#and our drama teacher (lecturer? it's not a lecture. whatever) looked me straight in the eyes and then grinned to herself

[airbrushfather]

the performance went well and the boy is sure boyfriending and it's all so good that i don't even want to write about it because it's already a poem. all of it.

[eureka-its-zico]

Irrevocably Yours

Request: hey! can i request a scenario of jungkook being a rich kid who has ome of his legs is leg failure , basically can't walk without a cane , And he falls in love with a normal girl , and they end up running away , happy ending plz , also if u can , LIT IT Up with smut ' thank u ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

A/N: So. This request was sent to me a long ass time ago. I mean a LONG time ago, and I spent so much time working on it...it became too long. So I broke it up in half. Just to see if anyone actually becomes interested in how this ends. Just to see if anyone still reads anything I write. So if you end up enjoying this, please let me know and I’ll post the last of this. I have so many things buried inside my google docs that need to be set free from hibernation. 

Also, I’m sorry if this isn’t any good. I’ve rewritten this a thousand times trying to fix it, and I’ve done all I can for now. I hope someone out there enjoyed this craziness. And to the original person who asked for this, if you ever see this, I’m sorry it took so long. P.s. I also took creative liberties and changed it up a little. Much love, Jenn

Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 13,756 (yeah I know, it was longer before I halved it. Sorry!)

Genre: fluffy/Smutty(later)/First Love drama sorts mess

A part of you would always remember the first day you’d met Jeon Jungkook. His presence standing in the doorway to the classroom held every single one of your classmate's attention along with yours. Jungkook silently demanded to be noticed, even though in a way he wanted no one to notice him at all. The classroom felt louder than usual, or maybe that was just how you recalled it. Maybe it's what caused the ringing in your ears when the room was swallowed up in silence. The sound of his cane hitting the stained linoleum; ticking like a time bomb with every step. 

At first you couldn't see why he necessarily needed it. Jungkook was a master of hiding things. Even pain. It wasn’t until he’d reached the teachers desk, his hip moving to rest against it to ease the extra strain off his good leg, that the stories of his accident became true.  Not one of you were willing to look too long at the challenge in his face. Defiance turning his soft features bitter as he glanced out across the room. Jungkook wanted to appear strong; to dare anyone to mutter even a word that he wasn’t. That he wasn’t the same person he was before the accident. 

He must have been able to fool your home room teacher into forgetting. His eagerness to introduce Jungkook only caused him to accidentally come too close to his legs in passing. The teachers’ waist moved and harmlessly bump against Jungkook’s bad leg. A small movement that was enough to change Jungkook’s entire demeanor for just a second. 

The whole room collectively took a breath; waiting for him to scream out in pain. To turn savage and yell or curse at the stupidity of the teacher. Jungkook did none of it. He continued to look out into the room with his chin held high. 

You could see, however, through the crinkle by his eyes and how heavily he now leaned on his cane that it’s caused him a great deal of pain. A brief moment in showing what he tried to hide and if you weren’t staring so hard at him, you were sure you would’ve missed it.

An infamous legend among other schools as his face showed up on Sports articles that featured proud features of parents beaming excitedly at cameras. Taekwondo and track metal’s around his neck by the dozens. Grades to match the intensity of his athletic drive with a rumor that if he tried something for the first time, Jungkook would still be phenomenal at whatever it was. 

Even without ever actually meeting him - everyone in that classroom knew who he was. Jeon Jungkook was a hard man not to hear about. 

In the beginning of the year there’d been a different headline for him, however. He’d been the passenger in a friend's car that was struck by a drunk driver. The ferocity of the impact leaving the car looking like a bow. Jungkook lost a friend that night, and part of the mobility in his left leg. The driver himself died instantly and you weren't sure if that was justice enough for the two boys who’d lost so much in a matter of three seconds. 

And with so much, yet so little known about him you found yourself unable to join the others in measuring up the boy in front of you. 

Jungkook was taller than you thought he would be, or maybe you’d silently been hoping the universe wouldn’t be so cruel to give someone talent and every single attractive feature known to man. He’d been played up like he was a god among the rest of you feeble mortals. You figure’d girls were overacting, I mean it happens. Imagining after listening to all their swooning, you’d somehow shockingly find out he was nothing more than your average - ordinary - boy. 

Jungkook was anything but ordinary. 

His lean frame still retained years of training that wasn't so easily hidden, even under the layers of the school uniform. You could see the care he still placed on his outward appearance. The rising star who was still handsome, even underneath all his brooding. His school uniform strained against tight muscles in his arms and, worse, was his legs. Your cheeks heating into an embarrassed blush as his eyes landed on what seemed like your desk. It was silly to think he’d caught you gawking. Everyone was gawking at him, but even a millisecond of his gaze made your cheeks light up with embarrassment at the idea of being caught. 

There was gossip of him not wanting to go back to his old school; his old life. You didn't really blame him. Why be stuck in a place where there were millions of memories of a time you had with a close friend? Of having the ability to walk down the halls without everyone looking at you like you were damaged goods. 

“Everyone pay attention!” Mr. Choi shouted. 

It all seemed unnecessary. Your attention was already on him whether he wanted it or not. 

“I’d like to welcome our transfer student, Jeon Jungkook. I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”

“I don't need you to defend me,” he snapped. 

He started moving his way down the aisle towards the only empty seat in the room: the one next to you. 

You quickly turned away from him and started cleaning up your space. Jungkook got to the desk faster than you thought and dropped his backpack down on top of the desk. His long body slumped down into the seat, placing his cane next to the window seal. 

“We’re going to continue with our previous lecture from yesterday. You can share with Y/N until you get your own books.”

You flipped to chapter eighteen with your many notes scattered inside. Your eyes giving him a sidelong glance before sliding the book neatly between the desks. Jungkook didn't bother to look at the pages: his gaze was locked elsewhere. Somewhere outside the window with the freedom far beyond the gates of the school. 

The enter class you’d spun a hundred different sentences in your mind. Each one playing out in your head as pure idiotic or unnecessary. You just couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt wrong letting him sit there like no one cares. To be a part of the prying gazes of the class; to know his name and him not knowing yours in return. You weren't sure why you gave a shit so much, anyways, but you did. 

At the sound of the bell he was the first one to hop back onto his feet. His hand instinctively taking hold of the cane to keep him propped up as he moved to situate his backpack over his shoulders. You’d followed close behind him and gathered up your things. 

You didn't see him again until fifth period. His brooding presence in the back of the class hung like a dark cloud you couldn't shake. You knew you weren't necessarily the most cheerful person in the room, but even Jungkook’s sour puss attitude was making you want to throw glitter at him. 

He didn't acknowledge you when you came to your usual seat at the window, and it didn't bother you. No one usually acknowledged you anyways. What did bother you was that he was sitting in your window seat. Statistics was by far your least favorite subject this year, and the one thing that kept you sane was that window seat.

“That's my spot.”

Your voice didn't hold any hint of malice. It was just definitive: you wanted your seat. Jungkook didn't look at you straight away. His eyes still daydreaming through the window and the world beyond. When he did finally look at you, you were sure the annoyance in his face was meant to send you packing. Too bad for him you’d seen worse. 

“Is that look supposed to scare me? It doesn't change the fact you're in my spot.”

“I don't see your name on it.”

Your laughter turned to a scoff; cut short by your disbelief. 

“What are we in middle school? If you want to get technical, it was assigned by the teacher aka my name is theoretically on that seat. So -” 

You acted like he was a pet you could shoo off your bed. The hand motion earning you his brow to raise in return. 

“You’d really make a cripple get up?”

“Is that what we’re calling you? A cripple? Because it looks to me like you’re still capable of doing things, oh say, a paraplegic can't.”

The anger rolled through him suddenly like storm clouds. All the possibilities of playful mischief disappeared as he regarded you with so much hate, it was as if he’d struck you. 

“Oh, really? I didn't realize that they were giving away M.D titles in high schools now.”

Your mouth opened to - to what? Apologize? The sensitive part of you told you that you should. His accident hadn't been a full year yet, and here you were badgering him. Yet, you knew if you continuously babied him like everyone else it was only going to do more harm than good. Your next choice of words were cut short when your teacher walked in and asked why you were still standing. 

“He’s in my spot.”

God, now who sounded like they were in middle school? Your teacher seemed to draw a blank. His gaze moving from you to Jungkook then back to you. 

“Just sit down, Y/N.”

You did so with a huff. Your arms pulling your backpack you’d sat down on the desk closer to you like a pillow. Just so you could rest your chin on top of it and tried to ignore the smirk that was now on Jungkook’s face. 

After you’d gone to your next class you couldn't stop thinking about your exchange. It  turned your mood sour the rest of the day, and you couldn't understand why. A part of you wondering if it was because of your choice of words or the defeat that shown all too bright in his doe eyes. 

The end of the day couldn't have come fast enough. You just wanted to get home and out of your uniform and maybe get a chance to go take some photos before your parents got home. You were too preoccupied with thoughts of where you wanted to go, and what coffee shop you wanted to stop at, when you collided into the back of someone else. A loud curse followed suit of the sound of a cane dropping on pavement making your eyes shut tight and your throat constrict around a groan. 

“Jesus, can't you watch where you’re goi- oh, it's you. Enjoy attacking cripples, do we?”

You opened your eyes to see a less than amused smile on his face. He acted more like a judge at your hearing and whatever sentencing he was giving out, it wasn’t in your favor. 

“I’m sorry I wasn't paying attention.”

You moved to pick up his cane for him when his hand angrily swatted yours away making you jump back a step. 

“I don't need your charity. I can do it myself!”

“No one said you couldn’t! I was only trying to be nice.”

“Yeah, well, go and be nice somewhere else.”

He situated his weight on his good leg and bent at the knee low enough for his hand to reach out and grab his second form of support. The movement so graceful that it left you stunned, but not as much as his words did. 

“You know, just because something bad happened to you, it doesn't give you the right to be an asshole. You aren't the only person to lose someone or something important. Get over yourself.”

With your hands latched underneath the straps of your backpack you stomped around him. Not caring that you left him standing stone still. His mouth slightly agape as he watched you take your exit. 

During your walk home, somehow, Jungkook plagued your thoughts. Your mind unable to comprehend why you were still thinking about him. It was the first time you’d met, and yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. If you were being honest with yourself you knew from replaying the last thing you said to him.The look on his face saying plainly that you were an asshole.

Everyone’s pain mattered. Grief and loss wasn’t measured by anyone else’s pain but the person who experienced it, and to diminish it in any way was unfair. Regret was building inside your chest and it was all you could do to keep your feet from sprinting back in his direction. 

When you got home you went directly to your room, throwing your bag on the bed, and sulked to your desk. You had more pressing matters to attend to than a boys’ possible hurt feelings. No matter how many times you tried, however, you weren’t able to write out theories on government history or explain anatomical questions.

The only thing your brain appeared to focus on was how to apologize. 

You thought about Jungkook while you showered and brushed your teeth. You thought of him when you laid in bed and struggled to find a way to sleep. Your mind playing out the million different possibilities of how your apology would be taken from him. You didn't necessarily understand what it felt like to have your dreams stolen from you. To be forced to cope with a new life you hadn’t asked for and the emptiness of losing someone you loved all in one go. 

If the tables were turned and it was you, wouldn’t you feel equally as bitter? 

The following morning in between toaster cooked waffles and fixing your uniform in the mirror, you’d resigned to apologizing to him. No matter how much thinking of it made your teeth grind and a growl rise in your chest at the thought. You imagined him sneering and replying with smart remarks and it caused your mind to waver, but you were better than the pettiness swelling in your chest. You were okay with knowing his prickled exterior came from something you couldn't ever understand. 

You made sure all the time you had while you walked to school was used up by mumbling the speech you’d made up the night before. At crosswalks practicing the best stance that didn't appear threatening, was friendly, but wouldn't be misconstrued as flirting. 

That was by far the last thing you wanted to happen in his eyes. Sure, Jungkook was undeniably attractive...as much as you would've loved to laugh sarcastically in his perfectly sculpted face that his obviously very masculine features did nothing to make you weak in the knees. That you hadn’t noticed when his elbows, still clad in his jacket, moved to rest on the desk it’d caused his biceps and shoulders to equally fight for whatever was left of the fabric. Or that small scar on his cheek caught your attention when he became annoyed; his tongue poking out at the side of his jaw. 

No, you hadn't been paying an embarrassing amount of attention to him at all (or at the ridiculous outline of his thigh muscles in his school uniform)  with every step he took. 

So, since you hadn't personally taken notice of any of physically appealing traits, why would you flirt? You were well aware of the vast difference of not only your social scale, but also of your class ranking, and looks overall. You were lightyears away from ever being able to consider being more than a female acquaintance he happened to get stuck next to at school. He wasn't the first boy who was out of your league, and Jungkook wouldn't be the last. Why it bothered you so much was a child's thought you refused to entertain. 

When you finally got to school you hurried up the steps and briskly made your way down the hall. Not stopping even after Jenny cursed after you for nudging her as you went by. As soon as you swung open the door for homeroom, your eyes landed on Jungkook’s position. His cane leaning against the desk, hands tucked inside the pockets of his uniform slacks as he leaned back against the chair. 

His gaze was focused somewhere outside the window, completely blank and motionless, and you wondered if he could've been having a thought at all. He was close to being marked as unreal in your book when he blinked and turned his gaze towards you.

You hadn't realized you’d been staring until that moment. Your gaze dropping to the worn linoleum as you briskly made your way down to your desk. A mumbled, “Good morning,” falling like a bad habit from your lips while you came around the side to slid into the desk chair. Nervous hands clutching tightly to your bag as you stared straight ahead, unwilling to glance in his direction. 

Somewhere between cursing your awkwardness and staring out the window like an escape hatch your teacher started the lecture. None of it to which you were paying attention too, which was probably why you heard him call your name. You jerked in your seat as he yelled it a second time. Your eyes no doubt wide from giggles that sounded around the room. 

“Y/N, since you're listening, you can go ahead and answer number forty-seven in the workbook.”

Panic sent your eyes wide as you stared back at his expectant face: waiting for you to fail. You hadn't even taken your book out since you’d sat down, finally moving to do so, when you felt a light tap against your bag. It was enough to jerk your gaze away from the teacher and down to a completed book of all the problems done by Jungkook. 

He cleared his throat and tucked his hands back inside the pockets of his trousers easily not understanding the severity of how his actions had left you wide-eyed in surprise. You were still taking too long, causing your teacher to prompt you with a grunt and Jungkook to casually reach out and tap the answer again. Your eyes trailing over the written answer before standing up and clearing your throat. The answer rolling off your tongue as easy as breathing; as if you didn't just steal it from a notebook. 

You made a silent prayer the teacher didn't notice the sweat threatening to break at your temple. The nervous ticking of your feet tilting from spot to spot. A rush of relief escaping your lips when his response to your answer was to continue class. 

You took your seat next to Jungkook; unable to acknowledge him just yet for saving you from whatever punishment your teacher would've no doubt thought of. The realization that Jungkook himself was the reason for your lack of concentration making your cheeks flush an embarrassing pink making your arms wrap protectively around your backpack. 

You’d never even brought out your textbook. Never dropped your bag from your desk and no doubt Mr. Choi knew you were given the answer. You buried your mouth against the coarse nylon in a weak attempt to stifle your embarrassment. 

“Thank you.”

Your eyes caught the soft tilt of his brow as it rose at the muffled words. You could make out his left shoulder leaning him down towards your huddled position, making your hands involuntarily tighten into your backpack. 

“What was that?”

The husky whisper of his words weren't anything you’d heard before, and they resonated up your spine to leave you staring starry-eyed.

“Th-thank you. For giving me the answer.”

He didn't respond. His gaze fixed solely on your face until you forcibly struggled to keep from fidgeting under its weight. After what felt like a small eternity, Jungkook nodded his head and faced forward. The sudden ghost of the death of your conversation causing you to blink at his profile. 

The rest of the class was spent with your focus lacking on taking notes. How could you focus with his presence commanding your attention? A small army of ants creeping along your nerves demanding to acknowledge him. It was so strong, when the bell rang you jumped up from your seat to try and escape into the freedom of the school’s hallway, only to end up with your knee connecting straight into the hardwood of the desk. Jungkook’s snort at your misfortune was enough to remind you how much of an arrogant pain in the ass he could be. 

“Wow - good job doofus.”

Your head snapped back in his direction; tongue rolling in your cheek as he hopped up from his seat. A hand snaking out to grab his bag and sling it over his shoulder as the other reached for his cane. You held your head high despite how awful your knee was stinging, and stood up adjusting your bag. 

“Seriously? That's all you've got? Doofus? Next time let’s try harder.”

Jungkook didn't seemed miffed by your retort, actually seeming more amused than anything, and for some reason it only bugged you more. Did you really want to get into another argument like you were in primary school with him? You discarded the thought as you tightened the strings on your backpack and decided to take the mature route and leave him behind. 

The hallways mass of bodies rushing to get to their next period giving you comfort; until you remembered you shared the same economics class. Today was also a field trip to a farm to learn the process of making soy products. It would take up the last few classes of the day. You’d been excited to spend the day out of class and enjoy the rustic scenery out of town. Your only hope was that he hadn't been able to get his parental slip signed; he’d just started the day before. How could he?

When the teacher walked in and asked Jungkook for his permission slip you wanted to howl. Why was the universe so cruel? But why did you care so much? 

It was a question you didn't bother to think about; you just grumbled the whole way to the bus. Your teacher standing at its entrance to put a check by your names every time one of your classmates passed him by like lined up cattle. You were the last checkmark: the last person to find an available seat. You rounded the final step and your stomach sank down into your shoes. The universe seeming to play a sick joke of musical chairs; your only options being Jungkook or Amber, the girl who actively struggled to make sure your life was a living hell. 

You’d rather be eaten by dogs than even attempt to sit with her. Jungkook it was, then.

Your hand clasped tighter around the strap of your bag as you moved it farther up your shoulder. A large sigh accommodating your steps as you side-stepped down the aisle ending with you in front of his seat. His cane taking up what was left of it. 

Jungkook didn't seem to register your presence or he just decided to pretend you weren't there. Either way you felt your annoyance grow as you cleared your throat to grab his attention. His chin barely leaving the perch of his fist as his head turned; gaze intimidating in a way that left your fingers pinching the fabric of yours clothes just to make sure they were still there and he hadn't stared straight through them. 

“Can I help you?”

“I need a seat.”

He looked back and no doubt noticed the open spot next to Amber. Jungkook’s giving the slightest nod as he retorted, “There’s one right back there.”

“Come on, Jungkook. What do you want?”

“You're bribing me now?” 

His smile was so bright, borderline adorable, and you hated how it threatened to make you retaliate with your own. 

“Stop being a brat and just tell me,” you snapped instead. 

Jungkook shot a quick glance back at Amber’s giggling figure. You were sure most people thought she sounded like wind chimes or something else cute and feminine, but to you it just sounded like a cat dying. When he looked back at you, Jungkook checked you out one last time. His eyes stopping at the lone earbud that sat against your chest. For a moment, you thought he was actually staring at your breasts making your cheeks burn and your gaze to look anywhere else but at his smug face. 

“Let me listen to your iPod there and back on this trip, and I'll let you sit with me.”

“What am I supposed to do?”  

Jungkook did a lavish hand sweep at the window. The motion reminding you of the showgirls on The Price is Right, making you believe maybe he’d somehow watched it, and one too many times. 

“You get to use your imagination while you look out the window.”

“No way. Joint custody.”

“Fine. Joint custody, but I get to pick the music the whole way. If you have shitty taste the deal's off.”

He stuck out his hand for you to shake and there was a moment, a minor second, that it felt like you were making a deal with the devil. However, the sound of Amber’s laughter practically had your hand bolting into Jungkook’s. You shook it harder than was necessary before dropping it and shooing him to move. 

