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softschofield · 4 years

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i’m so perpetually frustrated with the audience members who criticise 1917 for having “no backstory or development for the characters”

like, yes, it’s subtle. because they’re friends and friends don’t talk to each other like “oh, yes, remember all these details of my life i’m conveniently and clearly reiterating for an omniscient third party?” but fuck dude, if you pay attention and know basic facts about war or do your goddam research, there is SO MUCH DETAIL TO THEIR BACKSTORIES

like, just from one TINY DETAIL, you get so much: schofield’s wounded stripe on the left sleeve of his uniform. to get a wounded stripe in world war 1, you had to be officially listed in dispatches as being a CASUALTY, not just having been in a field hospital, meaning the wound was BAD. but, wait, what kind of wound could be so well-hidden and subtle? it could be a gunshot wound or trenchfoot, but there were also two categories that could earn a soldier the wounded stripe: gas, or shellshock. it’s therefore entirely possible that he was suffering from trauma rather than a physical wound before he met blake. given that 60,000 rounds of field artillery and 45,000 rounds of heavy artillery were fired in the first DAY of fighting, and one german described the experience of the shelling as “the earth shook, the sky seemed like a boiling cauldron [...] the ability to think logically, and the feeling of gravity, both seemed to have been removed”, shellshock is a very plausible diagnosis.

so, we know he fought in the somme, and we know which battle he fought, meaning he had been at the front for at the very LEAST 7 months. SEVEN MONTHS. that is a LONG time to be in the trenches, and it is a STAGGERING amount of time to have withstood the horror and still come out of it soft, gentle, and compassionate - think on THAT when y’all say schofield is a flat character. think about what kind of a person could kill and see people killed and live in the constant, crushing, claustrophobic terror and boredom and nothing of the trenches for most likely LONGER than that and stay kind and quiet. NEED i say any the fuck more, NEXT

just from that, we then know that blake did NOT fight in the somme, meaning he arrived at the front some time after november 1916. and, judging by his excited and fearful reaction to the front line trench before a predicted push, there’s the distinct possibility he had never seen a battle, meaning his arrival can be placed after the 18th of december 1916 and that he was still deeply innocent.

if he arrived in december and the film begins on the 6th of april, that ALSO means that they had known each other at the most for just over 3 months, very possibly less, and that they had formed a very close bond in that time.

which brings me to my next point: where are their other friends? all the other soldiers are shown to have close-knit groups, so where are theirs? why is it only them? why are they even friends in the first place? why is blake, a new recruit who had only just arrived, already the same rank as a veteran who had been there for very possibly up to or more than a year? why is a veteran hanging around with a chattery, bushy-tailed, never-seen-battle replacement? why isn’t he hanging out with his own cohort of soldiers who has been there the same amount of time as him and could much more easily relate to his trauma and exhaustion? WHY is a middle-class-sounding guy even hanging around with a lower-class farmboy in the first place?

the most plausible answer? all of schofield’s friends he went through training with are dead - probably in the somme - and he’s purposefully isolated himself to grieve with his survivor’s guilt. he was most likely wounded, lonely, and agonisingly depressed for months until a cheerful replacement arrived at the front and befriended him. and THAT’S where schofield’s fanatic devotion to him comes from, and THAT’S what “he saved my life” means, more than in the literal sense - he was lost, and broken, and numb, and blake saved him.

furthermore, because boy have i got more, blake’s backstory, in case someone out there has seen this film and still wants to hit me with that fucking “we know nothing about these characters”: we know he has an older brother, we know he has a female dog called myrtle, we know they live with their mum in a farm in the countryside with a cherry orchard, and we know his father isn’t in the picture and that he most likely hasn’t been for a long, long time, judging by blake’s lack of bitterness and daddy issues, his closeness with his mother, and the fact he isn’t in blake’s family photo. we know, from interviews, that he enlisted as soon as he came of age because his brother was an officer and he idolised him, and we know he was barely this side of 18.

another thing? the story about wilko. blake knows stories about men schofield has almost certainly known for far longer - but he didn’t interact and wasn’t told, and blake did, and he was more familiar with all of them and had stories to tell that schofield would have known if he’d been sitting in the same circle when the gossip was told. how’s THAT for subtle characterisation, chumps.

and if you just think about it, there’s so much depth to blake’s overly trusting nature - because he’s still naive, he’s still innocent, he’s still young. schofield tucks the things most special or necessary away in his inside pocket, where’s it most safe, because he’s learned lessons the hard way; blake puts them carelessly in his trouser pockets where they could fall out. schofield keeps his rifle with him even as he’s going to fetch water for the german pilot; blake discards his rifle and leaves himself vulnerable. if you just LOOK, it’s all there!

FURTHERMORE, we know schofield is in his early 20s and older than blake. we know he has a much more refined accent, and we know from interviews that he’s from cookham, berkshire. we know he has two daughters and a wife (or a sister and nieces, it’s open to interpretation, go to town), we know he suffers from shellshock, we know he most likely couldn’t face going home on his last leave and instead stayed in france and gave his medal away to a french captain, we know the subject of home is deeply triggering for him, we know he refuses to talk about his daughters, we know that his family haunts him as much as he longs for it, and we know that he didn’t receive any mail from his wife - interesting, considering blake received a letter just telling him his dog was having puppies.

and don’t even get me started on the “lack of character development”. watch me scream here about that.

also, some more backstory because now i’m on a fucking roll: lance corporals were typically the second-in-commands or heads of sections, of which there were 4 within each platoon, each comprising 12 soldiers, it's likely blake and schofield were in command of different sections in the same platoon. where does that come into play? well, scho seemed to slip very easily into a position of authority when the convoy got stuck in the mud, didn’t he? MOVING ON.

more? i have more. another little tidbit: lieutenant leslie asks schofield and blake if they are his relief, and then asks when the fuck they’re getting there when they say they aren’t. he and his men are exhausted and it was said by another soldier that “they had been blown to hell a few nights ago” - they’ve clearly been at the front a long time, which, again, is interesting, considering front line soldiers were typically rotated back into reserve after 8 days. clearly, it’s been a lot longer than that, meaning order and routine have completely broken down and a new type of despair, hopelessness, and mess has taken root. there, more backstory again.

“oh, it’s just a shitty saving private ryan” “oh, it’s definitely no all quiet on the western front”. FIRST OF ALL, it fucking IS all quiet on the western front, have you literally even read it? baumer goes to such lengths to hardly ever use the word enemy because he doesn’t view the soldiers in the other trenches as bad, just as other innocents swept up in a war that no one should be fighting. he spends a whole chapter sobbing over the only man he’s ever killed in close combat. it’s a hundred times slower than 1917 and it hasn’t even GOT a plot. what the FUCK are you talking about?

oh, and it’s just saving private ryan? show me WHERE. a bunch of soldiers have to go into enemy territory to rescue a soldier because all his brothers have been killed in action and his family wants him home. two soldiers are sent into enemy territory with a letter to stop an attack. i am LITERALLY struggling to think of any more similarities than that and even THOSE are fucking reaching.

also, it’s literally a different war. who are you and why are you saying these things to me i am BEGGING you to please use your fucking head for just a few seconds and actually THINK

“it was so convenient that the river just happened to take him to the devons” ??? “the river. it goes there” did you just entirely miss everything lauri told him? the river quite literally flows exactly past where he is supposed to go, that’s the entire POINT, that’s WHY he jumped into it, because he KNEW it would take him there, oh my GOD

“if the convoy was going exactly where he needed to go, why didn’t erinmore tell him to meet it?” i know it might be a shocking concept, but even a general may not have known exactly the route a convoy of trucks was going to take, especially in the confused wasteland the germans had left behind in their retreat. in fact, he might not have known about the convoy at all if they were coming from a different sector of the front - WHICH, guess what, THEY WERE. captain smith mentioned they crossed no man’s land just outside bapaume, which was much further south, in the old somme battlefields. scho and blake’s trench was somewhere near boyelles, 11km north of bapaume.

“it’s unbelievable that scho would just sit quietly and relax in the convoy truck, and then get out to give orders and take command, after what he’d just been through - and, plus, he would have gotten to écoust quicker if he’d just walked” there’s this thing called trauma. shock. dissociating. compartmentalisation. just shutting down in the face of too much grief when you don’t have the time nor capacity to let yourself feel it, acknowledge it, register it. in the script, scho is said to “almost disappear into the noise of the men.” and, honestly, the emotional illusion of regaining a scrap of control over a situation he was utterly out of control of would have been enough to prompt him to get out and give orders - but as it is that wasn’t the only thing driving him: he was desperate, and an NCO, and he needed to go. AND “he would have gotten there quicker if he’d walked”?? ???????? first of all, he didn’t know that? second of all, scho said it would take them nine hours AT THE MOST to get there and, given the fact they weren’t attacking until dawn and it was most likely morning when he and blake set off, he wasn’t in a TERRIBLE rush. THIRD of all, it was a direct order from a captain. FOURTH OF ALL, do you really think he felt like walking all that way when a truck was RIGHT THERE?

“there are too many coincidences” films are built on coincidences. they are conveniently put with a character who will end up being their soulmate at the end of it all. they conveniently uncover information that would take people in real life months to find. coincidences drive stories - one of the greatest tools of screenwriting? “don’t write what would happen, write what could happen.” what could happen is that scho finds a teenage girl and an orphaned baby sheltering in a ruined town - in a war. what could happen is that a convoy of trucks heading north towards the battle of arras logically uses the road running alongside a farmhouse. what could happen is that scho jumps into a river that he knows runs east. i just don’t understand what you’re trying to say

“oooohh for soldiers on a life-or-death mission to save one of their brothers, they sure do take their time to sight-see” they’ve seen absolutely fucking nothing but the walls of a trench and the reserve camp for months. also, it’s pretty much just common sense to clear out a building before you turn your back on it and keep walking. also, they had 8 hours, scho ended up getting there in under two hours, and blake is allowed to feel more than one emotion at a time and to be excited about exploring new places, ESPECIALLY when it’s almost certain that neither he nor schofield had ever even been out of england. war or not, the french countryside was still beautiful and blake is allowed to appreciate that. next question

“how was there a milk pail full of milk if there was no one around to milk the cow” german soldiers were stationed in the farmhouse before they got the order to move out. “they’re not long gone.” they left an hour before hand, someone probably milked the cow before they knew they were leaving. you don’t have to read the script to have a functioning braincell

“unbelievable that they weren’t killed by the tripwire explosion” it detonated in the tunnels, not in the bunker. they wanted to collapse the escape routes first and foremost. please, i am begging you, use your head

“why did they pull an enemy out of the plane” basic human decency. i cannot believe i have to explain this concept. soldiers in the first world war were especially conscious of the humanity of the men in the other trench. you say blake had no character and then get mad when he’s shown to be so kind and selfless that he’ll burn himself rescuing a german. i don’t know what you want from me, get out of my kitchen

“schofield was an idiot for stopping to interact with lauri and the baby” he was concussed. he knew there was somewhere he had to be but he didn’t remember what or where until he heard the church bells. also, for people who criticise the “lack of character development and backstory”, ya hate to see character building moments. it clearly wasn’t the first time he’s recited that poem to a baby. make the connection dipshits

“the germans shot like fucking stormtroopers, how did they not hit him?” point one: one of them was blind drunk. when muller is ranting while scho is strangling baumer, he says that maybe they should head back and that maybe they won’t realise they’ve been missing. the implication? either they’ve gone AWOL, or they’re stragglers from the retreat back to the new line. either way, at least one, and very possibly all of them are off their fucking faces, considering the one by the burning church tripped over his own goddamn feet chasing scho. point two: not in a thousand years would they have expected a lone english soldier to just pop up out of nowhere in ecoust. it was so unexpected that you really can’t blame them for being flustered and confused.

“how the FUCK did the letter survive the river in one piece?” he put it in his tin. there’s literally an entire 30 seconds of the convoy scene just devoted to showing scho tucking it in there. i don’t understand how i have to say this

“it’s too gruesome” aside from the hand in the corpse and the dead horses, where? where? also, it’s the first world war. i can’t believe what i’m hearing. who are you people

“it’s not exciting enough, it’s slow, it’s dull” IT’S SUPPOSED TO SHOW THE CONSEQUENCES AND AFTERMATH OF WAR INSTED OF THE SHALLOW EXCITEMENT OF IT YOU DUNCE

in conclusion, suck my ASS anyone who says they didn’t have backstory or development or that there are ~raging plot holes~. FUCK

anyone who doesn’t want the actual soft and only good person in the world William Schofield to live a happy life in peace just isn’t valid and that’s all i’ll ever say on the matter you fucking degenerate scum rotten tomato reviewers

#in which i just fucking lose my mind and go fucking apeshit #1917 #will schofield #william schofield #1917 movie #mine #also my mum pointed out that they both have scenes where they try to haul the other up and say 'we have to go we have to stand up'#and the other says 'just let me stand / just let me lie here'#fuck #there's SO MUCH THAT I'M STILL ONLY JUST SEEING AFTER 5 WATCHES

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bangtansfavwriter · 4 years

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🥞☕brunch café owner! jin☕🥞

tw: a tiny mention of anxiety and shitty people that you may have encountered in school / uni ( but a lot of fluff to make up for it! )

- so far, your day was a complete catastrophe, im not even gonna tone it down, it was a complete shitshow to be honest

-it was like god woke up and went "i’m gonna let y/n have a shit day lmaoo"

-you overslept and missed your bus... on the day you had an appointment with your lecturer about your term paper

- after tripping on the stairs and hitting your knee, you hobbled to the office where this gollum lookalike was already waiting for you

- your lecturer was unreasonable enough to not let you extend your deadline for your paper... the one book you needed wasn't in the library for the past 3 weeks and there was no other edition available. so you explained the situation multiple times even at the beginning of your writing process, you even wrote him mails to explain the issue

- but this man who literally radiated boomer energy with every particle of his being really had the audacity to not answer, not even to your second mail and then he actually said that he does not understand "how someone of your age doesn't manage to even get a simple task as writing a paper" done

-you explained the situation again but he was pretty much tone-deaf to your situation and didn't even care when you said that you're actually gonna go to the library now to get the book scans

- so you went there already drained and exhausted from that conversation

-but the library was an even worse experience tbh .......

[fic mode: on, hohoho]

The lady in the library yelled at you for no apparent reason after you informed her that the scanner wasn't working and made you look stupid in front of other students who were there until one of them intervened and helped you out, which you appreciated. But this whole situation grew even worse on you after you left the library because your anxiety kicked in. You went straight into a quiet alley nearby and started crying quietly. "But hey!" you then exclaimed angrily, while wiping away your tears "At least the paper is gonna get done, right?! because who gives a shit about mental health and all huh, Mr. Go?!" and you started sobbing again. "Dickhead... And that stupid library lady... with her stupid fat 80s glasses. And her ugly yeehaw look...". This was something you wouldn't ever do in public, crying and ranting that is. but the alley was quiet, your only company was a stray cat that was sleeping underneath a tree's shadow. or so you thought. "Ugly yeehaw people and their ugly ass clothes, like... go read a magazine or something...". You started feeling more liberated with each mild insult you'd utter, so you went on. "Ugly library lady and her giant wart, like who the fuck are you? yubaba?" you heard someone snort and start laughing a squeaky laugh that almost sounded like a windshield wiper. Taken aback by the unexpected witness to your mild breakdown, you stood still at first, then looked around, left and right, but you couldn't see anyone. "Over here!" you heard someone say. You looked around again and sighed when you still couldn't see anyone. "Did I finally lose my mind?" you mumbled to yourself, only to hear the squeaky laugh again. "Hey! Turn around and look up!". You got up the bench and did as you were told by the omnipresent voice and finally saw the person it belonged to. Up at the 1st floor, there was a guy looking down to you from his tiny balcony that had plants hanging down from it. He smiled at you when your eyes met and you felt your heart rate go up in an instant, as you realized this stranger, this awfully handsome stranger witnessed how your petty little rant and crying about yubaba's twin in the library. "Tough day, huh?" he asked, you just nodded and quickly wiped your face with your sleeve. "Oh no, hold on" he mumbled and suddenly disappeared from his window, leaving you behind with a surprised look on your face. A box of Kleenex suddenly landed in front of your feet, as he reappeared at his window. "Just one would have done it, too, but thank you. I appreciate it!" you said and smiled at the guy. While you wiped your face, you heard another something land on the bench. You looked up again to the guy who, all of a sudden, avoided your gaze. "That'll help, you know..." he said and looked at you in surprise when you started laughing. What he threw on the bench was a... bar of chocolate. One that also happened to be your favourite. You looked at him and gave him a huge smile that made his heart flutter. He looked away shyly and scratched his head. "Tough day, yeah... but this right here," you raised the chocolate bar, "this makes it all better, you're right about that. Thank you!" The stranger couldn't help but look at you once again. He almost felt compelled to it. It was like staring at the sun when it sets, you know that you shouldn't stare at it directly, but it's so breathtakingly beautiful that you can't help but look. He intently watched you while you happily munched on your chocolate and smiled to himself. "What's your name?" he asked you. "Y/N! How about you?" - "I'm Seokjin. You can call me Jin..." - "Nice to meet you, Jin. I wish it would have been under different circumstances, though. I'm actually quite embarrassed about that, but chocolate helps with that, too." You two smiled at each other. "You know what, Y/N? Sometimes good things happen at weird times. Don't be embarrassed about crying earlier. I'm the last person who'd judge you because of that. I know that library witch, by the way... That Yubaba comparison was spot on!" You laughed out loud - he very much wished to hear this sound more often now. "Y/N, I gotta get ready for work now. But I'm gonna share one last bit of wisdom with you. I know a good remedy for bad days." - "Better than chocolate?" - "Oh, yes. Even better than chocolate. There's a café in XX street. There's a whole lot of lavender growing right in front of it, you can't miss it. That cafe has the best pancakes in the entire city." - Oh my god, pancakes are the best thing on earth!" - "(!!!) You must go there and try then! They're fluffy and come in 5 different variations and the sweetest maple syrup! I'm telling you, if you have a bad day like this again, go straight to that café." He already got you at pancakes, so you definitely would go there. "I'll finish this damn paper and then go reward myself with pancakes! In one or two weeks I'll get like 2 plates of pancakes then!" - "That sounds perfect!", he laughed. Shortly after, he excused himself and you two bid farewell. He disappeared from his window and your troubles had disappeared from your soul. You went home with a smile on your face, thankful for the kindness he had shown you and hoped that you would see him in the café some day. "Who knows... Maybe he's a regular there. It sounded like it."

Roughly one and a half weeks later, many all nighters and a whole lot of take out food, you finished the paper and handed it in. Liberated from this massive pain in the ass, you went straight to the café that your thoughts circled around during the times you weren't busy with your paper. "God, I hope he's there...", you thought and thought of Jin, who you thought about as much as you dreamed of the huge plate of pancakes you were going to get now. The café was not very far from where you lived, you walked there in about 15 minutes and recognised the place by a very accurate description Jin has given you. The smell of lavender bewitched you as soon as you stepped into the alley the café was in. Lots of flower pots were in the front of it, not only was there lavender but also gardenias and petunias. The flowers were all around the tables outside. "Of course, the flower boy loves the flower café" you said to yourself and smiled. The café wasn't too busy, as you came by at a rather early hour, when there were still lectures for most students and older people were busy at the local market place. You were greeted right away when you entered the café, by a younger man, probably also a fellow student, who was wearing an apron and gave you a warm welcome with his bunny smile. He showed you to your table at the window side from where you could watch bees hurdle at the lavender pots outside. You ordered shortly after, it didn't take much thinking when you saw the "Eat the stress away" menu, with regular pancakes, hashbrowns and a tea/coffee option. "Excellent choice! It's my personal favourite~", your waiter added. You glanced at each other. "Fellow student?" you asked and laughed when he suddenly looked at you with a gloomy look, but joined you in laughter right away. "Shared struggle", he said laughing, leaned over real quick and whispered: "I'll get you some blueberry pancakes, too. I'll tell the chef you're a friend of mine." - "Oh my god, thank you!" He winked and went straight to the kitchen, while humming a tune. Well, this was certainly the sweetest waiter you'd ever encountered. But you had your eyes on the door, hoping for a divine intervention that would lead to Jin coincidentally walk into the café when you were there. Around 15 minutes later you finally sipped on your coffee and were about to devour the fluffiest pancakes you'd ever had on a plate in front of you. The hash browns were a tad bit disappointing, as they had a slighty burnt taste and weren't spiced very well, in your opinion. But the pancakes were absolutely amazing. Their soft and fluffy texture was complemented with butter and the sticky-sweet maple syrup that as truly as good as Jin said. And the blueberry pancakes were so good that you feared losing control over your facial expressions. Your waiter came along to your table, after he got the newest customer orders to the kitchen. You invited him to sit with you, which he gladly accepted. "How do you like it? They're really good, right?" - "I think this is what the kids call 'foodgasm'...", you answered and the two of you giggled. He looked at your plate and noticed the hash browns that you put at the edge of your plate. "Oh? Didn't like the hash browns?" he asked with wide eyes.

