#now: Other Four Programs Email Me Challenge | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

champagne-bucky · 4 years ago

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Rebel,Rebel

Summary: Peter doesn’t like a disobedient girl.

Warnings: Dark! Peter Parker (18+) x female reader, non-con/dub-con, knife play, face fucking, begging, humiliation kink, squirting, smut, fondling, hand job, anal play

Notes: Hehe, sooo this challenge is very very late and I’m very very sorry. I’d like to apologize to @mariessecretfantasies for being soooo late. Anyways I hope you enjoy this one!!

“WHAT YOU DID WAS INCREDIBLY STUPID. I CANNOT PUT INTO WORDS HOW CARELESS AND CHILDISH YOUR ACTIONS WERE! I SHOULD HAVE YOU SUSPENDED, NO-“

You tried your hardest to stop the growing smirk on your face as Fury yelled at you. You may or may not have almost killed yourself and others while executing a life or death mission. The key work here was almost.

Being a new recruit was no walk in the park. Other agents were constantly belittling your actions and questioning your position with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers, you showed them though. With every mission and every time you trained, you made sure to go above and beyond and prove every single one of those people wrong. As a result, a lot of agents became jealous and would do anything they could to ruin your credibility. Which brings you to Fury still yelling in your face.

It’s not like you were completely reckless, you made sure to carefully calculate everything you did so that you wouldn’t risk putting anyone in actual danger. Yes, that mission was technically very poorly executed, but it’s not your fault. Truthfully, the original plan would have cost people their lives if it wasn’t thanks to your quick thinking that saved everyone.

The only reason you were being yelled at instead of praised was because your incompetent teammates didn’t want to question the mission captain and think of a new plan. You were a hero, but those stubborn asses would never admit it.

“You really have me backed into a corner here, Agent,” Fury sighed as he rubbed his face.

“My desk is filled with complaints about your negligence to the team. Even your mission captain wants you suspended indefinitely,” you huffed.

“The only reason everyone complains about me is because they can’t be me. Everything they do, I do it ten times better than they could ever dream of. Even the lousy mission captain couldn’t think of a more brilliant plan than mine. You all should be thanking me really,” Fury raised his brows.

“Thanking you?”

“Yes, you should be thanking me because I’m the only competent one here willing to risk it all to save innocent people. Sorry you only hired people that were too afraid to get their hands dirty, what a sad sad team we have here,” Fury looked as if he wanted to chew your head off more, but for the sake of his already high blood pressure and an impending migraine, he decided against it.

“You know what I’m willing to do for you, Agent,” it didn’t take Fury long to come up with a plan.

“What, Nicholas,” you loved poking at his nerves. The vain in his forehead looked as if it were about to burst.

“I’m going to assign you to our Avengers program,” you gasped internally. The Avenger program? Does that mean-

“Don’t get it twisted. This program does not mean you’ll become an Avenger. This is a shadow program. You’ll be able to go on mission with your Avenger, go to their meetings, press conferences, you get the point,” you scoffed.

“And you’re doing all this for what?” Fury rolled his eyes.

“You may be able to get away with a lot of shit as an agent, but the Avengers are on a whole other level. One slip up and you're done. This program is gonna teach you just how we do things here at S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury leaned over the desk to be eye level with you.

You thought about giving him more attitude, but you didn’t want to push your luck. Even though Fury wasn’t saying it, he was pretty much saying that this program could mean a spot on the Avengers, right? Finally, you were all that hard work was giving you the recognition you deserve.

“Alright, Fury, I’ll join your little program. So, who do I get. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Agent Romanoff, someone who matches my intelligence and skill set?” You leaned back in your chair with a smug smirk. Fury matched yours.

“I believe a shadow program is well below their pay grade. I was thinking of assigning you to someone who was a little like yourself. I think Peter Parker would be the perfect match for you,” your eyes went wide in disbelief.

“Peter Parker? Him? Oh, Nick, you gotta be kidding me? He doesn’t even go on real missions! He just helps old ladies cross the street, scares punk teens from shoplifting, he’s not even a real Avenger!”

“Mr. Parker is way more qualified than being a neighborhood watchmen, Agent. He’s on the team because he is one of the best. You can learn a thing or two from him. He, very much like yourself, was a big rule breaker too, still is if you ask me. The only reason we haven’t kicked him off yet is because Tony Stark has a soft spot for the kid.”

You tried to argue your way out of being with Peter, but Fury insisted or you would be met with suspension. You grumbled and trudged your way out of his office. Fury mentioned before you left that Peter would be in contact with you shortly. You slammed the door before he got his last words out.

“And don’t forget, follow the rules or be faced with the consequences,” you mocked his words under your breath as you stormed back to the agent’s wing of the compound.

Peter couldn’t believe the phone call he had just gotten from Fury. More importantly he couldn’t believe who was going to be shadowing him. After all this time being in the Avengers program, no one ever wanted to pick him, but you, his crush, well his heart was just bursting at its seams.

“What’s gotten you all smiley, Spidey,” Sam took a seat next to him on the couch.

“N-Nothing, I just got off the phone with Director Fury, he says someone requested me for the shadow program,” Sam laughed.

“And that’s what’s making you get all blushing and giddy? Gee, you not getting enough attention at home?” Peter rolled his eyes at Sam.

“No, it’s, it’s just this girl that I’ve liked for some time. Apparently she wanted me to be her guide.”

“Who is she?” Once Peter said your name, Sam’s eyes lit up in fear.

“Aww no man, you don’t want to be messing around with her,” Peter’s face fell.

“Why not?”

“Well, rumor has it she’s kind of a rebel.”

“Kind of?”

“From what I hear from other agents, she’s always breaking protocol, almost always putting people in danger, risking lives, not a good look if you ask me. Come to think of it, why didn’t Fury deny her application?”

“Maybe he thinks I can be a good influence on her,” Peter smiled and nudged Sam’s arm.

“Pfft, when pigs fly,” Sam got up and walked away leaving Peter to write out an informative email to you.

“Just be careful with her is all I’m saying, kid.”

Peter ignored him as he pulled up his email and began to write to you.

Your alarm was blaring way too early in the morning for your liking. Peter insisted on starting everyday at 6 a.m. because “crime always starts early”, or something stupid like that. You two had only been with each other for a week and it was pure torture for you.

Peter on the other hand indulged in the time he got to spend with you. So far, Sam was being proven wrong about your rebel status. He always made sure you were to follow the book no matter how defiant the look in your eyes was becoming. Maybe you only followed the rules because of him, he’d like to think.

“Peterrrrrrr,” you whined.

“Whattttt,” he mimicked with a laugh.

“This shit is taking too long. Can’t we just-“

“Nope,” Peter interrupted.

“But-“

“Nada.”

“Peter-“

“I believe the correct word we are looking for is no,” you wanted to slap the stupid smirk off his face.

“Peter there is an easier way to do this,” you tried to reason with him, but he just wouldn’t listen.

“You mean there’s the wrong way to do this. I was given my instructions and now we will follow them, AS PLANNED OUT. If you don’t like how the Avengers run things, then maybe you should rethink your status in the program,” Peter stated as he kept his eyes locked on the bank.

This is what it’s been like for the entire week. You were starting to get agitated beyond belief by Peter’s smugness. What a cruel joke Fury decided to play on you. First, he makes Peter your partner, the most useless of all the Avengers when it came to missions and crime fighting. Next, his unwillingness to go off book for one measly second. If Peter could’ve known how much time he’d be saving by just bending the rules a little, he might be able to take on more serious tasks, unlike this stupid bank robbery tipoff he received earlier today.

Nevermind the other laundry list of reasons why you can’t stand Peter Parker and his dopey grin. Right now, you are thinking of good reasons why it would be impossible to get away with the murder of the most annoying person to ever walk the planet, in your opinion. While you were doing your own plotting, Peter was trying to keep his focus on the potential robbery and not the woman of his dreams next to him

The robbers made their move around 4 a.m. After countless hours of hearing Peter ramble on about Star Wars, chemistry, and his web fluid stuff you were thankful to end the night with some action. Peter made sure to take the lead while you were waiting at the back of the bank for a back up call. A stupid strategy, but supposedly Peter knew what was best and refused to go against orders.

Peter surprised the robbers by swinging himself down from the ceiling. There were four men trying to attack him and Peter fought every single one off without taking a breath. However, as things were going seemingly well they took a turn for the worst when one robber pulled out his gun and started to shoot. Peter faltered his steps and quickly dodged a bullet headed straight for his knee. During all this time you were watching from a small window, he still refused to call you for back up.

“Parker, you need my help, tap me in,” you said through your earpiece.

“No, no, uhh, I got it, thanks,” Peter responded quickly while dodging another bullet, this time to his shoulder.

“Parker, you're failing out there,” there was no response from Peter as he kept trying to tame the situation.

You huffed and decided to get to work. You really didn’t want to screw up your chances with this program, but you were left no choice. The line between Peter’s incompetence and stubbornness finally frayed and you just about had to butt in.

“I’m saving his life, I’m not breaking the rules… right?”

Peter was now tackled to the ground by two of the robbers. The one with the gun was reloading his bullets and the other was taking the money out of the machine. Somewhere along the line, they seemed to have damaged a part of his suit and he was bleeding out. That weakness alone was enough for the robbers to use all their strength and hold him down,

“It’s the end of the line for you, Spider-Man,” Peter started to freak out. Was it too late to call you?

“Hey boss, why don’t we see who’s under the mask,” one of the men holding him down said.

The “boss” agreed and began to walk his way towards Peter. He started to hyperventilate at the thought of not only his life ending, but his identity would be exposed.

The robber started to put his hands on the material of his mask, but not before he halted his actions and fell to the ground. Peter was stunned as were the rest of the men, but not for long.

“Hey, who’s that,” one man said as you came down from the ceiling where Peter had entered.

You have your few weapons at the ready and no time to waste. It had already been a long day and you were angry and exhausted. It took no time for you to wipe out the robbers and alert authorities of what went down. The men were hurt badly, but they should be okay, maybe.

Sirens were becoming louder as you quickly grabbed Peter and hauled him out of the back door and into the car. You whipped off his mask and started to check him for any injuries. When you went to touch a bruise on his face, he swatted your hand away.

“What did I tell you?” He said angrily.

“Peter I-“

“I said I would call you for backup and you defied me,” he pressed a button on his suit and it disappeared to his normal clothes.

“Peter you were choking out there! If I would’ve waited for your call you probably would’ve been dead by then! I saved your life, the least you could say is thank you,” you rolled your eyes and slumped back into your seat.

“Thank you? Y/N you blatantly went against my orders and did your own thing. Do you not have any respect for me?”

Your jaw dropped as Peter spoke those words. You cannot believe how irrational this boy was behaving. He was in trouble and you offered to help him.

“You know what Peter? No, no I don’t respect you. You were close to dying and I came in and saved your helpless ass. I have never met somebody so dimmwhitted, so stubborn, so incompetent, so STUPID, and so so SO annoying as you, Peter Parker. Come to think of it? How are you even an Avenger? Aren’t they supposed to have more than the one brain cell you seem to possess? Do they just let anybody be an Avenger or do we all have to suck up to Tony Stark just to get a spot on the team?”

“Get out,” Peter said through gritted teeth.

“What? Can’t handle the criticism?” You laughed as Peter slammed his hand on the center console, creating a dent.

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT,” you were surprised at Peter’s tone of voice.

“Get out, get out of this car before you make me do something I’ll regret,” your eyes went wide as you got out of the car and started to run home.

Peter cried that night after he kicked you out of the car. Nobody, not even Mr. Stark talked to him the way you had. The girl he fantasized about each night had called him stupid, annoying, and possibly more hateful words in the English language synonymous to the ones she had said in the car.

Peter needed to take the weekend to himself to process everything. His heart was crushed and his emotions were conflicted. Even after all those terrible words, he still had some feelings for you. How could someone so perfect for him be so cruel to him at the same time?

He avoided everyone at the compound for the weekend. Usually he’d spend the few days there to work on some new tech with Mr. Stark or train with Bucky and Sam, but you lived there too and he couldn’t face you at the moment.

Peter was also screening calls from Fury. At the end of every mission with you, Fury would demand a status report. Peter would always have positive things to say about you, but this time he wouldn’t even know what to tell Fury.

After a movie with MJ and Ned to clear his head, Peter walked back home to the small apartment he shared with his Aunt May. He felt a little better after seeing some friends, but his heart still had a pang in it from your words. Was he really as annoying as you said he was?

Peter didn’t dwell on his thoughts for long before he felt himself getting pulled off the sidewalk and into a sleek black car. He tried to fight off whoever pulled him in, but he stopped struggling once he heard the ring of his cell phone.

“So, it does work,” Fury ended the call and scowled at Peter. “Any reason you haven’t been answering me?”

Peter took a deep gulp as he figured out what he was supposed to say. “Director Fury, I-”

“She finally cracked you,” he simply stated as Peter nodded in agreement.

“I didn’t know what to say because I’m afraid of how you’d react.”

“And what did she say?” Fury questioned.

When Peter told him the whole story from the robbery to her hateful words in the car, Fury just about had blown a fuse.

“SHE WHAT?” Fury expected the absolute worst from you, he’ll admit that, but blatantly insulting her superior crossed a huge line for him.

“Director Fury, I have it all-”

“No, Parker, I’m in the driver’s seat now. No more Mr. Nice Guy,” Fury called for the driver of his car to take off.

“Fury, please, just let me handle this,” it took a lot of convincing, but Fury came to an agreement with Peter.

“If you don’t get rid of her attitude and I find out that she continues to talk to you the way that she did, I’m terminating her position with S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Fury had no time for further discussion as he basically pushed Peter out of the car and sped out of Queens.

Oh, Peter was going to do all he could to make her obey him. It didn’t matter how he was going to train her, but when the time is right he’ll make his dreams come true. Peter was going to make his fantasies come true.

After about a week of no Peter Parker, the Avenger was back and surprisingly better than ever. He made no mention of the car incident and you didn’t want to bring it up either. In fact, Peter seemed to be his happy, normal self while the two of you trained together for an upcoming mission. He was cracking the same jokes and still rambling your ears off about the usual stuff. It shocked you to say the least, he held no ill will for you because of that night. Maybe he finally wised up and was starting to see things your way.

It seems as if lately Peter has become more lax with you. He didn’t get mad when you were just a little late for training sessions or when you would begin your back talk with him. It was as if Peter changed overnight into a completely chill person. Not that you minded at all, you would definitely be taking advantage of his easy going personality.

However, you did notice something in his eyes that you never seen before. You couldn’t pinpoint it, but it was almost like whenever you too got a little rough during training, he would enjoy it and try to push the limit. Maybe it was all a test to see how far your strength could go? Whatever it was, it kept you curious. Peter was acting different, but not too far off from his normal self.

“We have a mission tonight at the docks. Be ready at 10 and we can take turns being watch,” was all Peter said to you before he left the gym to go off with Mr. Stark.

You weren’t used to going on a mission so late. Peter always wanted to arrive at missions early just in case he was being fooled by a criminal. Of course, he always ended up being wrong and everything would happen later at night than in broad daylight (you tried telling him that and he simply waved you off).

You quickly rushed back to your room, slamming the door and triple checking that the locks were in place. The events from tonight’s mission left you speechless, shocked, horrified. Never in your life had you gotten out of a car and booked it to your room so fast. Peter Parker, Spider-Man, New York’s favorite defender, had done an unspeakable act.

It started out like always, just sitting in the car hiding out. Peter wasn’t talking as much so you decided you wouldn’t make conversation either. It was only until the criminals came to the docks where it all went downhill.

Peter told you the same thing he always had, he’ll call you if backup is needed. Of course, Peter found himself in hot water yet again and you decided to intervene. Only this time, you were met with more than just yelling and a kick out of the car.

“You didn’t listen,” the tone in Peter’s voice changed.

“Peter, c’mon now you were in trouble,” you began to speak, but he quickly cut you off.

“You didn’t listen, and now you’re gonna have to be punished,” Peter had a dangerous look in his eyes that scared you.

“Peter, if you’re gonna throw me out again I’ll save you the trouble and just leave. You know I don’t get why you have to be so stubborn all the damn time, if you just-,” as you were going to open the door, you heard the lock click.

“You didn’t listen, you need to be punished,” Peter began to lean closer to you as you pulled harder on the door.

“Peter, PETER,” you screamed as he put his hand on the front zipper of your top.

“Take this off,” you stayed still, “NOW!”

You rushed to take your top off and avoided the tears forming in your eyes. You fumbled with the zipper towards the bottom and Peter groaned impatiently. He grabbed the top and tore it off of you only leaving you in a bra.

You tried to look away from him and cover yourself in the process, but Peter wasn’t having any of that. He grabbed you by the chin with one hand as the other made its way to your chest. You tried to fight his intentions, but he wouldn’t have it.

“Stop moving. I’ll make this worse for you,” he grabbed your chin harder and you stopped trying to move.

He dipped his fingers into one of the cups and began to fondle your chest. Once Peter found your nipple, he circled it with the tip of his thumb. Peter was moaning as soon as it hardened. He never took his eyes off of you.

“Take off the bra,” Peter gave you a look that dared you to defy him. You quickly got rid of the bra and he took it and threw it in the back seat.

Peter was in awe, you were as beautiful as he imagined. Your bare chest and the tears in your eyes made him hard as a rock. He took his hand off your chin and began to palm himself through his suit.

Peter made his suit retract back into his regular clothing. He took your hands and placed them over the palm of his jeans. He pressed your hands down as you bit back a terrified whimper.

“Why don’t you help me out, yeah?” It wasn’t a suggestion judging by the look in his eyes.

You pulled down his zipper and didn’t go any further than that. Peter chuckled at you and brought your hand into the inside of his boxers. You couldn’t form any type of sounds as he made you hand travel through his patch of hair and up his cock. Peter was impressive, but there was no room for a pleasantly shocked emotion.

“Now take him out and finish what you started,” Peter pulled down his boxers and fully exposed himself to you.

You started off slow with a shaky rhythm. Who could ever be confident and cool in a situation like yours? Peter didn’t seem to like what you were doing and put his hand on top of yours. He guided you up and down his cock and took it off once he gave you a pace.

“Don’t be shy, go faster,” you picked up the pace as you saw Peter swipe some precum off his tip and shoved his finger into your mouth.

He didn’t even have to say anything to get you to start licking his fingers. You closed your eyes and Peter didn’t seem to stop you. The faster this was over with the faster you could finally be home.

After a fast few pumps, he was ready to come undone. He slowed you down and then demanded you picked up the pace. You were told to open your eyes and look at him, but you would close them again after a short few seconds. When he finally did cum, he brought your body close to his cock and let it all spill out on your chest. You felt disgusted, humiliated, and baffled that Spider-Man would take advantage of someone like you.

You opened your eyes once you heard the beep of a phone. Peter had his phone out and was taking a video of the whole thing. He took an additional few pictures and stashed his phone away in case you tried to grab it.

“You might want to clean yourself up, won’t take long to get back home,” Peter tucked himself away and started the car.

When you arrived at the compound you darted out of the car before he could say or do anything further to you. If he wanted to talk he would have to call you now.

You shed yourself of your clothes and began to scrub your body down. No matter how hot the water and how hard you scrubbed, the feeling of Peter on you will forever remain. You took a few showers once you thought the scent and act of Peter had washed off of you. When you left your bathroom it was well past 2 a.m.

Making sure the doors were locked for the hundredth time that night, you finally settled down into bed. You tossed and turned for the next hour until you heard your phone buzz. Not thinking anything of it, you picked it up to see who could be texting you so late at night. Your heart dropped once you saw the messages.

One after another Peter was sending you the videos and pictures that he had taken. Each one made your stomach turn more and more. He was mocking you.

Don’t ever disobey me again or I’ll send these out to everyone.

It took a lot to impress Nick Fury after everything he’s seen and been through. Alien invasions, aliens, cat aliens, raccoon aliens… a lot of aliens. However, nothing could’ve impressed him more than reading your progress report from Peter this morning. It took all of Fury not to frame the report and send emails to all of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents the news of this miracle.

It’s true, over the past weeks you’ve been ever so obedient to Peter. You didn’t move unless he told you to move, didn’t speak until given permission to, he had you right where he wanted you and you couldn’t do anything about it. Even if you thought of telling someone of his mannerisms towards you he would hold out his phone and get the file containing all those pictures ready in a “Send All” email.

Fortunately, Peter never touched you like that night again. True to his word, you would only be treated that way if you ever went against him again. Needless to say, you were walking on something sharper than egg shells. He would tease you spook you relentlessly, even going as far as locking the car door just to see you jump.

Even late at night he would spam your phone with obscene text messages just to taunt you. Sometimes he would send you photos of himself and when he asked for some in return, you had no choice but to give in. Day by day, this man was messing with you and you had no way of outing him.

Peter would be hot on your trail if he saw you making your way to Fury’s office. He would stop you before you could even get to his office corridor. Peter couldn’t have this getting out, his credibility would be ruined and Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers would see to it.

He wasn’t happy about what he did, but he didn’t feel a lot of guilt either. What he did that night in the car set something diabolical off in him. It felt good to take what he wanted right there and then. Peter couldn't help but be a little prideful about what he did. He even hinted to Sam a few times that something might’ve happened between you and him.

While he was gloating you were scheming your way into telling Fury what happened. You can’t go anywhere near the man without Peter right beside you, and you can’t call Fury because he never seems to answer his phone. In fact, Fury has been out of the office more and more lately, perhaps keeping up with the other Avengers or being involved with more aliens.

Regardless of what it was, the next time you saw Fury in person you would say something.

You finished off your makeup and were now putting on the expensive dress your fellow agents coaxed you into buying for the party tonight. The material was tight and it was a little hard to breathe, but you’d get through it. Your body was buzzing in anticipation and nerves as you checked your hair one more time before heading off to the gala.

Every year, the Stark x S.H.I.E.L.D. Gala was held to promote and spread awareness for local and international charities across the globe. You never had an interest in going before, but this year you were bugged by the other agents to go and Peter had expressed his interest in your presence at the party. If you didn’t show you were afraid of what he might pull in your absence.