Jungkook removed his bag and cane from the seat. Your legs giving out moments later so you could plop down in it, only to be greeted by his outstretched hand. The smile that spread across his lips shining brighter than the mischief in his eyes. 

“As per our agreement: the iPod.”

He wiggles his fingers and you wanted to smack him. Your own squeezing tighter against the metal until, reluctantly, you chose your fate by placing it into his hand. Jungkook didn’t seem to mind your current look of displeasure while you watched him begin to scroll through your assorted music collection. 

At least the seat was warm. 

The first few seconds were somehow more awkward than you thought possible. Eyes locked in a fifty-yard stare so intense a soldier would’ve been envious. The only movement you caught of him was from your peripherals. Jungkook’s thumbs picking up speed from the leisurely way he scanned through the artists you’d offered. And no you did not, whatsoever, happen to notice the way his bottom lip would dart inside his mouth just to be held gently between his teeth. All the while his eyes focused on the task in front of him.

Nope. You weren’t paying attention to him. Not even a little bit. So how he was able to make you jump twelve inches out of your skin, while you were most definitely not embarrassing yourself by gawking over a beautiful man, was beyond you.

“Ya!” Jungkook clicked his tongue in distaste. His hand wiggling the ipod in your direction, as if it had caused some great offense. “What is this?”

Your neck tiled as you regarded him like he’d grown two heads. You were also positive if your eyebrows knitted together any harder you’d end up with a unibrow. 

“Ugh, a mystical device that plays music.”

The look on Jungkook’s face faltered from frustration to annoyance. It was so sudden it ended up sending a bark of laughter in his direction. And just like that, the annoyed look was back again. 

“I mean, what the hell do you have on this thing. Who is The Dead Weather? City and Colour? Joji?”

“They are artists I enjoy.”

“They’re shit.”

You rushed to try and snatch it back from him. Jungkook’s reflexes proving to be faster than your growing urge to smack him.

“Excuse me, little miss,” he began. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He used his index finger to push gently against your forehead, but with the current level of irritation, he still proved faster than you. Your failed attempt to swat his hand away meeting only empty air. Earning you a smirk of smug satisfaction. 

“I’m trying to get my things back.”

“That wasn’t part of our agreement.”

You tried one last time to take him by surprise. Your right hand shot out too hard to grab at the object clasped in his large hands. The momentum carried you forward to land shoulder first against his chest. Leg nudging against his with enough force that it caused his cane to move an inch. It took everything you had to keep your head down to hide your flaming cheeks. 

“And now you’re assaulting me.”

If your eyes were capable of rolling back any father you might've seen brain cells.

“I was only trying to get my property back. Since the only thing that’s coming out of you is complaining.”

“I’m not complaining,” he snapped. “You’re acting like an Indian giver.”

“Is that all you know how to do: complain?” You continued, completely ignoring him. A slight smirk now etching your lips. Jungkook’s eyes flicking down to notice your amusement at his expense. “I believe they call it, ‘trying something new.’” 

His eyes narrowed on you and for a split second your pulse began to race. Sure, the agitation on his face at your teasing was obvious, but you could’ve sworn...maybe...just maybe he was smirking. Could you have possibly been able to make him smile? 

“I should make you go sit with Amber.”

The smugness in his voice and the cocky smile that joined it instantly made whatever fun you were having come to a complete halt. Jungkook was so pleased with himself he had the audacity to shimmy his shoulders like he’d already won. The rolls had reversed. It was your eyes turn to throw daggers in his direction. 

“Now who's the Indian giver.”

Even though he played up on what he felt like was a win, you could tell he was not as amused. His non-injured leg bounced to an incredible rhythm that he could only hear. Probably a furious count to a hundred to keep himself from saying anything else to continue your usual thrilling conversations. So when he handed over one earbud, and the iPod, but placed the other into his ear, it was fair to say it left you baffled. 

You were waiting so long for him to give an explanation, but all he did was continue to stare at you. It was starting to make your pulse race again. Why did he constantly have to feel so intense? Everything about him. Not even his current state made him seem any less notable. It just didn’t seem fair. 

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat did you realize you’d been staring. For god knows how damn long. 

“You gonna play something or not?” he asked. 

His hand motioned towards the music while his fingers adjusted the earbud he’d kept. 

“I’m so confused.”

“You look it,” he retorted, causing your earlier thoughts to remember, although handsome, he was an incredible pain in the ass. 

“Ten seconds ago you complained about my music. Now you want me to play it for you.”

Jungkook turned his gaze away, his body relaxing back against the hard foam of the seat. His eyes still cast outside the window as if he was trying to find some way to escape. 

“Either I can spend the next couple hours listening to you talk, or “try” out some new music. If I have a choice, I’ll pick the music please and thank you.”

Oh, how you wish you could’ve shoved him out that tiny window. But as much as you hated to admit it, Jungkook was right. Music was the only reasonable escape from possibly having either of you commit murder. 

It was your turn to try and get comfortable. This time your thumb scanning down the list of artists until your eyes caught sight of one he’d mentioned. Without giving him warning you pressed play. The haunting melody of Joji’s “Dancing in the Dark,” flooded the earbuds. His voice melancholic as he began to sing a sad tale of not wanting to be the hidden second option. 

The song choice was enough to finally get Jungkook to look back at you. Somehow already having enough with the song choice before it’d barely even reached the chorus. 

“Just listen.”

It was the only advice you could give him, and hopefully the reassurance you’d tried to ease into your tone was enough. Whether it was or not, by the time the chorus began he seemingly relaxed again into the seat. His arms moving to cross lazily against his chest. He seemed to actually be taking in the song while he watched out the window. The passing of the steel and concrete that was Seoul into the rural areas of green and forest. 

The music itself was calming. It was enough to let yourself fully relax back against it and close your eyes. With your eyes closed you could easily fade out the sounds of the sporadic conversations on the bus. Even though you only had one ear bud, all you needed was to concentrate on the music to drown out the world. 

It took a few seconds for you to be pulled into a Joji’s song about terrible longing and being left behind by a lover. I mean, you didn’t really know too much about the latter, but hey, a girl could daydream. His voice was seconds away from heading into the second verse of the chorus, when you heard the sound of the melody being lightly sung beside you. 

The voice was beautiful. The most startling part, not the fact of its softness, or the way it swelled in perfect harmony with the song, was that it came from Jungkook. Your eyes flung open with your head snapping to gaze at his serene expression. He continued to face the window, daylight playing along the profile of his face, and his gentle voice singing perfectly in tune. 

It wasn’t loud enough that anyone else could’ve heard it over the dozens of bursting conversations being spoken throughout the bus. That the only conclusion you could come up with to why he would be singing at all. He thought no one would be able to pay attention. You probably would’ve stayed gawking at him if his eyes fluttering open didn’t send you crashing back against the seat and clutching your eyes shut. You needed to pretend you hadn’t noticed. Or else he would stop. He would hide this part of himself that showed he was more than what he tried to portray. 

You didn’t have to open your eyes to know he was glancing in your direction. To see his eyes gaze over you with suspicion before settling back and listening to the next track. Khalid’s intro of “Talk,” beginning to play into your earbud. 

You spent the rest of the trip staying beside him, close as you could get without looking creepy, just to hear him gently sing. He breathed a gentle version of each one he knew, or came to like, and made it his own. Even being a few times were his nerves got the better of him. His voice rising ever slightly when he drew too deep into the song. He would quiet after each outburst, but to your pleasure Jungkook would start back up moments later. 

After all the bickering, you could definitely say the trade was worth it. You were so taken with listening to him that when the bus came to a stop, you didn’t realize it until your earbud was yanked from your ears. Your eyes heavy from sleep fluttered open and closed a few times before they focused on Jungkook’s face. 

“Ya, didn’t you hear them call us off the bus?”

Your response came in the form of slow blinks and a mouth half-hung open. You wished more for a nap than going out to explore a farm, but your limbs were screaming to be stretched. You went to answer him when, instead, Jungkook grabbed his bag, cane, and started to try and scoot over you.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Trying to get by! So excuse me!”

His backside rubbed against your arms and, to your horror, your chest. Without thinking, your hand lashed out to smack across his bottom causing both of you to go as still as the dead. Your heart was thundering as you looked at your hand like it’d just finished committing murder. Maybe it had. But the only person it’d murdered was you with your eyes roaming up to see a shocked Jungkook gawking down at you over his shoulder. 

“Did you really just smack my ass.”

“It was an accident!”

“An accident?” He questioned.

“Self-defense!”

Jungkook tried to hide the amusement your no doubt panicking was causing him. His mouth struggling to keep the frown that was tilting ever so slightly at the top of his lips. 

“If anything needed to be defended, it was my honor. Over here just smacking people’s ass’s without a warning.”

You knew by now your face looked like a fire hydrant. 

“Self-defense from you dragging your ass all over me! I’m not a seat, ya know.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

This time Jungkook didn’t try to hide his smile. To your surprise, it wasn’t a malicious one that showed he enjoyed your embarrassment. No. This one decorated his face in something softer that made your heart thunder to a different rhythm entirely. 

“Oh, look you guys. Shit Stain and The Cripple are flirting.”

Amber’s grating voice was one you’d grown painstakingly accustomed too. The sinister way she spoke impossibly loud just so everyone was forced to hear her. Whether they wanted to or not. You were used to her coldness and the constant way she harassed you. What you weren’t so used to, was having Jungkook as part of the punchline. 

Immediately, you felt his legs tense where they touched you. The muscles ramrod straight and flexing under the skin. The lighthearted tone you’d heard seconds before in your banter was now replaced with an aloofness that made you stiffen in your seat. Jungkook’s jaw held tight as he regarded Amber as if she were no more than a pest buzzing at his ear.

“Ya, fix your nose before you bother talking to me. I can see half the planet up there.”

Amber’s eyes flashed hellfire as she glowered over her shoulders to stop the giggling that ensued. When all grew quiet enough to where she felt like she would be heard, a harsh smile spread her lips. Her legs began to take a step to move away from the two peasants who’d held enough of her attention. 

“Whatever, Cripple. Try not to get your stick in any holes.”

She was passing the front of your shared seat when, suddenly, Amber’s legs gave way. A tumbling mess of shrieks, bleached hair, and her arms flapping rapidly a solid indication of her mysterious attempt at taking flight. The only thing that moved to catch her was her face. The minute the laughter began to bubble up inside you, you quickly placed a hand over your mouth. Least the she-devil hear it escape. 

You took a second to inspect what could’ve possibly taken down the ice queen. Even when she wore ridiculously high heels, Amber walked with a grace you knew you’d never pull off. Not without looking like a newborn giraffe, that is. Glancing down you noticed Jungkook’s cane strategically placed right where her foot would’ve landed. The culprit in making Amber a freshly minted carpet on the bus’s floor. Somewhere on the bus you knew she was up from her tumble and huffing a few choice words. You were sure she knew, just like you did, that Jungkook was the one who’d done it. You paid no attention to her tantrum and kept a transfixed gaze on him. 

He’d finished scooting the rest of the way to get to the middle of the bus and was situating his cane and shoulder bag. His hand suddenly reaching down into view and patiently waiting for you to take it. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s go.”

You knew you looked like a fool. Your eyes mirroring the thousands of silent questions that threatened to make you ill. A part of you hoping he understood your dumbfounded look simply begged him to find some way to answer you. You’d stared starry-eyed up at him for so long you half expected the patience of Jungkook’s open hand to fall flat. Instead, he continued to surprise you. His gaze gentle, and hand openly waiting for you to take it when you were ready. 

With eyes wide and mouth agape, your body rejected your stunned silence and placed a small hand in his. His own quickly enveloped yours perfectly and gave you the added support you needed to find stable footing beside him. Jungkook finally looked away from you to stare at the remaining goons. 

The moment you stood beside him you became painfully aware of the noticeable height difference. Your gaze moving up inch-by-inch until your eyes were locked onto his face. The stubbornness of a hard set jaw and eyes that dared anyone to speak enough to make your heartbeat pick up in your chest. When he appeared to be finished making sure his presence was known, Jungkook’s eyes turned back to you. A silent request of reassurance to know you were alright making you answer with a quick nod. 

Your cheeks blushed furiously as you struggled to look away from his gaze. No longer were you so worried about Amber; your mind trapped on a repeat of questions. Did Jungkook always smell like Calvin Klein cologne? Could it be considered weird how you felt undeniable comfort pressed up against him? Or really weird if in your head you suddenly imagined recreating this scene a million times later with you being braver beside him, instead of being the damsel in distress.

He didn’t seem at all perplexed with your case of sudden shyness. His strong legs pulling you both forward and past the horde of Amber and her lackeys without missing a step. His head held high while the other hand helped him keep his balance without using his cane. For the small world that was high school, Jungkook showed them he was still that once popular boy who was known for not taking shit from no one. A demi-god amongst mere mortals that were somehow honored by his presence. 

And here you were. So close to the orbit of his sun and walking away unscathed.

Your train of rushing thoughts kept you from paying attention. It was something you soon were going to regret when he led you off the steps of the bus and onto the dirt road. Jungkook’s exit was obviously graceful while yours in comparison was a train wreck. Instead of your feet stepping off the last step and landing like a normal person, you lost your footing. Your clumsy feet sending you struggling to find a balance with the earth before you crash landed on the floor. Luckily, Jungkook’s back was there to catch you. 

The momentum of your fall sent his feet skittering to correct you both before you fell into the dirt. A few choice cuss words leaving his lips and crimson flaring up on your cheeks to make the dance of falling even more entertaining. You could practically hear the cackling of the witches echoing out of the bus like a cave. 

Jungkook made quick work of righting you both; his good leg furiously hoping to support the weak one. His cane dug into the earth a good inch to add some more stabilization. You let go of his hand and moved away from his side where you’d previously been planted. You weren’t worthy of being there. This boy who saw your distress and helped you. Only for you to ruin it in the process. 

“Well that’s one way to ruin an exit,” he huffed. 

He glanced in your direction and you could’ve sworn he was smiling. Or was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was quickly washed away as his eyes took you in. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry!”

Your words rushed from your lips with your back snapping to bow a perfect ninety-degrees. Your hair a curtain to try and hide your embarrassment. 

“Ugh...for what?”

“For bumping into you like that. I should’ve been paying attention.”

A soft laugh bounced from between his lips and you were willing to beat his face lit up like pure sunshine. You moved to stand upright just in time to see you were right. Jungkook was either oblivious to the way you were looking at him, or was simply unfazed. His shoulder hiking the backpack where it’d begun to fall as he adjusted himself to get ready to move to join the rest of the class up ahead. 

“You did ruin one hell of a stylish exit.”

“I don’t know how stylish you can be stepping off of a school bus, but...thank you.” 

The both of you locked eyes with one another. A large part of you hoped Jungkook was able to see the sincerity or at least hear it. Maybe he wasn’t that much of a pain in the ass after all. That soft smirk you’d grown accustomed to etched back on his lips as he took the first step towards your waiting classmates.

“No problem. Plus, I figured I owed you for letting me listen to your music.”

You felt your brow shoot up in mock surprise. Your legs falling into step beside him. 

“I thought you said I had terrible taste.”

“I never said terrible,” Jungkook corrected. His eyes danced with a playfulness that lifted a smile to your lips

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, it wasn’t the greatest, but thank you. I actually ended up liking most of it, at least.”

“Oh, what a sweet way of insulting my musical taste.”

“Hey! I said I liked most of it. It’s like a win-win. Kinda.”

You wanted to be snappy. Give him some more hell for always playing up on being a condescending moody jerk. In reality, walking next to Jungkook while the silence swelled around you without the awkward pressure; you knew that wasn’t all of him. He’d proven how sweet he could be at the memory of how easily you’d felt protected by a simple stretch of a hand. The look in his eyes while he waited for you to take his extended hand a plea to know you could trust him. Strangely, a part of you already felt like you could. 

You snuck a look over in Jungkook’s direction, and felt a smile begin to sweep up the corners of your lips. It was a different, but nice, change to have someone come to your defense. Yeah, most of the time you wanted to throttle him for seeming like he could care less. In that moment, however, he cared enough to help. That had to mean something.

“You’re welcome.”

You hoped your words conveyed the gratitude you felt in that moment. Prayed that Jungkook could hear it. When he looked at you, you made sure to give him a quick smile before you looked away. Your eyes struggled not to look back at him; to tell him all the things that were racing through your head. It took every ounce of your will to stay focused on the group of classmates that were growing closer. Somewhere along the way, you’d hoped Jungkook would’ve replied with his usual smart ass remarks. It worried you how sad a small part of you felt at his silence. 

Now, you worried maybe you were going a little nuts.

Instead, you came to the edge of the group in silence. Your ears struggling to grasp on to the middle of what your teacher gave out for instructions for the day. 

So what if that insane part of you didn’t receive a smart ass remark in return for your gratitude. You were more than happy with the fact Jungkook stayed by your side. The close proximity just enough to convey what you were both feeling without unnecessary words.

______________

For the past hour the farmer -Kim Sejung - had shown the class around his vast property. The beginning of this magical tour starting with where he manufactured the tofu once it was fermented then sent down to be processed for packaging. He was a man who took immense pride in his work. The next room where the fermentation took place and, his overeager explanation, spelled out how devoted he was to his craft. 

The whole entire backwards presentation was something your teacher decided became a chance for everyone to write down everything you’d been shown. A punishment you knew was coming when Kim Sejung lost half the class to their own conversations long before you’d hit the second part of his speech. 

Now, anyone could be wondering why all of you were taking the longest stroll of your life out in the middle of the farm. A fair question you’d been asking yourself since you realized your shoes were completely covered in mud. You’d been trying to understand why this hadn’t been the first place Kim Sejung would’ve taken all of you. Your only guess being he just enjoyed showing the process backwards. Or maybe he was secretly a  mastermind at torture. It was the only logical conclusion you could come up with at having the entire class now out in the muddy acres of his farm.

And sure, maybe your attention was being sent over your shoulder every five seconds. A certain boy with exhaustion creased in his brow making it harder for you to ignore. You were looking back so often you felt like you’d end up with whiplash at any minute. Really, it was all Jungkook’ fault for causing you to worry; becoming painfully aware with each glance at Jungkook’s struggling frame. 

How Sejung -, or anyone else for that matter, hadn’t noticed he was falling further behind the group with every step left you completely perplexed. You’d gave up listening to whatever the farmer or teacher talked about or what questions they were throwing around. You could bet it had to do about soil. 

If everyone else could ignore him why couldn’t you? It’s not that you hadn’t tried, cause of course you’d done exactly that. Your bottom lip now held a semi-permanent indent from your teeth. Whenever you felt that tick in your neck to look back to check on him: you bit down. When you felt like drawing attention to him by saying something: you bit down. A part of you willing to bet Jungkook would never forgive you if you did. 

Your solution? It was ingenious, really. 

You fell back behind every classmate. Patiently, you waited for everyone to pass you up. Your feet dragging in the muddy dirt until you were sure no one would notice when you inevitably stopped. 

With a soft count of three under your breath, you came to a halt at the back of the group. Your small count continued for another round before you were comfortable with the distance it’d placed between the group, Jungkook, and yourself.

You let out a huff of satisfaction as you turned around to give Jungkook your complete attention. Your neck thanking you for the small favor. What you found, however, greeting you was far from what you’d hoped to find. 

Jungkook’s current location became a solid five feet behind the group. His feet finally coming to the large puddle of mud that you and the class had easily maneuvered Jungkook had not. His struggle coming to a standstill at the muddy puddles edge. Jungkook’s face etched itself in harsh determination to no doubt allow him from moving forward. You told yourself you would stay back and wait for him. 

