#if you never hear from me again it's because i drowned in new essay ideas that can only come to fruition if i do a phd (not in my plans)

[ancientrimer]

i can't believe this keeps happening to me. i figure out a theory i think i might want to apply in my thesis, go look at the text that has the theory, and find that that text already mentions jane eyre

[tootiredmotel]

Electricity

Inspired by @ledzeppelinmixtape 's emoji prompt: ⛈

Read on ao3 or below / 2.3k words

It's 11pm and storming biblically when Dean and Cas's apartment goes dark.

"Great," Dean mutters under his breath. "Fan-freaking-tastic."

From somewhere else in the apartment, his roommate asks "did the power go out?"

"What do you think, sunshine?" Dean replies sarcastically.

He has a half-written essay in front of him, but he knows his old-ass computer won't last long unplugged, so he saves the document before shutting it off. He leans back in his chair, stretching for the first time in an hour and running a hand down his face. He actually needed a break from the screen, he realizes, feeling his eyes relax as he rubs them.

The steady rain and strong winds outside make an overwhelming white noise track, interrupted only by thunder that goes from faint and distant to deafening in volume. If Dean wasn't stressed out of his mind and completely exhausted right now, he might actually find this kind of nice.

"It's raining cats and mice out there," he hears Cas say, his voice now in the room.

Dean smiles, still rubbing his eyes with the backs of both his hands. "Cats and dogs, Cas."

"Right. Cats and dogs."

It’s really no use correcting him; the entire animal kingdom could be falling from the sky right now and there wouldn't be much of a difference. The winds are definitely knocking things over, and the streets will certainly be flooded come morning. Dean wonders for how long the university will cancel classes after this (if at all, the heartless bloodsuckers).

A particularly loud clap of thunder startles Dean. He drops his hands from his face and opens his eyes, expecting to see pitch black nothingness, but the room is faintly lit by the flashlight Cas is holding as he rummages through their kitchen drawers. He approaches a minute later and sets a candle down on the small table.

"Smart."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, sitting down opposite him. Dean smiles again, this time shaking his head.

If anyone ever asked him to mention one thing he likes about Cas, just one, he'd probably say how genuine Cas is, how he takes everything to heart and speaks from it as well. Dean said just one word, smart, a simple comment on the fact that it occurred to Cas to light a candle instead of wasting the battery of their one flashlight, and Cas genuinely thanked him for the compliment. He's just ridiculously cute in his earnestness.

Cas is trying to light the candle now, but their lighter is tricky. Despite living together in that apartment for a year and a half now Cas has never really gotten the hang of it.

"Here, let me."

Dean means to take the lighter from Cas and do it himself, he really does. That is 100% his intention as he reaches across the table. Except he sees an opportunity, and Dean Michael Winchester is nothing if not smooth.

He wraps his hand around Cas's, gently guiding his fingers until they’re placed just right, and the lighter clicks on with ease. Cas meets his eyes, smiling, and Dean can feel the slightest brush of Cas’s thumb against his hand. It’s a small gesture, but clearly deliberate, and it sends Dean’s heart into overdrive. Cas leans away, puts the lighter aside, and starts leafing through a book he brought. Dean’s heart is still racing as he watches him.

Scratch that first thing. If anyone ever asked him what’s one thing he likes about Cas? His hands. God. Neat nails, slightly calloused palms, and overall larger hands than you’d expect. Cas is an environmental science major and he wants to get a Ph.D. in botany, so of course, there’s a small garden on their fire escape. He tends to those plants every day with more gentleness and care than Dean has ever seen, and Dean loves to watch him, even though he has no idea what Cas is doing with them half the time. He just knows that not a single one of their plants have died under Cas’s care. He names them too.

His attentiveness. That’s another thing Dean might say if anyone ever asked. Cas left to visit his sister Anna last winter break. He left Dean in charge of the plants, three of which died inside the week. (For Dean’s birthday a couple of months later, Cas got him a book. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean keeps it on his nightstand.) Dean went out and bought new ones, but he knew Cas would notice the difference, and he did. He wasn’t mad at Dean though, and he appreciated the effort, and as Dean apologized profusely over and over again, Cas looked at him in the eyes oh-so-softly and told him he was forgiven.

How could Dean possibly forget? If anyone ever asked, he’d say that Cas’s eyes are one of his favorite things about him. One of his favorite things, period. Dean is absolutely mesmerized whenever Cas looks him in the eye, and the guy loves making eye contact, which means that Dean lives in a perpetual smitten daze. He has never seen that shade of blue anywhere else on this earth. Or maybe he just hasn’t been looking, content to get his fill of that blue by staring into Cas’s eyes as much as he gets to on a daily basis.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

Dean blinks himself back to reality. “Hm?”

“You seem… spaced.”

Dean is staring. He’s been staring this whole time. Shit. Crap.

“Yeah, um. Just tired.”

Mr. Smooth, everybody.

“Maybe you should go get some rest. I doubt the power will be back anytime soon.”

Castiel Milton, always looking out for you. It makes Dean melt.

“Yeah, maybe.” I wanna stay here with you, though, he thinks. Instead, because he’s pathetic, he asks “what’re you reading?”

Cas shows him the cover. How Not to Kill Your Houseplant. Dean breaks out in laughter.

“So you’re going into my room and stealing my shit now?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t touch your Vonneguts.” Cas puts the book aside, an easy smile on his face. “Just wanted something light to pass the time.”

“You done with your homework?”

A soft yawn escapes Cas. “For now.”

“Dude, why not just go to sleep? You look exhausted.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean tries to deadpan him. He fails, because around Cas, it’s near impossible for him to not smile.

“Besides, I might be done but you weren’t.”

“And you wanted to keep me company.”

Cas shrugs as if to say I guess, but he does it with a knowing smile. The smile doesn’t falter as he meets Dean’s eyes, and he doesn’t look away when silence settles between them, the only sound being the stormy white noise.

Dean is sure he could drown in that blue and die happy.

Before that train of thought gets away from him again, Dean tears his gaze away and stretches. “We should really go to bed though, I’m not getting any more done tonight,” he says as he stands.

“Of course,” Cas says, but he grabs the book again.

“You not going?”

“I want to finish this chapter.”

The seriousness in his tone makes Dean smile. Again.

“Well, g’night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Dean thinks he detects a bit of shakiness in Cas’s voice but decides that he’s probably just tired.

He gets to his room and changes into something comfortable, the first t-shirt and sweatpants he finds as he rummages in the dark. He goes to set his phone on his nightstand and crawl into bed, but in place of the book he keeps there and puts his phone on top of– the book Cas has at the moment– he finds something else.

It’s paper. It’s folded into the form of a book, like one of those youtube craft tutorials with bad music, and it's no bigger than his own palm. The cover is handwritten, and Dean immediately recognizes it as Cas's. He smiles, expecting a prank or joke of some sort, Cas knows how stressed Dean can get with the start of the semester. However, his smile falters as he reads the cover:

How to tell your best friend you’re in love with him.

With a shaky hand, Dean opens the small book. The first page is the only one with any more writing on it, and it reads:

You leave him a note and hope it’s enough.

Dean is storming out of his bedroom (no pun intended) before he knows it. He barely even feels his feet moving, too focused on the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his mouth. He doesn’t go into the living room, not yet; his feet stop at the end of the short hallway and he braces himself against the wall. The room is spinning and he can barely breathe.

“Cas?” He chokes out.

Cas puts the book back down on the table in front of him and interlocks his fingers in front of him. He doesn’t look at Dean– Cas, who makes too much eye contact – and takes a deep breath before saying “yes?”

He’s nervous.

Dean takes a step forward, still keeping one hand on the wall just in case, and holds up the note. “What is this?” he asks, because his brain is just not there with him yet.

Cas stands, still not facing Dean. “Dean, do you know what day it is?”

He’s asking this now???

“September firs–”

Oh. Oh shit.

“Cas isn’t today the–”

“The night we met. Two years ago.”

Dean feels his brain catching up now as the memory starts coming back to him. Cas helps, starting to recount that night.

“Two years ago tonight, I was leaving my night course at the university, and it was raining. Not as bad as this,” –Cas looks out the window and lightning strikes, as if on cue– “but pretty badly, and I was an inexperienced freshman without an umbrella.”

Dean remembers. He was walking Charlie to her dorm when it started drizzling, and it was pouring by the time he made it back to his car. Dean had a night shift at the gas station and was about to head there.

“Two years ago tonight,” Cas continues, “you invited me into your car to shelter me from the rain.”

Dean saw this guy running in the direction of the men’s dorms, which were on the other side of campus. He felt bad, and he had a car, so he opened the passenger door and let him in.

Turned out to be the most gorgeous guy he’d ever laid eyes on. He was a bit awkward, but he had no filter, which made him weirdly funny. He asked about the music playing in the car and listened intently to Dean's rambling. He laughed at his jokes too.

At the end of the five-minute drive, he said his name was Castiel, and Dean asked for his number and saved it as Cas with a thunderstorm emoji. Because even if he didn’t know it yet, Dean was already whipped.

“Two years ago,” Cas says, finally looking up at Dean. His eyes are wide and vulnerable and he looks terrified and Dean can barely stand it. “Two years ago tonight, I started to fall in love with you.”

Dean can’t breathe. His ears are hot and he can’t stop fidgeting with the note in his hand and he can’t breathe.

But his feet start moving again, out of their own volition. They move toward Cas.

“If you don’t feel–” Cas starts, but Dean swallows his words.

Again, Dean’s brain isn’t all there yet, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he’s already in it. He’s grabbing Cas’s face, digging his fingertips into the back of his hair, and the note is forgotten on the table, and thunder rumbles not that far away. He’s darting out his tongue, begging to explore Cas’s mouth as he’s wanted to do since forever, and Cas lets him. He tastes like toothpaste and coffee and honey and Dean never wants to taste anyone else ever again.

Cas is wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pressing his entire body against him. It’s making Dean weak in the knees but it’s okay because Cas is almost holding him upright at this point. There’s another clap of thunder, much closer this time, and the lightning probably illuminated the apartment, but it wasn’t enough to make them part. They’re moving and grasping and exploring frantically, and Dean is afraid Cas is going to disappear, or that he’s going to wake up and this will all have been another dream. But no, it’s real, and they’re playing catchup on two years worth of desire and longing and love.

They eventually pull away, breathless and giddy. The only sounds are the rain and the wind. Dean opens his eyes first, needing to see Cas and make sure this is completely, definitely, unequivocally real. Cas is smiling and taking deep breaths, and a weight seems to be lifted off his shoulders. He opens his eyes a second later, and even in the darkness, even with just the faint candlelight, the blue in them seems to shine. And even though there's no power, it feels as if there's electricity crackling in the air around them. It might be the storm.

No. It's the moment. This moment with Cas is what feels electric.

“Come to bed?” Dean asks, feeling brave and going out on a limb. The only way Cas responds is by interlocking his hand into Dean’s and kissing him again.

And after tonight, for the rest of his life, if anyone ever asks him “what’s one thing you love about Cas?” Dean won’t be able to narrow down an answer.

He’ll just say: “Everything.”

[kawaragi]

# keisuke baji. durmstrang!keisuke au / harry potter au. fem!reader. takes place during a triwizard tournament event. keisuke is a year 5 student.

# okay i know i mentioned gryffindor!keisuke once but like now . lets consider durmstrang!keisuke <3

“did you hear? keisuke baji’s got a crush on you.”

“i heard that too - lucky you.”

who the hell is keisuke baji, anyway? you have never heard of this name during your years at hogwarts, sure as hell not a new student either. “who?”

“keisuke baji? durmstrang? you’ve seen him when they came to the great hall,” your friend said, though they weren’t looking at you as they were particularly busy writing on their already halfway-done essay.

“i don’t recall - oh, the guy with the uhh…” you make an attempt to remember what this keisuke baji looked like. you remember your friends singling out the one attractive boy in durmstrang’s group of boys that they had sent over to hogwarts. “he had a low ponytail right? because of the little hats that they wore.”

“yeah, that’s right,” your other friend said, except they had completely abandoned their schoolwork to talk about this seemingly attractive boy. you’d be a liar if you said that one particular boy isn’t handsome, he is, but you wouldn’t try and shoot your shot - you guess. “but! he has a crush on you, apparently.”

that statement made your nose scrunch. “how? i’ve never spoken to him before… i don’t think - not that i remember - hey, we’ve never been in the same area. at all.”

your two friends squint their eyes at you, which ultimately made you fluster. “oh please, you guys believe me, right? please.”

keisuke had no idea that he was being talked about among hogwarts students and some of the students from the other visiting school, beauxbatons. he wasn’t interested in finding his ‘one true love’ at his age and this point in time, he was present to show his full support to whoever was going to be chosen as durmstrang’s champion for triwizard tournament.

he lied about the crush thing, all he wanted was to be left alone. he had heard your name and managed to put two and two together with the way you turned around as a response to who called your name. it was the only one that stood out to him despite only staying at hogwarts for merely a few weeks. he could’ve used any other name but…

yours stood out to him.

a few days after, you were far too distracted to watch where you were going and pay no mind to the incoming students in front of you. as a result, a shoulder-check happened too often. drowning in thought, perhaps you were dwelling too much on how you answered your defense against the dark arts teacher or how you’ve written your answer for the pop quiz in arithmancy, it was obvious you were in too deep in the brewing thoughts.

keisuke had been walking that day, coincidentally towards your direction. he fancied the stone circle after a friend he made recently, chifuyu matsuno of the hufflepuff house, mentioned it to him.

all of my friends will be there, you should come with us! need some familiarity in this school, don’t’cha?

what’s the harm in making friends? it’s not like he’d see them again once he leaves. not like they’d write him letters off to bulgaria. not like he’d find any use for the stationery his mother had bought for him to use for his friends. there’s no harm, right?

“shit! i’m so sorry- i-i didn’t see you-”

“i’m fine, see? oh- it’s you!”

you look at him, eyes blinking before realizing that your hand has been on his forearm the entire time after you collided with this kid - impressively stable and… strong. “me? wait- huh? oh, wait, you’re…”

“keisuke baji!” the boy seemed far too excited to be talking to you. in some way, his enthusiasm to be speaking with you made you feel quite warm; when was the last time someone had been this excited to be exchanging a few words with you? “i-i’m sorry, i assumed you know me-”

“i do know you,” you said, fighting back a smile when the oh-so famous keisuke baji was practically crumbling in embarrassment in front of you. he’s cuter up close, but that was all he was - cute. “i’m-”

“i know your name,” he cut you off, and that was until he grabbed hold of your wrist and began pulling you away from the crowded hallway. the students thought of this rather differently, expressing ooo’s and whispers to one another.

keisuke pulled you into an empty hallway, thinking that he was going to do something to you, you had your wand at the ready, to which he frowned upon on. “i just wanted to say i was sorry for using you and saying i had a crush on you.”

he looked genuinely sorry, but you don’t let go of your wand, instead you lower it. “i thought that was peculiar… i’m sorry to ask but, what’d you do that for?”

keisuke sits down on the empty bench, his fingers entertwined with one another as he carefully forms and chooses his words. “ever since i got here at hogwarts, i couldn’t go through the day without someone asking me if i’m seeing someone.”

you sat down next to him, but keeping a safe distance from him to make sure he didn’t feel uncomfortable nor you. to someone who isn’t keisuke, maybe this was something that’s too little to whine about. pushing somebody’s boundaries like this was of course not kind nor needed.

“i’m sorry you had to go through that, baji,” you told him. instinctively, you reached out to rub his back, but you barely knew him so you retracted your hand back.

“it’s okay,” he told you with a smile. this time, though, you could see his fangs. nobody told you his canines were sharp. it was like his charm. “you can rub my back, hug me or hold my hand - i’m joking. but… i won’t say no to back rubs.”

you hesitated at first of course, feeling like you were in no place to be touching him like you’ve known him for a long time. but it seemed like he really needed said back rub. “thanks for listening to me, even if it’s short notice.”

“it’s no problem, but let me know if you need anything, or a question about hogwarts. i might be able to answer it.”

he cackled at your statement, reaching out his hand in front of you for a handshake. it was like a natural thing for you to shake his hand, as if… you’ve known him for a while now. “it’s a pleasure to finally spoke to you and hear your voice!”

“likewise! i guess i’ll see you around, then?” you asked, a smile adorning your face. though your face had started to feel strained - you hadn’t smiled this much since speaking to keisuke.

“that you will. i promise.”

[fallen-gravity]

Intellectual Adequacy

Stan hates to start any unnecessary conflict, especially when there’s a very real chance that Ford will be moving to California next year, but he knows deep down that if they don’t talk about this now then he’ll never have the courage to bring it up again.

“Wait,” Stan shouts to Ford, and he stops dead in his tracks.

~~

Notes: In which one little plot bunny that was preventing me from getting any work done becomes its own rabbit hole.

I genuinely cannot believe that in the six-seven years I've been in this fandom, I've never tried my hand at the fix-it-fic where Stan and Ford just talk it out as teenagers, just like they should've in canon. I've seen a lot of different approaches, but I feel like I've yet to see one that tackles it from the perspective of Stan's own battle with his self-worth, rather than the actions he or Ford have already taken.

AO3

Stan hates the principal’s office more than anywhere else in the world.

He swears, he’s called down every other week for something that’s not even his fault. He punched Crampelter in the nose for harassing some poor freshman? Principal’s office. He talks back to a teacher calling his classmate stupid for forgetting an “obvious” geometry equation? Principal’s office. He accidentally drops his pencil during an exam and bends over to pick it up? He must be cheating. Principal’s office.

If you asked him, the whole idea of sending kids to the principal’s office is pointless to begin with. Oh, you did something bad, and now we’re gonna make the big man in charge tell your mommy and daddy? How old do these people think they are?

Stan wishes he could say that this time is okay because they’re not even talking to him. They’re talking up a storm to Ford in there about another college scholarship and all the reasons why he and he alone would be the perfect candidate for some random school all the way out in California

But it’s not okay, because the longer Stan sits in the dumb waiting room the more he’s starting to feel like chopped liver. They’ve been in there for at least five minutes with no sign of stopping anytime soon, but every time Stan asks the secretary if he can just go back to class already she dismisses him with a wave of her hand and it’ll be your turn soon, sit back down.

He’s thinking of just sneaking out the next time the secretary buries her nose back into her magazine. It’s simple: just wait for her to pull it out from her desk, sneak by as quick as he can, and slip out the door and back to class before she can even notice he’s gone.

He stands from his chair, pretending to stretch and preparing to execute, but freezes solid when he hears his name being spoken from within the principal’s office.

“…What about our little free spirit Stanley?”

It’s Ma, and whatever it is they’re talking about in there, she isn’t happy about it. Frowning, Stan glances over at the secretary to make sure that she isn’t staring at him, and presses his ear to the office door to listen to their conversation more carefully.

The principal laughs in response. “That clown? At this rate he’ll be lucky if he graduates high school”

Stan’s taken aback by the harsh choice of words, but if he knows Ford, then he won’t just sit there and let the principal talk about him like that. He presses his ear further into the door, waiting for Ford to interrupt the principal’s rambling about how he’s never going to amount to anything with you just don’t know him like I do, or something along those lines, but it never comes.

Not a single interjection that…anything he’s saying is wrong. Not from Pa, not from Ford….and not even from Ma.

They don’t…all really believe that, right?

There has to be something else he’s missing. He bets they’re defending his honor right now, and the reason they’re not making a big scene about it is because they’re in public.

Yeah.

He’s got nothing to worry about.

He peeks into the window, expecting to see Ma glaring daggers into the principal, or Ford silently cursing him out behind his back, but what he’s met with is so much worse. Ma and Pa are exchanging warm smiles, and Ford is frantically shaking hands with the principal, beaming brighter than Stan’s ever seen in his entire life.

Matter of fact, Stan’s not sure he’s ever seen any of them look so happy in his entire life.

He’s worthless, he’ll never go anywhere, and they’re all smiling about it.

Stan’s heart drops to his stomach, and he slides to the floor to join it.

Is this some kind of cruel joke? Were they expecting him to listen in on their conversation? Is this their cruel workaround of telling him he’ll never amount to shit?

He sighs.

He stays there on the cold tiled floor for what feels like hours, contemplating all the times he’s been called dumb, or stupid, or a terrible influence on his brother. All of those times when he could brush it off just because it was coming from someone he didn’t care about.

But worthless?

Behind his back, spoken directly to people he loves, and they won’t even bother to defend him?

That one’s new, and if Stan is going to be completely honest with himself, it’s much harder to brush off his shoulders than all those other times.

Stan doesn’t even notice the office door opening until it nearly smacks him in the back of his head. He quickly jumps to his feet and brushes himself off, pretending the best that he can that he wasn’t just eavesdropping on them for the past ten minutes.

“Stanley!” Ford comes bursting out of the room, his grin threatening to split his face in two. “I just received the most incredible news! The admissions team at West Coast Tech heard about my science fair project, and-”

The beam suddenly slips from his face, replaced with some sort of mix of confusion and concern. “Is...Something wrong?”

Stan rubs at his eyes to make sure he hadn’t started tearing up without realizing it, but no, his eyes are bone dry.

Curse Ford’s stupid ability to read his mind.

Stan covers up the gesture of rubbing at his eyes with a yawn, and stretches his arms in the air. “Nothing except you taking forever in there” he flashes a fake smile easily. “Talk about a blabbermouth, am I right?” Stan gestures towards the principal with his thumb.

Ford laughs, and returns his gaze to the pamphlet in his hands. “I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t think he’s so bad”

Stan opens his mouth to quip back, but Ford doesn’t seem to be paying much attention anymore. He’s just staring at that dumb pamphlet, his grin slowly but surely returning to his face again.

