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joonapeach · 4 years

Text

skylines (nj)

college!au, where namjoon openly chases you and you love running from those advances. that is, until everyone in your architecture department finds out you’re the daughter of the man behind the biggest architecture firm in the country.

alternatively... namjoon is a simp for you until he’s suddenly not

author’s note: sometimes i just wanna write for the fun of it and not take life so seriously so this is what i churned out. 8.8k words of some minor pining and mini character development for our oc because tbh, being a student sucks and you get so caught up in your insecurity sometimes

also reposted on ao3

[this is fluff and light-hearted, with a bit of a rivalry trope, 8.8k words]

You love skylines.

From when you were six years old with short legs, you remember craning your neck up high to see each building that surrounded you. At that age, the world seemed big and you seemed small but you loved it. You loved seeing the world build and function around you.

From then on outwards began your decades-long relationship with your first love - buildings.

Well, you called it buildings and your father called it architecture. You were the daughter of his dreams, his proclaimed legacy. What luck I have, he would say, that I have a daughter who will grow up to work beside me.

Growing up, those comments were your food for the day. You would eat up his encouragements and cheers throughout high school, serving him back your high grades on a gold platter.

This is the way you’ve worked through your past nineteen years. It’s a little basic, maybe, but you’ve operated on your father’s ambition for you.

But like all good things, even that seemed to come to an end. Since entering university and embarking on your path as an architecture major, the once comforting encouragement has slowly changed to a choking chain around you.

You’ve learnt a lot in two semesters at university. You’ve learnt how to finish assignments the night before, how to memorize historical names and dates minutes before an exam, you’ve learnt how fun it can be to be with your friends.

But most of all, you’ve learnt that… you’re not special.

You’re surrounded by overachievers, all like you, all perhaps better than you in some way. You’re the daughter of the man behind HN Architects, but some of your classmates look like they’re on their way to the top of the chain.

You always thought you deserved your seat, your privilege, because you’d worked for it. These days, it doesn’t seem much like that. And you worry that your father is thinking the very same thing.

Let’s finish this assignment, you sigh, there’s not much left. Let’s do it, you give yourself a pep talk, fighting back a yawn at the practically empty library before dawn.

Books crash down on your table, right beside you. You shake, being pulled so abruptly out of your reverie. Although maybe you should be thankful, for the sleep that was threatening your productivity seems to have run away from the sound.

“Excuse me,” you scoff loudly, making your presence known to the disturbance.

From above the tower of books on the desk, peeks out a familiar dimpled smile. His eyes glint with mischief and despite the early hours of the day, his face reads no exhaustion.

“You’re excused.”

You groan. “There’s an entire empty library, you can only sit here?”

“Studying is more fun with company,” he retorts with a grin.

“It’s studying. It’s not meant to be fun,” you reply, hostile. “Didn’t I tell you to stop showing up in front of me with no purpose?’

He smiles again, confidently with his eyes unmoving from you. It’s almost unnerving, how much you see Namjoon smile in front of you. Architecture students are not meant to be this happy. They aren’t meant to carry a warm smile everywhere they go, looking at people with such attentive intensity.

“I haven’t shown up without a purpose though,” he says. “I came to ask for help with the assignment.”

This time, you smile. But your smile is one of disbelief and amusement.

“Yes, that’s very believable, Namjoon,” you cock a brow. “You’re the one finishing assignments a week early and screwing up the curve for everyone but I’m sure I could help you with whatever you need.”

He grins, taking a seat next to you. “Hey, sometimes even I need help,” he replies but then pauses. “Ah, you’re right. I should’ve gone with coming to offer you help. That’s a lot more believable.”

“I don’t need your help,” you argue. “Stop showing up in front of me. And stop subtly flexing in front of me. It’s nauseating.”

He throws his head back and laughs. He looks so happy that it almost stirs a scary, fluttering feeling in your stomach. “You should be the last person to feel jealous of me, _____.”

You glare at him. “Yeah, because I’m the one who threatens your ranking?”

He shakes his head. “No, because I would help you with everything if you just asked.”

You still, for a moment. His words lull over in your head and they feel a bit weird. Your major is competitive and cut-throat, even if it doesn’t appear it. To you, Namjoon is your biggest rival, your biggest worry because you can never match up to him.

“Well, I’m not asking you for a thing. Is there really nothing you stress over?”

“No, there is. I just don’t cry over my textbook the nights before exams.”

“That was one time,” you mumble, infuriated. “And I had every right to be crying that night. It was the hardest exam that term and I have big shoes to fill. I can’t afford to be bothering people, like you,” you say with an intentional offense.

He takes none. “Big shoes? Who’s putting expectations on you?”

“Just some family. Stop being nosy,” you say swiftly. “And you didn’t even tell me. What do you stress over?”

He pauses, not giving a response for a moment. You wonder if it’s because there’s really nothing he stresses over. You wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. While you and your friends have all cracked under the pressure of your degree, you especially with the added burden of your father… Namjoon has not once shown signs of struggle. He walks through life with that smile every day.

“Finding work,” he says after a while.

“Huh?”

He meets your eyes. “You asked me what I worry about. I worry about finding work when I graduate,” he says sincerely.

You bite back a rude laugh. “Please, Namjoon. Get real,” you roll your eyes. “You really think you can worry about that? You were the top of our class all last year.”

You don’t do a good job of hiding your envy, but it’s beyond you to care at this point. You’ve become this person now. The one who seeks everything out of their number on the paper.