The hotel was extravagant, from the way it was decorated to the mass amounts of people in their expensive suits and elegant gowns. You scanned the room for Peter, but saw no sign of him. He was either taking photos with the Avengers or watching you from afar, and you wouldn’t put it past him to do that.

While you didn’t see him you got to work finding Fury. You went through the humongous crowd of people just to see if you could catch a glimpse of him, you even started to ask around, but no one seemed to know where he could be. It felt like forever and you were beginning to lose hope that you would never find him. If anything was going to happen it had to be tonight.

A tap on your shoulder stopped you in your hectic search. You knew who it was just by the clear of his throat. You faced Peter with a nervous smile on your face as opposed to the devilish one on his.

“I‘ve been looking for you all night,” Peter drank in your appearance, “you look beautiful.”

You squirmed under his gaze while he lingered a little too long for your liking. When he was finally done ogling you, you saw the lust in his eyes grow. You gulped as he extended his hand.

“Dance with me?” The band started to play a slow song.

You looked at his hand and then up to his eyes which dared you to say now. Reluctantly, you grabbed his hand as he led you to the dance floor. Immediately, a few wandering eyes were on yours and Peter’s figure as he led the first dance.

“You know I’ve been thinking. Since you’ve been so perfect lately, I was going to recommend you to Stark for a spot on the Avengers,” your skin formed bumps as he spun you around.

“Could you imagine that? My obedient little angel fighting alongside me. Ugh, could there be anything more perfect?”

You were about to speak, but the music had stopped and all attention was directed to the stage. Up walks Fury and Tony Stark, Fury was first to take the podium and began his long speech about the gala and what supporting these charities means to him and everyone here tonight. You kept your eyes on him the entire time and ignored the words Peter was trying to whisper in your ear. You only started listening to him when he squeezed your waist hard causing you to yelp.

“I said, why don’t we go back to my room when this is all over, huh?” You froze when he ran his hand up and down your spine.

“Peter, don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate?” He hummed in disagreement with you and he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Nonsense, I don’t even know why I asked, it’s not like you have a choice in the matter anyways,” the fucker laughed.

Your body was shaking and your face was turning red in anger. Peter was going to hold you down forever. There was no way you could ever escape someone as evil as him. Peter had a hold on you for as long as he wanted. You only had one chance to escape it seems and Fury had to be your ticket out.

Before you could form a response Fury handed over the mic to Tony. Fury stepped off the stage and you kept your eyes on him for the entire time. He was making his way out of the gala and you needed to be fast in order to catch him. Peter seemed too distracted by what Tony was saying so you loosened yourself out of his grip and stood beside him. Peter only glared at you for doing that, but you didn’t care, tonight would be the night you take down Peter Parker.

Slowly, you slinked away into the crowd as a round of applause sounded off for whatever Tony was saying. Peter didn’t seem to notice you leave and that’s when you took off. People were giving you disgusted looks as you began to run out of the ballroom and chase Fury.

You almost lost him in the elevators, but you took the steps and ran once you saw what floor he was heading to. You shucked off your heels and ran up the many steps to catch him. When you got to his floor, you pushed the stairwell door open and ran after him.

“Director F-,” you face planted.

Your ankles were tangled by some sort of slim rope and they wouldn’t come undone. Fury’s footsteps faded and new ones approached your struggling body. A pair of expensive shoes stopped right by your head as the body leaned down. You came eye to eye with an angry Peter Parker.

“Rebel, rebel,” he shook his head and hauled you up. You were beating on his back the entire time as tears formed in your eyes. The rope-like material was his webs which kept you trapped.

He went back in the stairwell and carried you up a few more flights until he came to his floor. The hallways were empty as everyone was still at the party. You tried to yell, but it only got you a harsh slap on your ass.

Peter stopped in front of his door and opened it. The second he closed it he threw you on the middle of the bed. He made his way to his suitcase and took out a pocket knife. You were screaming uncontrollably and he began to cut the webs loose. You knew better than to fight with a man with a knife, let alone Spider-Man with a knife.

“Rebel rebel, you’ve torn your dress,” Peter noticed the small tear towards the end of your gown and tore up the rest. “Rebel rebel, your face is a mess,” he looked at your makeup stained face. He put his thumb near your lips and began to smudge lipstick around your face.

“Rebel, rebel, what are we going to do about you?” Peter took off the rest of your dress. The only thing you were in was a lace thong. Peter licked his lips and began to trace the knife down your breast.

You were shaking, afraid that he might dig the knife deeper into your skin. Afraid that he was so mad at you he would go as far as to kill you. You started to whimper as Peter looked up. The smirk on his face grew wider and wider.

“Beg for me not to hurt you. Beg like the good little angel you are,” you were so close to not giving in, but Peter dug the tip of the blade into your skin just enough to pinch it.

“Please Peter, please, please don’t hurt me Peter,” he hummed in a way to tell you that he wasn’t convinced by the performance.

“Please Peter, I’ll do anything to please you. I’ll do anything to make you happy. Please Peter, I’m so sorry for being bad,” you were hysterical as he moved the knife further down your body. When he reached your center he chuckled and threw the knife to the other side of the room. He roughly grabbed you by your scalp and made you come face to face with him.

“Anything?” You shook your head in agreement. “Alright, I wanna fuck that naughty mouth.”

Peter pulled off his suit pants and became complete bare from the waist down. He pumped his cock a few times before grabbing your jaw and forcing your mouth open. He didn’t give you any time to get used to his size as he put all of himself in your mouth. He grabbed you scalp rougher this time and pushed your head up and down. Tears formed in your eyes again as you were forced to take him down your throat. He was a moaning and groaning mess until his thrust started to falter. Peter quickly pulled out watching in awe and the trail of saliva connected from your mouth to his cock.

Peter quickly sat you up and ripped off your underwear in the process. He started to rub his fingers along your folds where he found that you were wet. He smirked and chuckled as he continued rubbing up and down to make you become slicker than before. You tried biting back your moans, but Peter would only press down harder on your clit which caused you to cry out.

“See, I’m not so bad, princess. I could be good to you if you’re good to me,” he removed his fingers and pushed you down on the mattress.

“Peter, please,” you didn’t know if you wanted him to stop or urge you on.

“I know honey, I know. Just lay down and let me make you feel good,” Peter rid himself of the rest of his clothes and slotted himself between your legs.

His tip began to enter you and the rest of his length painfully stretched you out. You squirmed a little, but Peter reassured you it would feel better soon. Sure, he wasn’t your first, but it had been a long time since the last guy and you were a bit tight.

“Oh, angel, you really do feel like heaven,” he started to thrust a little faster.

Pretty soon, Peter was getting really rough with his thrust and making you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. Peter got carried away and didn’t realize how fast he was going on you. You felt an orgasm building and were trying to communicate that to Peter but couldn’t form the words. Peter felt you tighten around him just a little too hard and he took that as the signal to pull out. After all, he did want to see his crush cum, for him and only him.

You felt the rush of your orgasm after Peter pulled out. When you looked up at him, his chest was covered in the slick sheen of sweat mixed with your arousal.

“Holy shit, you squirted. That’s got to be the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Peter went back inside you and hoisted himself on his knees and making you face to face with him. “I wanna see that again, and again, and a hundred more times.

He didn’t slow down no matter how many times you tried to beg and plead. Peter ripped out orgasm after orgasm from you and it only coaxed him to go harder and faster. Your bodies were covered in each other’s sweat and you were beginning to get a little tired. However, your eyes quickly shook away their tiredness when you felt fingers prodding your other hole.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” and as Peter continued his thrusting, he pushed one finger into your tight muscle and pounded into you harder.

“Aww fuck this feels so good,” Peter cried out one last time and finally came inside you.

You both collapsed onto the bed still connected to each other. Tears formed in your eyes once the shock wore off. He had finally gotten what he wanted from you.

Only a week went by when you had finally heard from Fury again. This time, he wanted to speak with you privately in his office. Your time with the Avengers program was up and he wanted to give his final thoughts.

“Well Agent, I am shocked to be saying this, but I am thoroughly impressed by your behavior with Peter. A little rough in the beginning, but I’m glad to see you both worked through your differences,” you wanted to scoff, but you wouldn't put a damper on Fury’s mood.

After that night in the hotel, the sex became a regular thing. Peter would demand and you were forced to give in. His punishments were still ongoing as he was still mad at you for trying to snitch on him to Fury, but now that the program has ended you and Peter Parker wouldn’t be seeing each other at all.

“And because of your improving behavior I’ve decided to push through your request,” you furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Request?”

“You know, your request to join the Avengers team officially. Parker has been raving about your skills and training that we decided to recommend you for a spot on the team. You’ll have to meet with Mr. Stark for a few interviews and sessions, but seeing as Peter has talked so fondly of you there is no doubt in my mind you wouldn't be offered the spot.”

You stayed frozen in your seat as Fury went on and on about you. You only left when he dismissed you, reminding you that Tony Stark would be contacting you soon.

When you shut the door behind you, you began to freak out. Peter was planning on keeping you as his. At this point, there would be no way out unless you either die, face embarrassment and let the video get leaked, or wait around until Peter gets bored. Knowing Peter and his fatal attraction to you none of those could happen.

On your way back to your room, you heard the familiar footsteps you’ve grown too disgusted to know. You turned around to face the man who would be running you entire life for who knows how long. Just as you were about to speak he opened his mouth first.

“Rebel, rebel, there you are.”

#Dark Avengers #dark peter parker #dark spider man #dark marvel #dark!Avengers #Dark Fic #marvel smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #maries500challenge #peter parker image #peter parker oneshot

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ri-ahhh · 4 years ago

Text

for the win

After dealing with a lifetime of insecurities, Winnie Walker finally gets the courage to pursue her dreams, with a few bumps along the way. But that confidence may not carry over when it comes to a certain hazel-eyed football player who’s had her attention for much too long.

A/N: this was a random inspo that hit me out of nowhere a while ago and I was gonna make it an epic oneshot, but I think I’ll just break it into parts instead. So, hence, this is part one. Hopefully you like it enough for it to be even worth posting more.

warnings: none yet, other than this is def gonna be as cheesy as you think it is

***

Winnie Walker has always considered herself an enigma. Not in that annoying, ‘I’m so cute and quirky’ type of way, but rather in the way that made her someone who never quite fit into one defined space. The kind perfected by years of self doubt, an emotionally distant mother, and the random ebb and flow of confidences and insecurities that always helps her remember that she is, in fact, perfectly un-extraordinary: her face is too round, but she’s always been called pretty; her personality is dry enough that she finds it challenging making female friends, but she fits in well with the boys; and she has a penchant for being the last one to talk about anything she might be feeling until she puts a pen to paper and speaks through the mouths of others.

Sports and writing were her main passions, but it still took until her senior year of high school to decide that she wanted to be a sports journalist. Not just a journalist, though -- more than anything, she dreamed of stepping out into the light as a broadcaster. Shy by nature but an athlete at heart, it once again put her in that enigmatic grey space where she wasn’t sure what the hell she was thinking.

But it’s what her heart was calling for her to do. For the first time in her life, Winnie Walker felt sure about something despite everyone’s doubts -- including her own. She grew up an athlete, and some of her fondest memories as a child were caught between either being in her dad’s man cave with all of his friends, cheering on their team of choice for whatever sport was on, discussing heatedly what plays should or shouldn’t have taken place. Or, on the volleyball court.

The full ride offer from USC that was presented but never came to fruition because of a devastating knee injury in one of her last club tournaments haunted Winnie in the months leading up to her high school graduation.

Her mother, Dahlia, was not-so-secretly thrilled. A stage mother through and through, she had always supported her daughter as she made headway in her sport as a star player, but it was an open point of contention that Winnie planned to follow her passion for it all the way to college. She wanted her middle daughter to attend the local university, get a nice marketing degree, and settle into a high rise in downtown Dallas, where she could point at during brunch with her friends and brag about the pretty penny her kid made with her perfectly nice degree she attained in her perfectly nice hometown.

That’s not Winnie, though, and everyone except Dahlia knew it. No one was all too surprised that she still wanted to escape to California (again, except her mother), even if they were slightly shocked about her decision for a major. The reactions from her friends and sisters and dad had her even more excited as she scanned the email of her academic acceptance into USC. It finally gave her the courage to spill the beans to her mother as well.

Dahlia Walker very much scoffed in the face of her quiet, introverted, hopeful daughter sitting across the kitchen island while she scrubbed at the dishes from dinner.

“Winona, sweetie, you refused to even speak at your sister’s wedding as the maid of honor, and you want to be on TV? With all those... men?”

Winnie cringed a little bit and rolled her eyes at the slightly far-off look on her mother’s face as she no doubt started imagining the sweaty athletes the reporters would stand next to post-game.

“You don’t think I could do it?” she asked flatly, flicking a chip of her nail polish off her finger so it flew across the otherwise spotless granite — her mom hated when she did that.

Dahlia’s hands picked up their pace again in the suds, slowed down by whatever middle-aged fantasy was going on in her mind. She shook her head, the highlights in her perfectly styled blonde bob shifting under the recessed lights.

“The girls who do that are just so bouncy. Friendly. They curl their hair.”

Winnie bit her lip. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Her body felt deflated. “I knew I could count on you to be supportive.”

“Oh honey, I’m just trying to be realistic with you,” her mother said dismissively. Like she didn’t realize the pang her words caused to spread in Winnie’s chest; it should have been be all-too familiar by then, but the sting was never weakened with age or predictability. “And California? Are you really ready to be so far from home? You hardly ever even leave your room.”

It had taken everything in Winnie to hold back the open scoff she longed to throw at her mother; instead, she just stood up and left the kitchen, along with any childish hope that Dahlia might ever make an effort to really know her middle daughter.

Because anyone that knew Winona Elle Walker could predict just how much she would thrive in California. In the persistent sunshine that never quite reached the peak of being too hot for very long, unlike the nearly six months of 90 and 100-plus degree days of summer she knew so well in Texas. Within close proximity to a beach that didn’t have swamp-colored water washing ashore.

In a place well over a thousand miles away from Dahlia.

And that’s exactly how Winnie found herself in LA: thriving. She made friends easily, enjoyed life on the USC campus while she studied the exact major she had set out for the first day she sat down in her first class -- Navigating News in the Digital Age class -- and it was a relatively cheap flight home if she ever missed it too much. Winnie started feeling less like an enigma, and more like someone whose quirks were becoming more of a benefit to her success than she could have ever imagined.

Now, as a woman in her senior year, nearly 22 and set to graduate in only a few months time, she’s finally up for the most coveted position in her major: being the prime time student reporter at the biggest sporting events of the school’s entire athletic program — the Trojan football games. Reporting at football games was a job always reserved for seniors, and she had been driving her roommate — and best friend in California — Naomi crazy all summer prepping for the spot’s audition.

“Winnie, babe, you know the plays backwards and forwards. You’ve understood more about the rules of football since you were a kid than I’ll ever know as a grown woman. You have all the key players’ and coaches’ names and numbers memorized. You couldn’t be any more prepared,” she smiles, good-natured irritation clear in her eyes and behind the blinding smile that shone from her mocha-colored skin.

It softens some when Winnie stood from the couch, and Naomi reaches over and slaps her retreating ass just hard enough to make Winnie yelp and giggle. “Not to mention those squats are paying off big time, bitch. You’re gonna kill it.”

Winnie rolls her eyes and continues to make her way to the kitchen to refill her wine glass. “The camera won’t see my ass, but thanks.”

Naomi winks. “No. But Grayson Dolan might.”

Grayson Dolan — the walk-on that had stunned everyone when he was thrown into a game his freshman year after two of the starting tight ends had become injured on two consecutive plays. Now a senior himself, he’s led the team ever since in receiving yards, receptions, and TD’s, and is a clear prospect for the NFL in the coming months.

He also happens to be the player Winnie had drunkenly admitted she had a crush on during a girls night last year, and her friends have yet to let her live it down. She had felt ridiculous saying she had a crush as a 21 year-old, but that’s really all it was; he was hot, an extremely talented player, and she barely knew him beyond that one time he had spilled a drink on her at a frat party, and the rather interesting reputation that followed him around campus. There was nothing more to it.

Even if her attraction to him hasn’t died down in the passing time.

Winnie only blushes and pours herself a little extra, blaming the Maison No. 9 when Naomi throws her head back with a cackle and calls out the matching pink in her cheeks.

The morning of her audition, a mere two weeks into her fall semester, Winnie has butterflies fluttering madly in the pit of her belly. Her truer nature of being somewhat shy and timid in these situations has never left, always flaring up in moments of self-doubt and unpredictability. Undoubtedly, however, this audition deserves all the nerves; it’s a clear stepping stone into network broadcasting, and would almost guarantee her a spot as an intern at FOX Sports next semester.

She stares at herself in the mirror for a moment, silently urging herself to get her shit together, and takes a deep breath before eyeing Naomi’s curling iron plugged in by the sink adjacent to her own.

Winnie hasn’t curled her hair once in the nearly four years she’d been in LA. Not for nights out, or auditions, or even a date. A brief moment of madness overtakes her as she stands there staring at the metal device, her hand starting to reach out as words that should be long forgotten ring loud and clear in her head. For a second, the pale beige paint of her apartment bathroom turns the light blue and grey color scheme of her childhood one. Her mom had ‘surprised’ her with the the renovation one year when she decided to redecorate the house while Winnie was at volleyball camp, insisting she had chosen Winnie’s favorite colors, when in reality it simply matched the rest of the monotone suburban house that Winnie secretly couldn’t stand. It was boring, and typical, and...stuck, despite its relative newness.

With that, the fog clears as quickly as it had come, and she sets her jaw determinedly. She hasn’t let Dahlia psych her out for this long; she isn’t about to let now be the first time since she’s been out here on her own.

And maybe Naomi was right. Maybe she’d catch a certain tight end’s eye with a tight end of her own, after all.

The nausea suddenly returns as she shakes her head and reaches for her straightener instead, flicking it on before sectioning off her hair.

“No wonder you’re so fucking single, Win.”

#dolan twins #grayson dolan #blurb #g blurb #why am i posting this in the height of everyone elses amazing oc’s #stupid

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qqueenofhades · 4 years ago

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I was already distressed about the political and social situation in the US, and then this happens. Are there any examples of societies that fought back against fascism and won, without civil or international war breaking out? Surely there must be some success stories in history. How did other societies overcome fascism, are there lessons to be applied to our current situation? Please tell me we're not doomed, because I have no hope for the future.

Sigh.

Okay.

I’ve been through... a lot of the stages of grief by now. That is, rageposting on tumblr, venting to my friends via text, drinking, crying while drinking, lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling, feeling the crushing weight of certainty that we’re all screwed and nothing matters, crying while talking to my sister, crying generally, lying in bed some more, and am currently still in bed while writing this, but am struggling to put on my internet historian aunt hat and offer some comfort to the stricken masses.

First off: This is bad. I’m not even going to pretend this isn’t bad. We all knew RBG had cancer again, but it was pretty fixed in our minds that she would somehow manage to hang on until after the election. 45 days before the biggest presidential election of all time, in the middle of this year, when names including Ted “Zodiac Killer” Cruz and Tom “Time for Roe vs. Wade to go, block federal funding from being used to teach about slavery, send in the military to crush the BLM protesters” Cotton have already been floated as some of her possible replacements? With Trump and McConnell determined to work as fast as possible to steal this seat as brazenly as they can, because they are literal fascists who don’t care about their own example (Merrick Garland was nominated in FEBRUARY of an election year and McConnell held it up for being “too close to the election?”)

Ugh. Anyone who doesn’t get that this is bad or acting like people are overreacting doesn’t get what’s at stake. And when, as we’ve said before and are saying again now, the future of everyone who isn’t a white straight rich Republican man in this country depends on an 87-year-old woman with cancer for the fourth time? Something’s wrong here. RBG’s death did not have to leave us in this total existential panic, and oh yeah, maybe this could have ALL BEEN AVOIDED AND WE COULD HAVE ALSO HAD THREE (3) NEW LIBERAL JUSTICES SECURING PROGRESSIVE LEGISLATION FOR A GENERATION IF SOME OF YOU HAD JUST FUCKING VOTED FOR HILLARY CLINTON IN TWO THOUSAND AND FUCKING SIXTEEN.

(Why yes I am still mad about that, I will be bitter until the end of time that we were consigned to four years and counting of this completely avoidable nightmare because of apathy, misogyny, and Leftist Moral Purity TM, but we’re talking about the future and what can still be done here, not what’s in the past.)

Anyway. Here’s the bright side, which admittedly sucks right now, but it’s been the answer all long:

VOTE.

You have to fucking vote, and you have to fucking vote for Biden/Harris. Everything that we’ve been talking about is no longer a hypothetical; it’s happening right now. This is not just some Awful Worst Case scenario, and it’s not somehow being spouted by privileged white liberals ignoring the struggles of the masses. (Viz: that awful fucking text post with its simpering self-righteousness: “are you punching nazis or just telling oppressed people to vote blue?” I hate that text post with a fiery passion and it’s the exact kind of morally holier than thou leftist propaganda that wouldn’t surprise me if it was generated by a troll farm in Krasnoyarsk.) My dad is disabled and lives on Social Security. Trump’s second-term plan to end the payroll tax takes SSID out by mid-2021, so... I guess that’s my dad fucked then. I’m a gay woman with long-term mental illness, no healthcare, no savings, no current job, and a lot of student debt. My sister has complex health problems and relies intensely on publicly funded healthcare programs. All my family have underlying conditions that would put them at worse risk for COVID (age, asthma, immune issues.) These are just the people IN MY HOUSEHOLD who would be at risk from a second Trump presidency. It says NOTHING about my friends, about all the people far less fortunate than us, and everyone else who IS ALREADY DYING as this nation lurches into full-blown fascism. That is real. It is happening.

Here’s the good news and what you can do:

Democrats are fired up and mad as hell, and they’ve already donated $31 million between the announcement of RBG’s death last night and today, and that number is climbing every second.

You can help by donating to Get Mitch or Die Trying, which splits your donation 13 ways between the Democrats challenging the most vulnerable Republican seats in the Senate. That also has raised EIGHT MILLION BUCKS in the less-than-twenty-four hours.

