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dust2dust34 · 4 years

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Four Walls (Of Law Firms and Honey) - Olicity AU, Explicit

Summary: Oliver is Felicity’s boss at Queen & Queen, a prestigious international law firm. She’s the tech genius, he’s the top dog’s son, and they viciously disagree on nearly everything. Despite that, they work together, neither outright acknowledging the ever-present simmering attraction that has slowly been growing hotter and hotter…

Until a chance meeting at a grocery store one night has them crossing a line, a tiny little line that was never meant to be crossed.

A collection of ficlets in the same ‘verse: Of Law Firms and Honey.

Rated: Explicit

Full fic: AO3 | Tumblr | Timeline

Reminder: Please read the story tags and notes at the beginning of each chapter.

This fic is being told out of order. Please see the timeline to read them in order. Please see the previous installments for additional author notes and story information.

Check out the Four Walls playlist, and if you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them!

Additional A/N: This is the other ficlet I planned for a generous donor in the Fic For Food Drive I took part in. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Chapter Summary: Flash Fic #4. She finds him in a coffee shop.

(read on AO3)

8:27 a.m. Gilded Bean (Flash Fic #4)

The bustle of the coffee shop encompassed him in a pleasant haze.

Sipping his coffee, Oliver scrolled through his email on his phone, enjoying the relaxing slant of his shoulders caused by the chatter behind him, the footsteps of people hustling to the counter, the distinct sound of beverages being crafted. It complimented the busy downtown street outside the window he faced, the people rushing by, cars stopping and going, the sky clear for once, letting sunshine spill on the world.

He savored it, knowing he would be going back to his quiet office for the board meeting in thirty minutes.

Pinpricks of anxiety slithered over him.

Oliver sucked in a breath and quickly looked up at the busy world. His fingers tightened around his coffee cup, so hard the top nearly popped off. He fixed his eyes on signs of life - the strands falling from a woman’s braid, a man digging in his back pocket, a dog prancing by on a thin leash, the woman walking it staring at her phone, a dent in a passing car, a man talking to someone in the backseat of another car, pieces of hair sticking to the corner of someone’s mouth, a woman’s lips as she sang along to whatever came out of her headphones.

He clung to everything before him, holding it close, despite being outside of all of it.

A chime told him he had fifteen minutes to get back to the office.

He didn’t move. Instead, eyes not straying from the mosaic of life, he set his phone down and rubbed his thumb along the ridge of his index finger. The motion soothed him enough that he settled, his heart rate slowing. He calculated how long he could stay until he had to run back to the office to make it in time.

Six minutes.

Ten if he really booked it.

“Hey.”

Oliver froze.

For a split second he wondered if he was imagining it. He’d heard her voice enough over the last several months, whispering through his thoughts, and dreamt about it even more than that. It had become a permanent fixture in his mind during those days drifting on the ocean, memories coming to life, haunting him until he wasn’t sure if he was praying for death or for her.

A hint of her perfume sliced through the smell of coffee.

Oliver breathed it in, deeply, as the warmth of a person sitting down next to him fully registered.

Holding his breath, he turned.

His heart slammed into the floor.

God, she was a sight for sore eyes. She looked the same - her hair back in a high ponytail, dark-framed glasses, bright pop of color on her lips, her earrings exactly how he remembered them - but she was different, too. Calmer. Softer. A casual confidence made the air around her shimmer.

She was stunning, even more than he remembered, and all he could do was stare as the full breadth of how much he missed her hit him square in the chest.

“Felicity.”

A hint of a smile touched her lips and the quiet beauty of it shredded his insides.

“Don’t think I’ll ever be used to that,” she said with a little laugh.

Oliver huffed out a noise, something caught between a chuckle and a grunt, mostly because he felt like he should acknowledge her words somehow. And because his voice was gone.

He stared at her, his mind whirling.

He hadn’t seen her since the bluff last year, their bluff, a few weeks after he’d been found in the North China Sea. She’d found him on the cliff’s edge, staring at the water crashing into the rocks down below. To this day, he still didn’t know if he would have jumped, but then it hadn’t mattered, because she was there. And the second she touched him, he’d fallen apart, collapsing into her arms, breaking under the weight of all of it.

… the Gambit flipping in the frenzied sea, going under… terrified shouts for help from the crew before the ocean tore them away… his father shooting the captain in the face… propping himself on the edge of the raft, telling Oliver it was the only way before putting a bullet in his own head… Oliver’s frantic screams as he fought the rough ocean waves to get his father’s body back… the sea sweeping his father away, so far away, taking the gun with him… floating, for days on end, so many days, knowing he was going to die… hoping for it… wishing for it… so much that when the shadow of the freighter appeared, he finally felt a modicum of peace knowing it was all over…

But it wasn’t. He was still alive.

And the world was unchanged, unaffected, unaware.

She was the only one who knew what had happened out there. The words had come tumbling out in a fervor of raw emotion, running together, his tears blurring the edges until he was nothing but a sobbing mess that she held together all through the night.

Then that was it. They went back to their separate lives - her to a life that didn’t involve him, and him to continue his life with McKenna.

Except here she was, in all her beautiful glory, glowing with all the light he’d taken for granted.

“Hi,” he whispered.

It was all he had.

Her brow furrowed and he watched that familiar line appear between her brows. It always announced her troubled thoughts, no matter how hard she tried to hide them. His mouth went dry. Was she regretting sitting here? Did she wish she’d turned and left instead? They didn’t have much of anything to say anymore, did they? Not now. Not after everything. But the thought of her walking away again sent a white hot knife slicing through his gut and Oliver opened his mouth to beg her not to leave, even though he knew he didn’t deserve it…

She didn’t leave.

With a tiny whisper of his name, Felicity grasped his hand.

Choking on a surge of emotion, Oliver’s eyes dropped to where she touched him. How many times had they touched? In how many ways? Hundreds. Thousands. It was countless, and yet it felt like the first time he was feeling her skin against his. She was as soft as ever, and so damned warm. It wasn’t until this moment that he fully appreciated just how frozen he still was at his core.

His fingers curled around hers, his heart cracking when she held him back.

His phone chimed.

Oliver started, blinking rapidly, only realizing in that moment that tears had been filling his eyes. He swallowed hard as he glanced at his phone.

Five minutes.

“Damn it,” he breathed.

She tugged her hand out of his and the loss carved a jagged hole in his center.

“I have to go, too, actually,” Felicity said, sliding off the barstool. Her front grazed his arm in the miniscule space between them before she stepped free. She offered him another smile. “It was good seeing you, Oliver.”

“Yeah,” he replied.

Absently. Automatically. Blankly. Just going through the motions.

Which was all he’d been doing, wasn’t it? For months now. Floating through life, doing what he thought he was supposed to do, filling shoes he felt woefully inadequate in, going home to someone who barely pierced the surface of his heart.

And he was doing it here, with her.

He didn’t want to be numb anymore.

Oliver surged off his barstool, towards her. The coffee shop was busy, people loitering in line, baristas yelling names, glasses hitting tabletops, utensils hitting plates. All of it was suddenly so viciously clear that it hurt his ears, but none of it mattered as he looked at her.

A thousand words hovered on his tongue. None of them came out, nothing but…

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, her smile warming. She grasped his bicep and pushed up onto her toes to kiss his cheek. Oliver’s eyes slammed shut and he instinctively leaned into her, his heart damn near ricocheting off his chest plate when she lingered for a second longer than necessary. Her lips moved over his stubble as she said, “Of course.”

As if it was a given.

As if he deserved it.

Oliver let out a ragged exhale and pressed his cheek to hers. She paused, but she didn’t pull away, like he thought she would. Like she probably should. Instead her hand tightened on his arm and then she pressed back, a stuttered breath dancing over the shell of his ear.

They lingered there, caught in the in-between, suspended between the past and the present, and a future that didn’t exist.

He knew nothing about her life anymore. He didn’t know what she had been up to. He didn’t know what she did with her time. He had specifically gone out of his way to avoid looking her up, because it was a closed door that needed to stay that way.

But she was also here, right here, right before him.

“Felicity,” he whispered, his hands finding her elbows, tentative, unsure.

I miss you.

With a ragged gasp, Felicity slid her arm around his neck and tugged him into her.

Relief shot through him and he sagged into her arms.

