they took out the wall above the sink, buncha clanging all day. When I tell you this place is like heaven.” 

She chuckles, “can be.” 

“There’s a formal tea booked in the Marigold Room at noon,” she intones, “forgot to mention that. With Mother’s day coming up, suppose we’ll get more bookings.” 

“Suppose,” you go to check the schedule hanging on the wall. “Party of twelve, wow.” 

“I’ll man the till. Honest, since those ladies at New Years, I’ve hated doing them.” 

“No problem, Harry should be here, shouldn’t he?” 

“Well, he’s... called in.” 

“Again?” You whine as you face her. 

“Are you really surprised?” She scoffs. 

“No one else to cover? Not even Louisa?” 

“Nah, she’s on holiday still.” 

You huff, “fine. Not much of a choose then, is it?” 

🫖

The tea room is as close to raucous as you’ve ever heard it. You have your back to the rest of the shop as you balance the stacked serving trays with an array of sponge cake, fruit, and biscuits. It’s the typical assortment for a tea party booking. 

You’ve already served the tea and the sandwiches, and dessert is the last bit, along with any further pots needed to be steeped throughout. With a partner, it isn’t hard to keep up, but alone, it’s rather overwhelming. Jenna does her best to assist but there aren’t many lulls around lunch time. 

Beyond that, the tourists are chatty. You could hardly get away to fetch each course as they wanted to chat about the culture and your suggestions of what they should do next. It’s nice that they’re friendly but still stressful. 

You put the trays on the cart and roll it around the counter. As you do, you nearly skid to a halt. In the rush, you hadn’t noticed him. Your eyes meet Raymond’s as he watches you. Intent, intense. You give an apologetic smile and nod in acknowledgement. Jenna wanted to deal with the main room, she’ll have to wipe down his table and do her best. 

You roll behind the wall and into the Marigold room. You present the tray and grab it by the ring at the top, lifting it onto the centre of the table. You roll around to gather the empty plates and cups, taking two pots for refill. 

You come back out and see Raymond standing, just as he was. He sees you too. Watching, hands folded, knuckles white, jaw set. He’s usually patient but you don’t know how long he’s been waiting. 

You roll behind the counter and sigh, clearing off the cart as Jenna steams a tea latte. 

“Can you wipe Raymond’s table?” You ask. 

“Who?” She furrows her brow. 

You glance over your shoulder toward the man in question and she follows. She rolls her eyes, “I tried, I wiped the the table. He didn’t sit.” 

“Hm, well... did you wash your hands first?” 

“Christ Almighty, what is he a child?” 

“Jen, he’s just... you know, my mom’s the same. He can’t help it.” 

“You can deal with him. I won’t be arsed,” she sniffs, “he was rude and you know I don’t got time for those ones.” 

“Jenna, I’m kinda up to my eyes,” you dump the used bags from a pot. “I know he can be prickly but just wash your hands and redo the table.” 

“Ugh, fine,” she sneers, “but you owe me.” 

“Let’s call it even,” you retort as you pour boiling water into the pots mouth. 

She shakes her head and huffs, “guess it is.” 

🫖

It’s nearly three in the afternoon. It’s quiet. Harry’s on his phone instead of doing the cups and your wiping the empty tables to keep yourself moving. The door opens and you glance over to make sure Harry’s alert. He’s not. 

Doesn’t matter. It’s him. Raymond. You stand and clutch the cloth tight in your hand as you greet him. 

“Be right with you, Raymond,” you assure him. 

He barely looks at you as he goes to wait next to his table. You go behind the counter and mutter under your breath in Harry’s direction, “...dirty cups.” You wash your hands and make sure to clink some of the empty porcelain in an effort to draw your coworker’s attention. He’s still entranced by his phone. 

You take the disinfectant wipes and go back out. You approach Raymond as he checks his watch. 

“How are you today?” You ask. 

He grumbles and shrugs, “fine.” 

“English Breakfast, black,” you declares as you finish wiping up, “usual.” 

“So you remember,” he challenges as he steps close, closer than ever, before sidling around to sit. 

“Of course, I always do,” you smile. 

“And last time?” 

