#literally i sit at home at my computer and read and write stuff and my minimal communication with others is written

[jakeperalta]

it is actually so unfair how being quiet is treated as a character flaw that needs fixing in every area of life

[moomine]

backwash III | daisuke

author's note: thank you to literally everyone who’s reading this! you guys are so so sweet and i love you all <3 if you want to be part of a taglist for future updates feel free to reply or dm me!! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) Sleep is increasingly hard to find on the Tulpar. At night the reader spends her time in the cockpit, thinking about home. When she feels the whim to sleep, she ventures back to the sleeping quarters, only to bump into Daisuke. Instead, she joins him for a midnight snack and some conversation in the lounge.

word count: 2,372

warnings: no trigger warnings! all characters are 18+

now playing: Dave Bixby - "Morning Sun"

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EMPLOYEE STATEMENT 034—

There was this movie I watched once when I was a kid, about a little girl who falls from the sky. Although I can’t remember the title of it now. I do remember that she was a part of another world, a part of something bigger. She was important. I don’t think you have us write these to talk about movies, do you? I’m sure you’d rather hear about the operations on board, or the technical difficulties, or if there’s been any damage to the cargo. You know, the “important stuff”.  Everything is running smoothly so far. Is that good?

I want to be a part of something bigger one day. Hopefully this experience will help me. I’m grateful to have this opportunity.

DAY THIRTY-THREE—

Pony Express allowed a maximum of five hours of sleep to their employees on haul. During those five hours, the Tulpar was shadowed by a veil of utter stillness. A silence not too dissimilar to that of a library, or that painful pause in awkward conversation. It was too quiet, which led you to stare at the ceiling until the fatigue of work or boredom got the better of you. Even when you could fall asleep, it was far from restful. Over the past month you had gotten the worst sleep of your entire life thus far. Worse than when you lived in those co-ed dorms with unruly neighbors and argumentative hallways. Worse than those nights thunder cracked down from the darkened sky and you clutched stuffed animals in your chubby, child hands. After a certain point, you had given up on finding sleep at all.

The computer screens within the cockpit would beep on occasion, the sound barely audible over the soft plucking of guitar strings in your headphones. The coords of some old folk song filled your ears instead. You sat in the captain's chair, curling in on yourself with your knees to your chest and arms around your person. Your head snuggled into the dip in your legs, cheek pressed your knee cap as you stared at the sea of glowing green.

Curly had given you permission not too long ago to sit in the cockpit at night. Within the first month of your apprenticeship, you had grown on him quite a bit. The captain had always been a kindhearted person. He was a people pleaser to his core, a man simply happy to help. Curly saw a lot of himself in you, and he knew what it was like to feel, well, restless.

“As long as you promise not to touch anything,” he had said, prefacing his next words with a comforting smile, “you have my permission to use your clearance to the cockpit at night. But if word gets to the higher ups, they’ll have my head, understood? We wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

Normally, you tried to pay attention to how long you had been sitting there, keeping track of each song that played to count the minutes as they passed, but tonight you hadn’t. With a sigh, you reluctantly stood from Curly’s chair, deciding to give sleep another try. You slipped your Walkman into the pocket of your pajama pants and left the cockpit. Each step you took was quiet, almost imperceivable, as you walked down the hall toward the sleeping quarters. You didn’t want to disturb the others, although you had a feeling nobody else was sleeping all that well either. The rusted, trusty pipes groaned as you passed, their settling moans somehow bypassing the volume of your music. It made you feel uneasy. You reached into your pocket and turned the music up a bit in an attempt to drown out the sound. 

Rounding the corner, you finally reached the door to the sleeping quarters. Just as you reached for the door handle, it slid open seemingly on its own, causing you to flinch. Standing there—holding a flashlight in one hand and with the other placed against his chest—was Daisuke, looking far more caught off guard than you felt. You winced as he shined the light directly into your eyes.

“Holy shit, dude,” he breathed, voice dropped to a raspy whisper. “You straight up scared the hell out of me. What are you doing walking around in the dark?” Daisuke adjusted his aim and shot the beam at the ceiling instead, creating enough light for the two of you to see each other a little better.

With a soft laugh, you pulled your headphones from your ears, allowing them to hang around the back of your neck. “I’m sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

“You too?” Daisuke questioned.

“I’m surprised anyone can sleep on this thing,” you whispered. “Where are you going?”

His eyes dropped in embarrassment as he used his free hand to rub nervous circles against the side of his neck. “I’m… I’m grabbing a snack from the lounge. You wanna come?”

“Yeah, if you want me to.” You didn’t hesitate. Anything sounded better than tossing and turning. You stepped to the side, permitting him enough space to walk out of the doorway then alongside you.

Daisuke breathed a chuckle at your response. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to.”

“Then I guess I’m coming,” you said in a hushed, playful tone.

Daisuke looked at you with a smile and nodded, shining his flashlight down the hall as the two of you began to walk in silence. In the quiet of the hall, the door to the lounge seemed to open with a deafening wheeze. Deep, royal blue illuminated the large room. The night-time window screen displayed a starry sky with wisp-like clouds, bathing the room with an otherworldly glow. It reminded you of going to the aquarium as a kid, surrounded by water and the smell of saltwater. You half expected to look up and see sharks and fish swimming overhead, but you knew all there would be was a dull, blank ceiling and slumbering lights.

Daisuke stuck his head through the doorway, peeking to see if anyone was already inside. When he determined that the coast was clear—although it wouldn’t have mattered anyway considering the noise of the door, he motioned for you to follow him inside.

“Hell yeah! The place is ours,” Daisuke celebrated, speaking louder once the door closed behind you two. He walked toward the vending machines with long, intentional strides. You tread on his heels, gaze fixed on him in amusement as he looked over the different options. 

You pulled your Walkman from your pocket, then leaned against the bar, palms pressed to the countertop as you pushed yourself up, and took a seat on the cool, brown laminate. “Is there normally someone else here?”

“Hmm?” He barely heard you, too fixated on what he was going to eat. As he processed what you had said, the words loading behind his eyes in a turning spiral, he ordered a pack of freeze-dried fruit and tore into the package. “Oh, nah. Not usually. I mean, I’ve seen Anya in here once or twice, but she’s always coming from medical bay. Getting coffee for those late nights, I guess.”

“She works too much,” you noted. “I wish she wouldn’t push herself like that.”

“You two seem close.” Daisuke approached, leaning against the counter beside you.

“Yeah. You could say that.” A tender smile graced your lips at the thought of you and Anya being close.

There was a pause, a brief lull in the otherwise newborn conversation. A series of crunches sounded from your right where Daisuke stood as he popped piece after piece into his mouth. You glanced over at him, the tenderness of your smile warping into something more entertained. He glanced over at you in turn, his mouth full of apple as he mustered a lopsided smile.

“Hey, it’s your Walkman,” he exclaimed after a swallow, pointing at the dated tech in your lap. “Whatcha listening to?”

“Oh,” you peeped with a suddenly flustered look on your face. “It’s a mix my mom made for me. Just a bunch of old folk stuff she used to play for me when I was little.”

“Can I listen?” he asked, shoving another piece of fruit in his mouth.

“S-Sure, yeah.” You unplugged your headphones and played the tape. It crackled, the old speaker not what it used to be. Or what it ever was, truthfully.

Maybe the quality of the sound would have bothered somebody else, but not Daisuke. As your small corner of the lounge filled with the sound of guitar—the stories of rural towns, first loves, and early mornings, Daisuke set his snack on the counter and listened intently. It was far from what he’d normally like, but something about listening to it here, with you made it sound perfect.

“It’s funny, actually. I never used to like this stuff back on Earth, but lately this is the only one I want to listen to,” you said over the music.

“You must really miss her.” Daisuke inched closer, standing less than a foot away from you as he leaned against the counter. His gaze flickered up to your face, quietly admiring the curves and arches of your profile. Under the blue light of the night time window screen, any blemish or imperfection on your face seemed to vanish. Not that he had ever noticed any imperfections on you. Matter of fact, for some reason, he couldn’t imagine seeing any part of you as imperfect. Even if he tried. There was a somber look in your expression as he spoke, one that made his stomach twist in knots.

“So much. I didn’t think it would be this hard being away from home.” Your voice was just above a whisper now. You felt your eyes begin to burn, the familiar sensation of tears welling in the corners as you tried to suppress the ebbing flow. With the shake of your head, you let out a quick laugh, feeling the tension gradually lifted from your shoulders. “What kind of music do you like?”

Daisuke didn’t blink or care about the change in discussion. He didn’t care about what the two of you talked about, and he wasn’t going to pry either. He knew that you would open when you felt comfortable enough to do so, and he was happy to wait however long that would take.

“A bit of everything, I guess. It kinda pisses me off when people say that and, like, they don’t actually mean it.” He slid his snack off of the bar and extended it to you, shaking it as the pieces inside rattled against each other. “I have a pretty impressive vinyl collection back home. Got everything from Etta James to Duster. You should see it sometime.”

Weakly, you smiled and took a piece of the fruit from the package. “Maybe when all of this is said and done. After the haul?”

“I’d love that,” Daisuke responded quickly, eyes trailing over your face. After another moment of silence, a brief break in conversation, he shifted on his heels and looked away. “So, you uh… you got anyone waiting for you back home? Y’know, like friends? A boyfriend? Or uh, a girlfriend? If you, like, swing that way or whatever. Which would be totally cool, obviously. I’ve got a bunch of gay friends-”

“Daisuke,” you said with a hint of that ever familiar amusement in your voice. “Relax, okay?”

He looked back at you and nodded. “Right, yeah… So, do you?”

“Friends? Yeah, a bunch. I miss them too. But a partner, not so much…” You felt your cheeks light up, a soft pink flush dusting the peaks of your cheekbones and the ridge of your nose.

“Hey, that’s cool,” he responded, bumping shoulders with you and trying not to sound too happy about your response. “Me neither. I mean, like I said, I’ve got loads of friends. Just not the whole girlfriend boyfriend thing.”

“Look at us,” you mused. “One in the same.”

“Yup, one in the same.” Daisuke glanced back at you hopefully, then looked away. He downed the rest of his dried fruit and crumpled up the package, tossing it in the direction of a nearby trashcan and missing by a couple feet. He winced, feeling a tinge of embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“You gonna go get that?” you asked jokingly, pushed yourself from the countertop, and landed on your feet, securely tucking your Walkman back into your pocket as the music stopped.

“Yeah, yeah.” He rolled his eyes and walked toward the trash before picking it up and disposing of it properly. “It’s on the way out anyway. In fact, I meant to do that.”

You trailed after him, following close behind as the two of you approached the exit to the lounge. “Totally,” you teased, smiling up at him.

Yet again, the door slid open with that deafening screech as Daisuke and you left the lounge. Together, you walked back to the sleeping quarters. At the door, Daisuke turned to you and stopped. His brown eyes trailed over your features once more in the darkness, illuminated only by the light of the flashlight in his hands. Even in the blackness of the hallway, his smile was bright. His gap-toothed grin seemed almost bright enough to flood the entire hallway with light.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he spoke quietly.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you responded.

Daisuke opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words he wanted to say seemed caught in his throat. Instead, he just nodded and displayed that same smile. Your brows furrowed questioningly, an expression that made his heart skip a bit. Before you could say anything, he opened the door to the sleeping quarters and ushered you inside.

“Goodnight, [Name]. See ya in the morning.” He bit his lip, walking backward toward his room and nearly stumbling when he reached the door.

“Sweet dreams, Daisuke.” 

With that, you slipped into your room with a strange feeling in your chest. A tightness you hadn’t felt since high school, since hallway crushes and etching names into wooden picnic tables. An ache at the loss of his presence. How strange.