"They're slightly burnt, I think..." you said shyly. You were never one to criticize the cook when you didn't like your food in a restaurant. The only time when you actually complained was when you once found hair in your soup in a restaurant, and even back then you apologised for the trouble whereas it was clearly the chef who was at fault. "Please don't tell anyone, this can happen sometimes, I accept that." you quickly added, but your waiter shook his head ferociously. "You paid for this, so it is our duty to bring good food to your table. Our chef is a perfectionist, I don't understand how this can happen anyway. I'll get it sorted out, but not without teasing him. Can you wait a little until the customers are gone here. We close for lunch time. So people are gonna leave soon." You agreed and waited, while befriending the waiter - Jungkook, a 2nd year student who was currently doing a side job at "Café Smeraldo". After the last customer left, Jungkook decided to call the chef by yelling across the café. "He's also the manager you know. We're a bit short-staffed, you know... This is gonna be funny~~ JIN-HYUNG!" You almost spat out your coffee and started coughing as soon as you heard that name. "JIN-HYUNG COME OUT OF YOUR BUREAU! YOU BURNT A CUSTOMER'S FOOD!" He cackled after he heard noise coming from inside, while you sat there mortified. The door from the staff room slammed open and you instantly wished to turn into dust, as said manager/chef was the guy who consoled you on one of the worst days you've had in your academic life. The two of you stared at each other in shock, but before he could say anything to you he started scolding his younger co-worker and the two of them started bickering, while you continued sipping on your coffee, because this whole situation was soon more entertaining than it was mortifying. At some point Jin shushed Jungkook who shut up right away when he realized that this wasn't playful bickering anymore. Jungkook bowed deeply and went to the kitchen where he started cleaning. "You're friends with the boy?" Jin asked and sat down at your table. He looked tired, you thought. "No, actually we met earlier, but I suppose we just clicked very fast." - "So this kid got you my famous blueberry pancakes on the house, huh?" - "...I guess so. Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you trouble. I really didn't want him to say anything about the hash browns either." He quickly glanced at them and grabbed one to take a bite, but put it down again before doing so. "I can see it already", he said "you don't need to apologise, it's my bad." He sat there with a gloomy expression and sighed. "Tough day, huh?" you asked and smiled at him when he laughed at your reference. "Tough week is more like it. We're a bit short-staffed at the moment. But enough of me and my manager melancholy. Finished your paper?" You were surprised by his sudden change, but you went along. "Yeah, I turned it in earlier and came here right after. I gave you my word after all." You smiled at him, and he felt the same rush that he had experienced the day he first met you. You continued: "You were right, by the way. These pancakes are everything!! Especially the blueberry ones. Is that your recipe?" He laughed and nodded. "I'm glad you liked them!" he said. "I'll serve you better hash browns the next time, pinky promise. I got a phone call while preparing 3 orders, yours was the only one that suffered from it." - "It happens sometimes. Don't dwell on something so minor." - "Says you, who cried beneath my balcony because of some witch!" The two of you giggled. He looked at you with a look, that made your cheeks burn. His gaze was fond and soft, it was the kind of look you have whenever the sky looks pretty, or when a bird lands near you and sings a little song. Neither of you could break the look you shared, as neither of you could describe a bond that was apparently now formed with chocolate and pancakes. It was him who spoke up first: "Got room for more pancakes?". This question took you by surprise, but pancakes are always a welcome surprise. "Hell yeah, you can never have enough pancakes." - "I need more proof for that, but based on that sentence alone I can say that we may be soulmates, Y/N." You started laughing, as did he. "But why? What do you have in mind? Also, I'm surprised you still remember my name." His cheeks got a very apparent pink hue after your remark and you noticed how grossly you were endeared by this man. "Y/N... How could I forget..." he said with a low voice that made your heart flutter. "How could I forget someone who made me believe there was a banshee at my door for a solid minute!" He broke out in his loud and squeaky laughter as soon as he saw the pure offence and shock on your face, after he said that, because *that* was certainly not what you expected to hear. "You're mean, oh my god!" you exclaimed but had to laugh, too. You guys needed two minutes to calm down again. The pink hue on his face was still there and you felt the rush of confidence in you. He noticed you looking at him and spoke up:

"Y/N... How could I forget someone who has made me smile on a day I didn't feel like smiling at all? I got the news my cook had to quit on the day we met. I thought this was the end for my café. But then, I met you, shortly after I got the news. And seeing you going from crying to happily munching on some chocolate despite having issues that made you cry in public in the first place... Seeing you forgetting your troubles with something so small as a chocolate bar. I don't know... I felt hopeful for some reason. And I love this feeling. And, god... I really hoped you'd take my advice and come here to have my pancakes! (he chuckled) But I have to admit something... I so regretted not asking for your number. For the past week I jumped through the kitchen door everytime a customer came in...". You were pretty sure your heart was soon gonna explode through your chest. He hid his face with his hands and sighed. "I'm not like this at all~" he whined, before facing you again. "But... How about I make us some more pancakes now? And hash browns, if you like. I haven't had breakfast yet and well... I really want to make you pancakes. Can I?" His voice became thinner with each sentence he added, since he came shyer with each bit. You chuckled, in disbelief about how your rapidly beating heart became so calm, yet so full when this man told you he wanted to make you pancakes. No nervosity whatsoever, no second thoughts, nothing. An epiphany over pancakes... Who would have thought? This was safe. This was a safe place for both of you, and both of you felt it.

"A breakfast date then?"

"Breakfast date it is."

"I like the sound of that."

💕

epilogue:

-you two enter the kitchen after you insisted on watching him cook for you-

jk: hyu- oh, hi y/n! you guys know each other? ah hyung, i cleaned up everything and tidied up in the bureau. i'm sorry about earlier. (bows again and stands there shyly)

jin: (sighs very deeply) come here, you dodo.

the two of them shared a short but sweet hug, after which jungkook had a huge smile on his face again. jin and you shared a look and the same thought as you looked at jungkook after.

jin: jk, you wanna have pancakes with us?

jk: huh? yeah sure, i'm actually pretty hungry... (he smiles at you two) I'll go clean up inside real quick and prepare the table! yayy, pancake brunch with friends ☺️ (he leaves you two in the kitchen)

you turned to jin and smiled. "don't even start." he said quickly, while he started getting the ingredients out. "AWWW~~" - "NOOO!"

-the end-

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jo-dracona · 3 years

Text

Thought:

We’ve seen Castiel fight quite a bit, he’s actually decent at it, and he has plenty of cool abilities that we see him use like once and never again. He can shoot lightning down from the sky, twist knives that he’s not touching, and he’s obviously pretty good with a dagger/knife because Angel Blades. So, here’s my Supernatural Better Ending idea.

So, after the confession Dean and Sam fight like hell to get Cas back. But, they make a rule: No more of this self-sacrifice garbage. It always gets us into more trouble than we were in before, and it hurts us all. So, we get Cas back by any means necessary, except that. Spells, trickery, killing demons, angels, reapers, all powerful creatures we’ve never even heard of, whatever, just not ourselves.

And they succeed!! It was... oooohhh my god it was fucking hard. The boys need a fucking nap.

After said nap, they sit down and discuss what they all want, and what they’re gonna do next.

Dean says that hunting is really the only thing he’s ever known, it’s what he does best. Sam got a year off to think and feel what living in the real world is like, but Dean’s never really done that, and he doesn’t really want to. He likes kicking in the door of abandoned factories and killing whatever ghoul or ghost is traumatizing or killing the local townspeople.

Sam says that he’s really tired, even after that nap. He wants to live a normal life, and he feels like he’s got the chance because for once it feels like the world isn’t hunting them down, or that he needs to go hunt someone else down to go save them. He’s got a knack for fixing things, for making things work and tick, and well... there’s this girl... But, there will always be this little voice in the back of my head saying that there’s lives to be saved, there’s ghosts to be killed, so maybe I can still help out?

Cas says, he’s not really sure what he wants, other than to be with them (it goes unsaid but they all know he has a uhhh preference if he “must” choose between them)

And Dean pipes up that, well “we’ve seen you fight Cas and you’re pretty good at it, a bit stiff” Sam snickers a bit “but, uh, you can handle yourself quite well.” He snickers again. “You can use an Angel Blade, I’ve seen you shoot lightning down from the sky in the past. Why don’t you come with me on my monster hunting trips?”

“Would I have to learn how to use a gun?”

“It might be good to know, but there’s other ways of fighting that work almost as well.”

“Alright, I... like the sound of that” Cas says, as he cracks a little bit of a side-smile.

Dean, on a bit of a roll, says “and Sam, you’ve always been more partial to research anyway, would you wanna be our...” he pauses for a moment, because this is an emotionally charged title he’s about to offer Sam, and a lot of memories and feelings come flooding back. He smiles warmly and with pride, but undertones of sorrow creep in. “Our new Bobby? I mean, like, part-time since you want a mostly normal life, right?”

Sam, seeming a bit taken aback by this proposition “d- uh- y-yeah! I’d- I’d be glad to do that! Oh and uh, I was thinking, since I’m good at fixing things and making things work, well, I could maybe design you two some new tools. I mean, we’ve got salt pellets for the shotgun and iron tools, and silver bullets, but there’s gotta be other ways to further simplify those kinds of techniques, make them more efficient.”

Dean face lowers a bit and he seems... sceptical. He’s always been one for tradition, “if ain’t broke don’t fix it” is a very old phrase and I think he’s a fan.

“Of course, never to the point where hunting would be un-fun. The danger is part of it! But, I wanna keep the number of hits you- two- (he pauses and gestures to Cas, getting used to this new dynamic) take before you kill whatever you’re hunting to a minimum, right?”

Cas, having been just kind of standing, listening mostly in silence until now, says “yes that would be good. Also, since the main weapon I use is an Angel Blade, would it be possible for us to get other, similarly styled blades for me to use? Because, as powerful as an Angel Blade is, it only kills some supernatural beings other than demons and angels.”

“Uh, yeah I’m sure we could get you that. I don’t think I could make it but I can definitely look into it.”

And then they go, they get right into a decent rhythm (I’m not technically caught up so the details of what’s going on with Sam are going to be lacking.) Sam goes and talks to his girl, tells her that he’s going to be living a mostly normal life from now on, just with a bit of research and a bit of tinkering. He gets a job as the local plumber, but also does work on cars, on electrical things. He’s kinda known around town as the fix-it guy. If you’ve got a problem or somethings broken, he’s a pretty safe bet. In his off time he designs this heavy cloth rope that’s been soaked in salt-brine and then dried, leaving it full of salt, so that you can more easily encircle a room with it. It works best for ghosts because they’re mostly incorporeal. He designs a little box, kind of like a craft supplies box, with a series of small tools and materials in each spot. Gold, silver, copper, a coin of each, a piece of iron, and all sorts of other little pieces of equipment and ingredients.

We jump to Cas and Dean, in The Car, having a laugh when Dean’s phone rings. Sam says he’s got a lead and that he has some stuff he wants them to try out while they’re there. He gives them the rundown and say he’ll mail the package to the local shitty motel.

Normal Supernatural episode stuff happens, they follow the lead, get the package, find the house, and get to work. And we get to see Dean and Cas dance-fight their way through like 12 ghosts. They flow around the room with such synchronicity, despite the difference in pace between their weapons of choice, shotgun and throwing daggers. A beautiful sweeping shot around the room of them annihilating ghost after ghost after ghost. The only interruption being that Dean takes just a second too long reloading and gets scratched across his left cheek. Cas quite promptly stabs that ghost in the back, and the room falls silent.

“I think we got them all.” Cas says, without looking around the room, eyes fixed on Dean.

“Thanks, Cas” Dean says in a near-whisper

“No worries. Let’s go get that patched up.”

Cut to Dean sitting on the edge of the trunk, with Cas patching up his cut. Can’t Cas heal people? Well... they prefer this ritual to magic-y insta healing, it’s not as fun. Cas will make sure it won’t scar, however. Cas finishes bandaging him up, and makes one more good press on it to smooth it out, leaving his hand gingerly on Dean’s cheek.

“There we go, all cleaned up.” He says, smiling and looking over Dean’s face once more, just to make sure that’s the only scratch, or is he looking for more personal reasons? Maybe both?

Dean was kinda looking off in the distance while Cas patched him up, but now he looks right into his eyes. He grabs onto Cas’s caressing hand gently, smiles ever-so softly and leans in and kisses him. It is the exact kind of kiss you would expect from Dean Winchester, if any kiss could be described as “gruff”, this would be it.

They both let go after a long moment, Cas’s eyes are full of so much: shock, confusion, excitement, joy, and for a split second, fear, thinking he might just get sent back to turbo hell the empty.

Dean however, simply has a cheeky grin on his face with a touch of embarrassment. “Y’know... we haven’t had a chance to talk much since you got back.”

“Uh- Dean- I...” it looks as though Cas’s mind is going about a trillion miles a second.

Dean revels in his love’s adorable awkwardness, that often shines through even if he isn’t the only one in his vessel, even if he hasn’t spoken, damn he’s the cutest. “I wish I coulda done that sooner. I just... felt I wasn’t ready. That one had to be 100% on my terms.”

Cas wants to say something, anything, but just- there’s so much happening in his brain right now he can’t- he just- ah! This is amazing but he just cannot get any words out.

“Hey uhh, you good there buddy? Did I short-circuit you?”

“I think maybe, yeah!” Cas finally says with a chortle and this expression of relief and excitement and at least a little bit of embarrassment.

We cut to the next scene, back at Sam’s house, giving reviews and suggestions about his inventions.

“Okay okay, I can probably fix that by adjusting the drying time based on the humidity, and you’ll probably need to keep it in an air tight container from now on.”

“Yeah I was uhh... a little distracted when we put it away last. Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright Cas, it’s good to know that proper storage matters for this one.”

Suddenly, a bunch of pinging comes from Sam’s computer.

“What’s that?” asks the ever-paranoid Dean.

“I set up a series of notifications on my computer to go off if it found any news article that had a series of key words. This seems like a big one, vampires most likely, telling by the key words it found. You guys down?”

“Always.” They say, in tandom. Somewhat surprised, they glance at eachother a moment.

Sam raises his eyebrows. His face then says the word “anyways” without him making a sound.

“The article says it happened in [town], [state]. A man was killed in the...” Cas and Dean step around the desk and Dean leans in to look at the laptop, both hands on the desk, Cas leans in slightly and looks intently as well. They begin to discuss, likely speculating what type of vampire and what to do as the camera pans back and up in an arc as Sam’s voice fades, Carry On Wayward Son begins to play (because it has to) and it fades to black.

(Honestly wanted to write that last scene as if it was far later, well after the kiss, so that I could mention an Easter egg, that would be for eagle eyed viewers if this was an actual episode, where Cas and Dean both had wedding bands. Couldn’t figure out how to make it work though, and not seems like a big, weird jump.)

#destiel #spnedit #spn rewrite #spn #supernatural #spn fix it #spn fic #whoopsies I just write destiel fanfic +extras for the last 2.5 hours.#long post #destiel fanfic #casdean #deancas #fanfic

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clankitsfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Thought: Indescribable Feeling (Disco Elysium Harry x Kim Oneshot)

Summary: PROBLEM: You've been friends with Kim for a while now. You feel like you know him well, or at least better than most of the people he interacts with. You can recognize the curve of his slight smile, the sparkle in his eye when he’s teasing you, and, of course, you’ve felt the authority his eyebrow holds. You know about his childhood wish to be a pilot, his secret love of science fiction, and just how big of a torque dork he is. You’re privy to the facts he keeps hidden, like how he struggles with showing emotions, how he still feels lonely despite the fact he enjoys isolation, his desire to do good in the world. Still, there's something about him that unsettles you— is it in his glasses, the lilt of his mouth, his knowledgeable eyes? And unsettles isn't really the right word, is it—but what is? What is this feeling when you look at Kim? Maybe if you think about it long enough, you can figure it out.

***

“Kim, how did you know you were... y’know?”He just raises an eyebrow. Of course, for all the times for his deductive reasoning to fail him, it had to be now, when you were asking him about his… sexuality. God, you can barely think the word in your head—how the hell are you supposed to say it out loud?

(read this on Archive of Our Own here or below the cut)

You're sitting in your shitty apartment, at your shitty table, in your shitty chair. The place is a lot cleaner than when you first saw it a month ago. When Kim broke into it with you—meaning when Kim called a locksmith and paid her for you—the place was covered in so much trash you could barely see the stained carpet floor. Half-drunk bottles of alcohol were littered around the place like you’d had a party the night before, different drugs and pills dotting your living room like fairy lights. Honestly, you’re surprised your past self would leave alcohol just lying around like this. You haven’t had a drop since you first woke up in the Whirling Rags, but your hands started itching and your brain started whispering when it noticed how easy it’d be to stuff some pills in your pocket or wrap your lips around the mouth of a bottle. Kim was kind enough to take care of all the narcotics for you, so you dealt with the more regular kinds of trash.

It was a two-day effort, all-in-all, with the first day focusing on just untrashing your place and the second on actually making it clean, scrubbing the floors and such. Kim helped you with all of it—you weren’t cleared back for work yet, and he’d taken a few days off after The Hanged Man. You felt guilty for having him spend some of his precious time off just cleaning you up, but were too much of a sack of shit to tell him he didn’t need to help. You’re pretty sure you did need his help, anyways—you definitely wouldn’t have been emotionally prepared to confront this relic of the past on your own.

You have a plastic tare in your hands, and your fingers are peeling away at the wrapper surrounding it advertising whatever brand. Damn Capitalists. The little sticky pieces cling to your hands in a pale imitation of what they once were, whole, together. They’re searching desperately for something to hold on to. You’re vaguely reminded of how your past refuses to leave you, despite the fact your amnesia appears to be here to stay. You shake your hand, but the scraps stay on. Awkwardly, you try to pick them off with your left hand, hoping they won’t stick to it. You’re stalling. You're nervous. Of course you are. How could you not be, with what you’ve been thinking about lately?

Kim is sitting across from you, silent, as usual. He’s watching you fail to rid yourself of the stupid plastic remnants with a mildly amused look in his eyes. His own water is near untouched. He’d probably be drinking wine if he was with anyone else. You’re stuck between feeling guilty at denying him one of his few indulgences and feeling so damn grateful that you want to hug him. You two have been making rather pleasant conversations most of the night. You’ve discussed lots of things, like your current cases, his cases, how long it might take for Lena to mail a reply, whether or not Kim will be able to talk his way into transferring the Coupris Kineema to Precinct 41 anytime soon. The current lull in talk is comfortable, natural—a thing of friendship. Kim knows you, knows how you work, how you speak, how you breathe. He knows you have something on your mind, and he'll wait until you're ready to say it. Until then, he’ll sit there, patiently waiting. God, Kim’s so cool.

How well do you know Kim? Sure, you became friends over the course of The Hanged Man investigation, but how well do you really know him? Yes, okay, he joined Precinct 41 because you suggested it, and he’s not your partner anymore (Jean said he’d “put up with too much of your shit to be ousted by the first guy you latched onto after drinking yourself into fucking amnesia”) but you still see each other every day. He’s been your rock ever since you came into existence, but you haven’t been his. You’re like an annoying yappy dog with separation anxiety, except it’s also an alcoholic. Who the fuck wants a depressed acoholic dog following them around?

See, the thing is, there's this thought in your head. You've had it in there for quite a while, but you've yet to come up with a solution. You don't know what's going on, what's happening in your head and body. You don't understand it. You're not sure if you want to.

See, the thing is, you look at Kim, and there's a drop in your stomach. A punch to the gut. It feels like you've stepped off the edge of a cliff backwards, your eyes pointed helplessly towards the sky as you plummet to the ground. You don't know what's beneath you. You don't know what you're rushing towards.

It's not a bad thing, necessarily. It's a little uncomfortable, a little sad, a little desperate, but also—hopeful? Wistful? Longing, maybe?

Your tongue is thick and heavy in your mouth like a brick weighing down a tarp—how could it not be, with what you're about to ask? Kim is a very private person. It took you ages to work up the confidence to call him your friend outside the privacy of your own mind, and sometimes, you're still not sure he is. He might just be indulging the demands of his superior, or hanging out with you completely due to pity. How could someone so cool be friends with you? Thankfully, you're pretty sure it's only a little bit due to pity (how could anyone look at the sack of shit you are and not pity you) as he does seem to genuinely enjoy your company, for whatever reason.

Kim must have other friends he hangs out with. He’s a little anti-social, but he’s a nice guy, and pleasant to be around. Very amicable. You wonder if he misses anyone from Precinct 57. He must, he was there for what, twenty years? No way he’s completely a lone wolf after that much time. Does he miss them? Does he regret transferring? You’re the one who put the idea out there, so if he does, he must also regret meeting you.

He’s neatly slotted into the C-Wing at Precinct 41. Jean respects him, both as an officer and as a person, perhaps doubly so for being willing to put up with so much of your shit. McLaine and Torson admire how badass and cool he is. Minot appreciates his quiet and reserved nature, as does Pidieu. Even Gottlieb seems to like him, probably because he, unlike most of the other officers, is cautious and tries not to end up with more scars than necessary. And Trant is just a civilian consultant, but they seem to get along well enough. But, again, he must’ve had friends, good friends even, at 57. You feel guilty for dragging him away from them, you greedy bastard. You find something good and precious and you grab it and hold on tight with your big fucking paws. You’re a bastard who will hold on whenever there’s something good in your life until it crumbles due to the pressure you put on it.

No. No, Goddamit, fuck that. Kim chose to transfer. He could’ve brushed off your suggestion, politely smiled at you and declined, but he took it seriously and thought about it and made the final decision. Kim’s a fucking adult, and a Dolores-damn badass, he knows how to take care of himself. He knows how to take care of himself and then some. He took care of you during The Hanged Man case and he’s continuing to take care of you now. He’s someone with intense personal boundaries who’s decided to become friends with a recovering alcoholic and let you cry on his shoulder. Sure, you may have developed an unhealthy amount of dependency on him and his opinion of you, but you’re also recovering for yourself, damn it.

It is unhealthy, though, how much you’re doing it to make Kim proud of you. But you can’t help it. You can’t help how you feel about him.

You should say something. It’s been a little too long for this silence to be comfortable. Besides, you’ve been avoiding the topic you want to ask him about for long enough. You wish you had someone else to ask about this—you think Judit might be able to help, maybe even Jean, but they both knew you before, and you think it’d only hurt all of you if you asked them about it. And it would be unbelievably awkward. It’s going to be awkward enough asking Kim, who only knows your sins through stories instead of personal experience.

You clear your throat. “Kim, how did you know you were... y’know?”

He just raises an eyebrow. Of course, for all the times for his deductive reasoning to fail him, it had to be now, when you were asking him about his… sexuality. God, you can barely think the word in your head—how the hell are you supposed to say it out loud?

Alright, better to just dive in head first. Get it over with. Straight and simple. Or, would that be gay and simple? Non-straight and simple?

God, okay, focus. Asking Kim about sexuality. Go.

“Kim, how did you know you were a homo-sexual?”

His breath doesn’t catch , exactly, and you’re sure you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking, but his eyes widen just a fraction, and he leans back just the slightest bit, the chair not even creaking his weight shifts so little. Whatever he was expecting you to ask, it clearly wasn’t that .