You can donate RIGHT NOW to Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, vote if your state offers early voting, request your mail-in ballot, or hound everyone you know to ensure that they’re registered.

You can call your US Senators (look up who they are for your state, ESPECIALLY IF THEY ARE REPUBLICAN OR YOU LIVE IN A SWING STATE OR ARE UP FOR RE-ELECTION IN 2020) and phone the Capitol switchboard at 202-224-3121 to voice your insistence that they respect RBG’s last wishes and refuse to vote on any Trump nominee until after January 2021.

The other good-ish news is that I woke up to an email from the Biden campaign this morning about how they’re well aware of this and they’re already on it. BUT WE CANNOT COUNT ON EITHER THEM OR THE SENATE DEMOCRATS TO BE ABLE TO STOP IT. Because Joe Biden is not president and the Senate Democrats do not have a majority, if the Republicans manage to rush a nominee and a vote and all 52 GOP senators vote for that nominee, hey presto, tyranny by majority, a SECOND stolen Supreme Court seat, and a 6-3 hard conservative majority for the next generation. Even if Roberts or Gorsuch sometimes defect on procedural grounds, Kagan, Sotomayor, and Breyer (who is also 82 and thus ALSO might soon be replaceable, thus resulting in an EVEN WORSE ideological swing) would be outnumbered on everything. This is terrible. I’m not even gonna pretend it wouldn’t be.

BUT:

If Joe Biden is elected with a Democratic Senate and House, IT MATTERS. It gets us off the fascism track, it gives us the ability to make progressive law and have it enacted without going to die in Mitch McConnell’s Kill Stack, it gives Biden the executive authority to nominate liberal judges and change Trump’s worst outrages on day 1, it stands as a huge example of a nation managing to reject fascism by democratic process, and while yes, we’d still have a terribly rigged Supreme Court, Democrats would control all the other branches of government and be able to put safeguards in place. The other option is outright fascism and the end of American democracy for good. This may sound alarmist. It’s not. It’s literally what the situation has ended up as, as all of us who were begging people to vote for HRC in 2016 saw coming all along.

So yes. That’s what you need to do, and what WE need to do. We need to make as much goddamn noise as possible, protest, contact elected representatives, make sure everybody pulls their weight and ferociously fights the promised attempt to ram through a new justice before Election Day, all that. But even if that does happen, THEN WE NEED TO FUCKING DONATE, ORGANIZE, AND VOTE FOR JOE BIDEN AND DEMOCRATS UP AND DOWN THE BALLOT. ALL OF US. NO EXCUSES. NO MORE TWITTER LEFTIST ECHO CHAMBERS. NO MORE. THEN, EVEN WITH A RIGGED SUPREME COURT, WE WILL ALL BE SAFER ON NOVEMBER 4TH AND CAN TRY TO FIX WHAT’S BROKEN.

The stakes are just too high to do anything else.

May her memory be a blessing, and a revolution.

#politics for ts #bury me in a mountain of salt #then vote #the end #humoristhefirstcasualty #ask

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pink-chevalier · 4 years ago

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Hii! Connie's diary entries are adorable, do you want to share some secrets with us on how you make them? Any tips maybe, not a complete tutorial... Not now at least ✨

Hello, darling! Thank you so much, and I don't mind giving you a tutorial on making the diary entries. Alright, what you're going to need is Google and Photoshop or anything similar to that program.

Step One: We go on Google and search up loose leaf or paper something along those lines. If you continue searching and scrolling, you'll find some cute designs and such. I like this one and this one because I want my paper to be simple since I add pictures and stickers to bring it to life. Also, if you like the paper I use for Connie let me know because I have it save and I’ll simply email it to you.

Step Two: For the writing, I went to this website and searched up handwriting because it brings it to life. You can use whatever you want and in any style too! If you pick a super fancy one, it can be challenging for some people to read, so please also transcribe it on the post.

Step Three: Believe it or not, this is my favorite part; it's time to get all the stickers and drawings! Now, I go to Deviantart because they have a ton of creators who share png packs, including stickers and other things. All you have to do is type stickers png in the search box, and you'll get tons of results. For drawings, I type what I need in Google, and you'll find something to your liking. This website is a good one! Before I forget, you need an account for Deviantart, but that’ll be pretty simple because it’s free and I think you can make one using your Gmail account.

Step Four: After all that, you just need to open your program of choice and make sure that the paper you’re using is your background. Now, you can do whatever you like! I usually decorate the page before doing all of the writing because I want to see how much space it’s all going to take up. If something is too big you can resize and just scale it down to a smaller size or something that fits better for what you have plan.

Step Six: Now that the page is all decorated and looking cute. You just have to type out whatever it is! I always write it all out and copy and paste it because I need to see how much writing I’m doing. This usually tells me what size font to use and if I should take things out that aren’t necessary.

I think that’s everything! When you’re done just save it as a png or whatever file you wand and you’re finished! I hope this was good? I’m not sure if I over explained or didn’t explain enough, but if you have any questions come and tell me I won’t mind helping you out!

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akechicrimes · 5 years ago

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Prompt 37? Futaba and Akechi platonic/Futago siblings?

37. “Follow me. It’s okay, just hold my hand.”

after akira leaves tokyo, futaba does just fine without her key item, except for when she doesnt.

(one of them AUs were goro survives the engine room and rejoins the phantom thieves. no i will not explain. persona 5 canon AND persona 5 royal do not interact. for reference in this universe futaba and akechi are half siblings but only akechi knows that)

“Next time you see me, I’ll be a whole new person,” Futaba tells Akira excitedly on his second-to-last day in Tokyo. “I’m going back to school, I’m out and about by myself—oh! Oh! Did I tell you I said yes to Kosei? I told Kosei I wanted to go to Shujin and they offered me scholarship! And I went to the subway station by myself yesterday!”

They’re crammed into Akira’s Leblanc attic, sitting around a cake that literally none of them were capable of baking themselves, so they’d bought the thing from a bakery and decorated it with little black and red hearts. Ryuji is passing around his gross soda, while Ann is recounting some story that doesn’t matter with incredible enthusiasm. Makoto looks like she’s determined to enjoy herself and will hear no argument.

The whole thing is incredibly morbid, if you ask Futaba. It feels less like they’re waiting for Akira to leave Tokyo and more like they’re attending Akira’s funeral. Akechi in particular looks like he’s regretting attending, which honestly tickles Futaba more than it should, that the most dishonest Phantom Thief seems to be the only one looking as honestly put-off by the entire affair as everyone else is determined not to be.

That’s everyone else’s problem. Futaba might not be happy Akira has to leave, but she’s proud. She’s sad that Akira has to leave, but also she promised Akira that by the time that he had to leave, she’d be able to get around on her own, without clinging to him for support. And she is able. She kept her promise.

Tomorrow might be the day that Akira has to go, but today is the day that Futaba is Officially Recovered.

Akira does that annoying thing he does where he puts his hand on her head and messes up all her hair, like he’s a human cat showing affection by pissing everyone off. Futaba yelps. “Look at you. You don’t need me at all.”

“I told you that I’d be ready to say goodbye by the time you had to go back to your hometown,” says Futaba. “I haven’t broken my promises yet, have I?”

There’s a burst of laughter from Haru over something Yusuke said, who looks rather surprised to discover that he said anything funny. Both Makoto and Akechi snicker at him, and then stop immediately to glare at each other the second they realize they’ve accidentally wound up sharing an opinion.

Akira ignores them. “Well, you can still text me if you need me. Or call.”

“I’m trying to tell you I’m getting better and I don’t need you,” Futaba grumbles. “Also, what kind of psychopath do you think I am to call someone on the phone?”

“That’s what phones are for.”

“Calling people is scary.”

“I thought you were getting better?” Akira teases.

“I am!” she says, pointing a finger at him. “I am! Just you watch, Akira. I’m getting better every day.”

Six months after joining Kosei, Futaba locks herself in her room and does not reemerge for seven days straight.

She tells Sojiro that she’s sick. Sojiro tells the school that Futaba told him that she’s sick. She definitely fakes a hell of a good cough, and the school lets Yusuke send her her all the homework that she was supposed to be doing in the first place, but Futaba already knows it’s only a matter of time before Sojiro rats on her, and she won’t even blame him because it’ll be for her own good.

In the meantime, she has stashes of crackers and peanut butter from back when she was a full-time hermit. She hates the taste of peanut butter within three days. Her bed is a relief, soft like a home she never left, up until it isn’t anymore. It’s too soft. No matter how she lies on it, no matter how soft it is, a mattress just isn’t comfortable when you’ve been lying on it for seventy-four hours. It’s hot. Smothering. She feels like she’s going to drown in the blankets and they’ll have to fish her moldy, sweaty corpse out of the bottomless quicksand pit of her too-soft mattress.

The thing about being a shut-in is that you don’t actually like your room very much. It’s not a relief, or an oasis, or even a place you enjoy. You’re just terrified of everywhere else more.

She plays a lot of video games that she doesn’t even like. She watches a lot of Twitch streamers she doesn’t even like. She doesn’t do her homework. She ignores Sojiro. She pretends she’s alright to everyone who texts. She wakes up and goes to sleep and thinks about going outside and goes to sleep and wakes up and wonders if the whole last year and her cautious baby steps back into the world outside was all just a hazy dream.

There aren’t a lot of Thieves left in Tokyo, weirdly. Haru and Makoto both graduated, off doing business and law junk that honestly makes Futaba’s brains want to crawl out her ears, but all the numbers check out and Haru’s not in the red yet, and Futaba’s looked at enough people’s dirty laundry to appreciate Haru’s clean ledger. Akira’s back in his dinky hicktown, where there’s barely anything electronic connected to Wifi worth breaking into for surveillance, which is really boring.

Ann’s been doing so many modeling gigs that she might as well not be attending Shujin anymore. She’s practically surrounded by electronics, and all of them are connected to the internet. On any given day, Futaba can snoop through the internet trail of electronic file cabinets full of images of her face, emails about her face, paychecks for her face. Futaba sends Ann more than one email about creepy old dudes making gross comments about her, along with a bunch of other illegal shit they’ve done, plus their offshore accounts full of cash if Ann wants Futaba to sic a lawyer on them.

Ann looks like she’s having fun. Ann looks different on the other side of the computer screen, like she’s less real. Like she’s not someone Futaba really knows. Like Ann’s not someone Futaba’s literally cried on at one point in her life.

Ryuji is definitely attending Shujin, but between physical therapy, catching up on a whole year of track, athletic scholarship hunting, and studying for college admissions tests, Ryuji seems to have been swallowed whole by Shujin, really. Out of boredom, one day, Futaba went down that rabbit hole of researching what it takes to get recruited for track in college, and holy shit–apparently Ryuji’s coach was supposed to be helping him with that whole process, but of course Ryuji barely has a proper coach ever since Kamoshida left Shujin’s track program in pieces. The amount of networking he’s doing is insane, especially for one teenaged boy who barely remembers his homework every night.

Sometimes, when Ryuji’s forgotten to check his email in a while and there’s a message from a coach sitting in his inbox, Futaba will send him a text to make him check it. And then it’s all, What were you doing looking at my emails, Futaba and Which of my other passwords do you know, Futaba, as if Ryuji doesn’t just use the same password over and over and has literally nobody but himself to blame.

So it’s really just Futaba, Yusuke, and–weirdly–Akechi, who’s off doing his gap year and said he was going to go abroad, but then he never did. Not to be a huge snoop, but Futaba went digging through his junk for about five seconds and then she never did it again, because she felt really weird about finding out that the guy that killed her mom is looking into social work, volunteerism, and reforming the justice system.

Like. The man who killed the Thieves’ leader is now literally out there saving orphans. It’s wild.

She might’ve been the one to tell Akechi that he can start over again and do better, but she reserves the right to at least feel weird about it.

She does not call Akira. She talks to Yusuke at school, but she refuses to ask him to accompany her on the subway. She should be recovered by now, shouldn’t she? She was supposed to have gotten over all that when Akira left Tokyo. She’s doing fine. She’s just looking out for her friends. Her, living vicariously through her friends, who’re growing up and growing away, flourishing into young adults? Never.

Everything is the same.

Didn’t she help kill a god last year?

Didn’t she work so hard to get out of her room, to make friends, to reconnect with Kana-chan?

Didn’t she work so hard to change herself?

Didn’t she help change the world?

Everything is the same.

Tuesday, 1:43 PM

YUSUKE: Futaba?

FUTABA: yo inari

FUTABA: u got more homework for me or what

YUSUKE: Ah, no.

YUSUKE: I think your teacher finds it suspicious that I’m sending you homework when I’m not in your grade, as it is.

FUTABA: oh no

FUTABA: what a shame that we didn’t have an entire year of experience with getting away with wildly illegal magic brain crimes without raising any suspicion

FUTABA: truly emailing me like four pieces of paper a day is far too difficult

YUSUKE: Well, I can’t get your homework from your teacher, but I can give you more homework if you’d like.

FUTABA: ok bucko that wasn’t a challenge

YUSUKE: There’s a math problem set that’s been incredibly dull to get through when I have more important pieces I could be working on…

FUTABA: inari im sorry to say but

FUTABA: me literally doing your homework for you is about a thousand times more illegal than you giving me my homework when ur not in my grade

YUSUKE: Oh, is it?

FUTABA: wh

FUTABA: are y

FUTABA: what do you mean OH IS IT

FUTABA: did you not KNOW ur not allowed to have other ppl do ur hw????

FUTABA: inari have u been making other people do ur hw for u so u can have more time to do art?????????

FUTABA: no shut up i dont want to know

FUTABA: i will not be ur accomplice

FUTABA: i see ur little speech bubble thingamajig yusuke i said stop typing forever and ever

YUSUKE: I can’t invite you to the art gallery tomorrow if I can’t type.

YUSUKE: It also seems impractical for you to outlaw me from texting forever.

FUTABA: i literally did not say that

YUSUKE: You said, and I quote,

YUSUKE: “Yusuke, I said stop typing forever and ever.”

FUTABA: ok i know it looks like i said that but please im begging u it’s literally just an exaggeration

YUSUKE: As Makoto would say, it’s hardly an enforceable law.

FUTABA: u literally texted my sick and crusty ass just to give me a hard time

YUSUKE: Are you about recovered from your cold?

FUTABA: and now u have the nerve to ask me to go to ur art show thing

YUSUKE: I didn’t say that.

FUTABA: oh really

FUTABA: what were u gonna ask me about then

YUSUKE: The art show, naturally.

YUSUKE: But you could have done me the courtesy of letting me ask.

FUTABA: all that on the day of my daughter’s wedding and now u want me to do u a solid

FUTABA: well i have news for u

FUTABA: the answer

FUTABA: is yeah

FUTABA: sure why not

YUSUKE: Oh, excellent.

YUSUKE: I thought that you might decline on account of your illness.

FUTABA: i’m not a punk bitch

FUTABA: i’m going

FUTABA: u were only working all those paintings for like two months i wanna see their oily faces in person

YUSUKE: Just because they were made with oil paints does not mean that they are oily.

FUTABA: cant wait to see my oily boys

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, I have to set up the event beforehand, so I will not be able to accompany you on the way here.

YUSUKE: Will you be alright by yourself?

FUTABA: uh

FUTABA: hmm

FUTABA: how oily are these boys in case i need to call a rain check

YUSUKE: Hmm.

YUSUKE: Perhaps someone else can go with you.

YUSUKE: Let me see if I can find someone.

FUTABA: what like one of ur art friends

FUTABA: i’m not going with anyone i dont know sry

YUSUKE: I’ll keep it in mind.

Tuesday, 1:59 PM

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, Ann and Ryuji were not available. Both of them will be coming late to the art show.

YUSUKE: Fortunately, Goro is.

FUTABA: whomst

YUSUKE: Goro Akechi?

YUSUKE: Crow, in case you know multiple Goro Akechis.

FUTABA: no like why u callin him goro

YUSUKE: I asked him if I could and he said yes.

YUSUKE: There’s not many people left in Tokyo who were part of the Thieves.

YUSUKE: I’m not exactly popular at school myself, so I thought it prudent to hold onto the connections I already had.

FUTABA: hhhhhhhhhhhhh

FUTABA: but why him……………………………………….

YUSUKE: Has he done something wrong?

YUSUKE: Well.

YUSUKE: Besides the obvious.

YUSUKE: Last I heard, you were quite vocally supportive of Goro making a change for the better,but have you prehaps reconsidered?

FUTABA: i mean he’s always been nice to me

FUTABA: like even before he was on the team as crow

FUTABA: and then later after he like lost his shit and tried to kill us

FUTABA: he was also like weirdly nice

FUTABA: even if he was dressed as a tokusatsu villain

FUTABA: but

FUTABA: i

FUTABA: ok this is gonna sound really weird but like

FUTABA: you know how i said that the person to take me to the art show has to be someone that i know

YUSUKE: Yes.

FUTABA: even though akechi was one of the thieves at the end

FUTABA: i feel like i dont really know him

FUTABA: he like had that whole breakdown where he spilled all his kylo ren sadstuck junk and then he peeled his dumb ass up off the floor and then we beat up his dad in a dark alley

FUTABA: and then i guess akira likes him a bunch and hangs out with him and i guess probably talked to him about all that stuff that happened

FUTABA: and also i think ann talks to him

FUTABA: and also haru i think for some reason……………………..

FUTABA: but like i feel like. we as a group. never really uhhhhhhh

FUTABA: got to know him very well i guess

FUTABA: because he spent like the whole year being a fake ass bitch

FUTABA: and then by the time he wasnt, the thieves were busy literally fighting god, and it was all business business business

FUTABA: ughghfhg i guess this is just a really long way of saying that like yeah ok i guess i do know him but i dont think i really do

FUTABA: even when he was off the shits in the engine room it was like

FUTABA: somehow that was not……………………………….. really him

FUTABA: idk maybe this is just my Thoughts but like

FUTABA: idk some people are like “your true self is who you are at your worst” and

FUTABA: yeah maybe you are some PART of urself when youre at your worst but like

FUTABA: also not???

FUTABA: that can’t be it

FUTABA: that’s not ALL of you

FUTABA: so all i ever saw was him when he was being a fake ass barbie prince and then when he was like actively losing his shit

FUTABA: and both of those were like. two types of fake ass barbie prince

FUTABA: except obviously the one where he started screamin about murder and trying to kill joker was like, fake ass serial killer barbie prince

FUTABA: anyway i dont buy it for a second that seeing akechi at his worst means that i know the first thing about his “”“”“”“”“true self”“”“”“”“”“”“

FUTABA: like i know that i technically met him but also at the same time i dont think ive ever really actually met this dude

FUTABA: uh tldr what’s the truth crowboy

FUTABA: second tldr do you got anyone else i can go to the art show with because im not unpackin all that junk in the trunk while also trying to fend off a panic attack in the subway

YUSUKE: Well, to speak to "what’s the truth, crowboy,” I’d say he’s actually really funny.

FUTABA: WHAT

YUSUKE: Yes, actually.

FUTABA: YOU TRYNA TELL ME YOU SHARE A SENSE OF HUMOR W AKECHI

YUSUKE: As everyone knows, I don’t have a sense of humor.

YUSUKE: But if I did, that might not be inaccurate to say.

YUSUKE: Either way, we could ask Boss if he’ll take you to school.

FUTABA: no

FUTABA: im not makin him shut down leblanc for the day just cause i cant get my shit together

FUTABA: and i go to school by myself all the time now i dont need to be walked there by my dad like a four yr old

FUTABA: r u sure u dont have anyone else who can take me

YUSUKE: You said it had to be someone you know.

YUSUKE: I can take you.

YUSUKE: But I’ll be getting to Kosei early to prepare.

FUTABA: how early is early

YUSUKE: Four in the morning.

FUTABA: PLEASE INARI

YUSUKE: The people you know is a quite limited pool, Futaba.

FUTABA: shut the hell ur face i dont need u tellin me to make kosei friends too

FUTABA: i get my butt to school every day i’m already a hero

FUTABA: ok alright

FUTABA: crow-san it is

FUTABA: hhh

FUTABA: no shut up stop typing i’m fine

FUTABA: i already saw his dumb ass get inflicted with Horny from Yaldy God Himself i ain’t afraid of no crows

FUTABA: actually now that i remember that that was pretty funny mwehehehehehehe

FUTABA: OKAY send me the who what when where why

YUSUKE: There’s a PDF flier. I’ll send it to you.

YUSUKE: But I will have to type the email to send it to you.

FUTABA: oh my GOD inari

FUTABA: i swear to god ur not actually this dense and youre just pretending u dont know what an exaggeration is just to drive me up the wall

YUSUKE: Oh, that is a possibility, isn’t it?

FUTABA: WH

YUSUKE: Ah, last period is starting. I’ll have to talk to you later.

FUTABA: WHAT

FUTABA: NO WAIT

FUTABA: HELLO????

FUTABA: YUSUKE NO COME BACK

Tuesday, 2:53 PM

FUTABA: YUSUKE HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING AKECHI DO UR HW FOR U SO YOU CAN DO MORE ART??

FUTABA: IS THAT WHY UR ON A FIRST NAME BASIS W HIM

FUTABA: ANSWER ME STRINGBEAN

In Futaba’s opinion, there’s an infinite amount of more embarrassing reasons to pull yourself out of your depression pit than “I needed to yell at my friend for being a snotty bastard,“ and there’s worse escorts to have than the weird guy who went from being a professional murderer to their weird awkward friend. Firstly, if there’s anything that can motivate Futaba Sakura, it’s the primal urge to dunk on her friends for spite and memes. Secondly, there’s no chance in hell Futaba’s going to have a breakdown in front of Akechi.

She can do this. She got herself out of this grave once; she can do it again. Even if Akira isn’t here. She’s getting better. She promised him.

On the eighth day of her almost-return to hermithood, Akechi texts her:

AKECHI: I’m here.

AKECHI: Are you ready to go?

Futaba is wearing only an old shirt, no bra, sweats, and vaguely greasy hair from all the showers she’s skipped.