Just wait, You kept telling yourself over and over. A broken record having nothing on what you felt capable of standing there. Your pulse bonding in your veins and feet bouncing with anxiety as he assessed his options. All you were supposed to do was hang back to walk with him. That was it. You weren’t his nanny. You knew how he felt about being pitied, and yet, when he took his first tentative step out into the mud and his cane sunk deep and his bad leg followed suit, your feet deceived you. 

It appeared Mother Nature had her own way of pushing you past your reserved good intentions. Your feet sprinted forward fast enough that you were embarrassed at their quickness. The expected movement bringing Jungkook’s frustrated gaze up from his current dilemma to you.

“What are you doing here, Y/N?”

The annoyance held in his question didn’t go unnoticed by you. If it was you in his position, you’d be annoyed seeing you standing there too and not offering to help. 

“I came to help you.”

The words just streamed out with your running thoughts. Your feet willing to move forward back into the mud to help him. Jungkook noticeably began to struggle to remove his foot that submerged quickly underneath. 

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

“You didn’t have too, Jungkook. I want to help.”

“Let me rephrase myself.” His irritation was pure fire in his eyes as his words hurled in your direction. “I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it.”

You wish you could say you handled his dismissal with grace. That you understood he was only being a jerk because he was embarrassed and angry at his current predicament. You really wanted to be that bigger person. Well...that most definitely wasn’t what happened. 

Your eyes narrowed in on him. Your previous desire to help evaporated as you watched his leg sink deeper. His other foot soon joined the first in a poorly calculated attempt to release the other. Your arms crossed over your chest as you took in the scene before you. 

“Well, Jungkook, I’m not sure if you noticed but you’re slowly heading towards being buried under that mud.”

“Thank you for that astute observation. Anything else you’d like to add?”

“Why are you being such an asshole?!” you snapped.

Your arms came loose down at your side and turned to clenched fists. You weren’t exactly sure what you expected his reaction to be. You knew Jungkook held a hatred for being pitied. Hell, you would too if it was the other way around. You knew he wasn’t helpless, but you also knew he couldn’t do everything alone. No one could. So what was so wrong with offering to help him?

You weren’t sure how you looked. Maybe crazy? Or did the desperation of not knowing how to handle the situation have you appear sad? Whatever it was Jungkook saw, it was enough to look away. His eyes dropping down to his covered feet. 

The space between the two of you swelled with tension. His hair perfectly covering his face, and kept you from being able to steal any glance. It was enough to make you unsure if you should prepare yourself for a verbal battle with him or if you should simply walk away. What if you’d made a mistake thinking Jungkook would want to be bothered at all with help. Especially from you. 

“God, this is embarrassing.”

His words were so light you weren’t sure at first if he’d spoken. A part of you wondering if you’d made up the sound of his voice as Jungkook’s face continued to be hidden by layers of hair. But, lord help you, you knew you weren’t imagining things. The sound of his voice is something you’d come to recognize with ease. You knew without a doubt it most definitely was him. And the sadness that reverberated from his words made your anger dissipate instantly. 

“What?”

Could you have picked a stupider response? When Jungkook lifted his head up to look at you, you knew he silently agreed.

“It’s embarrassing!” His hands motioned to take in his current predicament. The hurt shown on his proud features made your heart ache to comfort him. “How pitiful can I get? It’s so damn frustrating! The cripple unable to get himself out of some stupid mud.”

“Jungkook, you are literally the least pitiful person I’ve ever met.”

“And yet, it doesn’t make me any less stuck.”

You took a step forward and began to try and edge around what you could of the puddle. You knew there was no way you weren’t getting more mud on your shoes, but the purpose was worth it. 

“Why didn’t you just go around it?” Your question earned you a dead stare. One that reminded you of your mother when she felt like you’d asked the silliest question. You held your hands up in surrender and said, “Hey. It’s a fair question.”

“If I just go around it, it proves that I can’t do the simplest thing, Y/N. It proves…”

“That you aren’t like everybody else,” you finished for him.

You could’ve kicked yourself. How could you not have noticed it sooner. Jungkook just wanted to prove to himself that he could still do things like he did before his accident. Because even though he showed people bringing up his disability didn’t bother him, it did. He still hadn’t come to terms with what happened, and believed the current state of his leg deemed him less worthy. 

He looked away from whatever he saw in your eyes. His own fighting not to show the sadness that threatened to spill down his cheeks. 

“You aren’t like everyone else, Jungkook.” Your words tore his head back in your direction. His shoulders quickly squared up to take whatever verbal blow you were about to hurl in his direction. You were happy to convince him otherwise.

“You don’t need to prove anything to a single person. Yeah, you aren’t a hundred percent who you used to be, but it doesn’t make you any less you. You aren’t defined by a damn leg and if another human being does treat you differently because of it: fuck’em. Now, get your shit together and hand me the end of your cane.”

The both of you stared at one another for what felt like an eternity. Jungkook’s face unreadable as his eyes took you in making you squirm just the slightest bit. Whether he was looking for a hint that you were deceiving him; that something hurtful laid underneath, he wouldn’t find it. You made sure with your hand this time open and waiting for him, that he could see just how much you meant what you said. 

After what felt like a baby size eternity, Jungkook answered you in a way you’d grown to expect. In one swift motion, he picked his cane out from the mud and placed it, dirty end first into your waiting hand. Your face scrunched up in disgust, as the leftover mud squished between your fingers. The action enough to break the coldness of Jungkook’s blank expression into the smirk that was all too familiar. 

“Oh my god! You would do that.”

The amusement on his face was enough to tell you he’d most definitely done it on purpose. Of course, you’d already known that. You didn’t need his raised eyebrow or that devilish smirk to inform you of that.

“Oh, so you think you know me now.”

“I know enough to know, without a doubt, this is something you’d do. Brat.”

You saved the last word for good measure and it was met with a bark of surprise laughter. His reaction was not something you’d expected, but a welcomed one as his face instantly lit up brighter than you’d ever seen. Jungkook’s laughter and smile was genuine and good god, was it breathtakingly adorable. 

Who knew calling him a brat led to so many heart stopping possibilities? Like no longer having a permanent scowl. 

“Alright smart ass, how about we settle this for when I’m not stuck in the mud.”

“You got yourself a deal. Only if you stop pouting.”

“I was not pouting!”

It was your turn to laugh wholeheartedly while your other hand moved to secure itself to his cane. There was no way you’d be letting it slip free from you. Mud or no mud. 

“Tomato potato: pouting is pouting.”

Jungkook’s head tilted to the side. His brain noticeably trying to comprehend what it was you just said.

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, Jungkook now grab a hold of yo-“

Honestly, you should’ve seen this coming. He’d already given you a muddy end of a cane. It was the perfect foreshadowing moment that was leading up to this, and yet, somehow you were surprised when he pulled with full force. You figured he was strong - not freakishly. Not enough to send you flying face first toward the large mud puddle with the sound of a squeaking bird of surprise that you could only assume was yourself. 

The only thing that kept you from going face first was a split second decision to ruin just the lower half of your outfit. 

The impact with the mud was squishy and came with the weirdest sound effects that reminded you of pushing your hand into a container of slim. God, was it squishy. An immediate, “Ewww,” dragging out from your lips as your hands lifted up from where they’d been buried. Your eyes taking in the full extent of your lower half now resembles the Swamp Thing. 

Jungkook’s laughter brought you back to reality and flinging what was left of the mud on your hands in his direction. It only earned you another bark of laughter. 

“What in the hell was that for?!”

“Now whose pouting?” He teased.

You wanted to hit him but you knew you couldn’t reach. So you settled for flinging another round of mud. 

“Are you kidding me? You pulled me in here cause I said you were pouting!”

“Yup.”

“Unbelievable. You’re a child.”

“I thought you said brat?”

“That too! Ugh! Jungkook! You’re such a pain in the ass. I’m not helping you anymore.”

You moved to try and pull up one leg and found it way more difficult than you’d imagined. Seriously, was this shit superglue? No matter how many times you struggled to pull up either leg it wouldn’t budge; producing an agitated groan to seep from your body. 

You wanted to murder him. 

When you glanced up at him at least Jungkook had the decency to appear worried.

“Do you need help? I didn’t think it’d be so hard for you to pull yourself up.”

“Oh, so you’re worried about me not being able to pull myself up, but not about me covered in mud.”

The shrug Jungkook gave as an answer made you want to throttle him. You wanted to tell him to shove his help up his ass. Realistically, however, you knew there was no way you were getting unstuck without getting dirtier from crawling around. For a second time, his hand appeared, like magic, in front of you. 

Your eyes trailed up his hand to that devilish grin of his and found your earlier agitation disintegrate. What you hated the most, was how his eyes lit up to match his smile. This warm version of Jungkook wasn’t someone you were used to. You’d seen the cocky jock who knew he was good at everything. Experienced the real asshole Jungkook that made you want to rip out chunks of hair. But this side of him...was worth a heartache or two. 

Without another thought you reached out and took his hand and allowed him to start lifting you up. It wasn’t until you were half way you came up with your own plan. A devilish grin of your own spreading your lips wide as the idea grew into something worth doing . 

Jungkook had a moment to be confused before your free hand shot out and took fierce hold of his forearm. You made sure it was locked in place before your body went completely limp, and sent his body into an unbalanced mess. 

“The fu-!”

Jungkook’s descent, at first, made you feel like you’d accomplished a victory. One you didn’t get to relish in for long. Jungkook may not have been able to finish his earlier sentence, but you easily made up for it. A softened, “Fuck!” came pressed from your chest as he landed sideways on top of you. The angle reminded you of an awkward pair of scissors: if one part of the scissors was ridiculously muscled for a student. 

You’d had little time to move your hands up to brace yourself against his weight. The air from your lungs whooshing out in laughter with your body struggling to recover from underneath him. And no, no you weren’t painfully aware that your hands could feel every well lined muscle under the fabric of his t-shirt. And no, you were not blushing. Not even a little. 

You were sure when Jungkook lifted his head up to look in your direction, he’d see the sinful glee you took in your awkward positioning. Instead, your lungs erupted into laughter. One side of his face perfectly smeared with mud making one eye remain closed and his right doing most of the work. He looked ridiculous...and cute. 

“You think this is funny?”

“I think-I think it’s the best thing I’m going to see all day.”

It took a few tries to speak through your laughter, but when you finally got the words out you couldn’t have been more proud. Jungkook on the other hand, seemed to struggle to keep the annoyance on his face. The first sign of a smile cracking into the mud that began to dry on his face. 

Jungkook moved to prop himself up - the action giving you the room you needed to wiggle out from underneath him. You were about to call it a success, a retort to an unspoken comment he’d yet to make. All of it came crashing down, however, when Jungkook’s mud covered hand rose from the depths and placed a long streak down your nose with his thumb giving an artistic sweep across your cheek. 

The marks he gave reminded you of those old western movies you’d seen. Warpaint covered faces of men getting ready to square off to defend their home from invaders. The thought seemed to match perfectly with the beat of your heart thundering like a drum inside your chest.

It wasn’t just because Jungkook touched you - on purpose - in a playful way. It had nothing to do with the fact his muddy hand was currently resting against your cheek. Or from the denial that it brought out a spark of mischievous happiness to ignite inside you as your mouth fell open to expose the sound of laughter. No, your heart pounded against your chest purely for the look that passed behind chocolate eyes and the soft smile that followed close behind. 

So, sure. In that instance it could’ve just been a plan old look. You weren’t a hundred percent sure it wasn’t more than just a look though, either. There was that one boy in first grade, however, who did give you an aggressive teeth-clacking peck on the lips during recess, but this was completely different. 

And because you were so uncertain of what it all meant, your only reaction was to lift your hand up from beside you and slam it palm first against his face. 

Jungkook’s face lit up in shock and you couldn’t stop the eruption of laughter that spilled from your lips. It was an immediate rush of joy at seeing his handsome face marked by your small muddy handprint that streaked itself across the plains of his face. Normally, you’d be mortified: waiting patiently to be scolded and made to feel small. Instead, the shock wore off his face in an instant. Jungkook’s eyes lighting up with childlike excitement as a giddy, “Oh yeah?” rushed between his lips. 

You didn’t have a chance to wonder what he meant before he reached into the mud and brought up a snowball version of the earth. 

“Oh, no you don’t!” 

Your eyes went wide and frantic giggles exploded free as your body struggled in vain to get out from under him. The previous joy of being pinned by his weight dissipating when that large mud ball found its new home smeared on top of your head. 

“Jungkook-ah!”

His own laughter rose up around you as your body began to move in earnest to get out from under him. When you finally realized it was pointless, another bright idea overtook you. If Jungkook noticed the renewed mischievous glint in your eye, he didn’t show it. 

He continued to smile obliviously down at you until the two fist fulls of mud you’d taken in both hands came crashing down on top of his head. It didn’t matter that your face caught some of the aftermath: the face he made was priceless. 

You didn’t get a chance to enjoy your tiny victory before the two of you were a mess of arms and limbs rolling feverishly around; the two of you playfully wrestling for dominance. The mixture of your laughter rising up until you weren’t sure where Jungkook’s ended and yours began. By the end of it, you were both resembling the pigs you’d seen earlier on the farm. Bodies fully covered in wet earth and lounging beside each other in exhaustion. Every few moments random fits of giggles overtaking the two of you until you realized you both needed to get back. 

This time, instead of the two of you refusing help from the other, you eagerly took it. The both of you worked together to reach the edge of the mud pit and, without further incident, pulled each other out. 

The walk back to the main barn was done in silence. In other circumstances, you would’ve been consumed with a need to fill it. The impending weight of anxiety would’ve flared across your skin until you would’ve blurted out anything. Small talk was never one of your strong suits, but a comfortable banter had somehow formed between the two of you. You knew if you started talking, Jungkook would respond. It was still a fifty-fifty on whether or not it would be a smart ass response or a real one, but a response nonetheless. 

You didn’t try to start a conversation. You chose to enjoy the reassurance that he was beside you. Your mind running through what exactly just happened and how you both ended up looking like bad impression art. You’d spent so much time stealing glances in his direction that you could’ve sworn you caught him doing the same. But who were you kidding. No one had stolen glances at you since middle school, and that was only to steal the answers off tests. 

There was no way Jeon Jungkook would be the one to break that trend. No matter how flattering the thought. So when you felt that knowable itch of being watched you found yourself surprised that Jungkook was indeed staring at you. 

“Are you cold?”

Jungkook’s question jolted you from your train of thought and sent you reeling into another. He was closer to you now. Close like you’d been while sitting on the bus with your shoulders brushing with every movement. Every bump helplessly sending you lightly banging into the other. 

On the bus you could easily play it off as something out of your control. But now? Now there was no good explanation that you could find to why Jungkook decided to walk so closely beside you. There was no way to explain away the way his gaze drew across your face like he’d save it to memory. 

“Well I am covered in freezing mud water.” 

You’d tried for sarcasm but your voice barely carried over a whisper. It made Jungkook’s head subconsciously dip lower just to hear you. The devilish smirk he was infamous for spread like wildfire across his lips. 

“I would offer you my jacket, since it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, but you see some crazy person pushed me into the mud.”

A scoff escaped you as your hand playfully whipped out to slap his shoulder. 

“Ya, Jungkook! You? A gentleman? That’s funny. What is also funny is the fact you got yourself stuck in the mud first. I just came to rescue you.”

“Rescue me?” He asked with an eyebrow coyly cocked. 

“I’m like your knight in shining armor.”

A throaty laugh came from between his lips; sending his head back exposing his face to the sun. You were mesmerized watching him as the sun kissed down across his face and weren’t at all ashamed at being caught watching as he brought his attention back to you. A smile of your own growing to match the one he wore along with your mind fluttering in wonder of how he was even real. 

“If you’re my knight, Y/N I’m in a lot of trouble.”

You feigned hurt but couldn’t hide the grin happily splayed on your face and, crazy thing was, you didn’t want to. It felt impossible that the two of you were so giddy with each other. A strange familiarity brewed heavily between you to the point it felt like the two of you joked like this for years. 

Jungkook’s own smile enough to warm the chill that began to creep up your arms to expose goosebumps on your skin. The two of you fell into a shroud of companionable silence and continued to make your way back to the main entrance of the farm. Your heart skipping a helpless beat every time you feel Jungkook’s fingers graze across yours. Your mind hopelessly wanting to believe maybe, just maybe, he was tempted to reach out and hold it. 

You came back to the main farm and found your teacher and classmates impatiently waiting. The immediate shock your teacher showed at your appearance seemed to grow more intense until he came storming over: hysterical at your current condition. 

“What on earth have the two of you been doing?!” 

“They’ve been rolling around with pigs.”

You knew that tart voice anywhere and wasn’t surprised it was Amber that spoke. What did surprise you was how much you didn’t care with Jungkook standing like an equally filthy calm current by your side. 

“We’re sorry, seonsaegnim,” Jungkook began coolly with a bow. When he realized you were still standing a hand shot out to the back of your head to bring it down. You quickly slapped it away but kept yourself in a bow. “We got lost from the group and found ourselves stuck in a giant mud pit.” 

“It seems to me like you were playing in it,” the farmer chuckled. “I could hose them off before they get back on the bus.” 

His offer left heat rising to your cheeks. The sound of a sea of giggles making your stomach ache in embarrassment. You used the curtain of your hair to hide and hoped they’d come up with a different suggestion, but with a small shrug of his shoulder, Jungkook brought your heated attention back to him. A soft smile cracking the now dry handprint you’d left across his cheek. 

It was ridiculous. You both looked ridiculous, and yet, he was still handsome. You probably looked like a troll. 

“Hey Knight in shining armor,” he whispered. “It seems we get to take a bath together.” 

The sun couldn’t be anywhere near as hot as your face felt. The heat spread from red cheeks and down your neck until the butterflies in your stomach were out of control. Jungkook knew what he had done. He could see it plainly on your face and he loved it. 

You, on the other hand, wanted to hit him. 

And just like divine intervention your teacher did it for you. His curled up pamphlet struck down on top of Jungkook’s head, but it only made his smile grow impossibly larger.

“Ya! I don’t think so! We’ll have you go one at a time to clean up. I’ll look for something for you both to change into.”

Jungkook went first to be hosed down. The farmer actually allowed him to have his privacy so he could get into his more...private areas in peace. The clothes that were found for both of you to wear were old gym clothes thrown in a box in the storage bay at the bottom of the bus. You imagined they must have been thrown there for a reason. The colors were sad and faded down to a color that resembled the mud you’d fallen in. An even sadder rim of yellow wrapped around the sleeves the only hope of color in the terrible outfit you were now forced to wear. At least it was warm with the added bonus Jungkook somehow ended up with the shortest shorts in the box. 

After the two of you dried off and changed you were shepherded onto the bus. The place that held Amber and her minions now vacant due to the teacher demanding you sit exactly in the far back in their spot. He must have imagined it would be like putting two naughty kids in time out. The only effect it really had was giving you the chance to breathe and enjoy the solitude. 

Jungkook dug around for your earbuds inside your bag. Finally finding the small container and lifting it open. His fingers pulling out the left and surprising you by placing it gently in your ear. Your face must have shown this but Jungkook paid you no mind. He was busy placing the other bud into his ear; flipping the case shut and throwing it back inside to forever be lost until you practically tipped out your bag to locate it again. Oh well. A problem for another time. 

“Put on something for the ride home, Y/N. I trust you to be dj again.”

You wanted to tease him. To joke about putting on the YMCA or Macarena . The only thing that stopped you was the relaxed features of Jungkook’s face. The lazy way his neck rested back against the seat and his head languidly gazing in your direction. You tried to squish back all the butterflies that look gave you and a hushed, “Alright. Lady Marmalade it is,” embarrassingly came from between your lips. 

Your eyes were too focused on your music list. You didn’t allow them to look as he chuckled beside you. The sound light and rough all at once - demanding you give it attention. 