He gives himself a moment to think by pulling off his glasses and cleaning them with the cloth that he always keeps handy. You don’t call him out on it—it’s an intensely personal question, after all, and he deserves a second to consider it.

He puts his glasses back on and looks at you. The light catches them in just a way to make his eyes invisible in the gleam. Finally, he gives you a wry grin. “You clearly didn’t stop obsessing about sexuality.”

“See, the thing is, I just sort of tabled the issue for the time being, as we were busy solving a murder and there was other stuff to think about it. But then we solved the murder, and then I had plenty of time to think, but I’ve yet to come up with any conclusions.” You’ve finally gotten all of the plastic off your hands, and drum your newly clean fingers against the table. “Sorry I’m asking you about all of this stuff again. The only other people I really know are you and the others at Precinct 41. And I don’t think I’m on good enough standing to talk to them about it. Sorry,” you add again for good measure.

(You’ve been trying to cut back on the sorries, but it’s hard. Jean has threatened more than once to put a Sorry Jar on your desk, and you think the only reason he hasn’t is because he hasn’t found a jar big enough.)

Kim takes a deep breath. His fingers seem to twitch absentmindedly, and you’re sure if he was less principled, he’d been fiddling with the neck of his jacket or chewing on the side of his cheek, which you’d only seen him done once, when the two of you were interviewing a particularly racist woman in the precinct who had two young children with her.

“I was thirteen, I think.” You struggle not to interrupt—that’s so young! You’re not even sure if you knew you were… whatever you are before, and you had 44 years to figure it out. “There… there was a boy I liked. His name was Daniel. He was a bit of a rebel, skipping class to smoke, and he claimed to own a motorcycle, though I never saw it. I liked him.”

Hm… Well, that’s not particularly helpful. It’s not like you can talk about your own maybe-possibly homo-sexual awakening, since you’re pretty sure it involves—

What does it involve?

Wait, shit, Kim’s about to speak again.

“Harry…” Oh snap! He pulled out your name! He’s only done that, like, five times! “I’m making some assumptions about what you’re struggling with, and I wanted to ask if you’ve ever head of bi-sexuality?”

You rack your brain, but, nope, nada, nothing. No no nopey nope. But bi stands for two, right?

“Don’t think so. But I’m pretty sure bi stands for two, so I’m guessing it has to do with the number two?”

Kim gives you a small smile, and you struggle not to preen under his approving eyes. “Yes. Bi-sexuality refers to individuals who are attracted to two, or possibly more, genders.” He waits quietly for you to process this.

Oh. Oh. Oh! Bi- sexuality, meaning two, as compared to homo-sexuality, meaning those attracted to the same gender. That was a pretty easy leap, now that you think about it. You should’ve been able to do it on your own.

Bi-sexuality. Attraction to multiple genders. Huh. You’re pretty sure that’s what you are. Feels nice to have some kind of label for yourself. You mouth the words, testing them out in your mouth. Bi-sexual. You wonder how Kim learned about all of this. Though if he’s known he’s a part of the Homo-sexual Underground since he was thirteen, he’s had a lot of time to research this, probably. You wonder if Kim once thought he was bi-sexual. That one is probably a bit too personal, not that that’s stopped you before, but no reason to push.

Wait. Multiple genders? As in, more than two?

“Wait. Multiple genders? As in, more than two?”

Kim reaches across the table and pats your resting left hand. “I think that’s a conversation for another time, hmm?”

Sounds good to you! You’ve had enough learning for tonight.

“Thank you for this, Kim. Really, I mean it. Sorry again about asking.”

He smiles again and leans toward you, letting his gloved palm settle on your shoulder. “No need to apologize, Harry. I’m happy to help educate you on your journey of self-discovery. Though perhaps give me a bit more warning next time. If you’d like, I can lend you some reading materials.”

He lets his hand drop back to his side, but you still feel the heat in your body where his gloved skin touched you. You burn with it. The feeling of his touch has lit some sort of fire in you, and the way he’s looking at you is only fanning the flames.

You barely manage to give a tiny nod in response to his statement, and your hands fly to your tare bottle again, desperate to clutch something and have a weight to ground yourself.

Kim settles back into his chair, content again, and you figure he’s giving you more time to process the new information he’s giving you. A Kim secret about his childhood and a big clue (if not the answer) about your sexuality. God, he’s so cool.

You find it in you to look at Kim again, out of the corner of your eye, and suddenly, finally, the thought clicks in your head. Whatever is going on with you, whatever is happening, you seem to have finally figured it out. At the very least, you’ve put a name to the feeling you have when you stare at him.

When you look at Kim, his dissecting eyes, his thick glasses, his quirked eyebrow, the subtle curve in the corner of his lips that's like a secret little smile just for himself, one you wouldn’t be able to read if you weren’t so attuned to him, the brush of his hair that he keeps oh so neatly managed, his gloves clean of any sign of his smoking, of the one cigarette he allows himself, one of his few vices he indulges in, Dolores Dei, his everything—

It's yearning.

You look at Kim, and you yearn. You yearn to touch the slender fingers that lay beneath his thick leather gloves, to examine his dark eyes up close, to feel his hands on you, to, to, to—

For what, though? What exactly do you yearn for?

That thought will take you at least another eight hours. Or twenty hours. Or whatever.

#disco elysium #disco elysium fanfiction #harry x kim #kim x harry #what's their ship name? i haven't seen it #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #harry du bois x kim kitsuragi #kim kitsuragi x harry du bois

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crimsonbluemoon · 4 years

Note

8, 6, 32 w minicat pleeeease! :D

Okay, last of the drabbles and this one is a doozy. >.> Like 10 pages long, ugh. But Grace deserves it cause she’s been my rock during these drabblez and really helped me commit to getting them done. Thank you so much for your support! Please enjoy this as my thanks.

AU: College

Trope: Fake dating

Prompt: “Shut up for a second, will you?”

Pairing: Minicat

Tyler wasn’t stupid; he knew he was one of the last choices people thought of when needing help with something on campus. In his defense, he was busy; his parents’ low income meant he had to have a full time job while also maintaining a high GPA for his scholarships for his overly priced college. His classes were tough, never wasting time on filler courses when he was paying thousands of dollars to attend. It meant hours of homework after long shifts, sometimes all nighters. He didn’t have the time of day to breathe, nevermind think about others. Brock, probably being too understanding of a roommate (Tyler didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of him, but Brock’s sad eyes always hit him far too hard to ignore), never pushed him to engage in extra socializing or unnecessary events. Brock’s dumbass boyfriend tried (seriously, how did Brian manage to swindle Brock into falling in love with him? Gross.) to provide Tyler with ‘the college life’, which was harder than getting water from a rock.

But even Tyler wasn’t a big enough dick to miss Brock’s birthday party.

At least the venue was nice; Tyler swirled the water in the fancy glass while he leaned on the country club’s bar, watching the large group of strangers mingle. Brian came from money that far exceeded Brock and Tyler’s wildest dreams. Brock almost never allowed Brian to spoil him, which had been a different experience for Brian. It still bothered Tyler how lost Brian first looked when they both turned down his money for ‘hanging out with him’. Tyler had seen his flustered roommate refuse to let the rich brat pay for a two dollar water bottle once. So when Brock had finally, finally caved enough to let Brian pay for his birthday party, Brian didn’t hesitate to go over the top. Every person who Brock had ever met seemed to be at the event, filling the room with hundreds of people.

Tyler hadn’t bothered following his roommate when Brian pulled him somewhere twenty minutes ago. Honestly, knowing those two, he didn’t want to see what they were up to. Brock had morals, but Brian was a charmer. He used it for teachers, police, and anyone who had eyes and the smallest of hints of attraction toward men. Seriously, Tyler had seen Brian give far too many straight guys a gay panic for it not to be seen as a freaky mutant power. Brock was helplessly in love with Brian (seriously, why?), which meant he was even more likely to fall for any of Brian’s sneaky schemes.

Especially when it resulted in sex.

“Ugh.” Scrunching his nose at the thought, Tyler took another swig of his drink before scanning the crowd again. So far, the event had been pretty tame, which was saying something for Brian. His parties were always over the top for all the wrong reasons. If the police weren’t called, it was seen as a failure, according to Panda. But Brock had asked Brian to make the party alcohol free, and like the sucker for pretty brown eyes he was, Brian had agreed.

Tyler glanced down at his phone again, wondering when Evan and Panda were going to show up. They were the only friends he bothered with when Brock hung a sock on their apartment door. Evan had texted saying they’d got stuck in a late lab and had told them he’d be coming late. So Tyler, lacking the only three (and a half; Brian was okay when he cooked breakfast) people he actually liked at the party, was alone. But what the fuck else was new? It was better that way. He knew that too many people would just distract him from was important. His grades, his future, and his goals in life. So what if he spent more Fridays alone than with people? That his phone could go three days without a text? That he hadn’t gotten laid in over a year? And so what if some nights, his stupid heart wondered what it’d be like to have a disgusting relationship like Brian and Brock, to be pointlessly cared for and overly adored-

“Really, you should go.” The voice that cut into Tyler’s self-loathing made him frown, refocusing his eyes to pinpoint where it’d come from. Two seats down from the bar he’d inhabited alone (because who would wanna hang out at a bar with no alcohol?), a guy that Tyler recognized looked stiff when staring at another leaning completely into his space. It took a second for Tyler to realize who it was; Craig was a high school friend of Brian’s, and had become one of Brock’s good friends when Brian and Brock started dating two years ago. Craig also went to their college, making a name for himself despite the thousands of students. He was always busy, invested in way too many clubs and groups between his classes. They were so different, that Tyler saw no reason to befriend him.

Except Craig had tried to get to know Tyler. Despite being busy and having far too many social groups for Tyler’s liking, Craig had actually always made an effort to create small talk whenever they bumped into each other. They weren’t friends, really; maybe acquaintances if Tyler was being generous. Since Craig was Brian’s best friend, he was around more often than Tyler was comfortable with.

Because Craig was good looking, flirted worse than Brian, and was just a damn distraction. He was someone that could yank Tyler’s attention from important homework or project’s due dates to argue about how ‘culturally important’ The Office was. Sometimes he got Tyler to explain what he was working on, which devolved into little conversations about their lives that had nothing to do with the original topic. Craig learned about Tyler’s complicated relationship with money, while Tyler heard stories about Craig’s struggles with depression. He knew about Craig’s promiscuous years when he was a teenager, which led into the conversation of how both discovered their bi-sexuality. One time, Craig’s eyes shined with excitement while he told Tyler all about his dream of becoming a marine biologist.

Tyler had barely finished his term paper that night.

In a little over two years, Craig snuck his way under Tyler’s skin like a weed. Each time Tyler swore he wouldn’t let Craig get his attention (because he had to stay focused), the busy body made it a point to prove him wrong. Brian had mentioned Craig to Tyler a few times when trying to get him to come out with their group, like he was some bargaining chip. Like Brian knew something that Tyler didn’t.

It annoyed Tyler how often he ended up at those events.

Normally the first to wear a grin far too big for his face, there was no sign of a smile now. Craig’s body language was telling Tyler all he needed to know about the predicament; these two were not friends. “Does Brian even know you’re here? Because I doubt Brock invited you.”

“I’m a plus one of a friend. The new boy toy seemed to forget my invitation in the mail.” There was a cockiness in the stranger’s voice that instantly pissed Tyler off, his eyes narrowing as the conversation continued.

“Yeah, maybe because you’re Brian’s shitty ex-boyfriend, and he’d rather eat shards of glass than see your face again. And Brock’s not a boy toy; they’re actually in love. I know, new concept for you.” Craig’s snark was coated in a sweet tone that seemed to rub the ex the wrong way, though Tyler got a small chuckle out of it. Craig was always presented as cheerful and energetic, but one on one talks proved there was more sarcasm than sweetness. He was Brian’s friend after all.

“You think Brian’s going to actually manage to keep an innocent guy like that? We both know he’s far too self-destructive for that kind of happily ever after. Why do you think he always comes back to me each time?” Okay, Tyler could conceed he wasn’t always the nicest to Brian, but he also knew the guy wasn’t trash. Brian was good for Brock, as annoying as that was. And this punk was really starting to push Tyler’s buttons.

“Brian’s happy, actually happy. Brock wants him, not his wallet, and you’re not ruining that. So you need to leave, now.” Craig’s firm words didn’t have the effect that he wanted, and Tyler felt his teeth clench when the other man stepped into Craig’s personal space, posturing.

“Don’t think you can really make me. Last time didn’t go so well for you, did it?” This guy had muscle, and was obviously taller than the man sitting on the bar stool. Craig’s lips looked tense when they pressed together tightly, but Tyler could pick up on the slight flinch of his shoulders. This guy didn’t just bother Craig; he scared him. He was trying not to show it, but Tyler was sure it was a well known fact by how cruel the smirk on the other man’s face was. “How’s your arm, by the way? Fractures can be a pain in the ass, so I’ve heard. Still got that pop in your shoulder?”

“It’s fine.” The tone was quieter than before, and Craig pressed closer to the stool’s back, Still, his eyes shone brightly with defiance, unwilling to lower. And after a moment of tense silence, Craig surprised Tyler when his lip rose in a half-cocked grin. “How’s your dad? Divorces can be a pain in the ass, so I’ve heard. He still got that freckle on the tip of his-”

“You fucking slut.” Tyler was out of his seat before the guy could raise his fist, catching the punch inches from Craig’s face. Craig let out a surprised squeak, but Tyler didn’t look back when he used the contact to shove the man back, stepping between him and Craig.

“Don’t even think about it.” He didn’t need to posture or present himself as intimidating; his broach shoulders and tall genetics already did the work for him. While this guy had looked impressive in front of Craig, he wasn’t nearly as intimidating when compared to Tyler’s glare and tense shoulders.

“Who the fuck are you? His boyfriend?” The words were snapped off like an insult, as if the guy thought dating Craig was the worst punishment someone could have. From the corner of his eyes, he picked up on the wince behind Craig’s glasses, knowing he’d heard the same disgust Tyler had. Craig’s sexual history wasn’t hidden knowledge, though how much he’d changed since high school seemed less known. Sighing, Craig pushed out of his seat, shoulders dropped in shame. Like maybe he agreed with the scumbag.

“He’s-”

“Yeah, I am.” In a move that was far more suited for Brian, Tyler reached out, snagging Craig’s hip and yanking him closer. It was impulsive and fucking stupid, but Tyler’s heart lost track of it’s beat when feeling Craig’s warm body meld against his. It felt like a perfect match, with Craig’s head bumping against his collar bone before settling into the crook of Tyler’s neck. He let his arm drop around the waist, keeping Craig plastered to him to support the act he still wasn’t sure he wanted to perform. “Is that a fucking problem, asshole?”

“Tyler…” Craig’s lost tone didn’t sound right for the man who two nights ago gushed about the astrology compatibility on Tyler’s couch. He tried not to focus on how annoyed that made him, burning his glare into the man who now snorted.

“Oh, wow. You really want to claim this trainwreck? The kid’s had more people in him than the New York subway station.” The insult was tossed out without hesitation, like it was used far too often in correlation to Craig. The body against his tensed for a second before going limp, the words sucking whatever fight was left in Craig’s body out. And Tyler didn’t know anything about this situation, shouldn’t have cared about Craig’s happiness or the weird past these two had. This was Brian’s drama, Brock’s fight, Craig’s problem. It didn’t mean shit to Tyler, had no correlation to his future. Because it wasn’t his job to help people.

But that excuse wasn’t good enough this time.

“You talk about my boyfriend like that again, and I’ll knock your fucking teeth out.” He added no growl or movement to his threat, making sure his words were clear and deadly in their presentation. His hand squeezed the hip under his palm, letting the line between pretend and reality blur for a moment. “He’s mine. I don’t care what people think of us; I don’t give a fuck what he did before me. And I ain’t worry about anyone else coming after me, cause I’ll make sure he doesn’t need to find someone else. If those idiots couldn’t keep him satisfied, that was their loss. I don’t have a problem in that department. My only problem at the moment is you.”

“I never fucked-” But Tyler didn’t want to hear what this asshole had to say.

“Out of respect for my roommate, I’m not beating the shit out of you for hurting Craig before. But I’m really losing my patience. If you ever come near Craig again, I’ll make sure they don’t find your body. And since my boyfriend likes that dumbass Brian, he tends to hang out with him alot. Enough that you might bump into Craig if you bug him. That would be a bad day for you. You understand, or do you need specific details?”

Tyler didn’t interact with people often, but he sure as hell knew how to threaten someone.

“You-whatever. Brian’s not worth this shit. Enjoy your five minutes with Craig while it lasts.” Tyler could hear the fear in the guy’s voice when he turned tail, but he didn’t let his eyes move away from the glare he’d pinned on him since the threat.

“Your dad’s dick is small!” Craig’s shout at the guy retreating made Tyler roll his eyes, sending a look that made Craig smile sheepishly. “Well, it is.”

“I don’t need to know that,” he answered, feeling the chest against his ribs vibrate with Craig’s laugh.

“Aw, come on. You know what you were getting when you made me your boyfriend.” Craig’s smile was a nice change of pace, and Tyler’s arms pulled him closer without thought. A moment of surprise passed through both of them, Tyler unsure why he hadn’t dropped his hold on Craig’s waist. He knew the guy was long gone, and their act didn’t need to continue. Yet his brain and body didn’t seem to be on the same page. Craig looked pleased at the lack of distance, curling a hand on the back of Tyler’s neck. But the hesitant bite of his lower lip proved that the bravado wasn’t fully felt. “Rumors are gonna start, you know. If you’re looking to get yourself out of this alive, we shouldn’t be so close.”

“I already said I don’t care what people think of us.”

“But that was when-”

“Shut up for a second, will ya?” Tyler sighed at the headache that was forming behind his eyes. This was why he didn’t deal with people. “If it’s going to bug you or whatever, then we can make sure Brian spreads it was a joke. But I don’t have a social life, and I really could give two fucks what anyone but my teachers think about me. And if having people think I’m your boyfriend keeps assholes like that from harassing you, then use it.”

“You don’t mind? You really don’t mind being labelled as my boyfriend?” There was a spark of excitement in Craig’s tone when his eyes looked up at Tyler with an awe that made him squirm in discomfort. He felt his face flush at the attention, his stomach twisting in a way he couldn’t explain.

“How many times do I have to say that I don’t care-”

And then Craig was kissing him. The suddenness of the lips on his made Tyler’s mouth part in surprise. Craig took the opportunity to deepen the kiss and hum in pleasure. The softness of the tongue against his was mind-numbing, Tyler unsure how to counter the skill that Craig used. But after a second, he decided he needed to try. The fingers trailing lightly along the back of his neck during their leisure kiss had goosebumps rising on his skin, Tyler’s hands yanking Craig closer to feel the smaller body flush against his. The slight wiggle of Craig’s waist against his own proved the movement was appreciated, and Tyler only broke the kiss when soft lips sucked his tongue in a way far too familiar to an act he didn’t want to think about in public.

“That was nice.” Craig’s grin was pressed to Tyler’s slack lips, his breath even as he dropped a small peck between his next sentence. “We should definitely do that more to sell this whole boyfriend thing. Maybe in a bed and with less clothes on. A snapchat or two, you know, commit to our roles and such.”

“Jesus Christ.” He wanted it to sound exacerbated, not breathless, but it was obvious he missed his mark when Craig tossed his head back and laughed. Tyler stared down at the bright smile of his… something, arms tightening to keep Craig close. Unsure how he had gotten there, he only knew one thing for certain.

He was never helping someone out again.