They hugged each other, tight, grasping, clinging so tight it hurt. Her nails bit through his jacket, a whimper he hoped he wasn’t imagining slipping out as she used her hold on him to yank him down closer to her. He pulled her flush against him, burying his face in her shoulder, and then her neck. The lapel of her jacket got in the way and he nosed it out of the way so he could breathe in that unique scent that was all Felicity. She smelled so good, so perfect, and something deep inside him slid into place, a missing piece he hadn’t realized was missing. A piece he hadn’t wanted to admit was missing. Because he needed it, like the air in his lungs, and the thought of living life without it for even one more second had him gasping her name again and pulling her in even more.

He had to leave. So did she. They had lives to live, lives that didn’t involve each other anymore.

But neither of them moved, not until someone bumped into them, breaking the moment. Even then, when they parted, they lingered in each other’s bubble, so much flying between them that he didn’t know where to begin thinking about it, much less talk about it.

They did finally part, though, and went their separate ways.

But they didn’t say anything, because they didn’t have to.

This was enough.

It had to be.

Thank you for reading! Reviews literally feed the soul and muse.

#olicity #olicity fic #olicity fanfic #olicity fanfiction #arrow fic #oliver queen #felicity smoak #of law firms and honey #four walls #my fics #my fics: au #dust2dust34 #arrow #fanfiction

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tisfan · 5 years

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Accountability

Title: Accountability Square: K2 - Bucky Barnes / Winter Soldier Warning: coffee shop AU, unrepentant fluff Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes Summary: Tony wants to have a stable relationship by New Year’s Eve. Well, Bucky’s here to hold him accountable. Link: A03 Word Count: 2,199 For @tonystarkbingo and @aoifelaufeyson

A/n - not responsible for tooth decay.

“Coffee, Black, extra, extra large. And put a few shots in it,” Bucky’s first customer of the day said.

“Resolution?”

“Ton- what?”

“What’s your resolution, for New Years,” Bucky asked.

“You’re going to write that on my cup? You know you’re going to have people in here fighting for the cup of ‘go to the gym more’ by ten a.m.”

“It’s called accountability,” Bucky said, loftily. “If everyone sees you in the coffee shop with -- what did you say it was?”

“I didn’t. But-- I’d-- I had a shitty night, and my New Year’s kiss was a joke. I’d like to have a real relationship, this year.”

“Get a significant other,” Bucky wrote dutifully on the cup, then Bl, xxg 2sh on the side under it.

He handed the cup off to Sam, who started pulling shots and getting the drink line moving. Wanda rang up the sale, and Bucky went on to the next customer, who, true to SO’s prediction, had lose twenty pounds as their resolution. Not gonna happen if you keep drinking large lattes, extra whip, sugar.

Bucky’s idea started conversations; at least half a dozen people pulled out their phones when Call Mom More Often picked up her Americano. Two people found workout or walking partners. People lingered in the shop to talk about it; lingering people bought more coffee or muffins. And word spread, the way it tended to do. By lunch, the line was thirty deep.

“Man, I hate you,” Sam said, as Bucky passed yet another cup along.

(more under the cut)

Get an SO came up at least three times to get a refill, spending most of the morning poking his tablet industriously, taking advantage of the free wifi. In the relatively dead period just after lunch, while Bucky was clearing off tables, he asked, “So, how do you go about keeping people accountable?”

“Really? I don’t,” Bucky said. He picked up the chair, turned it around and straddled it. “You do it. Once you say it, and someone says it back to you, it’s halfway to being a fact.”

“Is that a fact?”

“It’s psychology,” Bucky said. “The power of saying things outloud.”

“Which is why you… work in a coffee shop, instead of having an office and clients on your couch?”

Bucky only chuckled. “I’m still in school, hot shot. Plus, I like my job. Talking to customers, getting to know people. Testing my threshold for some wall street tool’s dickish behavior. Means I’ll be able to handle him when he’s in my chair, wondering why he still ain’t got a date.”

Sig Other waved a hand near his forehead. “Yeah, okay, you got me. We’re square now?”

“Actually, no,” Bucky said. “Tell you what, why don’t you prove you’re being accountable. Bring your first dates here. Coffee shop meet ups are the thing, and I’ll see you’re taking my advice seriously.”

“You’re going to give me dating advice?”

“You can tell a lot about a person from what they order at the coffee shop,” Bucky told him.

“And what, pray, does my order say about me?”

“Mostly? That you should probably get more sleep. That whatever you do keeps you busy; you don’t have time to be fussy about your coffee. Black’s easy. Hard for someone else to fuck it up. You don’t strike me as the kind of coffee snob who wants black because he pretends he knows shit about the beans and roasting. You probably drink red wine, or scotch. Forget to eat more than you want to admit. And you don’t have very many close friends.”

By the time he was done bullshitting the guy -- playing Sherlock was fun, but it was no more true than Wanda and her tarot cards -- Sig Other’s eyes were huge.

“Okay, you convinced me,” he said. “I’ll bring my dates in. You tell me which ones to bring back.”

Bucky hadn’t actually expected Sig Other to come back, much less return with a date. He wasn’t even sure, after the first week of January was over, that he’d have remembered the guy. Waiting on more than five hundred customers a day, it took a lot of repeat business before he usually recognized anyone in more than that vague way of seeing thousands of faces. Even longer before he knew names.

But orders, for whatever reason--

“Oh, hey, Extra Grande, black, right?”

Those brilliant brown eyes, almost the same color as the heart of an espresso pull, lit up. “Hey, it’s the Accountability Guru,. Yeah, please. And--” He gestured and a very lovely woman stepped up behind him.

She was willow, brunette, and way overdressed for a coffee date. Her haircut probably cost more than Bucky made in tips during the day. She glanced up from her phone for a few moments to ponder the menu. “Raspberry latte,” she said. “With the art on it? And a biscotti.”

Bucky wrote the orders down, passed them on. “Do the swan,” he told Wanda. She was the best latte artist they had, not that many people bothered to look into their cups before heading out the door. Might as well give Sig Other a head start, right?

He watched them between customers, Sig Other keeping a proper date-space for a first meeting, asking questions and appearing interested in her answers.

When she bothered to give them. Mostly she poked her phone. Took a picture of her latte. A selfie. A picture with Sig. Cackled over some responses to her social media of choice. Tipped her screen toward Sig a few times so he could share in the joke.

They stayed about twenty minutes, and then she got up and he saw her to the door and her taxi. A moment later, he was leaning on the pastry counter.

“No,” Bucky said, flatly.

“No?”

“She was dressed way too nice,” Bucky said. “She expected you to wine and dine her. She’s in it for the money. I assume there is some?”

“You could say,” Sig said. “You didn’t like her? She seemed friendly to me.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Bucky said, then turned his phone toward Sig. “She dissed out my coffee artist. Real friendly.”

It hadn’t taken him long to find the instagram, not when she tagged the shop by name. Run of the mill coffee art. There was more, mostly talking about her date, but Bucky didn’t bother to read that.

“I thought the swan was clever,” Sig said.

“Well, I don’t want to brag, but Wanda’s competed at the WBC, she’s not run-of-the-mill.”

“How is it bragging, when you’re praising her?”

“You want one to go?” Bucky asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah--” Sig paused a moment, then, “It’s Tony, thanks.”

Sam nudged him. “Your boy’s got another one.”

Bucky flicked his cigarette and took a long drag. “I’m on break. Another socialite?”

“Naw, if it was that boring shit, I’dda left you out here. He’s got a dude with him this time,” Sam said.

Bucky swallowed his mouthful of smoke and then choked on it. Well, that changed everything, didn’t it?

Except it didn’t.

“You oughta quit that nasty habit,” Sam said, and Bucky waved him off.

He snubbed his butt and tossed it in the ashbin out back. The alley was gross and smelled like stale coffee and rotten muffins, but at least he was allowed to smoke there. There weren’t lots of places left that allowed it.

Went inside, snuck a peek at the line. Sure enough, there was Tony, about ten back, with a good-looking blond guy. Like, underwear model good looking. And then Bucky got a better look at his face. Oh, god. That guy.

“Is that--”

“Yep.”

“What are we talking about?” Wanda wanted to know.

“Don’t bother trying to get blondie’s coffee right,” Sam told her. “He’ll spend the next twenty minutes telling you what you did wrong. Just pour him a cup and some cream, and then make him what he actually ordered. He never accepts the first one. No point in wasting your time.”