Instead, Stan shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs, turning his gaze to the floor. “Yeah, I guess you’re right”

~~~

Stan feels like he’s in a haze for the rest of the day. Even when he tries to focus on class to take his mind off of things and redirect it on anything else, he can’t get his mind to stick.  Not even final period gym class can save him, which is really saying something, because the gymnasium is usually the one place where he thrives.

Worthless.

The word won’t stop bouncing around in his skull, hitting him where he’s most sensitive.

It doesn’t help a thing that Ford is dead silent on their walk home from school. He’s usually chatting up a storm to Stan about stuff he doesn’t really understand, and under normal circumstances Stan can’t wait to get home so he can bury his head in his pillow and drown out the sound of Ford’s babbling.

But today he’s not even looking in Stan’s direction, just burying his nose in the West Coast Tech brochure with stars in his eyes, and now Stan wants nothing more than to hear Ford babbling on about his advanced physics classes.

It’s almost insulting.

Stan sighs, and lightly taps on Ford’s shoulder to catch his attention. “Can we talk?”

“Hmm?” Ford blinks, like he needs a few moments to readjust to reality. “Oh! Of course. I was actually planning on asking you the same thing” he places the brochure in his pocket. “Same place as always?”

Stan nods. “Same place as always”.

It’s a quick change of direction and a shortcut to the beach before they find themselves on their old swing set. By now they’re both too heavy to use it properly without a risk of snapping it, but they still find it’s a good place to go when they just need to get away and talk.

“You’re not really thinking of going to that stuffy old school, are you?” Stan asks as soon as Ford sits on the swing beside him. “They’ve gotta be crazy if they think four more years of essays and exams are better lookin’ than tanned babes and gold chains. We’re so close to finishing up the Stan-O-War. Soon as graduation rolls around we’re outta here, just like we always promised”.

Ford chuckles. “That is a nice thought, but…” he pulls the brochure out of his pocket again, and unfolds it for Stan to see. “You have to understand that I can’t just pass up an opportunity like this. Maybe I don’t need a degree from any old state school, but this is West Coast Tech we’re talking about!” he beams, the stars returning to his eyes. “They’ve got cutting edge technology and multidimensional paradigm theory”

Stan rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but admit to himself it’s nice to have his brother back again after an entire day of radio silence.

“Beep boop, giant nerd robot oncoming” Stan punches Ford in the arm.

Ford’s grin only widens. “I figured you’d say that, but it’s too late to change my mind. The head of admissions already flew in this morning, and with my go-ahead they’re going to check out my science fair project later tonight and let me know then and there if they want me at their school”

“Well that seems kind of harsh” Stan quips. “What if they say no?”

Ford shrugs. “Well, then it’s like you said. If they don’t want me, you and I sail off on the Stan-O War and never look back”.

Stan frowns at the strong emphasis on if. He really thinks he’s going to get this, doesn’t he? Stan can’t exactly blame him when he’s been the reigning valedictorian of their class every year since they were kids.

“And if they say yes?”

Ford grins. “Well, then you better visit me on the other side of the country” he punches Stan in the shoulder, and stands to his feet without saying another word.

Stan can’t bring himself to join him. He knows that Ford didn’t mean anything by it, but he can’t help feel wounded by his brother’s implication that while he’s off in California having the time of his life, Stan’s still gonna be stuck living with their parents in New Jersey.

It’s just like their principal said. He’ll never amount to anything anyway, so why wouldn’t he stay in New Jersey? Where else would a worthless piece of shit like him end up?

Stan shifts on his swing and watches as Ford walks away, and he can’t help but wonder just how much of the principal’s tangent that Ford believed.

All of it?

Some of it?

Had Ford even been listening to what he said at all?

As he continues to watch his brother walk away, he can’t help the feeling in his gut that he has to know. He hates to start any unnecessary conflict, especially when there’s a very real chance that Ford will be moving to California next year, but Stan knows deep down that if they don’t talk about this now then he’ll never have the courage to bring it up again.

“Wait,” Stan shouts to Ford, and he stops dead in his tracks.

“Yeah?” Ford says, turning around to face him. Stan suddenly finds himself very aware of his heart loudly pounding against his chest, but he forces himself to squash that down. He’s never felt shy or anxious about asking his brother anything, and he sure as hell isn’t letting that start now.

“You don’t…uh,” he swallows. “You don’t think I’m…worthless, do you?”

Ford looks appalled. He neatly folds the brochure back into his pocket and starts walking- no, jogging, almost sprinting back to the swing set. He pauses in front of the empty swing beside Stan for a moment, like he’s debating whether he should sit down or not, but eventually he shakes his head and sits down anyway.

“What on earth makes you say that?”  There’s a hint of anger to his tone, but Stan’s not entirely convinced it’s directed at him. “Why would I think you’re worthless? You’re my twin brother! What could’ve possibly put the idea in your head that I thought that?”

There’s a tiny voice in the back of his head screaming at him to back out, brush it off with a joke and have this conversation later, but there’s an even louder voice shouting at him that it needs to be had now.

Stan sighs. “I…overheard everything in the principal’s office today”

Ford blinks, like he doesn’t understand a word that Stan just said. “About…West Coast Tech? Is this because you’re afraid that I’ll get in, but you know you won’t because you’re not even interested in applying anyway, but you know you’re going to miss me, and you’re not sure if you can handle-”

“About me, Sixer!” Stan shouts, and tries his damn hardest to ignore the waver in his voice. “He practically called me a useless piece of shit directly to Ma and Pa and neither of them said a word about it!” He scrubs his hands down his face because he’s not choking up, not over something so pointless and stupid. “You’re going to travel the world and become the smartest person the scientific community has ever seen, or whatever, but me? Apparently I’ll always be stuck here in New Jersey to pick up after everyone else’s messes, because that’s all I’m ever good for”

Stan buries his face in his hands. He hadn’t meant to blow up, and he certainly hadn’t meant to direct his anger at Ford, but he just feels so hopeless, and he’s the only one around who’s willing to listen. He wouldn’t be surprised if Ford returned with anger of his own, or told him off for being selfish, or even if he just decided to stand up and walk away from him for being such an embarrassment.

The silence that follows is thick and heavy. Stan is so convinced that he must’ve driven Ford away that when he feels a hand on his shoulder he nearly jumps a mile out of his skin. When he finally pulls his hands out of his face to meet Ford’s eyes, his face is flushed pink and he looks…embarrassed.

“Stan, I had no idea, I…” he awkwardly pulls his hand away and grips tightly to the chain of his swing. Stan can see Ford’s face shifting through about a dozen different emotions at once. “I…must’ve been too focused on everything else to realize he was saying those things about you.” He shakes his head. “I know it’s not an excuse, but…” he sighs. “I’m sorry”

There’s another bout of silence between them. Stan’s half-expecting that to be the end of it, and for Ford to walk away without another word.  

But Ford breaks the silence with a sigh, and when Stan glances over at him he’s staring down at the ground.

“If it’s any consolation...you’re much smarter than me in a lot more places than you realize”

Okay, now Stan has to laugh. “Okay, now you’re being too nice to me. You don’t need to lie to make me feel better”

“I’m serious!” Ford’s cheeks flush pink again, and he adjusts his glasses before returning his gaze towards Stan. “There’s actually been a fascinating number of studies about intelligence lately, and, well…” Ford’s face is turning redder by the minute, Stan swears. “It turns out that…there’s more than one type”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “You’re losing me here, Sixer”

“Well, you see, I thrive in academic intelligence. Math, science, history, you know, school stuff. That’s the most commonly known type of intelligence because a lot of our formative years are based on it”

Stan doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrow even further.

“But,” Ford continues quickly, “They’ve also made discoveries about the existence of social intelligence”

“Social?” Stan blinks, suddenly finding himself significantly more interested. “You mean like talking to people and stuff?”

Ford nods. “Precisely. They say people with high social intelligence are much better at picking up on social cues, and can make friends with others much easier than those with lower social intelligence.” Ford kicks at the sand. “The reason social intelligence hasn’t been recognized is because it’s often mistaken for having a friendly personality”.  His face flushes pink again, like he’s afraid he said the wrong thing. “Not that a person can’t have both, but…”

Stan smirks, nudging at Ford with his elbow. “Stanford Pines, are you calling your good-for-nothing brother intelligent?” He teases, but can’t help the genuine smile creeping to his face.

“Think about it!” Ford throws an arm into the air, the other one tightly gripped on the swing to prevent himself from falling off. “Every time Ma and Pa leave us in charge of the shop so they can go to Atlantic City for the weekend, who’s the one bringing in all the customers? Who’s the one selling out our daily stock less than two hours after we’re open? You are, Stan, just by being yourself. You know how to persuade people into buying our stock at ten times the listed price.”

“You can’t learn that from twelve years of public school. They can try to teach you, but at the end of the day it’s all about your ability to connect with people” Ford rubs at his arm. “I’ve tried teaching myself those kinds of tricks for years, but at the end of the day…” he shakes his head. “I’ve never been able to catch up.” He smiles. “I raise my white flag to you, Stan. You’ve outsmarted the smartest brother in the world”

Stan chuckles. “Try telling that to Principal Comb-over. He hears you saying the so-called dumbest clown in the entire school system is smarter than you and he’s going to cart you away to the loony bin”

Ford laughs. “You know, now that I think about it, there may actually be a way to tell him off for what he said about you and get away with it scott-free”

Stan raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? How so?”

Ford smirks. “I think you should try to graduate out of spite”

Stan’s not sure he follows. “Whaddya mean?”

“I mean, think about it” Ford stands from his swing and begins to pace back and forth. “The principal called both of us down even though he only wanted to speak to me, and then he talked shit about you even though he knew you were sitting right outside his door?” he pauses in his pacing. “Stan, he knew that you could hear him. Maybe he didn’t intend for you to listen in when he was talking to Ma and Pa about my scholarship opportunity, but he knew you’d be listening the moment you were brought up in the conversation”

That’s…true. Stan was just about to sneak out before he heard them say his name.

“He’s expecting you to fail, and he wants to put it in everyone else’s head too. He thinks it’s the easy way out, because if you choose to fail out on your own than he doesn’t have to take responsibility for being such a shitty educator. It gives him the chance to say look how he didn’t even try instead of look at how we failed him.”

“But if you proved him wrong? Imagine the look on his face when he has to be the one to place that diploma in your hand. Imagine him having to look you dead in the eyes and tell you he’s proud of you. You’ll know he’s speaking bullshit, but he knows he can’t talk shit about you anymore without making himself look bad.” Ford smirks. “Matter of fact, imagine the looks on the faces of everyone who’s ever doubted you walking across that stage. Pa alone is gonna have a heart attack”

Ford’s smile softens. “I already know that you’re much smarter than you’re given credit for, and I think it’s about time that everyone else recognizes that too”.

Stan’s cheeks burn red, and he shyly kicks at the sand. “Heh, thanks. I appreciate it.” He says. “But even if I did manage to graduate, what am I supposed to do with a high school diploma? Every job application I’ve been skinning through recently says college, college, college”

“Well…” Ford taps at his chin. “Then why not go out for college?”

Okay, now he’s taking things too far.

“Pardon?” Stan mocks, because if Ford thinks that Stan’s going to willingly take four more years of classes than maybe he should be carted away to a loony bin.

“I’m serious!” Ford blushes. “Maybe not a high intensity school like West Coast Tech, but college is so much more freeing than high school, Stanley. It’s not class after class on subjects that other people tell you to take. It’s personalized. If you hate science class so much, you never have to take another science class again”

Ford’s blush darkens. “I know that school is a big drag and all, but if you asked me?” he averts his gaze. “I think you’d really benefit from business school. Charisma and social intelligence is the number one thing that big name businesses are looking for, and I know you’re filled to the brim with both. Ultimately it is your decision, but…” Ford fiddles with his thumbs. “Just…just consider it, okay?”

For a brief moment, Stan just wants to burst out into hysterical laughter. Ford’s been offered the opportunity of a lifetime at one of the best schools in the country, and he’s still taking the time to help out his good-for-nothing brother who’s been cheating off of his exams for the past ten years.

Instead he settles for a roll of his eyes. “Alright, Professor Poindexter, I’ll consider it”

Ford giggles at that, and for a few moments neither of them says anything, watching the waves gently lapping on the beach in the short distance. It’s a comfortable silence, a reassuring sort of feeling that Stan hasn’t felt in a long time.

The frantic beeping of Pa’s wristwatch interrupts them, and both boys flinch at the sound in unison. For a moment Stan is worried that Pa’s standing behind them having heard every word, but when he glances over at Ford, he sees him rolling up his shirt sleeve to reveal that he’s the one wearing the watch, and clicks the alarm off.

“Pa made me borrow it so I wouldn’t be late for the presentation with the school board” he rubs awkwardly at the back of his head. “I’ll probably give it back as soon as I get home tonight”

Stan smirks. “You still hate the sound of that thing too, huh?”

“I can still hear it in my nightmares,” Ford exaggerates, his eyes going wide, and the twins burst into laughter as they both stand from the swings and stretch their arms and legs to wake them up from sitting for so long.

Ford wipes at his eye as he fidgets with the wristwatch. “So…do you think you’re going to be okay?”

That in itself is a pretty loaded question that could take him all night to answer, but all things considering…

“Yeah,” Stan smiles. “I think I’ll be okay”

Ford smiles back, and gestures with his thumb towards the direction of the pawn shop. “Then I’m going to head home and get ready for my presentation. You coming?”

Stan shakes his head. “I think I’ll stay out here and just…watch the ocean for a little while longer”

Ford’s smile softens, but he doesn’t say anything else. He turns heel and walks back towards the house, and it feels as though a giant weight has just been lifted off of Stan’s chest. He glances back to watch Ford go, but finds comfort in the feeling that he feels nothing at all.

~~~

Nearly five hours later, Stan sits at home, watching television on the couch to pass the time. Just out of the corner of his eye he sees Ford slip into the kitchen and gently click the door closed. Stan shuts the TV off, and spins around on the couch to face his brother.

“Well?” Stan asks, though he knows he doesn’t even need to bother asking, given that Ford looks like he’s about to burst. With a shaking hand, Ford reaches into his pocket and pulls out a glinting white envelope.

If he’s trying to keep an air of mystery about it, he’s doing a really bad job, because all at once his composure breaks and the smile that spreads across his face looks as though it could burn out the sun.

“They loved me!” He shouts, excitedly pacing the floor. “They told me they’ve never seen anyone else like me!”

His smile is so contagious that it hurts.

Perhaps another day, in another timeline, Stan would take offense to Ford’s excitement to bounce off to the other end of the country without him. Perhaps he’d even lash out, or do something he would’ve immediately regretted.

But here and now, Stan couldn’t be happier for his brother if he tried.

[ateezmakemeweep]

you’re the one that i want (part 17)

word count: 6k

angst

(part 16) (series masterlist)

tag list: @chogiout ; @psshwa ; @yeocult ; @seongghwaa ; @cherryeonii ; @chaoticbanqtan ; @8teenee ; @nczenniez ; @atinyarmyx1 ; @mingtopiaa ; @chubsluda ; @joongiebug ; @mochibabycakes ; @jisungity ; @skz-on-my-mind ; @nlost21 ; @myonlyaurora ; @closer-stars ; @kuaenam3g ; @byungaji ; @floweryjh ; @joeycheungg ; @lostscenarios ; @atinyxtopia ; @sanisms ; @kpopnightingale ; @simpforhyunjin ; @89staytinyzen21​ ; @lokicaramel ; @ttalgimin ; @sakura-uji ; @songsoomin ; @toffee-hwa ; @deobitiful ; @hyunjeansuniverse ; @clown-teez​ ; @i-know-you-know-lee-know ; @tiny-whatsername ; @fairieofeternity ; @yixing-jaehyun ; @sleepyseonghwa ; @revehosh ; 

time went on but the pain never went away. it dulled, for sure, with san incessantly telling you that you deserved better and the piles of work that were being assigned to you.

but you were also doing everything in your absolute power to ignore seonghwa. 

you never lingered before or after homeroom and made sure to never even look in his direction. you drowned out the sound of his voice in class or entire presence when you passed him the hallway. you and san even started to break the school rules and went out for lunch so neither of you had to be reminded of that table.

the one time seonghwa dared come to the cafe, san forced you into the back room and gave his ex friend a piece of his mind. you thought for sure you were gonna have to run out and separate the boys but seonghwa just looked completely...empty and defeated. 

it seemed as if he took san’s words to heart, the blonde speaking them so lowly and harshly you still don’t exactly know what he said to this day. you just know that when you and seonghwa’s eyes met through the small glass window, he looked as sad and broken as you felt inside - but for very different reasons. 

he was upset with himself while you were upset with the both of you. at him for acting the way he did and denying you once again but also at yourself for letting it go on for so long. you should’ve been stronger and made it known he was hurting you from day one, not just avoid him for the sake of saving yourself more pain and suffering.

you’ve switched between feeling sad, angry and vengeful so much during these weeks that you don’t even know how you feel anymore; you just know you’re hurting and know it’s because of him.

“okay but you can’t not go because of him,” san whines. you were both sitting at the cafe during your wednesday night shift, the shitty, rainy weather outside keeping you free of any customers. 

“san,” you whine back, looking at your friend in annoyance; he’d been harassing you for days to go to his friend’s party on friday, a group of boys from another school he’s been friends with since 5th grade.

“look, i was honest and told you he’d probably be there to warn you,” he tells you honestly, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. “but if you’re gonna make me go through it by myself, that’ll be really mean.” 

you roll your eyes at the pout on his lips, feeling yourself frown when he adds, “because you know, i’m avoiding one of them too.”

you both know it’s a low blow and san has to resist the urge to smirk knowing he did just play a little dirty. but it doesn’t lessen his actual anxiety over it, knowing he’s gonna be around alcohol in a party atmosphere where stupid decisions are almost always made.

“that’s not fair,” you say with a pout, kicking against the counter with a groan. 

“c’monnn, love, i’m gonna need you there.” 

you let out a sigh, looking at the boy with a pained expression; it would be the perfect time for you to get out and party though, you think, given the fact that your parents told you just this morning they’d be going away for the weekend. 

things at home had been surprisingly...civil, only a few fights and slaps here and there that do little to break your spirit. because it’s already pretty crumbled, eating quickly with them before rushing into your room to do homework.

you never thought you’d say it but schoolwork and projects and essays were actually saving you these days, distracting your mind from just how badly your heart was hurting. 

and what better way to further distract yourself than by getting drunk for the first time? 

“for the first time?” san yelps when you tell him you’ve never drank before. 

“kind of, yeah,” you tell him with an amused smile, the utter shock on his face all too endearing. “i...got tipsy over the summer,” you say quickly, grazing over the memory before you tell san you’d only had one drink. 

“oh, that won’t do,” san says with a shake of the head. 

you watch with a raised eyebrow and a cup of tea to your lips as the blonde prances over to the cabinets, looking inside before smirking at the extra box of jello he knew was laying around back here. 

“we’ll start you off with jello shots and then move you up to the real stuff. get ready for friday, biiiitch.” 

you let out a snort and warm tea spews from your mouth, dripping down to your chin and onto the floor as you let out a choking fit of laughter. san yells that he just mopped the floor and insists that you’re doing it this time, your eyes only rolling at him.

“i’m about to choke and die and you’re worried about the floor.”

“you can’t choke and die, we have to go to this party first.”

the jello shots had gone down easily, your personal favorites being the strawberry and raspberry. but now, the straight vodka sitting in one of san’s many shot glasses is proving to be a challenge. 

“i think i’m drunk so i don’t need to do-”

“cheers!” san yelps, taking your glass from the table and forcing it into your hand. you let out a sigh as you watch the boy down his 4th one with ease, looking at him with concerned laced in your eyes. 

“san, if you’re gonna puke tonight, i’m gonna be really-”

“i’m not gonna puke,” he whines, “we ate so much before this and i’ll drink water. but you have to start little lady. we only have an hour!” 

“okay i will but i’m just warning you that i’m gonna hate every moment of this and-”

he rolls his eyes before pushing the shot glass toward you, snorting when you take down the vodka with a sneer and gag. but by the third, the burn gets almost manageable and you and san mentally prepare one another for what’s about to come. 

you tell him to not take wooyoung’s shit, that if the boy even dares to signal for him to go outside so they could be alone, he points his middle finger at him and goes off to dance and have fun. 

he tells you that if seonghwa tries to corner you and suck another hickie onto your neck, (the blonde had been so irritated at that, the possessiveness and boldness in the action making his blood boil) you knee him between the legs and kiss the closest person next to you. even if it’s him.

you laugh at that very unlikely circumstance as you stumble out of his house and into the uber, both of you determined not to let those two handsome but horribly cruel boys get to you. 

you try to keep the slurring of your words quiet so the driver isn’t alarmed by the drunk underaged kids in his car, whispering back and forth about what songs you’re gonna sneak onto the aux.

you thank the man as he pulls up to the house, big and beautiful with a wrap around porch and a few kids littered outside. and then even in a drunken daze, you feel your stomach knot with nervousness. the unfamiliar crowd, the loud booming music coming from the house, the thought of seeing seonghwa in this state, now all too daunting. 

but san notices your discomfort immediately and grabs your hand, saying hi to a few people in passing as he leads you into the house. he tells you to stay close and to not let go of him, your eyes widening at the amount of people in this house; what kind of high school party is like this?

“oi felix!” 

a boy with blonde wavy hair turns around and smiles at san, walking over and fist bumping him; you bit your lip to hide your smile, secretly wondering who’s hands were smaller (it’s me, the author, i am wondering). felix notices you standing beside san, your intertwined hands catching his eye before his face lights up. 

“who is this? is she your-”

“friend,” san clarifies, pulling you into him affectionately. “but she is very much single if anyone is interested.”

“san,” you whine as you disconnect your hands and hit his arm, felix laughing quietly before he holds out his. you take his hand with a small smile, mumbling your name before three boys barrel right into him. 

“san!” they all scream in unison, excited cheers as they run toward the boy and grab him in a hug. you giggle as you wait off to the side in fear of getting trampled, felix looking at you apologetically. 

“sorry,” he says, his voice so deep and full it makes your eyes widen. and maybe it’s because you have alcohol coursing through you that you show your surprise, looking around like you’re scared someone’s gonna watch you before leaning in. 

“your voice...is very deep.” 

a loud chuckle leaves his mouth as he nods his head, talking more and leaving you in amazement. 

you don’t even hear san and the other boys conversing behind you, you and felix talking about the blonde-haired boy. you tell him that you work at his parents cafe and also see him in school every day, giggling sweetly when felix’s face turns into a grimace as he commends your ability to deal with the loud, whiney boy five days a week.

the very same boy who, little to your knowledge, is trying to set you up. but it’s not his fault, he rationalizes in his head, the idea just fell into his lap really.

“hey, who’d you come with?” hyunjin asks san, the two blondes turning when they hear your giggle pierce the air. 

the taller boy can’t help but smile softly at the sound, thinking it’s the cutest thing he’s heard since he got here; he wasn’t even gonna come tonight, always put off by the gross group of people and loud, terrible music.

“that’s y/n, my new friend,” san says, smiling when he sees hyunjin’s intrigued gaze. 

he’s known the boy for years, one of his first friends from middle school who proved time and time again how sweet he was. everyone had always been intimidated by his good looks and tall figure but he was just as a soft-spoken as he was kind; he’d be the perfect distraction for you tonight. 

it’s why he drags hyunjin over to you, planting the boy in front of you and your head snaps away from felix. “i was just telling him how you always-” a pair of dark, unfamiliar eyes looking at you cause the words to stop, your breath catching in your throat at the man in your presence. 

his blonde hair hangs in his face, a black headband over his forehead just a few inches above the prettiest pair of light brown eyes. he’s taller than san and felix and it only adds on to how much your sad little heart flutters, your usual sober nervousness replaced with a drunken fascination. 

“oh. hi.”

and then when his lips quirk up into a smile, your heart nearly threatens to pound out of your chest. 

“hey. i’m hyunjin.”

you sat with the boy for most of the night, your legs grazing as you stayed on the couch and gave him playful slaps to the arm when you drunkenly giggled into him. you quickly discovered he was just as funny as he was kind and handsome and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you had a little bit of a crush on him.

that the happy, fluttering feeling in your chest was something you hadn’t felt in a while, your shy smiles back and forth only making you more giggly. or it could also be the sips you took from san’s spiked seltzer that might have something to do with it. 

because one second you and hyunjin were debating whether goldendoodles or chihuahuas made better pets and then the next, you were both charging over to san for the final decision. but he yelped excitedly, having not seen you both all night because you were so lost in each other, and threw his arms around you. 

“don’t look now, love, but asshole one and two just got here.”

you pull back and look at san with wide eyes, the blonde only nodding his head with a calming look in his eye. he had thought you guys had gotten lucky and the four boys weren’t gonna show up but leave it them to waltz in a few minutes before midnight, their eyes searching the crowd before a brown pair of narrowed eyes caught his attention.

san avoided the boy’s gaze to look at seonghwa, watching his eyes roam over the crowd before landing on you. his handsome face immediately drops, his jaw tightening and eyes narrowing as he watched you and hyunjin laugh together. 

the tall blonde’s hand was resting on your hip, this thumb running over the exposed skin between your jeans and shirt as you two laugh with hyunjin’s friends.

to seonghwa, it looked as if he was trying to make a move on you. that he was slowly enticing you until his hand traveled lower and lower and just the thought of it causes anger to rip through him. like an anger he’s never felt before.

because he would do that to comfort you. 

to calm your nerves and ground you if you were feeling upset and anxious, like you typically did around crowds or unfamiliar groups of people. but you looked awfully cozy next to the boy in the loud, chaotic environment, smiling up at the boy so prettily it makes him growl lowly in his chest.

“what the fuck was that?” mingi asked the boy, his eyes following seonghwa’s dark gaze before his face morphed into one of surprise. 

“ohhh shit.”