“But I don’t have any connections. I come from a village, practically, as you like to call it,” he says with a chuckle. It stings you a little, he’s referring to the time you and your friends had put him down out of jealousy with those words. But he doesn’t say it like it bothers him. He says it like it’s true.

“So?” you say, looking away from him and back on your sheet. “You don’t always need connections.”

“Not always, but a lot of the time,” he shrugs.

“Any company who takes a look at your record and speaks to you for five minutes would want you, Namjoon,” you exhale, knowing your words are 100% true. You think about your father, about HN Architects. Namjoon’s the kind of guy who your father wouldn’t think twice about hiring. He’s the epitome of someone who could fill any shoes you gave him.

You scoff bitterly. “Wait a second. Why am I comforting you right now? You’re a success story in the making,” you snap and he laughs, even though you didn’t intend it to be a joke. “You should be comforting me, you idiot. I don’t even know if I’ll have Mr. Labadee’s assignment done in time for submission!”

He puts his hands up. “Okay, okay, don’t worry. Why do you think I’m here?” he looks away, still smiling as he takes the pencil from your hand and moves closer to the sheet.

“What?” you say, watching the way his eyebrows furrow and his eyes scan the paper. He’s losing himself in the sheet now, and it feels like watching a prodigy at work. You picture this is what it would feel like to watch Bill Gates code on a computer before he formally started his career or watching The Beatles pen a song before they made it big.

“Hm?”

“Did you come here for me?” you ask and for a split second, you see his eyes shift. “Did Chae tell you I was here?”

He doesn’t respond, instead focusing on the assignment. “Your calculation is wrong here. Look,” he says, pointing at a section. As he explains your mistake, you smile satisfied.

He doesn’t need to admit it. You two have gone through this very situation so many times now, that you both know it’s true. Namjoon always comes for you.

You have kept your background, your family, extremely private since joining university.

In high school, you made the mistake of letting people know that you were the daughter of HN Architects. It resulted in years of people smooching up to you, gossiping behind your back, mean assumptions, and just a general nightmare.

That nightmare would only multiply if your friends here found out about it. They were all architect majors, all in the same cut-throat degree, and you came from privilege.

It scared you, knowing what could happen if they ever found out. You begged your family to make sure that nothing would tie you to them here, keeping your name different on the registrar, not publishing photos of you in the paper. You couldn’t risk all the friends and relationships you made. Even if they said things won’t change, you know they would. They always do.

“I need to sleep for 10 years,” you mumble, falling on your bed.

“Fuck this, I wish I was you right now,” Chae cries from her side of the room. “I’ve got one more submission.”

“I woke up at 4 to finish it so you should be fine,” you laugh, looking at her. “And did you send Namjoon to me?”

Chae fights a smile on her face. You sigh, knowing you’ve opened Pandora's box.

“He came to me asking about you last night. I told him you were sleeping, but you’d be at the library at 5 working on the assignment,” she smirks cheekily. “Why, did he come?” she asks, not hiding the overly inquisitive edge to her question.

You say nothing, deciding to turn on your laptop.

“He did!” she screams and your eyes widen, telling her to be quiet. “Sorry! I just can’t help it. That’s so sweet,” she squeals.

“Stop sending him after me. You’re encouraging him.”

“You’re encouraging him!” she counters. “You let him help you with your assignment, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“And you showed up at his dorm last week for notes, didn’t you?”

“Okay, but-”

“And you told him off for helping Eun like four days ago, remember?”

“Chae,” you stop her, sternly. “Have you lost your mind? Don’t you realize what all those things have in common?”

“They all are evidence of the fact that you reciprocate his year-long courtship?”

You roll your eyes. “No, idiot. All these things are work-related. I can’t afford to be falling behind, and I need his help.”

“Okay, but you were jealous of Eun-”

“I was annoyed that he was helping other people score higher! The last thing I need right now is the lazy kids of the class becoming my competition too,” you complain, grumbling.

Chae stares you down. “_____, not everything is about your degree,” she says light-heartedly, but you know your statement bothers her.

Exhaling, you shut your eyes. You hate it when conversations come to this. Sometimes, you wish you could just tell people which family you came from. Maybe it would do them good, to make them realize that yes, for you, everything is about your degree. Everything in your life revolves around being successful in this path.

You were cynical but at least you were real. You admitted things the way they were, when competition was competition, you said it, and when you needed something, you asked for it. That made it okay, you told yourself.

And when it comes to Namjoon… it’s especially okay. He’s both the only reason you’re hanging on okay in your degree, and the reason you feel insecure. You wonder how it can be that someone like him exists.

“Anyways, are you really gonna leave talking about Joon there?” Chae scoffs. “He’s liked you since we started. You really won’t do anything about it?”

“Namjoon is nothing but another classmate that stresses me out, Chae. I don’t see him that way. I just like his work ethic.”

Chae laughs. “You’re so skewed, honestly. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Why, are you planning on ratting me out to him again?”

“No, silly,” she laughs, although you both know it’s likely she’d do it again. “Let’s go to the Autumn fair tomorrow. After I submit.”

“The fair? You mean those three stalls they set up and call it an event?”

She frowns. “Don’t be mean. Hobi and the others have really been working hard on it this year. It’ll be nicer than the last, I promise.”

“As long as there are at least 10 booths this year.”

“You’re too mean for your own good, _____,” she says, tsk-ing. “One day, you’ll see what it’s like to be on the other end.”

Your overactive imagination always paints a skyline for you, where there’s an empty space. You can always picture different styles of buildings, standing together, making a city.

It’s at times like those you realize that even if you wanted to give up, even if you tried to pursue something else, your heart will always come back to this. There is nothing more that belonged to you than this.