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pookies (taglist): @xcryptk33p3rx @freakyydaisukee @sanctuaryofsmartiess @st4rrysblog @academiq @c4t-n1pp @iiveraii

[annakie]

We've been waiting literally ten years for a new Dragon Age game and now that it's going to be here tomorrow I am very much not ready.

My life needs to be a little less chaotic right now (it won't be until the middle of November.) The earliest I'm going to really be able to sit down and play more than a few hours is the week of Thanksgiving. But hey, I am staying home alone for Thanksgiving weekend so then I'm going to really get to devote time to just playing the hell out of the game.

I'm gonna be so behind.

It was a hard choice but I think I'm going to break the mold of me always playing a rogue first in Dragon Age games and having literally NEVER played a fighter type character in any DA game (or most any RPG ever.)

I haven't paid a ton of attention to the options yet but after a quick skim several weeks ago I think I'm going with a Grey Warden Fighter romancing Emmrich first.

Basing her off the character I just got done playing for a few years in 13th Age who is a 40-ish year old woman who, when she was only 20 years old had to make a hard call that ended up going very badly for her and it was kind of her downfall, so she spent most of the rest of the last 20 years trying to make up for it.

Second playthrough will be a rogue or mage who romances Davrin.

---

I've honestly BARELY gamed the last several months, what with all the renovation stuff happening and other stuff going on in life.

This weekend I swore to change that and, after spending all day Saturday working on house projects, decided to pick back up my ME3 playthrough that I had gotten to Thessia on and never finished.

But then I had to reinstall the game since the SSD I had been playing it on died. Then I had to reinstall all the mods, and picked up a few new ones. That took a few hours to make sure I got it all right.

I did end up playing, and actually got through Thessia... and then I was tired of being at my computer all day and went outside and read a book on the patio for awhile. Then I realized something was wrong with my new airondeck chair and spent an hour fixing it (my bad, I screwed two screws in the wrong place it turns out.

By the time all that was done it was time to prep for my Sunday night D&D game.

Not gonna finish before tomorrow since I'm running D&D tonight, too and still have to do Omega in there. (Plus the Citadel Epilogue Mod AFTER the game.) Ah well.

Never did finish my 2nd BG3 playthrough.

Never did finish writing my BG3 fic. It's just languishing.

Never did play Starfield more than a few hours despite buying the deluxe edition.

Started playing My Time at Portia and still haven't played more than like 8 hours of it, despite enjoying it (with lots of mods.)

Hoping now that the house is getting close to being done where I want it to be that maybe next year I can spend some time focusing on hobbies more.

Not that I regret a single thing about how I've spent my time this entire year. :)

Working on my last two house renovation posts, too. Definitely want to finish that since my two favorite rooms (after the master bath) I saved for last.

[writteninthesewalls28]

Family

A story about a girl wanting to find out the truth

A/n: chapter nine!

Warnings: a few curse words

Milly’s POV:

The next few days simply were amazing. I honestly forgot how amazing it is, to not worry about anything. Everything at work was going good, Niall was with me, I had Calum by my side and would meet his bandmates again after a couple of months of not having any contact with them.

I must admit that the thought of being filmed for hours creeped me out a little, but there would only be people who like me right? I sadly got the chance to experience the wrong sort of fans when me and Calum just started dating and fans sent death threads to me or told me, I didn’t deserve Calum.

Since then, me and him try to stay out of the media as much as we can, never really seen together.

So today will be an important milestone, not only for the band, but for me as well. ————————

Instead of getting ready for visiting Micheal and choose my outfit, I sat on my desk in my little home office. Literally staring at my computer, I read the same email from my colleague over and over again. She’s joking right? It can’t be true.

I'm a self employed lawyer with an own law firm together with another lawyer who over the few years became a very good friend of mine. I was happy with my work, my work environment and my colleague.

But this email here right in front of me showed that she had a different opinion.

"Hello Mildred, I am truly sorry that I even have to write this email. I have to tell you that I have to quit my job and sign over my part of the law firm to you, making you the only owner. At the moment, I don’t feel comfortable enough to talk about my situation right now, just know that I'm fine… maybe we can arrange a meeting in the future. I'm sorry."

The only owner of the company? No, no, no! So much work, managing all the client at once, changing the logo, the website, getting a new name…. It’s too much! Hiding my face in my hands, silent tears streamed down my face. I knew, I'd have to search for a new colleague or I need to quit my job too, I won’t be able to manage everything alone, or I'll end up working 14 hours per day.

Being a lawyer was my dream since- ever.

Losing that would be like losing a fight you never knew you had. Losing a fight, a battle, against myself.

What should I do now?

WHAT SHOULD I DO NOW?!

"Milly?" Calum shouted from the bathroom. 30 minutes ago, I told him, I just have to check something for my new client on my laptop before I get ready.

I indeed got a new client. It was a dad, who never knew he had a child with his teenage love. That girl is 17 now and wants to spend time with her dad as much as he wants to. Problem is: the mother sees the man as evil and doesn’t want her kid near him. Very interesting case, I must say.

But right when the monitor had lit up, the email from Melissa (my colleague) had popped up.

Well, we all knew how that turned out: sitting in my office, the make-up I already put on for the stream was ruined thanks to the crying. Why? Why do I have to get the mail now? Now, that I already have so much drama with my family and feel stressed because of the search.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice Calum's footsteps getting closer and closer to the office door until he knocked and shortly after opened the door, scaring the hell out of me.

"Cal!", I shouted, "What are you doing?"

The confused look on his face said it all: My make-up looked hopelessly destroyed.

"Ummm… well, maybe I should ask you that question." He slowly made his way to me, sitting on the chair next to my desk.

The room that I now call my home office had been Calum’s recording room first, before we decided to move all his stuff to my old office and change rooms. He needed more space, I never needed as much as I had in the old room. I got to paint the walls in a soft baby blue and hang up lots of pictures of me and mum, me and Louis, me and the twins, me and Lottie, me and Calum, but I’m most thankful for the beautiful picture I have from Félicité and me just a month before she passed at an Ed Sheeran concert in Sheffield. Me and Fiz always were like bubblegum and marceline. Two completely opposites, but soul sister. Sadly, our connection was cut off way too soon. She deserved so many more years together with me.

Calum wrapped his arms around me from behind as he scanned the text on my computer right in front of him.

"These are great news sweetie! Why are you feeling down?" He asked, having a huge smile on his face. Even though I was very confused by his reaction, I answered him.

"We both know, I'm not as good as Melissa when we’re talking about being a lawyer. How should this work?" I got more and more upset, did he seriously think, I could manage this alone?

"Hold up, what did you say?" He responded, tightening his grip around my waist. "You are the best lawyer ever!"

Of course he immediately noticed the hesitation on my face, so he added: "Before you get the chance to deny it, let me ask you, why is it that you constantly got more clients than Melissa since the very start of the company?" He had a huge smile on his face.

"Calum! That is not true!" Cause it wasn’t. Me and her always got the same amount of clients. But that’s still beside the actual point of this.

"The thing is, I won't be able to handle a full law firm on my own. It’s impossible." I tried explain my point of view to him, knowing he most likely won’t agree with me. Cause, you know… he’s Calum. The man, who will never accept it whenever I say, I can’t do something.

"We will find a way, sweetie." He let out a soft sigh and grabbed my arm to lift me up from the chair. "Come on, put your favorite sweater on and a sweatpants and meet me in the living room."

This man never fails to confuse me, but make me happy at the same time. "Am I allowed to ask, why you are not in a hurry for the twitch stream?"

He shook his head. Of course. "Let me handle that, you have enough to worry about." With that, he left the room and I heard his feet on the stairs, heading downstairs.

With a huge smile on my face, I slowly walked to our shared bedroom and get something to wear (yes, a sweater and sweatpants) and made sure to use lots of make up remover so the ruined mascara comes off of my face. I'd never leave the house without putting enough make-up on because I always have been insecure about my imperfect skin with all the pimples. But Calum loved them. He loved me, especially the true me without any makeup.

Calum’s POV:

He would never admit it, but he secretly was actually happy that he doesn’t have to go to Micheal and do the stupid stream. He doesn’t want nasty comments about his girlfriend, who apparently didn’t deserve him.

Now, he can instead do a cosy date night with the person he loves most.

Standing in the kitchen, he prepared lots of snacks for them and made sure it'll look all nice and delicious.

He always knew when Milly needs comfort. Right now, she was just freaked out and had no idea how to do it, but sooner or later Calum knew she will realize that she’s so incredible and can achieve anything if she just believes in herself.

"You are the best, do you know that?" He heard Milly say behind him. He turned around to take a look at her and couldn’t help but smile like an idiot when he noticed that she wasn’t wearing any makeup, despite her 'bad' skin. Stepping two steps forward so he could stand right in front of her, he gave her a soft kiss and hugged her right after it.

"What are we watching today?" He and Milly watched tons of rom-cons and were the biggest netflix junkies.

"You choose" He loved it even more, when Milly chose what to watch.

"Umm… I heard something about a film called "The kissing both". Should we watch that one?" She suggested and Calum tried hiding the fact that he just watched that film when she wasn’t there and everyone was worried about her.

He'll just watch it again. It’s gonna be more fun with her together anyways.

"That sounds amazing, let’s watch it then!" Calum responded, lifting the snack from the kitchen table to take it into the living room and wrapped his other arm around his girlfriends waist.

They sat down on the sofa and made themselves comfortable. While Calum tried to find the movie and start it so they could watch it, Milly asked him the question standing between them, creating this awkward silence.

"And you’re really okay with staying at home with me? You can go if you want…"

Oh no. Calum thought, knowing that Milly, again, figured she was holding him back from meeting his friends.

"Mills, I hope you don’t think, that I'm unhappy spending the evening with you here. I love you, okay?" He made a small pause, clicking on the right keys on the remote control so the movie would finally start. Why did it take so long to find it today? "And I care about you, more than you'll probably ever be able to know. If you are uncomfortable and sad, I'm staying home, period." He just really wanted her to realize, she’s worth of love and worth of being cared about. She deserved everything. If Calum would be able to do that, he'd give her the world (and if he could, even the whole universe). Still focused on the TV and his mission to START THE MOVIE FOR GODS SAKE, he didn't notice the exact moment tears started to form in Milly’s eyes. It was only till he looked over to her, he saw the red eyes and the tears on her cheeks.

He softened his gave and let go of the remote control, causing it to fall down onto the little table, the sound echoing through the whole room, before he fully turned his whole body to his girlfriend and embraced her, making sure not to let go of her first. That’s what a good boyfriend does when his significant other cried, right?

She continued to cry in his arms. "I don’t deserve you. You are too good for me." Hugging him longer, she added a quiet "You make me all soft and mushy inside, you know that?" She whispered, confusing Calum. Was he supposed to take that last sentence as a compliment?

"Umm… that is a good thing, right?" He just had to make sure.

"Of course! You melt me, idiot!" She thankfully said, laughing uncontrollably. "Did you seriously think, I was insulting you?" Milly asked, giving him a questioning look.

"I don’t know what I thought, but thanks for the compliment I guess?"

"You know, you remind me of your 16 year old version right now, when we met in Lukes living room and he introduced you to me. You also were that awkward back then."

Calum couldn’t help himself, but laugh like a literal idiot.

He did remember that.

And she was right. God, he had been such an awkward boy. How did she even fall in love with a person as strange as him?

"To my defense, you were 3 years older than me and I immediately fell in love with you when I saw you. Of course I acted a little strange." It was true, he had felt the little sparkle in his chest grow bigger and bigger as Milly had continued to introduce herself to Micheal and him. It never stopped from there.

"Not only a little strange. A little much." She responded with a huge smile on her face, trying to hold back the laughter.

"Okay, enough. I feel humiliated." Calum loved making Milly smile with his sarcasm. These little funny moment when they’re messing with each other were his absolute favorite in their relationship anyways. It made him realize over and over again what she means to him and how boring his life would be without her by his side.