Tony got his usual, and then spend a moment behind blondie’s back making the ‘look at his guy’ gesture with both hands. Bucky’s mouth tipped up in his the customer is always full of shit smile.

Bucky poured Tony’s coffee, pulled a shot, and went around the side of the counter to give it to him, while blondie was describing how to put half a pump of sweetner in his cup. “Really? This guy? I didn’t know you were into dudes, or I wouldn’t have suggested that you give Heather another date last month.”

“Yeah, no I figured that out when we had a little discussion about Freddie Mercury,” Tony said. “You knew?”

Bucky bobbed his chin around. “I suspected. She’s said some shit, but-- eh. Some people just have a little bi-prejudice, doesn’t affect anybody much, unless they’re dating someone who is bi. Besides, she ticked off all your other boxes.”

“Well, if she’s not going to want to have a relationship because I might have, at some point, touched some other guy’s dick, then the rest of the boxes don’t matter.”

Trust Tony to say something like that, while Bucky was already thinking about the fact that Tony was actually into guys. Bucky shifted uncomfortably. Getting a chub while at work was awkward.

“So what’s wrong with Ty?” Tony looked over again, watching as Ty walked Wanda through the steps of pulling a shot, like she’d never done it before.

“He’s a mansplainer,” Bucky said. “He always knows everything, better than everyone.”

Tony chuckled. “I am, in actual facts, a genius.”

“Won’t matter,” Bucky said. “He’s the expert.”

“Could be good for a romp,” Tony said. “Experts can be great lovers.”

“Until he starts telling you everything you’re doing wrong,” Bucky pointed out.

Tony looked offended, although Bucky wasn’t sure if it was directed at him, or at Ty for not-yet-occurring critique of Tony’s bed skills. “We’ll see,” Tony said.

“You’re planning to make pancakes for breakfast?” Bucky wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t. Not that it hadn’t been a while since he’d gotten laid, that was irrelevant. Just--

“It’s been looking good, so far,” Tony said.

“Well, have fun,” Bucky said, his smile coming naturally to his face. Yay customer service job.

“I plan to,” Tony said.

“Coffee, black.”

“Tony?”

“You were right, if you want to tell me so,” Tony said. “But, coffee first?” His eyes were bloodshot, as if he’d been drinking heavily, or crying. Or both.

“Sure, sure,” Bucky said. He added two shots to the mix. “Here, come on, it’s on the house, are you--”

Sam waved at him. I got this.

“-- are you okay?”

Tony held up his hand and waggled it back and forth. “We had a big fight,” he said. “It, uh, didn’t end well. But hey, I had almost three months of a relationship. Well, a little more than two, at least. Too bad it’s freaking October. I’m… running out of time.”

“You’re not running out of time,” Bucky told him, scoffing. “You’re in your prime. Plenty of time to find someone, settle down.”

“I mean, I know,” Tony said, sinking down in his chair, “that I don’t need someone to make me happy, that my life has meaning and value. And just because I’m alone, it doesn’t mean I’m unlovable. See, I’ve been talking to my therapist, right.”

“Well, no,” Bucky said, hesitant. Tony thought he was unlovable? He was the most interesting person that Bucky knew. “You’re pretty damn amazing, actually. Smart and sexy, funny. You’re interesting, you’re unabashedly nerdy, and enthusiastic about your geekiness. But not a gatekeeper. Really, Stone didn’t deserve you. He was a dick. I think you’re a hell of a catch, and I don’t understand why people are bein’ so dense about it. I--” would totally date you.

“Yeah, no, I’m-- I’m just not seeing it,” Tony said, and he turned his phone around to show Bucky a hungover frownie face selfie. “Not… just not happening this year. I’m done. Accountability shows that I tried, but this year is just another fucking washout.”

“Um…” Bucky licked his lip, hesitating. “Uh, maybe it’s not?”

“Yeah, why, what do you think, the perfect person’s going to just plop themselves in my lap? I mean, I know you work in a coffee shop--” Tony pushed his chair away from the table. “-- and you’re apparently delusional enough to be a romantic, but--”

Bucky stood up, took a deep breath--

--and plopped himself into Tony’s lap.

“I am an incurable romantic. I do work in a coffee shop, and maybe the perfect person for you is absolutely going to throw themselves in your lap.”

Please God, let this work, because otherwise, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

Tony almost dropped him, before scrambling to get an arm around Bucky’s waist. “Wh-- oh. Oh. Oh, my god.”

“Would you, erm… like to go out? I know a great coffee shop--”

Tony blinked a few times. Then his arm tightened on Bucky’s waist. “Yeah, yeah, I think I might like that. Wouldn’t want to, you know, fail in my resolution.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky said. “I’ll hold you accountable.”

#tonystarkbingo2019 #winteriron #tony stark x bucky barnes #coffee shop au

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fallen-imagine-angel · 6 years

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Come Back To Me (Part 2) - Peter Parker x Reader

Notes: Hey guys, so I finally finished Come Back To Me part 2! It took a little bit, but I think it makes up for it by being so long. Oh, and Chapter 13 of the HP AU should be up by tomorrow or the next day, hopefully. I’m planning on posting it one of those days. Tag List is open for anything, too! Have a great rest of the day :)

Summary: Part 2 to Come Back To Me, where you live in the Avengers compound to find a way back to the love of your life.

Come Back To Me - Part 2

Peter Parker x Reader

Requested?: Yes, by @soniasalvatore1 “Can you please make a part 2 to “Come back to me” I really liked it and just want to see what else would happen in the story”

Word Count: 5,190

Warnings: mentions of suicide & depression!! don’t read if those trigger you!! also, FLUFF and ANGST!!!

Two years. It’s been two years since Tony recruited you, and three since Peter disappeared. Everything has changed.

You spend your days training with Natasha and your nights in the lab with Tony and Shuri. Shuri’s your best friend now, but the term is loose. Both of you are too distraught to really do ‘best friend’ things. The compound isn’t happy, just as you expected. Everyone has lost someone, and it’s taking its toll.

Steve keeps to himself all day, only coming out of his room to train occasionally. You hardly see Rhodey, but when you do, he’s with Tony and Pepper. Valkyrie and Thor usually spend time with each other, and Valkyrie drinks a lot. You occasionally talk to Thor since he knows what it’s like to lose someone to something other than the dust. Clint mostly spends time with Natasha, so you see him occasionally before or after you train. Bruce stays to himself, beating himself up about how he couldn’t hulk out in time. Okoye and Shuri talk a lot about T’Challa, becoming almost a sisterly duo. You wish you could join, but it wouldn’t fit. You didn’t know T’Challa. Rocket and Nebula, on the other hand, bicker all the time about random things. And then there’s you.

“Are you ladies almost done training for today? I need my lab assistant.” Tony walks into the training room to find you and Nat battling it out.

“She’s a natural born fighter, Tony. How come you didn’t bring her in here before two years ago? She’s almost as good as I am now.” Natasha tries for a smile. You appreciate her efforts to make you feel better.

“Well, I did learn from the best.” You get in a jab to her side.

“That you did.” Nat nods affirmatively.

“Okay, can you two be done? I’ve got some tech that needs working on, (Y/n), and you’ve already been training for...what is it? Five thirty? Yeah, you’ve been training for eleven and a half hours. It’s my turn.” Tony grabs your arm and drags you away from Natasha.

You have a system between the two, they each get eleven and a half hours, and then you get an hour of sleep. They don’t know about most of the system, just that Tony gets you in the lab at 5:30 pm sharp. What he doesn’t know is that you’re in the lab until five every morning. Pepper usually forces him to go to bed around midnight or one, two which he makes you promise to go to bed no later than an hour after he does. You always promise, but never actually keep it.

“What are we working on tonight?” You ask, taking off the boxer’s tape on your hands.

“Whatever you were working on last night. You haven’t finished it yet, have you?” He asks you as you continue to walk toward the lab.

“Nope. I’m close, though. I think I can have it finished by tonight. Is Shuri already in there?” You yawn. Tony eyes you suspiciously as you yawn.

“Yes, she is. Have you been getting enough sleep lately?” He frowns.

“Of course. Just tired from eleven hours of training.” You grin at him. He nods, not all the way convinced by your answer. You step into the lab, being greeted by Shuri.