Even if it’d become difficult now, it didn’t matter. It became a source of worry more than an outlet of passion, but it’s still your calling. You can’t give up on something you love this much.

“Your toffee apple is dripping,” you hear his voice before you see him.

You want to turn and snap at him but the sticky toffee syrup that falls onto your fingers stops you.

“Ugh,” you groan, trying to fix it. Namjoon’s hand comes out with a tissue, quickly wiping your fingers without a word. Even after he’s done, the sticky feeling remains. “I should just throw this away.”

He laughs. “Let’s get candy corn.”

“No, thanks, I have to go find Chae and Yuna.”

Even though you step away, you hear his footsteps almost immediately behind you.

“What’s the rush?” he says, catching up beside you. When you two walk together like this, his tall figure towers over in a way that makes you feel small. “Shouldn’t you offer to buy me candy corn? Did you forget how I helped you at 5 in the morning two days ago for Professor Labadee’s class?”

“You chose to wake up at that time, not me,” you say, keeping your eyes trained ahead. You weren’t expecting much from this fair, but the students had done well. Bright fairy lights decorate the lamp posts around you and along the long path, dozens of stalls are set up. It all feels a little bit like a movie.

“As long as you got it done,” he says under his breath. You dare to take a glimpse of him and inhale sharply. He’s wearing his smile, he always is, but the fairy lights reflect on his face, illuminating him like an angel. Everything about him feels good.

You look away almost immediately. “Stop following me Namjoon,” you say, stopping at a trinkets stall and smiling at the girl behind the table.

“But I like seeing you outside of architecture things,” he grins confidently.

You opt to ignore him, asking the price of something that catches your eye.

He cranes his neck to see what it is. “Want me to get it for you?”

You quickly counter. “Absolutely not,” you say, handing over your money notes.

“You’re really buying an ornament of buildings?” he cocks a brow. “Don’t you want something like this instead?” he picks up a small snow globe, shaking it so the snow moves. The globe is miniscule to begin with, but you notice how in his hands, it looks almost tiny.

“What can I say? I like buildings.”

He smiles. “More than people, maybe.”

You sigh, ignoring his statement. Once you get the paper bag with your purchase inside, you keep walking ahead. You count to three before you hear his footsteps mimic yours.

“I’ll buy you candy corn, then you leave me alone,” you turn to say to him. “It’s not good that you’re always showing up where I am.”

He nods like an obedient puppy. Then he frowns and asks, “why is it not good?”

When you don’t respond, focusing on walking to the candy booth, he adds, “is it not good for you? Getting attached to me now?”

You don’t have to see his face to know he’s doing his goofy smile again. “It’s not good for you to keep going through these many rejections in a lifetime.”

He laughs, your words not bothering him the slightest. Standing in front of the candy booth, Jungkook and Jae, two of your architect classmates greet you.

“Hey Joon! Aw, you two hanging out again?” Jae smiles widely as if he’s in some big secret. You roll your eyes, not saying a word but pointing to the candy corn.

“_____ is treating me to candy corn. Isn’t she sweet?”

“I’m not treating you out of kindness, I’m doing it so you feel compensated for your efforts with my assignment.”

Jungkook and Jae share an amused look that you almost miss. Shuffling through your pocket, you start counting the money to give. As you hand over the money to Jae, Jungkook places a brown paper bag in Namjoon’s hands.

“You two enjoy yourselves,” Jungkook beams brightly.

You scoff. “Is there really such a thing as enjoyment when I have him on my tail?”

Without bidding them a proper goodbye, you walk away from the stall, leaving the three standing. Like clockwork, Namjoon is beside you again.

“Here,” he says, and suddenly the bag of candy corn is in your hands.

You raise a brow. “What are you giving this to me for? You were the one who wanted it.”

“You were eating a sad, overpriced toffee apple. This should be for you too.”

“Namjoon.” You give him a look, but he pays no mind.

Without saying anything more, you two walk together in silence. It didn’t intend to be this way, but it feels nice now. You feel good that you were dragged out of a cycle of the bedroom to the classroom to the library for once.

Of course, it’s weird that amidst all this, Namjoon is the one beside you. Usually, when you see him, your mind wanders to the place that curses him for being everything you wish you were. But tonight, you’re laying off those thoughts.

Staring at the crowd around the speakers, you two pause for a bit. You see Chae and Yuna, along with your other coursemates all together.

Still beside you, Namjoon speaks out of the blue. “Why don’t you call me Joon?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t realize I was required to,” you shrug at the random question. “I don’t know you like that.”

“Everyone in our class calls me Joon. Even your group member who I met that one time is calling me Joon,” he argues. “You know me better than all those people. If anything, you should be the only one.”

“What are you on about? I don’t know you at all,” you throw a blank look his way. “And don’t argue that we spend a lot of time together. You follow me around and show up where I am. That’s not spending time together.”

“We’re spending time together right now, aren’t we?”

“It’s a first. Don’t get used to it.”

He laughs as if your cold remarks are something affectionate. “I don’t think I really could get used to seeing you outside the library, _____. You’re there more than me and I’m always studying too.”

You scoff cynically. “Are you flexing your rank again on me?”

“_____, if I cared so much about my rank, I wouldn’t be helping you with work all the time,” he laughs, amused.

“I don’t know. Maybe helping me is all part of your plan to keep beating me,” you say. “Isn’t this just a power move? You always showing up to help me.”

He laughs again before his stare stills on you. His eyes are bright and sparkling… or is it just the effect of the stupid fairy lights? You can hardly tell.