"Fine, since you can’t seem to start the movie, let me try it." She said, aggressively grabbing the remote control.

The rest of the night, they spend with watching the movie, talking about Calum’s tour and album and Milly’s new client and his current situation.

Oh how much he loved this woman.

Milly’s POV:

The next days were going by pretty slowly. I had to organize so much stuff in order to become the only owner of the company. It was a big and scary step, I never thought about having to take. But here I was, thinking about a new name for the law firm, changing the website, arranging a date for Melissa to sign her part of the company over to me.

Thankfully, Calum was allowed to follow along and come with me to the appointment. He helped me relax a bit.

The day after our movie night, he told me, he talked Micheal into changing the official date for the live stream and make it around 2 weeks later.

Unluckily, it was the exact day of the appointment with Melissa. Means, we wouldn’t get time to chill and think about the newest changes and directly had to drive to Micheals house and join the stream (that, by the way, already started).

We both obviously weren’t amused by it, but what should we do?

————————————

"You okay?" Calum asked me, as we sat in his car after the appointment with my ex-colleague.

I was the only owner of my law firm.

My dream.

But it felt different than I imagined it 10 years ago.

"Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?" I responded.

"Milly, I can hear your heavy breathing, that isn’t a panic attack right?"

I had told Calum a few days ago about that moment where I got these flashbacks and nearly fainted. He thinks it was a panic attack.

I doubt it.

But he strongly believes it.

"No, just start driving. I'm okay." The truth was, I did feel a bit fuzzy, but it was a lot to process. Moments like that (big changes in my life) never had been easy for me to handle.

Calum grabbed my hand and slid his fingers through mine, making sure I knew he was there for me. I gave him a little smile as a response to his sweet gesture.

Arriving in front of Micheals house, he didn’t let go of my hand, even as Micheal opened the door, hugged both of us and leaded us inside to the room, filled with Luke, Ashton and Niall. All three of them smiled at us as we entered the room right behind Micheal.

"Look who we have here!" Micheal shouted and sat down on a chair, gesturing me and Calum to sit down between Niall and Luke on a red sofa.

"The famous Calum Hood and Milly Tomlinson!" Both of us waved to the screen and sat down on the sofa.

"You good?" Was the first thing Niall said to me. Did I look bad or something or why does everyone ask me that?

"Yeah, of course. Does something not look alright?"

He shrugged. "I don’t know, you just look a little pale and nervous. That’s all.“

I told Niall about my poor situation at work when he visited us 2 days ago to work on some music with Calum and the other boys.

"I own the company now." I said, not sure if the viewers on the stream could hear our quiet conversation.

The time passed by, I sat cuddled into Calum, not saying much on the stream. I admit that the thing overwhelmed me a little in combination with my new work situation and just was happy when I could finally go home.

The first thing I did, as soon as I returned home, was taking a shower and get into more comfortable clothes before I walked over to our bedroom and found Cal lying on his bed scrolling on his phone.

"Milly, the people love us.“ I gave him a confused look. What? They never liked me.

"What do you mean?" I responded, crawling into bed, to have a look at his phone.

"Micheal sent me screenshots from some comments on his instagram post where he thanked them for the awesome stream."

Looking over at his phone, I couldn’t believe my eyes.

"Millum = cutest couple ever"

"I hope Milly and Calum get married some day."

"Milly cuddled into Calum, literally couple goals."

"If my future boyfriend doesn’t treat me like Calum treats Milly, I don’t want him."

"Omg guys, did you see the small gestures Milly and Calum exchanged throughout the stream?"

Were only some of the best ones I could find.

"I love your fans, they’re the best." I said, handing the phone back to him.

"And I'm happy that they love my princess."

Yeah, I officially melted.

And that night, I made a decision.

I won't give up. Not yet.

I'll continue finding my parents.

Without googling their names though, it simply stressed me out too much and I won’t find out anything anyways, right?

There are other ways. I could for example just go back to the neighborhood where they lived years ago and try meet neighbors who maybe knew them.

I just needed to know more about the mysterious Holly Mathilda Vacker and Arthur Vacker.

My parents.

[chronicxwanderlust]

get to know the author!

name: tabitha

pronouns: she/her

preference of communication: used to be a die-hard tumblr im's girlie but finally caught onto the discord train a few years ago! still stick to im's for like initial contact/plotting but definitely am reached better and interact more consistently on discord.

most active muse: that would be my bb marley! she's my longest active muse of about...four years now? i feel like it might be longer but that's as old as any of her blogs that i can find! but without fail she's always the muse i have the most inspiration for, and a foolproof way to get myself out of any writing slumps. will say though after really only exclusively playing her for like three years, this last year or so i've tried my hand at so many new characters/fcs and now have so many new muses that i adore!

experience/how many years: when i tell you that i have absolutely zero recollection of how i discovered rping on this hellsite!!! my middle school bestie introduced me to tumblr for sure but how i ever discovered rp will probably forever be a mystery to me, but i think i've been here since i 2011? do not remember if rping on omegle (PLEASE who let me be unsupervised on the computer!!!!) came before or after, but once i was here i started with glee rp (cannot interfere, it's a canon event) and somehow crawled my way to today and into my home amongst simple town rps asdfghgfghj.

best experience: this last year or so has probably given me the biggest giggles that i can remember ever having!!! i had the fortune of meeting some really great writers to brave this madness together and just getting to laugh and bounce ideas and plots off of them and also to have a front row seat to their work outside of what we've come up with has just been so cool and inspiring? like the fact that this is done as a silly little hobby but i genuinely am constantly left just in awe of their talent is just so beyond me!

rp pet peeves: lazy plotters or people who so clearly don't read your intro before just throwing connects out there (usually in order to face chase and it's like babe, if you read my intro i wouldn't have to tell you why x, y, and z does not fit for this muse like?)! i don't mind shipping certain faces together but wanting a ship solely for the faces and not caring about the muse themself is usually so blatant and obnoxious.

fluff, angst, or smut: big fan of both fluff and angst! i generally like more plot driven threads, which i feel usually lends itself to angst, but love balancing out the heavy stuff with something light and fun when it calls for it and def think those can help move a plot along as well! think it's kinda funny that before i was allowed to write smut, i wanted to do so more than i do now that i actually can? it's not that i won't, but it'd probably have to be a ship i really cared about and thought it'd add something to see what that connection is like when they're intimate?

plots or memes: i am the worstttttt when it comes to memes! i start off with such good intentions but usually they just build up in my inbox and i tell myself i should answer them...and then let them sit in my inbox for longer until it's really been too long since i should've answered them and tell myself i'll be better next time. but plots, i live for that shit! don't even need big elaborate ones, like one of my longest rp besties and i usually just send each other little blurbs of an idea and literally could spend forever going back and forth with musings and headcanons for it. 

long or short replies: i look back on like my 2016 rp days and literally do not know how i went from little one line responses to writing novels. like the #pls don't feel like you have to match length tag is v me coded bc i absolutely am not getting out of a response without at least a paragraph. love love love exploring my muses thought processes and reasonings and their inner monologue, which can lead to some pretty lengthy responses, depending on the thread!

time to write: tell myself all day at work that when i get home, it's time to write...and then i get home and i tell myself that it's time to nap instead! i have the most time to write in the evening/night time or during the weekends, and that's when i can get random little bursts of motivation to not wait until the suns gone down to start writing.

are you like your muses: i do like to give my muses tiny little parts of myself, like if they reference a tiktok that's ended up on my fyp, or some weird quirks or opinions, but as a whole, i don't think i'd consider myself too similar to any of them!

tagged by: @waveofstars thank you bb!

tagging: @sinsoakedsaints, @tinytriceratop, @kiplingwriter, + anyone who wants to!

[dragonrider9905]

I'll let you take your pick from 28, 52, 79, 81 and 99; answer as many or as few as you'd like!

@frostycatblr-fandom-files 🩷

Hi Frosty!!!!!! ❤️@frostycatblr-fandom-files!

heheheheh I'll answer them all!!!! Thank you so much for the ask!!!!!

28. Hand written or typed notes?

I definitely use both. Depends on where I'm at. If I'm out and about, I prefer hand written notes. I don't like keeping notes on my phone at all. There's something about handwriting something that I remember things better and are so much more fun. But if I'm at home and I have the computer available to me, I'll write my notes right in the doc I'm working on.

52. How many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?

Heh. Heh. Heh. Litterly too many. I REALLY need to just freakn work on the ones I have but so many ideas are coming to me I need to write notes on them and I work on little sections of each if I'm out of focus. If I'm in focus of a story, I'll just write the one to finish it but when my brain doesn't like to co-operate, I just sit there flitting through them and trying to get little sections of each done. I also like to do a good job on requests, hence why it takes me a bit to do them. I feel so bad because people are waiting for them but I want them to enjoy it and not just pump out a 'whatever'. I litterally can't tell you how many I have right now in my folder because there are too many....I have so many series and in those series sub ideas and ahhhhhhhhhh!

79. Are you an over writer, under writer, or just right-er?

EEEEEEEEEEHHHKKKKKK definitely and over writer. I literally can't write anything freakn short. I sit there like ohhh I'll get this idea down but then my brain is like "you can add this? and this? It'll work with the story." and I just literally keep going. "This Bond Between Us" is a great example. I worked with the request idea but freakn ran with it. I keep adding so much backstory because it was too juicy not to.

81. If you could go back in time and give yourself a piece of writing advice specific to you, what would it be?

Frick frack I don't know. I guess maybe I'd tell myself to stop overthinking it and just write for dang fun. That it's ok to have it as a hobby and people can enjoy it, even if it isn't something to be published. Being published isn't everything. It's touching people's hearts with your writing. So stop stressing over small stupid stuff and who cares if it's bad? Start from the bottom and work your way up. Have fun and its a calling.

99. Was being a writer a dream of yours when you were little? or did it spring up when you were older? Or is it just a hobby?

First off, thank you for picking 99 just because I love the number now ;D

I ALWAYS wanted to be a writer. I have always loved stories, storytelling and literature, reading since I was little. I actually wrote stories before I know how to read and write. I'd draw out a picture book and I'd tell my story from the images. My parents were always surprised when I 'read' my books to them that the story stayed consistent and I always remembered what the images meant. For ages, I wanted to write something to get published. That is the dream of my life. To write a novel that will one day touch people's hearts.

Thank you my friend!!!

Ask Game for Fanfic Writers

[snonkerdoodledreams]

something that happened at a library that made me really uncomfortable

Tw: mentions of child abuse, self harm, nosy people

A few days ago I was discussing something with a friend. This was in the library and there was another friend there.

Let's call my friend Nattie and this other friend Dana.

Basically me and Nattie were sitting together on one side of the table and Dana was sitting on the other side. Nattie doesn't like Dana because they have a tendency to diss other people and look at things they weren't specifically invited to look at. I didn't have any such compunctions against Dana other than the fact that I'm pretty sure they lied about their skill level to get into the orchestra.

A little background about me--I'm extremely hesitant about sharing certain things with my friends (like the reality of the abuse I'm going through, my presence on Tumblr/my fanfiction writing [because that could get back to my mother really quick]) because I shared some of them once and my abusive found the text messages while going through my phone and my sane parent and I had to come up with a whole bunch of excuses really quick. It had to do with my self-harm incident a few months ago.

I had written a Planes fanfic earlier that day which I wasn't planning on sharing with anyone, rather opting for getting home, proofreading, and then publishing. I was putting the final touches on it in the library when Nattie leaned over to see what I was doing. Cut to the worst cover up in history as I attempt to open multiple tabs that are Incognito (because I was working on the fic in Incognito mode) before realizing that Incognito looks sketchy and then attempting to open tabs in my normal account which somehow opens up to the Planes movie and trying in vain to open a window in my school account so that it would look normal. Oh, and during all of this, Dana comes over and tries looking over my shoulder at what is going on. I'm nearly cussing and Nattie is dying of laughter, while Dana (it didn't seem like this to me at the time, but since she did what she did this is what I'll say) seems to be silently judging me. Finally Nattie reaches over and closes my laptop. Dana goes and sits back where they were.