“(Y/n), I made a few modifications to your invention but I didn’t get to finish them, so here’s the list. I’ll let you work on them now. Meanwhile, I’m going to finish upgrades on my brother’s suit.” She gives you a quick hug before walking to the other side of the lab. You mentioned nothing of the fact that her brother turned to dust because you know she would only get upset. She’s set on bringing her brother back just like you’re set on bringing Peter back. You’d made web formula modifications for him, so why can’t she do the same for her brother’s suit? You won’t spoil her dreams, because that would be spoiling your own in the process.

“Thanks, Shuri.” You give her a small smile before getting back to work on your invention. It’s an invention that can locate a person no matter what dimension they’re in.

~+~

Hours later, after Tony and Shuri have already gone to bed, you’re still working in the lab. It’s about three in the morning now, and you’re so close to being finished with your device. If you get it finished soon, then you can maybe call it quits and turn in early for the night.

“(Y/n)?” You hear a groggy voice from the doorway. You look over to see Tony standing there with a confused look on his face.

“Morning.” You wave your hand dismissively, getting back to work.

“Why are you working this late? You need sleep.” Tony walks toward you, trying to take the device from you.

“I’m almost finished. I don’t stay up this late all the time.” You jerk your hands away from him, continuing to work.

“Really? The security footage begs to differ.” Tony points to a camera in the corner, making you sigh. Then your device starts to whir.

“It’s working! Quick, give me a person to locate!” You snap at him.

“Thor?” He rubs his eyes, yawning again.

“He’s in his room! Ha! It works! Who’s another person who isn’t in this compound?” You ask, suddenly very awake.

“Uh, there’s this guy named Ant-Man who fought my team when Cap and I were...not on good terms. Can you find him? I haven’t seen him in a while.” He suggests.

“Ant-Man? What’s his name?” You ask, typing in some stuff to the device.

“Scott Lang.” He answers.

“Hm...it says he’s in something called the Quantum Realm? No idea what that is, I hope he’s okay. Probably just on a mission of his. Anyway, it works! Now to try it to do it on Peter!” You rush to type in some other things, trying to locate Peter. It beeps, signaling it can’t find him.

“What’s the problem?” Tony looks at it, seeing it light up red.

“It can’t find him!” You yell in frustration, trying to find everyone you know that turned to dust. No dice.

“It can’t find anyone? So it can find every dimension except the one that we’re trying to find? Unless...” Tony trails off, guilt lacing his voice.

“They’re not dead, Tony. Don’t even think of that. No, we’ve just got to try again,” You try it again, to no avail, “Ugh!” You throw the device into the trash, not seeing Tony picking it up and putting it away for future use.

“Hey, hey, kid, just go to bed. We’ll figure it out tomorrow after your training.” Tony lays a hand on your shoulder. An idea pops into your head.

“What if we didn’t have to wait anymore?” You grin, grabbing multiple pieces of technology from everywhere.

“What are you getting at?”

“Time travel! We could go back in time to save them!” You grab his shoulders excitedly.

“Kid, get some sleep. You’re only nineteen. This isn’t healthy.” He shakes his head, sighing.

“We just have to make a portal, then we could go back in time and save all of them! We can save Peter!” You ignore his comment completely.

“(Y/n), listen to yourself! Okay, say we go back in time. We save them. Peter is sixteen years old. Do you really think you can date a sixteen-year-old kid Peter? He would still be in high school.” Tony growls, trying to knock some sense into you.

“Plenty of people date with age differences, Tony.” You point out.

“It would be illegal!” He yells, causing you to fall silent.

“Tony...I’m not looking to date him. It’s not about having him as my boyfriend, it’s about having him back. My Peter. My best friend. Sure, I’m in love with him, but I would be fine getting him back and just being his best friend. I just want my best friend back. Please.” You sniff, a tear slipping out of your eye.

“Oh, (Y/n)...” Tony pulls you in for a hug as more tears slip from your eyes. You bury your face into his shoulder.

Then it hits you.

“What if...what if we didn’t go back in time to get them, but we went back to stop the snap from happening? What if we went to The Collector and got the Reality stone, then got the Time stone from Dr. Strange, and the Space stone from Loki, and had Wanda destroy them all.” You offer, your brain going a thousand miles a minute trying to process everything.

“That’s...that’s actually not a bad idea. We’ll get to work on that tomorrow, though. As of now, we both need to get some rest.” Tony pushes you out of the lab. You groan and trudge to your room, flopping on your bed and finally getting some much-needed rest.

~+~

The next morning, you jump out of bed and run to the training room, finding Clint already in there talking to Natasha.

“Hey, Clint. Nat.” You give them both happy smiles, something you’ve never done in your two years here. They both seem taken back by the happiness you’re radiating.

“What happened to you?” Nat asks.

“Tony and I may have figured out a way to get the others back.” You grin. Both of their eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“You’re...serious?” Clint asks with a hint of hope in his voice.

“Maybe. It’s a really good possibility, though. We’re working on time travel.” You nod. Clint gives you a smile, the first you’ve ever seen from him. The rest of your training is spent working hard.

~+~

Eleven and a half hours later, like clockwork, Tony saunters into the training room.

“Let’s go!” He yells, and he doesn’t have to ask twice. You’re saying goodbye to Natasha and heading to the lab.

When you reach the lab, you realize that the outline of a portal has already been started in the center, and Shuri is tinkering with it.

“You guys started without me? Traitor.” You punch Tony in the shoulder.

“I never said I wouldn’t.” He shrugs, giving you a smile. You jump right in, getting to work beside him and Shuri. Bruce even comes in for a couple of hours to help you guys work. For once, you don’t feel hopeless.

~+~

A few weeks later, you’re finally finished. There’s a portal sitting in the center of the lab, and you’ve tested it to make sure it works.

“We have to figure out who will go.” Tony frowns, scanning the portal one more time for any possible malfunctions.

“I know who will go.” You give him a look. He nods, having the same people in mind as you.

“So what’s the news?” Everyone else shows up in the lab, filing in through the door one by one.

“We found a way to get the others back.” Tony drops the news, and everyone’s faces go into shock. Except Clint and Natasha’s, of course.

“You’re serious?” Steve asks.

“How?” Nebula asks skeptically.

“Even the ones who didn’t turn to dust?” Thor steps up, his fingers crackling with untamed electricity.

“Yes, even Loki. Even Gamora. Everyone. Because….we’re going back in time.” You answer their questions.

“Back in time?” Rocket yells.

“Yes, back in time, rabbit. Did you not hear them?” Thor beams, now in a much better mood.

“I heard them.” Rocket growls, but he doesn’t seem that angry at Thor. He seems to have a soft spot for the god.

“When are we leaving?” Steve asks.

“Now.” You bite your lip, looking through the Avengers and Co.

“Who’s going?” Nebula asks, narrowing her eyes at you and Tony. Shuri and Bruce are off to the side, already positive that they’re not going. Bruce doesn’t want to fail again, and Shuri isn’t sure she’s ready to see her brother again, since he left her in her lab when he was off fighting and ultimately, dying.

“Me, Steve, Thor, Nebula, and Natasha will go,” Tony answers, and you clear your throat.

“And me.” You add. Tony turn to give you a look, but you glare at him and make him shut up.

“So...we’re just stepping through the portal? Where...when are we going first?” Thor asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Your ship. Before Thanos arrived. We’re getting the Space stone from Loki first.” You smile at him. He nods.

“And, we’ve got a remote for the portal so we can open it anywhere to any time and send something through or walk through. That’s why we need Bruce and Shuri here, to keep track of what and who comes back through the portal.” Tony informs everyone.

Everyone who was picked for the mission steps forward and the rest take a step back. Shuri turns on the portal and the team steps through. You feel like you’re submerged in water.

~+~

When you arrive on the other side of the portal, it’s like getting a fresh breath of air. You take a deep breath and look around the ship, seeing everyone happy and talking. You spot Loki amidst the crowd.

“Brother!” Thor bellows, grinning and running over to him. He envelops him into a large hug, which Loki is very confused at.

“I swear you were just in the other room.” Loki mumbles.

“I am from the future! We have come to rescue you!” Thor sweeps his hand toward the rest of the team, including you, and you wave slightly. You were trying not to fangirl. Of course, you’ve heard of all of these heroes, but you’ve never met any of them. And true, Loki isn’t a hero, but he’s an anti-hero, and he tried to save his planet and his brother in the end, so he’s a hero to you.