“shit,” you said under your breath, hyunjin hearing the frustration in your voice and looking down at you curiously. 

but you and san don’t look away from one another, trying so hard to remember what you said earlier. that you’re gonna ignore them and pretend they’re not even here, that you both deserve better and should move on to bigger and better things.

that if, given the opportunity, maybe it wouldn’t be a terrible idea to distract yourself with other people. and what better way than in the arms of a long haired blonde boy with the prettiest face you’ve ever seen?

“what’s wrong?” you hear his voice mumble in your ear, turning around and sucking in a breath when you realize you’re a lot closer than you thought. his eyes look over you with a soft concern, watching your drunken hazy eyes look back at him.

“no-nothing, someone’s just here who i...don’t wanna see,” you settle on saying, not needing hyunjin to know all of your baggage and nonsense drama. 

he looks at the new group of boys who just entered, recognizing them immediately and waving; he’s mostly friendly with yeosang but has seen the other three before, the dirty blonde boy eyeing him with such distaste he can only assume that’s who you’re having a problem with. 

but if you don’t wanna see him, then he’s gonna make sure you don’t. 

so he smiles down at you, his finger tapping you on the nose playfully and smiling when you giggle quietly. he’s happy to see a smile back on your face, the lingering anxiousness in your eyes making his stomach sink. 

“then i can promise he won’t be anywhere near you.”

the words send warmth through your body, your heart fluttering and cheeks turning pink as you bite your lip to hide your smile, hyunjin’s hand reaching down to interlace your fingers. you don’t miss the way the blonde’s face warms a little bit too in the dark room, turning your body and resting your head on his shoulder lazily as you talk with san and the rest of the boys.

you miss the way yeosang and mingi hold seonghwa back from charging over there, the shorter boy looking at his friend in confusion. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snaps, pulling the boy back by his shirt. “we just got here. you’re not about to start shit.”

“i’m not gonna start anything, i just have to-”

“stop,” wooyoung says firmly, knowing all too well the feeling seonghwa is experiencing right now; but he also knows nothing will come of acting on it. of charging over there and tearing you away from the blonde, of growling out that you’re his and shouldn’t be with other people. 

the dirty blonde snaps his head to wooyoung and resists the urge to punch him in the mouth, letting out an annoyed huff before shrugging himself away from yeosang and walking toward the kitchen to grab a drink. a drink that he holds on to for the next thirty minutes of the party, keeping the same cold bottle in his hand so people don’t ask why he’s not drinking.

he hates this shit. 

drinking and partying and mingling, passing a poorly rolled joint around like all of this is gonna make him wanna be here when really, it’s the last thing he wants. he can’t believe he’s been sitting here as long as he has, leg bouncing as he watches you smile up and chat with hyunjin as a blush spreads on your cheeks. 

there’s a hot burning feeling of anger and rage and possessiveness growing in his chest, something you brought out in him within the first few weeks of meeting. and he knows he deserves to feel this way, that he hurt you and made you feel bad and basically pushed you into another man’s arms. 

but that doesn’t mean he’s not mad. and that doesn’t mean he won’t stop it because how could he watch that? how could he sit here and watch you with someone else when he wants you to be with h-

“hyunjin,” you giggle drunkenly, feeling his breath tickle the skin of your neck. 

you both had been watching san and his friends banter back and forth, the boys loud and talkative and crazy as they relive their middle school memories. about the pranks they pulled on teachers and how much trouble they always got into. 

about how san and changbin had gone from absolutely hating each other to becoming the closest in the group; san thought changbin was mean and scary and changbin thought san was annoying and soft - and perhaps you could see what both of them were saying. 

because changbin did have a darker look in his eye, easily getting annoyed and shoving his friends around but also blocking their falls when they were about to smack into the wall. it’s nice to see san hanging out with a group of rowdy boys since these past months, he’s only been with you - a emotional, baggage-filled teenage girl. 

“what?” he whines lowly, squeezing at your hips again and causing your heart to stutter in your chest. 

it feels nice to have someone touch you again, touch you in a way that warms your body and makes you feel liked and desired. you’d gotten so used to it with....him and it’s almost like for the time being, your fragile heart is temporarily healing. 

you know the feeling is different and you know you don’t like it as much but at least hyunjin is sweet.

because you also you know tomorrow, or maybe even in a few hours, you’ll go back to normal. sad that you have to ignore the boy you love and mad that he’s making you do it in the first place. confused and irritated at just how much your head was in the clouds this summer.

but for tonight, you don’t care about any of that. you only care about that way this other boy is making you feel, someone who was a stranger when the night started but made you so comfortable so fast. made you happy and giggly and acted as the perfect distraction from the eyes that have been piercing into you all night. 

you made sure not to to look anywhere but the corner you and the boys were in, turning in hyunjin’s hold and reaching up to play with his long blonde hair.

“you...shouldn’t ever cut this,” you hiccup, a cute smile crossing the boy’s face at the sound of it.

“you like it?” he mumbles, biting down on his lip at the way your nails graze his scalp. 

he’d been on his best behavior all night, shy smiles and innocent touches as he got to know you and saw you come out of your shell bit by bit; it probably helped that he was just as nervous and uncomfortable as you.

but now, with a few drinks in him and the way you’re looking at him, he feels himself losing it. losing the resolve to be good and just wanting feel your lips against his for a second; nothing more, nothing less. 

“i like everything about you,” you say teasingly, your hand moving down to twist his necklace around your finger. the metal pulling at his neck causes his adams apple to bob, his eyes falling to your mouth at the exact moment you slip your tongue out to wet your dry lips.

the music is blaring and you think a group of kids are fighting but you can only hear the ringing in your ears and the pounding of your heart, cocking your head to the side when the eyes that have been so soft and sweet turn dark and hungry. 

“everything about me?” 

and with the way his voice drops and a pretty smirk crosses his mouth, like he knows exactly what’s he’s doing, you twist the chain between your fingers and pull him closer to you. 

his large hand moves to your face, the sound of your breathy exhale causing desire to hit him. every reaction you have is so cute and innocent despite the boldness behind them, your lingering eyes and lips pulled into a smirk making him wanna do this all night.

have your hair tangled in his hand, pulling you closer until your lips finally meet and part on one another. your tongues colliding and moans being swallowed as he presses you against the wall. hearing you sigh out his name and make sure you want to see him and kiss him.

but he doesn’t get the chance. 

because just before your lips can meet, he's harshly grabbed by the back of his shirt and shoved across the room. your eyes pop open when you nearly fall forward if not for the hard chest you bump into as seonghwa towers over you; his eyes hot and blazing and face so tense it makes your stomach swoop in nervousness.

"y/n," he growls and you immediately feel your heart start to pound, narrowing your eyes at him.

"what do you want, seonghwa?"

"what the fuck," you hear hyunjin shout, watching as the blonde stomps toward him. seonghwa rolls his eyes upon hearing it, turning around and catching the quick fist flying his way. it shocks hyunjin as much as you but the boy doesn’t show his reaction reacts, sneering at him as he asks what the hell is his problem is.

"has nothing to do with you so back off, hyunjin."

"she said she didn't wanna see you," he retorts, ripping his hand from seonghwa's grasp and pushing at him. he hits the back of the wall and you wince at the loud sound, standing in front of hyunjin as you see the dirty blonde make his way over.

"st-stop," you drunkly whine, pressing yourself back into hyunjin and causing seonghwa to growl out your name lowly. 

"no. he's right. i didn't wanna see you."

he bites the inside of your cheek when those words leave your mouth, your heart sinking at the way his face every so slightly drops and eyes twinge with hurt.

"just give me five minutes. i need it."

"and i need you to leave me alone. i've given you almost three months, what's so different now?"

you were with someone else, he thinks, you were with someone else and there's nothing he hates more than seeing his girl with a guy who's not him. he's had to watch it all fucking night and it's killing him, making him so god damn angry and jealous he thinks he's about to explode.

but if you guys kissed, he'd be over. he would've gone over and beat the shit out of the long, blonde haired boy watching you two right now with curious eyes.

"y/n," he growls again.

but you only roll your eyes because it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with his pride. he saw you with someone else while you haven't looked his way, smiling and giggling and trying to forget him in the arms of someone else.

and it was working, it really was working. your heart feel like something other than the breaking, crumbling mess it's been since the moment you left your aunt's house. since the stupid boy looking at you like you're the one hurting him started this mess in the first place.

"i don't wanna talk to you!" you whine loudly, stomping the few steps toward him and pushing him back with all the force you can muster; but given your size difference and drunken state, he doesn't go far. he only clenches his jaw and wraps his hand around your wrist, dragging you outside despite you telling him to stop manhandling you.

you don't know where san is, thinking those two conspiring assholes made their moves on you at the same time, and you hear hyunjin's friend telling him not to cause problems with them. but you don't wanna be anywhere near him, especially in this vulnerable state.

because you know you're gonna end up crying and you're so fucking sick of crying. so sick of saying the same things to him and then hearing his lousy apologies over and over again. having the memories of your summer play in your mind when he says a certain word or gives you a familiar look.

you're so sick of him and a part of you wishes you never met him. that you just spent your summer quietly inside or at the beach with your aunt so you didn't realize you were capable of being loved by a man like him, even if it was just for a short time and in private.

even if everything might've been a lie. because it's the memories of him that makes this so hard, remembering how the same boy who could look so unbothered about you was the same boy who'd mumble into your skin that he loved you.

the same boy who now dragged you outside, the crisp night air cooling your warm, flushed skin. you cross your arms as you look up at him with your face pinched in anger, tears of frustration already pricking your eyes.

"what is wrong with you!" you yell, your hands balling into fists as you resist the urge to stomp your foot and smack him. his eyes narrow and he steps forward, his large hand taking your face in his hold. his thumb rubs at your hot skin gently, anger coursing through him at himself.

this is his fault. this is all his fault and now you're sad and drunk and ready to cry.

"you're drunk," he states obviously. you roll your eyes at his statement, biting the inside of your cheek so you don't say the vengeful comment that wants to leave you.

but because you are drunk and pissed and not in your right frame of mind, you say it anyway.

"so what," you snap at him. "if you're thinking that's why i was about to make out with hyunjin, then you're absolutely-"

anger flares in his eyes and he tugs you closer to him, tightening his hold on you. everything inside of you is screaming to push him away and yell at him, tell him he doesn't get to do this anymore; that you're not his and you never were.

but you can't find the words in your fuzzy brain, looking up at his dark gaze and feeling a sense of pride in how angry that made him, especially when his words are lowly growled at you.

"you better fuckin' stop, y/n."

"i don't think i will," you say, pressing your body closer to him and moving your finger over his lips. "i think i'll kiss you both and see who does it better." his jaw tightens at the same time his hands on your wrist and hip do, growling another warning "stop it," in your ear. 

"why? at least hyunjin was gonna kiss me in front of people.”

your words are powerful and biting but the hurt in them is obvious. hurt that's been building up for months and festering. "he even talked to me all night in front of people. and you just watched from a-far, as usual," you hiccup, "like you didn't even know me."

his eyes soften at your tone and he drops your wrist from his hold, looking down at you carefully in case you're gonna try to flee. but your vengeful look is quickly changing to sadness, seeing him stand in front of you with his gaze softening by the second.

"y/n, baby, i would talk to you but-"

"but nothing," you snap, your eyes shooting to his. "i am so fucking sick of us having this conversation, seonghwa. just admit i wa-wasn't anything to you and we can move on with our lives."

"stop. fucking. saying that," he says, taking your face in his hands and holding it tightly. his warm hands on your skin makes tears prick your head, his chest heaving as he tries to control the emotions ripping through him.

"stop giving me hope," you cry out, "stop making me think you're gonna admit that you love me. that you loved me at all and actually considered giving us a chance."

the more you get worked up, the more you start to hiccup and the tighter he holds you. he hates seeing you like this and it's obvious in the way his stomach is sinking, how he just wants to take you back to his house and mumble apologies against your skin until you give him another chance.

"i do love you."

"w-we knew each other for two months, that's not enough time to love.”

because that’s another thing you started to think. maybe you both were just confused about what you felt, so consumed by teenage lust and fascination that you convinced yourselves it was love; you didn’t think that was the case for you, but maybe for him.

maybe it wasn’t enough time for him to love.

"yes it is," he growls, pushing you back until you hit the brick wall behind you. you swallow nervously at how close he's pressed up against you. he can smell the alcohol on you mixed with the scent of your perfume and he remembers it so vividly.

lingering when you would pass him on the beach, faintly on the case of his pillow after you would sleep in his bed, tickling his nose when you would fall asleep on his shoulder; even when you were sick and smelt like sweat, you had that scent.

"don't fucking tell me it's not enough time when you're the only person i've ever felt like this about," he says lowly, his voice low and deep and so full of certainty, your stupid little heart lifts again. "and i know you feel the same way."

you swallow the lump in your throat and tears are burning your eyes at the way he's so close to you. his hand’s right next to your head and his body is right against yours, finding comfort in the feeling you were so trying so hard to forget.

but because you know seonghwa would never hurt you and welcome his presence despite everything, you don't realize how bad this position looks.

not until an unfamiliar, feminine voice speaks up.

"hey! get the hell away from her!"

"jojo, they might be-"

"she's about to cry, that's definitely fucking not-"

"okay, relax!”

the small girl with long brown hair looks at you with sympathy swarming in your eyes, her friend eyeing seonghwa suspiciously and looking ready to fight him.

"hey, are you okay?"

your lip wobbles at the soft kindness of the girl's voice, the one named jojo looking between you and seonghwa. "ye-yes," you hiccup, shooting the girls a small smile as they narrow their eyes. "i promise, i'm okay. we're just....talking."

"why are you pinning her against the wall?" the girl asks, feisty and eyes blazing; seonghwa can smell the alcohol on her breath but has a feeling she's usually this bold without the liquid courage.

"i'm just talking to her."

“you can’t talk to her without towering over her?”

seonghwa looks at girl with an annoyed look, throwing his hands up innocently before taking a few steps away from you.

the girl looks at you and you nod your head to confirm that it’s okay and you are just talking, eyes shining with gratitude despite the tears in them. the two girls look at you for a few silent moments before nodding their heads.

"we'll be around, if you need help call out."

"thank you but i promise i'm okay," you hiccup, the girl giving the tall boy one last dirty look before walking away.

"you can't just do that shit, jo. you have to be careful."

"oh please, what were his chicken legs really gonna do?"

you wanna laugh at the girls comment but can only feel sadness in your chest, you and seonghwa looking at each other as his hands run through his light hair. your eyes train on the floor and he lets out a long exhale, looking at your dejected, drained figure.

"i was never more honest about my shit than when i was with you this summer, y/n," he finds himself finally saying truthfully. 

he was happiest with you, he wished he could be like that all the time and wanted nothing more than that. wished he could believe every day of his life that he was good for you and treat you as such.

you swallow the lump in your throat and the tears are stinging your eyes so badly at the way he's saying this. how his words always sound so true and genuine and make your heart soar.

"but now you're lying," you squeak out shakily, your watery eyes meeting his and making his lips turn into a frown. "you're lying and it's hurting me. i feel like...i feel like i don’t even know what the truth is anymore.” 

he swallows the lump in his throat at your words, watching your eyes roam his face before a tear runs down your cheek. 

"i wish i never met you," you blurt out honestly, your words breathy and full of sadness. "because you've hurt me so badly and have made me so sad but i still..." you can't say the words that you still love and want him because it's so stupid.

"come here," he says, his voice low and pained but direct as he looks at you. a whimper leaves your mouth as you shake your head at him, trying to back away from him but only pushing yourself further into the wall.

"no," you brokenly whisper, voice small and shaky as you feel all the giddy drunkenness drain from you. now it's like every sad and heartbroken emotion you've felt hits you tenfold, your chest and stomach physically paining you.

"please, baby," he says lowly, his voice making your stomach twist even more.

"we're gonna figure it out but, please baby, for now, i need you with me. i'm here with you. we're both here and we have time left together."

you stay planted against his shirt until your tears stop falling, nodding your head against him and feeling your face flush with embarrassment. you hadn't meant to avoid him all day but you were just so sad when you realized how many days you had left with him. until you were ripped apart and wouldn't see other for god knows how long.

"i know it's hard and i'm not mad at you," he says again when he sees guilt and shame in your eyes. "but i'm here. how many times did i have to say it, pretty girl," he hums lowly, his hand running softly through your hair as his tone is laced with slight amusement.

"you can't call me that," you say, shaking your head as tears continue to blur your vision. "or look at me like that. it's not fair."

his eyebrow quirks up and he takes another step toward you, his heart dropping at the way your face falls even more. you know he's about to reach out and hug you and pull you into his arms and you're gonna crumble. cry into his chest and have him stroke your hair and tell you everything's gonna be okay.

but it's not okay. how he's treated you isn't okay. how he's discrediting everything you guys had isn't okay. and it's not okay that every part of you is gonna be willing to forgive him.

"none of this is fair," you say when he leans closer, voice dripping with anger and sadness as you smack at his chest. "you're hurting me and you could give a shit and i wish i never fucking met you. why did you do this?" 

you knock your fists into his chest and he takes every single one as he wraps his arms around you and pulls your body closer.

he shushes your muffled cries against your head, muttering that he's so sorry over and over again. sorry that he knew he wasn't good for you but allowed this to happen anyway and sorry that he can't say he wishes he never met you.

because meeting you was quite easily the best thing that ever happened to him and he thinks it's about time he proves that to you. he holds you until it seems as if every last tear is out of your system, your body slumping into his chest before he hears your breaths even out.

(part 18)

[dramaticviolincrescendo]

A Fitting Finale: Bringing Ian Full-Circle

Is everyone sick of my essays yet? Excellent. Here’s another anyway!

I’ve been trying to put my finger on what it is about Ian’s story in s11 that I love so much. It’s clear that he’s struggling on a number of levels, and he’s certainly spent the first third of the season under so much stress that it’s impacted his moods and marriage. In 11x04, we began to see hints of the tension breaking, and it made me realize that there’s a common trend in Ian’s behavior throughout the series coming to a head in his final act. It’s part of what has him so passionately advocating for Mickey to get a legal job, communicating their need to hammer out the specifics of what their marriage means, and upset at his own employment status.

From start to finish, Ian has been driven by two important motivators: love and fear.

Ian’s deep sense of love and compassion for others is well documented. We know that he will do anything for his family. I’ve mentioned before that Ian is at his best when he’s with them and his worst when he’s not. They’re his support system, and he’s a key part of theirs. They look after each other and rely on one another when the chips are down. They’re all grown up now, Liam being the exception, but those bonds are strong. They’ve matured and branched out to include Mickey, Tami, Franny, and Freddie. Ian’s heart belongs to his family, and he’s given as much of himself as he can to the people he’s been with over the years in whatever capacity they’ve needed him to.

Ian has also always been a fearful character, though not in the manner we typically visualize. He’s strong and motivated, ambitious and sensible, clever and insightful. When he decides that he wants something, he goes for it, from a South Side thug hovering in his orbit to pursuing the highest military accolades despite his small beginnings. Over and over again, we’ve seen him leap into serious and often strange situations in order to achieve his ends or something for the people he cares about. This man stole a water heater from a dead person’s house with his brother and tried to help his best friend hide a body. Certainly, he doesn’t fit the traditional stereotype. He’s not a coward.

But Ian is terrified—of everything:

·        Not amounting to anything

·        Not being worthy of love

·        Being the center of attention

·        Fading into the background and being forgotten

·        Not being able to help other people or those he loves

·        Not having a path

·        Not being in control of himself

·        Not being enough

He’s never said it. He’s never discussed these issues, except perhaps not having control. That isn’t who he is. That’s never been his way. Maybe we should add fear of communicating too, or fear of being seen as weak.

In s1, Ian makes a lot of brave choices. He comes out to three people, two of them family members, knowing how that is viewed in their neighborhood. When Mickey is after him, Ian takes the battle to his doorstep. He turns his back on an arguably easier life in a nice, middle-class neighborhood and a home with a father who would provide for him to live in the constant struggle to which he has grown accustomed. On the surface, he’s one put together kid. But then there’s Kash. There’s this man who preys on him, a middle child so responsible (and so male) that no one thinks he’d fall into any sort of trap—and Ian is desperate to keep him. He fights Lip over it and so painfully tries to make him understand his perspective, that he’s spending money he should probably be using for things he needs to buy Kash music and baseball tickets, to make him like what Ian does so that they can build their so-called relationship. That Kash is married with kids is unimportant to him; that he’s exploiting Ian’s fear of loneliness and not finding love outside his siblings, unthinkable. We know it. Lip sees it, powerless as he feels to do anything about it. Ian can’t. To date, he never will. He’s blinded by a culture that doesn’t believe such things can happen to males, and until Mickey comes along as a viable outlet for his affections and source of the ones he needs, he’s too afraid to be cautious.

Throughout s2 and s3, Ian makes difficult decisions. They’re not always smart, but it takes great strength to commit to the choices he makes: allowing Monica into his life, voicing even an ounce of his feelings to Mickey, pursuing West Point, and running away. All of them, however, are driven by love and fear alike. He’s vulnerable and needs his mother, the one who slaps Frank for shoving him and listens when he feels alone. She assuages his fears by telling him what he needs to hear: that he can do and be anything. We know there’s a danger in that, especially when she takes him to enlist when he’s nowhere near old enough, but it’s still validating for him. It feeds that need for attention but not too much attention, for understanding but not coddling, for love that originates from someone who isn’t his siblings. We see similar trends emerge: fear of losing Mickey on multiple occasions, fear that he’ll forever be in Lip’s shadow when he receives a letter of recommendation instead of Ian, and fear of never having Mickey’s full affections spiraling into fear of facing his own emotions in the aftermath of the wedding. We’ve seen that Ian runs from what he can’t process. He runs from what he can’t handle. He runs when he’s scared, especially of himself.

It continues repeatedly throughout the series. In s4, Ian is afraid of going backwards and once again losing his position in Mickey’s life. In s5, he’s afraid of being a burden on everyone around him, changing them, and losing control of his own mind. In s6, he’s afraid that this is it: his path and his goals have come to nothing, and he’s doomed to fall into the shadows where no one will ever see or love him. In s7, that fear of himself re-emerges when a patient is hurt on his watch and he has to come to terms with the fact that being better doesn’t mean he’s “cured.” In s8, he’s afraid of the void where Monica and Mickey used to be, and it sends him spiraling into a deeper one he doesn’t fear until it’s too late. In s9, he fears a lack of guidance, an indecisiveness born of having been able to rely on his hallucinations to tell him what to do. His path is gone, and he has no options. And that’s terrifying. Then Mickey is there, and he can put some of his fears to rest until they resurge with the idea of marriage in s10. All of a sudden, he’s back where he was in s5, fearing himself but also what he’ll do to someone he loves.

In s11, we’re seeing an Ian far more like he was in earlier seasons: rigidly devoted to having a plan, knowing what’s coming next, and ticking off certain boxes on the list of things you’re “supposed to do” as a married adult male. He’s spent a lot of this season seeking value in his employment and position in their marriage, and the stress has been dragging him down—quickly.

And it’s no wonder: he has every reason to be scared right now.

The thing about prison is that it is what’s known as a total institution. It is removed from society and, as such, operates under its own social beliefs, values, and norms. Like the military, another total institution, prison involves an initial period of sloughing off roles and identities from the greater society and subsequently being resocialized into a new role set. Upon release, a person undergoes the same process in reverse, and there’s an adjustment period to reintegrate into normal society. We can see that process begin when Ian gets in the car with Lip and shudders a bit, unsettled at the prospect of being outside these walls for the first time in months—going home far earlier than anticipated. For many people, it’s a difficult transformation, especially once they realize the full extent of how your life changes as an ex-convict in the U.S.

