#angstyfactory

emily and nathan made it through the night more or less unscathed, even with aspen reynolds in the same cramped space. when they finally got back to emily’s apartment, the damage was minimal—thank god. the exterior walls of the building were chipped in a few places, and a couple framed photos inside had slid crooked or fallen, probably from the wind rattling everything.

the power was still out, but that wasn’t a huge deal. emily knew exactly where her flashlights lived. her phone, though, was going to need a charge soon and there was one person she hadn’t heard from yet. she pulled up fitz’s contact and hit call. as it rang, she glanced over at nathan, already bracing. “if he doesn’t pick up,” she said quietly, “we’re going to his place.”

Send a 👫and I’ll write headcanons I have about our muse’s relationship -- @angstfactory

emily & fitz;

fitz has been part of emily’s life for as long as ingrid has, which is to say: forever. she met him back when she still wore pigtails and his ears were a little too big for his head. even then she thought he was handsome.

when fitz came to visit in the summers, one of their friend group's favorite things to do was go to the movies. it was air-conditioned, the candy somehow always tasted better, and it gave them an excuse to sit in the dark for a couple of hours. emily didn’t like horror movies when she was younger, not really, so fitz came up with a system. whenever something scary happened, he’d cover her eyes while she covered her ears. he’d only move his hand once the worst of it was over, letting her know it was safe to look again. this arrangement also conveniently meant that fitz insisted on sitting next to her every time purely, he claimed, so he could protect her from the movie.

emily has a habit of scanning a room the moment she walks into it, instinctively looking for fitz. she does it with nathan too—he’s usually the very first person she finds, then fitz right after. it’s automatic, unthinking. she tells herself it’s because she wants to be the first to notice if something’s different about them. a new haircut, different clothes, some small shift she can clock before anyone else does. really, it’s because seeing them settles her, and because part of her wants to be the one who notices first.

when they were teenagers, someone suggested seven minutes in heaven at a party. it was supposed to be funny, low-stakes, something to laugh about later. emily got paired with fitz. the closet door closed. it was dark and cramped and suddenly too quiet. neither of them moved. they ended up sitting on the floor instead, backs against opposite walls, knees almost touching. they talked about england, about school, about how stupid the game was and how long seven minutes actually felt. emily kept thinking any second now. fitz kept thinking don’t ruin this. when the door finally opened, everyone assumed something had happened. nothing did, but they never corrected anyone. years later, on a new year’s eve when fitz was in town, they ended up standing next to each other during the countdown. all around them, people paired off without thinking. fitz stood close to emily, close enough that she could feel the warmth without the touch. emily’s fingers brushed his sleeve like an accident that wasn’t really one. they met each other’s eyes at three. at one, someone bumped into them, spilling a drink, breaking the moment. cheers filled the room. midnight came and went. they hugged instead. a second too long. a little too tight.

emily & tracy;

emily knew tracy back when they shared a high school for a year. she was a freshman, he was a senior, and she thought he was gorgeous. he didn’t notice her; not with his ex still orbiting his life, not with the built-in distance of being older and already halfway out the door. still, every time she passed him in the hallway, she got butterflies. she went to every theater production that year because he was in the cast, sitting through shows she barely understood just to watch him onstage. once, she even worked up the nerve to ask him to sign a playbill after a performance. she doesn’t have it anymore, but she remembers how it felt like proof that, for a moment, he’d noticed her.

the first time tracy and emily hooked up was during her first week living in the stacks. she recognized him immediately from high school, even if it took a second to place the face. tracy helped her carry boxes inside and hang a few things up, casual and easy, like it was no big deal. to say thank you, emily ordered pizza for the two of them. they sat around eating and talking about their jobs, about how weird it was to be back in the same town after so long. neither of them is entirely sure who made the first move, but at some point, someone kissed someone else, and they ended up christening her condo.

emily knows tracy hates her video game “hobby,” as he insists on calling it. which is exactly why, whenever he spends the night, she curls up with her switch and plays while she waits for him to wake up. annoying him, just enough, is one of her favorite pastimes. not too much, never enough to start a real fight. and even if she does push it a little too far, she knows he’ll come crawling back eventually. he always does.

emily & neylani;

neylani used to come for career day when emily was in elementary school, and it was always emily’s favorite day of the year. it meant auntie ney would show up at her school, just for her, even if she was technically there to talk to a classroom full of kids. after career day was over, neylani would slip emily a dumdum sucker like it was a secret. in return, emily would give her a drawing she’d made while neylani was talking, which was usually a very generous, very colorful portrait. to little emily, it was a perfect deal.

when emily got accepted to mit, she told ney first. ney’s response was immediate and practical: she bought emily everything she’d need to move out on her own—mace, brass knuckles, and a small collection of other self-defense items—because pride was nice, but safety came first.