“Don’t make me regret it,” he joked. 

You kept scrolling until you found Deans’ “D (Half Moon)”. The soft piano and tone of his voice quickly filled the ear buds and by the soft hum of the voice beside you, you knew you’d pick a good one. 

You allowed yourself to relax beside him. Your right hand placing the playlist down between the two of you. Your body was so relaxed you didn’t think about moving your hand anywhere else. Your eyes falling comfortably closed as you continue to listen to the acoustics of the song and the even softer, and equally pleasurable, song of Jungkook singing along. 

When his left hand found its way down beside yours, you didn’t question his reasoning. The music held between the two of you and maybe he wanted to change the playlist. You let your mind continue to think that even after his finger gingerly grazed yours and found a home beside them. Both of your hands stayed this way the entire ride back to campus. Neither of you moved to change positions; lost to the sounds of the melodies of the playlist.

[thebiasrekkers]

Fragmentation 0.3 - MYG

Plot: How does one measure freedom? Are our choices truly our own, or are they part of a preset design outside of our control? We all have a question burning inside of us, though few speak it out. It is the question that drives us forward, seeking purpose in our lives. What is The Matrix?

Rating: NC-17 // NSFW

Genre: Series | The Matrix!AU | angst | sci-fi | action | drama

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: Strong language, allusions to suicide, extreme angst, graphic violence

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 2,206

AN: Now it’s Yoongi’s time to shine. And that is an allusion to different things. I’ll let you decide what I’m talking about. As I stated before, all information in the universe can be found on the official Matrix Wiki so please use that as a reference guide if you ever get confused!

Tag List: @aroseforyoongi​, @prisczero​, @pinkpjmin​, @btsaudge​, @flowerwrites06​, @unoriginal-username15432​

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

Heavy grunts of pain rang out in the storage shed. The distinct sound of something large hitting something soft echoed in the small space. A sliver of light pooled in through the foggy window, illuminating the particles of dust that lingered in the air. Every so often, something wet would hit the wall or the floor. Sometimes both.

“What’s the matter, Yoongi? Not gonna join in?”

A bat whisked through the air, coming down to land on a person’s back. They yelled out in agony, their fingers scraping across the dirt and concrete beneath them.

“Psh, whatever. You know he thinks he’s too good to get his hands dirty.”

A kick landed true, hitting the person straight in the ribs. They coughed, spittle and blood staining the floor.

“He’s not above watching, though.”

Min Yoongi’s face was as neutral as ever - giving away nothing. A cigarette was perched between his lips, the smoke billowing into his line of sight. He casually brushed at the sleeve of his school uniform, watching his fellow classmates pummel someone relentlessly with no real justification. Other than the kid was a scholarship student and didn’t come from actual money. 

Yoongi didn’t have anything against him personally. As far as he was concerned, it didn’t really have anything to do with him. But he knew that if he didn’t at least participate in some form or fashion, his “friends” would open their stupid fucking mouths and tell their daddies how he didn’t “play nice” with his classmates. These entitled punks were the future of the world - deciding how and when and who would climb up in the ranks in society.

Money talked and the circles that existed within high society were suffocatingly small.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, standing from his chair. He crushed the ember of the cigarette out against the wall before flicking it off to the side. “I’m leaving.”

The three boys stopped their assault on the freshman, eyeballing Yoongi curiously. Curtis, the one who initiated this little event in the first place, cracked his neck as he turned to face him fully. The smirk on his face practically dripped “I am a pompous asshole”.

“Don’t have the stomach for it, Yoon?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes as he leaned down to pick up his school bag. “No, I just don’t have time to play your bullshit games today.” Yoongi adjusted his jacket sleeve so he could look at his watch. “I have piano lessons in half an hour.”

He bumped his shoulder against Curtis’s chest, silently telling him he needed to get out of his way. The taller man did, stepping to the side so Yoongi could get to the door. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he pushed against it and exited the storage shed. The beating continued and he didn’t look back.

“Young Master,” a voice called out to him.

Yoongi looked up, noticing his family’s butler, Roland,  as he stood beside the large black luxury car parked by the side street. He sighed, brushing some of his hair out of his eyes and then stepping toward the vehicle. Roland opened the door for him and without a single glance of acknowledgement, he flopped into the soft leather cushions of the backseat. The passenger side door opened and Roland entered, their driver pulling the car out to head for Yoongi’s next destination.

“Did you have a good day today, Young Master Yoongi?”

He shrugged, propping his elbow along the door to stare out of the window. “It’s whatever,” he replied nonchalantly, “same stupid boring shit day after day. What’s good about any of it?”

Roland cleared his throat some. “Tomorrow is always another day, Young Master.”

“Yes, Roland.” Yoongi closed his eyes. “Yes it is.”

Piano lessons went as they always did. Even when he was irritated, Yoongi always found a way to focus on the music. He didn’t even need to look at the sheet music anymore. He’d memorized everything in his practice books and took to adding his own variations to the music. Classic. Modern. None of it mattered. So long as he could let his body and mind disappear among the keys of ebony and ivory, then that was all he cared about. All he could will himself to care about.

As soon as the hour was over, Yoongi was forced to leave his small sanctuary. He bid his piano teacher farewell as Roland ushered him back out to the car. The next stop was Cram School. The moment of peace, his mental safe haven, was pulled from him as he was thrust into another suffocating atmosphere.

Once again, he was surrounded by the collective Elite - all born and bred for a purpose seemingly “greater” than themselves. A purpose that was determined before their conception; a purpose that wasn’t of their choosing.

It never was.

The real question was why? Why weren’t they able to choose? Who decided that choice was an illusion? 

The professor droned on and on. Yoongi zoned out about halfway through the lecture, his wrist moving back and forth - scribbling notes that had nothing to do with the lesson. Honestly, he wanted to ditch cram school and head to a nearby arcade where he could waste hours mindlessly playing video games with random strangers. At least in that kind of atmosphere, he didn’t have to worry about being judged. Yoongi had no need for a plastic smile and false compliments. He could just be an ordinary teenager and maybe, just maybe, he would have been able to make a friend.

But that was a reality that was outside of the realm of possibility for him. Min Yoongi was the heir of a multi-million dollar corporation. Friendship? Purpose? Free of judgment?

That life was far outside of his reach.

“Mister Min.”

Yoongi blinked, his vision focusing back on his notebook. He slowly lifted his head up to see that his teacher and fellow classmates were all eyeballing him. Dropping his pencil, he straightened his posture, feeling the heaviness of their gazes weighing his chest down. 

“Yes?”

“I asked if you would come up and solve this equation.” His teacher, Mr. Jameson, frowned as he set the dry erase marker down. “Are you feeling alright?”

There was a soft pounding at the back of his head, increasing the pressure behind his eyes. Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to shake off the pain. But it steadily increased. He groaned, staggering to his feet. 

“Actually, I think I need to go,” he murmured. 

He reached down and scooped up his school bag, disregarding his notebook and pencil box that was still on his desk. A hand fell on his shoulder and Yoongi flung his arm out, knocking the person back roughly. 

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” His voice boomed through the room, silencing almost everything. For a split second, Yoongi thought he saw the lights flickering a shade of green. “...don’t put your hands on me.”

No one made a move to go after him. He preferred it that way. The pounding at the back of his head was increasing, followed by a distinct ringing sound bouncing around in his ear canals. Beads of sweat bubbled around his temples and dripped from the end of his nose. He ignored the stares of other students and faculty members of the Cram School as he stumbled his way toward the front entrance.

Rain fell in cascading waves, washing over Yoongi’s shoulders and soaking him through almost instantly. His eyes tried to spot where Roland was, but the black sedan was lost among so many other similarly styled vehicles in the area. As he turned to walk down the street, he felt his chest slam into someone. Stumbling back, Yoongi lost his footing and fell to the concrete, his bag slipping from his fingers. 

Looking up through the rain, he saw three men clad in suits. Even in the dark, they wore sunglasses. He found it a little bizarre, but kept his comments to himself. Yoongi saw all three men crane their necks to look down at him simultaneously. They made no motion to help him back to his feet and he, in turn, didn’t move from the ground. There was something immensely foreboding about their presence, causing goosebumps to pepper out across the back of his neck.

“Young Master!”

Yoongi heard Roland’s voice, but he remained focused on the three men in front of him. They never took their eyes off of him and he did the same. A cold feeling snaked up his chest, freezing the inside of his lungs and throat. He couldn’t speak. He could barely breathe. The pounding in his head intensified, his vision swimming momentarily.

Everything came into sharp focus when he felt his body being yanked up violently. His ears quit ringing and he felt Roland clinging to him protectively. Yoongi’s feet moved at his butler’s insistence, ushering him to where the car was. But just before they were out of earshot, he heard one of the men speak.

“See you again, Mr. Min.”

Roland quickly opened the door and Yoongi hopped inside, his breathing coming in swift intervals. He felt his butler slide into the seat beside him, ordering the driver to make haste. As he did so, he rubbed soothing circles on Yoongi’s back. It did little to quell the raging thunder of his own heartbeat, but at least he could hear the water hitting the window from how fast they were driving in the storm. 

“Young Master.” 

The sound of Roland’s deep voice brought him out of whatever trance Yoongi was placed under. Blinking rapidly, he turned to look at the man that was with him since he was a child. The look on Roland’s face was different; an expression that he’d never seen before. Or was it that he simply hadn’t paid any attention until now?

It was kindness and empathy. Like he, in that moment, could truly understand what Yoongi was feeling.

“R-Roland,” he managed to stammer, his hands reaching out to grasp the sleeves of Roland’s jacket, “w-what is happening?” He coughed. “Who were those guys?”

“Bad men.” Roland’s brows furrowed. “Very bad men.”

“How do you know that?”

“That isn’t as important as what I’m about to tell you next.” He reached behind him, pressing a button on the back panel to raise the divider between the backseat and driver’s cabin. “Young Master, I’m afraid that you’ve been pinged.”

Yoongi felt a lump forming in his throat. “What?” His grip tightened on Roland’s arms. “What the hell does that even mean?!”

“Now that you’re on their radar, they will begin pursuing you. They want to make sure that you won’t be able to discover the truth.”

“What truth, Roland?!” Yoongi felt the adrenaline shredding through his veins. “You’re not making any sense!”

“I’m sorry, Young Master, but I don’t have a lot of time to explain everything in detail. I can only help show you the way.” Roland gently urged Yoongi to release his arms so that he could move them. He placed his hands on Yoongi’s shoulders. “The rest is up to you.”

“Roland…”

Suddenly, Roland reached down below the seat. When he pulled his hand back, he was holding an automatic hand pistol. What calm settled over Yoongi’s heart was instantly destroyed. Roland pressed the button on the back panel, lowering the divider between both sections of the vehicle. 

“Wait, Roland...what are you doing?!”

The butler, the man who’d taken care of him for most of his life, smiled as he aimed the gun at the back of the driver’s head.

“Goodbye, my Young Master.”

He wasn’t fast enough to see what was about to happen. Even if he had, there was no way that Yoongi would have been prepared. The ear splitting crack of the gun firing off made him scream as blood sprayed across the windshield. His hearing was muffled and the ringing returned. Covering his ears was pointless, but he did it anyway.

Yoongi’s center of gravity shifted drastically as the car swerved. Tears streamed down his face as he saw Roland aiming the gun to his own head. The sound that erupted from his body was inhuman, like that of a beast crawling out from the depths of Hell itself. The second gunshot caused a flash of light to flare up in the small space as chunks of meat and bone exploded through the curtain of blood spray. 

There wasn’t enough time for him to mourn. Everything shifted into darkness as strings of green numbers and letters took on the shapes of the vehicle, the driver, and Roland. The terror scratching over his entire body seemed to cease. For a few brief seconds, Yoongi forgot about the two corpses in his presence and how the vehicle was out of control. Reaching a hand out, he tried to touch the strings of code.

The shrill sound of a semi-truck’s horn brought him back to reality. As he turned his head, he was blinded by a set of headlights. They blared on continuously, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was inevitable. 

Yoongi smiled seconds before impact.

“Welcome to the Real World.”

[max-is-tired]

With This Dream, I Inflate (Painted Skies In My Brain)

Pairing: Logince, Sleepxiety

Characters: Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Roman Sanders, Patton Sanders, Remy Sleep Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani (mentioned)

Words: 2.631

Warnings: Some homesickness at the beginning (not major, but it’s there), swearing, nothing else I can think of

Notes: I am incredibly late, but finally @adultmorelikeadolt ‘s birthday fic is done!!! Happy very belated birthday Rem!!!

I started this fic three weeks ago, fully convinced this was gonna be a short thing... I never learn, do I? Nonetheless, I’m proud of how it turned out, and I’m 99% sure this is getting a second part because I just fell in love with this AU

Thanks to my amazing beta @tigertigertigger  who makes sure the English language doesn’t kick my ass to the moon and back, you’re the absolute best

Hit me up if you want to be added to the taglist and let me know if you liked this, reblogs, comments and asks are always very welcome and much appreciated!

(P.s. Since Roman is Italian in this fic, translation for those few Italian expressions he uses can be found at the end of the fic!!)

Read on AO3!!   Buy me a Coffee!!

When his best friend wins a scholarship for a one-year exchange in Europe, Virgil doesn’t think much of it.

Logan is incredibly smart, without a doubt the most gifted student their college has to offer -and he’s double majoring in Astrophysics and Chemical Engineering, so that’s no small feat.

So yeah, he’s not surprised when Logan -who’s also his roommate, since they’re both broke, caffeine-addicted college students- gets home one evening, a strange envelope in his hands, and announces he has been given the so agonized scholarship. Virgil simply raises an eyebrow at the barely-concealed look of relief in the other’s eyes, mumbling a smug “I told you so” accompanied by the best shit-eating grin he can muster and finger guns.

Their third roommate, on the other hand, is a totally different story.

Patton basically throws himself at Logan, squealing in delight while rambling about how proud he is. He then insists on celebrating, and they end up having an impromptu movie night, complete with pizza and a batch of Patton’s infamous cookies -which end up in Logan’s stomach after not even an hour, for the hidden amusement of his two roommates.

After that, it’s a blur of finals to take, forms to fill and planning to get done -because it’s Logan we’re talking about, and Virgil’s pretty sure he’s already got at least half of his year abroad panned out.

Before they know it, the semester has come and gone and they’re standing in the middle of the airport, Patton bawling his eyes out on Logan’s shoulder while basically smothering him in a hug. Virgil limits himself to an amused smile, to which Logan answers with an exaggerated eye-roll -even him, always the logical, can’t really hide the fondness in his eyes as he tries to calm Patton enough to at least be able to breathe properly.

Logan’s parents watch from afar, letting the boys have their moment. Then, the intercom calls Logan’s flight, and it’s time for the very last goodbyes.

+++

It takes them a while to adjust.

Patton and Virgil, now being each other’s only roommates, work to find a new routine that doesn’t have a Logan-shaped hole in it -easier said than done, that’s for sure.

As for Logan, well, his first weeks are a jumble of moving in, unpacking boxes, visiting the campus to get accustomed with his new surroundings and figuring out his new schedule -not considering the quite influent change of time zone, which takes him a while to get used to.

But the three of them are nothing but determined, and it doesn’t take them long to figure out a somewhat solid schedule for video calls that doesn’t force any of them to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn or staying awake until some ungodly hour of the night.

With this system put in place, it’s certainly easier to deal with the distance. They’ve never been separated for so long, their trio having been an integral part of their life since middle school. It’s hard for all of them, even if Virgil often tries to brush it off and Logan downright does everything he can to ignore it.

It helps more than they like to admit, having somebody like Patton in their group. He barely conceals his feelings, openly expressing them and giving both Virgil and Logan a chance to talk about their own emotional conundrums without directly addressing them.

And so another year comes and goes, they’re juniors in college, Virgil has somehow gained a boyfriend who’s more caffeine-addicted than him, and Logan is finally, finally home.

Everything’s fine, right?

Not quite.

+++

“Look!” Virgil whispers, shaking the person sitting next to him, “he’s doing it again!”

Remy grumbles, raising his head from its place on the desk to glare at his boyfriend, “what is it now?”

“It’s Logan!” Virgil explains, gesturing to the boy sitting a few rows in front of them. Remy doesn’t get what all the fuss is, really. Logan looks pretty normal to him, sitting straight -the only straight thing about the guy, probably- as he seems to be diligently following the ongoing lecture. How does he even do it anyway? It’s just so boring, the teacher has been talking incessantly for more than an hour now and the only thing Remy wants to do is take a fucking nap-

“He’s using his phone-” Virgil keeps going, completely oblivious to his boyfriend’s wandering thoughts- “and he’s texting someone!”

Well, now that Virgil has pointed it out, Remy can see the corner of Logan’s phone peeking out from between his notes. Huh, that’s strange.

“Wait just a sec, how do you know he’s texting? I can barely see the phone as it is, let alone guess if he’s actually using it or not.”

“That’s because you’re exactly behind him, idiot,” Virgil grumbles, eyes still fixed on his best friend’s back, “he’s got an app open, I can’t tell which one exactly but it’s definitely for texting. I’ve known Logan since middle school and he’s never used his phone in class, not once. What the hell?”

“Chill, Vee,” Remy yawns, settling his head back on the desk, “ maybe he’s finally loosening up a little. It sure as hell looks like that year abroad was good for him, uh?”

Virgil mutters something unintelligible under his breath, clearly still displeased, but he knows he really can’t, in good conscience, dispute Remy’s claim.

Because it’s obvious that, while it can't be denied that the previous year has been a stressful time for all parts involved, the Logan who has come back is different from the Logan they said goodbye to, that day at the airport.

It’s not a bad change, per se.

He’s just- softer, around the edges. He looks calmer, more perceptive of the world around him. His temper seems to have subsided -for the joy of literally everyone, doesn’t matter what Patton says- and he’s obviously much more patient.

He looks… content, Virgil thinks that’s the word he’s looking for. And that’s a good thing, don’t get him wrong! But no one can deny that Logan has changed, and change isn’t exactly something Virgil works well with.

It scares him because Logan has been a constant in Virgil’s life for almost as long as he can remember and now he’s different, somehow.

But he also looks happy, so Virgil just deals with his anxious discomfort, because he sure as hell won’t be the one taking that away from Logan.

He just wishes his best friend would tell him what the hell is going on.

+++

When they’re finally let out of the lecture -for the immense joy of Remy, who had immediately dashed out of his seat and yelled “Starbucks time, bitches!!” before bolting out of the door- Logan is obviously still in whatever conversation he has been keeping up for most of the class, checking his phone every few minutes.

The two of them are standing near some benches across from the science building, waiting for Patton to get out of his last class. It’s the perfect opportunity to ask Logan who exactly he’s talking to, but alas, anxiety is a bitch and it very much likes to make Virgil’s life a living hell.

So Virgil resigns himself to standing in silence beside his friend, wallowing in his curiosity as he begrudgingly watches Logan text the mysterious person with a strange smile on his face -which only makes Virgil more curious because he’s never seen Logan smile like that before, damn it, and he just wants to understand what the fuck is going on.

“V, Lolo!” Patton’s voice startles them both out of their thoughts, giving Virgil half of a heart attack and making Logan almost drop his phone.

“Hey, Popstar.” “Salutations, Patton.”

“Sorry, I’m late,” Patton giggles, quickly approaching the two, “Dr. Picani got us so invested in today’s lecture, we all forgot to check the time!”

“Lucky you,” Remy grins, coming up behind Virgil and draping an arm over his shoulders, “our lecture was so boring I slept through most of it.”

Virgil -who really doesn’t like getting startled every five minutes, thank you very much- turns around and punches his boyfriend’s arm, glaring.

“Ouch!” Remy yelps, fumbling with his coffee, “What was that for?!”