Ian doesn’t really get to adjust. From s8 to the start of s11, he undergoes a whirlwind of emotion and change. He literally loses touch with reality, starts a cult, commits a felony, is on the run from law enforcement, allows himself to be captured with one final display, goes to jail, remains unmedicated until he’s bailed out, panics at what his movement became, feels alone in the house as everyone deals with their own business and leaves him to his own devices, seeks guidance from above only to realize it wasn’t what he thought it was, can’t find answers, has warring factions telling him how to plead in court, ostensibly takes a plea deal that requires some amount of time behind bars, goes to prison, finds the love of his life there waiting for him, has to let his sister go, is released without Mickey, gets repeatedly screwed over by a corrupt PO, gets engaged, breaks up (sort of), gets engaged again, sees his wedding venue burned down, gets married, and hurtles straight into a pandemic. That’s… That’s a lot. Being a newlywed in a pandemic is a lot without all the rest of it, but this is what Ian is dealing with going into s11, and he hasn’t had the benefit of a stable readjustment and reintegration period.

He’s drowning.

He’s scared.

He has every reason to be. Marriage is scary, especially if you are so young and so in love with the person you’re marrying. Employment is scary, especially for them, because it could mean the difference between paying the utilities and running out of water. Change in general is scary, especially when it hasn’t done you any favors before.

Add all that to what Ian’s behavior has indicated that he’s been afraid of since the start, and you have a recipe for disaster.

To a great extent, that’s what I think his arc is all about this season: learning how to live again. It’s about not being so afraid of himself that he desperately grasps for any stereotypical structure for married life that he can. It’s about regaining the confidence that has always left him clawing his way to the top instead of letting life beat him down. It’s about finding the happy medium where he and Mickey aren’t doing anything illegal but aren’t stuck in a valueless spiral, scrambling and struggling to pay the bills like when they were kids.

It’s about learning not to be so afraid anymore, and I think that’s a beautiful goodbye for a beautiful character.

[justonemorechapternicercy]

"Hold on. Why does that ring have my name on it?" (Future fic) ;) 💕

Sorry, dear anon for the wait. I know you sent me this prompt during Halloween Nicercy, but I wanted to write this around Christmas. So, here it is! (I do not take responsibility for this fic. This is when Gen is sooo done with the essays she has to write that her mind is starting to make no sense. Also - Percy is not the only one who is dense, okay? Nico is just as reckless, and idiotic as he is, so they both deserve each other.) Percy has a certain knack for getting into tight spots.

Fortunately, he also has a knack for getting out of those tight spots, though not necessarily without any issue, due to his infamous luck, stubbornness, and the timely arrival of his beloved bodyguard.

But what can a person do, if that rather unconventional tight spot is because of said beloved bodyguard?

Hm... Let's rewind a bit, shall we?

It started when Nico di Angelo found a white gold ring in the drawer.

No!

No, it started way before that.

Percy Jackson, more known as Prince Perseus, was the crown prince of Atlantis, a little one city state, near the Mediterranean Sea.

He was always a very mischievous and adventurous little boy, who could easily escape from any room in the palace, even if it was full of the staff. He liked to get into trouble: one time he managed to almost drown the whole palace in water. Or there was the time when he escaped from the palace and went to the nearby city, where he stole food from the grocery store because he saw homeless kids, and the police didn't believe him that he was the crown prince. Let's just say that the police were scarred for life by Salicia and Amphitrite Jackson, and homelessness became a non-existing problem in the state.

Little Percy was guarded by many staff member, by his whole family - which was pretty big, with one father, two mothers, one older brother, one older sister, and a younger brother who was just as mischievous prankster as he was -, but when his little brother became just as problematic as Percy, and the two became thick as thieves, Poseidon decided that enough is enough, and he found a bodyguard for each boy.

Tyson got a nice, Chinese descendent older boy, named Frank, and Percy? 

Percy got an Italian demigod, named Nico di Angelo. His bodyguard was five years older than he was, and for the fifteen-year-old Percy, it was an instant crush.

For the new bodyguard?

Not so much, especially because the prince he needed to watch over was an adventurous little shit. But, after a while, Percy grew on him, he learned how to appreciate the sassy prince, and soon he not only saw "work", when he looked at Percy but a beautiful, lively young thing. It was not a good idea. It was a really bad idea to fall in love with somebody he was paid to protect, but he just couldn't resist the temptation. The pretty prince was absolutely no help whatsoever; he was constantly flirting with Nico since their first day together.

While their romantic relationship started painfully slow, they gradually became inseparable. They didn't announce their new status, but neither did they hide it. They just... did everything as before, but finally they went on dates where Nico also knew that they were dates. And the kisses in places where they would not cause scandal because a paparazzi saw them. That was also a new development.

Their relationship was steady for almost a year when the second issue started: King Poseidon announced that as he, his father, his grandfather, and all of his ancestors did, so will his beloved son marry at his 21st birthday.

Yeah, that was not a happy day for anyone in their family...

And this is how we reached Percy's current problem: Nico finding an obviously engagement ring in the drawer. The air freeze in the room.

"I..." Percy starts to say, but the look in Nico's eyes stops him.

"I know that the king wants you to get married, but you should have mentioned before that you found somebody." The bodyguard's voice is full of disappointment, full of grim resentment. He throws back the ring to the drawer so suddenly, one would think it burned him and starts to walk around in the room like an animal in its cage.

"Nico, please, let me-," Percy tries once again, but his boyfriend doesn't want to hear him. Well, that's tough luck, because Percy was never somebody who can be silenced, especially not when it is an important matter. He determinedly struts to the drawer, takes out the engagement ring, takes out another engagement ring, and shoves them under the nose of his fucking dense boyfriend who is a genius in theory, but in practice an I.D.I.O.T.

"Read it, you idiot! It's my job to jump to a conclusion without any thought or logic, not yours," he growls. Nico narrows his eyes at him, but Percy is not pulling back, so he does as the prince says.

And just stares in awe.

"Why... why does that ring have my name on it? And why does the other have your name?" The Italian asks in a wavering voice.

"What do you think, you nitwit?! Yeah, my father wants me to get married. But I also want to get married. To you. And if you could have waited until tomorrow night, you could have the whole big marriage proposal thing we always laugh at. But now you have to be satisfied with this," Percy grumbles, but he can't stay angry at his idiot of a boyfriend, so he gets down on one knee and asks, "will you marry me?". It is not the proposal he was dreaming of. He wanted to do it on Christmas Eve, in a beautifully decorated room, but... To be honest, it was more like them. Now he just has to wait for his frozen boyfriend to say yes.

It will happen at any moment.

Right?

His knee is starting to hurt, his outstretched arms are starting to shake, and he may or may not starting to be afraid. He was so sure about their relationship, his mothers helped him to choose the perfect rings, even his father said that he thought they will be a perfect married couple, but what if...?

"Yes." Percy is so engrossed in his doubts, he almost doesn't get what Nico is replying to, but when he does, his smile is so wide and bright, he could light up the whole state.

"Oh, thank fuck," he whispers and pulls his fiance into a scorching kiss.

[eqt-95]

s'mores

"You're doing it again."

"Hm?"

"You're on fire."

"I'm on-? Oh shit," Kate muttered with a slew of other curses, swinging the flaming ball of sugar from the end of her found branch. She shot Melvin and James a threatening look through the wave of snickers hidden behind their boyish grins.

"You sure you've done this before, City Slicker?" Melvin continued teasing.

"Yes," Kate growled, secretly grateful the tinge of afternoon sun could hide the burn from her cheeks. The glow of fire from the pit sitting in the middle of the group also added a distorted hue to everything. Plus nightfall cast a reasonable amount of ambiguity over the group. Honestly, Kate was looking for any excuse she could to deflect from embarrassment.

A fluffy white pillow appeared in Melvin's outstretched hand as an olive branch, and Kate begrudgingly took it, piercing it over the burnt crisp that remained from her last two failures.

"Maybe if you spent a little more attention on the marshmallow and a little less on-"

Whatever Melvin was going to say was drowned out by a sea of laughter coming from the other side of the fire. The side where Kate's attention wandered to. The side where she sat, her back poised up against a dead log, her long legs shifting between scrunched up, bound by her arms and stretched out and soaking in the heat radiated off the burning driftwood onto her bare skin. Her warm, soft-

"I'll take that," came Melvin's voice and with it the tug of the stick from Kate's hand.

She was hopelessly distracted; had been all day. It wasn't her fault. No living person should carry the laugh of two dozen angels or smile with the glow of the damn sun. How could anyone expect to carry on a conversation when the alternative was to stumble over words in lieu of hearing her voice instead. Or better yet, why would anyone remember how to swim when that was simply a distraction from watching the controlled, focused way she slid through the water. And certainly why would Kate Kane give a fuck about the bubbling skin of a marshmallow when she could watch the orange light flicker and glow off her skin.

"You could go talk to her."

"You say that like I'm a six year-old with a crush."

"Aren't you?" James asked.

It annoyed her when James chimed in. It wasn't because she didn't like James. It was that if James was clued in, it meant something incredibly obvious was being said.

Kate opened her mouth to argue but was rendered speechless when she looked up to see the spot opposite her sat empty. Her eyes darted around, squinting into the darkness beyond in search of her. She couldn't have just disappeared. Maybe she'd-

"Hey, what does a girl need to get a toasted marshmallow around here?"

Kate choked. On what, she had no idea. It was probably her spit, but that was more mortifying to admit than pretending it was a fly or the wind or something invisible.

"Wh-I-uh…"

To a third-party observer, the comical timing of Melvin's arm thrusting the marshmallowed skewer back into Kate's personal space would have triggered a laugh track. Fortunately for Kate, she was the only witness, but even then she still nearly dropped the gift horse onto the sand as he handed off the sugary baton.

"Uh, yea, I… er, I've been known to, you know… er, roast a good marshmallow."

Kate Kane was not normally an idiot, but somehow Sophie Moore had a knack for jamming the signal between Kate's brain and her mouth. Saying she regressed to a cavewoman was an insult to cavewomen. She was practically a potato. And honestly, even potatoes might object.

"Oh yea? You write your admissions essay on your unparalleled roasting abilities? That slow, rotisserie-style turning technique to ensure only the most consistent, caramelly, bubbly skin encapsulating the decadent, soft, gooshing center of the… uh, Kate?"

"Yea?"

"You're on fire."

Kate wished she was on fire. She wanted to roll right into the fire and face the same charred fate as her third failed marshmallow. Melvin and James didn't have the heart to laugh this time. Instead they flinched away, finding an adjacent log to occupy while the meltdown that was Kate's pride spilled onto the log and then the sand and then the fire and finally into the water beyond. Minnows were feasting on the remnants of Kate Kane. Her tombstone would surely read 'couldn't even roast a fucking marshmallow.'

"Here," Sophie smirked, slipping her fingers around the stick and tugging it away from Kate's unresponsive hand.

Kate relied on silence to guide the next few minutes. Silence and Sophie monologuing about the nuanced ways of properly toasting a marshmallow. The stick rolled seamlessly between Sophie's fingers, setting the pale pillow just within reach of the flickering flames. It was mesmerizing. If all Kate did for the rest of her life was watch Sophie Moore toast marshmallows, she'd be content.

At least, that was until Sophie proceeded to sandwich her perfectly roasted marshmallow between two graham crackers and a slice of Hershey's. Then Kate could have spent the rest of her life watching Sophie Moore bite into the s'more; bite into it and make an absolute mess of everything.

It was everywhere. Kate could have cared less about marshmallows ten minutes ago, but now she was so unbelievably jealous of the strings of melted sugar stretching and catching on Sophie chin, her cheek, her chest, her-

"You'd think I'd never eaten a s'more before. Is it kosher to just lick it off of everywhere?"

"I could help."

"What?"

Idiot.

"Uh, with the, uh… I can… here," Kate choked, swiping up a napkin and waving it a conservative distance from anywhere remotely close to Sophie's skin.

"That's not gonna cut it."

"The.. with the, I can… soap?"

"Soap?" Sophie chuckled. "On the beach."

"Sand?" Kate offered instead.

What a miserable existence. The only silver lining was that Kate had said two real words consecutively without stumbling over her tongue.

"Definitely more accessible but far from practical."

"Right."

"I have an idea."

Then Sophie stood up. Sophie stood up and stripped. Not completely, of course. That would have sent Kate into epileptic shock. No, Sophie did nothing that graphic, but the way she shimmied out of her shirt and cut-off shorts to reveal her bikini from earlier that afternoon set Kate's skin ablaze in a way that had nothing to do with the fire. Or the sun. Or the graveyard of burnt marshmallows.

"What are you doing?"

Four words. A new record.

"Well I'm not about to roll around in the sand."

Kate blinked. Processing. Whirring. Her brain flickered with understanding. "You're going into the water?"

"You coming?"

"Am I… w-with you?"

"Is there anyone else?"

"In the water."

Sophie's head turned in confusion, her eyes narrowing humorously back at Kate.

"You scared?"

"Scared? Me?" Kate repeated, and that's when she felt it: the flare of a challenge. Through months of skittishly toeing the edge, unable to articulate anything beyond a mound of farm animal noises, she had passively watched. She was an awkward observer around Sophie Moore. Nowhere else in her life did she occur this way, but Sophie was different. Kate wanted to impress her. She wanted to be smart and clever for her. She wanted to go toe-to-toe not because she wanted to beat her, but because Kate saw how Sophie could bring out the best in her. The only problem was Kate didn't know how to tap into that… until now.

She climbed to her feet faster than Sophie could register what was happening, and in the blink of an eye Kate had burst past her. "Last one in takes mess hall duty for a month!"

"Oh, you are on, Kane!"

[luci-four]

Would it be alright to request Mammon fluff with a little bit of sad :'^)? I really loved your Satan piece and I'd like to see what you do with Mammoney!

A/N: hey thanks for being patient!! i had a monster essay to deal with so I went a lil mia lmao; hope you like it!!! its a little long so it’ll be under the cut!!

Sunflower. {Mammon x Reader/MC}

A lot of things had constantly been just out of reach for Mammon—his freedom to live on his own, that one “A” he could’ve gotten on that test if he didn’t second guess his answers, literally every opportunity he had missed to make quick cash without much work—yet, none of them seemed to make a lasting impression. It sucked, sure, but Mammon had resigned himself to the idea that those things were simply just nice dreams that he could either try and attempt again, or would be okay living without.

One thing in particular, however, had just barely grazed his fingertips as he reached out as far as possible, feeling the muscle in his shoulder stretch as far as it could, his body desperately moving to catch even the smallest part of them—only for the thing he desired most to slip from his grasp; Now, that was the one that hurt.

And it continued to hurt.

Time and time again, he’d find his shoulder sore as though he had desperately reached for the sun despite never doing such a thing; He’d rub the muscle, wincing when he found a particularly tender spot, and mindlessly work to fix whatever the problem may have been. He never seemed to notice it tense up whenever his eyes landed on MC.

The tightness in his shoulders always seemed to linger heavily whenever he spoke to them; Was it from the words he neglected to say? Or perhaps it was stress from patting himself on the shoulder, expressing his greatness and exaggerating his emphasis to impress them? Maybe it was from the feelings for them he refused to take notice of and continued to deny their existence. Maybe it was the weight of his sins sitting on his shoulder, he was in Devildom, after all.

Smiles were the superficial cure for his muscle pain—their smile was constantly so bright that he didn’t need to reach for it, it came to him instead. The sound of their voice always danced its way to his ears. He needed only to reach a little bit whenever they needed him, he could easily sense their emotions.

His hand, whether he wanted it to be or not, had always extended towards MC; Why didn’t they hold theirs out back to him?

His own laugh started to irritate him, ignorant and egotistic. He knew the only reason he laughed a little harder, a little louder, was to drown out the sounds of anyone else speaking with MC. Had he become attached? No, not at all—not that he’d tell anybody outright. Mammon would do what he could to make sure they felt alright, made sure he was by their side, and definitely made sure no one, including his brothers, made a move that MC would regret. Anger, jealousy, insecurity, defeat—everything had found itself coated in childish praises only he could give himself. It was no wonder MC never reached back for him—he wouldn’t reach for himself, either.

There was no surprise when his brothers started to take to MC as well—jealousy, you bet—but no surprise. Why wouldn’t they? MC shines no matter what they do, even when they aren’t realizing it. Maybe he just thought their soul was pretty, shiny—like a diamond—maybe it was just his unquenchable greed that drew him to them, to their soul, and that’s all it was. Of course! He was the Great Mammon after all; No human would do him in otherwise… or so he told himself. The proud smile of his dropped fairly easy the moment they turned around.  

Truth is, he was terrified. He felt like a child trying to cling to their mother, one who cried the moment they found themselves alone with no sense of time to tell just how long they had been lonely. He felt so weak, so pathetic, so annoyed with the very idea that he wanted—needed—them around. He talks so big, so how can he feel so small?

He’s microscopic sitting beside MC as they focus their attention on Levi ramble on about some new nerd game of his. He’s tiny as they look over a new book Satan discovered while the language was something far too foreign for him to comprehend. He’s puny as he stands in the doorway to their room while Asmo goes on and on about something he couldn’t catch because all he could focus on was the way his brother’s hands danced across every part of MC he could get them on. He’s pathetic standing behind them during any interaction with Lucifer.

MC never seems to mind having him around, but what if it was just to be nice? What if they didn’t care whether he stayed or left? They were the sun and he was simply the sunflower, begging, pleading, reaching for their warmth—but reaching for so long hurt. He wasn’t sure if he should try to reach anymore.

They had some sort of conversation with the others, something about plans to go out that evening—not that he could join them, anyway. He’d come up with some bullshit excuse about some get-rich-quick scheme he’d come up with once again, just to avoid seeing how brightly his brothers can make MC shine. They looked happy—excited, even—to go out with everyone; He never felt more stupid in his life, and he had to admit that that feeling alone said a lot.

From behind his closed door, he could hear all of them bustling about, laughing, talking, getting ready for… whatever they had planned, he decided it was better not to know. He threw himself onto his couch, holding a pillow against his head to try and drown out the sounds of happiness just beyond the door; The pillow was also to drown out the sound of his short, frustrated screech.

“This is bullshit!” He cried through the pillow to his empty room, “Bullshit!”

He kicked his feet around like a child, tossing and turning from side to side as he let out strangled sounds of anger.

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” He punched the pieces of couch at his sides, “Who needs them anyway? If MC wants to go hang out with everyone else then who cares? I don’t care!”

“Because you’re the Great Mammon?”

The sudden voice shocked him; Mammon fell to the floor and looked up to find MC leaning over the back of his couch—their stare made his face heat up quickly.

“Y…yeah, ya know it! Exactly!”

“So, I didn’t watch you just throw an entire temper-tantrum?”

“What? Of course not!”

“Uh-huh,” they drew out, “sure, alright.”

Mammon bit the inside of his cheek, eyes darting around the room; He thought it was inconspicuous, but MC could read right through him. Ridiculous—of course MC had to witness it! They saw him crack, break, throw a fit, of course they aren’t going to want him now; He felt so… insignificant the longer he soaked in his embarrassment.

“…you stayed?” he whispered with a shaky breath.

The silent pause killed him. It was like being stabbed with an entire pitchfork, over and over again; The pause lasted only seconds, but it was enough to make Mammon feel as though he were going to burst.

“N-not that I care!” he blurted out. “’Cause why would I care? I don’t care–”

“Of course I stayed.”

His eyes snapped back to theirs, an unreadable expression on their face. What did that mean? ‘Of course I stayed,’ their words just kept echoing in his head until they spoke again to break his trance.

“I mean,” their lips finally broke out into that burning smile Mammon loved so much, “how was I supposed to have any fun without you?”

Mammon’s body grew numb from shock as MC leaned over the back of the couch as far as possible, stretching their arm out to what looked to be an uncomfortably far length just to reach him; It looked painful. Sharp intake of breath, examine their hand—he could finally see past the beams of light to see the most delicate hand reaching back out for him, and he didn’t hesitate to take it.

“Psh, duh,” he hoped his hand wasn’t sweaty as he tugged on theirs to pull himself up, “I’m literally the life of the party. I’m–”

“The Great Mammon, yes, we know.” They let out a heartwarming giggle, “We’ll just have to have our own little party.”

“Maybe… a movie?” He sat back on the couch, never letting so much as a thought of letting their hand go pass his mind, “A party animal like me gets tired too, ya know.”

“Mmm, good idea. Only if we watch something scary.”

“What!”

“What? It’s a good excuse to keep holding your hand.”

Mammon had nearly choked on his own spit at the very idea that those words had left their mouth—hearing them made him actually choke. His face grew dark, he had to turn it away from them to hide just how much he loved what he heard.

Sunflowers always faced, begged, longed for the sun, but no one ever warned them about just how warm it was going to be when the sun looked back.

“What’s gotten into you? Cut it out.”

He no longer had to reach far, as MC’s hand had finally met his, and he didn’t plan on letting it go any time soon.

He didn’t even realize how the pain in his shoulder had disappeared the moment their head laid upon it.

[annewritesfic]

Er, can you write a one shot of Kate and Eva almost breaking up and then not?

Let's pretend this didn't take almost two months-

Kate wasn't comfortable.

Her skin was crawling every second of every day, it felt too tight, she was drowning as she walked, trapped in her head.

And yet nothing changed. She went to class, she texted with the tigers, and she smiled and kissed Eva.

She didn't tell Eva.

It was fine, really. She was fine. She could handle this. And Eva was already busy with her own stuff, with her own classes and her own homework and her own life. In fact, Kate wasn't as big a part of her life as she had been - their colleges were an hour apart and while they tried to meet up every weekend, sometimes it just wasn't possible. And while they texted and Skyped, there were times when they went whole days and once three days without speaking. Not because they'd been fighting - they just didn't have time.

Kate still loved her, obviously. But she missed her. And she didn't get much time with her, and she definitely wasn't going to waste those precious moments with stupid worries.

So she drowned and smiled.

~~~~~

Eva was chipping away.

Every day, she smiled at her classmates, she answered questions correctly, always showing off a little bit, always appearing as perfect as possible.

She was perfect. The golden girl. The teacher's pet.

She wasn't breaking. She definitely wasn't broken. But she was tired. She barely slept, she barely ate, as everything, everyone, chipped away at her.

Sometimes, when she did manage to sleep, she'd dream that Kate was there, and wake up disappointed when she wasn't.

Those days, she always remembered to reach for her phone and text Kate a "good morning, love! ❤️". Other days, she'd get all the way to dinnertime before realizing she hadn't talked to her at all.

She missed her. She missed her so much. It hurt to be this far from her, to know that she wasn't going to see Kate every single day, see her smile and hear her laugh in person.

Last week, the anxiety had finally reached its peak, her bottle had overflown, and an even larger chip had fallen from her. She'd broken, cried and muffled screams and tried not to disturb anyone else and calm down before her roommate came home.

She hadn't called Kate.

It was the first time since before they'd started dating that she'd cried and not even shot her a text letting her know she wasn't okay. But she didn't today. It wasn't that her phone was dead, or she'd left it somewhere.

She didn't want to bother her.

Kate was already stressed. She was somewhere new and unfamiliar and struggling with her classes and had her own life, a life Eva was rapidly becoming a smaller part of.

Eva was chipping away, but she painted over her chips and smiled.

~~~~~

"Hey!" Eva slipped her hand into Kate's. "God, it's been way too long since I saw you."

Kate squeezed her hand and smiled. "I missed you."

"Come on, let's go for a walk, yeah?" Eva was already tugging her towards the sidewalk. "I've got so much pent up energy."

"Me, too. Moving around is hard in class and in small dorm rooms."

Even as they walked, Kate leaned against Eva's shoulder, trying to relax and enjoy being in the moment. Still, something felt a little bit off.

She wanted to enjoy being here with Eva. She really did. But last night she'd had a nightmare, a bad one, and hadn't told Eva, which hadn't happened since they'd started dating.

And it felt weird.

But Kate looked over at Eva, at her bright smile and glittering eyes, and thought I can't ruin this.

So she didn't say anything about the nightmare.

But she still thought about it.