Despite yourself, it all makes your stomach drop. You hate it when Namjoon shows up unannounced in your life, but more than that, you hate it when he gives you this kind of look. Like he can’t look anywhere else but at you.

“More than a power move, it’s just a gesture for you.”

The fluttering feeling worsens and you blink. You choose to say nothing, instead staring ahead at the view. “That is the ugliest building I’ve ever seen.”

For a second, he smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Eventually, he humors you. “It’s not all that bad.”

“In my professional opinion as a future architect, that is the exact type of building I would want to bulldoze.”

“Well, in my professional opinion as another future architect, I’d say your standards are far too high.”

“I’m allowed to keep my standards high. It’s me,” you smile with a glint in your eye.

He laughs, staring at you softly. “That I can agree with.”

You taunt him playfully. “You’re so predictable. Does it not get tiring hanging off my every word?”

He shakes his head loyally. “Absolutely not. I think everything you say is valuable and worth hanging off.”

“How lame,” you joke although you two share a smile. It’s true, he is a little predictable. But it’s Namjoon’s predictability that at times, catches you off guard. It’s fun, knowing that he’s two steps behind you wherever you are.

A warm feeling stirs in your body and you wonder if it’s the autumn air. Glancing up at Namjoon, the same air ruffles his hair endearingly and you tear yourself away from staring at it.

“I’m only gonna say it once so if there’s any word of mine you wanna hang off, it’s this,” you say before shoving the bag of candy corn back into his hands. “Power move or not, thanks for helping me. I really need it sometimes and I appreciate it.”

The grin on his face widens. “One more time, I didn’t hang off it enough!”

“I told you, only one time.”

“But the music was so loud, I couldn’t hear you well.”

“Too bad.”

“Come on, _____, take pity on me.”

“Shut up and eat your candy corn.”

You find yourself quickly back in your routine after the Autumn fair, working on new assignments and projects till your worst nightmare comes to life unexpectedly.

“Please be on time, _____!” Chae repeats to you for the fifth time that morning.

“Chae, I’ll be there. I’ll literally run from the design building to the auditorium, okay?”

She clicks her tongue at you. “Stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up. You should be excited.”

“I am. But… I mean, do we really need this kind of random assembly for our architecture department?” you groan, slipping your laptop into its case. “Can’t they just give us the extra time to work on our homework?”

“But there’ll be companies there!” she retorts, wide-eyed and excited. “Just imagine. This is like those movies, where they come and scout students and then bam, life is sorted.”

You nod, forcing a smile. You remember your privilege, knowing your worry has never once been finding work but living up to the work that was set out for you. But you could never explain that here. How could you cry about the burden that kept you so troubled when it was a burden any one of your friends would happily want?

“Okay. I’ll see you there,” you settle for a wave, walking out to leave. You rush with your bag on your back to your classroom, immersed in your lesson till the hour finishes up.

For the moments after class finishes, your mind is blank. You’re going over your homework in your head, packing your things and your eyes widen. The meeting. You almost forgot.

True to your words, you actually do end up running from the design building to the auditorium. Sprinting from your class to the auditorium proves to be a harder workout than you anticipated and your heart can’t stop racing.

Stepping inside the auditorium, you jump into the first empty seat you see at the entrance.

“Where is she?” you mumble under your breath. Your eyes shift around the room, looking for a familiar head of short black hair. Catching sight of Chae, you wave to her but she doesn’t notice you at all. Instead, she’s busy talking to a group of students all from your year.

Everyone’s sat together, cozy and comfortable in a conversation together. You can even see Namjoon in the row above Chae, chatting energetically. Your heart strangely pangs.

Sometimes, seeing everyone like this, everyone from your major and year together, made you feel more like an outsider than anything. At first, you’d chalked it up to be because of your obsession with studying and academics… but students better than you, students like Namjoon and Mina, all seemed to be doing fine.

In the end, you realized it isn’t anything to do with that. You feel like an outsider because you are one. You’ve tried your hardest to blend in, but the fact remains that you feel alone in the problems you have. You’ve kept your identity as the daughter of HN Architects a secret, you’ve kept your family pressures a secret… Now you’re alone in the burden of your struggles.

Sometimes, you’ve thought about opening up. But the thought terrifies you even more.

If you felt so alone while keeping the truth of your ambitions a secret… there’d be no telling what kind of way your friends would treat you after finding out.

“We’re lucky enough to have… here’s a representative from Canvas Corp… looking for fresh talent… Yongchan Architecture…” you’re hardly paying attention to the speakers on stage till you finally hear, “and most fortunately, the chairman of HN Architects!”

Your head shoots up so fast that it almost flies off. No fucking way.

Your father is smiling on the stage, wearing a crisp suit and greeting the architecture department heads. Without realizing it, your body cowers back into your seat as you see his eyes scan the auditorium. He must be looking for you - his daughter.

His daughter that not a single soul in this room knew was you.

Your heart goes into panic mode before you try to calm yourself down. Relax, you mutter repeatedly to yourself although it’s less effective than you thought it’d be.

Your eyes dance between your father on stage and your group of friends with Chae sitting seats away from you. Neither of them have noticed you.

Instead, your classmates are all watching your father with starstruck eyes. They’re staring at your father like he’s their idol.

Well, objectively, maybe he could be. After all, you admire your father for the very same reason every architecture student does - your father is a legend. His company has one of the best reputations in the country, which feeds your pride, and he’s nothing short of a hard-working, inspiring man.