FUTABA: i’m SO ready

FUTABA: the readiest

FUTABA: ultra mega super ready

FUTABA: featherman ranger code name Ready

AKECHI: Oh.

AKECHI: Alright.

Hell yes alright. Time for Futaba to save her own life from her gravesite of a room.

With… Goro Akechi. Wow, life is weird, huh?

She drags on her Kosei uniform like a skin discarded long ago. It feels stiff. Maybe because it feels wrong to wear school clothes like a functioning human; maybe because she just hasn’t washed it in a week. The very idea of explaining herself to Sojiro stresses her out, so she doesn’t do it. The idea of not explaining herself to Sojiro, when he deserves an explanation and also would probably have a heart attack if he realized that she’d disappeared from her room without his knowing, also stresses her out, so she still doesn’t explain herself to Sojiro.

I told Akira I’m better now. I can do this. I did this for more than six months. I was out of my room in the real world, I went to the school festival, I changed my own heart…

She creeps down the stairs like a thief in her own house and pokes her head out the door. Goro Akechi is fiddling with his phone in the sun outside her house, looking like he, too, has only just managed to pull on his Human Suit and look like a guy who didn’t make shadows beg for mercy for fun, so it looks like this whole expedition is going to be a lot of fun.

"Futaba-chan?” says Akechi, only just noticing her lurking in her own doorway. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. How are you?”

Futaba opens her mouth. No noise comes out.

Akechi’s eyebrows slowly begin to knit together.

“I’m good,” she says squeakily. Clears her throat. Holy shit, she’s not afraid of Akechi after all that junk they went through in the Metaverse. She saw him as a rat. She saw him visibly want to break his father’s face when Shido tried to apologize to him on live TV. Once, Makoto and Akechi got into an unironic, passionate, hour-long argument about whether or not it’s beneficial to color code your notes.

“I’m alright!” Futaba announces louder, maybe a little loudly, considering the way he looks only more concerned. “L-Let’s hurry up and get this sidequest over with!”

She pulls her hoodie over her head and jams her hands into the pockets and makes herself as small as possible and inches out of the doorway. “If you… say so,” says Akechi, and eventually matches her incredibly slow pace as she shuffles her way towards the main street.

When the noise of Yongen-Jaya’s street hits her, her heart rate (already high as hell) spikes even higher like the first day she’d come out of her room, but the old coping mechanisms come back like second nature: Breathe slower, avoid eye contact, remember her mission, stick to the sides of the streets. Breathe slower. She’s still got it. It’s still hard, but she’s got a whole arsenal of ways to deal. She can do this. She will kick Yusuke’s ass for being a dick, if only out of sheer spite.

If Akira were here, I could hide behind him and…

No, shut up, shut up. All she has is her hoodie and Goro Akechi. Akira’s not here. She can do this by herself.

Akechi makes precisely two attempts at small talk (“How has Kosei been?” “Have you seen the pieces Yusuke submitted to the art show before?”) before he realizes that Futaba isn’t going to respond by virtue of barely holding onto her shit by her fingernails. He shuts up and sticks close by. Futaba makes her way down the streets towards the subway like walking on a tightrope. The subway station isn’t busy, but she puts every step in front of her like she’s going to fall. Getting on the subway might as well be a highwire. Futaba and Akechi wait for the train in mutual silence to the sound of other commuters murmuring amongst themselves, like a toothless echo of Mementos’s depths.

When they get on the train, people around her are quiet, thank god, but all of a sudden she’s convinced that she smells because she hasn’t taken a shower in literal days, and she tries to pack herself into her seat as tightly as possible. The guy in front of her is scrolling through something at a ferocious pace and his thumbnail keeps hitting the screen with this incessant clack, clack, clack noise. The subway voice announces their next station as the doors begin to close, and a girl suddenly sits bolt upright, having realized that this is her station after all, and bangs Futaba’s knees hard as she passes. Futaba wants to curl her legs to her chest, but she’s wearing Kosei’s uniform skirt and it’d just make everyone stare at her if she did that on the subway. She curls her fingers into the skirt hem. She stares down at her knees and lets her hair drape around her like a curtain. She can do this. She can do this. Breathe slower. Even slower. I did this for more than six months, I told Akira I’m better now, I changed my own heart…

Akechi pulls out his phone. Futaba’s phone buzzes.

AKECHI: Are you alright?

FUTABA: i said i was ready dude

Akechi types and retypes an answer, which technically Futaba could just look over his arm and read, but instead Futaba flips through apps on her phone and pulls up a shitty mobile dungeon crawler. She dies four times before Akechi puts his phone away without sending anything.

They pass multiple stations like that. Futaba sure as hell hopes that Akechi’s watching which station they’re on, because she isn’t. After the millionth time she dies, Futaba just closes the app altogether. Concentration’s shot. Can’t focus on anything. Heartbeat’s too loud. Breathing’s too loud. The guy next to her is breathing too loud. Everything is too loud.

New text:

AKECHI: Yusuke said you’d recovered from your cold, but you still look a little unwell.

Futaba doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t need Negative Nancy over here telling her she’s gonna crack. Because she isn’t gonna. The subway starts to slow, and the voice announces the station for Yusuke’s school. She’s literally almost there, she’s right there, she might die in three seconds because her heart is going to pound of her chest but at least she’s going to make it, she promised Akira that she was alright—

The subway doors open. Passengers stand to get off. Akechi stands up. Futaba drops like a rock.

“I can’t,” Futaba’s voice says. She sounds like she’s crying. “I can’t, I can’t do it, I—”

“Futaba—”

“I’m can’t do it, I—”

She buries her face in her knees on the dirty subway floor. Oh, she really is crying. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

Around her, people’s feet stop moving. They’re staring at her. She’s crying on the subway and everyone is staring at her. “Shh,” says Akechi, like Futaba doesn’t know she’s being a loud and irritating pest, but then he takes off his winter coat and covers her with it. Suddenly everything goes dark. It’s a huge coat, too; it wraps around her whole torso with enough room to spare to cover her entire head. Inside, it’s like she’s back in her room, only listening to the sounds of real life somewhere on the other side of a computer monitor, where it can’t hurt her. It’s so surprising she hiccups to a stop. Two hands pull her up by the shoulders and guide her to stand. “Up. Let’s go.”

“Is she okay?” says a voice.

Futaba’s entire body seizes with fear. She ducks into her own knees, trying to disappear.

“Hey, little girl, are you alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” says Akechi’s friendly, super fake ass barbie prince voice. “My sister just had a hard day. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“A hard day?” Now the stranger’s voice is accusatory.

“For your information, our dog was recently brutally run over in front of her eyes.”

“Young man, are you serious right now?”

“Oh, yes. There was blood everywhere. Its intestines squelched horribly under the tires less than six feet away from her,” Akechi goes on. Futaba chokes, and then hiccups in what she realizes is almost a laugh. “Please excuse her. Thank you.” And before the literal complete stranger can follow up on that awful statement, Akechi takes her hand and pulls her up.

Futaba stumbles to her feet. If she has to take the coat off right now, she will actually die.

“It’s okay. Just hold my hand and follow me.”

Blindly, she lets him lead her out of the subway, weaving through people with only minimal contact with other people’s shoulders. There’s a whole awkward period where Akechi has to walk her up the stairs out of the subway station while she can’t see anything, but eventually the noise and bustle of other people around her seems to die away, and the air grows cooler in the way it does in the shadows between city buildings. Then they stop walking altogether. When Akechi lets go of her hand, she almost tries to grab it back before she catches herself.

“Okay. There’s nobody else around, now. It’s safe.”

Futaba doesn’t come out of the jacket. In the dark, her eyes dart back and forth, trying to see even as she blinds herself.

“Sorry for grabbing you so suddenly like that,” Akechi’s voice goes on after it becomes obvious she’s not going to come out.

Futaba wipes snottily at her own face. Oh, this is so gross, she’s got snot and tears on top of five days worth of grime and body juice because she hadn’t taken a shower. She’s disgusting. She really actually wants to die right now. She can’t show her face like this.

“Er,” says Akechi. “Do you want…. water, or…?”

Futaba folds up right there on the city pavement, probably dragging Akechi’s nice coat all over a dirty alleyway. She tucks her face into her knees, where she feels safest, and pulls the coat flaps even tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m sorry for not being okay,” she mumbles.

There’s a short silence. “You really don’t have to be.”

“I do,” Futaba says. She feels like she’s nine years old again, a petulant kid who needs to hold people’s hands and be escorted around Tokyo. “This is—it’s stupid, and I can’t believe I-I’m still doing this, a-and even a-after everything that h-happened last year, I’m still just a… I’m still…”

“It’s fine,” says Akechi. Even he sounds overwhelmed, and at the first sound of weakness, she pulls the coat off her head and glares at him furiously, red-faced and covered in tears and snot and gross depression juice crust and all.

“I’m not supposed to be this way anymore!” she says miserably. “I’m supposed to be better! Moved on! Doing literally a-anything else but crying over t-taking a subway! It’s stupid and nobody else is like this and I just want to be over this already and I just want to be better already and—!“

She covers her face with her hands again. God, even when she says that, it sounds pathetic.

After a moment or two, she hears Akechi moving again. She peeks at him. He’s crouching in almost the exact same pose as her, looking like he’s resigning himself to neither getting his coat back, nor moving from this spot any time soon, nor getting to Yusuke’s art show on time, but also looking archly and entirely unperturbed about it. Actually, it looks like he’s writing a work email on his phone.

Futaba was right about being in an alleyway, but it’s so cold because they’re shielded by a trio of vending machines selling canned coffee and wrapped sandwiches. "Our dog was recently run over?” she says.

“People can mind their own damn business,” says Akechi in his Pleasant Boy Voice, without looking up from his email.

“He was just trying to help.”

“Oh, yes, let’s help the crying girl by crowding her and suffocating her in a crush of public transit.”

Futaba snorts. “That was really mean of you.”

“Oh, absolutely,” says Akechi.

Futaba sucks a truly disgusting gob of snot into her nose. “Ugh. I wish I could’ve seen the guy’s face when you told him that.”

“It was like I’d spat on his shoes. I should’ve kept going. Or had a camera.”

“Futaba giggles wetly into her forearms. "Like one of those—those prank videos online… Get Yusuke to film it.”

“Yusuke, as the cameraman? I’m not trying to make a documentary.” Akechi flips to a different screen on his phone. “I already texted Yusuke about our poor dead dog, by the way, so don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly Futaba feels like literal garbage again. “Why are you always so nice to me?” she mumbles.

Akechi makes a weird face, like he’s trying to do his old Pleasant Boy shtick while having swallowed a lemon whole. “You say that like me being nice is somehow unusual.”

“Uh, yeah. Because it is. You literally were just being a huge asshole to a guy you’d never met over a fictional dog.”

Akechi has this increasingly disgruntled look on his face like he kind of wants to punt Futaba down some stairs, which, frankly, is the best sort of reward, in Futaba’s opinion. “I’m working on it,” he says grumpily.

“How’s that been?” says Futaba.

“Which part?”

Futaba has one whole moment of self reflection on this idea as maybe not a good course of action before she barrels on anyway: “The part where you’re turning your life around. Starting over. Trying again.”

“It sucks dick,” says Akechi.

“Oh, right on,” says Futaba, and then before she can stop herself: “Wait, I thought you liked dick?”

Akechi makes a noise like a strangled cat.

Futaba cackles. “Dude, incognito mode when you’re browsing for porn does not save you from people like me.”

“Have you been spying on me?”

“Uh, yes? Obviously?”

“You know you could get arrested for that sort of breach in privacy.”

“Oh, boo hoo, so sorry I know all about your weird orphan-saving night job and your smutty Featherman doujinshi collection. You’re not gonna narc on me.” Futaba stops. “Are you?”

“Stop looking at my internet history.”

“No. You better not narc on me.”

“Then stop looking at my internet history.”

“You had to google how to change a SIM card last week, crow-boy; you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

“I will narc on you.”

“No you won’t. You’re the one trying to not be an asshole.”

Akechi makes a face like a cat being slowly submerged in cold water. Futaba laughs in his face.

“If you’re quite done,” says Akechi grouchily.

“No, never. You’re made for being made fun of,” says Futaba. “I’m gonna be making fun of you for years and years, crow-boy; you’re never going to get rid of me.”

“Great.”

“Gonna be creeping on your weird orphan-saving night job until the day you die.”

“Wonderful,” says Akechi without inflection whatsoever.

“Mwehehehehehehehehehe.”

“If you’re quite done.”

“I will take a well-deserved break from my endless duty to troll you both on and offline,” says Futaba. “Because I really really really wanna go to the art show.”

Akechi has the nerve to look relieved that he no longer has to squat in a dirty alleyway listening to a high school freshman bully him. “Then let’s go.”

Futaba hugs her knees tight. “But I wanna keep your coat.”

“Aren’t you wearing your own coat?” says Akechi, trying to look like he isn’t shivering. “Aren’t you getting hot?”

“I’m keeping it.”

“It’s my coat.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“Fine, then. Keep it. It’s dry clean only.”

“Oh, ew. No, take it back, gross, gross,” and Futaba peels the snotty, tear-stained, dirty winter coat off and dumps it back in Akechi’s arms, who looks at it with the expression of someone long-suffering and without hope of escape.

“And,” says Futaba, “I wanna see it if you tell anyone else that our dog got run over.”

Akechi smirks. “You’ll have to film it, then.”

“Oh my god, like I wouldn’t.”

Futaba scrubs her face one last time. She still feels like she’s covered in a grimy layer of slime, but maybe she can wash her face at Kosei. When she gets there. Because she’s gonna get there.

“Uh, one more thing,” says Futaba.

“Not like you’ve bullied me into doing literally everything else you’ve wanted,” says Akechi.

“You can’t laugh at me.”

“Good thing I don’t have a sense of humor,” says Akechi, which horrifyingly confirms to Futaba that Akechi and Yusuke, of all people, really do share a sense of humor.

Futaba hesitates. “Please, um… please don’t tell Akira about this.”

“Why would I tell Akira?“

"Nice. Good answer.” She smooths her hair down, trying to make herself presentable, or just have something to do with her hands. “I… told him I was gonna be okay without him and all that, so… I don’t wanna let him down, you know?”

Slowly, almost shyly, Akechi smiles. “Oh, yes. I know.”

“Our secret. Secret-keepers.”

“Secret-keepers. Are you ready?”

Futaba takes another deep breath. Pushes herself up, brushes herself off, and sighs. “Absolutely not. This is gonna suck so much dick,” says Futaba. “Let’s go anyway.”

#mine #slams hands on table FUTAGO SIBLINGS #futaba's dubious mental health cw #Anonymous

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rndyounghowze · 4 years ago

Text

Livestreaming My Disability: I Can’t Keep My Camera And Mic On But I Would Still Love To Watch Your Zoom Play

If there was one in-person struggle I didn’t think would follow me to Digital Theatre Accessibility Would Not Have Made The List. #accessibility #disabilityrights

By Ricky and Dana Young-Howze

Mays Landing, NJ

Back when I was just getting started as an arts writer I wrote a series of articles for Howlround talking about my struggles as an artist with an invisible disability. I talked about how my Tourettes Syndrome (TS) challenged a major theatre aesthetic: this idea that all audiences have to be quiet as church mice. My TS is loud and I oftentimes can’t be quiet.

Since then I was diagnosed with Cervical Dystonia and I can’t sit still. I used to walk into every theater building with this dread that I was going to have to fight to exist here. I have been asked to leave before and I have fought tooth and nail to never be left out. Since we’ve become theatre reviewers we have had a couple problems with general accessibility and you know for a fact it goes straight into the review when it happens. When the jump to digital happened during the apocalypse we were ecstatic for one reason and one reason only...In Zoom you can turn your microphone and camera off. Even if you’re muted everywhere you could definitely still participate using the chat function. It’s like a paradise for those of us who have always worried about that eye being on us while we’re just trying to take in a show. We’ve reviewed almost a hundred digital shows so far and the instant accessibility of it amazes us. It’s just a crazy four percent that gets almost as intense as a hundred percent of all the shows we saw in person.

There is a new aesthetic coming up in Zoom shows and my disability is starting to challenge it again. There are a couple shows (I estimate about two in ten) that beg everyone to have their cameras and microphones on during the performance. Most of the time we leave our stuff muted and no one cares. In fact most people hide non video participants so no one is the wiser. Then there have been a few times a show mandates it. Their screen managers are going through the participants list and reminding people to turn their cameras on.

Now we understood almost immediately what the artist wanted. They want that instant participation and reaction of the audience. They want a glimpse of what happened in the before times when they could react to the audience and see them. I know for a fact that they didn’t plan to have my Tourettes twitching and grunting reaching them from miles away. They also probably didn’t plan for what happens if the audience starts getting frustrated with my noises.

They didn’t think that my distorted, scrunched up, shaking face would then be one of those boxes. People who are mad about what I’m doing because they don’t like that I’m disturbing their enjoyment have a direct view into my house and a chat function that lets them talk to me directly. I can’t help but feeling a bit vulnerable under that kind of scrutiny. However this is your “theater space” and we would love to come in and interface with your art the way you intend. We just can’t physically and you haven’t provided us with other options.

Just like in-person theatre I know that this isn’t because of some kind of flaw in the physical system. I don’t need a ramp or handrail to get into the show. I need a WheelChair Ramp into the heart and mind of the one or two decision makers during the performance: The producer and the screen manager.

For the producer I need you to start thinking in your upcoming programming what you are really wanting when you make this choice to make people turn on their cameras. I know you don’t intend for what I’m describing to happen. I also know that sometimes your show might really just need that level of interaction. Start planning now for what you want to do with people who can’t interact that way. Start planning for what level of interaction people who choose not to turn their mics or their cameras on will have. You have a great ally here with the chat. Consider all of your options and start planning now for greater accessibility.

If there is one new creation that I have seen during 2020 that has intrigued me the most it’s the screen manager. You have all of the duties of a house manager, stage manager, sometimes a performer, and then the added craziness of all the video and audio duties. You have to make everything run smoothly and now you have to start policing screens and mics. I don’t want to wait for the microaggression of you turning my mic or video off because I’m “making noise” or “disturbing others” and I also don’t want to take up your valuable time engaging you in a conversation. You weren’t trained for this (there’s absolutely no training for this job right now). There needs to be some way to let you guys know what’s up without taking up your time.

So Dana and I really want to help you out. We’re going to do our part by making sure you guys have all of the resources that you need. Here is our first gift to you. We’ve provided these photos for you guys. They work just like traffic lights. Red means that we’ll never turn our camera or mics on, Yellow means that someone might not be comfortable turning their camera or mics on but you will either hear or see them not both. The green means that someone just stepped away from the phone or had to turn off their mic for a second and they’ll be right back.

I’ve also realized that this will help the performers and producers a bit. If you need to know that someone is watching and reacting and hate acting into the dark these photos may help you. These photos let the performers know that there are several audience members with a disability out there and they really want to engage you. Of course there is also the (ahem) CHAT function. At our worst Dana and I can blow up the chat.

We live in uncharted times and no one wrote a manual for this. Help us write the rules and let’s include accessibility from the start. Together we can get through this and remember that there are paying audience members out there that need you to help them engage in your amazing shows!

We have a YouTube Channel. We’re working furiously to get new videos up weekly.

We are so thankful to the outpouring of donations we’ve received! We graciously accept all donations through our Venmo (@rndyounghowze).

Wanna be a sponsor? Email us for rates.

#theatre #nj #theatrelives #nj travels #accessibility #disability #tourettes #cervical dystonia #ankylosing spondylitis #lupus #arthritis #theater

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mymindwide · 4 years ago

Text

It won’t be long we’ll meet again

Pairing: Ashton x Female reader

Word count: 6775

Warning: angst, feelings, smut

Author’s note: This is the chapter 2 (and closure) to ‘The end of heartache’. I hope you’ll love this too, and would just like to thank the support to those who were kind enough to write any kind of feedback on Chapter 1. :) I hope this won’t disappoint either. Take care and enjoy your read.

*****

You miss him. As plain as that sounds, sometimes the simplest words carry the heaviest burdens.

Six months ago you left your apartment with a sleeping Ashton in your bed, after he fucked you in that bed, and you convinced yourself that you don’t care about his motivation after all. You were glad it happened but eventually it just made things more difficult and painful for you.

Because although he’s never been yours, losing him broke your heart. That night you’ve spent together was… good. Obviously way more than just good. But why did he decide to come after you? He’s been in a seemingly happy relationship, then why? No doubt, he probably just felt pity for you after your confession. He always had a good and caring heart, you wouldn’t wonder if this was the case. Well, it really doesn’t matter now, does it? You took that risk; you knew what you were about to do, and as far as you remember your first thought was that you shouldn’t… yet you did nothing to stop him or rather you doing it. Now you were ready to pay the price for your decision, and you’re doing exactly this, painful or not.

Six months have passed since you left but you haven’t talked to any of them since. Well, not in live. Your communication went through emails, tweets and DMs on twitter, but those were very rare, you tried to keep it that way. After you had arrived and settled in your new living space you sent them an email with your address and the company’s name you were working at, at that time.

One day a delivery guy has left a small package for you at the reception of the building you were living in. The tiny velvet box hid a pretty white gold necklace with an angel wing medal; the gift card attached to it wished you all the best and let you know about a certain protection sentiment behind it, and was signed as C.A.L.M under that with the real signatures of Cal, Ash, Lu and Mike. An immediate smile crept on your face, because knowing the guys too well, this was either Cal’s or Ashton’s idea, and if you had to place a bet, your vote would be for Ash. No offense to Luke and Mikey, but they are not as thoughtful as the other two, and they are perfectly aware of this. This is again something that doesn’t make the disengagement easier for you, but you happily and proudly wear that beautiful necklace since the moment you have received it.

In the meantime you have changed a job, because two months ago you left that marketing position for a once in a lifetime opportunity – you were hired at iHeartRadio New York City in a program manager assistant position for one of its afternoon show. Everything was so new and fast and challenging, you had so many things to learn and do and still get used to, that you didn’t find the time and way to let the guys know about this new situation.