“Right...look, we’re about to head to Earth, so I’ll see your...team...there.” Loki rolls his eyes at his brother's antics, probably thinking he’s playing a trick on him.

“Look, Reindeer Games, we need you to hand us the Tesseract. And come with us. You’re going to die if you don’t, I promise you that.” Tony steps forward, holding out his hand to Loki.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No. I don’t even have the Tesseract.” Loki huffs, crossing his arms.

“Do not lie to me, brother! I told you, I’m from the future. Any moment now, Thanos will show up and steal it. Then he will...destroy everyone. Do you think we can take Heimdall, too?” Thor turns to Tony.

“We can’t take all of your people, Thor, but I will allow Loki and Heimdall.” Tony begrudgingly agrees.

“C’mon, trickster, we need the stone. If you don’t hand it to us, we’ll be forced to take it from you.” You frown.

“You said Thanos is coming any moment now, yes?”Loki hums, glancing at the front of the ship anxiously.

“Yes. Come with us, brother. Please.” Thor practically begs. Loki reaches into thin air and flips the Tesseract to Tony, who of course catches it with ease.

“Where are we going?” Loki asks, narrowing his eyes at you and Nebula in particular since he’s never seen the two of you.

“We’re not going to the same place as you. You’re going back to the compound, three years in the future. We’ve got some unfinished business in other places.” You answer him. He nods, seeming to deem you worthy of answering his questions.

“Okay.” He agrees, surprisingly.

“Okay.” Tony nods and clicks the remote, opening the portal. Loki, without hesitation, steps through to the other side. Thor gets Heimdall, gives your group a smile, and steps through the portal with Heimdall to get some much needed time with his brother and Heimdall back. Tony closes the portal and opens up another one.

“To Knowhere, pre-Thanos.” You smile at them and step through.

~+~

Another breath of fresh air and you’re in the middle of the Collector’s Museum on Knowhere.

“Collector!” Tony yells, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“How can I be of service?” He appears behind your group, cocking an eyebrow at everyone.

“Give us the Reality stone.” Nebula’s now at his throat with one of her many weapons.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Shouldn’t we ask nicely first?” Steve asks, putting a hand on Nebula’s shoulder. She shrugs him off and presses the knife harder against The Collector’s throat.

“He wouldn’t react well to asking nicely.” She growls.

“She’s right. Why should I give you the Reality stone?” He narrows his eyes at her.

“Because if you don’t, there will be consequences. Half of the universe will die. That means half of your clientele. And you, of course. You’ll die.” You smile sweetly at him. He glares at you.

“And why should I believe you?” He sneers.

“Because in about thirty seconds, Thanos is going to barge in here and take this from you no matter what, and he won’t spare you. I suggest you give us the stone and run so he doesn’t get to you next.” Natasha speaks up, instead of just giving her signature intimidating look that she’s been giving this entire trip so far.

“Fine. Take the stone.” The Collector gives Nebula the Reality stone once he realizes you’re telling the truth.

“Another down. Let’s go.” Tony opens another portal, and everyone steps through.

~+~

You’re now standing on Vormir, right behind the purple thumb and his daughter, Gamora. Everyone looks at each other apprehensively.

“I’ll grab my sister. Tony, open the portal as soon as I’ve got her because we’re both going through as soon as I do. Then, you guys go wherever you need to go.” Nebula instructs. Tony nods. Nebula sneaks forward and taps Gamora’s shoulder. She spins around, ready to fight until she sees Nebula. She relaxes a little bit and willingly walks through the portal with Nebula without her having to explain anything.

As Thanos drones on about his big plan, Tony opens another portal and everyone walks through unnoticed.

Disaster averted.

~+~

You, Tony, Natasha, and Steve step into Dr. Strange’s Sanctum Sanctorum.

“I know why you’re here, you don’t have to tell me. Why do you need the Time Stone?” Dr. Strange appears from nowhere, giving your group a look.

“If you’re so all-knowing, then you should already know the answer to that question.” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You’re right, I do. You want it to possibly save half the universe. Look, I’m tasked with keeping this stone at all times so I do not think I will hand it over to the likes of you.” He shakes his head.

“Then you also understand that you handed it over to Thanos when he tried to kill me.” Tony crosses his arms.

“Now why would I do such a thing?” Dr. Strange hums, flipping through one of his books absentmindedly.

“We don’t know. But you should give it to us because you and everyone you love will most likely die if you don’t.” You growl.

“So, if I give you the Time stone, you will save the world?” He asks, snapping the book shut and returning it to its place on the shelf.

“Yes. Please, just give it to us. You’ll get it back three years from now, I promise. But it won’t actually be gone three years since we’ll only have it for about ten minutes.” Tony explains. Dr. Strange nods and opens the necklace, handing the Time stone to Tony. You thank him and step through another portal to your last destination.

~+~

You arrive in Wakanda, in Shuri’s lab, next. You see Wanda standing there with Vision.

“Wanda, we need your help.” Steve steps forward.

“With what?” She asks, narrowing her eyes at you since you’re the only person she doesn’t recognize.

“We need you to destroy these stones.” You say as Tony lays them out on a table for her. She nods, a little hesitant, but seems to understand what’s at stake since you’re obviously not the regular Tony, (Y/n), Steve, and Natasha. Even though she wouldn’t know what you’re normally like.

She starts to use her power to destroy them.

A few minutes later, they all shatter, causing a massive burst of energy to throw everyone off their feet and into the nearest wall.

“Ugh...time to go, guys.” Tony groans and opens a portal. Everyone climbs through, leaving a confused Wanda behind.

~+~

When you arrive back in your time, everything is different. No one is in the lab besides Shuri, Bruce, Thor, Loki, Heimdall, Nebula, and Gamora.

“What happened?” Natasha asks.

“The rest didn’t know when you would come back, so we waited. For three years.” Shuri explains.

“We’ve been gone three years?” You furrow your eyebrows.

“Time travel. We don’t know how it works yet, we just figured out how to do it. It’s the same time as when you left, and the same place, but as soon as you destroyed the stones, everyone started appearing again. It’s been three years in their minds. They’ve been living here for the past three years and Thanos is only a distant memory to them. They remember the other timeline, but it’s more like a dream to them.” Bruce shrugs.

“Interesting. Well, I guess it’s better to be gone for three years than them be gone for the rest of our lives.” Tony racks his brain for explanations, but you don’t care.

“Where’s Peter?” You ask.

“Probably in his room.” Shuri gives you a small smile. Without warning, you and Tony rush out of the lab and find your way to Peter’s room. Tony had shown it to you a long time ago, and you had memorized the route from every room you had been to, so you get there a split second before Tony does.

“(Y/n)-” Tony stops you, putting an arm in front of the door.

“What? I need to see him, Tony.” You try to shove him out of the way, to no avail.

“I need to talk to him first. Please. Let me. You can talk to him right after. I promise.” He begs you, giving you his puppy dog eyes that rarely many people got to see. You frown, sighing.

“Fine. You have five minutes.” You begrudgingly let the billionaire go first. He’s a father figure to Peter, so it makes sense. You’re just the best friend.

~+~

During those long five minutes, you get a call. From your mom.

“Honey?” Your mom asks.

“Yeah, mom. It’s me.” You nod.

“Oh, good. Are you coming home for dinner tonight?” She asks simply, and you smile, a tear slipping down your cheek. It’s been so long since you last heard your mother’s voice.

“Yeah, I’ll be home. I gotta go now, but I’ll call you later, okay? I love you.” You hear her say a soft “I love you” back before you hang up, biting your lip to keep from crying already.

She’s okay. Everyone’s okay.

~+~

A few minutes later, as promised, Tony walks out of the room and closes it softly.

“You can go in now. You’ll thank me later.” He pats your back and walks off, leaving you slightly confused and nervous now. You’re not sure if you want to go in yet, after what Tony just said. Why will you thank him later?

Cautiously, you open the door. Peter is sitting on his bed, staring at his phone, crying. You hear a distinct voice playing on the phone.

“Uh, take care. I love you.” Your voice. Your voicemails. He’s listening to your voicemails.