#mssjynx #Minicat #Mini Ladd #I Am Wildcat #Fire and Ice boys #<3 #Crimson drabblez

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transrightsjimin · 3 years

Text

more ranting abt welfare benefits hell

sorry for whining so much abt income on here, i know it should just be easy nd solveable by applying more for jobs, but the literal issue is that i have no skills or confidence (latter is according to my friend, but the way i cant envision handling any jobs well is jst the truth??) nd still havent gotten any help from the municipality w getting consulted by someone w more knowledge on the job market nd maybe being pushed to take on shitty jobs that at least perhaps pay better than mail delivery. it’s jst so frustrating how i requested welfare benefits over 4 months ago but it only counted since 3 months ago bc they kept fucking up w the requests, promised a payback for the lost month, but didnt, i believe?? now december we got nothing nd probably also january bc our ‘income was too high‘ for the minimum.

uh i side tracked nd forgot where i was going before, but i meant to say tht HALF A YEAR AGO i also requested help w getting help w jobs but bc bureaucratic bullshit it took until DECEMBER to get the help approved. and they would get me a contact person ‘surely before christmas, don’t worry!‘ and then they didn’t and replied they hadn’t forgotten about me and will surely help soon and i’m just. so fucking anxious about this all??

my parents help me financially w cash they gave (nd some of which came from my grandmas) (nd no im not happy w that bc one of them is doing worse financially but still wants to give it away, nd the other is dead nd my uncle gave her left over money to family which feels ironic bc hes a millionaire but only gives a bit from his dead mom??) so that i can buy groceries bc me and my friend’s paychecks + welfare benefits can only cover rent + food and so not also other bills such as for healthcare that i have to make payment plans for. and even w help w groceries i still end up in the negatives, especially last month bc we ‘made too much‘ to receive something. i dont even dare to sell clothing or anything online for money bc that’d only mean ‘income from hobbies’ they could see i have and thus more reason to get stripped from this too.

and that is just the whole issue!! the municipality runs all these checks and forms and calls and appointments and documents you need to hand in, but there is NO calculation determining what you actually need. instead, based on the type of household, we were categorized as fiscal partners without children who receive the benefits together and thus we receive benefits (in the months that we do) to add it up to the ‘living minimum‘ €1500 in total. this amount does not cover our actual expenses, nor does this match inflation or how social housing has been broken down as a system and that real estate owners can increase rent prices as much as they want. there is a monthly grant that tenants could receive for renting a home, but only if it is an apartment AND below 752,33 euros per month (which is when it is considered social housing, above that it’s the ‘free market‘), and that is just virtually impossible?? but we were not once asked if we can actually pay anything and the people meant to help us w benefits just don’t fucking get flex work contracts or how our income over a certain month is received way later in the month after that. like they have a stable job and just dont fucking get that it is not designed well for us.

i think my anxiety over this issue has gotten worse ever since the news came out that a dutch woman on benefits got a €7000 fine because her mom did groceries for her and that’s considered fraud??!! she couldn’t afford food so her mom bought groceries for her but that is also considered financial compensation and thus she got this huge fine, which she probably cannot afford and the fucked up thing w fines from institutions is that they ask interest over it if you don’t pay it in time or enough of it, and give more fines and even charge fees for something like you receiving a letter and they’re just free to pull this shit bc it’s a for-profit business. and that’s how ppl end up w debt and huge loans. it’s just so infuriating nd i really dont want a fine or lose the right to benefits. even though i prob wont get it for a while bc of my friend’s job that tends to make our incomes together reach just the ‘living minimum‘. i have this bill of €250 for adhd diagnosis, then monthly bills for meds that are €76 of which i can receive most back and ‘only’ need to pay €25 from it, then theres an orthodentist bill of around €92 bc i forget this insurance company still counts from back when i was w it the first time nd orthodontist stuff gets insured up to €1000 and that amount was used up like 10 years ago nd they still count like that despite me having had a different insurer in between.

i just need a stupid fcking job nd i hate to whine abt this bc theres so many ppl in much worse situations who ‘take initiative‘ nd start looking for jobs, but AGAIN i have no ‘basic’ skills like being able to listen and understand words well nd fast or show the right facial expressions or have good memory or dexterity or be able to answer difficult questions or focus on reading etc etc, nor do i i have an idea what job i should or could do.like i fcking need an income, moreover i need a break, im in this fcking burnout since like 2013 and in depression since at least 2004 lmfao but it’s never been recognized as bad enough by specialists bc im not suicidal, but it’s also not good to the point where i ever know if i felt ok. also just. i feel like i did use to have a bit more confidence in myself in high school but it all got sucked out of me in art college (bc horribly bigoted teachers + students and being taught that drawing well is in fact not at all important in the domestic market but rather being INNOVATIVE and NETWORKING and also COPYING is the way to success!! like not kidding, thats what teachers told us) nd by my parents (bc i became older nd didnt spontaneously do all these chores or jobs despite having no fcking clue how bc they never taught stuff). like i just dont know how ppl live comfortably w themselves and know what its like to be themselves nd not feel bad nd anxious abt everything

#rambles #family stuff #death mention / for grandma #this is a long rant im so sorry thisis a mess

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itsstickball · 4 years

Note

I saw your prompt post so can u pls give us the father son Wymack and Andrew dynamic we deserve thank you hallelujah

Okay so I know you probably were expecting sth at a younger stage of life (and tbh, I might still write that, bc it’s good shit), but we’re four weeks into 20quarantine and I miss hockey. And you know what they do in hockey? Dad’s Trips.

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Andrew’s watching some Netflix series about the drama between a bunch of exotic animal owners, alone in the dark of his apartment with an entire tub of ice cream resting on the pillow in his lap when the call comes through. He’s more invested in the ice cream than the drama, which came out the year prior. In fact, he’d avoided the show until now on the principle of annoying his family and was only watchin it now because he was tired of having to decode the references Neil made any time he posted a picture of Sir.

He doesn’t bother to pause it or move to another room when he hits the “answer” icon on his phone.

“It’s a little late to be getting the mail, isn’t it?” He asked in lieu of a greeting. There was really only one reason for Wymack to be calling him.

“If anything, it’s early. This is yesterday’s mail.” Wymack grunted. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Andrew looked at the clock, and realized that yeah...that tracked. The red numbers blinked back 3:39am at him and he remembered Neil mentioning that the Foxes had a road game this week. Once he did the math, it was actually a little surprising Wymack hadn’t called an hour earlier.

“You called me.” He reminded the coach rather than comment on the rest of it.

There was a sigh from the other end of the line. “I had a hunch.” Wymack retorted. It was more like he had five years to put up with Andrew’s bullshit and Andrew four years of putting up with Neil and Kevin’s. Night practices made more than one lasting impact, it seemed.

“So you got it.” Andrew prompted, not asked.

Wymack sighed again and there was the faint sound of shuffling papers.

“Yeah. I don’t have a fucking clue why, though.”

“It’s pretty self explanatory.” Andrew retorted. “Assuming you can still read.”

“Reading is the only thing I need the glasses for, thank you very fucking much.”

Andrew would be lying if he said the corner of his mouth didn’t twitch up at Wymack’s easy irritability. But this was his apartment and there was no one there to misunderstand it anyway.

“So what’s the problem?” He asked, taking a bite of ice cream while waiting for Wymack to fill the silence with his trepidations.

“Are you sure you want -”

“I gave them the address.” Andrew cut him off, letting Wymack fill in the space between his words. They both knew that he didn’t do or mean things halfway. Without an address, there wouldn’t have been an invitation at all - just like there hadn’t been the previous two years.

More silence, this time less interesting now that Andrew knew what useless emotions were hiding on the other side.

“Do you have any other plans?” He didn’t. Andrew had checked. Wymack’s grunt confirmed what he already knew. “Then let Wilds take over yelling at the delinquents for a weekend.”

“Okay, but Andrew -.”

“The dinner on friday is black tie. Try not to embarrass yourself.” He reminded his former coach and then promptly hung up before Wymack could so much as shout in indignation.

Onscreen, a man with a truly horrendous mullet cussed out one of his rival gamekeepers.

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Once a year, like many professional Exy Teams, the Spokane Sundogs hosted a special weekend trip for their players and their families - or, more specifically, their fathers. Andrew had scorned the idea of it when brought up by his last two teams - and not just because he had no biological guardian to invite.

This year, however, as the team gathered outside the arena, nearly ready to depart, he stood with mild anticipation.

They were only waiting for one more addition before they boarded, with most of the players and their dad’s already conversing or posing for the team’s PR photographer. Andrew was standing slightly apart from the group, a quirk which thankfully they’d all come to accept about him. This time though, it was with more intention than just preserving his personal space.

“Ah!, finally.” The team’s defensive coach, Elliot Martin said, stepping over to show Andrew the text reading out that their last guest had arrived.

“Took him long enough.” Andrew grunted in reply, thankful that the coach didn’t press or make more noise about the issue. Martin was one of the few people intuitive enough to recognize the difference between Andrew’s silences and attention span. He also didn’t crowd any closer now that their exchange was over.

Just a few minutes later, Wymack’s form strode through the exterior door.

In truth, it was just a chance that his travel plans put him as the last arrival. Andrew felt no ill will or disgruntlement towards the coach for it, but he was undecided on how he felt about the matter as a whole. On the one hand, all of his teammates were currently distracted interacting with each other, but their attention would all be called together now that everyone was here. He doubted any of them expected to see someone standing next to him, and wasn’t looking forward to their speculation.

“Wymack.” He greeted, his voice characteristically monotone.

“Minyard.” The coach nodded and returned it in kind - although Andrew noted he sounded rather tired. That didn’t bode particularly well for someone he was going to have to travel with, but at least they wouldn’t be flying. Wymack didn’t try to step closer than necessary or make any physical greetings with him, which he was grateful for.

Then, however, it was time to go and his position among the coaching staff - complete with his guest was made obvious. A round of quick murmurs went up from the small crowd, which Andrew ignored in favor of staring at their head coach as he gave their schedule. An assistant handed out paper forms of the itinerary and then they were being ushered onto the bus.

“Your teammates seem nice.” Wymack said, apropos of literally nothing, after they’d handed their luggage off to the equipment team.

Andrew grunted.

“Regret inviting me already?” Wymack tried again, this time with a bit of dry humor in his voice.

Andrew turned to look at him, a tiny spark in his eye. “Not at all.” Wymack’s eyebrows furrowed, so he elaborated. “This way, they can pester you with their questions instead of me.”

He pat Wymack once on the shoulder before disappearing into the bus. When he’d found his seat at the very back and chanced a glance out the window, he found Wymack swamped by other players and their dads just a few feet from the steps. He seemed to be handling the attention alright, but Andrew recognized the slight tension in his movements. It was as close to a deer in headlights as Wymack got.

“I hate you.” He said a few minutes later when the coaches got serious about everyone boarding the bus.

Andrew glanced over at where the older man was slumped into the seat next to him. His grin was feral and sharp. “See, you fit right into the family. You’ve already learned our main vocabulary.”

Wymack scowled at him, but there was no real heat to it. And if Andrew’s smile softened and quirked higher on one side, even as he pressed his lips together and turned to look outside - well, there was only one person alive who would call him on it and he was hundreds of miles away.

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Forty hours later and they’re in the hotel room, getting ready for the fancy team dinner. Andrew was long resigned to having to share rooms with potentially obnoxious teammates for away games, so the change of pace that comes from sharing with Wymack is welcome. Living with him - even for just a few days, even in a cramped room - is familiar. Andrew spent too many nights quarantined with the man in college for it not to be.

There was no threat to anyone’s safety or sanity - aside from the fallout typically associated with overly friendly teammates, but they knew each other’s quirks. Andrew didn’t comment when Wymack woke up at 5:30 to brew an entire carafe of coffee - despite not having any engagements until 9:00. And Wymack didn’t question why he spent nearly the entirety of their afternoon free/rest time sitting on the desk by the window with a pint of ice cream just staring out at the cityscape below.

Andrew didn’t have to hedge or explain why he needed to shower first when it came time to get ready for the dinner. In fact, they skipped the discussion altogether. Both men simply glanced at the clock after the shitty made-for TV movie they’d been watching rolled to credits and Wymack said. “Let me know when you’re done.”

It was that simple.

Being away from the Foxes, from his family for so long, Andrew actually sat there stunned for a moment before Wymack turned back to look at him, prompting a grunt in reply. Seemingly satisfied, his former coach turned back to whatever he was doing with the charcoal suit he’d hung up in their shared closet space. Andrew allowed himself one more second of stillness before getting up and angrily grabbing his own pants and undershirt and locking himself in the bathroom

Behind him, he heard Wymack let out an amused huff, but no comment.

By the time he finished and they swapped rooms, the frustration of his startling realization had left Andrew. He still waited for Wymack to click the bathroom lock in place behind him before he moved to finish dressing and comb his hair into something acceptable. But then he had nearly half an hour to sit on the bed and think before his teammates and their fathers would fill up the fuzzy parts of his brain.

He could use the time to analyse how he got to that point - how Wymack had gotten to that point. Andrew enjoyed living on his own, but it clearly wasn’t just Neil's company at PSU that had left a lasting mark on him. Thirty minutes was plenty of time to catalogue each of the things he’d gotten used to in college that he’d lost again as he moved from team to team each year in the pros…

He flipped on the TV instead.

Wymack opened the door fifteen minutes later to Andrew staring blankly at an infomercial.

“I didn’t take Neil as the type to wear pearls.” He poked, looking bemused from Andrew to the man and woman on stage who were trying to make outdated jewelry seem like the newest fad.

Andrew slid his gaze sideways, eyes focusing in on the older man. Unlike Andrew, he’d exited the bathroom in only his boxers - which, Andrew was secretly bemused to find, were covered in tiny orange fox paws. He didn’t stay that way for long, of course, turning to retrieve his actual clothes from the closet.

“He likes to feel classy.” He shot back, deadpan and several seconds too late to be anything more than a deflection.

Wymack snorted, and for a moment, Andrew thought he’d let it drop. To Andrew’s downfall, unfortunately, he had the capacity to both dress himself and prod at the blonde’s psyche at the same time.

Andrew would have to ask Bee to stop spending so much time with him and Abby. It was ruining his “above my paygrade” modus operandi.

“You know I’m shit at this kind of stuff.” He started and Andrew resigned himself to the fact that they were, evidently, going above the paygrade. “But you’re allowed to enjoy nice things.”

Andrew held back his urge to scoff. “Nice things” had never factored into his life unless he was being accused of breaking them. It would be easy to deliberately misconstrue Wymack’s gruff sincerity, to make this about the pearls, pretty but ultimately meaningless objects. He knew, however, that this wasn’t the type of “nice” the older man was talking about.

How many times had he told Neil that Foxes didn’t get to have nice things? That they came from nothing and so would always have nothing? It turned out, though, that there were a lot of nice things that also came from nothing. Renee’s smiles and unwavering - even if often annoying - encouragement. Kevin’s refusal to let him give up on life, even in the face of his own fear. Neil’s never-ending respect for his boundaries.

Half an hour of sick sobriety in exchange for a few stopped goals. A bottle of Jack in exchange for a whole game.

Wymack’s second, third, fourth chances.

He met Wymack’s gaze. “I know.”

Because as intolerably cheesy as Coach’s whole “as many chances as it takes” philosophy sounded, Andrew would either be dead or rotting in a jail cell without it. He would have thrown himself to the wolves in order to keep his family safe, and it would have destroyed him. But Coach gave him the back-up he’d gone his entire childhood without. He only took what Andrew was willing to give, held him accountable, and called him on his bullshit, but never tried to fix him.

In a world of people preoccupied with making everyone around them perfect, Wymack said “what you are is good enough.”

Andrew didn’t know if he’d ever be able to bring himself to say thank you, but he could show it. He’d thought it funny to spring Wymack on his teammates and vice-versa, sure. But he’d invited him because he fit the bill.

Andrew might not ever say it, but maybe he could show his gratitude, one hectic weekend at a time.

Wymack seemed to understand.

“Alright.” He said, nodding once, then twice more firmly. “Now how many times can I expect Richard Decker to ask me about fishing?”

Andrew snorted. “Based on his son? It will be the only thing he talks about all dinner.”

Wymack shook his head and gave a little laugh before pocketing his wallet and keycard and gesturing toward the door.

“Well, let’s not keep the man’s sturgeon dreams waiting, then.” He said, earning a dubious expression from the blonde.

He didn’t deign to honor the joking comment with a response, but as they headed towards the elevator, Andrew thought he might have one more nice thing to add to the list.

#aftg #andrew minyard #david wymack #also known as dadmack #dad's trip #ask answered #this is unedited - bc why edit when you could post immediately and then regret your grammatical choices later?#pro exy #professional exy! andrew

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overdrivels · 4 years

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@romancedeldiablo just reminded me the entire cybersecurity/information security industry is having the greatest field days ever since this whole Covid-19 triggered a mass work from home exodus.

I have so much to say about it and all the security issues that are occurring. This mostly pertains to the US. This isn’t meant to scare anyone, they’re just food for thought and a bit of explanation about my industry.

PSA: Not all hackers are bad, just a reminder. There are very legitimate reasons for hacking such as compliance and research. When I talk about hackers here, I’m talking about the bad ones who are exploiting without permission and for malicious reasons.

The main thing about this whole working from home thing is that most organizations don’t have the infrastructure to support their entire workforce. Not every company uses Google Drive or OneDrive or DropBox.

This means that companies with on-premise servers, isolated servers or networks are screwed. Imagine trying to connect to your friend’s computer who lives on the other side of the world and controlling their mouse. Can’t do it. Gotta download something on both ends to do it. Now imagine that for 500 people at home who are trying to connect to a single server. You’d need to open that server/network up to the internet. That has its own risks because without controlling WHO can access the server, you’re basically allowing anyone (hackers especially) to go in and take all your data.

But then you ask, “Isn’t that what passwords are for?” BITCH look at your own passwords. Do you really think 500 people will have passwords strong enough to withstand a rainbow table attack or that the server won’t shit itself when receiving 500 connections from unknown locations by means of a not-often used method? Hackers only need to exploit one password (for the most part) while the company needs to ensure ALL 500 are protected. That’s difficult as all hell and if it were that easy, I wouldn’t have a job.

Then there’s shit like Virtual Private Networks (VPNs) and RADIUS servers that’ll secure the network connection so it can’t be hijacked and do authentication respectively. Here’s the problem. VPN solutions need to be downloaded on the client system (your computer). When your organization has very technically illiterate people, that becomes a nightmare. ‘Cause you have to set up their accounts on the VPN system and set the permissions for each of them so they can only access what they’re allowed to access otherwise Bob from sales now has access to the HR system with everyone’s social security numbers. It’s very time consuming and can get very complicated. Even worse is that VPNs often require licenses. When you only have 50 licenses and suddenly 500 people want access, you’re screwed. But you can always purchase more licenses, no problem. Here’s the rub. Suddenly, this VPN tunnel needs to accept connections from 500 people. This tunnel is only strong enough to accept 50 concurrent sessions. When 10x that amount get on, guess what? The tunnel shits itself and basically the company has DoS’d itself. Now no one can get any work done until IT figures out how to get 500 people on a system that’s only capable of supporting 50.

Fuck, almost forgot about RADIUS. There’s DIAMETER, too, but shut up about it. It’s an authentication system but depending on how it’s set up, you’ll have to also set up the users. That’s an extra step and it’s a pain in the ass if RADIUS somehow isn’t connected to AD and the user has different passwords and shit.

Not to mention hackers suddenly gaining access to all this information because they’ve already infected people’s home computers and routers prior to the work from home stuff. There’s very limited way for IT to control what happens on a personal computer, so these personal computers can have no anti-virus or security software. This means all data is in danger because someone decided Windows Defender is annoying. (Windows Defender is pretty great, btw.)

Physical robberies are occurring a little more because there’s no one to protect the stores and such. Physical security is taking a hell of a beating.

There’s been an increase in phishing scams around COVID-19. Unemployment sites are probably being (and probably already have been) hacked and the data is being stolen. I think there were some people who were creating fake unemployment sites to steal PII. There are e-mails going out to people saying stuff like, “Your computer has been infected with the CORONAVIRUS. Click here to clean it up.” And you’re wondering, “What sort of morons…?” Don’t. It’s very easy to give in to your panic. Hackers don’t hack computers solely. They hack into human emotion, into the psyche. Anyone can fall for their shit.

The thing with Zoom? Basically they’re so insecure, people are hacking them without issue. How? Because people are silly and put out links, chat logs are saved onto insecure machines that have already been hacked, there are a bunch of exploits available for Zoom, etc.

Healthcare organizations. Oh boy. So, we all know healthcare organizations are working their damnedest to save people suffering from COVID-19. Every second counts and any delay in that process could mean life or death. They work hard. Here’s the thing. There has always been a delicate balance between security and usability. Too secure and it’ll make it difficult for the end user to do their job. Usable without security just makes it easier for an attacker to do their job. Why am I talking about this?

Healthcare organizations usually hold sensitive information. Health information. Social security numbers. Birth dates. Addresses. Insurance information. Family member information. So much stuff. They are a beautiful target for hackers because all that shit is right there and it’s accessible. Healthcare organizations, by and large, do not put a lot of emphasis on security. That’s changing a bit, but for the most part, the don’t care about security. They do the bare minimum because guess what? Every additional control can add time to a doctor or healthcare worker’s routine. Computer lockscreen every 5 minutes? Now the doctor has to re-logon every 5 minutes. This adds about 15 seconds to their rountine. Multiply that several times over for every patient that comes in assuming a doctor will need to log in at least 3 times during a single visit. That can clock in at at least an hour throughout the day. A hour that they could’ve spent doing something else. So imagine more controls. Password needs to be reset. Need to badge in. Log into this extra program to access this file. Call IT because this thing locked them out. Each one of these normal controls now feel insanely restrictive. The ease of use isn’t there and so organizations might look at reversing these security controls, potentially making things even less secure than before in the name of efficiency.

Don’t @ me about HIPAA. I will start rants about how non-prescriptive and ineffective it is to actually get proper security implemented.

LOL @ internet service providers. Internet speeds are dropping due to the amount of traffic they’re getting. Commercial internet really wasn’t prepared for this. Those poor bastards.

Some organizations outsource their IT teams. Those people (Managed Service Providers aka MSPs) are not prepared for this nonsense. It’s popular now to go after these guys for hacking. An MSP usually works for multiple organizations. So, why try going after 50 organizations individually when you have just one organization with poor security controls managing everything from one place? You’d logically go after the one rather than 50. It’s easier.

MSPs are now overworked because they also have to work from home to connect to systems that can’t support so many people connecting to it on personal computers that the MSP can’t log into like they normally would to fix any issues. This makes them tired. What happens when you’re tired? You make more mistakes. And that’s exactly what hackers go after. Once they’re in the MSP’s system, the hacker can now potentially gain access to the 50 clients’ systems. Easy win.

Shadow IT and alternate solutions. This is another doozy. Imagine all your files and shit are on your company’s network. No one is able to access it because there isn’t any VPN or remote sharing system or FTP server set up for this stuff, but you still need to do your job. So, what do you do? Obviously, you start making stuff on your own computer using whatever you’re comfortable with. Google Drive. Dropbox. Box. Slack. That shitty PDF reader you downloaded three years ago and didn’t update.

Now imagine sharing it through things like your personal e-mail which may or may not have been hacked without your knowledge. Or maybe the recipient’s been hacked without anyone’s knowledge. Maybe your files are normally encrypted if they’re on the company network. Now you’re off of it and nothing’s encrypted. Maybe you forget it delete a file or 80 off of your system which has been infected. Or maybe you pasted shit on pastebin or github and it’s available to the public because that’s just easier. Now anyone searching can find it. This is how database dumps are found sometimes and they’re really entertaining.

Shadow IT putting in alternate solutions without the company’s knowledge is always a fucking nightmare. I get that people need to do their jobs and want to do things a certain way, but can you not be selfish and put everyone at risk because you decided your way or the high way?

That sounds awfully familiar…it feels like a situation that we’re going through right now…hey, wait a minute…

Long story short, this whole working from home thing opens up a lot of security issues. Most companies are ill-equipped to handle IT issues, let alone cybersecurity/information security/IT security issues, but because of that, we’re seeing a lot of interesting things happening. Such as finding out New Jersey’s unemployment system runs on a 60+ year old programming language.

Holy shit I can talk about this all day. I’ve definitely glossed over a lot of stuff and oversimplified it. If anyone wants me to talk about any specific topic related to this or cybersecurity or information security in general, drop an ask. I’m always, always more than happy to talk about it.