* * *

That day started pretty usual and normal, though at some point you should have started to suspect and prepare for the opposite. Just not long after you put your foot in the skyscraper building, there was a complete power outage; you had to call firefighters to help the trapped people escape from the elevators. You had to call the building maintenance guys to restore the electricity so the ca. 150 companies (including the city’s biggest radio station) can continue to work. You had to call some technicians to try to resettle your servers and computers. They managed to do that, however some of your fax machines have completely died due to the blackout, therefore you were asked to pass over a few important papers to one of your presenters shortly being on air, that he’d need to interview his guests that are already in the building. The entire 15th floor was your radio’s, so you picked up the folder and ran across the long hallway to reach the glass window studio on time. It was an impressive performance with 3 inches heels on your feet. After delivering the “goods” you joked to yourself that you should consider entering the next sprint competition that’s going to be held in the city. If you can do it on heels you’d have a good chance without them as well. You realized you needed to use the bathroom before returning back to your office, therefore you made a quick left turn on the corridor, but you didn’t get to the women’s restroom, because a familiar figure leaned against the wall next to the men’s restroom typing on his cellphone. You went closer, because you didn’t want to believe your eyes; your heart was pounding against your chest heavier than ever before.

“Mi-Mikey?!” as you called his name he lowered his hands with the phone in them, turned around and as he realized who dared speak to him, his eyes widened and with that drive you wrapped your arms around his neck clinging to him like a startled sparrow.

“Y/N! What are you…, how?” he hugged you back tight.

“I’m working here” you responded as you let him go and took a step back so you can check him out.

“But we thought you’re at that marketing company.”

“I know and I was, this opportunity came 2 months ago” you started to gaze your feet as you felt your conscience remind you of all the missed chances to let your friends know about this new job. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier” you looked up at him with literal shame in your eyes.

“We kinda got used to it by now…” he smiled at you.

“I…I’m…”

“Just kidding, it’s so good to see you!” a grin appears on his face and that slightly reassures your nerves and remorse too.

“The others?”

“I guard the door while they are inside using whatever toilet they have to” he rolled his eyes. “I swear to you they’re still a bunch of babies, I told them to use the bathroom in the hotel, but nah, we’re good. You can see how good they are…” he points at the door of the men’s restroom making you laugh with his comment.

“What’s up Mike, now you’re talking to yourse…” – the door opened and as Luke came out first he couldn’t even finish the sentence coz after Mikey you appeared in his field of view and you got the same reaction as from Mikey.

“Y/N?!”

“Me” and you took a step towards him too to wrap your hands around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” he stroked your back quickly.

“I’ll tell you everything, just wait for the other two now so I don’t have to repeat myself four times”

“I’ll tell your girlfriends that you two beguile the lady assistants at every radio station we put our feet into…” came another familiar voice from the opening door, and this time you could surprise Calum.

“Man, I think they wouldn’t mind this one…” smiled Luke.

“Cal!!!!!!” you jumped into his neck and he held you tight to himself lifting you up a bit, your feet not touching the ground below you.

“Holy shit, girl, what are…” he started asking the obvious question as he put you down back on your feet.

“I know, what am I doing here, and I swear I’m going to answer just…”

And this time you were the one who couldn’t finish your sentence coz the door has been opened for the third time and Ashton stepped outside looking confused for a second at the sight of the little group gathering until he found the incongruous member of his band. The others fell silent as if someone has stopped the time and cut you out of this scene. Actually, time has stopped for you too, because you weren’t exactly prepared for this spectacle either, seeing him obviously brought back memories, but even if those memories didn’t exist, he looked so handsome, so good-looking in his set that consisted of a black torn jeans and a black button-up shirt with the first few buttons being unbuttoned leaving a perfect view at his subtly muscular chest, that you felt a little bit lost at that moment.

“Y/N?”

“Hi Ash…” you bit your bottom lip to feel some kind of pain that holds you back from collapsing inside and burst into tears in front of them. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, so you took that first step to hug him too, though evidently not with the same vehemence as you did with the other three. Your hands rested on his back and only for a few seconds, his hands mirrored your movements on your back, a few gentle caresses and you let each other go pretty quickly. Quick enough to feel this hug awkward, but you guess that’s what you get when you fuck with someone you consider a friend even though you feel way more for him.

“Hi, sweetheart” he smiled at you and this gesture eased the tension in you enough to get your shit together.

You took a short glance at the other three behind you, and they stared at you two as if they were watching bombs that could explode at any minute. Is it possible that they know something about what has happened between us months ago? Ahh, anyway, I have no time for this now, now that these four stand in front of me, still a total miracle and a quite big shock at the same time. You took a big breath and started telling them very quickly about your job change.

“Who did you come to?” you asked from any of them.

“Greg? Is it Greg?” Lu asked back.

“Ah so it’s you guys who he’s waiting for. Actually I just brought his papers for him, so he can ask questions from you” you grinned.

“I thought it worked a bit more modern these days” Ash smirked.

“It does, smartass, we just had a… bit of a situation in the morning, and all electronics went to shit due to a power outage.”

“And if it wasn’t for that, we wouldn’t have you right here right now” Cal came and gave you a half hug.

“Guys, I missed you so much, you have no idea.”

“Boys, we have one minute left…” Mike warned you and you literally saw the panic in his eyes as he looked around your little branch.

“What is it Mikey?” you asked.

“It’s just… we have to go, and I assume you have to go back to work too, but we’re staying for the night and leave only tomorrow, so I thought we could meet for a dinner somewhere? I mean, only if you want it, too, of course!” he sputtered and was eyeing Cal and Luke, though Ashton got a glance from him too.

“I’d be more than happy to do that with you guys” you shrugged with a smile on your face.

“Since you live here, you can recommend a restaurant maybe?”

“What about Ceci? It’s Italian and it’s only three corners down this avenue.”

“Sounds awesome. When will you finish?”

“At 4.”

“Then 6? Is that good?”

“Then 6, it is.”

“See you at Ceci, baby” Cal hugged you first, and all the others joined him, resulting in you melting in a group hug.

“Good luck and see you soon” you waved them goodbye, and with a huge smile on your face and a long-awaited excitement in your heart you headed back to your office.

* * *

“Target #1 in the building” Cal made a comment.

“We can see that as well, Captain Obvious” snapped Mikey.

“Dude, calm down, and let me remind you that this whole thing was your idea.”

“I know… thanks again, Captain Obvious.”

“If you won’t stop with the captain thing, I’ll hit you on the head.”

“Would you please shut up for a minute, both of you. I can’t see from the noise you two make” Luke intervenes.

“Anyway, what’s your problem? We’re good so far, aren’t we?” Cal continues.

“But what if Ash sensed something? Weren’t we too obvious with the ‘buying gifts for the girls’ thing?”

“Don’t think so man, last time I checked we do have girlfriends…” Luke tried to reassure Mike.

“But Cal doesn’t.”

“And? I focus on myself right now!” snapped back Cal resentfully.

“Dude, that’s not the point! Good for you. I just want this to work.”

“He’s gonna be here.”

“Young amigos, if we don’t go anywhere I have to ask you to get out of the car” says the driver of the taxi they sat in. “You know I have a big family, have to give them food.”

“Luke, give me 40 bucks.”

“Why me?”

“Coz your net worth is the highest, and I’m just a poor guitarist from Sydney” scoffs Mikey.

“If this is gonna work, Ash owes me…” mumbles Luke as he slaps the money in Mike’s hand at the passenger’s seat.

“Are you sure you don’t have Scottish or Jewish ancestors…?” Mike side eyed Luke. “If this is gonna work, I’ll personally give this back to you, you mean bastard.”

“Oh shut up, Clifford.”

“Does this cover an hour route?” Mike holds out the money to the driver.

“Si senor, it’ll do.”

“Guys! Guys, target #2 is approaching the building…” Cal’s voice warned the quarreling couple, and all four men in the taxi looked in the direction of the restaurant on the other side of the road.

* * *

You completely lost your sense of time after you went home from the studio. To your biggest luck you have found a flat incredibly close to your workplace, actually it’s halfway through between the studio and the restaurant, so you had time to try out at least 20 clothing combinations for the dinner. Based on how the day had started you would not have dared dream that it would end like this. You came here with the thought you’ll never see them again, and here you are, you’ll have a date with four of your best friends, and that makes you beyond excited. The long and short of it is that you ended up 15 minutes earlier at the restaurant, wearing your favorite black torn jeans with a simple V-neck white t-shirt and matching black high heels.

You were checking your phone every minute preparing yourself for them to write you in the last possible second that they’re sorry but won’t be able to make it, but no message has arrived, so you started becoming very excited by every passing minute. You were about to put your phone on the table when you looked up from it and glimpsed Ashton walking towards the table you were sitting at, the table that was booked by Mr. Clifford for 5. You rose from your seat to greet him and grabbed the opportunity to check him out very quickly and hopefully not too strikingly.

“You look wonderful” he hugged you with one hand “…and I like the jeans” he added grinning at you as his eyes lowered to the knee part of your jeans where it’s been torn.

“Well, I have to admit, there’s a slight Irwin impact on my fashion sense regarding jeans.”

“I’ll have a greater legacy than Versace” he joked.

“Ahh as to Versace, have you watched the second…”

“I have and I had no one I could talk about it with” he said semi-sadly, semi-excitedly not even waiting for you to finish the sentence.

“I know, me neither. I missed our regular series talk shows” you smiled at him.

“Anyway, it was definitely shockingly brilliant.”

He hardly finished the sentence; the receptionist came towards you and stopped next to your table. You looked up at her simultaneously.

“Sorry for interrupting you, I would like to apologize for the inconvenience, but Mr. Clifford just phoned us and let us know, that the remaining 3 person won’t be joining you, therefore I’d like to escort you to a quieter, more private table for two, if you don’t mind” she has flashed her nicest smile at you two.

Both Ashton and you looked at your phones at the same time looking for some explanation behind this situation but neither of you got any messages from any of the guys and looked up from your phones as confused as the other.

“We haven’t ordered yet, so it’s fine for me…” he told the receptionist but he looked at you all the way waiting for an approval.

“Yeah, it’s okay, of course” you blinked still confused.

“Thank you very much. As a compensation for the inconvenience, tonight’s drinks are on the restaurant.”

You stood up and followed the lady in front of you, while looking at each other conspiratorially, because you knew something that the management of the restaurant did not - namely neither Ash nor you drank any alcohol, so the worst that can happen is the mineral water stock will be less with a few bottles.

As soon as you put your bottoms down on your seats, a waitress came to take your order, and to your waters you ordered a Caesar salad and Ash stayed with a steak though he chose salad as garnish too.

“Never thought you were the salad type” Ash noted.

“Believe me, I am still not, but you should have seen the food I was poisoning myself with since being here. My body really can use a lighter meal now. I’m literally craving it.”

“Can’t blame you. I guess everyone’s first thing to do when arriving in New York is to try all the food we see on Man vs. Food.”

“Yeah, that’s how I got to know the city, basically” you laughed. “Uhm, as to those three bastards you call your bandmates and I called friends… I assume you didn’t know about this” you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“No, I didn’t. They told me they’re going gift shopping, and that they’ll join us in time.” “Obviously they won’t now” the right corner of your mouth pulled in a sarcastic smile.

“If you don’t feel like it, we don’t have to do this…”

“Ash, no, it’s not why I…” your hand has swung quicker than you thought and by the time you realized, it already rested on Ash’s forearm, trying to keep him from standing up from the table. As soon as you saw why he’s looking at his arm you jerked your hand back.

“Hey, I didn’t plan to go anywhere“ he smiled at you seeing you blushing as he really just adjusted his chair.

“Sorry…” you whispered feeling ashamed, not exactly knowing why though.

“No, it’s okay… Actually, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

You swallowed as if you had known what’s coming.

“Can we talk about us?”

“Us?”

“Yes, us and that particular night. Should I remind you of…”

“No. It’s not something that just disappears. Not after how we said goodbye” you tucked your lips between your teeth as an automatic reflex because you felt your pulse getting higher, and your anxiety creeping up.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a goodbye…”

“But it was.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up when you left? We could have talked.”

“You know, I thought about it a lot since then. Even felt certain guilt. But that day was emotional enough for me, besides my life here was already pretty much prepared. At that moment it felt right.”

“And now?”

“Ash… Why did you come to me that night in the first place?” you started losing your patience as you felt him calling you to account. You wanted to show him he’s not the only one with questions.

“What do you think?”

“For months I was convinced it was out of pity from your side.”

“Out of pity… But did that really feel like it though?”

“I don’t know, Ash. Again, that day was hard enough and you didn’t make the things easier either.”

“Did you know you left a mark on me? Nail scratches on both my shoulder blades” he smiled. “A few days later I became single.”

“I didn’t want to get you in trouble” you told him with honesty and worry in your voice. You really had no idea that they are no longer together.

“It has nothing to do with it; I just thought I’ll let you know, since it made me smile when I noticed it at home. And as far as I remember it was me who knocked on your door…”

“But I could have told you to leave…” you quickly closed your eyes as instant memory moments rushed through your mind about the exact scene you were talking about. How he kissed you and picked you up in his lap, and how much you didn’t exactly protest against it, but kissed him back and wrapped your legs around his waist instead… About how your body reacted to his in a millisecond.

“Did you regret what we’ve done back then?”

“No” you said after a few seconds of silence. “But it just made things more difficult for me.”

“As of?”

“Leaving behind what I wanted to leave behind. Forgetting you” you felt a sudden sadness as you uttered these words aloud.

You didn’t even notice how easily you eased into your conversation and that the anxiety you felt at the beginning just disappeared most likely thanks to the calmness that flowed out of Ashton, the soothing tone of his voice, the way he spoke to you.

You loved how honestly and openly you could talk about this, when it could have turned out enormously awkward as well.

“And you? Did you regret that you came to my apartment that night?” you rested your elbow on the table while supported your head with your palm.

“No. It made me realize a few things.”

“As of?” you smiled.

“You know I don’t believe in too many things, but what I believe in is that there are no coincidences. Us meeting here, totally accidentally, has to have a greater purpose. And I’d like to tell you something and I’d like you to listen to me. I want you to know that I liked you all along. From the beginning. I always thought we had a special connection and we understood each other quite well. But I was stupid and thought we’re friends, and it’s not gonna lead anywhere, you know, you don’t shit in your own backyard… And this is what I regretted. That simply out of fear I didn’t even try to give it a chance, and when you confessed six months ago it kinda slapped me in the face. The only thing I could tell you was that I was sorry. That’s what I felt sorry about. Not you. My own self and my missed opportunity. That I was satisfied with less when I could have something more valuable too. You helped me open my eyes and as it hit me, I wanted to see you. That’s why I visited you that night.”

As he said all these things to you, your heart just wished to leave your body. Never in your wildest dreams could you imagine that he, in any way, could feel the same like you, and now here you are.

The whirlwind came and you looked down at the table, lips trembling and the first stream of tears rolled down your face. He reached for your hand, gently grabbed it with his and you squeezed it letting all the remaining tension and anxiety go, as his thumb brushed your skin.

“So now you know. Pity never was on the table.”

Wiping those few stray tear drops you smiled at him as you still hold hands.

“This whole situation is because of me, coz I fucked that up, and for this I am sorry too.”

“Ash… it doesn’t matter now. I’m glad you’re here, I’m glad we’re here. And I’d just like to hug you now, so bad” a liberated shred of laughter escaped your lips.

“I can promise you we’ll get round to it” he flashed a smile at you squeezing your hand once more before he let it go, as your ordered meals had arrived.

* * *

While eating you could continue with much lighter topics; he let you into their plans and ongoing work with their new material and all the shenanigans you missed while being in the other side of the states, and you told him about the musical legends and celebs you had the pleasure to meet thanks to your last two months at the radio. It was around 8pm when you left Ceci, and tried to find a secluded place on the sidewalk where you aren’t in the way of others and they aren’t in yours.

“Can I collect my hug now?” you smiled at him and just hoped you don’t sound too desperate, though you were not sure whether he would care at all if you did.

You certainly did not care. Your heart got lighter, your eyes shined brighter after your dinner, and just feeling him this close, like never before, filled you with such happiness you never thought you’ll feel again. He pulled you closer and you went upon your tiptoes to wrap your hands around his neck while his arms slithered around your waist wreathing you into a tight hug. Your senses were looking for the familiar feelings - his citrus scent filled up your nose, your arms rested safely on his wide shoulders providing you the sense of security that you felt only with him.

You very slowly let go of him and stood back on your feet, as your eyes kept holding onto each other’s.

His fingertips ghosted along your arms going down to reach their destination in your palms.

“Can I kiss you?” his eyes hiding a slight insecurity were searching yours.

“Are you really asking for permission when…” you smiled.

“I am, because this is our first date” he wasn’t waiting for you to finish.

“Then please, kiss me” you whispered still smiling.

His hands let go of yours and found their new place on your waist pulling you closer and on the side of your neck angling your face slightly upwards so he can attach his lips on yours while your hands slid up to rest on his chest.

This kiss was different from what you shared the last time, of course no wonder, since that night wasn’t exactly about the most extensive and deepest exploration of the other. You simply didn’t have time for that, and weren’t in that particular headspace.

This kiss was feathery, gentle and exploratory – the kind that makes you lose your mind.

You felt yourself in a dream and as the seconds went by, you sensibly became needier; his fingertips pressed harder on your waist while your hands grasped his shirt on his stomach. A sense rushed through your veins, a recognition, that made you feel almost ashamed and shy for wanting to be with him again.

A loud honk reminded you that you’re in the middle of the street, so you slowly let each other go, and still feeling the ghost of his lips on yours you leaned your forehead against his collarbone slightly shaking your head as you let out a heavier sigh.

“Damn…”

“What?” his tone gave away that he’s smiling.

“I feel like I should be ashamed of the thoughts that are filling my mind right now.”

“If they are anything similar to mine, then yeah, you should…”

His remark made you chuckle into his chest. You lifted your eyes on him and you felt exactly the same way as you did six months ago that night when you stood in the hall of your apartment staring at each other, trying to read from the other’s eyes and face. And again, just like back then, there was no question to which the answers couldn’t have been found in your eyes.

“Come…” you intertwined your fingers and took a few steps backwards never breaking the eye contact.

“Where are we…” he asked as you started heading down the road.

“My flat is two minutes away.”

* * *

“Wake up you two! They are out!” Cal shouted, and the other three gentlemen in the car hoisted in their seats. “Not you, Pedro, you can sleep back.”

“This is my car, I wanna watch!” the driver stared out his window sticking to the windowpane, and Cal just shrugged.

“Awww, they are hugging”

“Thanks for the live broadcast, mate, but I’d rather check it myself” Luke just tried to push Cal out of the way so he can see something with his own eyes too.

“Oh, that senorita is la belleza; I’d hug her too…” Pedro remarked and his passengers shared a quick glance that made obvious what they think about their plus one – they managed to get stuck with a perv.

“Woah woah woah, oh my god, come on Ash, you get it dude!” shouted Cal as they watched their two targets embrace in a kiss.

“Yesss” Luke cried out joining in the celebration.

“Could you please move over, that’s my friend, I have to see them” Mike tried to push the driver away.

“I wanna see, I wanna see” their ad hoc driver fought back, and as he did, his elbow pressed the honk on the steering wheel.

All four of them pulled their heads down immediately, searching for cover behind the doors of the vehicle.

“Man, you can ruin everything” Mikey yelled at the driver grumpily.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to cause trouble” their driver justified himself.

Carefully and very slowly they all rose from their cover, and saw the targets still standing on the sidewalk, although not kissing.

“Let’s just hope they’ll find a hotel, if I were them I’d do…” Cal made the comment.

“Dude, you need to get laid soon…” Luke shook his head in response to Cal cocking his eyebrow.

“Just like he will be…?!” Cal indicated out the window, pointing at the pair as they hold hands and the girl takes a few steps backward still facing their bandmate.

“Damn, I’m a genius…” grinned Mikey.

* * *

While waiting for the elevator in the building you hardly could let each other catch your breath, being able to kiss him without any heartbreak or shame felt beyond liberating.

“Waiiiit, shit” he pulled away from you.

“What’s wrong?”

“This time I don’t have any condoms, I wasn’t expecting… the whole press tour or this evening to take such a turn” he whispered.

“This only means… you have to… pull out in time…” you kissed it on his lips. “Can you do that for me?”

“Do you trust me?” he cupped your face looking in your eyes with his very serious ones. After all you were about to play a dangerous game, that can have consequences, so you had to be sure, you take this risk. But you trusted him more than anyone.

“You know I do.”

After getting back to your flat, between passionate kisses you helped each other get rid of your clothes and shortly you found yourselves naked on the couch, discarded clothes here and there on the floor around you.

Ash sat on the couch; you stood in front of him as he, kissing the skin on your stomach, pushed your last piece of cloth you had on -your panties- down your legs.

Straddling him you were holding onto his shoulders, and you slowly ran down your nails on his chest to his stomach very lightly. He most likely worked out more in the last six months; his abs became more defined than what you were remembering.

He reached up to pull you closer by the back of your neck merging you in a kiss that you were getting so many in the last 20 minutes from, and yet you couldn’t get enough.

You slid your hand lower to take his hardness and as you wrapped your fingers around it he moaned into your mouth just fueling your desire to give him as much pleasure as you can. You quickly started caressing him, smearing his pre-cum on his tip, before you lifted yourself on your knees enough to position his cock over your entrance.

“Wait, are you rea…”

“Am I ready?” you smiled at him and lead his tip over your wetness a few times. “I couldn’t be readier” you leaned towards him to kiss him again rewarding him for his thoughtfulness, since last time he made sure you were ready for him, now your kisses and touches ensured it.

You leaned your forehead against his as you lowered yourself on him, and a soft whimper escaped both of you at the same time.

“Fuck, woman…”

“God, you’re magic…” you gasped.

“We are” he tilted his head back against the headrest of the couch, leaving his throat free for you to lick and kiss.

After getting used to feeling his size inside you again, with the guidance of his hands on your hips you started to grind your hips, first just slowly, up and down, then slightly increasing the pace you were riding him harder letting him fully fill you up.

Your nails scratched down from his shoulders down to his chest leaving a light mark.