“Maybe next time you’ll think twice before sneaking up on me like that, asshole,” he grumbles, “also, you always sleep through our lectures.”

Cue the Offended Gay Noises™, completed by Remy dramatically draping himself over his boyfriend. “The slander! The Betrayal!”

“Stop being a drama queen, you know I’m right. And get off of me!”

Patton watches the two bicker with a smile on his face, far too used to their antics to be worried.

“Ah, young love,” he sighs dreamily, “they’re just too cute, right Lo?”

Logan, however, seems to be completely unaware of what is happening. He’s frowning at his phone as if it has somehow offended him, typing message after message at an alarming speed.

“Logan?” Patton calls, trying to catch the other’s attention, “you okay?”

“What?” Logan startles, his head shooting up in confusion, “oh, my apologies Patton, I was not paying attention.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Patton chuckles, “is everything alright? I’ve never seen you use your phone so much, and you looked quite troubled back there.”

“Ah, no-” another chime from his phone makes Logan pause, groaning in clear frustration as he quickly answers yet another message.

“Apologies for worrying you, Patton-” he finally says pocketing his phone and pointedly ignoring its continuous chiming- “but I assure you, there is nothing to worry about. I’m just dealing with a rather obnoxious person who apparently enjoys making me lose what little patience I have.”

Patton cocks his head on one side, looking deep in thought before an all-too-familiar smirk slowly starts spreading on his face.

“Don’t you mean-” he says, barely keeping his laugh at bay- “that your patience is-”

“Patton Morgan Hart don’t you dare finish that sentence or so help me-”

“-infinitesimal?”

Logan lets out a loud groan of despair, Patton becoming a giggling mess beside him.

“You will never let this go, will you?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Nope!” Patton grins.

“Are we making fun of Logan?” Virgil pipes up, “because I want in on that.”

“Can we change the subject? Please?”

“Don’t worry gurl, I gotchu,” Remy grins, eyes glinting behind his dark shades, “because I just remembered what I came back for, and this is a juicy one guys.”

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently we got a new entry from the exchange program and let me tell you, the guy is hot. He’s very good looking, smooth as fuck and I’m like, 90% sure he’s ripped or something. Like, totally illegal, I swear.”

Beside him, Virgil visibly stiffens, arm tightening around the others side, “and you know that because…?”

Remy huffs out a laugh at that, visibly amused by his boyfriend’s sudden jealousy.

“Relax babe-” he basically purrs, kissing his cheek- “you’re the only one I want. I just saw him in front of the main building earlier, he was very difficult to miss. Almost the whole campus was ogling him some way or another. I think he was actually searching for someone, I didn’t pay much attention.”

Logan looks at Remy with a thoughtful expression, clearly pondering something in his head.

“Out of curiosity,” he finally asks, choosing his words carefully, “could you describe this new exchange student?”

“Why, you interested?” Remy grins, wiggling his eyebrows, “careful Logan, your gay is showing.”

“Remy,” Logan growls -actually growls, what the fuck gurl- in annoyance, glaring daggers at him.

“Okay, okay!” Remy relents, raising his hands in surrender, “sheesh gurl, no need to get so worked up!”

He then taps his chin, thinking about his earlier encounter, “he’s on the tall side, wide shoulders, pretty sure he’s a theatre kid because he really looks like one. Brown hair, green eyes, I think he may be either Spanish or Italian? I don’t know, he had somewhat of an accent but I was too far away to be sure.”

“Thank god you  didn’t pay much attention, uh?” Virgil mutters, rolling his eyes. Remy snorts, shoving him lightly.

Too busy with their playful teasing, the couple doesn’t notice the way Logan has suddenly stiffened, eyes wide as his mind seems to have suddenly screeched to a halt. It, however, doesn’t go unnoticed by Patton, who gives him a concerned look.

“Lo, are you alri-”

“Aha! Ti ho trovato finalmente!”

Four heads snap up in unison, turning towards the new voice. Standing a few feet away, the infamous new exchange student shoots them a grin, hands on his hips and green eyes trained on their group.

“Niente ‘ciao’? Did I finally manage to leave you speechless, nerd?”

Logan lets out something akin to a squeak -which he’ll forever deny having made- cheeks blazing red as he scrambles to regain his composure.

“R- Roman? What- what are you doing here?!”

Roman lets out a laugh, approaching the group until he’s standing right in front of Logan -the others seem to be too dumbfounded to react, one, because wasn’t kidding when he said the guy was hot, damn, and two, because they’ve never seen Logan so flustered before and honestly they’re more than a little confused right now.

“I may or may not have made a request for a semester abroad like, a week before you had to fly back? I got everything confirmed and ready to go just a month or so ago, so I decided to surprise you,” he shrugs, looking somewhat unsure, “so, uh, sorpresa?”

Logan blinks owlishly at him, clearly still trying to make sense to the situation. Then, he lets out a groan, hiding his bright red face behind his hands.

“You’re a pain in the ass and I hate you, stronzo.”

Roman laughs, shoulders slumping in relief, “God, how much I missed you.”

Then, under the three’s identical stunned gazes, he grabs Logan -who lets out a startled yelp- and dips him with a flourish, before winking and kissing him square on the lips.

Logan, who until that very moment had been as stiff as a wooden board, immediately melts in Roman’s arms, hands moving to gently cup the other’s face as he starts eagerly kissing back.

Snapping out of his stupor, Remy lets out a loud whoop, joined by Virgil’s sputtering and a very flustered Patton.

“Hello there, luce dei miei occhi,” Roman murmurs when the finally separate, smiling widely as Logan looks at him through half-lidded eyes.

Huffing in mock annoyance, Logan rolls his eyes and wiggles out of his arms, pointedly ignoring his still burning cheeks.

“Stop being so mushy,” he grumbles, fixing his tie.

Roman grins at that, looping an arm around Logan’s side, “Please sweetheart, we both know you love it when I'm mushy.”

“Okay okay okay, what the everloving fuck is going on here?!” Virgil suddenly screeches, breaking the little bubble that had formed around the two in a million pieces.

Finally recalling that his friends are, in fact, present and have probably seen the whole scene, Logan suddenly looks like a deer caught in the headlights, blush coming back full force as he takes in Remy’s shit-eating grin, Virgil scandalized expression and Patton flustered face.

Seemingly unfazed by the whole scenario, Roman presses their bodies together and gives the three a dazzling grin, green eyes twinkling in barely hidden amusement.

“Ciao a tutti! My name’s Roman, I’m a theatre major and I’m also Logan’s very handsome Italian boyfriend!”

“You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell us?!”

Logan groans, hiding his face in Roman’s chest as his asshole of a boyfriend lets out a boisterous laugh.

Ooh boy, this is going to take a while.

+++

Translations:

“Ti ho trovato finalmente!” => “I found you at last!”

“Niente ‘ciao’?” => “No ‘hello’?”

“Sorpresa?” => “Surprise?”

“Stronzo” => Italian insult, I honestly can’t think of an accurate translation :’)

“Luce dei miei occhi” => “Light of my eyes”

“Ciao a tutti!” => “Hello everyone!”

[momo-de-avis]

Wordtober Day 18: Misfit

Presented without comment. 

----

It’s not like I’ve always wanted to be an actress, it was just something I discovered at one point, and I was already good at public speaking so—not that far a distance to travel, right?

Well, almost. Because you see, as soon as I left school and decided on following that path, I realized I was actually not that good at it. Until then, I thought a few school plays and some praise from the drama teachers was enough, but then I was thrust into the real world and found myself facing the most dreadful monster anyone in the arts will face: criticism.

And criticism said that I sucked at it.

I never really went to college, I just took it to be a stupid idea—spending thousands for three years of studying acting. It’s not like it was a medical degree, or law school—I mean, it’s not on the same level of demand, right? I just thought, a few workshops, some professional one-year courses, a few masterclasses with well-known names, and it would suffice. I read a bit on my spare time too, mostly plays, and though I tried picking up books on acting, I generally just quit after a while, bored out of my mind.

I always loved the idea of pretending to be someone else on a stage or in front of a camera, this thing about letting go of who you are entirely as you prepare for a role, and embody someone else so deeply you almost forget about yourself. I always was fascinated by method actors losing their marbles over those wacky roles they poured themselves into, body and mind. A bit morbid, yeah, but interesting. I thought I was learning more from them than I possibly could in a three-year-long university course.

So I did what I could, here and there, and after four years my resume amounted to a few masterclasses and courses that cast me aside before a fellow competitor who showed up with big university names listed alongside pompous grades. This might have been about when I realize I’d made some serious misjudgement, and a petty one at that.

Six years down the line, and I was making a living out of being an extra on random shit on the telly. A few soap operas, some historical TV shows, even talk-shows. They paid little, but at least production provided a snack, and the good thing was that I got to stand in the back, watching the crew go mad about a slight fault in equipment or what-have-you, which gave me the chance to strike up a nice chat with some pop star from the telly out there. It was fun, even educational, considering TV stars love giving you unsolicited advice when you share your wish of becoming an actor with them. But it was actually quite crushing too.

I mean, I had to listen to these people going on about never quitting, never giving up on my dreams, that it’s a cutthroat world out there, competition this and that, and everyone wants a piece of what they have—go on, fly, you little bird! Sure. But not really. I might have misjudged things and should have gone to university, definitely, but it’s not like I didn’t try. I did try. I went to casting calls nearly every week, attended lectures, all that. I just hated wasting my time with networking, the one thing everyone insisted on was absolutely a necessity, like whatever talent you might have, it won’t matter until you talk like a pompous ass.

Ten years, and the best gig I had landed was a poorly made theatre production about a little kid on the moon that was, if I am being honest, a straight-up rip-off from The Little Prince, and intended at a younger audience too, though I suspect the theatre director’s decision on casting grown adults to play little children in an almost demeaning way was the major ingredient to attracting a series of college students who had a laugh with it. The critics weren’t nice about it either, but I did my job.

There were other jobs, but they were equally bad, if not worse. This one just paid best.

Twelve years on, and I escalated to a commercial on toothpaste, where I played the fake doctor saying nine out of ten dentists went absolutely nuts over this one brand, while holding a tube of—I kid you not—bland white paste that smelled of plaster. Later on, I’d even do a fast food commercial where I had to bite into a burger riddled with needles to keep the lettuce, cheese, tomato and beef straight, and though my stardom amounted to a close-up of my nostrils and biting teeth, it took me five tries because I was terrified of being impaled in the gums.

I was frustrated, I won’t deny it. I was even ashamed of showing my resume to whoever, and for every casting call I attended, I could see the disdain on those faces sitting behind that desk—that dismissive look of a casting director as she pushed her glasses down the bridge of her nose, read my miserable career’s story and asked me questions I dreaded answering. I even auditioned for bold parts I knew I’d never get, things like proper characters on TV, the lead detective on some cop show, or the love interest in a soap opera, even standing girl showing off the prices in some quiz crap.

Nothing.

You speculate when you fail, you know. Think often that it’s you: maybe you’re ugly, you’re cursed, you don’t dress properly, you don’t talk right, you lack whatever bedazzle these people, sitting at the top, have—you just lack something. Though I had the talent, I think—I might have sucked when I first started, but I got better, and there are enough mediocre actors out there making six figures to prove talent doesn’t mean shit in this world—right? So I really could not tell why I was failing, when I tried—I tried, time and again—and I just failed and failed and failed. Fail again, fail better—Beckett was a lying twat, that’s what.

Then, one afternoon, I went into a casting call for something grand, a secondary role for a recurrent character on a major TV production, some sci-fi stuff. It seemed easy enough when I read the script and the guidelines of what they were looking for, and I didn’t really do much practising—I’m good at improvisation, I reckon, even tried it for a while, though it mostly deals with comedy and I am not funny. But outside of that, I swear I am good at improvising—so I went with it, given what I had.

And I blew it. I mean monumentally blew it. I stuttered every single line that came out of my mouth, I asked to stop and try again five times, I paced back and forth with heavy breaths, trying to put my mind in order, but everything was just scrambled inside my head like when you drop a bunch of papers on the ground and try to put them back together, and I was sweating profusely—I mean, I looked like a morning jogger on his way back home. I don’t know what happened to me, I just froze in an instant of panic like I never had before—it’s my greatest quality, I can just stand before an audience and act, audiences just do not bother me at all, I’m good like that. But that day I just… felt wrecked. I couldn’t even admit to myself I should have prepared, but I had set this goal, that if I’d manage to just improvise the right way with no proper warm-up, then that meant I was good.

But I wasn’t. I blew it bad. And I walked out of there absolutely certain I had missed on yet another major opportunity.

As I opened the door to leave, someone else was coming inside, though at first I missed it and nearly let the door smash against their face. I turned back abruptly, held the door for them, apologized and… froze.

She looked exactly like me. I mean exactly the same. Same sandy-brown skin, same heart-shaped, chubby face, same light brown hairs, slightly discoloured at the tips, same tawny lips and brown eyes, even the same freckles on the nose—just everything exactly like me.

Our eyes locked on one another and she smiled, but I was certain I was just so shaken I was beginning to imagine things, so I just went home and never thought about it again.

Eight months later, the show debuted. I didn’t have any intention of watching it, considering it reminded me of my worst failure yet, but I was just skimming through the channels that night and happened to stop there for a second to reach in and grab my water bottle, and I saw it. I saw her.

She had gotten the part, and she was on TV, playing the side-character that was to be recurrent as well, but with my face. Exactly like me in every aspect—even as she spoke, it was my voice, same precise tone and accent, same quirks to the Rs and fluctuations of the Ls—just everything. A carbon copy of myself.

I searched her online—the name, at least, was different—and was slapped with a never-ending list of websites showering her with praise. The secondary character who was stealing the show, a new star was born; the flesh, the depth, the vigour she gave this mundane woman on the screen, the unmatched talent—truly, a rising star.

I can’t express just how angry it made me feel. She looked just like me—it was impossible that nobody could see it—and it turns out, I hadn’t dreamed it, that day. The more I searched her online, the more her face showed up—everywhere, just everywhere, endless pictures of this woman who had stolen my face and my talent and now every pair of eyes in the country—the world!—was on her.

I called my mum, asked her to have a look, insisted on the similarity without ever really saying just how starkly equal we were—and she dismissed it. Laughed. What do you mean!, she screamed, amused. Tou two look nothing alike! I called a friend, asked the same—even before I could spell out my troubles, she was already showering her with praise—oh, have you seen the show?, it’s marvellous, I love her role, she just puts so much heart into it, you have to watch it! But when I pressed her, she pushed it aside—looks didn’t matter, she told me—though that wasn’t even the subject at hand—and surely, you two look nothing alike.

Yet everywhere, it was me that I saw. That woman had my face, my body, my voice—and had stolen my talent.

I tried to forget about it, kept going to casting calls—and somehow, from that moment on, it seemed my luck turned for the worst. I got struck by an unexpected sense of panic, sweating profusely and shuddering at every step, hyperventilating as if I was about to pass out, and forgot my lines. I trusted my instinct on improvisation still, but that one tool that had helped me so much in the past was suddenly useless. I became afraid of hearing the sound of rejection—no, nada, zilch, bye, you suck, choose another career—it haunted me at night and I’d wake up with tears as I thought about this woman with my face stealing my confidence.

Nobody could see it. Everyone I asked, everyone I knew, I insisted she looked exactly like me, but they couldn’t see it. They laughed it off, said I was imagining things; when I pressed, they began to walk away and frown at me with suspicion as if I was nuts; when my reason began to cloud my judgement, they showed worry, suggested I should seek help. At last one day, I screamed at mum for not daring to see it and she started crying, saying I was just jealous of her fame as I had been all my life, with my dismissive attitude towards all and any who got the things I had wanted for so long without even trying hard.

She was lying, of course. I wasn’t jealous, though I couldn’t stand their pep-talks during filming breaks, between a coffee and a cigarette, and their follow-your-dreams bullshit. But this was different. I wasn’t jealous, it was just outright unfair! She looked exactly like me, how could nobody see it? And ever since she appeared in this world, she had stolen my everything—my attention, my chances, my glow, my focus. I was a shit actress again because a random stranger with my liking simply pulled the rug from beneath my feet and reaped the profits of what I had sowed!

It got worse, of course. I started drinking to get her face off my mind, but she was all I thought about, which is incredibly bizarre because the face that popped up in my head at night, as I rolled in bed with a headache, was mine, but now I was seeing myself from the outside, as—I suppose—the world saw me, but through this heavy filter of absolute scorching hatred. Yes, I hated her; I hated her so much it was all there was on my mind; I hated her with all my might, with all my vigour, and I wanted her to go away forever so I could retrieve what she had stolen.

I mean—it was unfair! Because my mum was wrong, I tried so hard, and this broad stole my appearance, my face, my voice, my outside, and suddenly she’s being given the chance to rise to the top! I even checked her resume: she attended university, worked with a drama company for three years, did comedy improv—are you joking me? Everything I tried and failed at, everything I shoved aside because I didn’t want to waste any time—she got it? That’s what separated us, what made me a failure, and she a star—a college degree?

And I mean—what else? Did she have anything I didn’t—despite, well, clearly my appearance? Maybe she fell for that crap everyone kept telling me, in the most condescending manner possible: you have to talk to people, networking is the way to go! Just talk, like that—just hold up a glass of wine and pretend, pretend you’re just like these uptight assholes standing at the top, share a laugh at a joke you don’t understand and be all fancy to their eyes—was that it? Because there had to be something else, something else besides my appearance and my talent. Just something.

I searched for very long, so long I lost focus and was out of work, eventually. I watched her videos, her interviews, analysed her behaviour—she even had my tics! The way she bit her lip, picking at the skin, while she listened to someone talk, or how she clicked her fingernails together when she thought about a question, turning her eyes down to her lap—those were mine! I even remember seeing pink magazines going on about how cute it was that she bit the skin of her fingers before a live interview because she was nervous—seriously? I did that!

Just… everything. Everything there was to know about me now existed in this person like an unauthorized biography. She told people my life’s story, my experiences, my past—the dogs and guinea pig I had as a child, the tiny scar on my knee from when I fell on the schoolyard at eight years old, that quip about the piece of paper I burned during class at fifteen.

Even when she talked about the things that were clearly hers, there was something of me. There was this one interview where she admitted she almost didn’t go to college, and when the interviewer asked why, she said, with a coy smile and pushing a lock of her hair back—like me: oh, because I was so afraid of trying something new and being put to the test, just being put into this position where I would be forced to be critical of my own talents, and I was scared of failing. And then, she looked straight into the camera.

I swear, watching that face, sat on my couch, I swear she was looking at me; I swear that bitch knew. She knew she was talking about me, because those were my thoughts. That nervousness, that hesitation, that was me on the day I held the form in my hands to apply for drama school, but didn’t. That fear was mine. And senseless as it was, I was in the right to claim my own fears, dammit! I had stood in the rain, shaking with anticipation, and I had thrown the papers in the bin because I didn’t want to be subjected to the endless torture of being told by college professors that I sucked!

My drinking got worse, my eating habits were shit, I moved back in with my mum, and my life just generally spiralled out of control. I attended casting calls with a hangover and ruined my chances; I started bawling my eyes out in the middle of shooting a commercial for a coffee brand; I fell asleep while filming a documentary where I played an extra, and was kicked out when I started a fight with the casting director on another shooting because she complained about my lack of makeup. Everywhere I went, I was just a shadow of this woman that twinkled before the cameras like a star in the skies; I was just the shameful part of a starlet, a skeleton in a closet I didn’t even know. The evil twin, if you will.