#drivels drivels #BACK ON MY BULLSHIT #EXCEPT THIS IS REAL LIFE BULLSHIT

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ill-go-with-that-then · 5 years

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ERASERMIC AU WRITTEN FOR SPITE

So @ladycakepops told me I couldn’t make a cute AU where Aizawa worked in a factory and Mic was a dog-walker. I’m 99% motivated by spite always, so this is the result of that. I’ll leave it to you all to decide if it’s cute or not! :D

Aizawa never made it into the hero course. He graduated from General Studies without distinction, and tried for a few years to get an internship with a hero agency, ANY agency, but none would accept him. So, unmotivated and low on resources, he took the first job that became available, just to get his feet under him while he made a new plan

He lives in a shitty, one-room apartment in an awful neighborhood. He likes it though - he doesn’t care where he lives, and the neighbors are quiet. Until one day the old guy in the apartment next to his moves out, or dies. Aizawa doesn’t know and he suspects the guy stole his mail, so he doesn’t care, either. But he starts to care a lot when his new neighbor moves in. His new neighbor who loves music and apparently hasn’t realized that the walls here are thinner than paper thin.

He tries to live with it. He knows what kind of people live in this neighborhood and he doesn’t want to start any trouble - he can’t afford to move right now. But he works second shift, four to midnight. So he really doesn’t appreciate it when the guy starts blasting his music at 6:00am, an hour after Aizawa finally falls asleep. The third time it happens, his rage propels him out the door of his apartment, down the hallway that’s probably never been cleaned, and to the guy’s door, where he bangs on it furiously.

The music stops instantly. And a few moments later, the door opens to reveal probably the best-looking guy Aizawa has ever seen in real life. It suddenly occurs to him that he’s wearing ratty pajama pants, and only ratty pajama pants. His feet are bare. And his words are gone. “I… Uh…” is all he manages to say.

But the guy’s face instantly crumples in apology. “Oh my god, did I wake you? I am so sorry. I have the music down low, can you still hear it?”

“I-“ Aizawa tries to collect himself. To rally. “Uh… the walls are… really thin?”

The guy closes his eyes. His face is pink, Aizawa figures he’s embarrassed. That’s fine, Aizawa is also mortified. “I’m so sorry. It will never happen again. I swear. Headphones only, from now on.”

“…Thanks,” Aizawa says, because he is amazing at socializing. A champion. Is it okay to ask someone for their number when you’ve just disturbed them at six in the morning? He doesn’t know, and he’s only running on a single hour of sleep, so he just stands there while his brain sluggishly tries to process what’s happening. It’s awkward.

“Are you hungry? I’m making breakfast. It’s the least I can do since I woke you,” the guy offers.

“Thank you. That sounds good,” Aizawa says, suddenly understanding how a drowning person must feel when they’re thrown a life preserver. The guy steps aside, and Aizawa follows him into the apartment. It doesn’t look much like his own, but after a quick look around, Aizawa realizes that the differences are only superficial. Where he has his sleeping bag, a phone charger, and a single box of possessions, this guy has actual furniture. It’s cheap, old and scuffed, but it’s homey. There’s a colorful blanket draped over the worn couch, and an attempt at curtains in front of the single window. There’s even a plant on the windowsill. Aizawa knows he’s well out of his depth.

“I’m Hizashi Yamada, by the way,” the guy - Hizashi - says as he walks over to the corner of the room that’s as close to a kitchen as this place gets. “And I hope you like eggs.”

“I like anything,” Aizawa says truthfully. His favorite food is free. “And I’m Shouta Aizawa.”

“Welcome, Aizawa!” Yamada waves an arm towards the couch. “Make yourself comfortable!”

For lack of anything better to do, Aizawa does as he’s bid, dropping onto the couch and looking around the room uncomfortably, trying to avoid staring at Yamada, who’s whistling as he sets a pan on a hot-plate. He wracks his brain for something to say, but Yamada beats him to the punch. “So, what do you do, Aizawa? Are you some kind of personal trainer or something?”

“No,” Aizawa says, slowly. “I work at the crab-processing plant down the street.”

“Ah.” Yamada glances at him. “Sorry, I just assumed.”

“What do you do?” Aizawa asks, because he’s curious but also because if he has to sit there in silence while his hot neighbor makes him breakfast he might actually perish.

Yamada throws him a grin over his shoulder. It’s pretty. Aizawa would give a lot to be wearing a shirt right now. “I’m a musician! Well, by night, anyway. By day I’m your trusty neighborhood dog walker!”

“This neighborhood has a dog walker?” Aizawa asks, skeptical. This building doesn’t allow pets, and he’s pretty sure no one who lives on the entire block could afford the fees for them, let alone pay for that kind of service. But Yamada just laughs.

“No, the ritzy neighborhood five subway stops away has a dog-walker. This neighborhood has an asshole who plays his music too early in the morning.”

Aizawa snorts. “Pretty sure anyone who invites their rude neighbor over for breakfast loses the right to call themselves an asshole.”

“Hmm, would you accept dick then?” Yamada asks so innocently. It’s not his fault Aizawa’s filthy, tired brain has taken his harmless question and skidded completely off the rails.

“I’d have to get to know you before I decide,” he says, automatically. He doesn’t slap his hand over his mouth afterwards, but it’s a close thing.

Thankfully, Yamada takes his statement at face value, “Hey, great idea! I don’t know many people around here yet. Wanna come over and watch a movie later?”

“My shift is from four to twelve,” Aizawa says, regretfully.

“Too bad!” Yamada says, looking more put-out than Aizawa would have expected, all things considered. “Maybe on your next day off.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Aizawa mutters, already planning how to tell his boss he’s swapping to third shift. But Yamada seems to mistake his hesitance for reluctance.

“No pressure!” He says brightly, as he flips eggs out the pan onto a couple of plates. “You want ketchup on these?” He grins at Aizawa’s nod, finishing the plates and crossing the room to hand one to Aizawa. “Sorry there’s no rice. If I knew I’d be having company-”

“It’s fine,” Aizawa interrupts, staring at the eggs. The ketchup on top is shaped like a smiley face. He’s never thought of himself as the marrying kind before, but he’s reevaluating his five-year plan anyway. Things change. “And I’d like to hang out. Soon.”

Yamada’s grin softens into something quieter, more vulnerable. “Great, that’s great! Anytime!”

Mercifully, the food diverts their attention from the conversation for a few minutes. Until eventually Yamada says, “In the interest of full disclosure, you should know that I practice my guitar kinda often.”

“That’s fine,” Aizawa says. He’s feeling a lot more charitable towards music at the moment. “It won’t bother me.”

“I’ll keep it to reasonable hours, I swear!” Yamada goes on, like he might still need convincing.

Hoping to distract him from the memory of their less then pleasant introduction, Aizawa asks, “What kind of music do you play?” It was a good question. Yamada brightens immediately, and starts talking rapidly, and with a lot of musical terms Aizawa is unfamiliar with. But he nods along, trying to figure out how to keep the happy look on Yamada’s face. As the words wind down, Aizawa goes for his finishing move: “I’ll have to hear you play sometime.”

It’s a win. Yamada looks delighted. “Yes! Absolutely! I mean, you’ll probably hear me a lot if the walls are as thin as you say, but I’d be glad to play something for you! Or you could come to one of my shows!”

“Sure,” Aizawa shrugs. He’s never been to a music performance in his life, but he finds he’s suddenly willing to do a lot of things for someone who makes a breakfast as good as this. “Sounds fun!”

Yamada opens his mouth to say something, but gets distracted by the clock on a side table. “Oh shit! I gotta roll or I’ll be late for work. Hey, it was great meeting you, Aizawa.”

Aizawa brings a hand up to rub at the back of his neck. “It was… nice meeting you, too. I know it wasn’t the best first impression…”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Yamada says, off-hand, and Aizawa would swear he saw the man’s eyes flick down to his chest. “I think we’re going to be great friends. It’s fate!”

“Yeah,” nods Aizawa, who doesn’t believe in fate at all. “Must be.”

#erasermic #My writing #my ramblings #spite spite spite spite spite #jk LCP knows I heart her

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surveys-at-your-service · 4 years

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Survey #274

“now i can hear the marching feet / they’re moving into the street”

What color was the last swimsuit you wore? I only have a black one. Is your dream job attainable? I mean define “dream job.” I’d ideally be a meerkat biologist if I was willing to live in Africa and could handle even mild heat, but I can’t/won’t do either of those, so it’s not obtainable to me. I’d also love to be a paleontologist if I could travel and handle heat once more, but again, I can’t. My only *attainable* dream job is being a photographer, which I am aiming for. I’d LIKE to focus on nature/wildlife photography, but that’s unlikely to be able to support me, so. Do you have to go to school or work tomorrow? N/A Have you slept for longer than usual today? Yes, but only because of my nightmares. I tend to take at least two (though sometimes one) hour-long naps during the day because if I wake up once during the night, as I usually do, I’m fucked because I’m very likely to have an intense nightmare. It seems like the medicine I’m on wears off with consciousness, I guess. I only allow myself to sleep an hour at daytime because my mother has noticed if I have a nightmare, it’s usually no earlier than one hour into sleep. Even then I still have them occasionally. Have you ever taken classes for a musical instrument? Recorder in elementary school was necessary for whatever stupid reason, and then I played the flute for years. Out of school, I took guitar lessons for a while. I got semi-decent (at best I could do the intro to “Crazy Train” at normal speed, I think), but it didn’t last because it was annoying/time-consuming to build up the calluses that make playing painless, I was really bad at overthinking where my fingers were, and I just wasn’t invested quite enough. I’ll tell you, it gave me mad respect for guitarists, that shit isn’t easy by any means. Have you ever been on vacation with someone other than your family? Yes, though it was brief. I was a kid (okay, pre-teen, w/e) still in my separation anxiety from Mom phase and it was literally because of me we had to go home. I still feel shitty about it, though no one seemed upset at me. How old do you think you’ll be when you move out on your own? Who the fuck even knows anymore. Do you have a job? If so, where do you work? If not, do you want one? No; N/A; yes ultimately but no at the current moment because I have to keep watch over Mom. If you wear make-up, which brand of foundation/powder do you use? N/A Would you call yourself a “people” person? Nope. What is one change you need to make in your life this month? Just one??? What’s been tugging on your heart lately? My PTSD plus self-image has been very, very bad. What is the last thing you did that made you feel guilty? Mom had to clean up my cat’s projectile vomit even though she’s supposed to stay away from this kinda stuff through chemo. I literally cannot fucking touch vomit, never mind what came out of him that night. I felt like absolute fucking shit and I still do because WOW I’m a great adult right!! Do you have any physical traits that are bothering you lately? Like, everything. What kind of dog is your favorite? I’m biased to beagles. What was the last thing you received in the mail? A book. What is the last thing you wrote? Like, physically? My signature at the doctor’s office. Do you still care about the person you first kissed? Way fucking more than I should. Do you require a lot of private time? Definitely more than most people. Do you have any songs currently stuck in your head? I haven’t listened to it in forever for ~reasons~, yet “The Mortician’s Daughter” is stuck in my head badly and really needs to fuck off. What was the last song you downloaded? I dunno, I went on a download binge a while back. Have you ever read a really funny book? I remember at least one. “Bite Me” by IDR-Who. Some vampire satire. Have you ever done something humiliating while drunk? Never reached the point of being drunk. How would you react if your celebrity crush came to your door? fuckin YIKES I am NOT attractive rn go away Has your mom/dad ever walked in on you kissing or anything more with someone? HAHA my mom has always had the decency to knock, not so much his mom a;lwkejrewoei but the answer’s still no. What electronics are in your room? (DVD player, CD player, etc) This laptop, my phone, a Nintendo DS, my iPod… Do you have a box anywhere with special items you'll to keep forever in it? Yes, actually. Grew up calling them “treasure boxes.” Do you have any pictures of yourself on your bedroom walls? Lol no, I’d definitely prefer to not see myself as much as I can. That sounds melodramatic, but I’m being serious. It either depresses me or makes me angry. Does your dad collect anything? The Cleveland Browns’ football team stuff, for one. Maybe Carolina Hurricane stuff, too? Idk. I don’t live with him and don’t go in his “man cave” at his house often ha ha. What's better, a desktop or laptop? Explain. A laptop. Portable; that’s all the explanation ya really need. Do your parents still hide chocolate eggs around on Easter for you? Nah. What do you typically do on Easter Day? We go to my sister’s house to watch the kids do their egg hunting and open their gifts, then we usually go to Ashley’s in-laws’ for dinner. Is there anyone you literally need to exist? Apparently not. Thought so. Never let yourself into that state of mind. What would you prefer to get from a guy/girl: flowers, a hand-written poem, a picture he drew of you or a nice night out? Oh, a hand-written poem would wreck me, yeesh. Or a drawing. But any would be very sweet. Do you remember why you made the last mistake you did? I don’t know the most recent mistake, but probably because I’m just in general a terrified person who second-guesses or overanalyzes everything. Did you check how many calories the last thing you ate had? Yes. I’m back on my calorie-counting obsession again. Are your nails long or short? Short, always. I can’t keep them long. What is your favorite kind of cookie? Just the ordinary chocolate chip is fine. What was the last compliment you received? I don’t know. Who will be the next person you kiss? I normally delete this question because the answer should be so obvious, but I feel like just pointing it out that no one fucking knows who they’re gonna kiss next. It’s a dangerous mindset. Don’t make assumptions about what you’ll have even tomorrow. Have you ever made your own icon? Yeah, on many sites. They’re just about always just edits, though, not truly original work. What color is your computer mouse? It’s black. Have you ever been sung to on your birthday in a restaurant? Yes. Do you like black olives? I don’t like olives period. Do you actually think there will be a zombie apocolypse? Personally, no. I do think it’s scientifically possible, we already see this in insects, but I just don’t imagine it happening to humans before we’re our own downfall. Do you like the person you’ve become over the past years? Fuck no. Have you ever gone to church just to get a significant other? … No…? Have you ever punched a wall out of complete anger? No, that shit is terrifying. Are you really ticklish? YES don’t fucking touch me. How do you decide what you're going to eat each day? I just follow what I’m craving that day. How are you similar to your siblings? Different? Compared to Ashley and Nicole at least, I can’t think of any real similarities off the top of my head. They’re intelligent, motivated, outgoing, successful, yada yada, then there’s me. What's your favorite type of non-fiction literature? Autobiographies by people I’m actually interested in. Do you believe in souls? Soulmates? Souls, absolutely. Soulmates, no. It’s fairytale ideation to think your soul has a perfect match with another, hate to break it to ya. Favorite soundtrack? BITCH don’t make me choose between Shadow of the Colossus and Silent Hill 2. Fucking masterpieces. Pianos or guitars? *shrugs* Depends on the music and my mood. Did an animal ever bite you? Never seriously. How many languages do you speak? Only English fluently. I’m poor at German by now. Wiggly worms or bumble bees? Worms gross me out, bees are Good Boys. Religion? I don’t really identify with any. I just believe there’s some form of ultimate intelligence and essences beyond just the body, and that’s all I even pretend to know. Fog, thunder, or rain? Fog gives me that Silent Hill Vibe *Italian kiss* What regret keeps coming back to haunt you daily? The way I treated Jason after the breakup. If you could cure yourself of one allergy, what would it be? Damn pollen. Do you know anyone else with your name? Yeah. What would you be most afraid of happening if you were to visit Africa? Viruses or botflies. Where are you tempted to move to sometimes? I very legitimately want to live in Canada by now, but I won’t because I’m not moving that far from family. Who seems like they have the perfect life? I try not to make that assumption of anyone. Do you ever take pictures of negative moments? Does taking pictures of roadkill count???? lmao probably Do you think it would be a good idea to post photos of negative moments as well as positive? Well… I guess it depends. Like ngl, the pictures some people share of them having panic attacks to just show how fucking real they are definitely touch you, as do those depicting poverty, etc., BUT I really do think there are limits and also differences in motivations. What time zone are you in? EST. Would you ever post a picture of yourself crying on social media? Wow, speaking of. No. ^Why or why not? I am an UGLY cry-er, my man. But I also just don’t want people to see that, and it’s definitely not on my mind to take a picture during a breakdown. What was the last thing you cried about? My life. Have you ever held a newborn baby? Yes. Do you know anyone who has twins? Yes. Where do you buy calendars from? I don’t. Do you shop at the dollar store often? Not *often*, but we’ll stop by for a snack or something sometimes. Are you following in the career path of any family members? No. Do you feel you missed out on a lot as a kid? I guess in some ways. Who was that best friend you ever had? Sara. What color is your laptop? Black. What are five careers you think you’d be good at? My work history has shown I can’t do shit right. Are you thriving in your life right now? lmao no one is in 2020. Who do you have moral support from? My family, doctor, and a few friends. Who encourages you to go after your dreams? The same as above. Do you have people in your family who want you dead? Wow, I hope not. Do you have a walk-in closet? No, but my room at the new house will. :’) Not that I need one, it’s just pretty cool. How do you feel about people like Elon Musk, Bill Gates, and Jeff Bezos having so much power and control in the world? Do you believe that any one person should have so much power? Let’s be real, in our current world, money is power, and no one should have that much control of the world, especially if your intentions are bad. NOW I don’t know jack shit about any of those are far as morals go, but just saying. It’s dangerous. Has your anxiety alone ever prevented you from doing something you wanted to do? This is ACTUALLY the story of my fucking life. Do you enjoy reading stories and novels that are heavily stylistic, poetic, or unconventional or do you prefer your prose to follow a familiar grammatical structure? Okay, I LOVE those, like Johnny Got His Gun and The Handmaid’s Tale that’s kinda like, run-on writing. Just letting a train of thought go. Those are two of the most powerful books I’ve ever read and they’re both written in a unique fashion. Have you ever fallen for any sort of Internet-based hoax? (e.g., fake celeb death, satire news article…) I’m sure at some point, especially as a kid. Do you tend to read reviews before you watch a movie or read a book? What do you hope to get out of doing so? NO. I don’t wanna have any precognition. When you go to a concert, how far must you travel for the most usual venues you visit? Most are on the other end of the state, and NC is long, so. We’re lucky if they come to Raleigh. Do you rent movies frequently? I never do, really. What is your favorite thing to do outside? Take pictures or swim. What’s your favorite meal to cook? I don’t cook. What movie has been taken WAY too far, as far as sequels go? Oh, I’m sure there are some, but none immediately come to mind. I’m not that into movies. Do you refuse to eat certain foods because of what they look like? Yes. I am VERY poor at getting past how a food looks. What are you listening to? NSP’s cover of “Don’t Fear The Reaper.” It’s fuckin gorgeous. How much homework do you have tonight? N/A Are you wearing any bracelets? Yes; one that Sara got me as well as an ovarian cancer awareness one. What's physically wrong with you right now? JINKIES I just feel really lethargic like always. Do you take any medications daily? Ha ha thanks for actually reminding me I need to now. When was the last time you moved to a new house? Two years ago, and now we’ll be moving to a much better place by the end of this month/early September, finally. When it comes to relationships, are you the jealous type? Nah. Which gift cards do you have in your wallet? Idk actually. It’s not like I use it a lot. Can you remember the last time you felt ill? What was wrong with you? A few nights ago. I was extremely hot, dizzy, and pretty nauseated. I was fine, though. If you wear make-up, do you take it with you, to reapply throughout the day? Does your make-up stay for a long time after you first apply it, or do you find that you need to reapply often? Are you wearing any make-up atm? I pretty much never wear makeup so have never really had a reason to reapply it. I’m definitely not wearing any now. Does your kitchen have a theme? No. Do you like ice cream sandwiches? GIRL yes. Do you prefer earbuds or headphones? Earbuds. They’re more comfortable imo but more importantly block out exterior noise very well. Are you a fan of any independent films? ngl, I don’t know exactly what that is and I don’t feel like looking it up. Could you possibly write a successful novel? I very genuinely think some of the RP stories I’ve taken part in are novel-worthy, yes. I wanted to make them books when I was younger, but now I no longer do mainly because there are areas that are just way too fucking dark that I don’t wanna put out there but play massive parts in the stories, so like… Do you regularly watch the news? I never do. Facebook is my “news” source lmao. Who was the last person you video-chatted with? I don’t remember for sure, maybe some doctor? What do you want the theme of your wedding to be? I don’t really think about this, seeing as my mind has changed enough, and it also depends on what my partner wants, too. Have you ever been caught passing a note in class? Noooo, I absolutely hated passing notes because I was genuinely a good student. I only did so very, very rarely if another friend started it. Have you ever had dandruff? I have dandruff AND a dry scalp. It’s a wonderful mix. Have you ever gone through a phase of crushing on EVERYONE? Definitely not. Do you have any clothes with spikes/studs on them? I have a spiked choker, and I might still have gloves with studs? Can you remember what you last clapped for? My mom’s birthday! :’) Have you ever given a pet to someone else? Yes, with cats; we had to do that quite often when I was a kid because we had so many cats, none which we could afford to fix. Then we’ve done it with two dogs we just couldn’t handle. Oh yeah, I gave my iguana away too because he was too high maintenance for me, but also because he DESPERATELY needed a much bigger terrarium, which we couldn’t afford. I absolutely could not watch him in that tiny tank. I miss him a LOT, but he went to a wonderful home! The lady who adopted him sent me pictures upon pictures months after taking him in. Do you know anyone named Walter? No. What's your least favorite ice-cream flavor? Strawberry is fucking disgusting. And that’s coming from someone whose favorite fruit is strawberries. What's your least favorite song by your favorite artist? I’m not sure. There’s a handful that just don’t grab my attention that I don’t even remember them. What was the last good news you heard? I can FINALLY talk to my psychiatrist tomorrow. Who’s your favorite singer of all time? Probably Freddie Mercury. What airline do you fly most? Idk, I don’t really pay attention. I haven’t flown very often though anyway. Do you have a dog that is destructive? I don’t have a dog. What’s one TV series you’ve seen every episode of? Meerkat Manor is the most obvious, ha ha. Maaaaany times. Assuming you have Facebook, who last left you a wallpost? Probably my friend Sammi. Assuming you have hair, how are you wearing it today? It’s too short for me to “wear” it any particular way. It’s just… there lmao. Assuming you're not homeless, what kind of living arrangements do you have? I live with my mom in a house she’s renting. Have you or have you ever considered messing around with the same sex? I’m bisexual so you can guess I’m not opposed to it. Are you particular about any brands of food you will or will not eat? Are there any restaurants you refuse to go to? Brands, no. I don’t eat Chick-fil-a because they’re run by fucking homophobic bigots that monetarily support conversion therapy and other anti-LGBT projects. I’m not giving you any fucking money. What was the most current dream you can remember about? Do you generally dream every night, or hardly at all? It was actually last night, when I dreamed about accidentally running into Jason where I last knew he worked, and he was really hostile. If I don’t take my medicine, I always have nightmares when I sleep.