Namjoon, in particular, is staring at your father like he can’t believe his eyes. It’s a look you’ve never seen from him before. Like he’s both nervous and thinks he’s in a dream. It’s almost endearing.

“To celebrate having the chairman of HN Architects with us today, we’ll have him say a few words!” Mr. Lim, the head of the architecture department, announces enthusiastically into the mic. He turns to your father, “do you mind?”

“Not at all!” your father grins, taking the mic before starting. “It’s my pleasure to be here today! In fact, seeing all of you reminds me of my own days as an architecture student…”

He trails off into a long speech, excitedly. You’ve been witness to every single one of your father’s inspirational speeches since the day you were born so you fight back a yawn. On the contrary, your classmates look like they’re hanging onto every single word.

As your father paces across the stage, he inches towards your side. You blink in panic, bending down but before you know it, it’s too late. His eyes sparkle with joy.

You almost worry he’s gonna wave at you mid-speech. But he doesn’t, simply shooting an overly friendly smile your way. You sneak a glance at your classmates and they’re all giving you a strange look - one that most definitely reads what the heck is he smiling at you for?

Meeting Chae’s eyes in particular, you give an awkward smile and shrug. Soon enough, your father turns to the side and you finally think you can breathe.

“That’s why I’d like to encourage you all to live up to your potential! The world is changing around you as you know it and as future architects, you can be a part of that,” your father enthusiastically continues. His eyes are on you again. “And this is what I tell my beautiful daughter everyday! She loves skylines, my dear _____, and she’s going to be a wonderful architect too!”

My life is officially over.

A little dramatic but that exact thought crosses your mind as you duck into your seat. You think you hear the collective gasp around the auditorium or maybe your ears are playing tricks on you.

No, it’s probably as bad you think it is. Your father’s called you out by name and exposed your identity that you worked so hard to conceal. Your life is quite literally over.

Oblivious to your misery, your father grins happily on stage. He returns the mic to Mr. Lim before stepping to the side. The rest of the assembly goes by without you realizing. You’re still numb to the fact of what just happened.

You risk a glance at your classmates, and in cliche movie fashion, they’re all staring at you with mouths gaping wide open. Every single one of them.

Your neck heats up and you quickly turn around. But curiosity gets the best of you a few minutes later, and you risk looking again.

They’re still staring at you in shock. Like they can’t believe their eyes.

Chae especially is looking at you with hurt flashing across her face. It squeezes at your heart and you feel overcome with guilt for lying to your friend for a year. You don’t dare to imagine what she’s thinking now.

Without realizing, your eyes travel over to Namjoon. Much to your surprise, he’s not looking at you. He’s the only one with his eyes looking ahead blankly, deep in thought.

You frown, evading everyone’s stares to focus on him. An unrecognizable emotion is written all over his face… is it realization? Regret? Embarrassment?

You can hardly tell. But for the first time, an uncomfortable feeling plunges in your stomach at the fact that Namjoon’s not looking at you.

“Dad!” you cry. “How could you do that?”

Your father smiles happily at the sight of you, the two of you standing outside the auditorium in a secluded, private spot. The torture, that was the assembly, has finally come to an end.

“What do you mean?” he answers in confusion. “Do you mean showing up here? Because I was invited by that Mr. Lim fellow, he-”

“Not that!” you whine, groaning into your palms. “I’m talking about saying I’m your daughter in front of the whole architecture department!”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, that? What did I do wrong?”

Your jaw drops. “Dad, are you being serious?”

He nods, clear puzzlement on his face.

“Don’t you remember? I specifically asked for you and Mom to make sure that it never gets out!” you say. “Now, you’ve told everyone I go to college with that I’m the daughter of the man behind HN Architects!”

He blinks for a few seconds. “Is that so wrong?” he almost pouts like a child. “I didn’t know it was such a problem.”

“Of course, it is! Why do you think I asked you not to tell anyone?”

“...I thought you were being modest.”

“Modest?!” you exclaim, before sighing. There’s no use berating your father. It’s no one’s fault but your own for not preparing better for this situation.

“Did you really not want anyone to find out?”

You nod weakly.

“Why not?”

“I… I can’t explain it. They’ll freak out,” you look down. You can’t imagine how much worse your stress is gonna get from now on - it isn’t enough that your own title of the daughter of HN Architects is choking you to death… now you’ll have to deal with every single one of your classmates doing the same thing.

Things will never be the same again. For every grade you get, it’ll be discussed as the grade of the HN Architects’ daughter. For every drawing or idea you’ll submit, it’ll be scrutinized as the work of a girl from privilege. The pressure would multiply infinitely.

“Oh dear, don’t be silly,” your father suddenly says, resting his hand on your head. “I’m sorry for that. I didn’t realize it was so serious to you. But even if they know, it’s not an issue. You’re an excellent student and it’s only right they pay you the respect as the future CEO of HN Architects.”

You shoot your father a smile but your stomach drops. “I guess so, thanks,” you mumble, unable to explain to him that it’s exactly what he said that terrifies you.

For the rest of the day, you hide out off-campus in hopes to avoid facing reality.

“_____, I think you need to pay for the emotional shock you gave us,” Hobi laughs at the lunch table as soon as you arrive.

Hesitantly, you sit beside Chae who doesn’t share a word with you. Since yesterday, you haven’t even made eye contact with her, despite being her roommate.

“I think I almost spat out my water when I heard my daughter,” Mina jokes and the table echoes in laughter. You smile awkwardly.

“Yeah… it’s not really a big deal,” you shrug.

“Not a big deal?! Hello! We’re talking to the next HN Architects CEO right now!” another student pipes up.