I thought my life was over. A year passed, and my mum thought I was developing an unhealthy obsession with this woman, saying I should just walk up to a mental hospital and check myself in—no more suggestions, just blatantly saying: you’re insane. My friends stopped talking to me because, according to them, I was acting strange, unable to let go of the inane idea that some random actress who had risen to fame so quickly looked, acted and existed exactly like my carbon copy. They refused to see that she was me. They refused to acknowledge that her stories were mine. They denied any similarity—over and over again, they just told me I was batshit crazy.

So I quit. I quit my dream, my life and my passions, and I just let this person possess my everything, while dreaming of hating her so much I’d kill her if I had the chance.

And that was it. It was either me or her, but this world was not made to have the two of us in it.

I tried messaging her. Found her online, every profile I could, and pasted the exact same message on every one of them, sent privately: you stole my life. Seconds later, every single messaging system beeped: you stole my life. The exact same words I had sent her, now sent back to me. I tried again, this time typing something different: you’re pretending to be me, you scheming little bitch—and they beeped back: same message, ipsis verbis. Eventually, I slammed the keyboard, producing a string of incomprehensible jargon of just random letters, numbers and symbols—and hit enter. And the exact same string of nonsense was returned to me.

I stared at the blinking cursor for a long time, shuddering in the half-darkness of my room in dread, certain nothing about this was normal, and yet the prevailing emotion to my heart was just pure, boisterous rage. Whatever it was, whatever she was, it was clear she was keen on driving me insane, forcing me into the piths of my own madness, until all there was to my existence was my obsession with this double that had stolen my life and made a spectacle out of it—while no one believed me.

So I looked for her. It wasn’t hard to figure out where she lived, not with all the gossiping magazines stalking her to the gym, to the store, to the movies, complaining about her outfits—outfits I owned, too. It simply took a little patience, some careful watching, some geographical studying of her movements, and within two weeks, I managed to figure out where she lived by simply following her route home.

It was night when I finally decided on confronting her. She turned the street and walked ahead calmly, hands deep in her pockets, and I stalked her into an empty alleyway with barely a light on. She stopped in front of a closed door, placed her hand on it and turned around—looking straight into my eyes with a twisted, perverted smile. Then, she pushed the door open and went inside—and left it ajar for me.

The building was bare empty. I mean bare empty. Every light was off, the lift not working, no sound coming from behind any door in any hallway. No plants, no garbage bins, not even a piece of advertising flapping off some mailbox—nothing. As if nobody lived there, except her. It was so vacant, so hollow, it made me shudder, like I was walking into a trap, and were it not for my obsession on hating this woman, on setting this matter straight once and for all, I would have gotten out of there. I was shaking in terror, absolutely mortified of the idea of what I would find there—I mean, the walls were dirty, with chipped off paint, some of them riddled with old graffiti—it seriously looked stripped bare of life, and like it had been so for a very long time.

But I still went inside. Terrified of what was to come, quivering at the sight of every dancing shadow, breathing heavily, I went into that dark, hollow building, reeking of old pipes and copper, and found the only door open with light inside.

I went in, but the flat appeared abandoned as well. There was but a ratty old sofa in the middle, a broken coffee table in front of it, no TV and no electrical apparatus of any sort, just old furniture scattered about. No curtains either, just the electric lights outside shining in with ease, and it cast a faint glimmer of yellow and orange on the absolute misery that was the flat. Even as I crossed the door, a million things cracked under my soles and I saw, to my surprise, there was just rubble everywhere, pieces of old stone crumbled down, broken glass here and there and garbage. A dusty bottle in a corner, a syringe glistening beneath an old chair, cigarette butts and empty crisp packets everywhere.

She stood under a doorway, her face absolutely frozen, the traits of her that composed me barely visible under the lack of light—and I trembled at the sight. I hated her, but there was something inhuman to that woman, something out of this world. She wasn’t normal. She was not supposed to exist. She was not something someone just made happen, something that just existed, that was just… there. She was like a glitch, a malfunction that nobody set straight, and I wondered—how long had she been there? Had she been there all my life and I hadn’t noticed? Had she been watching me from afar, waiting for the right time to reveal herself in full and take over my insecurities and failures to aggrandize them and twist them to her own liking, making me the sorrowful, miserable looser on the fringe of despair?

I didn’t know what to do for a long time. All my body felt compelled to do was cry, just curl into a ball and cry, and sobbing into my clothes, bawling like a toddler, I just said: why? I wanted to tell her I hated her, I wanted to pick up a shard from the floor and stick it into her skull, I wanted to cut her and make her bleed, to watch her wither in pain and maybe even cry too—but I just teared up and shrivelled in tears.

I don’t know how long it passed, but it seemed quite long. Throughout, she didn’t move—she just stood and watched. When I finally wiped my tears and looked into her eyes, she was smiling—that same perverse smile of someone sketched into reality solely to cause you fear and horror and make you tremble in your whole existence, just someone tailored to be your very own tormentor. I hated her still, but what I felt more vividly inside my pumping heart was utter, paralyzing fear. Fear she would take over me so completely I would eventually vanish, evaporate like sand in the wind, gone into thin air, forever; until all that was left was but a faint memory of someone who might have been there once, but wasn’t anymore—until that too would be gone. And I’d be nothing but a mistake forged somewhere in the past, by two people who had sorrowfully made sex one night to produce a child, and that child would fall into oblivion, stolen from the memory of the world forever by an alien meant to mimic my very own self.

I was so terrified she would take everything away from me that was all I’d be left with: nothingness, obscurity. Worse: me. Just me. Just my failures and my life. Just a life led through a string of mistakes I had swept under a rug to pretend they had never been there and moved on with a false sense of security, terrified of starting over. I was terrified this woman, who had stolen everything that was me, was there to laugh one last laugh and take all that I had left: my broken self.

And there she was: the projection of a failed dream. Successful in all I had never been, able to overcome every step I had climbed down, clambering her way up while I kept on falling. The ideal. The past and future without so much as a hint of the present—in the flesh, through me, in my image. Laughing in scorn.

She gave a step forward, picked up a shard from the floor, twisted it in her fingers; her smile grew, white teeth glinting silver, and something daunting fell on my shoulders as I watched in silence, quivering in dread. She looked again at me with a glare, and the corners of her lips fell abruptly as she frowned and pressed the shard between her fingers.

“Is this what you want?” She asked; with one swift gesture, she pulled up her sleeve and gripped the shard. The glinting piece of glass entered her flesh, a slick, thin line of red slithered up her arm, and it thickened as the pressed deeper and deeper—eyes locked on mine—until the blood pooled on the ground beneath her.

I flinched, gasped and held onto my arm; I felt that jabbing pain too, but it was somehow sweet, and instead of warding it away, I embraced it—though the crying returned, and this time more copious than before. And when she was done, she did it again—slicing herself until the blood squirted out and her fingers were covered in red, and not a slight sense of pain to her. All I could say was one thing: stop hurting me.

She stopped, dropped the shard on the floor and walked away. For a very long time, I couldn’t move, cast over a sense of paralyzing terror so great I was afraid of opening my eyes and find things I didn’t want to see—but glad, so glad she was gone. And I knew then—somehow, I knew—she was gone for good. Gone from my life. Gone from the world.

I looked down at my arm, pulled up my sleeve, and there was a scar there, long and thin, but marked with a lump of creasy skin.

It was morning when I went home. From that day on, she ceased to exist. No more articles about her, her name wasn’t listed in any movie, and every poster ever made with her now featured someone else. When I told people her name, they didn’t recognize it.

She was just gone, as if nobody had even noticed she’d been there at all. 

And now, being the only one who remembers her, who remembers all that horrible, gnawing pain that ate up my arm that night, or that paralyzing dread of seeing my double steal from my failures, feels like being stuck inside a cage forever.

___

Past Challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

Wordtober Day 6: Build II

Wordtober Day 7: Enchanted (Encantada)

Wordtober Day 8: Frail

Wordtober Day 9: Swing

Wordtober Day 10: Pattern

Wordtober Day 11: Snow

(Skipped Day 12)

Wodrtober Day 13: Ash

Wordtober Day 14: Overgrown

Wordtober Day 15: Legend

Wordtober Day 16: Wild

(Skipped day 17)

[rosemaidenvixen]

You are my Sunshine

Chapter 16: Fifteen Part 2

Ao3

With a hiss the last few drops of brown liquid trickled down from the machine, allowing Walter Strickler to remove the pot from the apparatus and top off his mug. The coffee here was swill, but common courtesy prevailed.

Immediately after he was done, Karl stepped up to the counter to refill his own mug “Are you sure you can’t be a moderator for the debate team this semester?”

“Quite,” Strickler replied before taking a sip.

Swill, like he expected, but it got the job done. He headed out of the teacher’s lounge with Uhl following shortly after. 

“Are you absolutely sure? Bonnie’s retirement left us short staffed, we really need more teachers involved,”

“I’m sorry Karl but I simply don’t have the free time,”

If he took on more duties as an educator, it would eat into the precious time he had for his other extracurricular activities. 

But Karl didn’t need to know that.

“Have you tried asking Lenora? I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help out,”

Uhl’s expression turned stony “Have you forgotten the last time she moderated a debate? We nearly had a full scale riot on our hands,”

Strickler caught himself before he could chuckle at the memory. Calling it a riot was a bit extreme, but it had served as a lesson in why a student debate should never be catered with only Hawaiian pizza.

He was about to say something in Lenora’s defense with he caught a commotion out of the corner of his eye. 

Turning he saw one of the freshmen, James Lake if he remembered correctly, kneeling on the floor and crying. No crying was too gentle a word, what James was experiencing was more akin to heavy, gut wrenching sobs that shook his whole body combined with tears flooding down his cheeks.

He was showing absolutely no sign of stopping or slowing down.

At first he wondered if this was an instance of bullying, certainly wouldn't be the first or last one of his career, but a second glance revealed that the students around him wore looks of shock and incredulity rather than scorn or mockery. More likely than not James was upset by something else entirely, and for whatever reason, was expressing that at the most inopportune moment.

Strickler eyed the steadily increasing crowd of adolescents.

Inopportune indeed.

He looked towards Karl, a look of mutual understanding flashed between the two of them.

“I will see to Mr. Lake, do you think you can disperse the crowd?”

The large austrian cracked his neck “Leave it to me,”

Uhl stormed into the throng of teenagers, some of whom fled immediately upon seeing him approach “Alright everyone, move along, you all have classes to be at so get going,”

Thanks to Karl’s...encouragement the crowd quickly thinned. Allowing Strickler to step in and pull James up by his shoulders, swiftly leading him down the hall away from the other students.

James had to have noticed Strickler's presence along with the fact he was upright and walking, but he showed no outward indication that he was aware of these things. Merely kept on weeping. 

After less than a minute of brisk walking they reached Strickler’s office. He opened the door and shepherded James inside. 

He let go of James’s shoulders to step back and partially close the door.

Turning back towards James, Strickler saw that while the teen was still bawling his eyes out, he had taken a seat at the piano stool.

Strickler cleared his throat in hopes of subtly grabbing James’s attention.

It was successful, James stifled his sobs to the best of his ability while wiping his eyes and looking up at him. 

“Stay here for as long as you need to. Whenever you’re ready, come down into the principal’s office,”

James kept his composure long enough to meet Strickler’s eyes and nod, then it was straight back to sobbing.

Strickler quickly and discreetly exited the room, shutting the door behind him as silently as possible. No doubt the thing James probably wanted the most in this moment was privacy. Checking that the hall was clear of looky-loos, Strickler made his way to the front office.

He was starting to become concerned, the level of anguish James showed was far greater than anything that would be caused by typical teenage drama.

Something significantly more troubling was going on in James’s life.

After briefly explaining the situation to Principal Levit, Strickler began thumbing through the student records. All teenagers had their emotional ups and downs, but an outburst this severe and public at the very least warranted a call to his parents.

Still his mind wandered. What could be upsetting enough to cause a fourteen year old boy to break down in tears in full view of his classmates?

His search was interrupted by the sound of someone bursting into the office; and the sound of the secretary screeching at them about said bursting in.

“Is Jim around? Is he ok!?”

It was another freshman; Tobias Domzalski, often seen in the company of James Lake. No doubt the two were close friends. Maybe he could shed some light on the situation.

“Mr. Lake is just fine,” Strickler cut in, surprising both Tobias and the secretary, the latter of whom looked disgruntled about having lost the opportunity to give a student an ear blistering lecture “He is currently collecting himself somewhere private, although your concern is appreciated,”

Tobias visibly relaxed upon hearing that.

“Oh, ok...that's ...good….”

Strickler seized his opening.

“Do you have any idea why James-- Jim, was so out of sorts?”

Tobias visibly hesitated, showing the look of someone who clearly knew relevant information, but was uncertain about sharing it. No doubt he didn’t want to air his friend’s secrets to a stranger, and an adult at that.

But Strickler had been doing this for years and was nothing if not good at his job. 

He relaxed his shoulders and opened his posture, projecting a manner that was reassuring without being patronizing “I know you’re worried about Jim, but if he needs help, any information you can give would be greatly appreciated, and I promise, nothing you say will leave this room,”

It was only a few seconds before Tobias relented, concern for his friend’s well being winning out over a desire to preserve his secrets “It’s just that...today’s his birthday…which was also the day his dad walked out...ten years ago,”

Well that would certainly lead to a public crying fit. Just when he thought that humans couldn’t surprise him with their pettiness anymore.

“Thank you for letting me know,” Strickler gave Tobias a smile that was affable but firm “Rest assured Jim will be fine, now you really should get back to class,”

For a moment it looked like Tobias was about to argue with him. Then he deflated, no doubt deciding that now was not the moment to argue with a teacher, before turning and exiting the office.

Filing away the information he gleaned from Tobias, Strickler went back to looking up Jim’s parents-- his mother’s contact information.

And there it was, the daytime phone number for one Doctor Barbara Lake.

He wasted no time in punching it into the office phone.

The other line rang three times before a female voice picked up “Hello?”

“Is this Dr. Lake speaking?”

“Yes?” she replied, a hint of a question behind her words.

“My name is Walter Strickler, I’m one of your son’s teachers at Arcadia Oaks High School,”

“Did something happen, is Jim ok?”

Well this one certainly didn’t beat around the bush.

“Jim is unhurt, but there was a bit of an incident,”

“A what!” 

Strickler flinched at the shrillness of her tone, perhaps he should have been more specific.

“Jim started crying in the middle of the hallway,” he elaborated “Although currently, he is in my office getting it all out of his system,”

Rather than panic further at this news, Dr. Lake let out a small sigh of relief.

The fact that hearing this caused Dr. Lake to relax rather than rile her up further gave Strickler the courage to prod.

“A friend of Jim’s, Mr. Tobais Domzalski, told me what he thinks the cause of Jim’s emotional state might be,”

There was a brief pause before she spoke again.

“What exactly do you mean?” unexpectedly, her voice had taken on a hard, defensive edge. 

Strickler winced, sensing he had ventured into dangerous territory, he would have to choose his next words carefully.

“Tobias made reference to the tenth anniversary of an event that was greatly upsetting for Jim,”

The silence between them stretched out for so long he wondered if the phones had been disconnected.

“Dr. Lake, are you still there?”

When her words came they held the promise of a coming storm “What sort of event was he talking about?”

Strickler took a deep breath, planning out the next thing he would say to her very carefully. One thing that remained constant throughout his years as a teacher, was that marital issues have been and always will be a sensitive subject “Forgive me if I’m incorrect, but my understanding of what he told me was that this day ten years ago was the day Jim’s father...left,”

The line was silent for a few seconds, then, rather than unleashing a tirade of indignation at him, he heard Dr. Lake sigh in what sounded like relief, oddly enough.

Strickler let out the breath he’d been holding, her responses were difficult to place, but he was happy enough to avoid butting heads with a parent, there was no need to dissect this woman’s motivations right at this moment.

“I….I think I know what this is about. I’ll be there in twenty minutes to pick him up,”

Strickler wasn’t sure if breaking down in tears warranted missing an entire school day, but Jim’s mother obviously knew more about the situation than he did. And he certainly wasn’t going to argue with her.

“I’ll meet you in the front office, Jim will come down and meet you as soon as he feels ready,”

“Thank you,” for the first time since she picked up the phone, Strickler thought he could detect the slightest hint of vulnerability in her tone.

And then she hung up.

Strickler set the phone down in the receiver and settled into one of the hard, plastic chairs to wait.

He’d been a teacher for longer than most humans had been alive, but certain aspects of it were just as trying now as when he first began, all those centuries ago.

[panticwritten]

Breaking Furnace Book 1: Lockdown

Chapter 1: Before The Fall

Here is chapter one.

Table of contents!

All of my writing!

I’ve had to change quite a bit of formatting to post this on tumblr because I am a fiend when it comes to using different fonts and tools and junk in my writing. If you want to read this chapter with its original formatting, you can do so here.

The only para in this chapter that I didn’t create is Damon, and he’s from the Vampire Diaries because I can’t watch a single thing without the characters leaking into my daydreams.

This is a daydream from the Escape From Furnace series by Alexander Gordon Smith. Expect not to have certain things that are introduced in the original to happen, and also expect that if you haven’t read them that it might be a little confusing. And also expect that if you haven’t read the series there will be EFF spoilers.

My friends who have read this and haven’t read Furnace don’t seem to be having much trouble, but they haven’t really gotten to the involved parts yet.

Word count: 2195

Trigger warnings for this chapter

Suicide reference (very brief)

Unreality (imaginary characters and fantasy world)

Please tell me if there is anything that you need warnings for, and I’ll be sure to add it to my list. The list is longer than the one on my tags page, but trust me I would rather you check that I’m warning for something than than run into something that you would have wanted to be warned about.

Chapter two will be released Friday, December 15th, 7pm PST.

If you like what I do here, maybe consider buying me a Ko-fi or checking out my Patreon! I love being able to put so much out for free, but this would be a great way to show support and also see cool new content!

~-S-~

Sometimes, I think I should start a support group. I can almost hear the meetings playing out:

“Hello, my name is Jesse Perry and I might actually be losing my mind.”

“Hi, Jesse.”

Of course, I’m almost hearing a lot of things lately. For example, my best friend. I can almost hear him talking, I can almost see him, feel him next to me. I glance over, sure that if I’m fast enough I’ll see him for only a moment, but no luck. I suppress a sigh, unable to think of anything to say.

“If I’m making you uncomfortable, I can go.” As usual, the words don’t make a single sound, but they're as clear to me as if they had. I shake my head, finally peering at the space where Connor Sawyer should be.

Where he would be if he were real.

I should be used to this by now, of course, having been around him and the others floating around in my gray matter. At least Connor seems to care about what I actually need, rather than what I want.

I’m so busy trying to struggle with these same old emotions that it takes me a minute to realize that he’s waiting for me to answer. I jerk up straight and shake my head again. Barely moving my lips, I silently speak to him.

“No. I just got you back. I don’t want to drive you away just because I’m nervous. Besides, I’m going to need you here to get through the night.”

“You could have stayed home. There are already enough people signed up for this.” He laughs, and my heart aches. I shake my head again, just a fraction.

“It’s good to get out of the house. I’m supposed to be working on myself, right?” I let my eyes drift back to the window, watching the countryside pass by. The sun will set soon, and the cool shadows blend with sunlight. A small smile plays around my lips. “Besides, I know Ray wouldn’t want to deal with the others’ drama. I’m the only sane one on the Prom Committee, I swear.”

He has the decency to laugh, though I can feel a lecture coming on. He’s been gone for more than two years. In the week he’s been back, I’ve caught a lot of unspoken words in his eyes. I wish he would just say it.

“I meant to come back sooner.” My eyes widen. I wasn’t expecting this so soon. The arguments always came first, then the apologies later. I keep my eyes focused on a glare of light on the window as he continues. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t think it would take you so long to find yourself.” He sighs, resting a hand on my thigh. I suppress a flinch, not willing to not feel his touch. “I should have been here for you. I should have been here when—”

“Stop.” I finally look at him, and he falls silent. When I speak again, the tone in my mind is cold. “Don’t talk to me about my overdose. You were gone. We both know that you could have come back, and we both know it was your choice not to. That’s fine, but you need to come to terms with it on your own.”