A lot.

~~~~~

Eva had three homework assignments due tomorrow. She also had a project due Friday and an essay to draft. And as much as she liked being here with Kate, she kind of felt like she was slacking off on her schoolwork, like she was wasting time.

And Kate had never felt like that before.

Kate was her escape, her good thing, possibly the love of her life. She wasn't a waste of Eva's time.

She didn't like this feeling.

"V?"

Eva snapped out of her thoughts and turned to look at Kate. "Yeah?"

"Are- are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, sorry, I'm just kinda... preoccupied, I guess. A lot of homework." Eva tried to laugh it off, but her stomach twisted at the hurt look in Kate's eyes.

"Oh." Kate looked down at her feet. "Sorry."

"No, don't be sorry-"

"If you have a lot of homework, you probably should prioritize that." Kate pulled her hand away and stepped back. "I probably should start that essay, anyways."

"Katie-"

"It's fine, seriously." Kate shrugged. "I get it."

"I want to hang out with you!"

"But you are and you're still thinking about school, so clearly it's not a good time." Kate stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and hugged herself.

"Kate, I do want to be here-"

"Are you sure? You're so busy, I don't want to annoy you." Kate's tone started to get harsh. "You've got so much on your plate already and I'm a mess and I take up so much of your time and-"

"Kate-"

"Eva, this whole an-hour-apart thing isn't working!"

It felt like the world stopped spinning as Eva tried to comprehend what Kate was saying. "What- you want to break up?"

Kate shrugged again. "I don't know. Maybe it's for the best."

"Katie-"

"Don't call me Katie."

Eva tried to control the tears threatening to spill. All around them, people had stopped and were staring at them, some subtly and some blatantly. Staring at the train wreck of a falling-apart couple. "Can we not argue about this on a public sidewalk?"

Kate clenched her jaw. "Fine. Let's go back to my dorm."

The walk back was tense and awkward, the two of them staying at least a foot apart at all times. Eva was trying to process the fact that they were probably going to break up, that she was going to lose Kate forever, when Kate unlocked the door.

"Kate, how long have you been thinking we're not working?" Eva asked as soon as the door was closed. "Because this doesn't seem proportional to what happened, this isn't a thought that just occurred to you-"

"Long-distance anything never works out, Eva," Kate said softly, leaning against the wall.

"We were making it work, I thought-"

"Eva, stop kidding yourself."

"Look, I thought we were fine and suddenly you want to break up-"

"It's not what I want, it's what's best for us-"

"And when do you get to decide that on your own-"

"You're not the first person to forget about me!" Kate exploded. "You're not the first person to say you'll stay and then leave me! Everyone leaves in the end, I shouldn't have told myself you'd stick around, so please, just go, before one of us gets hurt."

"What, you think I don't care about you? You think I don't fucking need you? You think you're not the goddamn love of my life, the best thing that ever happened to me?" Eva threw her hands in her air. "I love you so fucking much! Leaving you would hurt so much more than staying! And I don't know what's happening to us and I hope this isn't the end but if you really want to stay together, then we gotta figure this out and you gotta help me out here!" Too late, she realized she was crying.

"Eva-"

"I love you, Kate." Eva hugged herself and refused to meet Kate's eyes. "Please don't leave me."

"I-I had a nightmare last night." Kate's voice was so small and quiet, Eva could barely hear her, and her words shook like a leaf in the wind. "A bad one. You were there, and Chess was, and we-we went for a walk and then Riley was there and-" She held a hand to her mouth, but kept speaking, even as she started to shake with sobs. Somehow, Eva couldn't make herself move towards her, no matter how hard she tried. "She just kept stabbing, she got Chess and you and she just kept stabbing and stabbing and stabbing and there was so much blood-" Her voice broke, and finally Eva unfroze herself to put an arm around her. "I should've told you, I've been thinking about it all day-"

"Hey," Eva said softly. "Hey, I'm here, I'm okay, she's locked up and won't hurt either of us. It's gonna be okay."

"V-"

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Eva said a few times. "Fuck, Kate-"

"I should've told you-"

"And I should've told you about the breakdown I had the other day-"

"What?"

"I'm fine. Just stressed, it's okay."

"Eva." Kate looked up at Eva, her eyes full of worry and still brimming with tears. "Breakdowns aren't fine."

Eva shook her head. "I don't wanna talk about it. The point is, I'm so sorry I haven't been here for you."

"Me, too."

"Can we try a little harder to make this work?"

"Yeah."

"I love you. I love you so so much, you have no idea."

Kate strung her arms around Eva's shoulders and tucked her head against Eva's chest, right against her collarbone. "I love you too."

"We'll be okay."

"Yeah."

[chrysocomae]

Please share this essay from a healthcare worker from r/CoronavirusUS

What to expect when you get critically ill from COVID-19. A healthcare worker’s perspective.

"I am a healthcare worker who has volunteered to be a part of the COVID ICU “proning team” at the hospital where I work. I am writing this because my colleagues and I had a long discussion today about how disconnected the public is when it comes to the harsh reality of this virus and what it does to people. I will describe in as much detail as possible what you should expect to “experience” when you get critically ill from COVID-19.

By the time I meet you in the hospital, you’re already intubated in the ICU. This means that you likely started feeling terrible enough to get yourself to a hospital and then got admitted into said hospital. Your condition worsened to the point that the medical team determined that your best chance of survival would be to place you in a medically-induced coma and hook you up to a ventilator that literally breathes for you. The process that leads up to this point is traumatic, terrifying, and lonely. You are allowed zero visitors and your only interactions are with strangers that come into your room unannounced, wearing what look to you like hazmat suits. The hospital you’re staying in isn’t equipped with enough “negative-pressure” rooms to contain the virus and keep it from spreading to the hallway so there will be a giant window unit that pumps all the air from your room out the window vs allowing it back into the hospital. This window unit is LOUD (similar to a generator) and it will drive you absolutely insane because it MUST be running 24/7. So, you’re just going to have to accept that. As terrible as all this external hell feels, it’s nothing compared to what’s going on internally. Your body is deteriorating. Every breath is a gasp. Turning over to face the door when you hear a knock is impossible because you are literally THAT exhausted. Your oxygen levels continue to drop, even though you are being pumped MASSIVE amounts of pure oxygen through your nose (which is now bleeding constantly because it is completely dried out). The oxygen levels drop so low that the only course of action is to make you comatose, give you a paralyzing agent so you don’t thrash, and place you on a ventilator. Ok, so NOW let’s get to the bad part.

You’re laying on a bed, on your back. Unconscious, naked, Foley catheter in your urethra, and maybe (if your nurse is lucky) a FlexiSeal in your anus to collect all your diarrhea (look it up if you have questions). A ventilator is placed down your throat, somewhere between 20-28centimeters down. It will probably move around if it’s not tethered, which is a no-no, so it will be taped to your head/face. We’ll come back to this later, because that tape will eventually mess up your face, maybe permanently. A feeding tube goes down your nose because comatose people can’t eat, obviously. So your diet is now a nutrient-packed yellow mushy soup. Yum! Ok this is the basic setup.

Even with all this medically-engineered hoopla, you continue to deteriorate. The ventilator is running 100% oxygen down your throat, into your lungs but still not enough is getting into your blood. This is where organ failure starts to happen. Kidney failure, brain damage, etc. And this is where me and my “proning team” show up at your door.

Prone = laying on your stomach.

Supine = laying on your back.

Proning = turning you from your stomach onto your back.

Why do we do this? Well, to simplify it, the back of your lungs are bigger and better at oxygenating your blood. But when you’re laying on your back, all the fluid (LOTS of fluid) in your lungs accumulates and fills the back of your lungs - thus drowning them and making them much less effective. Flipping you onto your stomach causes that fluid to move to the front of your lungs (because gravity), freeing up the back of your lungs to do their better job. Honestly, it’s pretty amazing to see how quickly you will go from 79% oxygen (SpO2) to 93% as soon as we turn you onto your stomach. It’s very satisfying for us. Makes us feel proud. We’ll pat you on the back, literally, and give you kudos for this oxygen accomplishment.

We will plan to leave you in this prone position for somewhere between 12 to 18 hours. Your head is turned to the side, otherwise the ventilator tube would be rammed through the back of your mouth. Don’t worry, we will position this for you, you’re paralyzed, remember?

Once those 12 - 18 hours are up, the prone team comes back in to flip you back over to supine. This is where things can get ugly. Being paralyzed and on your stomach leads to A LOT of swelling/edema. Especially in your face. Your tongue has swelled up to ~5x it’s normal size and it doesn’t fit in your mouth anymore. Lips swell x5 times, too. Your eyelids have been taped shut but they’re swollen too. It looks like you have golf balls under your eyelids. Now, remember that tape that holds the ventilator tube in place? Well, it’s still holding tight. And with all the face/mouth swelling, I should emphasize the word TIGHT. You’ll be in this condition for a while. Maybe a week, maybe two, maybe three. That tape will get replaced daily but it will do some damage to your skin, especially your lips and ears. And since your blood isn’t getting proper oxygen, your body isn’t great at healing wounds. So, expect your face to look a little different for a LONG time, if you make it out alive. I now can say that I have seen a living person’s cheekbones. Not the form of the cheekbones, but the ACTUAL bones, because their wounds on their cheeks got so bad that the flesh necrotized and sloughed off during the friction involved with a head turn.

Where were we? Oh yes, we just flipped you back to supine. The 5 of us will be doing some routine care on you: wiping you down with Chlorhexidine Gluconate (CHG) wipes, putting Venelex cream and Mepilex patches your bed sores (think bony prominences - knees, clavicles, sternum, shoulders, nipples, shins, cheeks, etc.), using a suction device to suck up all the secretions from your mouth and nose, cleaning up your diarrhea from EVERYWHERE and changing that pesky face tape. Don’t worry, we’ll be gentle.

Now, it’s been maybe 10-15 minutes on your back. We stand back and assess how you’re doing. If you’re a champ, your oxygen levels stay in the low/mid 90s and we can leave you like this for 1 to 8 hours before you start deteriorating again, at which point it’s back onto your stomach.

The idea is that each time we put you back in supine, you’ll be able to maintain longer and longer periods of time before your oxygen drops to the 80s or 70s (or 60s, 50s, 40s, you get it).

The longer you’re in this ICU situation, the worse it gets. Eventually, we have to start doing all the routine care from the side-lying position, because putting you on your back could literally kill you. The supine position becomes intolerable - your blood pressure starts to plummet, your heart skips beats or shoots up to the 200s (or just stops) and your oxygen level drops immediately. So, unfortunately, you go back onto your stomach. More swelling, yay! Repeat this process daily and hope for better results each time. The more often we have to repeat, the less likely you are to survive, because it’s an indicator of how poorly your lungs are recovering.

Now, this is the point where someone might ask, “why are you keeping this person alive? Isn’t it inhumane to prolong this person’s suffering? What quality of life will they have when/if they survive?” Unfortunately, that’s not our choice. Even more unfortunately, it’s likely not even YOUR choice. Who’s choice is it? Your Medical Power of Attorney (MPOA), which 9 times out of 10, is a family member. Now, remember, there are zero visitors allowed for COVID-19 patients. That means that your family is getting ALL the information about your condition from a phone call or texts messages from someone on the healthcare team. Your family can’t see you and they can’t talk to you. Thus, they simply cannot appreciate just how much you are suffering. How could they? It’s not their fault. They love you. They’re praying for you. They’re wondering if they are making the right choice but they are doing so without all the information, because a phone call from a doctor or case manager can only go so far.

Above all, they are holding on to hope. Hope that you’ll come back from this. That you’ll be that patient in that next news video that gets the standing ovation as they’re wheeled out of the hospital because YOU MADE IT. And I hope you do, too. We all do. We care about you. If you make it out of that ICU, you’ve got months of rehab ahead of you. Your fight for life has JUST started. The success story is that, against all odds, you didn’t die.

Or, maybe you did. As I write this, 170,000 people have died from COVID-19 in the US alone. Each one of those people had a story, a life, a family, dreams, goals and a future. So many of them suffered tremendously through their last days, with strangers. Now they’re gone, forever. And that ICU bed is ready for the next one. I hope it’s not you. I hope it’s not your mom, dad, grandpa, aunt, sister, child or neighbor. But if it is, you can count on me and my coworkers to be gentle with you and treat you with dignity and respect. We will do everything in our power to get you home. This virus doesn’t care about your political affiliations, your plans, your freedoms. It doesn’t care about you at all. So we will.

Now, if I may.....please wear your damn mask.

Edit: The title says “when you get critically ill.” Emphasis on the “critically ill.” This is NOT what the average person should expect when they test positive. Most people DONT get critically ill. The VAST majority of people will never even see a regular hospital room, much less the ICU - I tested positive and I recovered at home with no medical intervention. Most will have mild symptoms and then recover. That being said, this post reflects a real possibility and a current reality for many people. I want people to understand the harsh reality of COVID-19. It affects everyone differently and taking small, practical precautions can keep you from ever having to wonder “is this going to happen to me?” or “did I get grandma sick because I didn’t take this seriously?” I apologize that this came off as fear mongering. The post reflects my experience as a healthcare worker and I feel that the public hasn’t had enough of that experience other than “we are overworked and tired.”

[dreamsafterhours]

college boyfriend!markhyuk au series: III (mark’s pathway)

a universe in which roommates!markhyuk meet each other's s/o in class

markhyuk are roommates, my/n and dy/n are roommates, mark and dy/n take classes together and so do donghyuk and my/n — how will their fates intertwine?

genre: fluff pairings: mark+my/n (fem), donghyuk+dy/n (fem), platonic!mark+dy/n, platonic!donghyuk+my/n format: dotpoint AU universe: non idol, college bf warning: some swearing

masterlist

or click here to meet your soulmate, paediatrics!donghyuk!

II ⇤ | III | ⇥ IV

III: 별빛이 내린다 샤라랄라랄라라 (2+2=4)

the meeting of two souls: mark & my/n

hi hello good day how are you? i hope you're well today/tonight this is like 3 weeks late isn't it :D pls don't come after me i lost some motivation to write for a while but here i am now so let's get to it!!

aight so you met donghyuk's roommate for the first time yesterday and,,

you honestly had NO IDEA someone could be that cute

highkey regretting not asking for his name but you were so caught up in lingering on the fact that he implied you were pretty , like wHO DOES THAT ASDFKJL

you highkey shouted the verbal equivalent of a keyboard smash with ur roommate and she was all !! oh so this guy cute cute

you were contemplating whether or not to sneakily ask donghyuk for his name but you were worried bc hyuk has,, crazy sense when it comes to reading people and seeing through their words

and honestly you didn’t want to have to deal with hyuk potentially teasing the shit out of u for having a maybe crush on his roommate whom u’d just met

so you just beat your pillow sleep on it after your roommate reminds you it’s getting late and no life decisions should be made after 12am!! live by it

you wake up craving jjajangmyeon but alas if you were to get any satisfaction of that kind of hunger, it was going to have to wait because

~~ we love ~~ packed schedules ~~ in this house ~~

i hopes the sarcasm was noted in that previous sentence bc now u wish for life to cease

4 weeks into the semester and you were drowning in the midst of reports and lab pracs and content and revision

you were ready to ascend to the next life with only regret and an ability to vaguely explain the properties of a prokaryotic cell and endosymbiosis

but honestly donghyuk’s been a big help throughout the past month

your only friend in classes

official study buddy

2am revision session consultant

personal older brother bc he claimed you as his adoptive sister

another reason your roommate told you to go to bed was bc you literally have

a tutorial class + 2 consecutive 1.5 hour lectures + a 3 hour lab class to finish your day off

with no break for lunch in between :’((

looks like you’ll be starving through your library study session with dy/n

but oop

you find that dy/n had stayed up long after you’d fallen asleep writing her essay 

leaving your dorm feeling a twinge of guilt that u might have distracted her from focusing on her work to listen to your rambles and kept her up later than she should have been

but a text from her in the afternoon reassures u that honestly she wasn’t even planning to write that essay and The Feels™ had just hit her last night and that she made it to class

you: oh PHEW that’s good

you: sorry i didn’t wake you up on my way out, u looked so peaceful i couldn’t bear to disturb

dy/n 🦁: dw dw it’s all g i made it n e way

dy/n 🦁: also is it cool if my friend and his friend comes to the study sesh as well we have to go through some lecture content

you: ah yes don’t see why not :)) i’ll probs have my earphones in the entire time anyways lmao won’t affect me

but will it

“who u texting in the middle of diffusion” cue hyuk peering over at the phone you’re hiding in your lap

you click your tongue at him and lock your phone, “someone twice the man you’ll ever be”

he gasps in mock horror like he’d just witnessed a murder as quietly as he can ,,

“you’re texting a guy? in the middle of diffusion?”

“no. my roommate lmao”

“and what? is it me or your roomma—”

“—my roommate” you glance back up at the prof without looking at him

“ouch”

“you dare?”

“if i don’t dare, who will”

and due to this exchange, you miss the osmosis slide

“ah shit what was osmosis again”

“lmfao what makes u think i know that”

(pause)

“isn't it just.. net movement of free water molecules from an area of high concentration to an area of low concentration”

sorry my bio neural pathways are being excited again after being revisited for the first time in two years

/stares at him/ “why was that infuriating to hear from u”

after class you prepare to head to your dreaded 3-hour lab class you have with donghyuk but he stands up and stares into the void blankly

“where am i going”

“where do u think”

“oh, hell, most likely”

you scoff at the accuracy and drag him out of the lecture hall

you look at donghyuk and he’s visibly resisting the urge to poke your cheek when he first puts on his gloves

“what’s with you today”

he stares at his hands forlornly, “idk ask that to my timetable”

“week 4 got u dead huh”

he glances at you with a frown, “don’t act like u’re not dying too”

“damn. touché”

to your dismay, the lab class runs later than scheduled and you get out of it 20 minutes after it was meant to finish but luckily it’s your last class

with a quick goodbye to donghyuk and a text letting dy/n know you were going to be a lil late, u stop by ur dorm to pick up ur textbook before rushing to the library

you were highkey exhausted and just. famished by that point

but a promise is a promise and you weren’t going to back out of one now

especially when you felt like you owed your roommate one and it was you who originally suggested a library session

so you get to the library, bag strap slung over your shoulder, checking the photo of the seats dy/n had saved for you in the library

highkey getting lost once or twice but you manage

you get to the general area and spot dy/n sitting at a four-seater (wow how’d they get that) but you

freeze when you see who’s sitting next to her

it’s ??

????????

????????????????

/error 404/

????????????????

????????

ur heart goes into panic mode bc

it’s not even kidding it’s donghyuk’s roommate

and despite ur brain short-circuiting

you manage to remember that dy/n had said that mentioned her friend’s.. roommate.. also coming along..

and if her friend was donghyuk’s.. roommate..

you: :                             )

you: oh my god they were roommates

and speak of the devil

“oh hey fancy seeing u here”

you turn around and it’s donghyuk legit chills right there

you barely reply a “hi”

“i thought u were going to ur dorm for dinner”

“ah yeah—no i’m.. gonna go over some.. diffusion”

“oii! over here dude” his roommate whisper-yells out at donghyuk

dy/n waves at you “heYY my/n”

donghyuk waves and turns back to you “welp i’m gonna join a study group.. you could join if you came alone? i’m sure they won’t mind”

“about that”

“u waiting for someone?”

“i’m going over there too”

“what?”

he glances over at the table and then back to you

“that’s my roommate. right there next to your roommate”

you point her out and then donghyuk’s jaw drops

“what the fUC—” and you both. burst iinto laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation

like ?? how???

“wOW r u KIDDING”

“HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN”

“talk about a coincidence.. oh my god my cheekbones hurt” he says as he clutches his side

so you get to the table and dy/n tries to introduce u to donghyuk’s roommate

“mark, this is my/n, my/n this is mark”

ah yes so mark is his name, you think

cute name for a cute boi

“nice to meet you again, mark”

dy/n: “?? again?”

mark gives u a rlly wide smile “yeah we’ve met. hi my/n”

you swear you’ve never had your heart flutter like this

fdksoafjadgioarigilf

then mark introduces dy/n to donghyuk and they start talking about how they’re your legal guardian and telling the other to “get in line”

leaving you in middle like “ok mum and dad” but also thinking back to when donghyuk was highkey flirting with you,, and now how he’s flirting with dy/n ,, oh dude he’s flirting

and highkey ,,, you don’t have any hard feelings about it ,, you know she’s also got this kind of humour code and she’s far more comfortable with meeting new people

until dy/n jokes about custody rules and donghyuk replies with “who says we’re split”

ok mum and dad

n e ways you came to study and study you will

so you settle down and go through your notes for the day

albeit being a lil distracted by mark who sits right across from you somehow, somewhy,,

somewhy should be a word you can’t tell me how to english

you keep wanting to steal glances at him but you have to physically restrain yourself from doing so

and also donghyuk who keeps poking u under the table and texting u even though he’s right next to you

💩hyuk: bro

💩hyuk: bro

💩hyuk: bro

💩hyuk: bro

💩hyuk: bro

you: wHAT

💩hyuk: nvm lol

you: im boutta slap u. give me my pen back i saw that

💩hyuk: damn

💩hyuk: also r u hungry

you: terribly

you: why

💩hyuk: does ur roommate have any allergies

you: not that i know of

you: again

you: why

you: u buyin?

💩hyuk: 🤡<- you

💩hyuk: 🤡, how do you feel about dinner

you: invalid question. no variable answer

💩hyuk: alright, 🤡. im not buying for u

you glower at him but he isn’t looking at u,, he leans back and laments about how he’s craving chinese food

did he read your damn mind how did he know

and apparently he’s read dy/n’s mind too at how she jumps up at the mention of chinese and agrees profusely

so you find yourself abandoning your studies for the rest of the night and in a restaurant lmfao

“chill,, guys,,, jjajang is fine”

rock paper scissors for the cheque ends in mark’s tears

“no it’s ok. i’m ok it’s our first meeting as a fateful group and it makes sense! for me to pay”

after you satisfy your cravings the boys walk dy/n and you back to your dorm

mark tells dy/n to give him her bag for him to carry and while she practically gives it up to him, he has to insist that he’ll carry yours too

to which you’re like omg no it’s fine i can carry it it’s not that heavy i swear—

until donghyuk takes ur bag off ur shoulder and passes it to mark

because of the narrow path, you’re forced to walk in pairs and you end up walking next to donghyuk who makes happy sounds about how good that food was and how priceless mark’s face was when he lost rock paper scissors

then dy/n takes the initiative to make a group chat for you four,, asking for donghyuk’s number to add

you give her a look like damn gurl but you have no idea if she saw or if she just ignored you on purpose lmfao

also donghyuk looked way too happy afterwards

either way you slapped her when you got back to the dorm like “SINCE WHEN WERE YOU SO ?? BRAVE?”

dy/n: um

dy/n: honey

dy/n: have you met me

and thus the chaos of a group chat was born and just like a real child, you spent hours on it

dy/n 🦁: ok we inside

you: thanks for dinner again mark!

💩hyuk: he says you’re welcome

💩hyuk: i say we “accidentally” lose our purses next time we go out

you: nah you’re paying next

💩hyuk: y

💩hyuk: y, 🤡

dy/n 🦁: yes y, 🤡

dy/n 🦁: HAHAH WHY IS SHE 🤡

💩hyuk: i thought you of all people would know

dy/n 🦁: why is she just as dumb in class as she is in the dorm?

💩hyuk: i knew it

dy/n 🦁: she poured too much hot water into her tea the other day it overflowed and spilt onto her foot

mark: oh no were u okay

💩hyuk: looks like you’re gonna have to study osomsis

💩hyuk: osmoiss

💩hyuk: fuck

you: yes i’m okay it wasn’t that hot i had socks on too

💩hyuk: osmosis

dy/n 🦁: avoided tragedy luckily

💩hyuk: finally

you: there is a reason you’re saved as 💩hyuk on my phone

dy/n 🦁: HAAHAHAHAHHAHAH

seriously you just don’t know just how much this group was going to mean to you yet

click here to meet your soulmate, paediatrics!donghyuk!

II ⇤ | III | ⇥ IV

shoot me an ask if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

[meetevieinthehallway]

stop thinking so much.

in which harry teaches english and some poetry is hard to pick apart.

quotes in quotations and italics: William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.

-

he’s studied for this.

god knows this is what he is destined to know— how to take the meek twenty-six letters of the english alphabet and craft them into phrases and words that will convey and pull out human emotion.

although difficult, he spent years of education learning how to decipher literature, how to create reactions from it, how to respond to it.

and now he’s gobsmacked.

they never taught him this—

how to react to this type of poetry—

one with a beating heart and piercing eyes and the most beautiful fucking smile he has ever seen.

harry has never been good with girls.