Nattie knew that I was writing something and since I was helping Nattie with the story that they were writing (original), they wanted to see mine.

So I relented, and opened another tab in my browser, typing into the search bar that this was the way we would talk about It because I wasn't really comfortable talking out loud because Dana was there. Nattie understood and typed out some funny things, which led to the both of us typing roasts and stuff out to each other in the search bar.

Remember, this Is all to keep Dana and the rest of the people in the library from knowing what we're talking about. This is the part that nettles me the most--Dana literally comes around and tries to look at what we're typing. I don't remember what happened next because I might have closed the computer or told Dana that this was private. Either way Dana goes to talk to another one of our friends, Rory. Nattie reads the rest of the fic and complains (verbally) about my purple prose and teases me about writing Planes smut (which I didn't do!...yet).

But the thing I am literally absolutely hung up on is what changed my perception and if I'm being honest respect for Dana drastically. Listen, I get it--I'm the kind of person that likes to look at things and gets a little nosy while doing it--Im a serial accidental eavesdropper. But still. I would've thought that even from an outsiders POV it would be obvious that it was private. I mean, why the fuck else would we be typing out messages to each other rather than speaking out loud? I'm just confused as to why Dana tried to come and look over our shoulders at what we were doing--it was clear that it was not for them to see. It just bothers me a lot, especially since I'm already really uncomfortable sharing this stuff and Nattie was the only person I felt comfortable sharing it with.

[theleafpile]

I got caught up reading a work that was so good that I literally couldn't write for the few days I was reading it because my work paled so much in comparison. This has only happened a handful of times, which isn't to say I don't read good stuff, it's just that the good stuff tends to inspire rather than make me feel like I can't compete. (Thankfully I'm past the stage as a writer when I read something so good that it makes me want to quit writing altogether.) This particular story had so much intricate plot, detail, characterization, tension, etc.—everything that a reader could hope for—that I was overwhelmed by the scope and call backs and thought, I'll never be able to capture half of what's here.

Then I had to remind myself of two things.

The first is that the story I'm reading looks incredibly different from the story I'm writing because it's all new. I don't know what's going to happen. I have no idea what direction it's going. It's all unfolding before me in an extravagant display of color and action. The jokes are new. The settings are new. The characters begin as utter strangers and I grow to love them.

My story isn't like that. I've been living with these characters for years. I know them inside and out. The settings are as familiar to me as my own home and city. The point of my story isn't the spectacle. There's no grand evil or big battles. Their struggles are different and more in tune with how we choose to live our daily lives.

That doesn't make it lesser. It just makes it different.

The second thing I had to remind myself was that several of my favorite stories of all time are just vibes. They are very light on plot or have a simple plot but the way the story is told is what brings me back to it again and again. The language is so sumptuous that I can dive right in at any point, recognize and remember where we are in the plot, and basically ignore it in favor of getting swept away by the deft hand of the writer and their word choice.

There are books that I love because they are so comfortable to return to. There are series that I read that may only be made up of 3 star books but I continue with them because the world is known to me. I know the author isn't going to go for extreme tension or stakes, start killing off people I care about, or leave me enraged by character decisions. Sometimes you just want to go into a story knowing that despite anything that happens, these people are ultimately safe. (Which isn't to say that the plot-heavy, great story I just read didn't do this—it's just that I've never read something by them before and couldn't know that until the end.)

All of that to say that now I am done reading that particular piece of fiction, I will sit down at the computer to write today, picking right up where I left off before I got swept away into another story. I can say that while the story didn't inspire me to write, it did help to show me that I've grown as a writer. I accepted being overwhelmed, stepped away from my writing for a few days, but will go back to it without ever feeling like I should quit.

So, a reminder: there is such a range of stories out there and ways to tell them. Comparing yourself to other writers or your stories to others can be a useful tool, but only right up until the point where it makes you doubt your skills or your ability to learn the craft. Your authorial voice is unique and cannot be replicated. It's not a limitation; it's a gift. Readers want that variety and those who will love your work will find you.

[ptergwen]

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

-

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

-

if i forgot you please lmk!

[capt-spooki3]

Hey hi hello, how are you doing, i miss you and am .5 seconds away from spamming all your work with likes and reblogs 💕☺️

So I've been thinking (uh oh).... Being close with Tommy and tubbo and telling them ur terrified to meet techno cause mans is so scary to you, and they tell him you're scared cause they're little shits. A d cut to like a few days later where you have to talk to him for smthn and he's making fun of youand teasing you relentlessly cause he knows you were visibly nervous to meet him, but he's being really nice besides the teasing. Thoughts? Interpretations?

You don't even have to respond, just know that I love you and your stuff and hope you have the best day because you deserve nothing less◖⚆ᴥ⚆◗

( ˘ ³˘)♥

am i positive if you're asking me for a fic? No, not entirely.

Am i going to write you one anyway because you're so sweet? Yes absolutely and now presenting:

My Unexpected Tutor

Platonic college au!Technoblade and Y/n

(plus besties with the rest of the sbi ofc 😌)

(Hope this is okay, i just took my own interpretation of it and changed it just a little👌)

Warnings: cursing, teasing, nervousness(idk)

3.3k works

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

With the final bell ringing and college classes ending for the day, you snatched up your bag and book you’ve read off and on that week before heading over to the courtyard that was near the on-campus dorms. Stopping by a vending machine first to grab a drink then seating yourself on a bench and getting comfortable while you wait for your company to arrive.

“Yeah! And that’s- HA! That’s when Wilbur just… oh!-” The nearing sound of Tommy’s voice cut off along with the softer laughing from Tubbo. You were very obviously engrossed in your book, but now you just feigned reading as you listen closely to the sound of slow footsteps nearing behind your bench. The two of them were horrible about being sneaky since you could easily hear hushed laughs as they desperately tried keeping each other quiet.

Right as you heard them stop moving, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself before turning around suddenly and lunging at them over the back of the bench with a half effort grab at Tommy’s extended hand, and yelling. Tommy screamed back, stumbling back a  few paces and Tubbo just stumbled before backing up to the bench and busted out laughing.

“Ey what the hell!” He scoffed despite not being able to hold back his growing smile, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll remember that bitch, I’m gonna get you back.” he walked over to you and sat on the other side of the bench, giving you a hard glare when you laughed a little bit though it was mostly from Tubbo’s hysterical laughter. He took a deep breath and calmed himself so he could jump over the back of the bench and sit between you and Tommy.

The two boys were your underclassmen, being freshmen while you were a sophomore. The three of you met in your coding class. You were there mostly to get your English degree and major in said area, but you figured while you had the opportunity you would take classes on things you didn’t know much about. There, you met Wilbur, a senior and Tommy’s oldest brother, and he helped you quite a bit with understanding bits of coding that were a bit too confusing for you at first and were quickly becoming friends with him. That was until Tommy entered the picture. First, you just saw him as Wilbur’s chaotic younger brother who just happened to be in the coding class as well but after some insisting that you get to know him from Wilbur, you hung out one weekend in the library. One weekend turned to two then almost every weekend once he introduced you to Tubbo as well and you all had become a true trio.

You got to know Tommy’s family pretty well. His single father, Phil, who was just like a second parent to you now, and Wilbur who acted just like the older brother you never had. You knew them well despite having known them all for less than a year. The only hang-up is when it came to Tommy’s other brother. You knew he had an actual name, but only knew him by his nickname since that’s what everyone referred to him by. That would be Technoblade. The two of you had a couple of literature classes together and the fact that he was only one grade above you, you’d figure that you could befriend him with ease. Now, it’s not like he was big and scary, he was more tall and lanky but he was smart and he had some vibe around him that just petrified you. You couldn’t ever build up the courage to be around him which made it quite an issue since you were best friends with his brother, though this wasn’t an issue you had ever brought up to any of them.

“So how did classes go for you guys today?” You asked as you pulled one of your legs up onto the bench and closed your book which you held close to your chest.

“Fucking shitty! I got a fuck ton of extra work, like I know it’s college and the weekend but let me live.”

“We got one essay to write, it’s two pages long.” Tubbo reiterated with a smile while Tommy grumbled and leaned his head back so he was looking up at the sky. “What about you Y/n?”

“It wasn’t bad, I don’t have any extra work other than a bit of coding to do. Oh speaking of, Tommy?” You reached your foot over and kicked his leg to get his attention, only continuing when he was looking at you. “Is Will gonna be free at all? ‘Cause I need some help with this stuff.”

Tommy perked up a bit, sitting up to get his phone out. “Oh you're right, I actually need help with it too.” He mumbled while texting and staring at the screen as he waited for a reply. “Uhh okay so he says… I’m visiting some friends so I won’t have time… blah blah uh but ask Techno, I heard he’s pretty good at coding. Nice! That’s perfect, you can just come over to my house and-”

“Ah, you know what- I actually think I’m okay.” You quickly interrupted him, pulling your laptop out of your bag to aimlessly scroll through the assignment you were given. “It can’t even be that hard I’m sure… I can figure it out.” You said with as much confidence as you could muster despite knowing full well you’ll be completely lost as soon as you try to start on the work.

“Come on, we both know that’s a lie, you're so shit at this stuff.” He said light-heartedly and watched you ‘work’. “Seriously, just come over. I’m sure Techno is good at this stuff, if anything we can pay him to do the work.”

“It’s fine- really. I think I’ll just wait for Monday, I can ask Wilbur for help then.” You closed your laptop, keeping your gaze on it for a moment before looking over at Tubbo and Tommy who were giving you both a puzzled look. “What?”

“You don’t…” Tubbo started to speak but Tommy pushed him back with an arm on the chest so he could lean over to look at you closer.

“You don’t have a crush on Techno, do you?” He said and squinted at them as if disgusted by the thought.

“What!? No!” You sat up taller and looked at him, baffled that he resorted to that.

“Well, then what the hell is the problem! Just come over and he can teach us!” 

“I just… he’s kinda…” You grew flustered and found a loss for good words as you realized you were going to admit this. “He’s scary.”

Tommy busted out laughing and wheezed hard, doubling over as he coughed and laughed some more, stumbling over words as he tried to talk but was laughing too hard. Even tubbo who was trying to hold back, joined Tommy which only made them bounce off each other in their hysterics.

“Wha- I’m serious! Do you two not think he’s intimidating!?” You looked at both of them desperately as you could feel the heat that had risen to your cheeks.

“He’s literally-” Tubbo’s laughter interrupted him. “He’s a nerd! How the hell is he scary?” He settled down a bit and nudged Tommy to get him to calm down too, luckily he got his fit of laughter out.

“Oh my god, no I’ve got to go home now.” He grabbed his backpack that had been discarded behind the bench and looked at you once more before laughing more. “Scared of Techno- oh my god. That's good, that’s a good one. Bye bitches!” He saluted both of you before running off.

“Tommy I swear to god if you tell anyone I will deck your shit!!” You stood up, holding your laptop in hand, to yell at him but just stood there defeated once he turned a corner around a building. Tubbo got up beside you, laughing as he put his hands in his hoodie pocket.

“I wish I could give him the benefit of the doubt… but he’s gonna tell Techno. And Wilbur. And Phil for sure.” 

“Yeah... I’m sure he will. I’m going to my dorm, I’ve got to call my mom.”

“Aww-” You put your hand over his mouth, but took it away as soon as he shut up so he wouldn’t lick your palm.

“Shut- I don’t wanna hear shit from you too. Anyway, get home soon and don’t get kidnapped.” You turned away to put your laptop and book into your backpack and zipped it up before pulling it over one shoulder. You looked back at Tubbo and put your fist up to him.