“You weren’t supposed to hear those. How did you get that? I would’ve thought that- after...after the time change, your voicemails would’ve changed, too. Maybe disappeared.” You mutter, your heart rate picking up rapidly.

“Tony had my phone...he was never on it, it was to kinda...preserve my memory in a way, but he had it in his pocket at all times. Probably hoping that he’d give it back to me one day…” Peter trails off, not even looking up at you. Is this what Tony meant when he said you’d thank him later? He was wrong.

“I’ll just go.” You tear up, not from being with your best friend, but from not being able to have a happy moment with your best friend once he’s back.

“No, don’t. Please stay.” Peter grabs your hand and pulls you back to him, hugging you harder than you’ve ever been hugged before.

“Shuri says that dying is a distant memory for you. Almost like a dream. Do you remember it?” You whisper, letting your tears flow.

“Yeah, I do. Not vividly, just kinda the overview of things. I know I disintegrated, but I can’t remember much after that.” He admits, pulling you closer to him. You let out a sigh of relief.

“I remember everything. I remember being without you for a year. I remember being without May, Ned, or MJ for a year, too. And...without my dad for half a year.” You take a deep breath and pull back from Peter to get a good look at him. He doesn’t look much different besides being slightly older. Nineteen suits him well.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n).” He brushes a hair behind your ear and your breath hitches in your throat.

“I should go. I’ve got a dinner with my family, and-” Peter cuts you off mid-sentence.

“Aunt May and I, and your family should do dinner together tonight! It would be a great way to catch up again, especially after everything. Shuri explained to me that regular civilians have a different perception of what happened than us...heroes. They don’t think that you, Tony, Steve, and Natasha have been gone for three years. Your mom has lived like you’ve been here the entire time, for some reason. I’m not sure why.” He explains quickly, making you slightly confused but more understanding why your mom wasn’t completely freaking out that you answered the phone.

“Okay. I think dinner with everyone would be good.” You nod in agreement.

“Great. And...before we go, there’s something I need to do.” Peter scratches the back of his neck anxiously.

“And what-” You’re about to ask what that would be, but before you can get the sentence finished, Peter’s kissing you. You’re surprised, to say the least, but not in a bad way. Your hands make their way to his hair, pulling at the disheveled curls as you kiss back. You’ve been waiting for this for too long.

Maybe you would thank Tony later.

“That’s what I had to do. I’ve been waiting to do that for...forever.” Peter grins once you pull away. Then, he kisses you again. And again. And again.

“Peter, as much as I absolutely love kissing you, we should get to our apartments. My parents will be wondering where I am.” You grin and take his hand, pulling him out of his room and into your car that Tony had gotten you a little while ago for your birthday.

~+~

When you’re finally back at your apartment building, you run up the stairs to see your parents. Peter has been able to see Aunt May for three years, but you haven’t seen your parents since the day your mom disintegrated and your dad committed suicide.

You knock loudly on the door to your apartment, Aunt May and Peter behind you, waiting anxiously. Aunt May knew of why you were so excited, she also had a distant memory of what happened, since she wasn’t necessarily a superhero, but she was involved in the life of one.

“Hi, honey!” Your mother hugs you and you hug back tightly.

“Mom! Where’s dad?” You look behind her. She gives you a concerned and sad look.

“Where’s…(Y/n), your dad...your dad committed suicide two years ago. How could you forget that?” Your mother places her hand on your forehead to check your temperature.

You go numb.

“He...what? Why?” You mumble, suddenly feeling very claustrophobic. Everything was supposed to be okay again.

“Well, he said he didn’t feel quite right. Like something was off. He kept complaining about it for half a year until...he killed himself. A year before he did, he was fine. Nothing was wrong. But then, six months later...he wasn’t himself anymore. He said he felt like he wasn’t supposed to be there like nothing felt quite real anymore. I don’t know what he was going on about, but he couldn’t bear to live with it any longer. Are you sure you’re okay? How come you don’t remember this? You were distraught and went to stay with Peter for a little bit.” Your mom pulls the three of you inside and goes to get a thermometer for you.

“He’s...he’s gone. For real. I’ll never get to see him again.” You mumble, not really able to contemplate anything else at the moment.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n).” Aunt May and Peter hug you, trying their best to comfort you in the best way they could. Peter especially, since he knows what it’s like to lose a father.

“Honey, take your temperature.” Your mom hands you a thermometer and you put it in your mouth, not paying much attention to it. You hear a beep and your mom takes it out of your mouth.

“No fever...weird.” She frowns and goes to put it away. She then serves dinner and everyone eats silently. An awkward tension grows over the table.

“So, uh...me and (Y/n) have an announcement. We’re dating.” Peter smiles, trying to take your mind off your father. He laces your fingers together and holds your hands up for your mom and Aunt May to see.

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that! You know, (Y/n), I knew you two would get together ever since you started hanging out when you were kids.” Your mother gushes. “I saw it, too! Did you see the way they would look at each other in middle school? Totally crushing on each other, but never even noticed it! I’m surprised it took them this long!” Aunt May joins, making you smile. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all. Sure, you don’t have your father, but you had adjusted to life without him before. It shouldn’t be so hard this time, especially with everyone else by your side.

“Did someone call for a party!?” Ned and MJ suddenly burst through your apartment door, hugging you and Peter tightly.

“Oh my gosh, you guys! I texted you, like, fifteen times this morning! How come neither of you answered?” MJ punches your arm lightly. So, she’s like your mom. No clue about anything.

“MJ!” Ned yells, pointing at your intertwined hands. MJ raises her eyebrows and looks at you, winking.

“Now I think I know why you weren’t answering.” She smirks.

“MJ!” Both you and Peter yell, heat rising to your cheeks. You bite your lip to keep a smile from forming. If only she knew.

“Okay, okay. The adults are here, right. So, what’s for dinner?” MJ grins and they sit down and start eating your mother’s homemade food. You smile to yourself.

Maybe this can be your new little happy family.

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deathloveshischicagopizza · 6 years

Text

So I'm writing a VLD fic

@comfortably-chaotic-mind I'm tagging you bc you know this fic and I'm sure you'll want to hear this lol plus this is kind of a funny story...sorry for the long post though

Everybody else, I'm very very very sorry you have to put up with this but I'm really upset about this right now so I gotta get this out

Basically, Keith's dad was super close with the latest Admiral of the Galaxy Garrison. Like I'm not sure what happened with them (maybe graduated together?? or the admiral taught him some life lesson??? idk) but Kogane trusts Dos Santos with his LIFE okay

And he basically says that Dos Santos is Keith's godfather in his will

So when Kogane dies...Dos Santos shows up and is like bitch u ain't takin this boi to the home

So Keith becomes like the housecat-ghostboy-orphan of the Galaxy Garrison. He likes sitting with the old people, climbing in the rafters, and sneaking around to scare the shot out of the cadets.

He's also an avid reader. (A personal headcanon of mine but blown up to a massive proportion.)

Like I mean this boy eats books for breakfast lunch and dinner. If he's awake, he's reading. He listens to audio books to fall asleep half the time (the other half of the time he's blasting Disturbed or FOB or something edgy like that).

This boy has read every book that could even VAGUELY be considered interesting.

Okay, let me just tell you:

The average school library has a ratio of between 10 and 20 books per student.

Let's say the Garrison has 5000 students (just larger than West Points cadet count) and their ratio is small at 10. That's 50000 books in the library.

Probably 10000 are extra copies or second/third/twelfth editions of the same books (going by the ratio of 1/5 that my school had). That's still 40000.

I'm gonna be nice and say that 500 are reference books, another 500 are random (small, informational or entertaining, don't fit a special category), 25000 are nonfiction, and 14000 are nonfiction.

Keith is almost 13 at this point in the story.

As an avid reader myself, I started reading at four. Keith started at five in the story.

I was six when I read my first 200pager. So was Keith.

So let's say he started on the smallest books in the Garrison at age 5. That's 500 in a year. About a book and a half a day.

Boom. Down to 35500 books in the library.

(As we all know, I hope, the library will rotate books, causing the number to fluctuate a bit. But let's say for the sake of math that it stays this way)

His dad already gets supplies from the Garrison (because he lives on Garrison property shhh it makes sense) so he starts asking for more books because Keith is just eating them up.

So the countdown to 15000 starts.