He doesn’t talk again for the rest of the bus ride.

~-S-~

“I know what to do to welcome you back now,” I announce. 

We’re waiting outside of the school for my mom to come pick us up. The basketball game was boring, as usual, but Prom Committee earned almost $90. The sun is long gone now, leaving the school and sidewalk beyond cast in dark shadows. Connor hasn’t talked much aside from gentle encouragement whenever I started panicking. He still doesn’t respond, so I turn to him.

“We could go back into Furnace. I mean,” I stumble over my words a little at the surprise he directs my way. I can almost see his face when I concentrate, and I have to struggle not to back down. “It would be good, I think. I could use some closure, you know?”

Great, now I’m a liar.

“Have you been in contact with your brother since your last run?” he asks, not quite looking at me. He pretends to keep an eye out for my mother, which is useless. If I don’t see her, neither of us will even notice her.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “He’s just as bad as he’s always been. He’s not my brother, though. That’s not me, that’s — well, not me.” I scratch my arm, following his line of sight to see an empty street.

We’ve been waiting for twenty minutes.

The silence settles. When my mom finally shows up, Connor breaks it again.

“You act like another version of you isn’t ‘you.’ You’re the one that’s going to be running around in there. Even if it’s them that Furnace took into his family, you can’t accept some of us as a part of you and not others.”

I lose my chance to answer, climbing into the car and greeting my mom. We chat animatedly, and I don’t let myself react when Connor speaks again.

“I’ll think about it. You should think about whether this is what you want, too.”

~-S-~

“Okay.”

“What?” I jump, an ugly line scratching out on my journal. Damn it. “Thanks,” I mutter, flipping my pencil around to erase the mark.

“Sorry.”

He doesn’t sound sorry at all. He also doesn’t explain anything, so I look up. If anyone notices me staring into space, they don’t say anything as I find where Connor should be. His response is prompt, though unexpected.

“I’ll go into Furnace with you. Only if you promise that you aren’t doing this to distract yourself or—”

“Connor. It’s been two weeks. If I wanted to distract myself from something, it would be over by now.” He eyes me skeptically, but nods before long. I lower my gaze back to the journal, taking some notes. Connor settles himself in the seat in front of me, sitting backwards in the desk to watch me.

“And you have to keep everything in that world stuck in there.” I look up again, almost messing up my notes—again. He plows on before I can object. “The last thing you need is the shit that world breeds breaking into the Lounge.”

“But—”

“Either you lock the door from the outside or I’m not going in.” He points at a verb conjugation on my page. “There’s supposed to be an accent there, by the way.”

“Oh, damn, thanks,” I mutter, adding the accent. “You'll be stuck there. I can't do that.” 

He shrugs. 

He just came back. The Cube is still recovering from his return four months after the fact. He’ll have the mirror of myself I send to that universe, but me?

He’ll be gone. Again.

“We’ll survive. Besides, a locked door still has cracks we can talk through.” He gives me a grin, but I keep my eyes on my Spanish teacher. There are so many ways this could go wrong either way, but…

“Okay.”

“Well, alright then. There are a few things I need to set up before we start, so wait a few days.” He stands to go, but pauses when I murmur his name.

My physical hands are still on the desk, still facing forward with glazed eyes on the teacher. My mind, however, clutches Connor’s jacket sleeve, a searching gaze fixed on him.

I open my mouth to speak, but end up closing it. I let go, turning to pay attention to our notes again. Connor stays for a moment; I can feel him watching me.

He turns away and disappears.

~-S-~

“Leave me alone.” I shake my hands out, pacing and trying my best to clear my head. I need to build a whole world, which isn’t easy with a vampire badgering me all the time. “I know what I’m doing, and you can’t change my mind.”

I manage to tune him out, my eyes softening when they land on Dipper, my cat. My baby. His deep breaths sync with the pulse and sway of the growth of a new universe. I almost have it when Damon breaks the silence again.

“Just because I can’t doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.”  He watches me from the couch, lounging like he owns the damn place. “I’ve learned that much, at least.”

I stop, looking at him. Is it worth it to tell him off? He knows I don’t like talking about my overdose, but he keeps bringing it up. Even more so now that Connor is back. He wants to blame Connor so he doesn’t have to blame himself.

“I wish you wouldn’t use that as a weapon.” The words come out sharper than I intended. “You couldn’t help me either. Stop blaming him.”

I get a sick sense of satisfaction when he winces. I expect a rush of guilt, but it never comes. Instead, I return to pacing the living room. It’ll just take a little bit longer. Then, I can get the closure I need. I’ll prove that I’m not like Cross.

I’ll find whatever is broken inside of me and put it back together.

“So that’s why you’re doing this.”

I jump, looking up.

Connor stands in the kitchen entryway, leaning against the wall. Once again, the guilt I expect stays away. His eyes drift away from me and land on Damon. The vampire glares at Connor, and I sigh. These two have never gotten along.

“Eavesdropping is a bad habit.” I turn away from both of them, reaching up to fiddle with the key hung around my neck. “I have unfinished business and—”

“If you want to fix yourself, you don't have to force yourself back there. Don’t pretend you’re not scared of the place.” He drifts closer and ghosts the back of his hand over my cheek. “You really think we don’t see it?”

I don’t say anything. There isn’t anything to say. I, turn my back on him, sit on the ground, and close my eyes. I don’t know how people can handle only living in the one mind space.

I flick my eyes open to reveal a cool corridor lined with doors. I stand, though I can still feel the carpet where I still sit at home. I glance back to see that both Connor and Damon followed me. I don’t face them, walking along the hall instead.

Each door is sleek and new, dark wood complementing the stormy walls they interrupt. Overhead, screens flash the doors’ status, all red and reading VACANT for now. I check each of them, allowing my feet to wander on their own. This area of the Cube is far from the Lounge; it isn’t safe here. These halls move often, and it’s difficult to find your way out if you aren’t careful.

My footsteps echo, as do the two sets behind me. I don’t stop until I see a dead end up ahead. I’m too far away to see what the door at the end of the hall says, but I can tell that it’s green rather than red.

Connor and Damon stop behind me. Connor’s close enough to brush his hand against my arm, but I don’t look back.

“You can still change your mind. When you open the door, no one will be able to get out until you finish it.”

“I know,” I say, my eyes fixed on the green sign, on the door. “You talked to everyone, right? They’re all coming?”

With his hand still touching mine, I can feel his affirmation. I pull away from them both, ignoring Damon calling out to me.

“You’re better than this, better than that place.”

He’s wrong. I don’t turn back, my eyes locked onto the door ahead. This should be it. 

“Please don’t do this.”

CONTAINS: FURNACE V.8

Finally, I stop in front of the door, my fingertips resting on the cold, dark wood. The door seems to vibrate, though I can’t be sure if that’s real. Connor stays at my side and his hand brushes against mine. I don’t take it, worried that I’ll change my mind.

I should not be doing this.

I glance at Connor, unsure if he heard that. He doesn’t comment, at least, so I pull my necklace over my head and fit my key into the lock. The dull iron key clashes with the door itself, and the aesthetic is pleasant.

Before I can think about what I’m doing, it’s open. Darkness churns beyond the doorway, and I can’t help but stare into the abyss. I would say that the abyss stares back, but I'm not quite edgy enough to talk about the In-Between like that.

“It’s okay.”

I look at Connor, and he offers me his hand. I look back, expecting to find Damon with another argument, but the vampire's nowhere to be seen. I let my eyes meet Connor’s before I face the doorway head-on and finally take his hand.

Together, we walk through the door. It closes behind us, and we don’t look back.

[wumbleberry-fc]

Chai, Flowering Tea, Blueberry-muffin Tea, Kombucha

Chai: Where do you want to travel next?

I would like to visit Canada, since I’m going to live within 60 miles of the border real soon, and I would also like to visit more states in the US, as I have been in 20 states now (not including only being in an airport).

Flowering Tea: What is a movie you can always watch?

I am always down to see the movie Airplane! It’s hilarious I recommend it with high regards.

Blueberry-muffin Tea: Tell me a memory that makes you smile.

This is the story of June 2nd. (WARNING: VERY LONG)

So, the last assembly of the school year is dedicated to the senior class, and it’s known as the Senior Assembly. It features speeches by a couple students, final performances by senior drillers and senior cheerleaders, a performance by ‘Man Drill’ (where some male juniors dress up and perform in a hilarious parody of what regular drill might do, meme style), performances by any senior soloists or groups of senior students who wish to play something for the class (2016 featured a lovely original jazzy performance by all the senior brass, and then some students sang ‘Fix You,’ among other things), announcements of the staff who will be leaving with the seniors, department honors,  and then there is a moving up thing where each class transitions to the next class, and the seniors go into the middle of the gym and watch a slideshow of whatever pictures the students sent in, and then the band plays the alma mater for the last time for them (also, they play at the entrance procession as well).

This year, it was combined with Gordy Games, which is a day where pretty much classes are super short, and then it’s a fun, casual day, with food trucks on campus, bouncy houses, a dodgeball tournament, video games, a movie, and yearbook distribution, where anybody can go wherever they want and nobody cares what you do, so long as it’s legal. It’s the one day where no administrator even semi-actively tries to enforce the no underclassman off-campus policy, and it’s just a super easy day to not worry about the end-of-year stress and just be kids for a day.

Well, this year, I was one of the three seniors who gave a speech. Back in late April, word was sent that they were looking for seniors interested in speaking at graduation. One student would speak at graduation, a couple would speak at the Senior Assembly, and one would speak at the Last Lesson.

Only a total of 7 of us even bothered to draft a potential speech. A week after writing the draft and presenting it to a panel of teachers (on May 1st), I found out that I was one of those chosen for the Senior Assembly (which was the one I wanted).

Flash forward a bit: Three days before the assembly, I was pulled from my last period and told to report to the principal. When I got there, she told me that a meeting should’ve happened way earlier but she was swamped. She then told me that there was no flow in my speech at all, there seemed to be no clear point, and it needed to be completely rewritten, and so I promised that I’d have a brand new speech written with a point and a flow by lunch the next day (Yep! 21 hours to rewrite from scratch a 5-minute speech).

The next day, which just so happens to be my birthday, I had my new speech printed out and ready, and I was a ball of nerves as I walked into her office at 11:30. She had me read the new speech, and she said “This is a million times better, thank you. I approve of this speech,” and I was so relieved oh my goodness.

Now onto the day of the event and the happy memories!

It was a late start Friday (8:50 instead of 7:20), but we had to be there by 6:30, which was fine. We did the run-through of things, and when us three speakers finished, we were able to go, and I joined the philharmonic orchestra in a zero period rehearsal to practice our combined pieces for the concert the week after, and then we had 12 minute classes.

The entrance was long but I loved walking in to the sounds of everyone cheering for our class with the band playing some pep tunes and it was great! There was a greeting, the drill performance, the first speaker (who was alright, not very emotionally stirring or anything. It was... speechy.), the cheerleaders, the Man Drill, and then it was my turn.

I went up to the podium, and gave this speech:

Hello. I am Alex Walter, and I have one thing to say:

I love Hazen.

Well, I have more to say than just that. I stand here before you today representing the senior class. I am not a Representative of the class, I am not the four-year three-sport varsity athlete, I am not the most popular guy in the class—I am a regular, run-of-the-mill senior student. Except for one thing.

I love Oliver M. Hazen Senior High School. After 4 years, not many of the 388 of us can say the same. While I don’t hold the belief that ‘Hazen is whack,’ I do understand where it comes from.

It began four years ago, when 368 of us sat in these bleachers for the first time as a Hazen student. At our orientation, we were oriented to Hazen, told the rules and guidelines, and given our first warning about our culminating project. Immediately after, we forgot our way around, nobody remembered to not clump around in major hallways and stairwells, and were told not to put off our culminating project. Four years later, and we still don’t know the bell schedule, where everything is in the school, how to keep walking in the hallways, and what the culminating project is.

Furthermore, thanks to No Child Left Behind, we were privileged to have the opportunity to take all these BRAND NEW Standardized Tests. Wasn’t that Smarter Balanced Assessment Consortium fun!? And how about that new version of the SAT WITH Essay?!

Miscommunication, though, is one of the biggest reasons Hazen isn’t always kept in the highest regard. I miss the days where the food services accounts emailed about a low balance $5.00 before overdrafting, instead of $5.00 after. I’m waiting for the day when the system finally marks excused absences as excused. Especially when I was in the Lecture Hall all day. And speaking of the Lecture Hall, as I pointed out there during the Constitutional Convention, it took three and a half years to find out how to check how many detention hours I had. Luckily, despite not being the best student, I didn’t have any.

Beyond all of this, though, we must keep in mind that, just like life, Hazen is more than a few things. Hazen has many layers, just like onions, ogres, and all of us. We are more than our grades and test scores. We have our special interests, hobbies, priorities, and lifestyles. Our beloved Assistant Principal Mr. ____ is more than a strict disciplinarian. He is a loving father, a fantastic dancer, and the best reader of Green Eggs and Ham that I have ever met! And Hazen is more than kids who don’t listen, government-mandated and -implemented educational standards, and faulty electronic systems.

Hazen provides amazing acceptance and diversity in both opportunities and activities. Seriously, last year we formed a club where we would literally sit around and play Super Smash Bros. Brawl for an hour and a half each week. And that is on top of D&D club and Gamer’s Guild club.

We have a Gay Straight Alliance, a Black Student Union, an Asian Student Coalition, and a Latino Student Union. We have the Yearbook, the Kilt, and Lit Mag, which all feature superb writing and artwork! We have a drama department that puts on an astounding two shows a year, or in the case of this year, eight! We have top-class, state championship-winning FBLA, Drill, Cheer, Choir, Orchestra, and Band programs! WE HAVE A MARCHING BAND!!!!! We have a school store operated by DECA that introduced me to the wonderful world of bagels. We even have athletics!, who, while they might not win all their games, they win spots in our hearts.

I personally don’t participate in all of these activities and groups, as, well, it’s hard to be an active member in seven groups who all meet at 2:15 on Thursday. But the ability to have so many choices to pick and choose from is brilliant.

It’s these choices that define our Hazen experience. For me, I chose to join the band. I joined a group that not only gets to make music, but gets to support our school and our community. I got to scream, or cheer, to my heart’s content and dance like nobody was watching at games. I got to play stand tunes and pop songs for you all. I got to grow as an individual in both musical maturity and emotional maturity. I gained an accepting environment filled with friendly people. And by marching this year, I even got the athletic component in and did some physical exercise. I got the full Hazen experience, all in one.

It’s our choices that characterize and embody Hazen as a whole, and, I have to say that I don’t want to leave. You make me proud to be a Highlander. You make Hazen a place I want to be at. You make Hazen a place I love.

I’ll miss you.

(I know at least two people who recorded my speech, but I still haven’t seen either of them so I can’t provide that for you guys, but it was beautiful!)

After that, it was a Orchestral Quartet, the final senior speaker (who’s speech was sad and deep), the senior dances, the farewells to the departing teachers, the moving up, the slideshow, and then we left for Gordy Games.

At Gordy Games, I kept receiving compliments on my speech, and I hung out with my three greatest friends. We ended up bailing the school, and went an got Thai food at a place about a mile from campus, and then walked over to a park another mile away and had a picnic and it was my first ever picnic type thing and we just sat there for over 2 hours eating and talking and hanging out and it was like the best ever, and then we walked another 2 miles back to one of our houses, and departed from there at around 5, after 4.5 hours together.

And every time I think about that day, my face just brightens up completely, because it was the four of us, together, completely happy on a stress-free afternoon being best friends and I love them all and that is one of the happiest days of my life!

TL;DR: A speech that I had to rewrite last-minute for a school-wide assembly went brilliantly well and afterwards I hung out with my 3 favorite people (that I’ve met physically) and had an even better time, for one of the best days in my life.

Kombucha: What do you order on pizza?

Either an all meat pizza, an all meat stuffed pizza, a cheese pizza, a sausage and green pepper pizza, or what I just found to be good, a chicken bacon ranch pizza.

-----

Thanks for the asks!!!

[justemotionalabusethings]

What is your abuse story? You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. I know it's a sensitive topic for people.

This is gonna be a huge post (I’ll break up the paragraphs so that it’s less overwhelming to look at/read) so it’s under the cut

Okay before my parents even come into the story, there is a brief cocsa story. When I was in kindergarten, there was this boy on my bus in third grade, we’ll call him B. B was one of those “cool kids” (maybe because he was older?) but also he was one of those kids who was loud and annoying. well he started to try to befriend me and he was a bad influence. we used to sit on the bus seats with out backs where our butts would be and vice versa so our legs were sticking up past the seat. we used to crouch in the foot space where your feet or backpack should go. 

we switched seats (that wasn’t allowed). well this kid B also told me a bunch of things, like that I was “hot” and “sexy”. naturally, as a six year old, i didn’t know what the hell that meant but i figured it was good. then one day, he asked if he could touch me down there and i’m pretty sure i was hesitant at first, but then i let him. i still remember what it felt like. im not sure how long passed, or if any time passed, but he asked me again, and i said no. now, this happened toward the end of the school year and in the school i was in third grade was the oldest so he was “graduating” soon. he used this as a means to convince me, saying “i’m only gonna be here for another few days! pleasssseeee” and eventually i gave in, but i didn’t like it. 

So um I would pinpoint the Beginning of it all with my parents as around the time my brother was born when I was 7 years old. I can remember feeling less important and annoying whenever I would try to help my parents with my brother. Usually, they’d just dismiss me and brush me off. For example, my mom would call my brother cute little nicknames like “oodley boodley” and “bugaboo” and stuff like that, so I caught on and started calling him “oodley boodley”. 

I said it All The Time and I guess it got annoying because they’d tell me to stop (and they still talk about how annoying I would say it and how often it was). That hurt my feelings I guess because I was just trying to be a part of this new “brother” thing (but I see what they meant). But generally things were fine, just different. A couple years later in fourth grade I switched schools because my elementary school went up to third grade and my parents thought I’d learn better in a smaller classroom environment. 

That was hard but not because of my parents. I do remember being worried about my grades and what my parents would think. I also think fourth grade was the year I started to feel unusually anxious. I remember that year I also had some drama happen where I wrote on one of the desks “4A (my class) rocks not 4B (the other class)” and there was this whole drama of who did it. I never got in trouble for it though! By fifth grade I had started to procrastinate my work and I can remember being yelled at for it. 

One time, I forgot my textbook to do some kind of homework or studying that was due the next day. They got so mad at me and lectured/ranted about it for a Long Time. This sort of thing happened a lot because I’d procrastinate projects or studying and they’d get Mad about it. The majority of the abuse (if that’s what this is) was ranting/lecturing for at least an hour where mainly my dad (sometimes my mom would join in) would rant about how “mind-boggling” or “insane” it was that I just didn’t learn from my mistakes or whatever. 

I’d usually cry whenever I’d try to stand up for myself or even just talk to them. The night (because this sort of thing usually happened at night) would end with me in my room crying or just sitting on my bed thinking about what happened. It also became a “joke” that at 10 pm each night I’d come downstairs to talk. So when I came down to talk about something serious my dad would always go “Oh, what time is it? Oh, it’s 10 pm, here’s Meg right on time!” and that would make me feel bad. A lot of the time I would come downstairs during my parents’ designated “TV Time” and I wasn’t allowed to interrupt that. 