“I’ll kick them in the balls, don’t worry.” He laughed a little and bumped his fist to yours and walked backward a few paces, waving at you. “Tell your mom I said hi!”

You waved back at him and stood to wait and watch him walk off along the stone path until he was fully out of sight to make your way to your dorm, which was right in the courtyard area.

-

Monday came around and with the school day partially over, you made your way to your coding class. You of course didn't end up doing the assigned homework even though you gave it a good try and just decided to rely on Wilbur's help.

You walked into class and took in a deep breath, it was always cool and smelt of coffee since the teacher brewed a cup before your class every day. Making your way over to your usual computer you looked over to see Tommy sitting in your spot beside Wilbur and chatting to him. You guessed he heard you coming or saw Wilbur look your way because he looked back and grinned wide which never meant good.

"Ey look at who it is! Wonderful seeing you again, how was your weekend?"

"Fine." You said, looking down at him and kicking his foot. "I don't like how you're acting, what the hell did you do?"

He just feigned innocence and looked offended that you could assume such a thing. "Me? Me!?" He leaned forward, hand gracefully on his chest. "I cannot believe you right now, I'm hurt Y/n! Truly hurt."

You scoffed with an eye roll and sat on the other side of Wilbur since the seat was free. As soon as you set your bag down and went to turn toward the two, Wilbur was already facing you and leaning on the desk area for the keyboard in a way that looked like he needed to say something in secret.

"You good?"

He just waved you down and you leaned forward to listen. "You're not… actually afraid of Technoblade are you?"

"Tommy you little shit!" You jumped up, nearly hitting Wilbur but he moved back in time. Tommy laughed and fled to the other side of the room where he normally sat so you just grumbled and took your seat.

"Well?"

"Is no one else? He's intimidating, I feel like he'd call me out on all my insecurities if I inconvenienced him. And THEN he would hold me at knifepoint till I left him alone."

Wilbur snorted and hung his head as he softly laughed, you reached over and hit his arm before leaning closer to whisper. “I’m serious Wilbur! He scares me!”

He looked back up at you with the most amused look. “Come on, you can’t be friends with this family without knowing techno. Honestly. Talk to him today. You two have the same literature class at the end of the day right?” He asked as he sat up and leaned back into his chair to turn his computer on and log into the coding website.

“I mean yeah but- what does that have to do with anything.” You asked, but Wilbur didn’t reply as he just stared at his screen so you leaned forward to get into his peripheral vision. “Will, what does that have to do with anything? I’m not talking to him, I hope you know that.”

-

You were wrong. Nearing the end of your literature class, you sat there listening to the teacher while completely lost on the assignment. Usually, it wouldn’t be too much of an issue because you would just give it the best attempt you could and see where you messed up at the end to better understand the work. It wasn’t the best tactic but you liked it better than having to ask for help. But now, this was a big and grade-determining assignment, not one you could afford to flunk.

The class was given five minutes to start on or look over the work at the end of the class. You leaned back in your chair, staring at your paper at a loss, and listened to the sound of people moving around the class near you. You didn’t try to look up since you assumed it was friends going to sit together and gossip. That was until you noticed someone took the seat beside you and shuffled a bit closer. Pulling the paper away from your face to look, you froze instantly upon locking eyes with Technoblade who was smiling lightly. You had never seen him this close, the most notable thing was his dyed light pink hair that had grown out brown roots and you could even see in his smile how his top and bottom canine teeth were a bit longer than normal and looked like he had small fangs and tusks.

He pushed his glasses up before crossing his arms and leaning forward on his desk. “Hey so I know you’re terrified of me, but it looks like you’re having a bit of an issue.” You opened your mouth to speak but were just met with a loss for words and just averted your eyes, continually glancing back at him for a moment as you were unsure what to do. He snorted lightly, bringing his hand up to stifle his laugh, and cleared his throat. “Yeah sorry for bein’ so big and scary but I can help ya. Come one, show me what you are confused with Y/n.”

“You- you know my name?” You looked right at him finally to which he raised an eyebrow at you quizzically.

“Well yeah. Did you really expect me not to? You’re besties with both of my brothers and my dad loves having you over. I was just waiting for you to say hi to me.” He leaned back, fidgeting with a ring with his hands. “Didn’t think you’d actually be scared of me, thank Tommy for snitching. He talked about it all weekend.”

You groaned, leaning forward to run your hands over your face and sigh, swearing that you’d smack him once school was out.

“Oh shi-” You looked at Techno and he was checking the time on his phone. “Hey, class is about to end. You’re not gonna be busy are you?”

“Uh… not, no I’m not.”

“Great.” He got up, moving the desk back to its original place and trotting over to grab his bag, and looking back to you. “Get your stuff and meet me at the south entrance, we can work on it back at my house.” And without giving you a chance to try to object, he called to the teacher saying that he was going to leave a minute early to get his stuff together since he rented a locker a bit away from the classroom and the teacher waved him off.

Reluctantly, you went back to your dorm which was close to where you had class. You dropped off unneeded books and grabbed a granola bar from a box you kept in your room then headed toward the entrance Techno told you to meet him at. And of course, walking up the sidewalk to the doors you saw him there sitting on a bench with his bag beside him. He saw you and jumped up, waving you over to him as he started walking immediately. While you were still behind him, you sent a picture to Tommy, Tubbo, and Wilbur of him walking in front of you and adding the caption ‘i did it :P’. 

The two of you chatted while you walked through the neighborhood and despite light teasing on how scary he was, he was easy to talk to and you had a lot in common with him. It was a shame you hadn’t taken the initiative to talk to him before. In no time, you were walking through the door after him into the familiar home where Phil greeted you with a surprised but happy look and offered snacks which Techno graciously took before heading to his room.

To your surprise, Technoblade is the best tutor you have ever had. He is attentive and incredibly patient when trying to figure out where you are having struggles and he’s smart. Like he knows every single bit of what is supposed to be brand new information from the class. Not even two hours into him helping you, you understood the assignment completely and you both spent the next three hours sitting on his bed and working together. You joked with him and he held the same energy while keeping the focus on working and even swapped laptops with him to check it over for each other.

You broke your gaze from the endless lines of text on your laptop screen to look at the window and seeing the orange sky around trees and over top of houses that indicated the setting sun. “Oh my gosh!” You scrambled off the bed, carefully stuffing papers back into your bag. “I didn’t even realize what time it was- Technoblade thank you a million for helping me. I appreciate it so much, but I need to get back to my dorm! I promised my roommate I’d help her cook dinner tonight.” You grabbed your laptop off of the bed and put it into your bag, closing it all up quickly.

Slinging it over your shoulder and adjusting it, you turned to make your way out of the room but you were stopped by a tug and looked back to see Techno holding onto your bag and looking displeased. “Not yet.”

“Wha- I need to go though-”

“It’s a tradition in this house to hug anyone before they leave, you should know that from my dad.” He let go and opened his arms up to you.

You turned to him and tilted your head a little. “You’re joking…”

He just smiled smugly and waited. You glanced at the doorway but gave in and closed the bit of distance, hugging him to which he returned snugly and spoke softly to you. “You’re a good person. I’m glad to have gotten to know you and I hope you’ll come back. I promise I’m not all that bad.” With that, he slowly let go and patted your arm before gently shoving you toward the doorway and plopping down on his bed. “Have a good night!”

“Uh.. yeah, you too!” You said back, still surprised by the exchange. His words swam through your mind as you went to leave the house, hugging Phil on your way out and wishing him a good night as well. Finally checking your phone on the walk home, you found a supportive and proud text from Wilbur, a dirty joke from Tommy, and something in between from Tubbo.

You laughed to yourself, amused by the differences in the messages. It was times like these that you most found appreciation for the three. Mentally you had to correct yourself though. The whole family was good. This you can say for sure now.

[official-lucifers-child]

i just realised that i didn’t tell y’all about my gay experience at the library a couple weeks ago so here it is (caution it is so fucking gay on my part):

okay so i went to the library because i’ve been craving new material to read and i was bored and so decided “hey!! library time!!”. so i snap on my mask, grab my bag with my laptop and notebook and pens n pencils, hop on my bike, and ride to the library.

i walk in, go to the upstairs section because that’s where some goo tables are and also that’s where all of the “adult” books are (read: encyclopaedias and graduate-level books and such)

three other people there already: cute person with a bright blue backpack absolutely covered in pins and patches, they have their laptop out and a giant freaking book. laptop is covered in so many stickers that i literally cannot even see the laptop part

they’re cute tho, short dark hair, denim jacket with yet more patches, chunky doc martins with rainbow laces, ripped black jeans, rainbow shirt, rainbow mask with black spiders and spiderwebs on it

they were around my age, maybe a year or two older

other two people were 100% a couple, they are curled up together on the couch reading the same book and looking adorable as hell together

i plop down at a table

(i’m just wearing my usual jeans, tank top, flannel, and sparkly black high tops with my genderfluid laces

cute person is eyeing my laces

do they know?

i pull out my computer (which has no stickers) and immediately start writing more to my story, then i jump up to refill my water bottle and grab some more books about various sharks

i come back and there’s a little paper on my table

cutie is gone but their stuff is still at their table. the paper has a little, simply-drawn spider. nothing else, just a little spider. i grab my pens and add a rainbow spider and then “happy halloween” in orange pen, and i quickly set the spider on the cutie’s table (hoping that it was indeed them who put it on my table)

continue writing

get distracted by the books, read all of the books. peope come and go but the cutie and i stay. they must’ve just got their a bit before i did, because soon it’s noon and neither of us have even left yet.

no eating in the library tho

that’s okay, i don’t mind, but i’m still trying to read the stickers and patches and pins. there’s a deadpool patch that i can see, plus a rainbow sticker and a rainbow patch. their computer has a couple pronoun stickers too, they/them and he/him. i don’t know what their pronouns were at the time so i’m sticking with they/them. definitely masc-presenting

they get up and start packing their things, and now i’m frantically trying to read their pins n patches

they pass my table and the note falls onto it as they pass

“going to get lunch at corner bakery. be back soon”

do they know i’m looking at them????

they have the nonbinary flag on their backpack, amongst tons of other band pins and pride pins and so many sew-on patches.

welp.

i don’t have money nor lunch so i just continue to chill at my table. someone goes to sit at theirs but i tell them that “my friend is actually there, they just left for a second” and the person nods and leaves.

i wish i had pins

they return with a bag of corner bakery food, or at least their leftovers i assume. as they pass i drop the note in their backpack pocket having added “i like your pins” and a little smiley face to it in purple pen.

more silent working.

i still for the life of me cannot see everything on their laptop, jacket, or backpack. i get up to get a closer look whilst also returning my books to the return cart

run into the pillar in the middle of the space

drop my books

they help me pick them up

go to the cart, now extremely flustered

run into the cart

put my books away

manage to not run into anything coming back, pack up my stuff, and leave, because i’m way too flustered to even function apparently and they most definitely were probably weirded out

bike home

get home

find large corner-bakery cookie in my backpack pocket with the little note “i hope you like chocolate chip”

goddamnit, me.

[yourmcu]

Emotional Support Mode

Pairings: Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Summary:

in which the reader is the loner, antisocial daughter of Tony Stark and the other Avengers including her father never acknowledge her presence (they thought some sort of interaction made you uncomfortable) so she becomes friends with Friday instead - Tony probs finds out and it’s gonna be all cute n fluffie once he realizes -

Word count: 2,243

a/n: hi just wanted to write fluffy tony :)) also I used they/them for friday’s pronouns

Warnings: angst n fluff, friday’s a bit more advanced (not like they aren’t already but) bc they could almost act like a literal human here.

read it on ao3!

You arrive back at the Avengers facility, shoulders slumped and just tired in general since you have a lot of homework and projects to do from school, most of them due by the end of the week. You also have exams later in the week.

“Hey, Fri,” you huff as you make your way to the elevator.