This is where I should explain that I literally lived down the road from a small town library until I was ten years old. I know what it's like to have access to books. I went to the library with my uncle every saturday afternoon. The librarian knew my name and used to come to my soccer games when he could. He was my best friend.

I remember when I was about seven I started getting frustrated because I would go through all my books in the first few days of the week and then be out until Saturday. I started taking my bookbag with me. I made my uncle (in his teens) take one, too. We crammed anywhere from thirty to sixty books into those bags and carried more with us.

The only reason we got away with it (because there was a 20 book limit) was because we had six library cards between the three of us--i had mine and my mom's, my uncle had his, his best friends, and my grandma's, and the library dude was nice enough to lend us his if we needed it.

So yeah. On a good week, I got about seventy books. That's ten books a day.

(I should explain that I still went to school. I went to public school with plenty of kids who hated reading enough for all of us. I had teachers who either insisted I was some kind of genius--i wasnt--or banished me to the hallway for reading Jane Austen during reading time when they specifically said to pick something at the class reading level. I know this life. It's kinda sucky.)

So yeah. Ten books a day, seven days a week, for fifty-two weeks. I got through the entire small-town library (4000 books) in just over a year.

Yes, I even read the reference books. Yes, I had to ask for help with some of the more sophisticated books in the library. (Yes, I skipped a few of the research books. I was eight. Sue me.)

What I'm saying is that it is realistic for me to have Keith reading 5 or 6 thousand books a year for eight years, because in this story he has LITERALLY NOTHING ELSE TO DO.

His dad homeschools him without schooling him at all (unschooling, look it up on wikipedia--yes I know it probably doesn't work like that, but it's my AU and I do what I want). Then his dad dies when he's just over eight and he's alone in the house for a year. Just books to keep him company.

Then (after meeting Sam Holt) he starts trekking out to the Garrison, creeping around the halls and camping out in the library when he feels like it.

He makes friends with the campus librarian. Professors give him books for his birthday. At twelve, he got Sam and Dos Santos to help him build a room onto the old shack so his books weren't just lying wherever in the house. The room has twelve bookcases (three on each wall) each with five shelves (60 shelves total) and full of books (about 2000 books total, give or take).

He doesn't socialize a lot (he's still Keith) but it's not that he doesn't want to. It's just that he's awkward (he's still KEITH). If people would stick around for a while (more than ten minutes), he's actually really cool and funny, even if he's a little defensive/shorttempered/oblivious/clueless.

(Just because you're smart and read a lot doesn't mean you understand everything. Just because you know how to make jokes doesn't mean you always catch them or that you understand idioms or innuendos or anything that isn't straight talk.)

His jokes are literature based. He uses sarcasm a lot even though half the time it comes out wrong. He identifies with both Darcy and Elizabeth on a spiritual level.

He has a room at Dos Santos' that has a bookcase full of composition notebooks, themselves full of notes on all the books he's read, little doodles of scenes he really likes, and jokey little summaries of long reference passages.

He's a nerd who never had to learn how to socialize with real people. He LIKES people. He's not a robot, and he doesn't automatically hate you on sight.

He's just been through a lot in his life, and he's still just a lonely little kid.

Anyway. Keith reads about twenty fiction/short books some days, four longer reference/textbook books other days. It varies. It took him six hours to get through Under the Dome, and there was one time he read eleven aeronautics manuals in eight hours and then passed out for fourteen, but mostly he takes longer for reference books/textbooks than fiction books/memoirs.

Also he's read the dictionary/thesaurus like forty times by the time he's thirteen and he shows ZERO sign of stopping. It's basically a religion at this point.

So let me break this down again:

Garrison library has 50,000 books. Minus 10,000 because they're copies/lame editions. That's 40,000 books.

1000 are reference books or random (small, informational or entertaining, don't fit a special category) books, 25000 are nonfiction/memoir/diagram based/school or lesson based, and 14000 are nonfiction.

Keith starts reading at five. His first five hundred are done when he's six--he starts on the next five hundred and finishes within months. His dad starts asking for larger shipments.

By the time Keith is seven, he's read 2000 books.

We're down to 38,000 books in the Garrison library.

Between seven and eight, he reads another 3000. Down to 35,000 books in the Garrison library.

A couple months later (500 books down, 34,500 to go) his dad dies. He's alone in the house for 10 months, only books to keep him company.

He reads another 4,000 books in this time. By the time he turns nine, he's reading at a high school level. 30,500 to go.

Sam visit on his ninth birthday. He brings more books, invites him to visit the Garrison sometime. The librarian could use some company.

Keith does.

By the time he's ten, he's read another 6,500 books. It's a really good year. 24,000 to go.

Age 10-11: 6,000 books. 18,000 to go.

Age 11-12: 5,750 books.12,250 to go

He's turning 13 in a few weeks. This year he has so far read 5,375 books. He wants to hit 5500 again. For the five year anniversary.

It's not a good year. He's not feeling great. He starts talking to Matt more than he used to. Matt pushes him a little. He says he can do it. Keith believes him. He's never lied to him before.

(That Keith knows of. What goes to his benefit is unnecessary knowledge for him.)

He hits 5,500. 6,750 to go.

This is where I am now.

Now by all accounts, there are a few notes I should make.

There is a portion of books at Keith's home that he has not read. They are books the librarian gave him because she knew he hadn't read them before they were getting rotated out for a new shipment. This is probably 500 books.

That makes the total 7,250.

Less than ten thousand.

He has read 33,250 books in eight years (ages 5 to 13). Average: 4156.25 books per year, 11.3 books per day.

I'm almost twenty and I read 55,383 books between the ages of 4 and 18 (between the first book I read at home and the last book I read before my graduation ceremony). Average: 3955.93~ books per year, 10.8 books per day.

I didn't have a lot of friends. I was bffs with every librarian I met/had. In 10th grade world history we had to give one cool/weird fact in an introductory assignment and I told them I had read every book in the school library. No one believed me. I told them I could prove it. She said go ahead.

"I have read every book in the school library. The librarian can vouch for me. They have not rotated their books since I was in eighth grade. My grandmother works here, so I know. There are exactly 17,488 books in the library, not including extra copies or "editions" like all they did was change two sentences in the intro that's hardly new information. But whatever. I started reading that year. I made a list of every book i read that year. There were 3272. That's 14216 to go--all of which were in the fiction and nonfiction sections. My grandmother checked them out. If you go into her records from that year and take that list and add it to my list from last year in 9th grade, you'll see that I read every single book. I started with the reference section that year and then went to the manga, then the nonfiction, then the historical fiction, then the fantasy fiction. I had already read most of the books in the fiction section. 6,791 out of 7,918 to be exact. That's 7425 to go. I'd also read 3577 if the 6298 nonfiction books. That's 3848 to go. Over the course of the last school year, which lasted exactly 42 weeks, I checked out 30 books every Monday and 50 books every Thursday. That's eighty books every week. Times 42, that's 3360. 488 left. I hung out with my grandmother while she worked over the summer. I kept my reading up, only for the first half. By the end of July--the 29th--I had read the rest. That's nine books a day every day. Don't believe me? Ask the librarian."

So the teacher did.

She put the librarian on speakerphone.

The librarian went on a full ten minute rant about how ridiculously difficult it was checking out fifty books at a time.

My history teacher wouldn't come within 2ft of my desk until after holiday break, and she didn't go into the library at all that year.

Moral of the story: IT IS TOTALLY LOGICAL/ACCEPTABLE THAT I HAVE KEITH READING OVER 30,000 BOOKS IN EIGHT YEARS IN THIS FIC OKAY PLEASE DON'T COME AT ME OVER THIS

#me #omg #mine #my post #long post #sorry for the rant #sorry for the spam #sorry for the long post #rant #my rant #reading #keith reads a lot okay #my fic #voltron fic #my vld fic that i'm writing

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helenamayhathaway · 6 years

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can you write a barista au plsplspls :D

Pretty sure this has been done many times before but I’ll do it

Frank is daydreaming, he’s always daydreaming. Surrounded by the smell of roasting coffee and the quiet hustle and bustle of the city outside which leaks in from the door, it’s prime atmosphere to get lost in another world.

He’s not exactly a bad worker, because he’s a very mechanical person when he’s on the clock. His body is aware of how to take an order, how to make it, but his mind isn’t on this plain of existence and it never has been.