#survey #quiz #questions #questionnaire

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this-lioness · 4 years

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Quaranmemes for Quarantines

Tagged by @reallyginnyf <3 Putting this under a cut since it’s pretty much doubling as my weekend wrap-up as well.

when was the last time you left your home? On Thursday I had to run a few quick no-contact errands -- dropped a bulk mailing off on the rear platform at the post office, deposited a Fedex envelope into one of their pickup boxes, and then ran some miscellaneous groceries over to my Mom’s house. Today I went for a run, but only around the neighborhood, so that doesn’t feel like it counts.

what was the last thing you bought? I’ve actually been doing a bit of online shopping lately -- bought a sewing machine (still need to sit down and set it up), a gas-powered pressure washer (arrived today), a new bathroom scale and a vacuum sealer. Last thing we bought in-store were some small necessities from Walmart.

is quarantine driving you insane or are you finally relaxed? This is tough to answer, because I’m never actually relaxed.

I worry about someone in my immediate family getting sick, but beyond that the quarantine doesn’t really trouble me. I’m largely a homebody, and honestly this has kept us from a lot of unnecessary spending, so all the places I’d probably be going would just be buying shit that we really don’t need. I think my anxiety only ramps up when we have to go somewhere, like when my parents need groceries, and we have to go through the whole process of masks and gloves and fully decontaminating everything once we get home. We have it down to a science, but it’s still a whole process.

But I’m frankly enjoying the time at home. I’m a very “routine” person -- I’m comforted by having lists of things I need to do, and places to put things, and then doing it all by rote. We worked very hard to make our house be a place where we enjoy being, creating, relaxing and working, and now we’re reaping the benefit of all those things.

who are you spending quarantine with? My husband Marc and all the cats. I only see my parents long enough to drop things off at their house.

do you have pets to keep you company? We have three of our own -- Bones, Spencer and Rosie -- plus two fosters, Baby and Blue. There is also a semi-feral cat, Fidget, that we feed and care for, and he occasionally spends a night inside if it’s particularly cold or wet out.

what are your current responsibilities? We’re both very fortunate in that we are fully capable of working from home, and both our employers are in full gear. Mine is actually busy enough to need to hire new people for the sudden influx of work, apparently. So I work my “day job” during the day, and when I’m not working I’m cleaning and doing laundry, trying to keep our chest freezer topped up with ready-to-prepare meals, a lot of organizing and a bit of gardening. I really need to sit down and do something creative, although my muse has been completely dead for... longer than I’d care to admit. I’m going to give it a bit of a try tonight, though, so we’ll see.

Just lately I’ve been on a purging spree. Thursday, Friday and yesterday I cleaned out every corner of the art room / office and made three piles of craft supplies to give away. I also gathered together two enormous bags of various clothes and gave that away as well. My next step is probably to switch out my winter wardrobe for the summer stuff, although we’re expecting a good week of cold, rainy weather so... maybe not quite yet.

do you have a room to yourself? Well, if I ever needed time to myself I could certainly find it. The art room / office is unoccupied when we’re not working, and when we are I can always come down to the living room or go into the bedroom with my laptop, or I’ve got a little “writing chair” in the dining room, by the back patio, that’s nice to sit in. I can be content anywhere in the house, basically.

are you exercising? I wasn’t, but a few days ago I decided to change that. I need to get better control over my physical well-being (and self-image), so I made myself a little weight / diet log, included columns for water intake and exercise, and signed up for a “virtual 5k”. Today it was just warm enough to get outside, so I went for a run. Technically we went for a run, but Marc got winded not too far into it and had to head home again. I grabbed my earbuds and went back out.

Got in 2.27 miles before deciding to head back home. Because the weather is going to be shitty I plan to kick the fosters out of their room for at least 45 minutes every day so that I can get some treadmill time in. With any luck we’ll shortly have space cleared in the attic so that we can do yoga and maybe barre as well.

town, country, city? We’re in a semi-rural suburb in Bucks County, PA. It’s... suburban, but very very blue collar, and there’s plenty of farms around, large and small.

how’s your toilet paper supply? We seem to be OK. I am a prepper by nature, and I made sure to stock up before things started to get bad. I’m also being very mindful of how much I use, which helps. I’m more worried about my folks, who blow through resources like crazy, but I don’t think it’s terribly hard to come by as long as you can get to a store.

what’s the worst thing that you had to cancel? I was a bit bummed about the Colin Firth concert being cancelled in the early part of this month. That was going to be a nice night out.

To be very honest, my biggest regret is that we took on the fosters when we did. No one in this area is in a position to adopt two cats, and to be honest... they’re not very good fosters. Blue is friendly and outgoing, she likes to play, but she’s not cuddly -- she’s not really interested in being petted or held and doesn’t seem to want to sit in your lap for very long.

Baby likes Marc well enough, but she continues to run from me whenever she sees me, and forget about coming up for a cuddle. She’s just... fucking miserable.

We’re also giving up on trying to integrate them with our cats. They don’t have very good “cat manners” (they have no sense of personal space and will get right up in the other cats’ business), and the two of them have twice now gone after Rosie in what was a semi-playful, semi-aggressive manner that she definitely did not appreciate, so that’s the end of that.

It would be different if they got along with our cats, or if they were cuddly, but Blue is the only one that I’d consider truly adoptable. Baby is fucking miserable and I have no idea how the fuck we’re going to adopt them out. I’m desperately trying to find someone that can take them, but I don’t have a good feeling, and I honestly don��t know what we’re going to do long term. It was a mistake taking them in, and I regret it, but I’ve got to find a way to deal with it now.

what’s the best thing you’ve had to cancel? This is going to sound terrible but... we were planning on going to a “Return of the Living Dead” convention in June. Had tickets, a hotel, everything. Technically it’s still on -- they haven’t cancelled the event yet -- but we’ve agreed we won’t be going, even if it’s still on in June. Too much of a risk.

In theory this was going to be super fun, and I actually was excited about it, but... honestly, going to so many comic cons has really burned me out on other people who attend conventions, and the idea of being around mobs of people acting like smelly, poorly socialized assholes about something that I genuinely love was kind of stressing me out.

I didn’t want to see something that I love gatekept, I didn’t want to be “fake geek girled” about it by somebody with B.O. and no social awareness. It was starting to stress me out. So I’m sad that we won’t be going, but glad that I don’t have to stress out about it.

who do you miss the most? My boss, I guess? He was fun to hang out with and bullshit with, and we can’t really do that the same way that we did when we were in the office together. I’m pretty lukewarm on everybody else I used to see in person day to day.

do you have any new hobbies? Ugh, please, I already have so many fucking hobbies. Uh. Well, I did buy the sewing machine, so... :/ Let me get it set up and actually sew something before I start calling it a hobby, though.

what are you watching the most? Marc and I have been binge-watching Ozark and a show called Futureman, which are both compelling and extremely difficult to watch in different ways. I’m still waiting on new content from the lady that lives in Japan, haha... this is probably a good opportunity to go back and watch whatever videos I haven’t seen yet.

are you still going to work? Remotely, yes, every day. I’m actually using the time to try and get myself better organized and establish good work habits and routines that I can carry through to when things start to normalize.

what are you out of? Mmm... nothing, I don’t think? I’m getting low-ish on yeast, since I’ve been baking so much, but I’m not even really low on that yet. I’ve tried to do a “dried cranberry yeast starter” but I’m not convinced it took... I need to drain off the yeast liquid and add some flour tonight, see if it grows or if it’s a dud.

have you made any changes to your hair during quarantine? I trimmed my bangs about a week ago, I think, because they were getting frustratingly long. Fortunately I didn’t butcher them too badly. Today I helped Marc give himself a trim, and he’s looking quite dapper again, so I guess we’re not in too bad of a shape. I chopped my hair to the shoulders back before the quarantine so it would have to get much, much longer before it became problematic for me, and even then. I’m still debating if I even want to color my grays at all, so I’m not concerned about “touching up roots” or anything like that. I am what I am.

Not tagging anyone because A) I’m terrible at tagging, B) Most of the people I follow that are “real people” and not just content-posting accounts are mutuals of one another. If you want to participate, please consider yourself tagged.

#meme #quaranmeme

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fanfic-scribbles · 5 years

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Let’s Be Alone Together

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You get two new neighbors and the three of you become something more.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Long [sob], fluff, swearing, timeskips, for a brief moment Reader is implied to not necessarily be straight, Reader is a sore loser

Words: 9940

Special Note: Written for @barnesrogersvstheworld “Shot Through the Heart” 3k Challenge for the dialogue prompt: “I’m having some problems right now and I’d really like to be alone.” // “Well, I’ll be alone with you.”

A/N: This fucking story is Exhibit A in why I wish I didn’t handwrite everything first, oy vey. First: I’m very sorry for the length. It just…happened. If you’re using the Tumblr app and it crashes half as much as mine does, I also have this story posted on AO3 under the username relic_amaranth. Also, because Tumblr likes to fuck up my formatting when it comes to line breaks, ~ is in place of those timeskips that aren’t too long (hours/days) and the solid lines are for time-jumps that are a week or more. Time is left purposefully vague to better suit the reader viewpoint. It is long for something without chapters, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Congrats again to @barnesrogersvstheworld for hitting 3k; their stuff is wonderful and their challenges are always good fun.

You keep to yourself. You stay out of other peoples’ business. It’s respectful, you reason, and not just due to the fact that you’d rather be left alone. …Though that’s a factor. ‘Do unto others,’ ‘treat others,’ and all that jazz.

However you do get curious when, in the hall on the way to your unit at the end, you see moving boxes stacked next to your only neighbor’s door. And who wouldn’t be curious– whoever lives there has the power to make your life a living hell and it has been blissfully empty for over a month. Unfortunately a glance in the open door reveals no one and you can’t think of a good reason to linger, so you go to your own apartment. You’ll see them around eventually.

And you do. There are two of them– Steve and James. They’re a cute couple, quiet (thank goodness), and seemingly friendly. Seemingly, because you keep just missing them, and they, you. If you’re going out then they’re coming in, and vice versa. You only know their names because you overheard them introducing themselves to someone else. You doubt they even know yours. It doesn’t really matter– they seem nice and happy and they keep to themselves and you have no complaints. As far as neighbors go, they’re five-star quality.

It’s funny, though, because after a while it becomes obvious that they’re actively trying to meet you properly (well, Steve is,) but keep getting thwarted by circumstance.

Like one time when you’re getting your mail, Steve is down there getting his, but just as he opens his mouth to talk to you, someone else greets him and then starts chatting him up. You wait politely for a handful of seconds before you realize no tool short of a crowbar is going to pull that little old lady off of him, and you slip away as Steve shoots you an apologetic smile.

At another point you pass by James in the hallway. He’s in PJ pants, a hoodie, and gloves, and hesitates with his door already open. You’re not in any real hurry so you pause. He only gets to inhale when his phone starts ringing. Loudly. He huffs in annoyance. You give him a little wave, he nods, and you both go about your business.

The next time you see them you’re on your cell and rushing out of your apartment due to a work emergency.

The time after that you’re coming home and they're speeding out– walking, but doing it so intently it looks like they’re barely keeping themselves from sprinting. That proves true when they hit the stairwell and you hear them race down the stairs as they start to beat feet.

It’s okay. Introducing yourself to your neighbors is always hit-or-miss anyways– some people do and some people don’t and you don’t mind either way. So as far as you care, it’s a wash.

Your new neighbors are stubborn, though. One night you come home late, drained by an early start and too much overtime after, and it’s all you can do to drop yourself onto the couch. Just as you’re ready to pass out, someone knocks. And knocks again.

You groan. “Sorry whoever you are,” you mumble. “But I am not getting up.”

Miraculously, the knocking stops and you leave consciousness shortly thereafter. It’s only when you wake up the next morning that you suddenly realize nobody buzzed, which means it was somebody who was already in the building, which means it was likely your next-door neighbor, who probably waited until you got home, and who probably thought that you had actively ignored him.

Shit. You rub the bridge of your nose and force yourself up. Before you shower or change your clothes or otherwise do anything, you sit down and write out a short apology note, because while you don’t care to make friends, you don’t want them to think you’re a total dick. You go to leave it at their door, only to be brought up short at your own.

Sitting on the ground is a little gift package from a local coffee shop, filled with different types of coffee and a mug with their logo on it. You pick up the cellophane-wrapped basket and flip open the small card on the front.

‘Sorry we keep missing you! Hopefully we’ll meet someday. For now, accept these with our tentative apologies. We’re both night owls but we do our best. Until we meet for real, Your new neighbors.’

You smile at the words, a cartoon happy face, and the two different signatures. You could have sworn it was the new neighbors who were supposed to get gifts. And, actually– that’s not a bad idea.

It is incredibly early in the morning, but you know that shop is open. You slip on something more comfortable than your wrinkled work clothes, make a quick dash out, and you return with breakfast for yourself and a small basket of assorted treats for your neighbors. On the tiny card that came with it you write ‘Welcome to the neighborhood!’, place your apology note right behind it, and go home to give yourself a nice morning.

You don’t actually meet one of them for at least another week.

A shitty day has been topped off by an even shittier date and all you want is to crawl into bed and ignore the headache that is slowly but strongly coming on. This plan is currently being thwarted by your inability to find your keys– and in your haste to get at them, your bag containing your leftovers topples to the ground. And that just fucking figures. You lean your back against the wall and as the encroaching pain suddenly barrels in, you sink down to sit and pull your knees up for a place to rest your head.

You don’t even get a full minute of peace before the neighbors’ door opens, and flicking your eyes over reveals the hem of blue pajama pants and bare feet pointed in your direction. Is this seriously how this is going to happen?

“Are you all right?”

Yep. Fucking great.

“No offense, but–” You rub your temples. “I’m having some problems right now and I’d really like to be alone.”

He’s quiet. But then he sits down next to you. “Well, I’ll be alone with you.”

The only reason you don’t glare at him is because it would hurt. He fidgets. “If you just don’t want to see a doctor, I know some basic first aid.”

First aid? What is he–

You laugh. Your head is pounding but he’s so sincerely sweet you can’t help but be amused. “Thanks, but it’s– I’m not hurt.” You wave your hand flippantly, because that’s all this warrants, really, no matter how dramatic you want to be. “Bad day and bad headache and bad circumstances. Thanks, but I’ll be okay.”

He seems to relax on that front, but he doesn’t leave. In fact, he clears his throat. “I’m Steve Rogers. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

You tell him your name and stick your hand in his general direction. His grip is gentle. “I’ve heard you introduce yourself to other people so I kind of already knew your name,” you admit. “Your boyfriend’s name is James, right?”

He’s silent and you look up. He’s frowning. Your stomach drops. “Shit; are you not out?” On one hand, it’s hard to ‘no homo’ a mouth-on-mouth kiss that happened right by the elevators. On the other hand, this is a very quiet floor and that was an odd hour. Maybe they just–

“No, no, we are, it’s just–” Steve clears his throat. “We weren’t. For a long time. So it’s still new and…nice when someone else says it.”

“Oh.” You smile. “I get that.”

He looks curious but your head resonates with a jolt of pain and you grimace. He chuckles. “Right, you have a headache. Um…” A jingling sound simultaneously delights and hurts you. He holds up your keys. “These might help.”

“No doubt.” You take the keys and allow him to help you up. In the time it takes you to unlock the door, he’s gathered up all the other stuff you dropped, including the bag of Styrofoam and food.

“Sorry, but I don’t think your leftovers made it,” Steve says and hands it to you.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t that good anyway.” You take your things. “Thanks. Goodnight.”

“Take some aspirin.”

“Sure, mom,” you say and roll your eyes. You cringe– even that hurts.

“Serves you right,” Steve says. Smug bastard. You flip him off and shut the door on his laughter.

You’re both friendly, but go back to passing each other at odd and inconvenient times. However you always give a smile or a wave or a nod, and Steve and James return the gestures in kind.

One day, though, you’re coming down the hall and you see someone sitting on the floor near your apartment. Or Steve’s. You can’t tell yet.

As you get closer, you recognize James, sitting in the space between your doors and so curled up he looks impossibly small for such an ordinarily large guy. He looks up as you approach and grunts a low greeting.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” you ask and glance at the door. Are they fighting?

“I forgot my key.”

The way he mumbles it makes it sound like he’s pouting and you clamp down on a laugh too late– it sounds like a snort. He looks at you and yes, he is pouting.

“Sorry, sorry.” You clear your throat. “One of the girls is still at the front desk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m just gonna wait for Steve. Thanks.”

He goes back to…brooding. Or staring at the wall until it moves. Or watching an intense movie in his mind. Or counting particles in the air with utmost focus. Whatever it is, he’s so into it that your obvious hesitation goes ignored.

You shuffle into your apartment and move slow. You don’t know why– the hallway is utterly benign. So harmless that even you were recently content to sit out there just because you didn’t want to deal with anything. But now you’re realizing why Steve stopped for you– it’s kind of sad.

You take a look around the living room for any ideas. Your eyes catch on a pack of cards just hanging out on a shelf. Perfect. You grab it, wipe the dust off on your pants, and go back into the hallway.

James is staring at the floor now and he doesn’t look up, not even when you sit in front of him. He does lift his head when you start dealing, though he doesn’t say anything. Not until after you settle down, pick up your hand, and ask him, “Got any fives?”

James sits and just blinks. You think you see a hint of a smile, but if it’s there then it’s gone just as fast. However he does pick up his hand and looks it over. “…Go fish.”

The game goes on and you’re almost at the end of it when Steve finally shows up. Apparently James hadn’t called him, given the absolute confusion in his voice when he says, “Bucky?” (Which– Bucky?)

“Shh,” James says and waves him off.

You scan your hand. You’re close but James is closer (because he’s a fucking cheater), and you can only take a wild stab in the dark. “Got any twos?”

James grins. “Go fish.”

You swear up and down James’s rotten lineage as you pull another card. A four. If that rat bastard–

“Got any fours?”

You throw the card at his face. He laughs and puts down his hand– two fucking fours, of course– and you aim your scowl at Steve because James has been utterly immune. From the way Steve’s smiling, he is too. “Your boyfriend is a fucking cheat.”

“Who do you think I learned it from?” James chuckles. He finishes putting the cards away, and stands and extends his hand to you. You take it. Begrudgingly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says and looks away.

“Both of you need to leave; this building has no room for people who cheat at cards,” you say.

James snorts. “But it has room for a feared international assassin?”

You’re not sure if the hyperbole is based on something (Steve is incredibly popular and probably gets a lot of good gossip) but you feign serious consideration for the question nonetheless. “Still a better person than a cheater.”

James blinks. Steve hurries to grab him and tells you “Good night!” before all but dragging his boyfriend into their apartment.

An hour later, you’re just about settled in when someone knocks. You sigh but get up to see who and what and why. You’re not terribly surprised to see James, but you do give Steve an extra look over. He’s staring at the floor, head hunched in between his shoulders.

“Steve was telling me that you don’t know who we are,” James says.

“Should I?” you ask.

James nods and– almost monotonously– tells you about Steve being Steve Rogers as in Captain America and he himself being James Barnes as in Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes who was thought dead in World War II but captured by–

You know the story. Vaguely, but only people who live under rocks could have entirely missed the story of an American hero turned brainwashed assassin that played ad nauseum for months, and while you may not have recognized them, you know the basics. It’s a very sad story, and though James tries to tell it as blandly as possible, he can’t lift his head to look at you. By contrast, you can feel Steve staring at you.

At the end of it James goes silent and awaits your judgment. Sure, it’s surprising you live next to Captain America and Sergeant Barnes, but you’re not sure why James looks like he’s waiting for you to drop the guillotine.

“I hope you don’t think this gets you out of a rematch,” you say. James’s head snaps up and Steve lets out a startled little laugh. You stay focused on the man right in front of you though, as he slowly relaxes. You shake your head. “No mercy. Not even for grandpas.”

Steve laughs harder and James hangs his head again, but this time while pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

“But yeah, it is good to know.” You flash them two thumbs up. “Nobody’s gonna, uh, try to wreck your apartment, are they?”

“No.” James quirks a smile. “Trust me; it’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

You’re not sure how that would stop idiots from trying, but James’s smile is just on the edge of ‘terrifying,’ so you decide to trust him. “Okay.” You can’t think of anything else to say and turn to go back in. “Um…good night Steve, good night James.”

“Bucky.”

You stop and look at James. He’s scratching the back of his head. “If you don’t mind. James is for strangers. Bucky is for people I…know.”

“Okay. Night Steve, night Bucky,” you say and go back inside.

Steve and Bucky turn out to be pretty good neighbors. Steve is the kind of guy who always says hi, and only nods if he has no other (polite) choice. Bucky is quieter, and only ever nods at you. Well, mostly.

“Wait–” Bucky practically dives to catch your bag of groceries just as the handle breaks and it falls towards the ground. He catches it, but his knees hit hard enough that you wince.

“Oh– jeeze; Bucky!” you scold before you can help yourself. “Be careful; you’re going to hurt yourself if you do that!”

He stares at you. Right– active duty superhero. However.

“Thank you,” you say as he hands the bag to you. “But I don’t want to be the reason your knees give out.”

Bucky starts to roll his eyes and abruptly stops, like he suddenly remembers he’s trying to be polite. “Don’t worry about me. I’m tougher than I look.”

You shrug, though you catch that there’s more to it than that. It seems rude to ask though, especially since he and Steve are public figures and it’s your own fault you don’t know much past the basics. Is he as enhanced as Steve? You haven’t really considered that. If he’s exactly like Steve then yeah, it’s probably silly to worry about his knees. Still, that had sounded like it would hurt.