“Welcome home, Y/N. Where do you want to go?”

Yes, you're very close with the A.I that they started calling you by your first name. “To my room - and uh, will you remind me to read two chapters in my history book after I’m done with all my homework? I also have this project, I just need some measurements later, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you.”

It’s going to be a long night, you sigh heavily just thinking about it. Now you’re probably wondering, ‘you live with the Avengers! Why don’t you ask Tony and Bruce for help? Maybe Steve and Bucky for your History test?’

Yeah, well... you barely talk to any real person you live with. Maybe it’s you, you always thought you're making the team uncomfortable. You don’t even talk to your own father often which is kind of depressing on your part.

You love them, they’re like your extended family, but it just isn’t working out. Maybe they just don’t like you. Up to this day you still wonder why Tony took you in when you were just a baby (you were a mistake from one of his one night stands) - he had the choice not to.

“I’m assuming you zoned out again. You have arrived to your room five minutes ago.” Friday announces.

“Y-yeah sorry,” you shuffle out of the elevator and swiftly head to your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

“I also asked if I should inform Mr. Stark that you have arrived home.”

“No, no thanks. He’s busy and... probably wouldn’t care anyway,” You mutter the last part as you pile the books you need on your desk. “Can you put my study playlist on, please?”

----

“What time is it, Friday?”

“7PM. I was about to remind you to take a break.”

You get up from your chair and stretch, halfway through the last of your homework which is a two page essay. “You’re too kind, thanks pal,” when you walk out your room to head to the kitchen and grab a snack, the lounge is empty, kitchen empty,

“The team’s on a mission? I thought they had the whole week off,” you say before gulping down a water bottle.

“I checked the security footage: they left about an hour ago. Captain Rogers was talking about getting dinner.”

You put the bottle down. “Oh,” you try to mask your disappointment. This isn’t your first time being alone, they always left you here when they had a mission of course but... well, it’s not like they want you around them. “I’ll - I’ll just make myself something later, then. Not a big deal. I have to study anyway.”

Another hour later, the Avengers are back. They're all conversing happily as they pile in the lounge. Peter's rambling about upgrades for the Spiderman suit while Tony's typing away in his phone, nodding at everything he says. Everyone else is arguing about the TV channels and talking about the new restaurant they ate at.

Rhodey shifts, looking around. “Why do I feel like we forgot something?”

Natasha looks at him, waiting for him to go on.

“I assure you, I brought Mjolnir with me this time.” Thor butts in.

“No not that, what time does Y/N get home from school?” No one answers. It’s not like any of them know. It's natural that Rhodey would be worried about his goddaughter (even if they rarely talk). He turns his head to his best friend who’s now walking away with Peter, an arm around his shoulder. “Tony, where’s Y/N?”

He doesn’t hear since he has his full attention on his protégé.

“I’ll start making this tomorrow, I guess. I still have to buy materials.” You mumble to yourself, but you hope Friday's listening to everything you say just to make you feel less lonely. You swipe the hologram of the blueprint away and place the thick books in front of you.

“I would like to recommend a suitable study plan.” they state.

You rub your eyes, sighing, “I’m already halfway, I would’ve considered it earlier though.”

“This is only a recommendation, feel free to ignore it.”

You push yourself away from the desk and mutter a “go on,”, fiddling with your pen.

“Asking Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes would give you more details for your History examination, since the pair were originally from that time period. The same goes for Mr. Banner for your Science examination, I believe he has seven Ph.D’s, you may also approach Vision for the same topic. Mr. Stark has all the necessary materials for your project in his lab. Would you like me to-”

If only it were that easy. It should be easy, the thought alone makes you really nervous. “No, I - I appreciate the recommendation, Friday, but - I think I can do this on my own.”

“But you’re tired and it is almost midnight. I would help you myself but you specifically told me not to.”

They’re not wrong. Your eyes are starting to droop and you barely understand anything you're reading. You're also fighting back tears - why is talking to your family so hard?

“I can sense sadness. Would you like me to activate emotional support mode?”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds great right about now.”

----

“Crap. Guess we lost track of time again, kid,” Tony wipes his hands with a rag while he looks at the time on his computer. “You better get home. I’ll send May a text for keeping you this late.”

“Okay, thank you Mr. Stark. I’m just gonna use my suit-”

“No. Happy will drive you.”

Peter knew better than to argue and insist so he just nods and smiles sheepishly. A minute later Happy came ‘round to take him home.

Tony turns back around. “Friday, make a new project for me please, I’m adding minor upgrades to the Spiderman suit.”

“Not now, boss.”

Oh. He did not expect that. “Excuse me?”

“Y/N is currently opening up. I would like to give her my full, undivided attention. Please come back after fifteen minutes or so.”

Tony doesn’t exactly know how to feel about that. He never sees her outside her room anymore that he kinda forgot she existed tonight - oh fuck, they didn’t bring her to dinner with them.

“Well,” he exhales. “What is she saying?”

“That would be an invasion of privacy.”

“I’m her father-”

“Are you, sir?” Friday’s clever remark makes him stop abruptly.

It’s pretty clear that he’s been a shit father. Not only does he ignore you all the time but he treats Peter way better than his own flesh and blood. The Avengers on the other hand, they were nice people, but just didn’t understand so they try their best to get out of your way.

You were afraid of rejection, afraid to interact, because you had no idea what everyone thought of you. Did they like you? Did you make them uncomfortable? Did they want you around? What about Tony, did he really want a daughter in his life? Because you noticed he’d be better off with a son, yeah, like Peter goddamn Parker.

Tony sighs, walking out of his lab and heads to the mini bar to grab a drink. He needs to think: there's absolutely nothing wrong about you, he just didn’t do his job right, you thought he didn’t care, you thought nobody did. Even Friday is turning against him, doing a better job of comforting and being there for you.

“God, I’m such an asshole,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his forehead. He drinks his last shot and heads to the kitchen. “She still awake?” He calls out.

“She is.” Friday has a bitter tone.

He's hesitant to ask again, feeling really bad for not knowing this simple question - “what’s her favorite beverage?”

----

“How do you feel?”

You sniffle. “Well y’know, better than before. I should probably go to sleep. Thanks, Fri.”

“You’re welcome. Also, Mr. Stark is outside your door.”

“W-what?” You put away your books and straighten up, rubbing your damp eyes. “You’re serious? Okay, uh, let him in?” It's more of a question.

“Alright.”

You turn to face your desk as Tony enters the room, holding two steaming mugs. He sits at the end of your bed, just right next to the chair you're sitting on. “Hi,” he gives you a small smile and hands you a mug.

What’s the occasion?

“What’s this?” You ask quietly before taking the mug from his hands. Tony's being gentle and soft, it's odd but you’re not complaining.

“Green tea with honey. I... I thought I saw you make that stuff once.” He says, not mentioning the fact that Friday told him that.

“Oh, well, yeah,” you take a small sip. He added a bit too much honey but other than that it was good. “I thought you preferred coffee, though,”

Tony shrugs, his eyes glistening when he looks at you. “Wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”

“Did - did you want something, Dad?” You always found yourself awkward, couldn’t even make conversation with someone for long, always wanted to get straight to the point so it could be over with.

He looks like he wants to say something but he just averts his gaze to you, his hands, the floor, then suddenly he leans in and hugs you. Your feel your heart swell and body warm up, it’s a new sensation for you after all, you rarely get hugs from people. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For everything. I’m such a bad dad, I don’t deserve you. I even forgot you when we went out to dinner.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything. I had loads of stuff to do earlier anyway, so, but yeah I was just - I just overreact, I’m sensitive. I don’t blame you and the others for not liking me, I know there’s nothing like-able about me, I’m not like Peter-” You ramble, tears now leaving your eyes again.

“Sweetheart, don’t say that,” Tony says as he pulls you closer to him, head resting against his chest while he rubs your back comfortably. “Y/N Stark, you are smart, brilliant - I was just an ass for not acknowledging that.”

“I know you’re just saying that to-”

“Oh, but I’m not,” he now places his hands on your shoulders, getting you to look at him. “Tell me who built their first engine when they were eight?”

You blush, “Dad-”

“No, come on, I wanna hear it.”

“I did.”

“Yes you did. And who made a completely functioning robot at their middle school science fair that blew all the teacher’s minds?”

You’re trying to hide a smile, recalling the memory,  “I did.”

“And who,” Tony gets up and walks to the bulky looking thing that you covered with a sheet, pulling it off, “is currently building a computer from scratch?”

“Dad! That’s still a work in progress,” he messily places the sheet back and chuckles.

“My point is, you’re a clever and talented girl, Y/N. Don’t bring yourself down. And you don’t have to be shy around your family, those idiots have been dying to get to know you but since you don’t talk much... they don’t want to force it. We love you,” he says. “I hope you forgive me ‘cause I really wanna make it up to you. I’m not calling Peter in for a few weeks.” Tony sits down beside you again.

You couldn’t believe he’d do that for you. “You don’t have to, if you need him for something then-”

“-then you could help me instead, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m really sorry for being such a lonely freak,” you yawn, getting back into Tony’s open arms. “I love you.”

Tony tucks you in and lies down beside you, “I love you tons, kiddo.”

You snuggle into his chest, feeling his steady breathing while he rests his chin above your head.

----

It's morning. The Avengers are gathered at your open bedroom door.

“Are you getting all of this, Friday?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff.”

“Steve turn that shuttering sound down!” Natasha hisses at the super soldier who's doing his task, taking pictures.

Steve almost drops the phone and has Bruce fix the volume for him.

They’re all watching you and Tony cuddle together, still fast asleep.

“Do we have to stay here until they wake up?”

“Unless you have a great way of waking them up, yes. Now shut up.”

“If you think about it we definitely look creepy right now.” Sam comments.

“It’s their fault for having the door wide open all night!” Clint says.

Tony's actually awake the whole time, listening to them bickering. “You have three seconds to get the hell out of here before I make all of you polish my suits.” With that, the team races down the hall, pushing each other to get away first like literal children.

[emiko-matsui]

hello this is my official list of what i think every member of the bau would work with if they wouldn't work at the bau like if that wasn't a reality you get me

——

Jason Gideon: look i know this is technically canon but i truly do think he would be an author and would guest lecture a bit in his later years and like sure he could still write true crime books but also just regular crime novels i think this old man would just like to write

Jennifer "JJ" Jareau: i think she would work inside of the media, not in front of the camera necessarily but as a communicator or similarly inside of the media and the news. however i think there's a possibility of a divergence of path for her, i think its possible she could end up in a hostage situation due to her job in a similar situation like in neon terror and would start working out as a coping mechanism and like genuinely would pick up a (extra?) job as a personal trainer at her gym

Derek Morgan: firefighter. that's it i don't know what to say other than that, derek would 500% be a firefighter. there's nothing else. now that i think about it derek should've been a firefighter from the beginning fuck the bau this is his true calling don't even @ me

Elle Greenaway: similarly to JJ i think elle would work inside of the media but as an investigative journalist. well i think she would start out as a regular journalist but become an investigative journalist after a while because her drive would be too big you get me. also niche but i think that when she was a teen she was like briefly a singer like you know robin from how i met your mother but she would've made angry girl music

Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner: genuinely don't think this punk could stay away from the government so i think he would still work a fancy government job just not inside of the bau, maybe not even the fbi but i so think he'd still be in government. now what i have no idea because i know nothing about the government especially the american government seeing as im not even remotely american

David "Dave" Rossi: now i don't even know if this fucking counts but you know those really fancy shops that are like made of dark smelling wood and is called something extravagant with a cursive gold font and they sell like cigar or wine or herbal products or like mustache wax or whatever the fuck you know the places im talking about. i think rossi would work there and be that old man at the counter who will come up and talk to you and you have no idea if he just works there and is really invested in this stuff or if he owns the place or just a really weird costumer but then he's the one you pay too so you assume it's his but the moment you step out of the store you've forgotten his face and you never want to go back there but you always think about it once a month or something. if you don't know what kinda place im talking about consider yourself lucky