“Old habits die hard?” he breathed out making you smile with it as you brushed your fingers over the marks and you leaned forward to lick into his mouth, your hips never stopping with bouncing up and down on him.

„Is this good?” you asked him as you reached behind you, running your fingers around his balls squeezing them a little. Although you already knew the answer seeing the look in his eyes and hearing the hitches in his breathing. His body gave obvious responses to your touch.

„You haven’t been this chatty last time…” he swallowed back a groan.

„Well, last time you haven’t been this single, either…”

You were like fire on fire, perfectly igniting each other’s arousal. It was like you never felt yourself this alive.

He cupped your breasts in his hands and as you slowed your hips he took his time to caress and massage them, kiss them and suck on your nipples, circling his tongue around them sending you into hyperspace with all this sensation. Now you had the chance to discover what you couldn’t six months earlier.

Your movements slowed down as your thighs started to tire, and Ash sensing this took control over the things from then. His hands found their way back on your hips and he started to pound into you in the same rhythm you moved on him. It’s been a new sensation and his name fell from your lips like a prayer as your pleasure started to build in your core.

“Please don’t stop, I’m so close” you whispered in his ear whimpering before you took his earlobe with his earring into your mouth pulling on it a little.

He kept your hips in place and this time it was really just him moving his hips a bit faster than before and you screamed as your walls spamsed around his cock in you. He threw his head back and as his grip loosened on your hips you started moving again riding out your own climax.

He looked back at you and you smiled at him in your delirium, kissing him deeply for the pleasure he gave you.

Reaching under your butt he stood up and took you into your bedroom, putting you down on the bed.

“Where do you want me?” you asked as you really were ready to give him anything he wants or needs in any position.

“Just lie down. I’d like to see your pretty face as I take you.”

With only this one sentence he sent a jolt through you again and you did as he told, lying on your back you were waiting for his promise to be fulfilled.

Leaning over you he entered you again and with a louder moan you welcomed back that now familiar and oh so good feeling of having him inside you. This time he picked up a quicker pace that he slowed down on purpose from time to time, you saw him struggling more and more as he tried to lengthen our moments as long as he can, but six months was six months for him too…

“Ash, don’t hold it back” you caressed his face. “You can come. I need you to. We’ll have plenty of time to do this…” you brushed his lower lip with your thumb before he leaned down to kiss you.

After a few more thrusts, he pulled his cock out of you, rested it on your abdomen for a second, and looking down, seeing his length lying under your stomach you wished he could put it back to feel him finish off inside you.

He took his cock in his hand and started to pump it slowly until you reached down almost immediately to replace his hand with yours keeping your constant eye contact. Seeing the lust still shining in his eyes and hearing his groans through his gasping as your warm palm covers his soft skin lightly twirling and moving on it back and forth, paying special attention to the sensitive part right under his tip was the crown of this night for you. Without moving your head, only your eyes wandered down to capture the moment of his cum spilling out onto your stomach, your eyes immediately found back to his, your teeth grazing your bottom lip. Ash’s soft moans filled the room, the moans you could hear with your ears but feel with your soul. Not stopping with stroking him, you slowed down with your movements and he leaned down to kiss you while you still kept his length in your hand, your thumb wiping the last drops off of his tip.

“I’ll bring a cloth” he whispered on your lips after taking a look down at your stomach covered with the drops of his cum.

“You’ll find some in the bathroom cabinet.”

You heard him run the tap and soon he came back with a wet cloth helping you get clean, then wiped himself too. After taking it back to the bathroom, he came back and lied down next to you.

“I like your necklace” he stroked your jewelry hanging around your neck.

“It’s so beautiful, and I love it so much, I didn’t take it off since I received it.”

“Could we give this a chance? Maybe the timing wasn’t right back then, but it can be now. I want this. I want us. I want you.”

“If you’re working on to see me cry again, you’re doing it right” you smiled at him.

“I’m dead serious” he reached out to you and stroked your face.

“I know. And I’d like this too.” you took his hand in yours kissing into his palm.

“Come home to us.”

“I want to. And I will. But I have to close my barely begun life here first” you laughed.

“I won’t let you out of my reach again.”

“You better not, Irwin.”

He drew a cross over his heart with his pointer finger.

“In the morning we can work everything out. And this time I’ll be around.”

“Promise?” he smirked.

“Promise” you drew a cross over your heart too and leaning over him you sealed your promise on his lips with a kiss before he playfully pulled you onto his body.

Caressing and kissing each other you slowly quieted, and with tangled limbs you finally fell asleep in each other’s arms.

* * *

I can’t recall the last time I was this happy in my life.

Imagining a life where I open my eyes in the morning and the first thing I catch a glimpse of is the beautiful and peaceful face of the man I love was only a dream for me for so many years.

But it’s funny how life can make up for its own mistakes.

I remember the girl from six months earlier. How bad she wanted to touch him, how bad she wanted to kiss him awake, how bad she wanted to put her hand over his heart just to feel its even beating.

And now I’ll just do exactly that.

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin x reader #5sos #ashton irwin fic #fic time #fic by me

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your-hurricane · 4 years ago

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neon moon || chapter 1 - broadcast me a joyful noise unto the times

A/N: Disclaimer, I haven’t written fanfic since I was fourteen so please be gentle with me, friends

AO3 link

Fair warning that the only editing this has gone through has been proofreading!

Also, the first two chapters are largely exposition and setting up the various connections between Frankie and the MC (Natalia), but they will finally get to meet in chapter three!

Neon Moon summary: [starts three years after the events of the movie]

Single dad Francisco "Frankie" Morales and former Ph.D candidate Natalia Yevstigneyev-Diaz are trying their best.

Alternatively: Frankie and the woman about to change his life keep missing each other, until they don't.

“Whoo-wee! Nice one, Diaz!” Benny said from where he’d just been knocked onto his back atop the sparring mats.

At her instructor’s praise, Natalia Diaz preened, making a show of taking her long dark wavy-curls out of her workout ponytail and flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Thank you, thank you, always happy to hear my badassery is increasing.”

“I’d say perfecting. That was solid.”

“Yeah, haven’t seen him go down that unexpectedly probably ever,” piped up a man with big, kind brown eyes whose name Natalia swore was Frankie. She’d only ever heard him called by his real name once or twice --- Benny usually greeted him as Fish.

If Frankie was here, that meant the rest of Benny Miller’s military buddies would be trickling into the gym. Pity they seemed to be on time today— flipping Benny was fun, maybe he’d’ve given her a window to do it again. Sometimes if his buddies ran late he’d keep sparring with her past the self-defense session she’d paid for.

“It’s thanks to him and his lessons! Wouldn’t know where to begin without him.” Natalia hi-fived Benny from where he was on the floor, now sitting. “Thanks as always, Benny. See you Friday afternoon?”

“Hell yeah!”

“Awesome. Well, I’ll get out of your hair before the rest of the guys show up. Later Benny!” She nodded politely to Frankie just as she spotted the man she knew to be Benny’s older brother and...Pope? Santiago? again, she’d only run into these men in passing.

~.*~.*~.*~.*

Natalia Diaz’s early life read like an adventure, and in many ways, it had been. Her mother, Anna Diaz, was a first generation Mexican-American of Spanish, Mixtec, and Chinese background who met her father, then in medical school, while studying abroad in Russia. Her father, Gavril Yevstigneyev, was from Yakutsk of mixed Russian, Yakut, and Chuvash background. He was a doctor who gave up the possibility of an ultra-lucrative career to spend most of his life working as a medical officer in human rights organizations, and she was a research assistant in those same organizations.

Born while her father was practicing in St. Petersburg, Natalia Gavrilovna Yevstigneyeva Diaz didn’t spend too long in one place. She may have been a dual citizen of the United States and Russia but she didn’t set foot in the United States until she was twelve years old, and her earliest concept of ‘home’ was Pakse, Laos. She was educated at international schools across Southeast Asia, and spoke Lao, Khmer, and Vietnamese in daily life depending on where the Yevstigneyev family was living, Russian at home, learned English and French at school, and her mother taught her enough Spanish to understand her abuela’s English-Spanish mix on birthday and Christmas phone calls.

When it came time to graduate from secondary school - she graduated in Laos, ultimately - she even applied to universities across Laos, Canada, Cambodia, France, The United States, Switzerland, China, Singapore, Australia, and Russia. At her parents’ insistence she cast her net far and wide. Except, with twenty-two acceptance letters and zero rejections, she almost wished she hadn’t.

She studied at McGill University and through a combination of scholarships, her parents’ help, and her “waitressing” job (stripping job actually, and Natalia was damn proud of it and the crazy money it made, but knew her parents would flip out on her so she lied), she earned her B.A.s in linguistics with a minor in translation and interpretation, and anthropology.

She had her pick of the litter as far as where she could settle post-grad: her dual citizenship made the US and Russia wide open to her, Canadian employers were offering to keep her in Canada, her parents still lived in Laos - six years in one place? That was a record for her folks! - and the NGO they were working for straight up offered her a job without her even sending an application.

There wasn’t a grad school on planet Earth that would’ve rejected her application.

Natalia’s life should have been set forever. For a while, it was.

After a gap year traveling Bhutan, Thailand, Indonesia, Mongolia, and completing the Trans-Siberian railway with her younger sister Mariya, who took a gap year between secondary school and university herself, Natalia prepared to conquer grad school….at motherfucking Yale!

That same year, her parents and younger siblings (save Mariya who was studying at Yakutsk State University in their father’s home Russian Republic of Yakutia) moved to her mother’s home state of Texas. A part of Natalia felt bad for her eleven year old sister and the three year old twins out of some sense that her upbringing had been, objectively, the best possible. Natalia did not feel Russian, or Mexican, or American, or Laotian, or Cambodian, or Vietnamese, nor did she feel the need to. Borders were an arbitrary thing. People were people just with different languages, looks, and customs, and she believed she came to know that truth early in life because of her childhood as a third culture kid.

She understood why her parents made that decision though.

In her first year of grad school, the Yevstigneyev Diaz siblings were twenty-two year old Natalia, nineteen-year-old Mariya, eleven-year-old Valentina, and two-year-old Alisa and her twin brother, the only boy in the family, Pavel. Alisa had been born partially deaf and their parents, as if they could react any other way, saw it not as a terrible thing to mourn over but as an opportunity to learn. A challenge did not equal a burden in their eyes. When she was two, however, they realized they needed to either move back to Russia or move to the United States.

The Yevstigneyevs primarily worked and lived in Vietnam and Laos, and there was no singular Laotian or Vietnamese sign language, rather, localized sign languages. As Alisa grew from an infant to a toddler they decided they did not want to deprive her of Deaf culture, and thus, the decision to move to Texas was made.

Just two years after relocating to Texas, tragedy struck the family.

A car speeding through a red light killed Anna and Gavril on the way home from volunteering their time to teach Russian classes at the local Russian cultural center. Natalia, then twenty-four years old with a newly minted Masters from Yale and acceptances to three Ph.D programs, had to force out emails declining the offers, pack up her apartment, and move to Texas to raise her siblings.

Abuela Rita instinctively offered to handle her grandchildren, but Natalia couldn’t possibly make her abuela (who she barely knew at that) raise three children again. Besides, her mother’s youngest sister still lived at home, and this was the same year Hurricane Harvey destroyed one of her uncle’s homes and he, his wife, and their children were also living in Abuela’s home...yeah, no. No, this had to be Natalia.

It was Natalia or the state of Texas and like hell she was going to throw her three little siblings, two of them just four, and one of them deaf, into the system. Alisa being able to communicate in ASL was so important to her parents...how could Natalia possibly let Alisa go into a system that wouldn’t care?

And anyway, it wasn’t so bad. She used her fluency in Russian, Lao, Khmer, and French to work as a book translator. She’d even gone back to dancing four days a week for two reasons. A. You’d think speaking five languages fluently would mean she was making an assload of money, right? Wrong. and B. The inheritance and life insurance policies from her parents wouldn’t last forever and she had four college educations to finance.

That was three years ago, and two and a half years before she started taking self-defense classes from Benny Miller. She’d only been working at an Austin strip club for about four months when one handsy patron reminded her that she needed a refresher on how to throw a punch.

As for why she was Natalia Diaz now and not Natalia Yevstigneyeva? Well. She was still Natalia Yevstigneyeva-Diaz, but unless she was filling out legal papers, or at the Russian cultural center, it was just Diaz. Her mother’s last name was just easier for Austinites to pronounce right. You had to be at least a level six friend to unlock her tragic backstory and her full last name.

Natalia had had everything going for her until one drunk driver took her parents, her Ph.D goals, her planned return to traveling the world, and even her name in one instant.

She wished she had it in her to be bitter but that would require her to have time to think about herself anymore. If it wasn’t taking ASL classes with Alisa, it was listening to Mariya complain about her job. If it wasn’t Valentina’s archery competitions, it was Pavel’s gymnastics meets.

(Yes, yes, she knew. How stereotypically Russian of them to have a kid in competitive gymnastics. It wasn’t her idea! Pavel loved it and when he begged his big sister to be allowed more than one class a week...she dared anybody to say no to that face.)

Any Natalia time she did have was too precious to spend being bitter, she decided.

~.*~.*~.*~.*

“Natasha! Nataaaaaaaasha….NATASHA!”

“Wha!” Thud! “Fuck. Oww.”

Natalia groaned from where she’d fallen into a startled pile on the living room floor, staring up at the ceiling and turned her head to shoot a glare at Mariya.

“Marusya, one day, you’re going to scare me awake to actual death.”

“That’s impossible.” Valentina said from where she sat at the dining table typing up a paper for school. “If you’re scared to literal death you can’t be scared awake because you’ll be dead. Dead people can’t be awake.”

“Unless she’s a zombie, Valya!” Shouted Pavel from his room down the hall.

“Pasha’s got a point.” Mariya said, to which Natalia grabbed her foot and yanked hard, making her shriek as she fell against the couch. “Oof. Anyway, you’re going to be late for work if you don’t hurry up.”

Natalia checked her watch and let out a swear under her breath. “I really need to not spar with Benny on work nights. Hey, Valya-” she sat up on the floor and whirled around to face her middle sister. “Do I need to drop you off for babysitting anywhere tonight?”

Valentina shook her head. “Abuela’s picking me up to take me to Mr. Morales’. I’m watching Daniela.” Mr. Morales - whoever that was - lived near Abuela and her taking Valentina to his house gave her some ‘Valone time’ she liked to say.

Natalia peeled herself off the floor and made her way to her bedroom, stopping by Alisa’s on the way. She grabbed the purple narwhal plushie that lived in a little basket attached to her door - the Get Alisa’s Attention Narwhal - and gently tossed it at Alisa, and when it landed in her lap Alisa tossed it back to Natalia, kept her hands free, and said “I didn’t forget.”

“Good. If you’re good at the dentist tomorrow morning, I’ll buy you ice cream after.”

“Isn’t that the opposite of what you should do after the dentist?”

“So you don’t want ice cream?” “That’s not what I said!”

Natalia laughed and stepped far enough into Alisa’s room to ruffle her hair and then said, “Be good. Masha’s in charge while I’m at work.”

~.*~.*~.*~.*

“Thought you were day shift on Wednesdays, Natasha!” A black woman with her hair in box braids — Jess, stage name Phoenix — said, throwing her arm around Natalia when she first got to work.

“Nah, I talked to Paris, got my hours changed around, remember? Gosh, it’s like you don’t remember everything I ever say to you.”

Jess stuck her tongue out and muttered, “Bitch,” before smooching Natalia’s cheek.

Natalia shoved Jess off of her with a giggle. “Go finish getting ready, ya crazy.” She sat down in front of one of the available mirrors to touch up her makeup before she was officially working, then addressed Jess again. “My 11-8 days are now Sunday and Monday. Wednesday, Saturday, I’m here with you 8 til 4, baybeeeee.”

“Mm, good call. Wine Wednesday.”

Half price wine meant more cash for dancers.

“Needs more body glitter,” Natalia said in her best Christopher Walken impression, before unscrewing the cap of her body glitter to shiny herself up.

“Now in your Zoya voice!”

“Needs more body glitter,” Natalia repeated, this time, in her stage persona’s stronger Russian accent.

The accent helped to further distinguish between Zoya the performer and who Natalia was offstage. It also wasn’t exactly offensive, either, because it was just Natalia exaggerating the accent she naturally had and just making it consistently Russian. It was a mess otherwise. Natalia and Mariya...talked funny. Their accents were kind of impossible to place because of how they learned English and which languages they first learned to actually speak in.

At first listen, their international school education would hint at American- ish . But listen closely and certain vowels come out like an Aussie or a Canadian, courtesy of international school teachers from those countries. Listen for another moment and you’ll hear that Natalia’s tongue, specifically, never learned to consistently make certain sounds that English has that Russian, Lao, Vietnamese and Khmer just don’t. Natalia’s H’s came out harsh courtesy of her Russian father. And both Natalia and Mariya had a habit of dropping articles when telling their younger siblings to ‘close window’ or ‘feed dog and cat.’

For the most part, as Natalia tried to explain to anybody who asked about her accent, English was a language for the classroom. They spoke exclusively Russian in the home and out in ‘the wild’ spoke the local language. Yakutsk was a closer flight from Laos, Cambodia, or Vietnam than Austin was so if they visited any grandparents for Christmas it was their babushka and dedushka in Russia.

Returning to the US permanently never was the plan, remember. It was only a decision they made for Alisa to live somewhere with a standard sign language -- and the only reason, Anna confessed to Natalia once, that they didn’t go back to Russia, was because Natalia had recently come out as bisexual.

“We worried for Valya and the twins. What if they also grow up and realize they aren’t straight? The way it is in Russia for people like you...your father and I love Russia more than the United States. But we love our kids more than Russia.”

She hated how vivid that conversation was in her head. There were some truly beautiful moments with her mother that had already faded from memory. How unfair of her brain to let things like holidays, birthdays, and her mother’s hugs slip.

“Drive home safe, Jess.” Natalia bid her friend farewell a little after four the next morning, kissing her on the cheek before she unlocked her own car. If she got up to 70 and stayed there, she’d be home in time to count her tips, shower, and fix breakfast for the kiddos before school and in Alisa’s case, the dentist.

~.*~.*~.*~.*

“Stand still Pasha,” Natalia said as she gently bopped the seat of her baby brother’s pants to knock the glitter off them. “Your butt looks like a glitter cannon exploded right next to it.”

Pavel giggled and pointed out, “It’s your fault there’s always glitter in your bed.”

“You shouldn’t lay down in my bed for naps after I’ve woken you up for school anyway. Especially not after you’ve already got your clothes on, you dingus.”

“ Heeeey, that’s mean!” Pavel pouted.

“Not if I’m saying it with love. Which I am.” Natalia stood up and pressed a kiss to the top of her brother’s head. “Okay, your butt’s as unsparkly as it's gonna get.”

“I don’t see what wrong with having a sparkly butt anyway.” Pavel grumbled.

“Now run along to the bus stop with the other kids. Be good at school, learn lots, I love you kid.”

“Love you too , Natashe-!” the -nka! came muffled as Pavel had darted out the door to run down to the bus stop.

Natalia sipped on her coffee and watched out the window as her brother darted across the field to the complex’s mailbox pavilion to make sure he joined the other children safely. Satisfied he had, she turned away from the window to trudge back to the kitchen and refill her coffee and begin her vanilla work for the day before she had to wake Alisa for the dentist. On today’s docket? Trying to get through editing at least the first third of her Russian translation of the next book in the hottest new YA series.

There was nothing Natalia wanted more than a nap but she was already cutting her deadline close. Right on schedule was the same as being behind in the literary translation world. If she wasn’t so ahead of schedule she was getting bored then she was nearing panic mode.

Logically she knew that only she felt that way. Her boss didn’t, or at least never felt the need to express to her that he did, but just herself was enough to put the pressure on from beginning to end of a project.

It had benefited her in school. Not so much in her career.

A life in academia as a linguistics scholar and researcher would have suited her better. The universe didn’t consider that when it let a drunk driver kill her parents and leave her three siblings to raise and Mariya’s academic dreams to finance.

#pedro pascal fandom #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #francisco morales x ofc #my fic #neon moon fic #ofc of color #multiracial ofc #Francisco catfish Morales

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beardpeak1 · 4 years ago

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Females Training Bursary Spotlight 2

Women Coaching In Football

Content

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How many college athletes quit?

Attrition occurs in college athletics at all levels of the NCAA. No matter how much a recruit falls in love with the school, the sport, the facilities nearly 33% will quit or be asked to leave before they graduate.

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brooklynmuseum · 5 years ago

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Stronger Together

Weekend Roundup of Resources for our Community 

What’s up Brooklyn?! We’re back with another list of resources for you and yours. The impacts of this pandemic are far-reaching and deeply felt here in Brooklyn. We know there are many needs not being met, and many who are willing to help out where they can. Now more than ever, it is essential that we come together as a community to support each other with social solidarity, even if we are physically distant. Check out new opportunities to support and be supported in this week’s roundup. Let’s do what we do best in Brooklyn… spread love.

If you have questions, or have more you wish to see or to spotlight, reach out. We want to hear from you. Please email [email protected].

Also, text 'COVID' to 692-692 to get important COVID-19 related updates sent straight to your phone. You can text 'COVIDESP' to get updates in Spanish.

Follow Our Elected Officials For News:

The Mayor has a new Daily Message available on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and YouTube every morning. If your constituents have questions, comments or concerns, they want him to respond to, they can send them using the hashtag #AskMyMayor

The Office of the Brooklyn Borough President provides the most up-to-date information and resources to Brooklynites. Follow these pages regularly and follow Brooklyn Borough President Eric Adams on social media for real-time updates.

Follow updates and news from Council Member Laurie A. Cumbo on Facebook and Twitter. Cumbo serves as the Council Majority leader for Brooklyn’s 35th District- Fort Greene, Clinton Hill, Crown Heights, Prospect Heights and Bed-Stuy.

Follow New York City Council Member Robert E. Cornegy, representing Brooklyn 36th District- Bedford Stuyvesant and Northern Crown Heights on Twitter , Facebook, and Instagram for important updates regarding COVID-19 updates.