“_____, forgive me for all I did wrong last semester,” Yuri playfully adds.

“I think we need to be cleaning the floor for her to walk on!”

These statements all fly around the table, exchanged with laughs and smiles. Part of you cowers in the attention, uncomfortable by such blatant recognition of your upbringing.

Another part of you wonders… will things be okay?

You take a careful look around the table of your classmates. Not a single one seems to wear a glare, all sharing in jokes and smiles. For the strangest reason… you feel at ease.

Chae suddenly stands up, with her tray. “I’m done eating. I’ll see you guys later.”

Instantly, you mimic her and chase behind her retreating figure. “Wait Chae-”

“I have class right now-”

Like a child, you jump in front of her to block her path. “Okay, please just hear me out,” you say, pouting. “I’m sorry.”

She sighs. “What are you sorry for? It’s not a big deal.”

“You must feel… annoyed, right?”

Chae blinks at you. “I’ll admit, I was irritated at first. You come from such privilege and I’ve unloaded so much crap on you sometimes about being scared about post-college life while you never had that… but, I’m not really mad about that. You can’t help who you are, right?”

You nod. “You’re still mad at me though, aren’t you? For hiding it?”

She takes a second before replying, “I just… you’re so unreachable sometimes, _____. After I found out, I kind of realized why you’re so stressed all the time and what you meant whenever you alluded to things about your pressures and all… I’m just annoyed you never shared that part of you.”

“I’m sorry.”

For the first time since yesterday, Chae cracks a smile. “Don’t be sorry. I just want you to be more open with me. You don’t need to feel like you need to hide your background… I would’ve tried to understand either way.”

Her words soothe you more than you can explain. Since entering your major, you haven’t once relied on the people around you for support that wasn’t academic. Now, you’re realizing your fatal flaw.

“I’ll try to be better,” you say with a nod. “Thank you for not being mad at me.”

She laughs. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry about me,” she says with a glance elsewhere. “You should check up on him. He’s been spooked since yesterday.”

You turn on your heel to see Namjoon, walking around with the same strange expression on his face from the assembly. For a brief second, your eyes meet but the second flashes, and he quickly looks away.

“Did you see that?!” you scoff. “He just ignored me!”

Chae smiles. “Wow, there really is a first for everything.”

“What’s with him?” you say, watching his awkward walk in your opposite direction. He keeps glancing in your direction, but once he sees you staring at him, he swiftly looks away. It’s a completely new side to him.

“I don’t know,” Chae shrugs. “He’s being weird. I thought he’d be running after you like always, but he’s resorted to this.”

You scoff again, unfamiliar with this Namjoon who runs away from you, rather than to you. You wonder what’s running through his mind, before pushing the thought away. He’s bound to come after you again after a few days.

The confidence with which you assumed Namjoon would be all over you again is faltering.

It’s been a full week since the assembly, and while life has seemingly gone back to normal for you (as normal as things can be)... Namjoon certainly has not.

In classes, he picks the furthest seat away on purpose. You even started to tease him by trying to sit in his front row with him, but instead, you found him in the back row - where he can’t even see.

His lunches seem to be perfectly timed to not clash with yours. All of a sudden, he’s no longer in the library either. All the places you’d easily find Namjoon hovering over you, he’s disappeared from.

“Does he think this is effective?!” you rant to Chae in your dorm room. “That by suddenly ignoring me, I’ll become obsessed with him?!”

Chae smiles at you knowingly. “I don’t know… if that was his plan to begin with, I’d say it’s pretty effective-”

“Shut up, Chae! I’m just saying this is all so stupid!” you scoff. “Once or twice is fine but he’s actively avoiding me! He saw me in the library yesterday and acted like he forgot a book to leave! We were in the library for god’s sake! What book did he forget that he couldn’t find there?!”

Chae giggles like the situation is laugh-worthy. “Maybe he’s just busy.”

“He made time during final exams last year to bother me. How much busier could he be than he was then?”

“Or maybe he doesn’t want to distract you.”

“It’s not that for sure. Whenever I’d tell him that he’s distracting me before, he wouldn’t care,” you mumble under your breath annoyedly. Chae continues to grin at your behavior, as if your reaction were amusing.

You don’t say it to her but you know very well why you’re annoyed beyond relief. It’s because you know it’s to do with finding out about HN Architects.

You groan. You expected your classmates to be weird around you, maybe even your professors… but Namjoon was the last person you thought would suddenly make a 180 after learning about your family.

That’s why it’s aggravating. Because it’s the one thing you didn’t think he’d care about.

A part of you fears he’s realized just how pathetic you are. After all, Namjoon probably knows how much more promising he is compared to you and now… he had to sit with the fact that you were the daughter of HN Architects.

“Why don’t you just approach him yourself?”

You’re momentarily stunned by Chae’s suggestion. You shoot her a dirty glare.

“What?!”

“I’m not gonna chase after Namjoon! He should approach me himself!”

Chae looks at you like you’re crazy. “You’re the one who wants him to talk to you!”

“Exactly! He should come to me like he always does.”

A laugh escapes Chae’s lips. “Oh, _____… you don’t even realize it, do you?”

You cock a brow before shaking your head. “I don’t have time for your indirect dialogue. I’m just saying that if Namjoon doesn’t come to me and talk this out soon, I’m gonna have to do something very crazy.”

Chae’s eyes flicker with amusement. “Oh? And what’s that?”

You grimace, as if even saying it brings you humiliation. “I’m gonna go talk to him first.”