If I did, it was annoying and a bother and I was treated like a laundry list. Like, “okay, what else do you want? What else?” and so on. So my concerns weren’t really taken as real or important. This got worse and worse as middle school went on, and I can remember during seventh and maybe eighth grade not wanting to go home. I would cry very often and we’d fight very often too. The times when I’d yell back only escalated the situation and made my dad yell more and tell me that he could feel his blood pressure rising. He’d say that one day he’d die of a heart attack because of me. 

My mom would usually try to mediate or calm my dad down, but she got upset at me for making him get upset. I remember one time in eighth grade, this girl at my school looked out her window and saw a man peering in and she didn’t come to school for a few days. That made me scared to open my window or sleep, and when I told my parents this, they only said “there’s no one out there, you’ll be fine” and made me go back upstairs to sleep. Also during middle school, I started showing a talent for golf, and my parents tried to make me play so I could improve and become a better golfer. 

Golf made me anxious though, and whenever I tried to tell my dad that he said it’s insane to think that someone with a talent would dislike whatever it was they were talented at. He cited examples from his childhood where he was talented at drums and would play as often as possible. I felt like I was a bad person for wasting my talent. I also didn’t have any word to describe how I felt (it was anxiety) so that was even more alienating. 

I did my first competitive tournament and cried the whole time and texted my mom begging her to take me home. She didn’t let me because my golf coach told her that’s what a lot of kids did. I don’t think that was the right choice though. Also throughout middle school I found myself trying to be my teachers’ favorite (not to the extreme of teachers’ pet but more like secretly hoping) for some reason. I think I know why now, but I’m not sure. I think it’s because I wanted some kind of normal adult attachment figure (?) but I’m not sure. 

By high school I was a full-on perfectionist and my grades freshman year reflected that. I got straight A’s. My parents were so proud because I also made High Honors’ Dean’s List. I can imagine that we probably fought a lot that year too, but I don’t have any memories of that. Sophomore year was one of the worst years of my high school years because I started to get depressed. My classes were Much Harder than freshman years’, and I started to do badly in some classes. 

I think I did do well overall, but it was the first time I’d ever not cared when I failed a test. I did worry about what my parents would say though, so I hid the test(s) from them. Sophomore year I also tried to quit the swim team because, again, I had this awful feeling (anxiety, but I didn’t know it then) every time I stepped into the pool room. I told my parents this, and they told my coaches and friends, who convinced me to join again. We fought this year too (lectures/rants, etc.) but I don’t have many explicit memories of that. I also started to be late for school every day, and my second period health class teacher asked my parents during parent-teacher conferences if there was something going on at home. 

My parents were upset at me for making him think that because I was just lazy and needed to get out of bed in the mornings. I started therapy this year too because my parents were worried. I was NOT a fan at all. I resisted so hard and I’m pretty sure my therapist thought that there was something going on at home. She said (and still says) that I was like an extension of my parents, like another limb or something, when she first met me. I would always say “I don’t know” to everything and would tear up in session a lot (even though I thought she couldn’t see that, she did). 

Junior year and the end of sophomore year were really hard because we started to look at colleges and my parents started to get all nervous that we were behind in the college process. I had multiple people telling them otherwise, but they still were very on edge about college. We had to plan the financial stuff, write my college essay, apply for colleges, choose which colleges to apply to, and fine tune all the applications. It was a long process and it caused a lot of fights when I didn’t do it how they wanted me to. 

Again, I procrastinated this stuff, because it made me anxious, and this caused more fighting. I can remember one summer (I think it was the summer before my junior year) we talked about what colleges to apply to and the financials and stuff and since I’m studying psychology I’m gonna have to go to grad school so my parents were talking about the cost of college and grad school and all the debt I’d be in and it really overwhelmed me. I started to go to my room and my dad said something like “So you’re just gonna run away to your room now? Okay.” and my mom eventually let me. 

Also junior year was the year that my advisor/college guidance counselor/swim coach noticed that I was different from previous years and he kept asking if I was okay. My parents didn’t want me to tell him or my other swim coach about my therapy or anxiety (I didn’t think I had depression at this point). By the end of junior year I had my first draft of my college essay written, and it was a letter to my parents talking about my anxiety and trying to make them see things how I saw them. 

Eventually, I changed my essay senior year after I re-read it and had a huge “yikes” moment. Senior year was rough because my “friends” started to be even more bitchy towards me (I won’t get into that but long story short they were NOT my friends and they contributed negatively to my mental health). I finally quit the swim team senior year (my parents were disappointed because they enjoyed watching me swim and going to meets, and they wanted to see what my coaches would say about me at the end of the year during the “honoring the seniors” part of the last home meet). 

By junior and senior year, my parents and I’s fighting got less bad because of therapy, but we had our bad moments. This time, it wasn’t huge blowup fights with crying and yelling, it was passive aggressive comments that would make me feel like shit. By the spring of senior year everything was happy and much better because I was graduating and I saw my idol in NYC in a play. I actually invited my mom to see it with me and she said no because she had no interest and thought I just wanted her to pay for my ticket. 

That made me feel awful. And, she also made me feel like shit for spending the money and going to the play after that. I had a project due soon after and she told me that my project looked “half-assed” because I went to the play. Then freshman year of college things were okay. They were Much Better because I was away from home, but a few things happened during the year. I got a tattoo (a semicolon on my left wrist) and I told my parents and they were upset and my mom said she was embarrassed. 

She didn’t want my brother to know because then he’d tell his friends and people would know. I eventually told him and they changed their minds about telling him so it was better, but that still hurt. I also went to NYC with some friends they didn’t like for spring break instead of to the beach (and it was freezing cold during spring break) with my college friends. They flipped out and told me how disappointed they were and that “how could I not see I was making the wrong decision??”. 

So overall, things have gotten better but I don’t think this is very normal. Thanks if you’ve read the whole thing, I know that was long as hell. I also still don’t know if this is considered abusive, but this is my story no matter what. 

[lazylacadaemon]

(1) hi! this is a similar question to the other anon asking advice, but with a different twist. i'd like to ask specficially if you have any advice for uni students planning to major in classics/classical studies? how was your experience with it? did you end up focusing more on the history/archaeology side of things or the ancient languages? is it possible to do both? also, on a somewhat related note, how do you find doing your masters in classics in canada? i'm briefly (cont..)

(2) considering it (i’m on the west coast), but job prospects look…. a little dismal. is that just me, or is that a legitimate concern? would you happen to know what kind of options are out there in academia now for people who’d like to pursue more than an undergrad in the humanities? sorry that this ask is a little out of control with the questions. feel free to filter out your answers; i don’t want to bother you too much or take up too much of your time!

Hey thanks for dropping by to ask, I’l do my best to account for as many things as I can. This could get long haha. A lot of this is from my (limited) personal experience and the experience of people I know, so don’t take it as the be all end all answer.

1. Classics in general

I adore the discipline, I adore my profs, and while I complain a lot about dead languages I really don’t have any regrets doing it. I think the experience will vary from school to school and country to country, but I just want to get my overarching fondness for the ancient world out of the way.

In my undergrad I focused mostly on art history and archaeology (though my minor is in linguistics) because I’m a very visual person, I’m a self-taught artist, and it was interesting to me. My supervisor (who sort of adopted me because I took so many of her classes) is the one who really loves getting down in the dirt and she’s always trying to get me to get out there too but I’ve never been on a dig and I honestly don’t know how useful I’d be on one. xD In grad school now I’m in a program called Ancient Societies and Cultures which is an interdisciplinary program- there are people like me who are Classics majors that want to bridge that gap between literature/language and archaeology and history, but there are also people who major in things like math/engineering who want an older perspective on things too. As far as I know, my university is the only one with such a MA program in classics. 

But yeah it’s certainly possible to do both in undergrad- I took a lot of myth courses, a lot of history courses, and a few courses I wouldn’t have thought to take due to limited options in certain years (but tbh I nearly died in 500 level Roman Monarchy because I know pretty much nothing about Late Imperial Roman History, just the art lol). I of course took a lot of Greek and Latin- I was going through a bit of a crisis in my first couple years trying to decide between East Asian Studies and Classics, and taking Intermediate Japanese at the same time as Intro Ancient Greek was… interesting. I didn’t take Latin until my MA- I don’t think it was a Super important requirement for what I was doing, but I’m very glad I did it anyway. Also… a shameful admittance… I have my BA in Classics, I am maybe 2 months tops from getting my MA… and I have never read the Iliad- the closest equivalent to a bible there is- all the way through. In English. (I’ve read the Odyssey twice to make up for it though)

2. Classics in Canada

The first most important distinction in Classical studies: in North America, Classics is usually put together with the history department. In Europe, Classics is still fundamentally linked to its origins in philology. Classical archaeology in particular is actually a really niche discipline, at least in North America- the anthropologists don’t want it because we have “too much literature”, the historians don’t want it because we have “too much dirt”, and the art historians sometimes begrudgingly take us in even though they aren’t super fond of dirt either. I had a colleague who referred to a complete and utter lack of good programs in classical archaeology at “the university that shall not be named” in Toronto (whatever it was, it did leave quite a sour impression on him).

Secondly, Canadian students relative to American and European students entering classics are at a particular disadvantage if they want to dive right into languages: in the States, there seems to be a Latin revival in secondary school- maybe even in primary school- so you can legitimately have people with 4 years of Latin straight out of high school under their belts. In Canada, the last private school that offered Latin at the secondary level dropped the program. It’s not a big problem if you are doing an undergrad and are super interested in doing languages (although they’ve cut the Classical Languages Major here because only like 2 people did it… pretty ridic still and a lot of my profs are Very Angry), but say you are me who took Greek in undergrad on a whim but no Latin, and then looking at grad schools like UBC who seem to cater to American/International students by requiring a minimum of six years of Latin or Greek and four in the other- friggin impossible when you only have been doing Greek and no Latin for half your undergrad. However, if you love Latin there are (or at least… there were, idk what’s up with this political mess) a lot of prospects in the US for teaching Latin and it’s an easy straight shot from uni into the field (easy if you don’t mind living in the States).

Finally, specifically, I don’t know much about Classics outside my university. I’m a student at the U of A and, being the filthy rich Albertans we are, we tend to have a lot of advantages that other universities might not. We have a tidy little collection of artefacts in our museum from Greece, Italy, Egypt and the Near East, the UK, and so forth. We have regular exchange programs in Italy for students interested in poli sci, history, art history, or classics, and we have regular digs in both Italy and Greece. We also have pretty decent entrance requirements and great profs- still pretty limited to Greece and Rome, but I think we recently got someone who is an expert in Sanskrit for instance, which is great. I don’t know much about other universities- I’ve heard gossip that U of T has some interesting department drama, and I had a former classmate who really really really loved a particular school on the east coast (the name is escaping me right now but it was clear she would have much rather been there- I want to say it’s in New Brunswick). 

3. Job Prospects

ok let me get one thing very clear: i’m really

really

rEALLy tired of people who have only taken high school repeatedly telling me that the Only Thing you can get with a History/Classics Degree is being a professor (or a teacher). The professor life is a very viable option and a lot of profs will either nudge you toward it or away from it- my dad is a prof (not in humanities) and is really pressuring me to do a phd because ‘its the best job in the world’ etc etc but I’m not sure if it’s what I wanna do, at least not yet. I really don’t like the idea of moving around where the jobs are, and a lot of it does depend heavily on travelling around to lectures and talking to people and hoping you make a good connection. It is dismal, as my profs will be the first to admit, but Classics is definitely still hiring new profs- my uni just got a new mediterranean archaeologist I believe after holding auditions for a couple months. 

This is a worry that comes up so often in classes and there isn’t a straight answer for it- the terrifying and also liberating answer is that life is messy. It’s not terribly likely you’ll get a job in your field- but that applies to classicists and historians just as it does to engineers and microbiologists. The degree, the specialty, isn’t that important. Getting it done, doing something is more important. 

I’m not the best person to ask about what happens after university because I’m right on the brink of moving to Toronto to do another MA in Museum Studies/Information Studies - I’ve been in school from Kindergarten with no breaks and I’m going to be in University for exactly 10 years- not too keen on spending another 7 doing a phd. I’ve been in a very lucky position and my parents have been very supportive of me, I can’t thank them enough. They’ve been saving since I was born to send me to university, and my dad was very supportive of my arts degree because I get to do a lot of the things he didn’t have the option to do when he was going to school and I get to provide his discipline with a new perspective and vice versa every time we talk. I have a great support network of family and friends who have made this possible for me and I’m forever in their debt.

Knowing ancient greek isn’t going to get me a job, but knowing how to talk about ancient greek to people who are curious, knowing how to communicate in writing, how to communicate orally, how to make my subject less impenetrable and elitist for other people are all skills that are invaluable to me. Who knows, maybe some employer will look at a resume like /you know greek AND latin? you must be a crazy hard worker and disciplined to pick up dead languages/. If you get wrapped up in the “what am I going to do with this”, you’re not really focusing on the right things? Sometimes it won’t be obvious until you’re looking back on it, or until someone else is looking at it. I’ll pull up the typical ‘JK Rowling was a classics major’ of course, and I’ll point out that there are so many many many more jobs out there than there are fields that account for them. If that piece of paper gets you a job you enjoy, regardless of whether you use 100% of your skills and knowledge every day, then enjoying the road to getting that piece of paper is worth it imho. 

Think beyond teaching, think about archaeology, museums, archives, local history, information, movies and documentaries, writing fiction or non-fiction… and there are possibilities out there that haven’t occurred to me only because I’m still in school. You can’t predict what jobs are going to look like in the future and hell, job prospects for snake people are dismal enough as it is. I live in a province that’s absolutely flooded with engineers for example, and a lot of them face difficulties because of the rollercoaster economy here regardless of how ‘useful’ the degree is considered relatively. Might as well do something you enjoy, something that is applicable to multiple disciplines (Classics is like history, language arts, art history, etc all rolled into one and they all teach basics of communication, critical thinking, etc. that are indispensable for any society). Also, Classics remains desperately isolated from other disciplines in part because people have been avoiding it- there’s a lot that could be done uniting it with other disciplines like cultural studies or computers - especially because so many profs make new websites that look straight out of the 90s. -cries-

I know this wasn’t part of your question but also consider it from a social angle- Classics is considered to be a dying discipline in part because it is considered “useless” and partly as it has been historically perceived- correctly- as “elitist”. However, you’ll notice that classics is becoming more and more relevant, particularly with the rise of extreme right, white/euro supremacist groups appropriating the imagery of “western civilization”. The discipline desperately needs fresh ideas, new perspectives, and challenges to the status quo to keep idiots like this from misusing the ancient world for their own racist, sexist agendas. My thesis is getting increasingly relevant to this as I continue writing it, and though it will ultimately reach a small audience the knowledge that I’ve researched myself and have had peer reviewed will become invaluable to me in dispelling misconceptions and outright lies about ‘western’ civilization. Please consider it from that angle as well. 

[itssydanxietyblog-blog]

Day 6- Thursday, July 6th

Decent Morning. Every morning my alarm is set for around 7:30. But I constantly wake up around 6 to pee... It’s the worst. Well today I woke up with a solid amount of anxiety still there. I took a GABA pill and tried to go back to sleep. I dozed off a couple of times but by 7:00 I was more panicky than the usual morning so I just decided to get ready. I took a cold shower because it’s the only time I’ll actually be freezing while I’m here. After that, I started to get ready. My roommate left which meant that I could call my dad. We chatted about the drama that was going on at home and then I was off to breakfast. 

Breakfast buddies? So when I walked into breakfast I saw one of the girls from my photo class. I asked her and her friends if I could sit with them once I got my breakfast. She seemed a little weirded out, but at least it was someone to sit with. I chatted with them and then I bolted out as fast as I could. Then I called my dad, YET AGAIN. It was good, we chatted a little and then he asked my what I missed and I teared up a little bit. Just because I miss home a little more than expected. 

Professor Unprofessional. The morning “session” of class was just a lecture which was fine because it’s interesting to see the difference on how he teaches versus Miss Lynn (my HS teacher). We ended up finishing our lectures early so we got an hour and a half for lunch. I hung out with the only two boys in my class for lunch. It was nice, even though I talked the whole time. Then we just went right back to class. Didn’t call my dad at lunch for the first time! I wasn’t panicked during lunch at all! I even had ice cream AT 11:30! Which is technically 10:30 at home. When we came back, our teacher told us that he wasn’t going to be here for the afternoon “session”. Sooooo he has said that “photography is dead” and now he leaves early everyday?? But I mean who needs to be a professional teacher right! 

Searching For My Talent. Our next task was to do a scavenger hunt that looked for the basic elements of good composition. Let me tell you.. I HATE shooting on this campus. I have never been so uninspired. Then all my pictures came out slightly out of focus but whatever :/ Not for credit so I’m just being basic. We were allotted shooting time for an hour and 45 minutes. After around and hour and 15 minutes, I was just done. It was like 82 degrees and I already had like 400 pictures. I went back to class and then we started to edit some of them and mine were just not good. Maybe they were okay, I just didn’t like them.

I’ve been exposed. After class, I headed straight to my Life Science building. I was working on my blog and then BOOM. 8 girls walk in... They were Summer College Students.... And one of them was from my photo class. I didn’t make any eye contact and then after a little bit, I went upstairs so that I could just have my space. I was worried (not panicked), just worried that they would keep coming back to my building and I won’t have my space. Maybe I’m just tweaking. If the girl from my class asks me about it tomorrow, I’m just going to straight up tell her and maybe imply that they shouldn’t come back.

Dinner and a Bad Show. After a while I started to get a little bit hungry so I went to get dinner. While I was there I made three guy “friends” I don’t really know but they made me laugh so it was all good. Then I made two girl friends and we chatted about literally the most random things but it was fun. Till my roommate showed up. She appeared out of nowhere and then just stayed. It was a little awkward because she wouldn’t talk but then when she would, it was even worse than when she was quiet. She needed me to go to CVS with her so we did, but I really wish I hadn’t. She’s just so childish and it’s annoying. Some of the stuff that she says it just weird. Like Paige (my 13 year old sister) is smarter than her not to say some of that stuff. She kept complaining about how much work she had to do when we got back to the room (remember this, it’s important). I have to constantly tell her not to eat TONS of ice cream like she wants because she’ll feel sick. Then she eats candy and got more sick and then complains to me about it. Like “Oh I’m sorry, I’m not your mom I shouldn’t have to take care of her.

Night of Annoyance. There was a little event going on in the main lounge of our floor and it was a little mood/vision board kind of thing. I saw the RA that would always check up on me and we chatted. The crafting was a good idea to keep me occupied for most of the night. Well I was having a niceish time there chatting with some of the other girls and my roommate was just sitting there, not saying anything. Once I finished she asked me if I wanted to go back to the room and I said that I was going to hang out there for a while and she got like offended. She asked when I was going to come back and I was like “I don’t know maybe like 20 minutes” and she was like “Okay so it’s not forever right??” Like okay idiot, obviously not because we live in the same freaking room. But I was like “Yeah I’ll be in soon.” Then as she was walking out she just kept looking and standing outside the wall of windows and just being weird. I’m leaving some of the weird stuff out but she’s just giving me an odd vibe. I might try and transfer rooms for the rest of the program. I need my alone time... TOMORROW IS HALFWAY!!! Woohoo!

I’m not your mom! So once I finished the portion above ^, there was a knock on our door. I was like what the hell is going on right now. So I got up and there was an RA outside of our door. She was like “Is Charlotte there?” and I was like “Yeah, but she’s asleep.” Then the RA informed me that she never checked in for curfew..... This wouldn’t be that big of a deal except for the fact that I tell her EVERYDAY that I’m going and she’s welcome to come. She always says “No I’ll go later. You don’t have to remind me... I know that I have to.” BUT NOW SHE FORGETS THE ONE DAY THAT I TOLD HER. Then she was mad that I woke her up and didn’t remind her. I have decided that if she tries some shit, I’m just gonna throw hands.