“Last time...” 

“Twice.” 

You’re confused. What is he talking about? 

“I came on Tuesday and you weren’t here. Then on Thursday, you didn’t even say hello.” 

“Oh, well, I’m sorry, Raymond, it was a busy day. Tuesday, I had a personal emergency so I didn’t even know you’d been in--” 

“I’ll have my tea now,” he interjects tersely. 

“Right, tea,” you confirm and spin around. 

“Crooked strings,” he remarks dully, “again.” 

[bronx-bomber87]

I have decided to rewatch the entire series over the hiatus with reviews. Whether anyone reads these will come with time haha but either way I’m doing it cause I think it’ll be fun with having s5 done and going back I’ll see things with totally different POV. Will credit all gifs I use to their original owners at the end of my reviews. All the gif makers in this fandom are the real MVPs ❤️ These reviews will mainly center around Chenford and development of Tim and Lucy through out the series , but I will throw in bits about the show as a whole too. Because I do love it as a whole as well. These may be long cause I have a lot to say haha anyway whoever sticks around and reads it I love you haha feel free to comment on these posts as well. Would love that. Alright here we go. Let us start where it all began the Pilot.

Some backstory like to add here for me. I’ve been with this show since it got green lit by ABC. I was a huge Nathan Fillion fan and wanted to follow him to his next show. Also I loved Eric from my teenage years. So my sisters were obsessed with Days of Our lives as teens. I had no interest in it till Eric entered the arena. I thought he was (and still is BTW) one of the most beautiful men I had ever seen. I was very interested in watching DOOL after that LOL if you didn’t know that tid bit about him before now you know. His name was Rex and he was shirtless quite a lot and had my rapt attention as a 14 year old girl. Lmao

Anyways Nathan and Eric were the reasons I started this show. I was excited Nathan had a new show and Eric was a bonus for me. I was so excited I remember watching the pilot on my phone during my lunch in the pool room of my job at the time. The pilot had me captivated and I knew this was going to be a great show.

First off like to start with I miss Nathan with some meat on his bones. I know he has to be in wicked good shape for this role. I just miss his ‘Castle’ form from s1.

Second like to talk about my girl Lucy Chen. Her characters entrance into the show is my fav of the pilot. Lucy has such BAMF intro. The ‘hot shot’ right off the bat. I will always love her opening appearance. That confident bad ass is what Tim sees in her day one. Why he’s so damn hard on her. She just doesn’t see that in herself it just yet. But hell of a start for her.

Then we have our first glimpse into Chenford. To that lightning in a bottle chemistry. Doing that thing Eric and Melissa do so damn well. Their silent communication with just their eyes and expressions. Saw this look between them and I was a goner.

‘Officer Bradford gets our hot shot ‘ He most definitely did in more ways than one. Has no idea how his entire world is about to shift with her in his life. I think he was very impressed with her. Thought she was a ‘hotshot’ because of the arrest that morning. But he couldn’t let her know or see that. Especially not on her first day with him and at this point in time ever.

Ah Tim s1- so very guarded his walls so high the Great Wall of China is put to shame. To me s1 Tim is a man in pain and its exuding out of him with every action he makes. He has no emotional support or outlet and it shows. It’s why Lucy entering his life was the best thing for him. Shook him out of his walking pain/anger. We get to see the first glimpse of the ‘Tim Tests’ Lucy is to endure.

She’s not even two seconds into her time with him before this occurs. He’s grilling her already. So hard on her right out the gate. Because he saw something in her. He was testing her in the harshest way. Being so hard because he was hurting not that a first time viewer would know that. Re-watching s1 Tim the man truly is hurting and lashing out with everything he does. He so damn gruff , angry and guarded, that he comes off like a tool cause well he was at this point.

You aren’t supposed to like him right now IMO. You only see him as this insensitive jerk. You have no more information at this point than this current impression . When you know his whole story rewatching him like this. All I see is a radioactively angry and hurt man. You’re not supposed to like him right here and now. He’s coming off as unreasonable grump of a man. Especially so when Lucy fails his first Tim Test. Which leads us to the gas station scene.