he was always an awkward, shyer guy: one with a few close friends and a happy family; but who would much rather sit under his backyard oak tree and write than go to a party he wouldn’t even remember the next day. he preferred quiet and isolation and by no means was he a sad, lonely kid with no friends— just wasn’t very social and liked a few people here and there but never took initiative.

he still doesn’t truly know how to talk to people that he likes.

he gets very nervous and tentative— there’s a crippling anxiety in the back of his head that they already don’t like him when he’s barely said hello. he lacks arrogance, but he believes he’s... decent looking? right? (and he knows he would treat any person he loves like a royal.)

that’s why he chose books and that’s why he chose poems.

for the personal interpretations— because he can read a love story and place himself in the roles and live out a dream that can be tucked away later and be kept secretive.

but he finally decided to show himself and he went to school for this—to teach kids how to let words move them—but somehow between the sonnets and voltas and haikus his professors never taught him what to do when he couldn’t decipher a piece— what to do if pieces left you speechless.

because there’s the word pink painted on her lips and there’s songs written in the webbing of her irises and he wants to drown in the melodies that consume her features.

but he fears saying something wrong.

those meek twenty-six letters seem intimidating now; he can’t even conjure up an idea for a simple conversation when he sees her smile and hears her laugh and hears her talk and he thinks his mind has regressed back to when he was an awkward, stuttering mess of a teenager.

the pair has had good conversations in the months she’s been in the faculty and in the room across from harry’s, but after they happen he is left with a doubtful mind and a stomach of chaos that drags him down the rest of the day. it’s swirls and spirals of insecurities and messy script as he scrawls in his journal just to put his thoughts somewhere— a place where they’re safe in a book and where he can reread the conversation and try to correct any flaws for the next time he speaks to her.

it’s more studying and more deciphering and more interpreting like how he’s learned but this time it’s his own mind and they never taught him this.

the first time he met her— oh god no. he still cringes thinking about it, and that was months ago but it’s stuck with him as if the moment is glued to his forehead for all to see and humiliate him with.

he was so terribly stunned by her beauty and by her radiance when she popped her head in his doorway as he was hanging up trim around his bulletin board.

hi!

he turned his head and he seemed to be reacting to a glowing sun as he drank her in.

i’m the new math teacher...

his lips parted and he only stared at her as her voice carried on and started to muffle itself in his ears. he’s staring at her like a fucking lunatic— not listening and only looking and he realizes later that he probably seemed so disrespectful.

she had finished her introduction with a cute smile but a blush rose to her cheeks when he stayed standing there in complete shock.

sorry did i.. startle you? i’m sorry—

no! no no i just—

somehow the shake in her voice threw him off and he stumbled to get down the ladder, tripping and hitting his forehead on the third step.

ow, shit.

oh no! are you okay?

he can’t think about it, and he doesn’t want to.

basically, to sum it up, it was a mess of his flailing limbs and a stuttering voice and a shaky, sweaty hand in a too-long handshake and long story short he made a fucking fool of himself.

harry is embarrassed.

yeah he can’t talk to people he likes or finds attractive but at the end of the day he’s so in touch with his emotions that they embody him— and then he believes someone will outwardly observe them.

he can’t conjure up another word to express how difficult this all is.

maybe the word is “hopeless���.

“thinking of your crush?”

he jumps.

his hand slams to his desk because it feels like he’s leaning forward— the thump of his palm aiding in his jump out of his own mind.

he’s snapped out of his daydream—more like a nightmare as he relives their first ever encounter—and his head shoots up at the sound of a voice in the doorway of his classroom.

he frowns when he sees blue eyes and a playful smirk and registers the tone of voice.

harry looks down and shakes his head, eyes searching for his pen and moving to grasp it between his fingers.

“what do you need, niall?” he grumbles it as he blushes and continues to grade endless pages of essays and words that all begin to blur together.

“wow, not even denying it this time, mate?”

harry frowns and closes his eyes before his fingers come up to scrub at his eyelids. “stop it. i don’t have time for this.”

niall smirks and pads into his classroom, pulling up a chair nearby and dragging it in front of harry’s desk.

“c’mon, mate.” he turns his chair backwards and straddles it, his elbows falling to the back of the chair. he’s staring at his colleauge with narrowed eyes as his chin falls atop of his elbows and harry looks up at him with unimpressed eyes, half rolling them before they settle on him. “haven’t seen you get laid in a while. and i know you fancy the pretty bird across the hallway—”

“don’t call her bird.”

niall smirks.

harry blushes.

“i know you fancy someone,” he corrects himself in a sing-songy way and harry rolls his eyes in full, placing his pen down. “and she is a proper cutie— you should ask her out! hasn’t it been like— months?”

“something like that.” he sighs.

“so ask her!”

he only shakes his head, and niall frowns.

“no?”

“no.”

he huffs. “why not?”

“dunno just—” he shrugs and looks away, his pen in his hand forgotten, “isn’t that like… weird?”

niall furrows his eyebrows and shakes his head shortly, “why would that be weird?”

“dunno. feels like…— juvenile.”

juvenile.

adjective.

of, for, or relating to young people.

and that’s the thing.

if he’s going to ask her out he needs to do it like an adult— a functioning one. but how can he function when she smiles at him like that when he holds the door open for her every morning because they walk in at the same time and— what— it’s not like he intentionally arrives ten minutes early and pretends he just arrived right when she pulls in just so he could see that fucking smile—

juvenile.

it’s exactly how he acts when it comes to her— like a prepubescent teen who gets blushy and flustered at the simplest thing she does.

“...asking somebody out is juvenile?” niall raises his eyebrows.

harry shakes himself from his daze, “not..—” he looks up and shakes his head, “i don’t know, i guess i just... don’t want to be rejected.”

“so you mean you’re juvenile?”

harry’s face turns red and he looks up at his friend with a glaring gaze, “hey.”

“c’mon mate,” niall laughs at his flustered appearance, “you two talk all the time! she definitely fancies you—”

“dunno just—...” he shrugs and looks away. “don’t think she likes me like that.” he rubs his eye again. “said it yourself: she’s cute and pretty and funny and i’m all—...not..that.”

niall huffs. “she likes you, h.”

“dunno.”

“c’mon! she’s always trying t’talk to you! you’re just... shy and... nervous—”

“hi!”

niall halts and harry’s eyes widen and niall twists and harry looks up and across the room.

“i’m going on a coffee run, do you... do either of you want anything?”

harry freezes.

because the beautiful woman that’s been plaguing his thought process is peaking her cute little face between the trim of his doorway with a soft smile and gently asking if he wants coffee, and it seems—and he prays—that she only originally planned on asking him and that—

“i’m set, love. had a cup about an hour ago.”

niall speaks.

harry forgets how.

and then niall—niall this fucking bastard of a friend—turns his body back to harry and gives him a suggestive smirk.

harry’s eyes meet his and he silently sends him a don’t you fucking dare with his pupils.

but no, niall is a little shit who truly only wants good for his two colleagues, so he says clearly—

“you want anything, harry? know you mentioned wanting a tea or summat.”

and he smirks.

harry’s soul dies a bit.

“oh!” she says it from the doorway and harry’s eyes flicker towards her, “i can grab you a tea—”

“actually,” niall interjects, “harry— thought you said you were running out to get it in a few minutes or so...”

another smirk.

another sinking feeling.

“oh! are you still going to go? i was going to get it for whoever wants it but if you planned to then—...”

another taste at that melodious voice from the doorway.

harry swallows, “it’s up to you.” he murmurs, “i can run out for everyone if you’re busy or—”

“or you guys should go together!”

harry really fucking hates niall.

all harry sees when he looks up is her own blinking eyes, staring and wide and he can’t tell if they look more terrified or more of a fuck-to-the-no kind of gaze.

he hates both options.

“o-oh.” she murmurs, and a blush spreads across her nose and a smile plants itself on her lips, “um, we can do that!... if that’s... if you wanna, harry.”

every time she says his name he forgets it for a moment. 

she’s grinning at him but despite her bubbliness she looks a bit hesitant, and harry can see niall’s head turn out of the corner of his eye and green eyes meet blue ones that are twinkling—

niall is staring at him now with a questioning, stern gaze and a go for it, dammit, kind of look and harry’s blood is thrumming and his head is spinning and—

“we can... yeah, go together.”

—

harry’s mom used to tell him he was wasting away a part of himself and his life.

she didn’t say it in a mean way—more of an attemped constructive one—because she would run her fingers through the top of his curls as she said it, with a delicate smile on her cheeks.

my love, your nose is always buried in a book.

and he would smile gently, as a young teen, and shake his head. is that so bad?

and she’d only sigh sadly with that same smile and shake her head, murmuring i suppose not.

that’s the first time harry felt that he was different.

and as a twelve year old, you don’t think that you want to be different.

because anne was right— he’d much rather spend his days in between lines of writing than strain his eyes watching idiotic cartoons like his classmates were. (he used to say that he’d rather picture and process characters his own way instead of seeing visuals already established for him and his sister would make fun of him for it and that’s when he felt that he was different). he realized that he couldn’t always connect with kids his age—he was always a level of maturity ahead than the rest, it seemed—and that he’d much rather wrap himself in some sort of fantasy with dragons and fairies and wizards and even just ordinary people than play video games or go drinking.

somehow, sometimes, the people in books were better than real ones.

he learned that along the way as well.

because the girlfriends he had didn’t understand him in the way he hoped; some were judgmental who just couldn’t fathom wanting to sit in and read by the windowsill instead of going partying at frat houses.

he wasn’t antisocial! he just wanted at least a couple hours a week to absorb himself into his books and he didn’t always want to just go partying like his girlfriends did.

harry was distraught when his third girlfriend broke up with him for the same reason they all had.

when she explained that her friends were mocking her for dating a ‘straight up nerd’ who was boring and ‘couldn’t hang’ and she said it all while looking away from him because she was embarrassed in explaining why he was embarrassing.

irony.

that night he read romeo and juliet for the seventeenth time in his life, crying onto his pages that he had fingered through so many times— his teardrops bleeding the inked words into each other as he flipped through quickly because her words had somehow carved so deep into his chest that he couldn’t focus or breathe and all of the words and plot had blended together—

“Here's to my love! O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.”

somehow harry was searching for answers in a crafted tragedy where he knew there’d be no solution.

because he didn’t reside in a fantasy world that he had made himself believe he was a part of— this was real life, reality, and for so long it’s almost like he forgot that.

“Oh, happy dagger, this is thy sheath. There rust, and let me die.”

he genuinely didn't admire his love for reading anymore.

but it was all he knew.

from that point in his life, at the age of nineteen, he decided to focus on school and books and poems instead of girls.

“Don't waste your love on somebody, who doesn't value it.”

it was easier this way.

someone out there is right for you, harry, i promise.

but his mother had said those words with the same sad smile she wore on that day that she told him he couldn’t lift his head from a book’s spine, and he only wiped at his cheek and nodded with his eyes casted down and his hands folded in his lap.

and as much as he felt that his mom was right—that books were wasting his life and his time—he let himself get lost in them.

it’s all he knew.

there was a period of time where harry wouldn’t really sleep or rest—he would study and annotate and enjoy and laugh and cry at words all night—and he had permanent indentations in his fingers where he would hold a book up to his view as he was doing anything, really.

harry let himself get twisted in romance and life and loss and he meandered through shakespeare and poe and bishop and auden and plath for long stretches of time before he’d fall asleep with words painted under his lips as he dreamed.

he finished romeo and juliet for the twenty-fifth time the night before the beautiful math teacher popped her head in the door, and when he slammed his head on the rung of the ladder it felt all too nostalgic to the feeling of his forehead hitting the pages as he crashed on the top of his desk.

and suddenly it felt like every line of poetry and every beat of iambic pentameter and every voltra in all the italian sonnets was irrelevant, unnecessary, and now he believes his mother was right after all these years—

that he’s wasted his time away.

he doesn't have to read and write and draft and interpret her, this type of poetry— how the webbings of her eyes are soft and how the upturn of her lips creates a stampede of his blood through his veins. because it’s already there for him to admire: this beautiful face and soul and aura and he doesn’t need to delve deep into knowing her to comprehend how utterly beautiful she is.

he’s wasted his time away seeking the words of others and not looking for it right in front of him. this— she is the first time in his life he is unable to say something calculated, something purely crafted, because he doesn't think that he has ever encountered anybody like her.

harry hopes he isn’t wasting his own time anymore— or hers. he doesn’t want to drag out something already dead—or something not even alive to begin with—and he doesn’t want his feelings to overdevelop themselves.

the last thing he wants is to scare her, trouble her.

because yes— she’s been so impossibly sweet to him, but that doesn’t mean that she admires him in the same way.

and now they’re walking side-by-side and harry can smell her perfume as it floats his way to his nose and he feels like an absolute creep for falling in love with it immediately but—

she’s looking around at all the autumn leaves and murmuring how pretty they are and she’s smiling at all the dogs they pass on the sidewalk.

oh, god.

he thinks his heart is going to explode— it’s pulsing and throbbing and he has to look away before he blurts out about how unbelievably cute she is.

the air is brisk— it’s cool and the breeze is slapping his cheeks and it’s helping him take his focus off of her and the way she’s grinning at the sunshine. this is the first time that they’ve ever spent any time together outside school grounds; he feels like an idiot that it’s making his heart giddy because it’s only to the coffee place down the block.

just say something, anything, h, c’mon.

“so... math, huh?”

... yikes.

idiot. idiot. idiot.

one of the first real chances he gets with the girl he fancies and he acts like a complete idiot.

who the fuck says that to start a conversation?!

that’s what he decides to say to her after he chokes on the gentle breeze that is blowing her hair back and away from her face, the sun hitting her skin and illuminating her smile.

he’s had training in words and syntax and poems and novels and somehow he can’t even fucking talk to her like a normal guy— and the minute the words leave his lips he’s already cringing at the awkwardness they hold.

but she doesn’t hear him fully— and it makes the pause after his question that much worse because she looks at him with a puzzled expression.

“sorry?”

and he swallows and somehow with this sudden second chance for rephrasing or asking a different question he asks the same fucking one.

“you chose math to teach.”

no shit she did, harry. she teaches algebra to sophomores.

“yeah!”

but she grins that amazing smile and his heart stutters and he has to clear his throat when she...—

when she adorably is stepping on the leaves that have fallen and giggling when they crunch under her feet and harry has a hard time swallowing because his brain can’t decide if she’s real as he gazes down on her.

she is like how authors describe their novels’ love interest.

a hop in her step and a smile on her face and the cutest, sweetest disposition; but there’s still that unattainable element that harry can’t decipher.

but it’s there.

maybe it’s the mentality of a novel’s insecure protagonist— that she’s too pretty or well-liked or too different in relation to him and he seriously can’t decipher it but he can feel the strain on his heart because he knows that it’s still drawing him in.

“why math?”

and that’s all his years of studying and degrees have brought him to.

and she blushes and giggles again and he’s shocked, and he can’t comprehend how she is so easily sweet and smiley to him: harry, this fucking disaster ever since she stepped through the door of the high school.

“i think it’s fun!” she’s giggling when she says it and his heart throbs a bit in his chest.

“hm,” he nods and looks at his shoes as they continue walking.

“ah,” she grins, “that’s the face of a man who loathes math.”

he actually lets out a small chuckle, a sheepish smile forming on his face. “sorry,” he winces, looking back to her, “not my strongest suit.”

“it’s okay,” she looks at him with a smirk, “i hated english growing up so,” she leans over and nudges him with her shoulder, “guess we’re even.”

a part of him breathes.

because she’s making jokes and making it casual and it’s lessening the intensity of the situation.

a part of him tenses and he feels the pressure of his blood rise.

because her loathing english is her loathing harry’s passion— the one thing that makes the lonely days not so lonely.

but she’s already so different than the others.

maybe she wouldn’t be like the others and wonder why the specific part of him is there, why it is relevant, why it is important to him. maybe if she hates english he can hope and pray she tolerates it, appreciates it, to some degree.

she seems different. please—please—let her be different.

“but do you know what’s interesting about them two?”

his eyebrows bunch in the middle and his eyes meet hers once again. “what?” he quirks a small smile in amusement.

“they both involve lots of calculation.”

he pauses, tilting his head and she meets his eyes and her heart stutters at how they glitter in this light.

“calculation?”

“calculation.”

“how so?”

“well—” their walks slow as they reach the cafe’s door and harry takes the handle, “thank you,” her cheeks bloom roses and harry grins sheepishly as he watches her step inside.

she turns and waits for him to step in himself, their eyes meeting and harry smiles gently when he notices the grin she’s giving him.

“you were saying?”

her eyes round in realization and they unfocus from the daze she acquired as she was looking at him. she shakes her head, “sorry,” she swallows. “well— if you think about it, it’s obvious that math has deciphering and solving, but so does literature!” she says it excitedly.

harry pauses to think about it.

he doesn’t remember the last time that someone who didn’t teach english spoke so excitedly about it.

“hm.” they step forward in line, “i’ve always kind of thought that— that math was more... ‘black and white’, right and wrong, and english and reading was more... colorful and... broad.”

“well english is a bit more interpretive than math, but not everything in reading and writing can—or should—be interpreted.”

he frowns, “i don’t know if i agree with you there.”

she grins at him, “no?”

he shakes his head. “reading is all about interpretation— that’s how other things are written: someone gets inspired from an understanding of one piece and—”

“so you believe it’s essential?”

she cuts him off. he’s taken aback. 

there’s a unknown fire in her eyes and stretched out in her cheeks as her lips pull up; he doesn’t know if he should be trying to extinguish it or keep it live and powerful in front of him.

“i believe so.”

his posture straightens as he matches her smirk because fighting fire with fire only creates more intensity.

he’s not extinguishing her—this. not a chance.

“so you think i’m wrong?” she’s grinning impishly.

he falters. harry’s smirk weakens and he looks away for a split second to gather a response, “i—... no i just... don’t think i agree, that doesn’t mean—”

“you know why you don’t agree with me?”

he splutters, again, worse this time, his shoulders now being the ones to hesitate, “um...—”

“it’s because you—people who love reading and writing and poems and stories—are too busy interpreting to realize that not everything needs to be calculated. that’s kind of the funny thing about it.”

“i— what?...” he doesn’t know what he’s asking, “h-how do you mean?”

her eyes have left him but the smirk has remained; her body has turned more forward as she’s reading over the cafe’s menu list, feigning a lack of interest as she responds. “it’s not so... “to be or not to be”. it’s not if something can or cannot be interpreted,” she looks back to him with a knowing gaze. “it’s the question of if a piece must be deciphered and processed and thought out to understand it; is it necessary to do so for the piece to move you?”

he’s gobsmacked.

she’s radiating such intelligence and wisdom and he doesn’t know what to make of it— he doesn’t know how to respond and he’s staring at her in a wondrous way because she’s so different and interesting and to anyone else this conversation would seem so bizarre and confusing but—

“you can pick apart sonnets and equations in an equal fashion—to define them further and try to pick and prod at why this happens and what causes that— but... is there ever appreciation for just.. what it is?”

harry bites his lip and shrugs, “i mean— yeah, of course. but when you interpret something you’re making it your own and—”

“—i believe that some things are just the way they are and—...” she cuts him off with an impatient tone to her voice and a blush to her cheeks and she meets his eyes, “sometimes i think you should feel and stop thinking so much.”

it’s more than what she’s disguising it as.

he can tell— she falls quiet, then he falls quiet, eyes widened slightly and she bites her lip nervously. and harry feels her fingers brush his and he looks down on both of their hands sharply, like she has sent flames to lick at his skin.

their hands hang next to one another, cold and lonely like orbiting planets that will never attain in touching one another but there’s stardust between their fingers and—

his fingers twitch involuntarily—but was it really?—and his hand takes hers and then they are holding each other in such a simple way and his heart is trembling in his chest.

he hears her sigh but it’s not one of relief and his mind is going going going it’s whirring too fast and chasing after comprehension and it’s too overwhelming to process in real time real minute real moment— he’s thinking in metaphors and paradoxes and dualities and—

harry meets her eyes slowly.

“what did you say?”

she smiles shyly, tilting her head. “stop thinking so much.” she whispers it. there’s an unsure look to her eyes: questioning if this—all of this—is okay. “take chances.” 

he smiles small.

then she cracks a larger smile but it’s still sheepish as both her hands move to grasp his one, “you may be surprised at how something so juvenile—”

she squeezes his hand and giggles and his eyes widen.

“—could be so great.”

he sighs in relief and his brain slows its spinning and he squeezes her fingers once in return, nodding as his smile grows.

she grins fully, a million stars in her eyes.

“you’re right.”

“Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall.” 

[desperationandgin]

Strawberry Wine; (Part I, Chapter 2)

Rating: General Audiences (for now)

Author: desperationandgin

Also Read On: AO3

Previous Chapter

A/N: Thank you so much for the enthusiasm surrounding this story! I have to thank my betas, @smashing-teacups, @missclairebelle, and @lcbeauchampoftarth - without the three of you, this would read like a college freshman’s first drunken essay. Thank you to my future-wife @filledwithlight for the incredible mood board. Here we go!

Chapter 2: Thirsting for Knowledge

By the time supper was served, more people had arrived than I expected. It became a reunion of sorts with everyone and my uncle, and I didn’t mind that it left me free to engage in my own conversation down the table. I was seated next to Jamie's childhood friend, Ian Murray. Across from me sat Jamie, and by the look on his sister, Jenny’s, face, she was happy to follow my lead and speak with the person across from her.

“Jamie, your home is beautiful. It must take a lot to maintain the grounds. Do you take care of by yourself?” I asked curiously.

When he shook his head, red curls bounced to and fro, barely grazing the sides of his neck. “No, I’m braw, but no’ quite that braw,” Jamie admitted. “Along wi’ my da and I, Ian helps in the stables and my godfather, Murtagh, lives wi’ us as well to help.”

My eyes scanned the faces at the table, unable to place a face with the name.

“He’s no’ here at the moment,” Jamie explained, realizing what I was doing. “He tends to business on my father’s behalf, ye see.”

“Well, I do hope to meet him, though I’m sure I will at some point in the next few months.” The prospect of living here, in the same house with the man across from me, made my stomach knot and my mouth dry.

“Oh, aye, should be the day after next. He’ll likely be bringing more wine from a shipment coming in from my cousin Jared’s warehouse in France,” Jamie explained, even as he poured to fill my current glass.

“Your family is quite impressive,” I noted with a soft smile. “What is it that you hope to do one day?” I realized I’d hardly touched my food and corrected my mistake by eating a few forkfuls of meat pie.

“At the end of the summer planting, I’ll be going to finish my studies in France along wi’ Ian, travel a bit and see more of the world. But after that, here is where I plan to be, to live and work the rest of my days.”

He would build a family here, I thought, as my mind drifted to thinking of his own curly, red-headed moppets, following him around and hanging on his every word. So far, I’d spent no more than ninety minutes or so with him, counting introductions and the courses of our meal. That was plenty of time to know anyone with common sense would follow Jamie anywhere. I couldn’t explain it, but he had an ease about himself that made him seem invincible. Not that he realized it, I posited. He was so charming and endearing that the word precious came to mind. His life would be filled with manual labor, but if seeing him without his shirt was any indication, his body was built for it. He’d looked like a strong, Viking warrior, taller than most Scots. I imagined his life would be filled with laughter as well; his eyes always seemed to dance with it.

“What about you, Sassenach?” he asked casually.

I blinked, turning my brain over in search of the meaning of that word. “What?” I responded ineloquently, wincing internally at myself.

“I mean, what do ye plan to do at the end of the summer?”