You figure you should probably do some research anyways; so you bid Bucky goodbye and go inside to put your stuff away and do some quick fact-checking online to give yourself some baseline understanding. So you don’t embarrass yourself again.

Your plan goes off the rails within the first ten minutes, and within the following twenty you can no longer take reading all the various think-pieces so you spend the rest of the evening letting out your frustration by writing angry letters you will never send. They range from general (“[…] like SOME people who don’t understand the meaning of TORTURED and BRAINWASHED […]”) to more specific (“Dear Daily Bugle, How the FUCK are you still in business you trash rag I wouldn’t use you to light a fire if I was freezing to death […]”).

You groan and rub your face after what feels like hours. Actually, it has been hours; it’s obviously late and you forgot about dinner, so you decide you should probably eat now that the rage isn’t feeding you anymore.

You’re just stepping out of your apartment when Steve comes out of his at the same time. It’s a little late to get the mail, but you can’t imagine why else he’d be out in loungewear.

“Hey,” you say as you lock your door.

“Hi,” Steve says. “You’re out late.”

“Yeah. I got distracted doing…stuff.” You turn to face him. “I’m just going to grab some food.”

“Good. That’s…good,” Steve says. He doesn’t leave. He stands there. Facing you.

“Do you need something?” you ask.

“Not exactly. I have to tell you that…” Steve shifts. “The walls are kind of thin, and Bucky and I have really good hearing, and, well…”

But he stops at that, and you cannot fathom what he’s getting at that makes him look like he wants to leap out of a window. “Okay, uh…was I making a lot of noise or–” Suddenly you remember all your angry muttering just minutes ago, next to the wall you share. “Oh. GOD.” You hide your face in your hands. “Oh god. Does Bucky like flowers? I need an apology bouquet; god, I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay; I’m sorry we could overhear– we have a friend coming to fix that as soon as he can– but Bucky, he uh…” Steve takes a moment. “He thinks you were cursing at him.”

That makes no sense. To the point where you stop panicking so you can deconstruct that idea.

Nope. Still doesn’t make sense.

You lift your head and look at Steve. “Why would I be mad at Bucky for all the shit he has to wade through? I’m mad at the fucking blog writers and so-called “journalists” and commenters who are the absolute worst.”

Steve loses at least an inch of height when he exhales. “I told Bucky you weren't mad at him.” Steve looks at his apartment. “I told you.”

The door is wide open and Bucky is leaning on one side of the frame, arms crossed, and eyes entirely fixed on you. “Yeah,” you say, once again realizing he probably listened to everything. “Not you; I was bitching about the people who have all the brain power of a worm.” You reconsider that, because really, what have worms ever done to you? “Never mind; that’s mean to worms.”

Bucky’s laugh is harsh and startled, and then he’s silent. You clear your throat. “Since it’s already awkward…do you like hugs?”

Bucky’s scrunched face says ‘no,’ but what comes out of his mouth is, “It’s complicated.”

Enough said. “That’s okay; then…air hug.” You open your arms wide and mimic a hug. A hug for a giant, but Bucky smiles so you guess the sentiment gets through.

“What if I said I didn’t like air hugs?” he says.

“Then it would have gone to Steve and become an air chokehold.” You jerk your thumb at Steve. “He could have come and knocked and told me, but no, he had to let me embarrass myself. Jerk.”

Both of them laugh and then look surprised about it. You roll your eyes– what is with them that they’re so shocked to find themselves laughing? Bucky never looks like that when Steve makes him smile, so it’s not like amusement is a completely foreign concept. Before you’re tempted to ask, though, your stomach interrupts with a timely growl. “Right. You two have a nice night; I’m going to stuff myself until I’m in too much pain to even know what embarrassment is.”

“I could pay for your dinner. To apologize,” Steve says.

“Nah, I’m good,” you say, wave, and get on your way. It’s much better to keep a grudge in this case– this way you can keep teasing them about it, and maybe someday you’ll make them laugh and they won’t be surprised by it.

The next day you’re out and about when you pass by a small flower shop and, well, why not? Flowers are nice and soft and you’re pretty sure Bucky isn’t sensitive to smell since that time someone stunk up the hallway with rotten seafood and he was the only one unaffected.

You walk right up to the counter and exchange greetings with the person behind it. “I’m looking for an apology bouquet. Something nice and classic; the guy I’m giving it to is…” You have no idea how to explain this situation and no desire to know what this person thinks of Bucky, so you end up finishing with, “Old. Very old.”

The florist smiles and nods, obviously well-versed in people who have absolutely no idea what they’re doing when it comes to flowers. After he shows you a few arrangements and you’re deciding between them, he tries to make small talk. “Is this for a grandparent?”

“Neighbor,” you say, not looking away from the two bunches you’re stuck on. “I was…accidentally inconsiderate, and he’s a nice guy, so I want to apologize.”

“I wish my neighbors would do that,” he says and sighs so forlornly you smile.

“Don’t we all,” you say, thinking back to past living arrangements. Steve and Bucky are quiet and kind. You hope they stay.

However when you have your pick and are up at the front paying for it (while also trying to ignore the price), the florist rifles behind the counter and comes out with temptation too great to resist. “This comes with a complimentary card. This is the normal one, but you mentioned your neighbor was older, so would this be better?”

There is the one small card that looks like it would fit the flowers fine. Next to it is an identical card except five times bigger and with a font that is easier to read.

You do your best not to smile like the sharks from “Finding Nemo” and tap on the bigger card. “This is perfect, thank you,” you say while you try to tell yourself, ‘fish are friends, not food; fish are friends, not food; fish are friends, not food; fish…friends…food…’

You get sushi for lunch and go home with a spring in your step. When you get there, Bucky and Steve’s door is open, and stuff of the technological sort is piled around just outside it. You can barely hear them talking from somewhere inside, and you place the flower vase just outside their door. Hopefully they see it before they step on it.

You’re in the middle of cleaning the kitchen when you hear loud laughter in the hall. You ignore it at first but it keeps going…and going…and you hear Steve laugh in a relatively short burst. You slowly stop, and then go to your room and stand by your desk.

“Bucky, if you can hear me and you’re okay with texting…” You hesitate, but give him your number. You barely get the chance to feel like an idiot when your phone suddenly buzzes. You jump, because that was fast, and pull it off the charger to see a text from an unfamiliar number that reads ‘???’.

You: Who’s the hyena? Bucky: lol Bucky: stark Bucky: by the way did i use lol right? Bucky: im pretty old, so i dont know

You laugh but glance at the door. Bucky and Steve are sort of in the public eye, but just out of it enough that you didn’t recognize them right away. Tony Stark, though, is a living spectacle– you’re shocked the guy can go anywhere without a bunch of reporters getting underfoot. You are incredibly curious to see him in the flesh after years of tabloids and news reports and– you’re just curious okay? But you’ve also reached your limit of ‘awkward’ for the day and without an actual reason to stick your head out, you’d just be assuring yourself embarrassment, so you shrug it off.

However when someone knocks and takes that choice away from you, all that previous curiosity flees and leaves you with only, “Ugh.”

Your phone buzzes.

Bucky: serves you right You: I’m taking back that air hug You: You’re both jerks

But you go and answer the door. Tony Stark with a bright, genuine smile looks so different from what you’ve seen before that you actually do a double-take. Steve is hovering behind him and smiles apologetically. You clear your throat. “Um…hi?”

“Hi, I’m Tony Stark and you are my new favorite person,” he says and shakes your hand like he’s on something.

“Don’t worry; he gets a new one every five minutes,” Steve says, unconcerned with his twitchy friend.

“Oh good. Being someone’s favorite person seems like a lot of pressure,” you say.

Tony then proceeds to talk, which is exhausting for you but somehow not so for him. When you find out he hasn’t slept in three days it makes more sense as to why he seems only slightly tweaked rather than full tilt. Eventually Steve manages to gently maneuver Tony back to what he was doing and you escape back into your home after a polite but very quickly given goodbye.

Steve comes by later to apologize for Tony and you all test out the soundproofing tech. They say it works great, which is a relief, and you assume that now the excitement has gone down, things will go back to a friendly-but-distant normal.

Except that they don’t get distant. In fact, even Bucky greets you with a word or few more often than not, and Steve…well, it’s hard to say since he’s always been nice, but you think he’s more genuine with you. And after a couple of weeks of observation you can say that for certain– Steve is always, always kind but he definitely has a face for strangers and a face for friends.

You almost drop your key when you realize that’s what you are– friends. New friends, but…

“Are you okay?”

You turn your head to see Steve leaning against the wall. “Hey. When did you get back?”

“Late last night.” Steve stands upright. “I was thinking…I never made it up to you for not telling you sooner about the walls, so I wanted to see if you would come to dinner with me and Bucky. You pick, I treat. It could double as a birthday dinner.”

You open your mouth to politely decline when you realize something. “When did I…I didn’t tell you when my birthday was.”

Steve looks down. “No. Uh…no. You didn’t.”

You take a deep breath. “So how do you know it’s today?”

Steve finds the floor very fascinating. “A friend of mine ran a background check. I’m so sorry; I didn’t tell her to but she, uh, she sort of does what she wants.”

“When did you find out about the background check?”

“Just this morning.” Steve lifts his head and flashes you a boyish smile and oof. “When she told me to wish you a happy birthday.”

You deflate but the irritation stays. Even though you logically know it’s not Steve’s fault. “Okay,” you say. “I will absolutely let you pay for me to eat my feelings.”

Steve smiles brightly. “Great! When and where?”

“Anytime after I change my clothes, and I’m thinking that burger place just down the block. I forget the name; by the stationery store.”

“The new place?”

You nod. “It smells good but it’s trendy as fuck and I wasn’t sure I wanted to pay for it. Enter: you.”

He laughs. “Okay then; I’ll talk to Bucky and find out if he’s up to it.”

“I could eat.”

You jump but Bucky just stands there, smirking, and Steve laughs. You put your hand to your chest. “I can’t believe you’re treating me like this on my birthday.”

“You weren't going to tell us it was your birthday,” Bucky accuses, which takes you back a bit, because were you supposed to?

“Well, no, but now that it’s out I’m going to take full advantage,” you say. “Gimme a few to change out of my work clothes and I’ll be ready. You just…hang out or powder your noses or something.”

“Bossy,” Bucky says.

“It’s my birthday,” you say imperiously and slip into your apartment while they laugh.

You’re fast becoming fond of the sound.

Dinner is great and Steve insists on stopping to get a cake, which you all take back to their apartment to eat. Bucky pulls out a pack of cards and you play “Go Fish” which…you lose. Then you play “Gin Rummy” which…you also lose. “Hearts,” unsurprisingly, you lose, and out of desperation you scan their shelf of board games for something you might have a chance at. “Risk” immediately gets the mental axe, but “Jenga” holds promise.

Except in the end you lose that too, and when the structure crumbles (close, you were so fucking close) so too does your simmering irritation and you let out a long string of curses before you can even think to control your mouth.

“Wow,” Steve says, audibly impressed. “I haven’t heard something that profane since the army.”

“Thank you,” you say in your kindest voice. “Also– go fuck yourselves.”

They both laugh and you smile because they really feel like your friends now. Asshole friends but, well, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

One day when Bucky is on his own, again without his key, you invite him in and try to regain some of your lost honor.

That’s a mistake.

You: I’m kicking Bucky out You: You can collect him on the curb You: Just make sure you get here before the garbage trucks do Steve: Aw Steve: Whatd he win at this time? You: Scrabble You: You photographic memory fucks Bucky: you are the sorest damn loser i ever met in my life You: EXCUSE YOU You: YOU ARE NOT INVITED You: TO THIS CONVERSATION You: BEGONE Bucky: 9 points

You put in the tableflip emoji and resist the urge to throw your phone at Bucky’s laughing face.

You all agree to never again speak of “Ticket to Ride.”

That agreement goes double for “Battlestar Galactica.” However you’re secretly pleased that Steve is apparently a better liar than even Bucky knows. Bucky isn’t so happy but that fucker cheats at “Hearts.” His opinions are null and void.

“Hi, can I help y–”

You turn from locking your door to see who Steve is talking to, but he’s looking at you and his jaw drops. Even Bucky’s eyes go wide, and you roll your own.

“Yeah, yeah; laugh it up,” you mutter and straighten your outfit. Black tie events aren’t really your forte, but work is paying for drinks and food so you figured why the hell not.

“You look great,” Bucky blurts out.

“Oh…thanks,” you say, caught off guard by his effusive sincerity. They’re both staring at you though and they’re both unreadable in this moment. You clear your throat. “Hey, since you’re here…” You hold out your arms and do a slow turn. When you return to face them you let your arms flop back down. “Do I look okay?”

“Amazing,” Steve says. “Where are you off to?”

“Company party.” You shrug. “It’s not normally my scene but I’m not gonna turn down free food and an open bar.”

“Good thinking.” Steve smiles. “Your date is real lucky.”

You grimace before you can catch it, and Steve’s smile falls. Damn it; now you’re really looking forward to that open bar. “No date, which is nice because I can duck out whenever I want.”

Steve nods rapidly and as you see Bucky hover behind him you try to diffuse the situation with a joke. “Not all of us can be so lucky.”

Either you sound more bitter than you think or Steve just can’t make the distinction right now. Regardless– it backfires. He runs his hand through his hair and looks down and does all but shrink before your very eyes. “I’m so sorry, I–”

“Hey.” You put your hand on his arm and give him a moment to shrug it off. He doesn’t, and when he looks at you you try to give him your very best smile. “I was trying to make a joke. It was probably really bad. I’m sorry.”

“Well…” He frowns but at least he’s not about to roll himself up in the carpet anymore. “I’m still sorry.”

“I’m going to choose to believe you’re apologizing for being stubborn,” you say.

“How dare you.” Steve smiles. “I would never apologize for that.”

He still comes off as tightly wound, so you open your arms. “Hug it out? Just…watch the outfit.”

He chuckles but moves in without hesitation. It’s a good hug; warm, softer than it should be, and yet surprisingly strong. You’re not going to complain though– Bucky truly is a lucky guy. You step back from Steve and are going to tell Bucky so, but you find his arms open.

“I wasn’t a stubborn jerk,” he says slyly. “Do I get a hug?”

You feel a smile take over your face and you move towards him slowly. His hug is different, but just as good– still warm, a little more stiff; straddling the line between tight and loose, like he wants to hold on but he’s afraid. You squeeze once and then let go. They’re both very lucky. This time, though, you take a moment and decide not to say that out loud. You’re sure they already know it anyway.

“Well, I’ll let you guys get to your nice relaxing night in.” You smooth out your front. “I’m going to drink some booze on the company dime.”

“Be safe,” Steve says. “Call us if you have any trouble.”

You salute him and get on your way.

“There you are.”

You jolt upright, trying to pull yourself out of your dozing. It’s still cold and you’re still stuck outside with everyone else while the firefighters do their inspection. You know it’s a big building and they’re doing their job and all that. You just wish they could do it a little faster.

“Hey,” you say to Steve and Bucky while they do an inspection of their own. Well not everyone can look so fabulous in the midst of a fire alarm. “You didn’t let Steve near the oven, did you?”

“Very funny,” Steve says. “That was one time. And I’ve never set off the building.”

“Hm,” you say suspiciously but leave him be. The cold isn’t terrible but it is uncomfortably distracting.

“Geeze, you gotta be freezing,” Bucky says and shrugs the blanket off his shoulders.

“It’s okay, I’m fi-” Bucky dumps the blanket over your head like you’re an unsightly lamp he’s trying to hide. “Dick.”

“Sorry, what was that?” Bucky teases and Steve laughs.

“Mmf.” You could take the blanket off…but it seems like so much work. Either Bucky or Steve ends up pulling it off your head and draping it over your shoulders. You’re not sure who– it takes too much effort to open your eyes again. “Thanks.”

“It’s a little early to be pulled out of a dead sleep,” Steve says. “Either you’re sick or you’re older than us.”

“Hardy ha–” You yawn. “Har.” You clear your throat and blink yourself awake. “Or I’ve been doing overtime all week and finally got a chance to crash.” When the fire alarm had gone off you had almost cried. You had most certainly debated the merits of suffocation and/or burning to death, before you crawled out of bed and stumbled down flights of stairs with everyone else.

“Hopefully we’ll go back in soon,” Steve says. “Here, stand between us; we run pretty warm.”

You’re about to protest that the blanket is more than enough and you’re not going to put them out even further but then Bucky and Steve move to stand on either side of you and the warmth melts your tongue. It’s nice; it’s so damn nice. It isn’t like they’re portable space heaters, they’re just… More than just warm, you feel safe, you feel good. You shut your eyes and soak it in.

“Hey.”

You jolt again and lift your head from where you had rested it– on Steve’s arm. And notice that most everyone is inside.

You panic and throw the blanket at Bucky while you try to put at least a foot between you and Steve. “I am so sorry!”

“It’s all right!” Steve says, laughing, while Bucky uncovers himself. You back away, not sure why you’re so embarrassed, but feeling an innate need to extricate yourself right now.

“Well, um, thanks for the blanket, but I love my bed way more than I love you,” you say. They laugh and you run inside.

Only to come to a sudden stop. The line for the few elevators is ridiculous and the lobby is a cacophony of talking, complaining, laughing adults and babbling and crying children.

You eye the elevators and you eye the stairwell door. Begrudgingly, you go to the stairs and slip inside. Apparently everyone who was willing to walk up has already done so, because it’s completely quiet and that is a massive improvement in and of itself. Technically you’re awake enough, so you resign yourself to a long, slow climb and start on your way.

It only takes you until the second floor to regret your choice, the third floor to regret your life, and the fourth floor to take a break. You’re leaning on the railing and considering just living here now when the first floor door opens and you can see Bucky and Steve come in. They wave at you and you wave back, and they turn to each other to talk. After a few seconds they start arguing about something. Then they start goofing off, shoving at and dodging each other even as they run up the stairs with ease.

They also get so loud. “Can not!” and “Can too!” bounce off the walls as they get closer to where you are.

“Do you mind?” you ask and turn to rest your back on the rail. “Some of us are trying to die in peace.”

“Sorry, but this guy–” Bucky jerks his thumb at his boyfriend, “–thinks he can beat me up the stairs.”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry Buck; it’s science.”

“You little– you don’t know shit about science.” Bucky huffs. “I could beat you handily.”

“Oh yeah?”

They argue and you zone out. Until you hear your name. “What?”

“I told Steve I could beat him there with you on my back.” Bucky’s full-on grinning. “How about it?”

You squint at how far you’ve come. At how far you have to go. And then at Bucky. “You promise to win?”

“Absolutely.”

It seems like a dumb idea– until you’re on Bucky’s back. Then you feel warm and safe again, and once the race starts the jostling is only just enough to keep you holding on.

“We’re here.”

Bucky’s voice is gentle but you grumble at having to stand on your own power again. “Did you win?”

“By a mile,” Bucky chuckles as you fumble with the lock.

“Because he cheated,” Steve says.

“Now who’s a sore loser?” But you smile at them. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Bucky says.

“Good night. Go get your beauty sleep,” Steve says. “Not that you need it.”

“We need to play poker. If that’s how you lie I might have a shot.”

You go inside as Steve acts offended and Bucky laughs. Bed calls and you slip into cool sheets, recalling warm bodies and blankets protecting you from the full chill of the air. Even now in the one place you feel safest in the world, it feels like you lack something. Your eyes snap open when you realize.

You don’t love your bed more than you love them.

Shit.

The next morning, when you run into Steve and he looks worried and asks if you got any sleep, you force a smile and tell him you’re fine. He responds with a hug.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It has been a long few weeks. Directly after the fire alarm you were too busy to see much of Steve and Bucky and it was a relief. Until they got called out and within a few days you began to worry like you haven’t worried before. Nothing in the news has had anything about the Avengers so they’re either off the planet with Thor (talk about sentences you never thought would cross your mind) or they’re underground. And with every day they’re gone you grow afraid a group of suits are going to randomly show up, take everything out of their apartment, and the next thing you’ll see will be a shitty news headline like “NATION IN MOURNING.”

So when you turn down your hall and see someone standing by their door, your heart leaps and you stumble. It’s just one woman though, in casual clothes, with red hair and, as you approach, a familiar face. She relaxes against the wall between your apartment and theirs and where you feel wary, her expression is impassive.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hi.” You nod at their side. “Are you waiting for…”

She shrugs and pushes off the wall to face you. “You know, I don’t think we’ve met.” She puts her hand out. “Natasha Romanoff.”

You shake her hand and introduce yourself even as you stare at her. She’s very, very familiar. After a few seconds you remember, vividly, seeing her and Bucky talk and laugh as she had left their apartment one day.

“Background check,” you blurt out.

Theoretically, logically, they could (and probably do) have more than one friend going by ‘she.’ Natasha’s slight smile, however, confirms your suspicion. “I heard you were upset about that.”

You shrug. “It’s a little invasive.”

She nods. “I’m not very…” Her smile turns almost brittle. “Cuddly, you could say. But Steve and Bucky are my friends, and I look out for them in what ways I can.”

You notice there’s no apology, but you already knew you wouldn’t be getting one. Just as you’re about to excuse yourself though, she speaks up again. “They say a lot of good things about you.”

“They…do?” You can admit to yourself, you’re pleased at the thought. “They’re nice guys.”

“That they are,” Natasha says, giving ominous weight to an otherwise innocuous statement. She then turns and walks away. “Be good to them.”

You jerk your head back instinctively. “We…we live next door to each other; we’re just neighbors.”

“For now.”

You don’t know what that means and you’re honestly afraid to ask. You’ve just barely met her and only spoken with her for less than ten minutes; she doesn’t know how you feel. Yet her words and ghost-like vanishing make you feel uneasy even as you step into your own sanctuary.

That’s also when you realize she never actually said ‘yes’ when you asked if she was waiting on Bucky and Steve.

You’re still chewing on that interaction even hours later when you hear a loud thump in the hall and then a curse in Bucky’s voice. Without thinking, you race to open the door and look out.