Chae bursts out laughing, despite your solemn expression. You brush her off, spending the rest of the night on your design homework but secretly planning on wringing Namjoon’s throat if he doesn’t go back to normal soon.

By now, you’re sure Namjoon can feel the daggers you’re shooting into his back.

He’s even risked turning back a few times, to see who’s glaring at him. But as soon as your eyes meet, his head spins around as if it were all in your head. He focuses on the professor teaching ahead of him, taking notes diligently.

Beside you, Chae says with a nudge, “so are you gonna do that very crazy thing you were planning?”

You ignore her for the sake of gritting your teeth. Usually, you have no trouble focusing in classes. It’s all because of this wretched situation that you’re so off-game.

As soon as the professor wraps up his powerpoint, you’re faster than anyone else in the class at packing up your things and zooming out the door. You don’t even bid Chae goodbye.

You tap your foot impatiently, staring directly at your target.

Namjoon… try and ignore me now.

Hooking his bag over his shoulder, Namjoon comes to the door of the classroom before stopping his tracks. Aha, you smile pleased.

“Ah, I just forgot… to talk about my assignment with Mr. Choi,” he mutters out loud to no one in particular. The acting is so terrible that you don’t even have to think about it to know he’s intending it for you to hear.

You march up to him. “No, you don’t,” you scoff and when he looks up at the ceiling, you jump like an infant calling for attention. “Namjoon, if you value your life, you’re gonna drop this act right now,” you say in a menacing voice.

Immediately, he gulps and looks down at you. His height towers over yours but you smile, knowing you’ve gained the upper hand here. He’s looking at you just as he did before - completely enamoured.

You say nothing but give a deadly gesture to follow you. He obeys without complaint.

When you two are finally in a spot you deem private enough, you raise your chin and look at him happily. Under your gaze, he looks down uncomfortably.

“So you want me to say it or will you explain what the hell is going on?”

He blinks. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, _____.”

Your blood boils. Now, he wants to feign ignorance. “You’re joking,” you deadpan.

He looks at you innocently and shakes his head. You sigh, blinking in confusion.

This whole situation is a first. True to your words, you’ve never actually… had to do anything more than bat an eye to know Namjoon would come to you. You don’t know the words to even ask what’s wrong.

“_____,” he says in a low voice. You glance up at him, completely losing your train of thought. The sight of him has never registered you disorientated before. But now, you can’t help but trace your eyes over his dimples and sparkling eyes.

You scoff at yourself. You must’ve lost your mind temporarily. “You know what I’m talking about!”

He shakes his head so you continue, “you used to always come to the library at my timings and sit on my lunch table.”

“Oh,” he nods. “That’s because I wanted to sleep in more so I changed my schedule around a bit.”

You blink at his explanation. “You sat at the back of the class when I came to the front row-”

“I just wanted to see what it’s like to sit there. Turns out, it sucks,” he pauses when you don’t reply. “_____?”

You frown, part confused and part innocently. “I just mean… why aren’t you following me anymore?”

The words are out of your mouth before you can help it and your eyes widen in humiliation. That isn’t the way you wanted to ask the question.

Namjoon, instead, is amused. He smirks ever so slightly, before cocking his brow and asking, “Are you asking me why I don’t chase you around anymore?”

His newfound confidence almost makes you lose your footing. This is Namjoon - the nerdy guy who’d come to you. He can’t have this effect on you.

You scoff, faking an assured smile. “Are you denying that you chased me around?”

He blinks. “I mean-”

“Surely, you accept the fact that you did chase me around for a whole year,” you say with a smile playing on your lips. Of course, between the two of you, you both know very well of Namjoon’s infatuation with you. He’s danced around those feelings for both of your comedy’s sake… but this time, you won’t let that slide.

He looks at you, tongue poking in his cheek. “Fine. I do chase you around.”

You almost smile with victory but you stop yourself. Before you can speak, he continues.

“But I won’t anymore. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me,” he says sincerely, seemingly ready on his toes to walk away. Your fingers wrap around his wrist without realizing.

“Wait!” you frown displeased. He’s glancing down at where your touch meets his hand and you instantly let go. “This makes no sense.”

He blinks, confused. “What do you… isn’t this what you’ve wanted?”

“You can’t just change your mind like that!” you argue, a strange desperation cutting into your voice. “You can’t make people get used to you and do that!”

Much to your surprise, he wears a small smile. “I didn’t think it’d bother you so much.”

“I can’t stand you,” you groan. “You chase me around, then you find out one tiny fact about my family and now, you think you’re so much better than me to come after me!” you yell, your heart hammering against your chest. You sound like a child, you know as much but… suddenly around him, all logic’s been thrown out your brain.

“_____,” he says in a breath, a glint in his eye that reads surprise and amusement. His dimples are poking out and you wonder what it’d be like to affectionately poke into one. “Do you… did you like when I would come to you?”

There’s no self-preserving answer to this, one that can save both your dignity and pride. You know what you should say to his question, but nerves are prickling under your skin.

It isn’t the nerves you feel before submitting a drawing or entering an exam, but a whole new uncharted territory of nerves. Everything about this conversation is uncharted territory.

“_____, do you…” he starts a question, before nervously brushing the nape of his neck. He looks shy to even ask but after a moment, he looks at you like a child with candy and says, “do you like me?”

Your heart’s in your stomach. Immediately, you laugh, “no! No! Why would I?! Are you crazy?! Why would I ever like-”

“I don’t know,” he blinks innocently, but the stare he holds on you seems suddenly intimate. “That’s what I’m thinking. Why would you ever care about why I stopped chasing after you, if you don’t like me?”