For some reason, I could feel my cheeks flushing red, and I cleared my throat, switching to the cool water glass for a sip. “I’m going to nursing school, in London,” I finally answered. “And after that, I’ll keep traveling with my uncle, I suppose, going from place to place.” Finding and discovering new things, and always on the move.

“Ye dinna think of ever settling down somewhere?”

His eyes seemed to be boring into my own, and when I wet my lips, I saw his stare drift down, then back to my eyes.

“I don’t know. I haven’t had a permanent home since the age of five. I believe the longest I’ve stayed anywhere was a year and a half, and that was only because I became ill and was bed-ridden for weeks.”

“What happened to ye?” he asked in alarm, looking me over now for signs that anything was still wrong.

I smiled, hoping that it eased him. “I was fourteen and contracted mononucleosis. It causes a fever and sore throat, not to mention extreme fatigue. I recovered fine, I promise,” I assured him.

He seemed concerned still, but soon settled back in his seat. Before he could speak, raucous laughter drowned him out, and we glanced down at the men laughing over one another’s stories. My gaze moved back to Jamie as he stood, then came around to my side of the table, bending to speak against my ear.

“Would ye care to walk wi’ me, Claire?”

I felt an involuntary shiver run up my spine and wet my lips once more before smiling up at him. I nodded, then scooted my chair back before offering my hand. When he took it, I stood and found myself just a bit shorter than him, my chin tilted up a slight bit to meet his gaze directly. Still holding my hand, he raised it to his lips and kissed the back of it. This is what having butterflies in your stomach feels like I thought to myself, feeling my stomach twist in a pleasant, likely cliché, way. Leading me away from the table, he tucked my arm into his and we walked through the dining room, the living room, and eventually out through the front door.

“What did you call me earlier? When you asked me what it was I wanted to do with my life?” I was curious; I assumed it was a Gaelic phrase and hoped it didn’t mean anything unpleasant.

“Oh, I called ye a ‘Sassenach,’” he replied easily. “It doesna mean anythin’ more than ye’re no’ from the place ye currently are. I suppose wherever ye go then, ye’ll be a Sassenach.”

I was quiet for a moment as I processed what he was saying. Maybe I was quiet for too long.

“I’m sorry, Claire, I didna mean to offend ye,” he apologized hastily, and I quickly looked over to reassure him.

“It’s alright. What you said isn’t untrue, I suppose. I’ve always thought of myself as a gypsy. Going from place to place and trading stories of other lands with the locals before moving along. And eventually, I’ll be able to help with medical needs in small communities with no access to proper health care.” It was the most I’d said about it so far, and I instinctively began to apologize for dominating the conversation when Jamie interrupted me.

“Ye must learn so much of the world, see things that most people never will,” he said in awe.

His appreciation of it and understanding why I would choose such a life put me at ease, and I nodded over at him. “I had one of the best educations a child can get, in my opinion. The world was my classroom.” Which sounded a bit forced to my own ears, so I swiftly changed the subject.

“When you travel, where do you want to go first?” I asked, eager to hear more of what he had to say.

“I dinna ken just yet,” he said, pausing for a moment before continuing. “I found a journal that my mam must have kept. She died when I was younger, so I read it, to be reminded of her. There was a list in the back, of all the places she wanted to see, so I thought I might honor her memory and begin there.”

I felt my heart swell in my chest at his sweet words and thoughtful idea. “I think that’s a wonderful idea, Jamie,” I encouraged. “Let me rephrase my question then. Where would you like to go first from your mother’s journal?”

“The first country listed is Greece; she wrote that she wanted to see all of the ruins. Have ye been, Sassenach?”

I nodded and turned my gaze toward him. “It’s beautiful and old. Even despite that, it’s so easy to see what it once was. I enjoy the mythology of it all, and the ocean is beautiful.”

“When I leave at the end of the summer, it will be the first time I’ve seen such large waters, and I’ll only be flying over them.”

“You’ve never seen the ocean?” I asked curiously as we walked on a path that meandered lazily toward a field of heather. The moon was bright and full, making the purple flowers seem translucent.

“No. After my mam died in childbed, my brother, Willie, died of a fever as well. I’ve never thought to leave Lallybroch and no’ help. I went to school each day, down in the village wi’ my sister, but ‘tis only because of my godfather moving here permanently that I feel alright wi’ going away now.”

And even then, in a few years, he would be right back here. He was a good man, a good son, and I found myself, for the first time, longing for that sort of feeling. To know that I could go anywhere and always come home.

“I’m sorry that you’ve lost so much, Jamie. I do think following your mother’s list is beautiful. Perhaps I could even help you plan, tell you where to go in each place that’s especially worth seeing?”

His grin at me was broad and I couldn’t help but return it.

“Aye, that would be verra kind of ye, Sassenach.” I supposed I had a new nickname, and I couldn’t find a reason to dislike it coming from his mouth. As we walked through the heather, his free hand grazed along the flowers before speaking again. “My da told me a wee bit about ye, that ye live a nomadic life. Has it always been you and yer uncle, then?”

I could tell he was curious but trying not to be blatantly nosey, and I reached to pat his arm both in reassurance and so that he would stop and we could sit on an old stone wall that cut across the field. Once settled, I crossed my legs at the ankles and braced my hands on either side of me. “My parents died when I was a very little girl, and my Uncle Lamb took me in, rather than have me shipped away to a boarding school in the mountains.” I thought back, to the first time I’d slept in my new (temporary) home. Everything had felt so cluttered with books and papers; it felt claustrophobic, and the bed hadn’t been mine. I could still remember lying awake until, eventually, my uncle began his nighttime ritual which included smoking his pipe. The smell had wafted to my nose and been such a reminder of home, that I’d fallen right asleep.

Jamie reached out to cover my hand and pulled me out of my thoughts. “Ye’ve lost too much as well then,” he said in understanding, but not pity.

“I suppose I have. But I can’t really remember my mother the way you remember yours.” I didn’t know how to explain it, that I’d spent more of my life without parents than with. It didn’t truly feel as though there was anything to mourn when I was raised by someone I loved and lived a life others envied. “I just mean, I don’t miss as much because there wasn’t enough time for me to make cohesive memories.” I had a sinking feeling I was making myself sound like a terrible person, but Jamie surprised me.

“Aye, I understand ye, Sassenach. Ye never had cause to truly be sad and lived happily. Ye dinna need to worry about that, ‘tis genuine.”

Without even realizing it, he’d soothed a quiet voice in the back of my mind and I couldn’t help but scoot a bit closer to him. When my hand drifted to rest on his leg, the rough fabric beneath my fingers reminded me of something I’d wanted to ask. “Do you and your father, your godfather, always wear kilts?”

“Aye, we do. Once the ban on them was lifted a couple centuries ago, it became a custom of the men left in the Fraser clan to wear them. And so, we’ve always upheld the tradition. There are times that call for trousers, but ‘tis my kilt I’ll wear on my travels as well.”

He was a proud Highlander; it was clear he would bleed for Scotland through and through. “I like that. The spirit of keeping your traditions alive, honoring your ancestors who fought and died on this land,” I murmured as I leaned into Jamie. The sounds of night were all around us, various insects coming to life somewhere beneath our feet, which dangled from the wall.

“May I ask ye a question, Sassenach?” Jamie asked, turning his head just enough that the words fell into my hair.

“Of course,” I responded, my speech lazy and unhurried to end the conversation and thus the walk with Jamie. So far, it seemed the attraction was mutual on both sides, and I decided to let the evening --and conversation-- go where it would.

“Do ye think in the future, our paths could cross on our travels? I ken ye said you’ll be going to nursing school, but after that, perhaps.”

I looked up at him in surprise. “You would want to travel with me?” I asked. Wasn’t the point of a young man traveling (before settling down) to experience life on his own, sow oats, and make memories, as it were?

“Who better a companion than someone who’s likely seen every place on my mam’s list? Besides, something tells me she wouldna want me to do it alone. She’d want me to bring someone along.”

I smiled softly and pulled back so I could look at him fully. “You would wait until I finished school?”

“Oh, aye. Two of those years, I’ll be finishing school myself, so that’s no’ a problem, Sassenach. And after that, I can do a bit of traveling wi’ Ian before circling back to London for ye.”

He already had a well-thought-out plan, and I stared at him in shock and amusement. “How long have you been coming up with this?”

There was only a small pause, small enough that I noticed it before Jamie spoke again, the tips of his ears turning a lovely shade of red. “Since I saw ye in the window, staring.”

His confession made my stomach twist in a way that made me tense in some sort of anticipation. Of what, I wasn’t sure. “Jamie, you should do some traveling alone, too. Experience things at your own pace for a while.”

“I will, there will be time for it when Ian and I part ways. He’s promised to Jenny, ye ken? So he’ll be coming back here to wed her I suppose, and after the wedding, I’ll have time enough to travel on my own.” He had a plan for every part of this and looked at me in expectation.

I couldn’t deny that the idea thrilled me. I wanted to know more about Jamie, I wanted to never stop talking with him. Already I missed the warmth of being pressed into the crook of his body. I’d never dated seriously before now and I suddenly understood why: it was supposed to feel like this. Nothing ever had before. I found myself agreeing before thinking any further on the matter.

“All right, Jamie. When I’m done with school, we’ll meet in London, and then go to Greece. Together.” Saying it made me smile; I’m sure it looked a bit crazed, because that’s how I felt making long-term plans with a man I’d only met hours ago. Still, I rationalized, for four years we would be slowly getting to know one another.

Taking hold of my hand, Jamie kissed the back of it. “Then it’s settled. I’ll wait for ye, Sassenach.”

We held one another’s gaze for a while, before the sound of Uncle Lamb calling for me from the house slowly filtered into my ears. For the most part, he knew I was a wanderer, but he was still protective of me in some ways, knowing I’d wandered with a boy.

“Come, Sassenach,” Jamie offered, standing and reaching out. He didn’t offer his arm this time, but his hand.

Smiling, I lowered myself to the ground before reaching out for him, tangling our fingers gladly. We seemed to fit together and walked leisurely back to his home. We let go of one another once we were within viewing distance, but exchanged sly looks as we walked through the archway. Moving toward Lamb, I kissed his cheek.

“You really should go on a walk of the property, Uncle. It’s beautiful.”

“Oh, yes,” he’d agreed. “And moreso in the daylight, I’m sure.”

His comment made my cheeks flush a bit and I was glad it was likely too dark to see. Once inside, the four of us were soon joined by Jenny and Ian, and we all enjoyed a dram of whisky. I listened as Brian regaled us all with a story about Jenny getting stuck in a tree and Jamie having to bribe her down with sweets. It was the sort of memory I lacked; one filled with playing with another child. I had no siblings, and it was always difficult to make friends as a young girl, traveled as we were.

Eventually, I could no longer hold my eyes open, and when I jerked awake after briefly nodding off, Jamie was looking at me, features soft.

“I could walk ye to your room if ye’d like,” he offered.

Deciding it was likely for the best, I bid my uncle and our company goodnight before letting Jamie lead the way upstairs. I fell into step beside him as we walked down the hallway, admiring portraits along the walls as we went. Outside of my door was a portrait of a woman with hair as red as Jamie’s.

“Your mother?” I guessed, my fingers hovering over the canvas, not touching.

“Aye,” he confirmed with a soft smile. “A self-portrait. She did all of them,” he explained, gesturing down the hall.

“She was an incredibly talented woman, Jamie,” I breathed out in genuine admiration. Pulling my eyes away from the portrait, I opened my bedroom door before turning to face him. “Thank you for your company this evening.” I wasn’t sure what else to say, but I hated that it sounded so formal. I hoped to remedy that by reaching for his hand, holding onto him again.

We locked eyes, and for a moment he let go of my hand, only to cradle it in his before tracing the lines of my palm with his fingers. I didn’t know what it was that made my heart tighten in my chest, but it also made my lips part and the hair on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Ye’re sae bonny, Sassenach,” he murmured then, fingers dragging along my life line. “And delicate.”

“I’m not made of glass,” I managed, swallowing heavily.

His eyes flicked to mine, and then he smiled, full of warmth, before raising my hand to his lips and bowing his head to kiss it. He lingered for beats longer than typical before letting me go.

“Goodnight, Sassenach.”

I felt myself reach behind me to grip the doorknob in an effort to keep from falling over.

“Goodnight, Jamie.”

I watched him smile one more time before walking down the hall and disappearing into his own room. I only had one thought as I stepped into my own quarters and shut the door behind me.

He’d picked a hell of a time to be a perfect gentleman.

Next Chapter

[aescapisms]

saudade (3)

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader word count: 4.2k warning: curse words  a/n: the last part to my ephemeral series thank you so much to everyone who appreciated it!!! (also there’s 3 pictures here alright?)

serendipity ← saudade→ pick your poison

saudade  (n) a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; “the love that remains” 

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours and hours into days. The next thing Bucky knew is that it’s been 2 years since he last laid his eyes on the person that he loved so deeply that it broke his heart in more ways than one.

The two of you broke up before your thesis defense. He promised you before to be there and support you all the way through because he knows how much you hated speaking in front of people. He promised you that he would be there at your graduation and that the two of you will celebrate it together afterward, on a beach somewhere far, where no one can see you. But you didn’t get to do that.

Bucky Barnes promised you a lot of things, but he didn’t get to fulfill them, that was his regret. But to be fair, you also promised to stay by his side no matter what happens. And look at the two of you now. 

To this day, he still wonders what could have happened if the two of you weren’t caught.

It was at the most unsuspecting day. Steve had caught the two of you as he barged into Bucky’s apartment without notice with pizza and beer in his hand. You were sleeping in the room that the two of you had shared while Bucky was fixing dinner.

“Steve? What the fuck are you doing here?” Bucky asked with panic in his voice as he kept on looking at the room where you were sleeping at.

“I told you I would drop by and you said yes.” Steve said as he placed the food on the counter, “Why do you look so scared? Hiding someone in here?”

“Steve,” he pleaded “Please leave. This is the worst possible time.”

Steve’s curiosity got the better of him and quickly peeked inside Bucky’s bedroom. Bucky wasn’t fast enough to be able to stop him and there it was. Steve knew.

As he slowly closed the door, clearly shocked by the person that he saw inside. He confronted Bucky. “What the fuck? What is she doing here?”

“She lives here,” Bucky confessed, there wasn’t any use in hiding the truth. Not when it’s right there. “With me.”

“Bucky, you’re fucking a student???”

“Jesus Christ Steve. Not like that.” Bucky groaned, clearly disgusted with Steve’s choice of words. “We’re together. I mean together-together.”

“Buck. You can go to jail!” 

“I did not force her. She’s an adult and she can make her own choices, she’s 22.” Bucky explained.

“Still! You know that this can cost you your job. Bucky, you’ve always wanted this job. Are you really going to sacrifice this...for her?” He knew that Steve was just being Steve. Always worried about him, trying to put him on the right path.

“Steve. I love her. I really do. If I have to sacrifice my job I gladly would.”

“Bucky, I get that you love her. I can see it in your eyes, but you also have to think about your future. What happens if you get caught? If you’re fine losing your job then alright but have you ever thought about what would happen to her? She would get kicked out and lose everything she’s been working on. Bucky this is ridiculous.”

Steve left the apartment with one final advice, “Talk it out between the two of you. You know I’m right.” He does, and he hates the fact that Steve’s right. The risk that you and Bucky took was a big one but it’s going to do more damage to you. The worst that could happen to him is lose his job, but you would lose everything. Your scholarship. The years you spent in college. Everything that you need for a bright future.

He didn’t know what else to do so he decided to continue cooking dinner.

If he knew that it would be the last dinner that the two of you will share, he would’ve cooked something better than meatloaf.

Steve dropped by his office at lunch. “Hey, have you had lunch?” Bucky shook his head. He was too busy grading the essays of his students. “Good because I brought some. Figured we could have an advanced celebration.”

“My birthday is tomorrow, Steve,” Bucky said as he placed the marked paper on the left side of his table.

“That’s why I said advanced celebration. Dumbass.”

Bucky smiled and made his way to the sofa. Steve tried to push some books that were placed everywhere and made himself comfortable.

They ate in silence before Bucky casually mentions the fact that he misses you.

Steve didn’t know.

He thought that Bucky was just attracted to Y/N and was only after the thrill of the relationship. There’s something almost lovely about a proscriptive relationship. But when he saw how Bucky broke down and almost drowned himself in alcohol just to forget the taste of her lips, Steve knew that what they had was something special. It didn’t matter how long their relationship lasted. They loved each other more than people in a 5-year relationship had ever loved each other.

“Will you go with Peggy tomorrow?” Bucky asked Steve.

“Yeah, we’ll be there until Wednesday. I already told my class that you’ll be my substitute so. It’s all settled.”

“Alright.” Bucky sighed, “I’m really happy for you man.”

And he really was happy for Steve. But every time he thinks about Steve’s relationship with Peggy he can’t help but think about the times that the two of you had shared.

The way you would always insist on watching movies on a school night and how Bucky would say no but eventually give in. He’ll eventually carry you into the bedroom because you fell asleep on his shoulder half-way through the movie.

The way that you would dance in the kitchen as you tried to cook some noodles and still fail miserably.

The way that your laugh filled the gaps in his soul.

The way you were unapologetically, you.

It was late at night and Bucky was walking towards his new apartment. He moved out about two months after the two of you had broken up. He couldn’t take it. Everything in that place reminded him of you. The last thing that he heard about you was that you left the country to study medicine.

Although it must’ve been an unreliable chatter because you were in front of his new apartment building, laughing at someone else’s joke.

Bucky stopped and stared at you. You still looked as beautiful as the day that he met you.

“Do you want me to take you home?” The man in front of you asked but you just shook your head. “No need. It’s kinda far. Thank you though. You were amazing!” She exclaimed and gave him a hug.

“See you!”

You turned around and walked towards Bucky but didn’t notice him because you were too busy looking at your phone. A habit you never really managed to get rid of. You almost bumped into someone if not for him.

“Careful.”

Your head shot up and looked at him, clearly surprised. Bucky slowly released you from his hold and watched as you stepped back, trying to create a distance between the two of you.

“Professor Barnes. I’m sorry.”

“Bucky. You can call me Bucky. I’m not your professor anymore, Y/N.” Bucky reminded you. You bit your cheeks trying to hide the embarrassment.

“Old habit. I’m sorry again.”

Shit. The conversation ended, Bucky still wanted to talk to you though. He raked his mind trying to figure out the best way to prolong this chance meeting and the best he could come up with was “I thought you were out of the country?”

“I was, came back about a month ago before school started. H-How are you?” You asked him and his heart skipped a beat. Jesus Christ is this how much he missed you? That his heart skips a beat even though all you did was ask a basic question? God help him.

“I’m alright. Still teaching though. Are you staying here?” Bucky knows that she’s not staying here. He heard the exchange that she had with the guy earlier. What a pathetic little man, Bucky has become.

“Oh no, I was visiting a friend. Is this where you live now?” Bucky nodded, not bothering to ask her as to how she knew that she left his old apartment.

“Oh well… don't let me keep you from what you were doing. I should probably go as well.”

You’re slipping through his fingers again. Before Bucky could say anything he grabbed your hand “Iwasactuallywonderingifyouwantedtohavesomecoffeewithme?”

You stared at him, confused. “I’m sorry what?”

“Would you like to grab a coffee? TO catch up, it’s been a long time.”

You stared at Bucky contemplating. He prayed to all the gods in creation for you to say yes and you did.

Bucky took you to a small café near the station. He smiled as you ordered hot chocolate and ordered a cappuccino. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, would you want the cappuccino? I just remembered that that’s what you always ordered so—”

Bucky was actually trying to stop his caffeine intake. He’s on his second month but he said “Of course. I would love that.” How can he refuse something like that?

The two of you talked, more like you talked and he listened. Bucky had always been a listener and you knew that. The two of you liked coffee dates so Bucky would take you to a café far from where people might recognize the two of you. And he loved to hear you talk. Sometimes you would tell him crazy gossips that you heard in the school, sometimes it’s an idea for a book. Sometimes it was a crazy dream that you had that you forgot but just came back to you. No matter what the subject was, he loved it. He loved your enthusiasm and your voice.

You told him about your trip to London, and that you were studying a few blocks away from the university Bucky’s teaching at. She’s on her second year on her master’s and she’s planning to be a psychologist.

“What about you Bucky?”

He shrugged. “Same old routine. Steve’s in a relationship now.”

“No way!” You exclaimed “Really? With who??”

“Peggy Carter. She’s a sergeant down the precinct. They’re going to Hawaii tomorrow until Wednesday so I’m covering for Steve’s classes.”

“IT’s nice to know that. I remember Steve being so grumpy and always complaining about not having a girlfriend and now he has o—”

“I miss you. So much.” Bucky blurted out. He wasn’t supposed to say it but it just felt like his chest was going to explode if he didn’t tell her. “I wish…I wish I could go back and change things.”

You gave him a sad smile, “We’d still end up breaking up. It still wouldn’t work.”

“At least I’d try to find you sooner so I could be with you longer.”

You placed your hand around the cup of your hot chocolate “But we can’t go back in time. The past cannot be changed, and we can only work with the present that we have.”

“Y/N.” Bucky muttered as he reached for her hand. “I want to try again. I want us to try again.”

“We can’t.”

“We don’t have to continue where we left off. We can start over. All I’m saying is that we can give us another shot.”

You held his hand and placed your other hand on top of it. “You don’t understand. We can’t.” Bucky looked confused, “I’m with someone else now.”

He was not expecting that. He slowly pulled his hand away from yours and you let him. He didn’t expect that you would be with someone because he thought that you fell as hard as he did. But you didn’t. He knew that it wasn’t your fault that you found someone else. IT wasn’t your fault that Bucky couldn’t even stomach the thought of someone else by his side. IT was not your fault.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I just—” thought that you loved me the same way that I loved you. What a shit thing to say. “Just forget everything I’ve said. I’m so sorry. I’m happy for you though. I have to go” Shit he’s about to cry.

Fuck. HE can’t cry.

You stood up and walked towards him arms open for a hug. “Happy birthday, Bucky.” You whispered in his ear. He hugged you back but didn’t let you see his face as he turned around and exited the coffee shop. He didn’t see it.

Bucky didn’t see the way your eyes glistened with regret, sorrow, and deep secrets.

About a month later Bucky bumped into you as you were walking on your way home from the supermarket. The plastic bag you were carrying tore and now everything is sprawled out on the floor. “Here I’ll help. Place them in my bag.”

“Thank you.” Y/N said as she placed someone the things on Bucky’s bag. “So, where do you live?”

“oN second thought, Can you help me find some plastic bags so you need to trouble yourself?”

“Y/N, we can still be friends right?” The guilt ate you alive so you agreed and led Bucky to a familiar street. A familiar building and a familiar door. It was the apartment that the two of you once shared.

“So that was the reason why you knew that I moved out.” Bucky muttered as he stood there taking in what’s happened in front of him.

“That and Steve told me.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Steve? You were in contact with Steve?”

“About once or twice,” You opened the door but didn’t go inside. “Here, just drop everything on my arms.”

“Y/N, I’m not going to do that. The kitchen is right inside…”

“IT’s just awkward.” You confessed. Although Bucky thought that the two of you had crossed that line when he found out that you were staying in the apartment that the two of you once shared.

“Y/N. I know you have someone else in your life now,” you flinched “And that’s okay. I’m just here to help.”

You took a deep breath before you opened the door. You looked worried as if he was a glass ready to break at any moment. But he was already broken, he can’t break more than he did. Right?

Stepping inside the apartment, felt familiar and strange at the same time. Bucky didn’t notice the toys. HE was too pre-occupied at taking in the layout of the place.

“You can just place the stuff on the counter.” You pointed as if Bucky didn’t know every inch of this place. As if he doesn’t close his eyes at night and see your figure dancing around the kitchen at midnight when you wake up in the middle of the night looking for food. The way you slowly crept out of the room that the two of you shared even though Bucky could see everything that you were doing.  “Look, Bucky I know you have questions.”