Penelope Garcia: if the bau wasn't even a prospect here there's no question that penelope would still be a hacker illegally and make most of her money from there but i also think that she would work in a small second hand shop with lots of old trinkets and clothes and stuff just because she genuinely thinks it's fun to work there and also the old woman who owns the shop lets her be on the computer when there's no costumers in the store. i just think she would sit there in her cupcake dress next to a ceramic old cat from the 1930s talking to bernice about her grandson while hacking jeff bezos on her computer

Spencer Reid: now it's time for spencer all over the place reid who i think would work at like one of those really prestige but still public libraries where like everyone is welcome but they have like locked rooms with super valuable books and stuff and he kinda does whatever there bc sometimes he gives tours talking about thr history of the building and stuff and sometimes you find him at the counter ready to guide you to the specific book you're looking for plus twenty other recommendations you should read if you like this book and sometimes you find him in a window reading and his coworkers politely ignore he's had his "break" for three hours now bc he guided 17 tours yesterday (only ten were scheduled) and they suspect he mightve slept here. plus in his spare time i think he would do some independent work to keep him stimulated with stuff but that's not a fully developed idea yet

Stephen Walker: this might be controversial but i think stephen would be a guidance counsellor at like a school and i don't know why but he has the vibe and i think he would be quite good at it. maybe he just gives me more official jawbone vibes from dimension 20

Emily Prentiss: i firmly believe this woman cannot hold down a job for her life. i think the bau and interpol were flukes in her reality because im quite certain emily would physically not be able to keep one job for longer than a year. if you mention a job she's probably done it. she's done everything from high positions in government to bagging groceries to leading seminars to breeding puppies. listen emily prentiss is a lesbian ex goth trust fund kid (like canonically yall). i think right now she's working with the lights for a theatre production and she's liking it and seems to have a knack for it

Tara Lewis: this one's out there but i think she would work as a principal at a university (do universities have principals?). but like the one who's in charge of a school but like advanced studies with like adults study after they've already studied if you know what i mean. idk i just think that's what she would be

Luke Alvez: hate to do this to luke but he would simply just be a cop. or like a detective (that's like a promotion for a cop in america right? bro my knowledge extends to brooklyn 99 and brooklyn 99 only). i hope this is because i feel like luke is the serious crime version of jake peralta and jake is the sitcom version of luke. anyway, cop

Matt Simmons: this is my magnum opus but bro i think he would be a podcaster. i think he would do a podcast with kristy. for everyone who follows my blog think justin and sydnee mcelroy but matt is sydnee. i think they would have a little podcast together. after his unit at the fbi (?) got got by linda barnes i think he would retire home and start doing podcasting full time with kristy. this is my hot take

Kate Callahan: because such a central part of kate's personality/backstory is that her sister died in 9/11 i think that kate would've been a nurse. specifically a nurse not a doctor and i don't think it's because a lack of competence or anything like that fuck u no i genuinely think kate wanted to be a nurse and chose to study to become that. her hours would still be crazy but maybe meg isn't as worried about her now

Ashley Seaver: i don't have a lot for seaver but i think she would work in local government more centralised like those guys from parks and rec and yes i realise ive made way too many references that some people might not understand but here we are. i think seaver would do whatever leslie does in parks and rec or something like that

Alex Blake: this is just a formality to have her on here because she's literally a linguistics professor in the show

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

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

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

[theringers]

V-card anon: hi sorry about that first ask i kinda went into a fugue state (spelling?) altered state of reality maybe when i wrote that and damn near outlined a fic in your inbox

The way we played hot seat was either part of a larger drinking game when a certain card was pulled from a deck, or just on it's own. You sit in a circle, everyone has a drink, usually a beer or cider. In the card pull version, the one who pulls the card gets asked a question by every person playing and if they refuse to answer they drink from their drink. In the standalone, you do that but everyone gets a turn being asked until people get bored and leave. Fun way to find out shit about people. Usually the unwritten rule is that you can't lie. I imagine everyone sitting on shitty chouches and chairs in a semi circle around a table full of cups and bottles playing it

Questions i have been asked: are you a top or bottom? Do you like anal? Wheres the weirdest place you've fucked? Body count? Favorite position (sexual)? Fuck marry kill/ignore people in this room (EVERY TIME I PLAYED I GOT THIS QUESTION)? Tits or ass or other? Favorite non sexual body part ex. Thigh? Ideal fuck buddy? Sex regrets? Etc

Also more weird details i have head cannoned out for some drivers and most likely does not fit with irl personalities, do with this what you will, use it or don't i just have feelings. Also everyone is like compressed in age to like 20-27ish except for some of the grid who i will just think of as younger alumns who come back:

Danny R: social chair, owns a jeep he takes the doors off of in the summer, walks girls home at night to make sure they're ok, tries to DJ house events and is rebuffed by literally everyone, has like 30 pairs of vans you trip over in his room, stolen roadsigns everywhere, masters in something arigcultural or physiological, cutoff frat shirts for days, fuckboy but nice, a bit cringe, will drive around with you at night so you can scream, met reader bc she had a band tee on and wanted to talk to her about it (no gatekeeping)

Charles: some kind of engineering or math degree but no one has any idea how the fuck he's gotten so far, 4.0 never studies, games with other house members, will show up at events randomly you will have no idea how he gets on your couch but he is there, the best and worst taste in clothes, is the only one allowed to play the piano in the house, sweet, cannot help you with studies but is always down for helping you out after, has to be reminded to clean stuff, disaster bi, reader met his gf first and they probably met through that

Pierre: good fashion and music taste, shirt is gone halfway through the night, also fuckboy but wholesome, actually studies, plays a sport for sure probably soccer in some way either club or Division he's too good for rec, will hold your hair back so you can throw up, will tell you your outfit sucks, good at math, also part of the squad that games, econ major, workout buddies with reader anday have taken a math class together

Max: is part of the hockey team he will go pro, also actually studies, got into gaming because of Charles, has the nicest car, is serious until he gets a couple drinks in him, he and Daniel are close and roomed together at some point, owns like 30 sets of the same outfit a white tee and jeans, knows reader through Dan and they get dragged by him to some of the same stuff

Lando: is a pledge or new member his big is Carlos, undeclared major, just happy to be here, gaming squad, used to play lacrosse or something equally obscure, king of knowing where the good snacks are, weirdly good at beer pong, growing into a fuckboy wholesomeness level tbd, probably sweet with reader as she helped him through a blackout or something, met her because she's basically house mom for some of the new boys (the kind of mom who will teach you to do laundry or iron ONCE)

Carlos: hockey flow but does not play hockey, actually studies and is smarter than what people give him credit for, came from a private high school and uni really opened his horizons, also good study buddy, gets along with most people, goes to office hours the most out of the actually studies gang, fun at parties, owns the frat dogs, he and reader met at Office hours (they were the only students) and found they had mutual friends too

Lewis: is/was president of frat, great grades greater bod, did full evolution from fuckboy to good man, has the back tests and the moral support, up for late noght talks about life, definitely was a D1 athlete, best fashion game, implemented no hazing policy, fits into notable alum or PhD category

Mick: undergrad like Lando, also plays soccer or something, too sweet, also walks girls home/holds your hair back etc, cleans parts of the house that aren't his responsibility, higher alcohol tolerance than you expect, everyone is bizarrely protective of him, legacy member (his dad was a legend), drives a motorbike around campus and can't decide between law and psychology, actually studies, met reader through the frat and she would die for him, brings her to class on the bike sometimes because the bike is faster

George: business major, frat treasurer, three ring binder business casual in class kind of guy, nice enough, shirt comes off when drunk, runs marathons and a podcast about investments, best notes in the game and great study partner, actually studies, is drinking monster at 6AM but not because he stayed up late, he and reader met through the frat and sometimes drink wine and bitch together

Lance: hockey player, legacy member, studies sometimes, sarcasm on point, great at stack cup, very chill, knows every good nap spot on campus, also has high alcohol tolerance, is the kind of person who does well in the cold but does not like it, wears headphones so people don't talk to him, great one on one but not in crowds, business major and minor in computer science, probably also met thru Lance's gf but vibe as more introverted people and will cover for each other if one does not want to go out

Nicky: a good boy, part of the walks people home squad, sets up designated drivers for parties, good snack game, future in medical field, good listener, pretty good study buddy, midnight snack enabler, met reader through frat and his gf he and reader are on babysitting duty together sometimes when others get too drunk/high

Yuki: also a pledge or new, majoring in games or computer science as they gave me the same energy as him, games squad, bit of a mad lad, has several stolen street signs, good, met reader through frat and Yuki is the only one patient enough to explain some games to reader, they cuss people out on mic

Esteban: good man, has a full ride scholarship, actually studies, also good study buddy, Dan's little, plays soccer but maybe on a rec team because he prioritizes school, very sweet guy as well, probably chose a really practical major/dual major, met reader through Dan and are also dragged similar places by him

Antonio: manbun, philosophy or classics major possibly business dual, generally good natured but can be seen supplying his own wine at parties, used to be really into metal but kept the hair, does not know that people find him attractive, soccer boi, met reader through frat and she's the only one who will (pretend) to listen to him rant about philosophy

Alex Albon: another full scholarship guy, somehow gets along with everyone, switched majors due to an asshole professor, electrical engineering or computer engineering, actually studies, helps with frat pets,will show you pictures of his cats at home, sweetie, another contender for will hold your hair or walk you home, probably met reader through a class or club and found they had mutual friends and that reader is friends with his gf

Notable alums:

Checo - dad, successful in finance somehow (he looks like an really successful accountant of CFO to me idk why)

Kimi - dad but people forget he is, holds the record for most drinks in 24 hours that will never be come close to by anyone else, shows up on random alum weekends with 2 kegs, legally cannot tell you what he does or he would actually have to murder you

Valterri - was good at a sport when he was there, now a very effective lead engineer at an architectural firm

Seb - environmental or mechanical engineering, all around good guy with someone the best grades in frat history

Alonso - legendary for sexual exploits (consensual)

Anyone I put as actually studies is probably the type reader would hang around for more serious stuff/schoolwork and would probably be closer to, with the exception of Dan bc I feel like he'd be like we're friends now :)) we shall hang or Charles bc he will just show up. I also imagine she has a pretty good friendship with any existing gf, however if a driver does have a gf and he is the love interest sorry bb girl u gotta go for the purposes of this fic

Sorry this is so long hahaaaaaaa glad you liked my Charles thoughts ilu

i honestly wasn’t going to share this like the rest of the anon asks i’ve gotten that i keep close to my heart but this was just too good to keep to myself.

LOOK! AT! THIS!

f1 drivers as frat bros/college students headcannon

i’m writing a series - each “chapter” will be a smut with a different frat bro and i’m hoping to post a sneak peek this week some time but here’s something to hold you over and give you some ideas

to my vcard anon - i appreciate this so much. my inbox is always open for ur thoughts bc they are SO GOOD !! can’t wait for you to read the first part of the series bby

PS if some of this doesn’t make sense to u feel free to send in asks (i know a lot of this is focused on american college culture so if u don’t get it i’m happy to explain)

[mywonuderful]

Sweet n' Sour Chicken

anon request: hi, can I request a fluffy college au with Jacob from the boyz? 🥺

pairing: college!jacob x college!reader

genre: college au, fluff

warning: cursing and some anatomy terms for those KINE students out there 

a/n: thanks for the request anon! I had lots of fun writing this so I hope you like it :)

main masterlist

You knew you fucked up.

2 minutes

You sprinted, your bag swinging in all directions as you opened the doors of the building, jumped ran down the stairs and finally reached the doors of your practicum.