Congresswoman for the 9th District, Yvette D. Clark is working hard in Congress to support our local communities. Follow the Congresswoman on her Twitter to receive updates on what is going on in Washington DC and resources available in your ‘hood!

Stay up to date with information provided by Governor Cuomo. Follow our New York State governor on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram for up to date information regarding new health guidelines closures, and executive orders.

Follow updates from the NYC City Immigrant Affairs office on Twitter interested in renewing your DACA application form. Call ActionNYC at 1-800-354-0365.

Local Business Highlights of the Week:

Known for their traditional Senegalese cuisine, Cafe Rue Dix takes pride in incorporating fresh ingredients and bold spices to create some of the best fran-senegalese dishes in NYC located right in Crown Heights. Take out is available from 12-9pm, and if you’re cooking or working at home, try their signature coffee and hot sauce for a real pick me up.

While we dream of what will come, Berg’n is asking their fellow patrons, who have the means during this time, to donate any tips they would give while visiting this local hang-out. You can donate to their phenomenal team by clicking here.

Census

There’s still time! Complete the 2020 Census today at my2020census.gov.

It's not too late to RSVP to host a Census Text-a-Thon in your district on April 20th. Participating in a Text-a-Thon from home is an easy and safe way for New Yorkers to do something positive for our City. NYC Census 2020 will provide access to the peer-to-peer texting tool, Hustle, and will provide all the technical support necessary for people to volunteer to text. RSVP to host a Text-a-Thon in your district on April 20th by emailing Katya Murphy or Jason Reischel. Support for Artists, Freelancers, and Gig Workers

Freelancers in NYC: If you're facing nonpayment issues, file a complaint through NYC Consumer Affairs, which has a list of worker’s rights!

The Arts and Culture Leaders of Color Emergency Fund is set up to help those pursuing careers as artists or arts administrators whose income has been directly impacted by the COVID-19 pandemic. This fund is for those who self-identify as BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, People of Color).

Solidarity 4 Service, is a grassroot effort to connect individuals to each other in efforts to provide relief for those who are unemployed or underemployed due to COVID-19. For more information, visit their Support for Service Industry/Gig/Freelance Workers intake survey.

The NYC Low-Income Artist Freelance Relief Fund has intentons to collectively raise funds to provide emergency and preventative resources to artist who are at finical ris and low-income BIPOC, trans/GNC/NB/Queer artist and freelancers.

Creative Capital has created a resource fund which helps artists find various national, state and local grants, mental health assistance.

Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS' COVID-19 Emergency Assistance Fund is helping entertainment professionals meet coronavirus-related expenses and other challenges brought about by the evolving pandemic.

The Jazz Foundation of America provides jazz and blue artists with an experienced social worker to assess his/her situation and provide rapid assistance.

Queer Writers of Color Relief Fund is offering finicial assistance to queer writiers to at least 100 writers, each writer reciveing $5,000.

The South Asian Arts Resiliency Fund is a direct response by the India Center Foundation to offer support to South Asian arts workers impacted by COVID-19.

Dance NYC is offering one time grants for dance making organizations with an annual operating budget between $25,00 and $500,00. Eligibility is determined based upon loss of income or incurred expenses due to COVID-19.

The National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) has issued guidance on applying for the $75 million it was allocated in the CARES Act. If a nonprofit cultural organization has received NEA support in the last four fiscal years, they are eligible to apply for a direct grant. Apply by April 22!

For another roundup of resources for artists, check out artnet’s recent article.

Resources for children and families

For updates regarding the Coronavirus and New York City public schools, visit New York City Department of Education Coronavirus Communicaications page.

As the weeks of staying at home stretch on, they are taking their toll on many of us. The mindfulness app HeadSpace has teamed up with New York State to offer free guided meditations and other resources to support the mental wellbeing of New Yorkers during this crisis.

For many, pets are more than just animals — they are a part of the family. As members of your family, they should be included in your emergency planning process. Make sure your disaster plan addresses what you will do when an emergency requires you to leave your home, leave your pet at home, or prevents you from returning home. Visit NYCEM pets planning for more information

No Kid Hungry is offering emergency grants to support local school districts and nonprofit organizations in their efforts to ensure kids get the nutritious food they need. Fill out this grant request form here.

Did you know that you can use your Snap benefits to order groceries online? Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) benefits can be used to shop online for fresh produce and groceries! Use your EBT card to shop securely for fresh produce and groceries at participating stores in the New York City area.

One Week of Free Groceries: The Department of Probation, Neighborhood Opportunity Network (NeON) Nutrition Kitchens, in partnership with the Food Bank of NYC and the NYC Young Men’s Initiative (YMI) have opened five kitchens -- one in each borough -- to distribute free food, available to any New Yorker who needs it.

Women.NYC, which is powered by the New York City Economic Development Corporation, released a downloadable guide for free and low-cost tech courses in New York City.

DOE Graphics Library: A collection of graphics on the DOE's recent announcements that can be shared with families and educators, in all 9 DOE languages

For more information about remote learning, activities for students, and technical support go to schools.nyc.gov/LearnAtHome

While Family Justice Centers are physically closed, anyone can call any of our borough centers for help with safety planning, mental health and planning, legal help, or help in connecting to law enforcement agencies. For more information please visit the Mayor's Office to End Domestic and Gender Based Violence or call our 24-hour Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-621-4673.

Ways to Volunteer and Serve

Visit New York Blood Center to find out how you may be able to donate plasma for those who have recovered from COVID-19.

For Individuals/Organizations/Companies offering to DONATE PPE, visit NYC Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) Donation Portal.

Help Now NYC is providing New Yorkers with opportunities to find out how they can help others affected by COVID-19 and help New Yorkers find organizations that will help them receive COVID-19 related assistance.

The NYC Share Your Space Survey is critical to helping the City prepare for emergencies and outreach to all of the City's communities. Organizations citywide are encouraged to participate.

NYCEDC is currently seeking businesses with the ability to quickly source and/or make needed medical supplies (e.g. face shields, gowns, ventilators, masks, and other products as needed) to support the City’s COVID-19 response.

Deliver meals and emergency food bags to home-bound elderly living in a variety of Brooklyn neighborhoods (car recommended) with Heights and Hills. Learn more here.

Corona Couriers is a collective of cyclists willing to courier supplies to people in need for free, using low contact methods. Email [email protected] if interested.

Here, you may find a source guide specifically for immigrant communities during the COVID-19 pandemic: Please help by passing it along. Also, FYI, this week is Immigrant Heritage Week!

For People in Need

Domestic Violence: If you are experiencing domestic violence, you locate nearby resources online using NYC HOPE, the City’s Resource Directory for services for survivors. Check out NYC Mayor’s Office to End Domestic and Gender-Based violence to attain more resources for survivors during COVID-19.

For individuals with disabilities, visit the Mayor’s Office for People with Disabilities. More information may be found NYC Mayor’s Office of Disabilities Twitter, as well as contacting representatives at 311 or visitor connect via video phone at 646-396-5830.

DOITT has developed a portal, to help guide the City’s response to the COVID-19 pandemic. The portal is available in 11 languages and allows New Yorkers to self-report COVID-19 information and will help New York City both better communicate with affected people and identify areas that may need enhanced response. Inputs are confidential. People without internet access or who need help, can call 311.

Possibly Mimbres. Standing Figure, 1100-1000 B.C.E. Stone, pigment). Brooklyn Museum, Museum Expedition 1903, Museum Collection Fund, 03.325.4528. Creative Commons-BY

#strongertogether #brooklynstrong #covid-19 #covid relief #corona virus #community #art museums #nyc #brooklyn #brooklyn museum #community resources #artists #resources

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jaehyun-eclipsed · 4 years ago

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Before I Met You | Nine

Updates: Sundays, ~8 PM EST

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark…) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Author’s Note: I’m going to update the masterlist with a bit more of an outline so you can see what’s coming up next! Thanks for following along this far!

Before I Met You Masterlist

Prev | Next

Mark [10:30 AM] What do you feel like eating?!

Me [10:40 AM] Umm how about Thai?

Mark [10:45 AM] YES! WATERMELON JUICE!!! 🍉🍉

Me [11:00 AM] Lol 😂 I have class until 12:30. Let’s meet at 12:45!

“Yo, I love watermelon!” Mark says as he eagerly sips from the black straw in his drink. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you again for helping me out so much this semester. You literally saved my life.”

“You’re welcome! I’m glad I could help.”

“Honestly, though! I had a C in lab, but with your help, I’ve gotten it to a B!”

“Yay! That’s so great!”

He twirls some noodles onto his fork, placing them into his mouth and humming with satisfaction. “So now that the first year is nearly over, how do you feel?”

I push a carrot around on my plate, contemplating my answer. How do I feel? I feel better. Better, now that you’ve become a part of my life. You’re my first real friend here.

“Um, I guess I’m relieved.”

“Oh?” There’s a pause while he considers my response. “You didn’t like it?”

I sigh. “No… I don’t know, I – I just haven’t been very happy here. I mean, in the beginning, I tried to put myself out there and make friends. I’m pretty introverted so it’s challenging sometimes.”

“Oh really? You seem like someone that has it easy making friends… I thought you seemed really nice.”

Ha! Most people think I’m intimidating…

I scoff. “Really? No, I’m pretty quiet and I don’t smile much.”

“You smiled at me…”

Yeah, there’s a reason for that.

“Well, anyway I had befriended some of my floormates when we met at the dorm meeting and we would go out and get boba or ice cream at night. I thought I was adjusting quite well. I tried to avoid calling my parents too often because I didn’t think they wanted to hear from me every day, but that barely lasted a week.” I blink back the tears forming in my eyes before they have a chance to stream down my face. “And then soon enough, I was alone all the time. I was never in the mood to be around people. So after declining multiple invitations to hang out, they just stopped asking me and I would just spend the days studying for exams without getting the results I actually want.”

His expression saddens, as if he wished that we had met earlier… that he could have been there for me earlier. I won’t make this a question of fate, but I won’t say I didn’t wish for this to have happened earlier either. But better late than never, right?

“Do you ever talk to your friends from high school?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Not really. My best friend Hana never answers the phone and I’m not as comfortable talking to some of my other friends about these things. So…” I trail off. “Though, one of my friends asked me if I had thought about transferring to the nearby state college at home…”

“Is that what you want?”

“No.”

Truthfully, I didn’t want to do that. There was a financial loss associated with it and I couldn’t stand to go back to the state college that most of my high school classmates were at. I wasn’t friends with most of them and to some extent, I feared the judgement of what they would think if I returned – that I had the audacity to leave something that so many others want: the prestigious out-of-state college experience. And what was I leaving for? Because I couldn’t make friends and felt homesick all the time? No one would understand that. I suppose I could just say it was a matter of cost… but then I’d just be stupid for having gone at all in the first place.

But then again, does it really matter what they think?

“So what do you want?”

I think about his question for a moment. What do I want? “I don’t know.”

“I’m not just saying this to make you feel better, but I do think things will get better for you. It just takes some time,” he says. “That’s what being out of your comfort zone does to you.”

I look at him quizzically. “Hm?”

“You moved away from home for the first time, right?”

“Yes…”

“That’s a big transition, you know? You have to get used to a brand new city all by yourself! Of course there are going to be some challenges. But that’s also where you’ll do the most growth.”

I’ve never had a heart-to-heart conversation with Mark – we usually talked about chemistry or classes or current events… So this is the first time I’ve been able to see that Mark is surprisingly wise. It contrasts with his seemingly young and innocent demeanor.

“And it’s hard when the people you’re trying to become friends with are dealing with the same challenges,” he continues. “You can’t help others easily if you’re struggling a lot yourself. But it also shows you that you’re not alone in your struggles… even if it feels that way sometimes.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I say. “I know that if I had stayed in my hometown and went to the local state college, I’d probably live at home and commute to school. It wouldn’t be much different from high school.”

“Yeah! You’re only going to grow if you do new things and put yourself into new situations. So as you get used to this place and figure out how to get around and adjust, you’ll be fine!” He grins at me. “Plus, you have me now.”

I offer a half-smile and lower my gaze. “Thanks.” But soon, I grow curious as I look back up at him and rest my cheek on my fist. “You seem happy. How did you adjust so well?”

“Me?” He looks surprised, then let’s out a breath before shaking his head. “Adjusting was hard for me too.”

“If that’s true, you’re awfully good at hiding it.”

He keeps his gaze on the table, a small smile graces his lips. “I’m glad you think so. But I’m just like everybody else. Though, I do like to travel and meet people so it’s just easier for me to find distractions.” He shrugs. “We’re all struggling in some way on the inside,” he says solemnly. “It’s just that some are better at hiding it than others.”

We’re all just amateur actors in disguise.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload all of that onto you.” I gnaw at my bottom lip. “It’s just that… you’re the first person I’ve felt comfortable around in a while.”

“Oh that’s okay! We all need someone to talk to sometimes. So I’m glad I can be that person for you.”

I’ve never been good at getting out of my comfort zone – I don’t think anyone really is. It’s hard to do something new because, well, it’s new. And now, with technology and social media, we expect instant results – instant gratification. But things take time. Anything worthwhile takes time. I know Mark is right… it’ll get better eventually. I just have to be patient.

“So on a lighter note,” I begin, “what classes are you going to take next semester?”

“Oh, I’m not gonna be here next semester.”

What?

I blink at him, trying to comprehend what he just said. “You’re not?”

“No, I’m going to England for a study abroad program. I got a full scholarship.”

I barely process what he’s said before I feel my heart plummet. “Oh – oh wow! That’s exciting!” I say, trying my best to hide the disappointment I actually feel. “Just for a semester?”

“It’s for a year,” he says. “So I’ll be back next year!

I’m sure the shock on my face is evident as Mark’s face flashes a look of concern. Before he can say anything else and though it doesn’t reach my eyes, I smile widely. “That’s going to be so much fun!”

He hesitates, a sorrowful half-smile on his face as he looks down at the table again, hyperaware of how he’s probably just made me feel absolutely terrible after I had the courage to share my feelings of unhappiness with him. I can tell he feels guilty, considering I was bold enough to admit that he’s the first person I’ve been able to confide in since I’ve arrived.

“I’m sorry that we didn’t have the opportunity to spend more time together... I wish I could’ve been around earlier.”

“Well, it is difficult to meet someone if you don’t know they exist…”

“Yeah, but even so. I wish that we had crossed paths earlier…” He sighs. “But when I’m gone, I’ll write letters to you!”

I look at him dumbfounded and shift my eyes around the restaurant as a crooked smile makes its way onto my face. “Umm… We have phones, you know? And email… and instant messaging…”

“Yeah, I’ll use those too!” he says quickly. “But haven’t you ever had a pen pal?!”

“Uh, yeah, back in the sixth grade…”

“Oh my gosh!” Mark practically jumps out of his seat. “That must have been so much fun! I’ve never had a pen pal and I like the idea of letter writing. I don’t do it too often, but I’d like to!”

“Are you really going to write letters to me though?” I ask skeptically.

“Of course!” he insists. “I promise!” A pause. “So, you’ll be my first pen pal?!”

With a warm and genuine smile, I say, “Yes, I’d love to be your pen pal.”

“Awesome! I’m so excited! Let’s take a picture, okay?” He reaches for his phone in his pocket. “I don’t have any with you.”

To say I felt disappointed was an understatement. I was devastated. For the first time since I arrived on campus, the constant feeling of loneliness was starting to disappear. I was… happy. I had finally found a friend that I was comfortable around and could connect with. I know he’s only going to be gone for a year, but it already took nearly a year to find him in the first place.

And just like that, he was gone.

Mark [9:31 PM] Hey I really enjoyed spending time with you today 😊

Me [9:33 PM] I did too! Thank you for lunch!

I sigh, contemplating on whether to send the next message, ultimately deciding I have nothing to lose.

Me [9:35 PM] Low-key, I’m sad you’re leaving

Mark [9:40 PM] I know! I am too! I love it here, but I’m really excited to go to London!

Mark [9:43 PM] But, listen, you’re gonna do great! You’re gonna make so many new friends! And I’m always just a call away!

I really like Mark as a person. I guess you could say that I have a crush on him, but now would be the wrong time to tell him.

As finals were coming to an end and the stress and studying could slow down, I spent more time thinking about Mark’s imminent departure for London. I knew we would keep in contact, but I wanted to give him something as a memento of our short, but very precious friendship. And so, during my study breaks, I crafted something for him.

Me to Mark [11:15 AM] Hey! Are you free today? I wanted to say goodbye since I know you’re leaving tomorrow!

Mark [11:30 AM] Yeah! I just finished my last final! Are you at the dorm? I can meet you outside in 15 min!

Me [11:32 AM] Yeah! I’m at the dorm! I’ll see you then!

“It’s a – ‘see you later’ gift… Something to remember me by.”

I wanted Mark’s present to be special and I was quite crafty when it came to homemade gifts. Mark is an avid traveler and his Instagram page is filled with photos of his adventures. I found a hardcover notebook with a metal clasp; the cover was illustrated with a globe of the world, embossed in gold trimming. Searching through his Instagram pictures, I collected the photos and made an intricate collage to decorate the inside covers.

He’s nearly speechless as he opens the cover, tracing his fingers along each photo. “Yo! Really?!” He covers his mouth with his hand. “I – I don’t know what to say.”

“I thought you might like to have all of your memories in hand, literally. It’s a journal – you can jot down notes or whatever in it… Oh and I left a note on the first page.” I look up at him. “Do you like it?”

He suddenly throws his arms around me. He’s warm and I can smell the softest hint of cologne. “I love it! This is – no one’s ever given me a gift like this before!” His arms tighten around me. “I’ll miss you so much!”

“I’ll miss you too…” I say, my face pressed firmly into his chest.

More than you’ll ever know.

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Before I Met You Masterlist Masterlist

#nct #nct 127 #nct u #wayv #cznnet #jung jaehyun #jaehyun #nct jaehyun #jung yoonoh #nct lucas #lucas wong #wong yukhei #superm #nct mark #mark lee #before i met you #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct angst

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itslmdee · 5 years ago

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Fiction: The Imprisonment of Daniel Watkins

In a dystopian future Dan is arrested, not for committing a crime, but for a computer’s prediction that he might somehow cause deaths if left at liberty. mentions of selfharm/suicidal ideation

“Weekly visitation, Watkins.” The masked guard rapped the long stick against the bars.

Dan got to his feet and waited as the guard opened the door. He exited the cell, the guard following, the stick hovering behind his back the whole way there, another two guards armed with Tasers waiting near the end of the corridor.

As Dan approached the guards moved backwards, never letting him get too close. They made their way to the cubicle where a large TV screen was waiting for him. Dan sank into the plastic chair and the image of his wife appeared on the screen.

He longed to touch her, to see her in person even, but even face to face visits were forbidden. Sarah gave him a weak smile but he knew she’d been crying again.

“How are you?” he asked.

She nodded as if to reassure him. “I’m okay.” She was wearing a blouse with long sleeves and he had to take her word for it that she hadn’t reverted to self-harm. “You?”

“Still alive,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant but unable to hide the bitterness in his tone. This was existing, not living. “I haven’t heard from Bryan.” His lawyer was usually better at keeping him updated.

“I called him this morning,” Sarah said. “He’s still waiting to hear from the judge.”

Dan’s heart sank. The judge had demanded more evidence and who knew how long that would take.

“I put some more posts on social media,” Sarah said. “Most of them got taken down but a few were allowed to stay up and even the censored ones got some attention before they were deleted. There are people out there on your side, and Tamara’s video channel has gained another thousand followers. No luck with the TV news.”

The television news delighted in their preferred narrative. Daniel Watkins was a potential murderer, not an innocent victim in their broadcasts and his indefinite incarceration a matter of public good.

“What about that journalist, from the Galaxy Eye?” Sarah asked. “Did he write back to you?”

“Yes. Heavily redacted by the time it got to me. He’s interested but he needs to convince the paper to publish my side of the story. He’s been writing short pieces on his blog but his employers aren’t ready to challenge the mainstream story yet. I’ve asked him to send you hard copies of any further letters.”

Sarah nodded. “I love you,” she said, lip trembling. She placed her hand against the screen. Dan hovered his palm near hers.

They talked a little more but soon Dan was told to end the call. It was automatically cut off mid-goodbyes. He got to his feet and began to walk back to his cell. Rubber gloved cleaners moved to scrub the screen and the desk and the chair behind him.

Dan sat on his bunk, head in his hands. He’d been on his way home from the office when two police officers had dragged him off the street and into a cell. He’d been confused, asked for a lawyer, denied one. This was a matter of public protection and the normal rules did not apply.

He’d been allowed to phone Sarah after he said she’d be reporting him missing. She’d promised to get a lawyer but, as she later told him over a video call, they’d been prevented from contacting Dan during the first phase of his interrogation.

He was held for 48 hours initially, was forced to give blood and hand over his social media passwords. He was told an emergency extension had been applied. After 72 hours he was allowed to speak briefly to his lawyer, who was forced to sit across the room from him.

“It’s the new ICM software,” Bryan Fairfax said. “It’s been running models for a while now and making predictions. Enough of those predictions came true, according to police records, that they moved from using it to confirm perpetrators to catching them. We’ve been following the legal implications closely. But last week they moved further, to attempt to use it to prevent crimes. You got flagged as a potential murderer.”

Dan stared at him, mouth agape. “What?” he said at last. This was like that old movie with the ladies who sat in a bath predicting crime.

“It’s classified data but we’re filing motions to try and get access,” Bryan said. “We have no idea what they’re basing their assumptions on. They’re claiming everything from terrorism to domestic violence to spreading disease. They say you’re at risk of killing anywhere from one to one thousand people.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Bryan nodded. “Because this is considered a matter of public protection most of your legal rights have been suspended. My firm is doing its best and I’m looking at every angle here. We’re pretty sure this is a test case to see how the public reacts before they fully roll it out, and we’re going to represent you pro bono here. Rollins senior was a great believer in personal freedoms and the firm is keen to be seen upholding civil liberties.”

It sounded like a wonderful opportunity for Rollins, Rollins, and Fairfax. It was less exciting for Dan, treated like a criminal though he’d done nothing wrong.