Steve is still in uniform– you can see it peeking out of his half-zipped jacket, and his hair is a mess. Bucky is even worse, with dirt smudged on his face and holding his left arm protectively as he and Steve bicker softly. “I’m telling you, it’s fine and I can fix it myse-”

Bucky stops and looks right at you. You hesitate, but just going back inside isn’t really an option. Besides, you don’t really feel ashamed for this. You walk towards them and as soon as you can, put your arms around them both. As much as you can– they’re both so big– but they come closer together, which helps, and they hug you too, which…

“We’re okay,” one of them says, and it’s enough.

Steve is standing in the hall. He’s a vision even in a white t-shirt and gray lounge pants, (who gave him the right, you wonder with some agony), but his face is pinched into a scowl.

“Are you all right?” you ask.

Like magic, his face relaxes. “I’m fine, it’s just…” Steve waves a hand at his apartment and then runs it through his hair.

This isn’t completely unfamiliar. You look at the door and wonder if Bucky’s okay. Well, Steve would be appropriately concerned if he wasn’t, even if they were fighting. Plus, Steve’s frustration actually makes him look very cute. He’s pouting, and no one is in any real trouble when pouting is involved. “If I’m understanding this right…basically you’re having some problems and you’d like to be alone right now?”

He smiles, despite his own best efforts not to, and nods.

“Do you want to be alone with me?”

He stares at nothing for a few seconds. When he looks at you, he appears so unsure you want to pull him into your arms. You resist. Barely.

“Could I?” he asks.

You open your door and gesture grandly at it. Steve goes in and you follow, darting ahead really quick to pull some clothes (clean, thank goodness) off the couch. “One second,” you say as he sits. You chuck your shit in your room and go make some instant hot chocolate for the both of you. Steve seems content to sit quietly, giving you time to add mountains of whipped cream, before you carefully approach the sofa.

“Are we supposed to be able to drink this?” Steve asks.

“Eventually.” You hand him a spoon and you both work at your dessert-drinks until you’re sipping at warmth.

Steve clears his throat. “Do you want to play a game?” he asks innocently with a smile that is anything but.

“I’d rather sign up for a Pokémon tournament hosted by Jigsaw.” You pretend to flick your drink at him. “It’s pretty telling that you seem to be feeling better when you start acting like an asshole.”

“Seem to be,” Steve repeats.

You shrug and bring your mug to your mouth. “Are you and Bucky okay?”

“Ye-s!” Steve chokes on his drink. “Yes; sorry,” he says and puts his cup down. You, a true hero, do not laugh once as he wipes away errant liquid chocolate. “We’ve had much worse fights,” he says as he settles back in. “We’re just disagreeing about how to solve a…problem.”

“Big problem or little problem?” you ask.

Steve studies you. Like he isn’t sure how much to divulge. “It’s…” He sighs and rubs his face. “It’s a risk. The reward is pretty great, but…”

“…The consequences might make it not worth it?” you guess but he shakes his head.

“It’s absolutely worth it.” Steve stares at you again so intently that you have to force yourself not to look right at his lips as his tongue passes over them. You outta get a medal for this shit. “But Bucky thinks we should act slow.”

“And you want to shove in?”

Steve turns so red that you jerk up, concerned that he might be choking again, except his drink is well and truly gone. “Not exactly,” he says, his voice in a stranglehold.

“What…oh.” You roll your eyes. “Bad choice of words; fine. And here I thought Bucky was the pervert.”

“Just sometimes,” Steve says with a smile. He regains what little color he has, at least, and clears his throat a few times. “Anyway; I think that being more direct is the best way to handle this.”

“How slow is ‘slow?’” you ask and swirl your drink to mix the chocolate collating at the bottom of the cup.

Steve sighs. “I should…find out,” he admits. “I might have overreacted.”

“Just a little.”

You jerk your head to see– Bucky, leaning his back against the door. He glowers and points at you. “You. Lock your door. Always.”

“Sorry.” You put up your hands. “Got distracted; it won't happen again.”

Bucky winces and glances back. “Hey, no, sorry,” you say and stand. “I wasn’t– I’m sorry; that was flippant. Can I…?” You open your arms. Bucky looks at them longingly but ends up shaking his head. “That’s okay,” you say and do what passes for an air hug.

“Just a little?” Steve repeats.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “So maybe I…stuck in a little too much too.”

“It’s all right Buck. I should have been willing to talk it out more,” Steve says. But he doesn’t get up. Interesting. Apparently Steve is not the exception to the ‘no touching’ rule. However the looks they give each other more than make up for whatever contact doesn’t happen: loving, gentle, and expressive in a way that makes you feel like an intruder. It also makes you ache.

You clear your throat. “I want to ask if I should leave you two alone, but I’m also worried for my apartment if I do.”

Bucky laughs and Steve covers his face. They stay a while, and for a guy who starts off no-touching, Bucky sure as hell abandons it as soon as he’s able. You find yourself, some time later, with Bucky up against your side, his face in your shoulder, laughing at something Steve just said. Steve is on your other side and close enough that he can support you as Bucky’s weight naturally pushes you into him. You don’t feel suffocated though. You feel comfortable. Warm. So warm and comfortable that it’s hard to keep your eyes open. You’ve long since given up on trying to follow what they’re talking about– you’re just trying to stay awake.

“You still with us?” Bucky asks, and his voice then encases your name with amusement.

“Mm hm,” you lie through your vocal chords. Consciousness is out of your control now and you drift along in a light doze as they shift and move. You feel weightless but even warmer, with a soft something to lean your head against. Bucky and Steve are muted voices in the background; soothing, like steady rain behind a shut window, or the low conversations that fill a coffee shop.

You relax fully when you feel your mattress and sheets beneath you. Bucky and Steve are still talking but you fade out, not really caring about what they’re talking about.

Until you wake up the next morning to sunlight and rumpled clothes and shit you fell asleep on them you are the worst host ever.

You scramble out of bed and stumble over sleepy legs until you’re standing in front of Steve and Bucky’s door. You knock without hesitation and when it opens, Steve looks mildly surprised to see you.

“I am so sorry,” you say. “I can’t believe I fell asleep on you; that was so rude and I can’t apologize enough–”

“It’s all right,” Steve says, laughing. He looks you up and down. “Did you just wake up?”

You don’t even want to know. “Gee, how’d you guess?”

He smiles brightly and now that you aren’t panicking your body is alerting you that it is too damn early for this shit. “Do you want to come in and have some coffee?” he asks and stands aside.

You’re about to refuse out of politeness but the smell drifts out like a lure, and there’s Bucky, sitting at the counter, sipping his cup and looking softly sleep-ruffled. And you should apologize to him too; it’s only fair. So you accept Steve’s invitation. Only so you can apologize. Not because Steve is freshly showered and smells like really good aftershave, or because Bucky’s eyes are drooping and a sunbeam is making a halo from the fuzzy outliers of his hair.

“Hey,” you say as you approach him. “I’m sorry I–”

Bucky waves his hand in a very Jedi-like way and he pats the stool next to him. You take it. “Too early for words?” you ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “No need to apologize,” he says, his voice rough enough that you can practically feel it scratch your skin. You make the mistake of looking at his stubble and you shudder, but thankfully he’s turned away and doesn’t notice. “Actually, I’m the one who should apologize.”

“Huh?”

Bucky puts a key in front of you. Your key. Your spare key. You look at him, questioning, but he stares at his drink. “You were sleeping,” he mumbles. “And you can’t lock the deadbolt without a damn key. So I borrowed it.”

“I insisted,” Steve says, putting a steaming mug of heavenly smelling elixir right in front of you. “It was either that, or disable the noise-blocking device so we could keep an ear out.”

“Not in a creepy way,” Bucky adds.

“Guys,” you say. “I know we live in New York but I’m fine.” You pocket the key. “But…thanks; that was thoughtful.” And only slightly creepy.

“You’re not mad?” Bucky says and dares to look at you.

“No. I trust you.” You doubt they know how much you trust them. “You were way too nice though; next time just dump me on my ass.”

“Not a chance.” Steve’s smile is…sneaky. Why is he being sneaky? “You were too relaxed. You looked cute.”

You accidentally send a shot of coffee straight to your lungs. “Wha–” You cough a few more times and breathe deep. “I what?”

“Is it that hard for you to take a compliment?” Bucky says, laughing.

You shake your head but smile at Steve. “Either you keep getting better at lying, or you need your eyes checked.”

Steve looks at Bucky, who says, “Nope, he’s right. Adorable.”

“Two against one. You lose,” Steve says.

You roll your eyes and bring your cup back to your mouth. “Story of my life since you cheating assholes moved in,” you mutter into the mug before you take a sip. They laugh. You don’t really belong here, in Bucky and Steve’s apartment with the light brightly announcing its arrival and both of them loose and vibrant in ways they can’t be outside that door. You don’t belong here. You don’t.

But you feel like you do. And sometimes it’s nice to pretend.

“Here.”

It’s night and you, Bucky, and Steve are sitting around, having drinks. Well, after they insisted you stay for breakfast, it seemed only right for you to invite them over for dinner. Polite. Yes, you are very polite.

So it’s with extreme hesitance that you accept the envelope Steve is holding out. Your name is written on the front in beautiful calligraphy, and you open it to find an invitation.

“Wow,” you say at the fancy script. You frown. “I met Tony Stark for all of five minutes that he probably thinks he hallucinated. Why am I getting invited to his party?”

“Technically it’s a charity event. And he asked us if there was anyone we wanted to invite,” Steve said. “Naturally, we thought of you.”

“Naturally,” you say as a joke, but it comes out weak. They’re fidgeting and barely faking nonchalance. Is this that important?

“Free booze and food, and it’s always good stuff,” Bucky says. He flashes you a smile. “How about it?”

You wave the card and try for a smile of your own. “Okay,” you say and clear your throat. “But I’ve only got the one nice outfit.”

“I know for a fact we wouldn’t mind seeing you in it again.”

The way Steve says that is full, heavy; like the words fill his throat on the way out. All pretense at humor dies and you look from him, to Bucky, to back and forth and back again.

“What…” You have to remind yourself to breathe. It’s hard, with both of them staring at you like that. “What are you saying?”

Steve looks at Bucky, receives a nod, and then approaches you. You don’t pull away, but even when he’s standing right in front of you, Steve moves slower than a snail. He gives you more than enough time to move back, and when he finally presses his lips to yours it feels like something in your chest snaps and you hold onto his shoulders to help support yourself. And if that pulls him closer to you, well…

…neither of you are complaining.

When you pull back to breathe, you’re not surprised to see Bucky there, but that cord in your chest pulls taut again, until you and he kiss as well. Steve doesn’t move away and you don’t realize you have one hand still gripping his shirt until he puts his hand over yours. Your other hand is gripping Bucky’s left shoulder. Normally sensitive about it, he doesn’t seem to even notice right now.

He’s smiling. It’s loose, and goofy, and beautiful. “Is it bad form to kiss before the first date?”

Your own smile grows. “Well…I did invite you both over for dinner.”

Steve laughs. “Does this mean this is the first date?”

It’s more than you could have ever believed would happen. And to think, it only came in response to them having you over for breakfast, which occurred because Steve and Bucky were having a–

Wait a minute.

Wait a god-damned minute.

You go over everything from the night before that you can remember and then you frown at Steve. “Hey. Hey.”

He and Bucky both stop smiling. “What?” Steve asks.

You huff. “So I’m a problem?”

“Oh.” Steve fights it, but the smile creeps onto his face, regardless. Then he puts his hand under your chin and barely grazes your skin and you lose all capability of thought any higher than ‘guh’. “I did say the reward was worth it.”

“And uh…” You inhale sharply when he tilts your face up. “What reward would that be?”

Steve and Bucky don’t leave for another hour and it’s a good thing they’re just next door, with how unsteady they are. The parting is reluctant on both sides, but Steve and Bucky are still a little proper (just a little, thankfully) and you want to get a good night’s sleep. You’re going shopping tomorrow– it’s your turn to surprise them.

You’ll show Steve what a problem is.

#shotthroughtheheart3k #bucky x steve x reader #stucky x reader #captain america fanfic #avengers fanfic #romance #strangers to friends to lovers

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birlcholtz · 6 years

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12 + 48 and zimbits

Roommate + Fake Dating oho i am excited for this one. here comes more actual writing are y’all ready?? 2.1k

edit: apparently i posted this on ao3 and forgot to link it here so here it is

On the one hand, Bitty loves the fact that the team just doubled the number of beds per bedroom in the Haus. Sure, it doesn’t seem quite as luxurious as the individual rooms, but it means that even more people can fit in the Haus and that means a couple of things:

First of all, he has far more people nearby to make go to Stop ‘n Shop and buy him butter.

Second of all, there are many, many people around who are perfectly willing to hang out with him, which means as long as he doesn’t tell them that he needs to do homework, he has a house full of willing accomplices in procrastination.

Unfortunately, the second thing doesn’t work on Jack.

He and Jack weren’t even supposed to be roommates— in the Hausing lottery, Bitty had been assigned to share with Wicks, but then Ollie asked to switch so he could be with Wicks and Bitty is pretty sure they’re together or at least FWB and he definitely doesn’t want to be sexiled so he said yes. And now here he is sharing a room with Jack.

Usually they don’t get in each other’s way; as long as Bitty plays his music quietly, they make it work. But Jack has a pretty much perfect bullshit detector when it comes to how much work Bitty is avoiding, and part of that may be due to the fact that it’s just impossible to make eye contact with Jack and lie to him, and part of it is probably witchcraft of some sort.

But they make it work.

The day Jack gets a letter is a day of note in the Haus, because the only physical mail they ever get are catalogues (for many things, among them clothes, kitchenware, and fishing supplies) and bills. However, Jack is working on his thesis and refuses to come downstairs to accept the letter in a grand ceremony Shitty wants to improvise, so Bitty is tasked with bringing the letter to Jack since it is, after all, also his room.

“Ugh,” Jack says upon opening it.

That’s unusual. “What?”

“I’m invited to my cousin’s wedding.”

“Do you not like your cousin?”

“I like him, but my aunt is convinced I’m dating Kent Parson, and every time I see her she interrogates me to try and get me to confirm it.”

“Why does she think that?”

Jack sighs through his nose. “She thinks we’ve been going steady since the Q.” He doesn’t answer the question, but Bitty knows how close Jack was to Parson then, so it makes sense.

“Can you just tell her you’re not? Like, I don’t know, say you broke up, or that you’re dating someone else.”

“I don’t think she would believe me.”

Bitty flops down on his own bed, because it sounds like this is a problem worthy of letting Bitty procrastinate on everything else and that fact alone is definitely worth some attention. “Why not?”

“Because she doesn’t believe me about not dating Kent Parson now, so how would I convince her? It’s not like I can make a significant other materialize out of thin air.” Jack puts the card on his desk and tosses the envelope into the trash. “I usually just endure it. It’s not like I see her that often, anyway.”

“I mean, you don’t have to make someone materialize, just ask someone to go with you and pretend. If the food is good I’m sure they’ll agree.”

The corner of Jack’s mouth quirks up. “Or is that just specific to you?”

“I am nobly ignoring your attempts to chirp me.”

“You just acknowledged them. And they’re not attempts, they’re successes.”

“Are not.”

“I’m not getting into this with you.”

“I win.”

“Fuck.” Jack drums his fingers on his desk and says, “Still not getting into this with you despite you baiting me.”

“Who says ‘despite’?”

“I do.”

“Fair point.”

Jack frowns, which is an unusual expression for him when Bitty has just confirmed he’s right about something. “Can you go?”

“Huh?”

“To the wedding.” Bitty must look nonplussed, because Jack says, “I mean, we’re used to sharing a room, and I would ask Shitty but he’s really stressed with applying to law schools and everything and I don’t think an event with free alcohol would be good for him.”

And those are all excellent points, but this is Jack. Bitty is genuinely not sure he can make it through the wedding pretending to date Jack while still maintaining his composure and dignity. Add that to the fact that Jack went through that whole conversation they just had about Kent Parson without a single ‘no homo’, and frankly Bitty is not in the right emotional state to do this.

“I’ll buy you Annie’s for a week,” Jack says, and fuck it, Bitty is sold.

“Okay, I’ll accept your bribe and do it. But only for the food.”

“And the Annie’s.”

“I’m counting that.”

It’s really a good thing that Bitty and Jack are roommates, because they automatically have a place to practice faking couple-dom.

“Okay, first question,” Bitty says. He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, and Jack is mirroring him on the other side of the room. “How long is this whole thing? Like, is it a whole weekend? Is it a morning thing? Evening thing?”

“Evening, but we’re invited to the rehearsal dinner, so it’s pretty much the whole weekend.”

“Okay. Next question, are we going to be faking to your parents or telling them?”

“Uh, my dad is not good at keeping secrets.”

“Faking. Okay. Will people be speaking French?”

Jack furrows his brow. “I mean, some people probably will be, but the wedding’s in New York. It’s my mom’s side.”

“Thank the Lord. And the next question is, can you dance?”

“If I say no, does it mean I don’t have to?”

“Yes.”

“Then I cannot at all. And that’s the truth.”

“That’s honestly what I expected.”

“Rude.”

“Well, anyway, we won’t dance, then. That’s good, that means we don’t have to practice that.”

And so the plan is born. They won’t tell anyone, not even Jack’s parents, and they won’t bother explaining the whole situation to the rest of the team because Shitty will insist he’s doing fine and then they’ll have to deal with that. They’ll practice a relatively subtle level of PDA, because it’s not like it’s their wedding, and there will be absolutely no dancing.

They start with just being in each other’s space. The team is not big on personal space as a whole, but this is different— sitting next to each other, touching from knee to shoulder, leaning on each other, that sort of thing. And then handholding, which Bitty needs to practice a lot because it messes with his head and his composure and both of those are unacceptable.

He has no idea how he’s going to function when they get to kissing. More importantly, he has no idea how he’s going to conceal this irritatingly persistent crush. He thought it would fade away after a week or so (and to be honest he had fully expected it to happen at some point), but that… is not what is happening. Instead, Bitty’s heart does physical activity ranging from a flutter to intense aerobics every time they touch, and frankly this is not sustainable.

But he can’t back out. Jack really does need him to do this. Bitty can see how whenever Jack’s gaze lands on the invitation, which is still lying on his desk, he tenses up a little, and Bitty has the feeling that there’s more that Jack isn’t saying.

But that’s none of his business.

He muddles his way through couple practice fairly well, for a while. Jack has made a calendar (because of course he has) detailing their schedule and when they progress from one level to another. It’s endearing, and the fact that it’s endearing instead of annoying is pissing Bitty off.

Day One of kissing takes place a week before the wedding, because Bitty has asserted that he needs time to get used to it and Jack has agreed. Thank heavens for small favors. Except that just means that he’s going to spend even more time kissing Jack and— well, Bitty is just not thinking about that.

He determinedly not-thinks about it until the day of, when they’re sitting in their room facing each other and Jack says, “Ready?”

And Bitty says, “Yeah,” because waiting longer will not help at all. He just needs to do it, and then he can get used to it and it won’t be an issue at the wedding.

And then Jack kisses him and Bitty becomes immediately aware that it will definitely be an issue for him personally, because honestly?

Kissing Jack feels right, which is fucking terrifying and definitely not what should be happening. Because Bitty has been secretly hoping all this time that when they get to this part, it’ll just feel awkward and silly and he can finally let go of this stupid crush. But instead it feels comfortable, simple in the way that making a crumble is simple, and Bitty definitely should not have gone with the crumble comparison because now he’s coming up with all sorts of figurative language that incorporates sugar and dessert and just overwhelmingly unnecessary ideas.

I can’t fake this, Bitty thinks, and then he pulls away, or Jack does, because he doesn’t consciously decide to do it but it still happens, and then he opens his eyes and looks at Jack, who…

Who doesn’t seem any more coherent than Bitty, and Bitty has no idea if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

They just look at each other for a minute, or maybe two, and then Jack looks away and says, “This isn’t fair.”

“Huh?” Bitty says, because he genuinely has no idea what Jack is talking about.

“This,” Jack says. “Fake dating. I mean—” he sighs. “It’s not fair to you, because you just agreed to do it as a favor to me. I should have stopped it when I—” And he stops.

Bitty waits, because it’s clear that Jack is going to say something, and the last thing he wants to do is mess that up by saying something.

“When I asked you to help me, I was being honest,” Jack says. “I really just needed a friend to help me get through this weekend. And then I thought… I just thought, well, it’s been a long time since I’ve dated anybody so I’m just reacting to that but… that’s not what happened. I guess…” He pauses, takes a breath, then says, “It’s not fair to you because I’ve been letting you think I’m just in this to get my aunt off my back, when I… I really want this to be not fake.”

“Oh,” Bitty says. And then he says, “Oh, God, that is so noble of you, because I was just going to not say anything for the rest of my life and bottle everything up until I died, but… I want this to be not fake, too.”

Jack looks back at him in surprise, and then whatever he sees on Bitty’s face must convince him that Bitty is being genuine, because he says, “Okay.”

They make eye contact for a long moment before Bitty feels himself starting to laugh. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

Holding on to a semi-straight face is a challenge, but it’s worth it, because Jack starts smiling too, and then he laughs, and then Bitty can’t help but laugh too, and their second kiss is, if possible, even better than their first.

The wedding is lovely.

Bitty isn’t really sure of what the bride and groom’s names are (they introduced themselves at the rehearsal dinner, but by the time the hors d’oeuvres were served at the reception, those names had flown out of Bitty’s head), but they seem nice, and they put on a damn good wedding, so as far as Bitty is concerned they’re excellent people.

Also, the food is really good.

They still have to lie about how long they’ve been together, because Jack RSVP’d a while ago, but compared to lying about being together, it’s a piece of cake.

Bitty expresses that out loud (but quietly) to Jack, who says, “Literally.”

“You’re holding a macaron, not a piece of cake.”

“Close enough.”

They also do a very good job of not dancing— they talk to various family members during the fast songs, and shamelessly raid the desserts during the slow songs, and maybe a quarter of the guests have left when a very familiar song begins.

“Okay, I know we said no dancing, but I’m changing both of our minds,” Bitty says, standing up. “Come on, it’s a slow song, you don’t have to do anything.”

Jack lets himself be pulled up from his chair, and then he says, “Is this… Beyonce?”

“Yeah, that’s why we have to dance, come on.”

Jack just laughs and goes with him.

#my stuff #my inbox #zimbits #omgcp #fic

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