‘it literally take 10 minutes for me to travel from one building to another. why does my practicums have to be on opposite side of the campus?’ You caught your breath, wiping the sweat that was falling from the side of your face. You peaked through the half opened door, hearing the instructor explain the lab as you scanned the room for any empty seats.

'Second last row, beside the guy in a demin jacket' You took note as you quietly opened the door, hoping the instructor doesn't noticed as you tippy toed your way to the empty seat.

"Excuse me." You pointed at the empty seat beside him. He mouthed a 'sorry' before he moved his guitar bag and stood up for you to pass through. You eyes lingered at the guitar for a moment before you threw your bag on the table, chugging your water.

'A musical major taking an anatomy course? What is he thinking?' You resting your head on your hand, glancing over at him, observing his appearance. His hair was dyed to a honey brown color, looking soft as a pillow. He was wearing a demin jacket with a plaid and t-shirt underneath and you could hear his metal accessories clink every so often when he moved.

“Miss ‘late for the nth time’"You heard your instructor yell as you snapped to reality.

“Yes!” You answered, immediately feeling embarrassed as you knew he was calling for you.”

“You’ll be pairing up with Jacob, the guy you’ve been staring at for the past 5 minutes.” The guy so called named Jacob turned to look at you as you darted your head away, cheeks heating up as you heard a few people chuckle. The teacher went on explaining the purpose and procedure of the labs as you had your hand on your forehead, staring down at the sheet of paper as you mentally cursed at yourself for always being late and for checking out the man who turned out to be your lab partner. The room was filled with student’s voices overlapping each other as everyone got to work. You faced the wall, too ashamed to face your lab partner as you heard him clear his throat, trying to get your attention.

“Hey, so I’m Jac-”

“I am not interested in you.” You cut him off as his eyes widen from your statement. “I wasn’t checking you out.”

"Umm. Okay.” He slowly nodded, as you followed, whisper a ‘yeah, not interested’ to reassure yourself. 

“I didn’t ask.” Your eyes looked up to his as you both stared at each other before he broke into a smile. “Anyways, I’m Jacob.” He stuck out his hand, waiting for you to shake it.

“And I am sick and tired of labs.” You rolled your eyes. He still hand has hand extended, waiting for you to shake it as you narrowed your eyes at him, noting his unique behavior. “Y/N.” you shook his hand.

“Shall we get started on this practicum then?”

"Let me just say this first." He looked at you, waiting to continue as you lost your words for a second in his eyes. "We're going to get this over with, then part ways and never see each other again okay? I don't care what mark I get in this lab nor do I really care in general about labs." You looked at him, regretting the words that left your mouth.

"Cool. let's get started then?" Your heart stung from his response as you hesitantly nodded your head.

Unlike what you said, the both of you didn't part ways and never see each other again after that lab. Instead, you would purposely accidently meet him in lectures, other courses and around the campus where you found out that the two of you shared many common interests and that the both of you were in the same program. As those 'unexpected' encounters became more and more regular, your interest in him become more and more clear as his quiet, soft yet observed actions would always catch you off guard. But whenever that happens, you made sure to not like your feelings get in your way, as you know you aren't up for that kind of commitment.

-

"Where does the mandible articulate?"

"Uh... temporal bone?"

"Good. What joint does the mandible and temporal bone form?" You pressed your brows together, deep in thought. "We went through this 10 minutes ago."

"Cut me some slack, Jacob. I can only stuff so much information in this small brain." He smiled at your response. "Why do you always smile in the most unexpected moments? If you keep this up, I don't know what I'll end up doing." You mumbled to yourself as he waited for your answer

"That didn't sound like the rig-"

"I don't know! The temporalmandible joint or something?" You gave up as he slightly nodded. "Wait, did you hear what I said before that?" Panic started to form as you felt the cold sweat in your hands

"Close. Temporomandibular joint. And no, it just sounded longer than the actual answer." He corrected as you groaned, banging your forehead on the table as he slid his hand under so you won't end up bruising your forehead. "You're going to lose brain cells if you keep banging your head." You shot your head up, looking at him with a defeated face.

"But I'm already stupid!" You cried as he shook his head, patting your head.

"I'm joking. It takes more than just banging your head." You glared at him.

"Then why get me all worked up?"

"So you could stop ruining that beautiful forehead of yours?" I'm sorry but that sounds weird even as a complement You leaned back, taken by surprised before you snapped back to reality. "Look, there's a little trick on memorizing it. Just combine the two words together." He pointed at the pictures on the computer as you tried to focus. He would lean closer to you every so often as he pointed at the diagrams as your heart would race when he did.

"So the joint connecting the tibia and fibula would be the tibiofibular joint?" You asked as you pointed at the picture. He turned to look at you with wide eyes before he broke out into a chuckle.

"Correct!" The both of you laughed as the remaining of your study session went on.

-

By the time the two of you were finished with studying, it was already the late evening as one of the cafe employee came over to inform the customers that it was closing time. You glanced out the window, seeing rain drops slowly fall. Jacob was packing up beside you, as he followed your vision.

"The weather forecast did say it'll rain these couple of days." He mentioned as you stared out the evening sky, rain drops falling harder by the second.

"God, even mother nature hates me." You sighed as you packed your things, hearing a chuckle from him. "What? You find it amusing that the world is despises me?" He shook his head, waving his hand in denial.

"You're wrong. The whole world doesn't hate you."

"Then who doesn't?"

"There's me." You were zipping up your bag, stopping midway as you lifted your head to look up at him. He had a soft expression on his face, as your cheeks started to tint up.

"Geez, I thought I was weird but I'm starting to question who's the weird one here" You threw the bag over your shoulder as you opened the door, holding your textbooks over your head as you were about to ran to the nearest building when he suddenly grabbed your arm.

"I've got you covered." He opened his umbrella, lifting it over your head.

"Actually, the umbrella has us covered." You stated in a matter of fact tone as he laughed, lightly pulling your arm closer to him as the both of you started walking. He suggested that you stay over at his place for the time being knowing that you usually bus home. The two of you walked in silence as you took in the sound of the wind and raindrops hitting the tops of the umbrella, his grip still around your arm. He unlocked the door and turned on the lights, before gesturing you to enter first while he flicks off the remaining droplets. To your surprise, it was a little bigger than expected for a home for one person. You found yourself wandering around as he closed the door, taking off his shoes and jacket. You placed your bag down on the couch and sat down as you looked out the window, seeing the weather get more and more intense.

"Doesn't seem like the rain will calm down anytime soon." He spoke from the opened kitchen. You hummed in response, eyes found its way on a display of pictures of when he was younger with his family, brother and friends. You stood up, walking over to take a closer look as a smile appeared on your face.

"Ah, those were when I was in the volleyball and basketball team." He stated, offering you a cup of hot tea and you nodded, sitting back down as he took a seat next to you. You didn't know where to look as you stared out the window.

"Do you like the rain?" He asked to break the silence.

"No, I absolutely hate it." You turned to look at him. "I don't know where else to look." You admitted as he laughed.

"You sure are one bright person." You spoke, taking a sip. "Compared to someone like me."

"What do you mean? I find you bright as well." He snickered at his compliment.

"Not at all. I've already come into terms with my sour personality. It's just who I am. Someone who's better off alone and unbothered." He was deep in thought as you peeked over, trying to read him. "Why did you decide to be friends with me?"

"I didn't. It was you who asked for my number for the lab assignment." He pointed at you as you gasped, taken back.

"You're just trying to be funny now."

"Then tell me you didn't purposely go the opposite way so that you would 'bump' into me." You avoided his eyes, feeling ashamed that he taught on to your actions

"I can't confidently say that I didn't to it on purpose. But I swear, half- no not have, three forth of time it weren't on purpose!" You defended yourself before the two of you broke into laugher.

"How about we order some take-out? I don't think going out to grab food in the rain would be ideal with the weather being like this."

"I like your thinking. What should we order?"

An hour passed after you ordered as both of you would exchange short conversations here and there.

"You must be a pretty athletics person. Seeing how many awards you've won." His eyes were fixed on the trophies, a small smile upon his face.

"You could say so. How about you? Do you play any sports?"

"Nope. The most athletic thing I've done is run from practicums to practicums." You chuckled as he joined. The doorbell rang as you stood up to answer before he told you to sit down. He thank the delivery man and paid as he locked the door, placing the takeout on the coffee table.

He took out the takeout containers, opening them as your eyes landed on a particular dish.

"Sweet and sour chicken? I didn't remember us ordering that." He brought out some plates and took a seat beside you, knees brushing as he sat down.

"I added it last minute. Craved it, I guess." He replied as you nodded, not caring as the both of you started to eat.

"Say, I remember you carrying a guitar case the first time we met." You spoke as he looked up, trying to recall.

"Ah yeah, it was for a band I'm in." Your eyebrow rose, noting that he was an all rounder.

"Talk about being Mr. Perfect." You stuffed your face with rice.

"I still lack a lot." You choked on your rice as he immediately patted your back, opening a bottle water for you to drink.

"Lack *cough* my *cough* ass" you took a sip. "If you still 'lack a lot' then what does that make me? A complete failure?"

"What? No! Why do you talk so lowly of yourself?" His voice was serious. "You always compliment others but you can't seem to take a compliment on yourself."

"Wha- I have no idea what you're talking about." You put down your utensils.

"Are you finished with this? If you are then let's clean up." He started cleaning up the empty and dirty containers, you quietly following as you wondered why he suddenly jumped subjects. After cleaning up, you sat on the floor as he sat on the couch, the awkward silence was floating heavily around you.

"Hey Y/N." You looked up at him, the back on your head resting on the couch. "Can I tell you something? You have to hear me out though." You nodded, as he started playing with his fingers, trying to put together his words as you found his actions adorable, a giggle escape d your lips as you coughed to cover it up

"Stop thinking so small of yourself. You're not a failure nor does the world hate you. In fact, I find you very admirable in many ways." You shifted your body to face his. "Maybe if you see it in my eyes, you'll know just how amazing you are." You could see the blush across his cheeks, you bit your lip, feeling confused yet lighten from his words.

"Why?" He met yours eyes. "After seeing my personality, the way I act and talk. Why do you still hang out with me?" You answered.

"Do you want me to answer truthfully?" He stood up as you nodded, before he left to go into his room, coming back out with his guitar.

"I've been working on this song but the lyrics isn't ready but I have the instrumental down. Do you want to hear it?" You shrugged your shoulder, mumbling a 'why not,' feeling a little disappointed that he still didn't answer your question. He started strumming an upbeat yet sentimental tune. You found yourself swaying your head back and forth where when Jacob saw, he broke out into a smile as the both of you chuckled.

"Wow. You really are talented." You applauded as he shyly smiled

"There's a reasoning why I wrote this piece." He looked down at his guitar, stroking the strings lightly. "There someone who is so mentally strong no matter how hard the world is in her eyes. She carries herself well, not caring what others think or say about her. I find it admirable that she's so strong but then again, she doesn't realize it herself. I find myself attracted to her, even when she finds that her personality is sour, but I find it rather sweet." You stared right into his eyes as he would avoid them time to time. "And that's why this song is called sweet and sour."

"Like the sweet and sour chicken?" You tilted your head

"Yeah you could say that."

"So who's is she?" You leaned in, feeling a little upset that it wasn't you but nonetheless, anticipated. He placed his guitar to the side, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning in to you.

"If I told you, would you believe me?" He whispered. His eyes would glance down at your lips as your heart started to race.

"I mean, why wouldn't I?"

"It's you." Your eyes popped out, leaning back from surprised but Jacob held on to your shoulders. He slowly inches closer, your eyes shutting before you felt his lips on yours. You instantly smiled, you feeling his lips curving up as well. As you parted, he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, both of you in a blushing mess.

"I guess you can say our relationship is like a sweet and sour chicken. Unique and irresistible." He smirked as you playfully punched his knee, exchanging flushed glances and laughter.