“I’m going to court in half an hour,” Bryan said. “I’m certain we won’t get bail though I’ll ask for it. You won’t be allowed to attend. They’re treating you as a high security risk.”

So Dan sat and waited. Bryan returned later that afternoon, standing across the room again.

“They’re keeping you for another two weeks,” he said. “I’m sorry. They’re asking for more data from the ICM. And they don’t want me seeing you again. Video calls only from here on out. I protested it was a violation of privacy but the government minister for health said it was, according to the model, too much of a risk to allow you too near any other person. The guards will be keeping their distance and you’ll only be allowed a half hour outside your cell when no other prisoners are in the yard, and to take a brief shower each morning after everyone else has used the facilities.”

Dan had been in solitary confinement ever since, meals pushed through a slot in his cell, his cell hosed down while he showered, only ever seeing masked guards delivering his food or escorting him to the showers or the yard. Two weeks had been extended to four, then six, then nine.

Sarah was frantic and Dan was terrified for her. She’d come a long way in the last few years, from anxious and suicidal to a self-confident woman who’d left her self-harming behind. He was proud of her and told her how it was her own strength and her renewed faith that had made the difference, though she gave him significant credit. She said he’d given her something to live for, someone who loved her and would never belittle or hurt her. He feared a return to her previous state of mind.

After the six week extension, with Bryan sadly certain that nine would again be extended without major new evidence, Dan was, for the first time in his life, feeling helpless enough to wonder if living was worth the pain. He truly sympathised now with Sarah’s despair.

If he killed himself however it would prove the model right; the media would spin it as him being a murderer, albeit of himself. He was getting desperate but he didn’t want ICM’s programmers and those funding the software to win.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Dan wrote on the old, tiny tablet he was allowed to use in his cell, the only entertainment he had, frowning at the cracked screen as he typed. “I am innocent yet presumed guilty. I have had my civil rights violated because of a computer programme that no-one outside of the ICM thinktank has been allowed to analyse. I am kept isolated from human contact for 23 hours a day, every day. I am not allowed to see my wife aside from on a computer screen. I am not allowed to talk to my lawyer except on a video call which is monitored by the prison and, I believe, the government and representatives of the ICM. My name is Daniel Watkins and I am not a murderer.”

He sent the message out via email to the newspapers, the TV stations, various bloggers and vloggers and anyone else who might listen. The email might get intercepted by the prison or redacted; he’d copied in Sarah and Bryan and vlogger Tamara Maina (who’d been outspoken in his defence, the first social media influencer to take his side) so they could confirm receipt. Even if it went out intact the message went against the media hysteria: “Mass Murderer Prevented”, “Murderer Jailed BEFORE He Could Kill”, “Innocents Saved by ICM software.”

His professional social media accounts had been frozen after the waves of hatred began, accusing him of murder and wishing him dead.

Dan had voted in every election since coming of age. He knew politicians lied and exaggerated and he knew there were some corrupt cops but he’d always had an overall trust in and respect for his government and the law, and had largely believed people were decent and kind at heart. No longer, not after this.

He lay on his bunk and stared at the stone walls, remembering a time he’d been allowed to lie next to Sarah and hold her hand, to kiss her cheek, and to suggest they shower together before a lazy breakfast and a walk by the river before getting Sunday lunch at their favourite pub. He would probably never get to do any of those things ever again.

ICM was the villain here, not Dan. No, ICM was a machine, and those who had programmed it were at fault. But they’d never face justice even if, somehow, Dan could be freed. ICM’s predecessor, the ICA, had wrongly predicted an outbreak of a disease spread by horses. Millions of beautiful animals had been slaughtered, whole stables razed to the ground by public health officials and a panicked public alike. When other scientists proved with their own models and a battery of tests, that the ICA had been utterly wrong, people had shrugged and said better safe than sorry and the ICA had supposedly been retired, only to reemerge as the ICM, based on the same faulty code.

Dan was collateral, like those poor horses, or a test case, as Bryan suggested, for a sinister move to punish people on mere suspicion of future misdeeds. Both. Neither. It was the same result. Dan was a prisoner and would remain so, possibly for the rest of his existence.

#fiction #my fiction #dystopia #short fiction #writing #short stories #danielwatkins #reblog of writingwednesday

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thequintessetial · 4 years ago

Text

My Experience as an Online Student

The pandemic has upended societies and altered each person’s everyday life, how we usually spend our time on work, travel, relax, celebrate, learn and etc. There’s no doubt that this virus will forever change the normal that we perceive, when I can still freely walk along the session road, sharing one umbrella with my friends while laughing because it’s too small for the four of us, when we use to hangout and treat ourselves after a nerve-wracking exam and when we travel with our friends and family. However, I doubt that we can still do those things after this pandemic without having anxiety that we might get infected. All of us are adjusting in this new normal where we cannot go outside without wearing a mask and face shield, where almost everything is done virtually or online like our classes.

Shifting from a traditional classroom to virtual learning is new to me. At first, I was hesitant to enroll for this third trimester, students do not have the same ability to understand concepts and I am fully aware of my mental ability. I was having difficulties learning face to face so I thought that online classes are much harder compared to physical classroom. Being in a traditional classroom makes it easier for me to clarify something that I was not able to understand because I can ask my friends about it. But now even the teachers are having a hard time too. There are times when our internet connection was not stable and it frustrates me because I still have a lot of requirements to accomplish or pass. There was a time when we did not have internet connection for a week because they are renovating the apartment and one of the workers accidentally cut the wire for our internet, so all I could do is ask my father to give me a load so that I can attend my online classes since we weren’t aware about it we blamed the sky cable for their poor service without knowing that it was not their fault. Considering the efforts of our instructor to provide us a better education, I tried my best to accomplish every requirement that they had given to us too. I appreciate our instructors’ effort and their patience and understanding to their students. Some of them even created videos while explaining the lessons and some of them meet us through zoom, lark and voov. It was also hard for me to work on group activities with my classmates except from my friends because it is hard to communicate with them, some of them will just leave my message on read or not open it at all, some of them will do the task on their own and would not cooperate with everyone in the group, but when my group mates are my friends it was easy for us to accomplish the task because each of us are trying our best to communicate and participate without being selfish and just doing the things on their own, also for the reason that we trust each other that everyone will contribute something for the task that was given to us. Since almost all schools shifted to online class, my younger sister has online classes too. I was having a hard time to assist her while doing my requirements at the same time. I have to always check my canvas account and Facebook group for updates while checking her google classroom for updates too. Online class is convenient and it is good for the current situation that we are in. Taking Internet classes has saved me money, it requires us to use several platforms, maintain files, utilize and update emails and makes us flexible which is good because we need to be flexible and we can apply this in our work in the future. If I were taking traditional classes, I would need to have a budget for transportation and for my food. However, online classes have a lot of interference compared to traditional classes. Since I am in our house there are a lot of things that distract me. First is a financial problem, my mother would always nag at me to ask my father for my share of rent and grocery even though she is aware that I am doing my assignments or taking exams. Second, my younger sister would often come to my room to assist her on her online classes and her assignments even though I am currently working on my requirements too. Third is when my sister and mother are fighting over the expenses, their voices are loud that sometimes I lose my focus on what I am doing and decide to continue it when they are done fighting. Fourth, my father doesn’t pay my tuition fee on time because he said that he doesn’t have time to go to a bank and sometimes the line is too long. So I think online classes fit those students who are from affluent families because they do not have to worry or experience the things that I am experiencing, nonetheless online classes also taught me new things or skills that I can apply or use in the future when I am already working.

The fact that we are using different platforms, I was able to learn to use lark, voov and canvas because it was my first time using those applications. I also learned new values too like self-motivation due to the increased flexibility of online learning that you can do your homework later you’ll need to be capable of prioritizing tasks, setting deadlines and highly self-motivated to avoid laziness and procrastination. Second, I was able to learn to be more persistent by being able to tolerate technical problems, seek help when needed, work daily on every class, and persist through challenges. Third, I was able to acquire basic technical skills that include the ability to create new documents, use a word processing program, navigate the Internet, and download software. Furthermore, I was also able to learn how to be secure while browsing online and learn how to create a YouTube channel and upload a vlog and that is thanks to one of our major subjects.

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jeserai · 5 years ago

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burnt sugar (2/8)

“Sorry I’m late,” Catra says, and she knows she doesn’t sound sorry, and she probably doesn’t look it either. She slowly, slowly takes all of Adora in, from her messy ponytail to her varsity jacket, the unbuttoned plaid flannel with the plain shirt under, her shorts and thighs littered with small scrapes and bruises. She’s—kind of really cute. And she’s eyeing Catra up and down too.

A few heads turn as Catra’s phone buzzes once and then again, and Catra stares them down with one brow raised in a silent challenge. While they look on, faces showing their obvious disgust, Catra flips her phone over to check it. Hordak continues speaking as if there had been no interruption, but the look he gives Catra is absolutely murderous, just like always.

[unknown number] (6:55pm): Hi, I saw the post about needing a date for a family dinner? Is that...legit?

[unknown number] (6:55pm): I’m Adora by the way

Catra (6:56pm): Hey, Adora

Catra (6:56pm): And yes, it’s legit

[unknown number] (7:01pm): cool :)

Catra hides her scoff behind a palm pressed to her mouth, now only half listening as one of the shareholders raises yet another complaint. She knows she’s going to get an earful later on about how disrespectful she’s being, but this Adora girl is already endearing enough to make it worth it.

Catra (7:02pm): Hey. Find out whatever you can about an Adora and get back to me asap

Entrapta (7:03pm): when you say Whatever….

Catra (7:04pm): Just. Make sure she’s not a serial killer or something. A last name and a picture would be nice too.

Entrapta (7:04pm): :(((((( but thats so boooring

Catra (7:05pm): I mean it, E. That’s all i need

Entrapta (7:05pm): fine, boss :(((((

With that, Catra slips her phone into her pocket, and begins to doodle on the corner of board meeting program. One hour down, one to go.

When the meeting is finally adjourned, Catra breezes passed everyone else, ignoring Hordak’s half-hearted call of her name in favor of pulling out her earbuds and phone. There’s an email from Entrapta—likely whatever information she’s found out about Adora—and a text from Adora herself that Catra finds herself opening immediately.

[unknown number] (7:29pm): so i was just wondering if we could meet up sometime first?

Catra (8:02pm): What, do you think I’m some kind of serial killer?

[unknown number] (8:05pm): what??? No!! I never saidi that!

[unknown number] (8:05pm): whats ur name btw?

Catra (8:06pm): My name is Catra, but you can call me whatever you like

[unknown number] (8:07pm): sdjfhkkfdgdf>????

Catra finds a grin curving up the corners of her lips; Adora is so easy to rile up. She doesn’t know anything about the girl yet, but this is promising. It also doesn’t seem like Adora knows who she is—another godsend. People always tend to treat her differently once they find out she’s rich, once they know who her family is. Catra’s lip curls at the thought of them: it’s not her fault that they picked to adopt her.

But it is what it is, and being Hordak’s daughter does have its advantages, Catra thinks. She jams the down button for the elevator with one hand, and with the other, opens Entrapta’s email. It’s brief, the subject message a simple sad face, but it’s what she’d asked for. Adora’s full name—Adora Sideris—and a college ID picture of her, smiling awkwardly into the camera. God, she looks dumb, especially with the little hair poof thing going on. Entrapta’s email also says that she’s in college, that she’s only a few months older than Catra, and that she’s the captain of her school’s fencing team.

That makes Catra pause. Looking at the picture, she would’ve guessed prep, or nerd—definitely not fencing team captain. But then, she reminds herself, appearances don’t mean shit. A few of the businessmen from the board meeting around the corner as she steps into the elevator, and Catra takes extreme pleasure in watching the elevator doors close in their faces as they flag her to keep it open. Dumbasses.

Catra (8:16pm): Lol

Catra (8:16pm): You’re cute, Adora

Catra (8:17pm): Anyway, can you meet tomorrow? You pick the place

[unknown number] (8:20pm): i have fencing practice until about noon, so anytime after then. And do you know Bright Moon? It’s a little cafe by the high school

And Catra doesn’t know, but she looks it up and as the elevator doors open, she texts Adora back one last time.

Catra (8:22pm): bright moon, tomorrow at 3:30pm. Give you some time to get cleaned up, princess

Adora (8:22pm): :) okay!

“Lonnie!” Catra calls out as she pockets her phone again. Her driver startles and glances up, expression souring as she sees Catra waiting at the edge of the sidewalk. Catra feels just the same.

“What do you want now?”

“Um, for you to do your job? Wouldn’t want you to get fired, now would we? Now come on, I’m hungry. We’re getting pizza.”

Lonnie heaves a sigh, but she nods and opens the back door, slamming it with more force than necessary once Catra is inside. As the car peels away from Horde Industries’ Corporate Headquarters, Catra busies herself with her phone, drowning out the rest of the world with loud, angry music.

Just like always.

The first person she sees when she gets back to the house is Daemon, sitting on the living room floor with a coloring book in front of him. He blinks up at her when she approaches, and gives her a toothy grin. With the canines that have just come in, his smile looks decidedly fanged, and Catra hates it.

“Hey, imp.” she mutters as she passes. Daemon clumsily parrots her words back, but quickly returns his attention to his crayons, and Catra rolls her eyes at him when he’s not looking. She fucking hates kids, especially this one. But now, all she has to do is manage to sneak upstairs and safely make it to her room before—

“ Catra. ”

Catra freezes, one foot on the stairs, and for a moment, she debates running. But as quickly as the thought comes, she dismisses it and pivots around, pasting her best unimpressed look on her face. “What?”

Her adoptive mother stands in the doorway between the living room and the dining room, distaste on her face as she stares Catra down. “And why did you come home so late? The deal was straight home after your board meetings, wasn’t it?”

Anger rises up like a tidal wave and Catra only barely manages to quash it with a deep breath in and out. “I was hungry. I got food. Get off my back.”

“Now, Catra, you know that both your father and I only want the best for you. Ever since we rescued you from that dreadful orphanage, we’ve only been preparing you for the business you’re going to inherit.”

In the background, Daemon giggles, as if even he knows what a joke that is. For once, Catra has to agree with him. “Okay, well, I’m here now.”

“Then act like it, insolent child.” And with that, Weaver soundlessly sweeps away, leaving behind only her words and the cloying scent of her perfume.

As Catra starts up the stairs, Daemon laughs again and parrots, “Insolent child.” Catra whips around and hisses at him, and reluctantly lets the sound of his laughter follow her upstairs.

Catra (9:02pm): What are you doing

Entrapta (9:15pm): working on a project

Entrapta (9:15pm): Do you need more infomration about Adora??

Entrapta (9:15pm): thats a lot more interesting !!!

Catra (9:16pm): No. And because I know I can’t stop you, just don’t tell me whatever you find out

Entrapta (9:17pm): :))))))))

Entrapta (9:20pm): anyway, did you need someting?

Catra (9:21pm): Not really. The hag was just on my ass again

Entrapta (9:22pm): u know what wuld make ufeel better :)))))

Catra (9:22pm): No to whatever you’re going to suggest, unless it involves me getting out of here

Entrapta (9:23pm): well. No

Entrapta (9:23pm): i was going to say i could tell u about adora !!

Catra (9:24pm): No! I’m meeting her tomorrow, I don’t need to meet her and be thinking about her ugly baby pictures or whatever it is that you manage to dig up

Entrapta (9:24pm): :(((( her baby pictures werent ugly they were actually really cute

Catra (9:25pm): Oh my god.

Entrapta (9:25pm): [image sent]

Catra (9:26pm): I am not opening those.

Entrapta (9:26pm): :(((((

Catra (9:27pm): It is an invasion of her privacy???

Entrapta (9:28pm): they shouldnt have been put online then. ANyone can find them!

Catra (9:28pm): Still. I’m not looking

(Not ten minutes later, Catra ends up looking. And she hates to admit it, but Entrapta is right. Adora’s baby pictures are actually kind of cute.)

Catra shows up at Bright Moon at just after four, slamming the car door shut much harder than necessary before Lonnie can get a chance to throw out some scathing remark in lieu of a farewell. If any of the people around her notice, they don’t show it, and Catra takes a moment to focus on the café, trying to get a sense of what Adora is like before she goes in. Already, she can see that she hates it—too much pink, too much light. Catra knows how well she stands out but she doesn’t care, ignoring the curious looks she gets as she storms into the café.

The inside is just as bad as the outside , and—objectively, it’s nice. It’s definitely Instagram worthy, and there are more than just a few groups of teenagers taking pictures of each other, of their food, of the room around them, but Christ. Catra feels disgusted on a molecular level.

But as much as she hates it, she’s here for a reason, that reason being the blonde ponytail of a girl sitting alone in a booth all the way in the back. She’s looking down at her phone, idly scrolling through something, and as Catra watches, she looks up and around, smiling crookedly at a boy and a girl sitting at a table nearby. She—Adora—doesn’t notice Catra, and neither do her friends, so Catra waits for them to look away from each other before making her way over to Adora’s booth.

“Hey, Adora,” she says, leaning against the booth, and when Adora looks up, eyes wide and startled, “how’s it hanging?”

“You’re— you’re Catra?” her voice comes out a little weak, and Catra can’t help the grin that twitches up the corners of her lips. Adora quickly stands and holds out her hand, still looking just a little bit embarrassed, just a little bit dumbstruck.

“Sorry I’m late,” Catra says, and she knows she doesn’t sound sorry, and she probably doesn’t look it either. She slowly, slowly takes all of Adora in, from her messy ponytail to her varsity jacket , the unbuttoned plaid flannel with the plain shirt under, her shorts and thighs littered with small scrapes and bruises. She’s—kind of really cute. And she’s eyeing Catra up and down too.

“Were we supposed to dress up?” Adora suddenly asks, and Catra looks down at herself and what she’s wearing , and oh.

“No, I was just at a meeting.” Which isn’t a total lie. Lonnie drove her to the meeting and waited to leave until she went inside—and as soon as she pulled away, Catra walked right back out and headed to Entrapta’s.

“Oh, well—you’re here now! Did you want to order anything first?”

Catra shrugs. “You order whatever, I’ll pay for it.”

Seemingly without thinking, Adora reaches out, taking Catra’s hand in hers to tug her up to the front of the shop. She drops her hand as soon as she realizes, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink as she splutters out an excuse, “Sorry—my roommates, they’re my best friends, and I’m just used to doing that—I’m so sorry!”

And surprisingly, Catra—who hates touching, who hates being touched, who hates any form of intimacy, really—can’t bring herself to mind.

Ten minutes later finds them back in the booth, Adora with an iced blueberry black tea and Catra with a triple mocha frappe. Adora is tracing her finger along the rim of her cup, collecting condensation as she stares down at the table, and Catra knows she should be talking, maybe explaining why Adora is here in the first place, maybe getting to know her, but she’s content to just watch Adora, to take in the beauty of her silence.

Until Adora looks up, of course. She tilts her head a little in obvious confusion when she sees Catra already looking, but she seems content in waiting for Catra to speak. There is a kind of shuttered kindness on her face and in her eyes; from just her face alone, Catra can tell what kind of person Adora is. She sees stubbornness in the rigidity of her posture, kindness in the hint of a smile on her lips, strength in the calluses of her hands. She is soft, but she is strong too, and Catra likes that.

“So, you’ve had the night to think things over, do you have any questions?”

At that, Adora nods. “I guess—” she tugs out a lock of hair from her ponytail and twirls it around her finger before shoving it back behind her ear in what is clearly a nervous gesture, “I just wanted to know what this involves exactly? I know it’s a dinner, but I need time to prepare—if this is going to be a thing —and I just—”

“It’s really just a stupid family dinner. We go in, play nice, dance, eat, play nice some more and leave. You’d get paid after, I don’t care how much.”

“Dance? Like—”

“Fancy dances and shit,” Catra waves away Adora’s concern with a dismissive hand, “I’d teach you.”

“So what, this is like a ball?”

Catra shrugs. “If you want to call it that, sure. It’s nothing to stress out over though, and besides, it’s not for another month or so. Plus, you can always say no, I can find someone else.”

“That’s…” Adora twirls that same lock of hair around her finger, tugging on it hard before asking quietly, “how much would it be?”

“How much do you want? It’s not my money, I don’t care.”

Adora snorts out a startled laugh, tucking her hair back again as she rolls her eyes. “You can’t be serious. See, this is why I thought this was fake—”

“I’m being serious. How much do you want? I’ll write the check now.”

The sudden ringing of Adora’s phone interrupts them, and Catra waits patiently as Adora fumbles for it, checks to see who is calling, rolls her eyes as she answers, and hisses out, “Guys, really? ” before hanging up.

“Everything okay?” Catra asks mildly. Adora twists around and sticks her middle finger up at the boy and girl from before, then turns back, cheeks going pink.

“Yeah, it’s just my friends. They wanted to make sure that—well...”

“That I wasn’t some kind of serial killer?” And before Adora can begin to protest—because Catra can already see it on her face—she says, “It’s okay, I don’t mind. It’s good that they care that much about you.”

Because god knows her friends wouldn’t do the same.

“Anyway, I should get going before Lonnie comes to drag me back to the hellhole. You’ve got my number, if you change your mind, let me know before the end of the week.” Catra says as she stands to go; Adora reaches out as she passes, catching at her wrist and standing hurriedly as well.

“I want to do it.” There is a familiar look of determination in Adora’s steel-blue eyes; Catra grins at the sight of it and nods.

“Then I’ll text you later. Bye, Adora.”

Catra (4:53pm): Does Adora have Venmo?

Entrapta (5:11pm): im guessing it went well then?

Catra (5:12pm): Well enough. I’m coming over.

Entrapta (5:15pm): yoou got it boss

Entrapta (5:15pm): What about adoras venmo?

Catra (5:16pm): Send her a couple hundred bucks from the hag’s card

Entrapta (5:20pm): :)))))

Catra (5:20pm): What.

Entrapta (5:20pm): im glad u found someone nice :))))

Entrapta (5:21pm): :)))

Catra (5:22pm): Don’t push it

Entrapta (5:23pm): :))))

(last | next)

#she ra #catradora #shera #my writing #burnt sugar

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