The ‘punishment’ he gives her just another test. To him it’s his way of proving to himself he’s right about her. He already knows she can take care of herself. He wanted to see it in action and Lucy delivers in spades. The pride is written all over his handsome face when she wins her fight. Then Isabel shows up…

Eric KILLS me in this scene. The way his eyes tear up. His whole body is trembling. You can hear his bated breath as he speaks to her. He goes from gruff T.O. to concerned husband in a flash. We get our first look into him as a character. That he’s more than just this hard ass T.O giving Lucy a hard time. That there is something going on behind the scenes for him and it’s deep.

I applaud Eric for this scene we get to see him become human and vulnerable for the first time. Not only that but be those things around Lucy for the first time. She’s already soft for him when she gets the glimpse into him as a person. Says she promises she won’t tell anyone. He quickly resolves it with his sharp reply to her saying ‘ Damn right you won’t’. He’s mad at himself for letting Lucy see even a glimmer of vulnerability. Can’t show her one damn crack in his rough T.O. exterior. (yet…). Pilot does such a good job setting up their dynamic, of everyone’s really but theirs is my focus of course in these reviews.

Lucy probably thinks he’s out to make her life hell. When really he’s seeing potential in her. As seen in the previous scene at the gas station. He’s hurting so naturally he’s going to throw himself into work. Not let Lucy waste this potential he sees in her. Because work and training her is something he can absolutely control unlike the situation with Isabel. We get to see Lucy apply one her lessons in their next scene together.

Tim kicking her out of the car earlier (Which at the time I’m sure she loathed )him doing so save ultimately ends up saving his life. When he gets shot and she’s able to relay where they are and get him to safety. Also how she defends them both until backup arrives. Reinforcing what he sees in her in the first place. She protects herself and Tim like a pro.

Some side notes I’ll probably make each ep. Probably non Chenford related. I always forget how much I loved Captain Zoe Anderson- she was only in the show for a short time but made a massive impact. She was such a fierce leader putting Grey in his place and her POV on Nolan.

Also Lucy being with Nolan in beginning. Even when first started watching. I was like nope. Don’t like this. They just didn’t work. I hate it every time I re-watch it I hate it LOL but it does show her pattern of things before Tim. Such as taking on relationships she knows will never work out. I.e. Nolan. Because she isn’t ready for such commitment or projects like Chris. Well that’s all she wrote for the pilot. Was fun to write this up. Will continue to do so through out the hiatus. 😊

Gif credit to tim-lucy

Burning Blake

The rookie central

Hamburger heroes

Chenford source

Thesweetnessandthesarcasm

rookielucychen

[lover-of-mine]

Someone made a good point, might have been on your page or you yourself 😅 but I saw someone say “if they are getting this I love you scene then…. Why the need for going after Ryan?”

And Like…..

it’s such a good point. If their ship is so endgame and they have a direct from Tim himself dm that bt will say I love you next season, why do they need to plan to review bomb a random movie, or boycott a game show, try and make a flash mob to make Oliver notice them? Why do they need to be trying this hard just to even get the actor back on the show at all.

Like if it was me and my ship was in the position of having the show runner himself saying my ship will be taking that future step of saying I love you, I’d be busy celebrating and not needing to plan shifts to leave comments on insta posts begging for half the ship to be allowed back for the new season. I’d be busy celebrating and not trying to wage a cyber bully campaign over someone who hasn’t even said anything about my ship. I’d be busy celebrating and not trying to discredit another ship. Because there’d be no need for any of that if it was true.

We have been having the "if the relationship is this solid then why does Eddie matter" discussion for a while, pretty sure an anon sent something in today that changed that to "why does Ryan matter to them". I have nothing to add, tho. You're right. If it was the other way around and I had Tim telling me "hey don't worry, 8b buddie will get a love confession scene" the LAST thing that would cross my mind is attacking Lou for "being in the way" in the meantime because that's literal proof he isn't. The whole "we need to get Ryan out because he's in our way" and "our ship is endgame, Tim himself told me" contradicts itself, because if the relationship is endgame, Eddie is literally not a problem. Why the hell would they keep attacking him if they had this confirmation? It makes no sense.