He mans the register, hearing Ray complain about something behind him as he pours heaps of caramel syrup into the blender.

“Kaitlin,” the girl says when he asks her for her name. Sometimes he finds himself in the middle of doing things without remembering he’s started them. Frank considers this name in his head and stews over any of a thousand different names to spell it on her cup. Katelyn. Kaitelin. Kaytelin. Kaitlyn. Frank settles for “Ka” and then makes a scribbling shape so that it’s not spelled any one way or another.

Another one walks in. This one’s name is Bryan. Or maybe it’s Ryan. Consonants are always getting lost. He scribbles something that resembles neither names. He could ask him to repeat the name, but he doesn’t really care that much. What’s the worst that’ll happen. They’ll post a picture of their misspelled name on Instagram with a dramatic face and a few people will laugh while other people will see the picture and think “damn, and I thought his name was Toby.”

Another face walks in, who surely has another name that belongs to him.

“Gerard.”

An old mans name, Frank thinks to himself. He enters the guys drink into the computer, before grabbing the cup and trying to remember the name he’d given. Gerald? Jared? It had that G sound in any case. Frank writes simple “G” followed by his normal scribble and hopes this is close enough.

More names walk in, it’s the morning rush after all, so everyone is getting their coffees before work One guy rushes in, clearly late for work, so he should be ordering coffee in the first place. Frank doesn’t pay any of these people any mind. Adam. Delaney. Wallace. Sam. Something that sounds like Tron but that’s definitely not his name, unless his parents were a big fan of 80′s sci-fi.

It’s a regular day at work. Tedious, boring, and much the same as it always will be.

***

Today, Frank is contemplating quitting and joining a band. This is his usual daydream. He’d be pretty great at it, he’s sure. They’d be some sort of hard metal band and he’d be the best goddamn guitarist to grace this side of New Jersey and at least a month. But someone else would replace him after that month and he’s still be good but he’d be second best.

“Gerard,” says the man who’s face that name belongs to. Frank recognizes the peculiarity of the name and remembers writing it on a cup just yesterday. It’s no “Kyle” or “Chris” or “Dan” or John,” all of which he hears thirty times a day at least. “Gerard” isn’t a common one, and the boy is a lot younger than someone you’d expect to be called Gerard. He actually makes a point to look at the face and notes it’s probably the same one. Most customers are featureless in his eyes. The guy had had hair probably. And he thinks he remembers a nose. Maybe a couple of eyes. Yeah, this could be the same dude.

He scribbles the name on the cup, and he thinks he might actually have gotten it right this time. But he doesn’t notice or care that much.

***

“Gerard,” the man says, and Frank’s memory pulls up something. The same name that had ordered coffee yesterday, and the day before it. The features, they are definitely the same. He actually got a better look yesterday, so now he remembers the face. And it’s the same order as well, so it must be the same guy. Most people tend to look alike, but this guys face, name and order are distinct only because they remain the same.

Brown eyes, triangular eyebrows, pale with black hair. This is the face who belongs to the name “Gerard.”

***

Frank is taking the order of his fifth “Sarah” today when he sees a familiar face waiting behind her. Sarah is scribbled on her cup, and then the man walks forward. He gazes at the menu like he’s going to order something different, which he does not, before he orders.

Vanilla Latte. Simple. Not something that’s hard to make like the iced frappuccinos that a majority of high school age girls order.

“For Gerard?” Frank offers instead of asking for the mans name. Gerard, as Frank is want to call him given that it is his name, blushes. Frank smiles, because he got it right. Usually it takes him several weeks to memorize the names of his regulars, but it’s the ones with names like Gerard’s. Not necessarily weird names, but atypical ones. Sawyer, who orders a caramel macchiato. Candace, who just orders a plain coffee and pours the sugar in herself so she knows it’ll be right.

***

It takes about a week but Frank starts to recognize Gerard the minute he comes into the store, and has his order all ready to go before he gets to the register.

“Hey, Gerard,” Frank says, before giving him his total.

Gerard is bashful, and normally doesn’t say much, but he smiles at Frank whenever he gets his order. He even gives Frank that friendly head nod when he leaves in response to Frank waving him goodbye.

***

Three weeks pass before Gerard actually makes anything resembling conversation towards Frank.

“Frank, right?” Gerard asks, reading Frank’s name tag. Frank is required to wear a name tag, however, whenever a customer uses his name directly, it gives him the heebie jeebies, because it’s gross being called by your own name by a stranger while you’re at work. But when Gerard uses his name, it doesn’t feel that weird, because he’s one of Frank’s regulars. Gerard isn’t exactly a stranger, but he’s also not a friend either. He’s a friendly almost stranger. So Frank doesn’t mind having his name used by him.

“Yep,” Frank confirms for him.

***

Eventually, seeing Gerard in his store is expected. He gets coffee about four times a week, sometimes five. Occasionally he’ll walk in with a big folder in his hand, which Frank longs to know the contents of, because he doesn’t know anything about his customers aside from their names and coffee orders.

On one particular day, Frank decides the mystery has gone on long enough, “what do you actually do, Gerard? I see you so often but don’t know anything about you.”

“I’m, uh, an artist,” Gerard says, awkwardly, and he rubs at his neck in the way that he often does when Frank talks to him. He’s an anxious guy, who doesn’t seem to really relate to people very well, but he’s a nice dude in any case.

“Whoa, what kind?” Frank asks, suddenly interested. There’s a line of people behind Gerard, waiting to place their orders, but Frank ignores them. Sometimes he just enjoys talking to his customers, especially Gerard, who he would say is easily his cutest.

Gerard’s got those big brown eyes which call attention to his dark hair. He’s one of those simply dressed but fairly fashionable types, with longer hair that could be washed more frequently than it is, but it’s what Frank’s come to expect of him, so he wouldn’t change it.

“Cartoons,” Gerard says, “I, uh, I do some, like, background work for cartoon.”

“Cool,” Frank says, and he actually means it, it’s not just the canned small talk he makes in order to get better tips.

Gerard smiles at him, before he walks on, so as to let the next person place the order, because he doesn’t want to hold up the line, even if Frank wants him to.

***

Frank’s conversations with Gerard become increasingly longer. For a barista to be talking to their customer for any longer than about a minute with a line forming behind them is a lot, but sometimes Frank will talk to him for upwards of three or four. He likes talking to Gerard. It’s as simple as that. He’s cute, he’s sweet, and he’s interesting.

Frank learns that Gerard has a brother, that he lives only a few minutes away. He learns Gerard’s a coffee addict, though he wouldn’t have needed to be told that.

Eventually, Frank decides, the three to four minute conversations he has with Gerard simply aren’t enough for him anymore. Most of Frank’s friends are coworkers, Ray, or Pete. Frank needs to branch out a little more.

On one particular day, about four months after Gerard first stepped into his store, Frank decides he’s had enough of the blurbs of information the two of them share.

“Hey, Gerard,” Frank says, when his favorite customer walks in. Gerard looks especially pretty today, he’s got that shadow on his chin indicating that he didn’t shave this morning, and his hair frames his face cleanly. He’s got his usual black jeans, paired with a simple T-shirt and one of his many black coats over it. Gerard seems only to own black coats. Leather jackets, jean jackets, moto jackets, trench coats, all of which are black.

The two of them share friendly conversation, Gerard telling Frank about a band he’s never heard of, which is impressive since Frank prides himself as having an encyclopedia sized knowledge of music.

Frank writes Gerard’s name on his cup as usual, but today, instead of just that, he also writes his phone number.

Gerard walks away after a few minutes to let the next customer order, and that’s usually the end of their conversation until the next time Frank sees him. Frank is used to it, and he doesn’t mind it. Frank has a job to do, and so does Gerard, even if he would like to talk to Gerard for the entirety of his shift.

Today, however, Gerard catches Frank’s attention after a customer places their order and before the next one steps up to the register.

“Is this yours?” Gerard asks, pointing to the phone number, and Frank nods nervously. This is where his dream is either made or breaks. He might even lose his favorite customer if he misread the signs.

Gerard bites his lip, but smiles, and Frank feels relief wash over him at the look of it. It’s one of Gerard’s normally bashful smiles whenever Frank compliments him or pays any type of attention to him really.

“I’ll see ya,” Gerard says, smiling at him before he walks towards the door and out into the city outside.

#Anonymous

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