“No, just one.” He muttered as he started to take out the contents of his bag. “Why here? You know what this place means to both of us.”

“I didn’t know that I was going to be living in this apartment. My uh, boyfriend was living here before we got together.”

“Did he know?”

“Well—” She was interrupted by a small voice that came from the room. “Mommy?”

Bucky’s legs went weak. He caught himself saying ‘Oh god please let it be a ghost.’ But it wasn’t.

“Hey there bud.” You said as you kneeled in front of the kid and hugged him. “Where’s mawmaw?”

Bucky didn’t know that his heart could still shatter in a million different ways.

“I missed you, mommy.”

“I missed you too bud. Mommy’s talking to a friend so I’m going to ask you to go to mawmaw first okay?”

The kid looked at Bucky but eventually nodded and went back to the room.

“Your kid?” Bucky asked even though all the signs were there. He still hoped that you would say no.

“Yeah, his name is Jay. He’s a good kid.” Fuck that hurt.

“Must take after you.” You smiled and muttered something under your breath that he didn’t catch.

“Look, Bucky. Thank you for the groceries.”

Y/N’s mother came out of the room just in time to cut the tension that was stirring in the air. “James? Is that you?”

“Mrs. Y/L/N. It’s nice to see you again.”

She quickly ran to you and gave you a hug, Y/N’s parents approved of Bucky despite the fact that he was your teacher. “How are you? It’s been so long. Are you here to se—”

“Mom.” Y/N interrupted, “The food is here. Can you fix the dinner? I’ll just take Bucky outside.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Let him stay for dinner.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. He’s busy.” You told her as you grabbed Bucky’s bag on the counter and gave it to him.

“Actually I’m really not busy.”

“Yes you are. Let’s go.”

You grabbed Bucky’s hand and dragged him outside the apartment. “I’m sorry. Dinner will have to wait.” She let go of Bucky’s arm and suddenly everything came crashing down. He was crying on the staircase. Asking why all this shit is happening to him.

Three days later, Bucky saw you playing with Jay at the park not too far from your apartment.

Why is it that the universe hates him so much that it keeps on crossing your paths together? But the way you smiled and laughed as you watched him play with him. His heart felt so full and empty at the same time. When the two of you were together, you always wondered how your life would be if the two of you had kids. It must be stressful but rewarding at the same time, but he didn’t care. He wanted to have a family with you. But now he can’t have that anymore.

He didn’t know when he started walking towards you but there he was. “Hey you.”

“Bucky? What are you doing here?”

“Done with my classes today. Thought I’d take a walk, and then I saw you. Just wanted to say hi.”

“This is a weird coincidence.” You muttered, and Bucky agreed.

“I guess the universe wanted to rub it in my face that I’m stuck in the past.” Crap. He said that out loud. “Uh. How’s Jay?”

“He’s alright, we’re just waiting for mom to pick him up.” As soon as she said that, Bucky felt something grab his leg. When he looked down, it was Jay.

“Hello mister.” The kid greeted him. Bucky couldn’t help but smile, he wanted to hate the kid but he couldn’t. “Cool arm. Whats your name?”

“Thank you, my name is Bucky. Would you like to touch my arm?” Bucky asked as he knelt in front of the little kid.

“Cooool. You must be very strong!!”

“Yes I am.” Bucky said as he laughed, the kid reminded him of Y/N’s enthusiasm.

“Can you lift me up???” And so Bucky did. Y/N stared at the two of them with a sad smile.

“Baby, Mawmaw’s here already.” Y/N said as she placed the phone back in her pocket. “Look there she is! Go say goodbye to your friends and Bucky.”

Jay waved at his playmates and turned to Bucky. “Goodbye Bucky!”

Jay started to walk towards his mawmaw who stepped out of the vehicle to fetch him. When a kid shouted “James!!!! You forgot your ball.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she looked at Bucky who’s now very confused. Bucky saw Jay run back to the kid who had just shouted and thanked him. “Bye mommy!! See you later!!! Bye Bucky!!!”

“Love you tons buddy! See you later!!”

“Love you 3000!”

Bucky’s mind is buzzing right now trying to figure out everything that’s happening.

“His name is James?”

“Yes,” Y/N answered as she grabbed her things. “Bucky—”

“How old did you say he was?”

Could it be?

“I didn’t.”

“How old is he.”

Is it possible?

“Bucky… don’t.”

“Y/N is he mine?”

When you looked at him with glassy eyes his questions were answered. Bucky fell back on the bench. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“The apartment’s not too far from here. People are already staring at us. Please. Let’s talk about this privately.”

Bucky almost carried Y/N and ran to the apartment because he was so desperate for answers. He has a kid. Right?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked as soon as he stepped inside the apartment.

Y/N placed her things on the coffee table and sat on the couch. “Because when I was about to tell you, you had already left the apartment. I asked Steve where you were and yeah he told me about the new place but my friend told me he saw you at a bar with someone so, I didn’t see any point in telling you. Besides, you might get in trouble.”

Bucky’s heart was hammering “Did you even plan on telling me? I mean when we met last week.”

“Of course. I wanted to tell you. Even before we met I already planned on meeting you and telling you everything I just, I didn’t know how.” You said your fingers fumbling with the loose threads of your ripped jeans. “And then last week happened…”

That was his kid. He has a kid. He’s a father.

“I have a son.”

“Bucky. I’m really sorry, please believe me when I say that I really was going ot tell you. I didn’t want James to grow up thinking that his father left him. I didn’t want him to think anything bad about you because you weren’t that kind of a person.”

“What does he know about me? I mean as his father.”

“I told him you were working in space…that you were on the moon and it’ll take you a while to get back.” Bucky realized why she told James that, he had always wanted to be an astronaut. HE loved the night sky and dreamt of walking on the moon. “I tell him stories about you. About us, and he loves it.”

Bucky sat beside you. “I have a kid. Y/N, we have a son.”

You looked at him and grabbed his hand “Look Bucky. I don’t want this to be a court case. I will not deny you any rights to see him or be with him. If you want to.”

Bucky was taken aback by what you said, “If I want to?”

“Bucky, you didn’t want to have kids before. I mean, I didn’t as well but when he came, everything changed.

“Y/N, I mentioned that in class before we got together. And when I met you I’ve always wanted to start a family with you.” You were crying now. “Look, I want to be with my kid. I hope that your boyfriend can understand.”

You looked down and let go of his hand. “I…I lied about that. I don’t have one.”

“What?”

“Well, no one wants to date a single mother who’s still in love with her ex-boyfriend.”

And that was all that he needed. Bucky pressed his lips against her and kissed her like his life depended on it. He was so lost in her kisses that he forgot to breathe.

“Bucky, I didn’t say all that to force you to be with me okay? I’m not pushing James to you…”

Bucky kissed you again effectively shutting you up. He didn’t want to hear any negativity from you right now. He just received the best news that he could possibly get and he’s not going to let anything ruin that.

“I want to be with you. With my family. Jesus Christ, Y/N I’ve always loved you. It was always you.”

And it was, it was always her. It’s always going to be her.

“Wait, you named our kid after me?” You nodded

“Our little James Barnes.” Bucky smiled at the thought of welcoming his son when he’s done with his classes.

“James Frederick Barnes. I named him after you and your mother.”

Bucky just stared at her and smiled. Ah, so that’s why the universe kept on crossing your paths. Because it will lead the two of you here. At this very moment wrapped in each other’s arms.

Bucky knows better. This time he knows that what you have won’t end in heartbreak, not if he could help it. He fished out the necklace inside his pocket and gave it to you. The twist tie ring that the two of you used as promise rings. He just smiled as you wore the ring, “I can’t believe you still have it, and look it fits!” Of course, he did. He kept it beside the small box inside his office desk. One that he bought 2 weeks after he gave you that twist tie.

One that will replace the twist tie on your left hand.

serendipity ← saudade→ pick your poison 

[the-archetype-of-civilization]

Forgotten and Cast By the Wayside (Drabble/Vent)

I just woke up from a 3 hour nap, something that I should’ve been at least a little bit refreshed from (despite how embarrassing it is that I’ve slept for 3 hours and accomplished none of what I wanted/needed to do today), but I don’t feel that at all.  I have a headache and me eating my dinner late didn’t make it go away.

I didn’t feel good today.  Physically, I’m fine.  Mentally?  Not good.

Today I felt like crying at work today, so occupied with my own thoughts that I wasn’t sure if it was because I hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, because I barely slept at all, because I really was feeling my loneliness hard, or because it was all three.

I feel like I can control my emotions and know the difference of when I’m tired and hungry, because I would just be annoyed or hangry.  I wasn’t.  I was every bit as depressed and alone than how I was before.

I felt forlorn.

–

Ender stared at the coordinates for so long, he wasn’t sure if the image was burned into his brain for how long his eyes were glued to it.  This was it.  His past made real.  And he really was considering to do it.  What would he gain from this?  What could he possibly achieve by going back?  Reopening old wounds isn’t something that he (nor anybody, for that matter) would be comfortable doing at all.  Especially one where it’s a dead planet.

He would see things that he didn’t want to see.  Go to a place that he should never witness.  Find things…that are best left buried.  Was it worth all the trauma?  Was it worth all of the pain he might inevitably endure?

He needed to confront it.  Here and now.

Ender starts to flip up the switches as the Theseus’ engines and quantum entanglement reactor light up and hum to life.  The door was opening.  He pushes the lever forward as a large a blue portal opened up in front of him into another world of stars.  He breathes out a heavy and shaky sigh as he pulls the ship through.

–

There’s a lot of things that I kept thinking about today that probably didn’t make things better (which is a great mindset to have, right?).  One of them was an essay that a mutual sent to me about…what kind of person I am.  I can assure you that none of it was good.  I had it stowed away somewhere, to remind me never to forget that you can’t let people walk all over you, say whatever they want, nor think things for how they think you are when you really aren’t.

It was hard not to, I can assure you of that.  What if they were right?  What if I really was this awful person that was merely using them for my own gain?  Back then, I was so upset to read that and the more that I thought about it, I had gotten so angry and rage-fueled.  I wanted to scream at work, in my car even, because I was so angry at that.  I wanted to scream so loudly that they would hear from where they were, to know how much needless pain they caused me when I showed them nothing but kindness.  But…I’m glad that I received it, in the end.  It showed that I did respect myself.  That, in some way, I loved myself.  And it made me grow as a person.  I’m indebted to it, as painful as it was coming from someone that I admired and loved.

During those few months when I got a new job, things seemed to be going right and well for me (with its realistic downs, every now and then).  I had been getting better pay, had some good friends and met new ones, I was starting to write a story on FanFiction that I was really motivated and happy to do, and, somewhere down the line, I was inspired to think about making my own video game (one that I had thought about and fleshed out in some way, shape, or form).  Things were great.

Now?  Not so much.

–

This was a mistake, he thought to himself.  I should never have come here to this…hallowed ground. The planet was right there in front of him, covered in white and grey.  No blue, no green, no brown, just those two mute colors that he fully well expected to see from a planet experiencing a nuclear winter that wouldn’t end for years to come.

Flying over the planet, he inches the ship ever closer like he was drawing out the inevitable.  He made up so many excuses: would the ship be able to withstand the radiation?  Were the shields strong enough to withstand it?  Would his armor even protect him from the radiation plaguing the entire planet?  The answer was yes, of course.  But it didn’t make him all the more willing to go down, for reasons that weren’t because of what he listed.

As he inches close to the planet, the large and grey planet loomed in front of his windshield like a siren singing a haunting song to his doom.  A cursed liturgy of the millions that perished during and after that accursed genocide.  That needless genocide.  The storms raged and swirled around on the planet’s surface unforgivably, blizzards burying and drowning out whatever life could ever live on the land.  As Ender pulled the ship in closer to the atmosphere, the storms would continue to rage on, making Ender’s neck sweat hard and his brow drenched.  His throat became dry, and yet he swallowed hard as he gazed at the many maws of the never-ending maelstroms that would open and close, waiting for him to jump in.  Waiting for him to accept.

He hyperventilates a bit as he felt his head become heavy and lightheaded, holding his forehead as he felt the sweat form under his palms.  This was a bad idea, something that he should never have done.  He needed to turn back, to get away from this tainted planet as fast as he could and never come back.  Feeling tears well up in his eyes, he looks down at himself.  He needed to.  He had to.  He knew he had to.  If he didn’t make peace with this…he’ll always be in perpetual torment of this place.  Forever.

Wiping some stray tears from his face, he bites his whited lip as he grips the throttle and pulls into the gaping maws of the blizzard-ridden planet.

–

I don’t want to point this at anyone in particular (but then again, it’s not like they are on this website to my knowledge), but I could narrow it down to another individual that brought me my mental encumbrance.  I remember I was writing my story on FanFiction and there was one reader that seemed to be interested and followed my story for a bit.  But, one day, he decided that my silence on projects and lack of updates was the last straw for him, and he left a rather…brusque review.  One that was very critical of my work and how I operated rather coldly and without any personal OOC comments on the progress of it.

Even if what he said about my story was true, it killed my mojo for writing.  Completely.  And it left me doubting myself and my work.  While I did update and make an OOC post about my plans and the reviewer followed up with an apology, the damage was already done.  And my mood and buzz for writing something that I loved and cherished was killed instantly, by some piece of shit twat that thinks his opinions on products were profound and of the highest mindset in terms of what FanFiction has to offer.  But I think it killed more than just my writing, it killed everything else.  It killed my sense of purpose.

I lost my motivation to do anything and everything.  To be a better person, to keep myself on track, to do what I needed to do, to learn new things.  I had forgotten and abandoned all of it over time once it was all taken away from me.  I felt so worthless and I started to have pity myself again.  Pathetic, right?

And where am I right now, you ask?  Not any better than where I was before, I can tell you that much.

–

The ship shook and shuddered as it descended through the storms, hearing thunder and seeing snow flood his windshield.  Thankfully, his ship was powerful and was able to withstand atmospheres that would tear humans apart in a matter of seconds.  It didn’t make his descent any better.  A part of him hoped that it would be so brutal and ruthless to control that he would leave, but his ship’s shields was taking all of it rather well.  And it made a pit in his stomach.

There was no ground that he could see, even when he was below the clouds.  The snow drowned and flooded his screen without mercy, the fog covering what landscape there may (or may not) have been.  And the more he perused and observed the surface, the more dread he began to feel.  He drew closer to his coordinates by the minute and it felt so wrong.

The closer he got to his destination, the more unrecognizable the land around him became.  There was no familiar valley or hills that he had grew up on, no houses, no trees (of course not), no anything that would even remotely remind him of this once…sacred place.  And he only knew that things were just going to get worse, his head and body starting to sweat as he felt himself whimper a bit with every moment he was here.  This was true agony for him.  Merciless trauma.

Once he had arrived, he lands the ship as his right leg was bouncing on the floor impatiently and nervously.  This was the worst idea he could’ve possibly come up with and decided to do.  He storms out from the helm as he was panting intensely from whatever await him outside.  Putting on his armor he heads out to the landing pad and looks at the switch.  He stares at it for so long, knowing that only pain and anguish would await him outside.  His armor could brave the weather…but he wasn’t strong enough to find what lay ahead.  He knew it for a fact.

…I’ve come this far…

He pulls the switch as the nuclear winds flooded through the dock.

--

Today was something that I felt hard.  Something that I thought I was better at ignoring and knowing fully well wasn’t the truth.  But it was something...that seemed tangible to me, and something that drew a horrible realization.  I felt so alone, today.  I care about people way too much more than others do about me.  I tried messaging some friends on Discord, hoping that they were doing well.  They replied...but that voice in the back of my head is too convincing for my own good.

It felt like I was bothering them, annoying them with my presence.  They probably had better things to do and wanted to be left alone by some stupid idiot that was being an annoyance on their lives.

Whether this was true or not, it hit me that...I don’t think anyone really cares.  No one cares.  About me.  I had never felt more mortal and alone than in those moments at my work.  That, truly, my presence didn’t matter to anybody or my friends.  Don’t mistake this as suicide, because I would never do that.  But...if I disappeared tomorrow, would anyone really notice?  Would anyone ever look for me?  Would anyone actually care that I was gone?  How long would it take before they noticed that I’m not there anymore?  Not just on Discord, but on Tumblr.  Does anyone really care?

My existence is fleeting and I don't see a point of me being here. Why am I here? And it was at that moment that my suspicions about myself were true: I’m just a forlorn, forgotten, unwilling hermit.  I try to help and console as many of my friends and strangers as I can, because it’s what I enjoy doing.  I enjoy making people happy and trying to help them through their problems.  But they are so quick to move on with their lives...that I’m left behind.  And that’s all I’ll be good for: a counselor.

I’ll still be in my cold, empty, barren head even when I invite myself over to other people’s problems.  My sense of purpose and belonging only happens when I rudely invite myself into helping other people and initiate conversation first.  And although there are a small few that would take the chance and the time to talk to me, it still feels like they do it out of principle rather than because of genuine interest.  No one would even bother to talk to me first, invite me to places first, or join in on my sessions willingly.

I haven’t felt more forsaken or abandoned in my life.

--

“Radiation levels: extreme.  Adjusting radiation intake” his armor computer chimed.

Ender didn’t feel anything when the winds blew through.  And the blizzard quickly piled up near the end of the landing pad.  But it didn’t worry him...his head was filled with too many other worries than something as trivial as this.  He takes a step forward, then pulls it back as he sighs heavily.  He had to.  He just had to.

He takes a few steps forward and continued to slowly walk until he was outside.  The blizzard and winds lightly pushed and rolled over him, but that was thanks to his armor.  If he didn’t have this on, it would have sent him flying.  He looks around him, seeing the grey snow-covered landscape of the familiar hills and valleys completely changing whatever it may have been before.

Home.

The grey clouds and storms coated the entire horizon all around around him, seeing nothing but a barren wasteland with no sky or stars to be seen here.  Hallowed ground, indeed.  Ender pulls out his wrist pad to find the coordinates.  It was a short walk away.  And God, did he want to retreat.  But he had already come this far...he had to make his amends.

Trudging through the snow, he makes his way over to that place...his house.  The very place where he was born and raised in.  Looking up from his wrist pad, there was nothing of the sort here.  No house, no anything.  Just a pile of snow that had covered this now hundreds-of-years old planet.  He felt some tears well up in his eyes as he looked at it.  His home was gone, this place buried under the weight of a world that refused to move on.  A world that refused to accept humanity and ignore their menial and needless gripes against one another.

Ashen snow of a dead planet.

He goes over to where his house would be as he takes a knee and leans his head down.  Nothing here to remember what this place was when the nukes dropped.  Nothing at all.  And it hurt him, to know that his past, his childhood, whatever made him happy, was completely burnt away to a crisp and buried under this cursed snow.  He sighs shakily as some tears coursed down his cheek.

Ender gently places his hand on a part of the snow as he hangs his head down.  He missed them.  He missed his family so much.  His mom, his dad, and his sister.  They had all wasted away here...what happened when the missiles were coming?  Did they brace themselves?  Did they try to hide?  What did they do?

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you guys...I’m...I’m so sorry...” he muttered and barely could speak out, his eyes welling up even more as he hung his head lower.

Then...he felt something under his hand as it sunk into the snow.  Something solid.  Tangible.

--

I was weak.

And I still am.  I let these stupid emotions get to me when I know better than to let it happen as it has so many times.  It’s hard for me to control my emotions when I’m...so emotional, you know?  I really feel things for people, sometimes overtly and sometimes not so overtly.  Not many people would agree with me on that, I’m sure, but I’m telling you how I see myself.

I hate myself so much, sometimes.  I hate that I care so much.  I hate that I let myself get this way, just venting and talking about shit that no one couldn’t give less of a shit about.  I hate using a story that I’ve wanted to write for a while about my muse (my Gary Stue, honestly) as an excuse to vent over shit that I’m sure many have glossed over.

It’s pathetic.

But it’s the only way I know how to be upfront and honest with people.  And...I wanted to create something different, experimental.  To see how I would feel about writing a pivotal plot point with my muse, as well as myself, I suppose.  I enjoy writing stories, but who reads them?  Much like the death of Keats, who mourns for Adonais?  I’m not proclaiming myself to be anything special of the sort, but who cares?  No one does.  I just talk into a void, hoping that it’ll answer back.  And it might not ever.

Ender is a muse that I really care for, one that I feel like I’ve grown up to be like almost as much as he has with me.  But we all like to roleplay as those that we are not, right?  He gets all the ladies (with their permission and consent, of course), he travels and goes to wherever he wants endlessly, and he gains friends and lovers wherever he goes.  I don’t believe that I’m that at all.  I’m not bold, I’m not brave, I’m not flirty, I’m not saucy, I’m not adventurous, and I’m certainly not strong.  I’m me, the same person I’ve been for 9 years since I’ve made this blog.

I’m still me...

--

What was this under his hand?  It felt...soft, but also hard.  It was bizarre, but also frightening.  Perhaps a piece of debris?  Ender grabs onto it firmly and pulls it out from the snow.  It was a decent clump of something, covered in snow of course.  But he couldn’t make out what it was.  A rock?

He starts to brush it off to see what it was.  The more he brushed it, the more he saw of what it was.

--

Sometimes I’m not proud of this blog or my muse, either.  I feel like he can be a one-trick pony for smut.  But I enjoy smut.  I enjoy loving and being loved.  Also, it’s fun.  Because it’s something that I’ve only experienced doing a few times in my miserable 25 years.  And I enjoy doing something that promotes pleasure and happiness, rather than something depressing, something that can hurt you, or something that can destroy you.  It’s also why I like fluff.  It makes me happy to see him and the other happy.

--

He started to brush it more and notices...tendrils?  What?  That didn’t make sense.  He brushes it some more and started to see that it was...hard.  Hard, but not rocky.  It was something else.  And it was interlocked and linked to something as well.  He started wipe it off some more until he slowly started to realize what it was.

--

Why am I still on this blog?  It feels like I always invite myself to RP with others that don’t really care or RP with me out of principle sometimes.  It feels like I’m bothering them, especially given the track record that my blog has.  Forget about RPing with canon blogs, something that I always want to do and would like to see myself get involved it.  But it’ll never happen, because...well, OC.  And a self-insert, for all intents and purposes. And I'm still wary about asking to RP with other OCs because of said track record. You only need to scroll a little to see what I'm famous for (or INfamous for, I should say). It's dumb.

--

It was a hand.  A skeleton hand.  And it was...holding another hand.  Ender felt his heart sink and tears started to well up under his eyes.

“...m...mo...mom?  Da...dad?” he could barely utter out.

There was a small, deeply burnt sear on the ring-finger of one of the hands.

--

I don’t know why I’ve continued for this long...

--

“N...No...oh...oh God...oh my God...oh my God!” he sobbed out quietly until he holds the hands tightly and presses it to his helmet.  He felt the tears streaming down his cheek as he sobs hard, pressing his helmeted forehead to it, hoping to feel something.  But the glass protected him from whatever radiation it surely housed.  To have something be between him and his parents...it was painful.  He presses a kiss against his helmet as he presses the joined hands to his helmet, but he couldn’t feel anything.  He hoped they did.  It only made it worse for him.

His sobs descended into screams of pain and sorrow, wanting to drown out the bitter storm that drove on around him.  He wanted to scream over this blizzard that flooded all sounds around him.  He wanted to scream against this dead planet so it could be heard around the world.  He wanted to scream so that his family could hear it in the next life...if one existed.

He wanted to be heard.

But nothing did.