His cocky grin annoys you. You shoot him a deathly look. “Don’t get too confident with me, Joon,” you say although you’re fumbling with words. “I still remember when you couldn’t even look me in the eye.”

He takes a step closer, holding your stare with no qualms. Your heart speeds up again, like you’ve been running.

“_____,” he says softly with a victorious smile. “You like me, don’t you?”

“I’m not answering your stupid question. First, you explain to me why the hell you think you can treat me the way you have the last week-”

“Because I thought you didn’t like me back,” he answers smoothly. “You’re the daughter of HN Architects and I’ve been wasting your time all year long. I’ve always felt intimidated by you… but now, I realized I really wasn’t worth your time.”

You blink with a frown. “Namjoon-”

“I feel really embarrassed, _____… If I ever wanted to work at HN Architects, I wouldn’t even be able to show my face knowing the way I’ve bothered you-”

“You’ve never bothered me.”

“Huh?”

Your cheeks flush and you suddenly become very aware of the words that escaped your lips. You cast a hesitant glance at Namjoon and you can’t help it. Suddenly, everything feels a lot clearer.

“You know, you’re the kind of architect my father dreams about,” you find yourself saying. “You’re the kind of student someone like me should be. It all comes natural to you. I love buildings but everything I do, it’s just part of who you are… that’s why I acted like you bothered me.”

He’s at a loss for words before muttering, “_____…”

“All I ever think about is trying to fit the ideal I know I have to be and it all comes easy for you. You feel embarrassed in front of me…” you laugh with a scoff. “How do you think I feel, needing your help?”

“I never wanted to compete with you,” he says. “I just wanted to be by your side. I really wasn’t helping you for anything apart from looking for an excuse to be near you.”

There it is… the fluttering feeling.

The truth is, you’ve known all this time too. You’ve known that there was never any ulterior motive, just your cynical mind trying to conjure excuses.

You almost hate yourself at this moment. Your insecurity over your work has warped your thoughts so much that you convinced yourself that… that you feel nothing but annoyance for Namjoon.

“_____,” he starts. His hand hesitantly reaches up, stopping multiple times on its way before finally brushing your hair away from your forehead.

“I think it goes without saying but in my eyes, you’re the smartest person in our major and every time I’m with you, I don’t even care if you reject me or look for an excuse to go away,” he says. “You don’t even realize the way I see you.”

Your eyes sting and you’re not sure if it’s because his words move you or you’ve just forgotten to blink for a long while. “You’re so corny.”

He laughs. “Well, someone needs to tell you you’re doing a good job because I can tell you’re not telling yourself,” he says before sheepishly adding, “and I thought we were exchanging what we like about each other.”

“Who said I like you?”

He grins, ruffling your hair despite the scowl you give him. You say nothing but then give a smile. You didn’t expect today to feel so good… but somehow, that insecurity that plagues your mind at all hours of the day disappears for a while.

All you can think about is wanting this feeling to last with him. Without warning, you reach to grab Namjoon’s wrist to walk out into the open garden of the campus. In front of your sight, there’s a skyline of buildings decorating the city.

“Do you still stand by your statement that that building is the ugliest?”

You grin. “It’s literally hideous, Joon. I can’t believe you’re the top of our class but think those colors look nice together.”

He gives a warm laugh, unable to disguise his happiness at the way you call him endearingly. Your eyes go back and forth between the skyline and Namjoon beside you before deciding that while buildings are your first true love… there’s something even more beautiful about the boy next to you.

hehe so excited to write on this blog if u read till the end jus know u have all my love

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halcyonstorm · 3 years

Text

The Girl at the Library Chapter 1

Short Fic - Levihan

Themes: College AU, Library, Fluff, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Female Hange Zoe, Student!Levi

Word Count: 5730

Chapter: 1/3

Warning: Mild Language

Read on Ao3 - The Girl at the Library

Summary: Levi is a college student who needs help on his research paper. Luckily, Hange is a book worm and works at the library.

Levi was stressed and annoyed, mainly because he was in college. Of course with college comes infinite amounts of homework assignments, 100-question exams with astronomical amounts of topics on them, unnecessary research papers, and staying in a dorm room with a kid that happens to have no problem inviting his friends over every night to hang out and party with no regards to his sullen roommate.

Levi had a paper coming up. He had to come up with a topic, find sources, and finish his paper by the end of the semester. With three weeks left to go, he decided he’d rather get it over with. He began his brainstorming in the study lounge at the center of his dormitory floor. He was starting to stress. He sat on the big yellow leather couch in the way-too-bright study lounge with his laptop in his lap. He tapped his pen against his head as he tried to think of an idea.

“You have to write about a topic related to your major,” The professor explained. “This is the one and only paper you will have assigned this semester. I suggest you get it done as early as possible.”

If only it were that easy. He had the rubric pulled up in one tab, and a ton of “How to pick a research topic” websites in others. His major was pharmaceuticals, a field he was inspired to take on because of his mother. She was very ill when he was very young, so they were in and out of hospitals. He was sitting on the edge of his mother’s hospital bed when a nurse came in the room to administer her medications.

“This is…” His memory was blurry. “This medication will help… and make you feel better.” And it did. 9 year old Levi was fascinated. This one little pill or bag of what looked like water helped his mother feel better. Within hours, his mother’s skin went from pallor to beige. Her hands were warmer. She looked more awake, more alive. She didn’t wince at Levi’s touch. She was in less pain. She got better, like the nurse predicted.

Since then, Levi always asked questions whenever they visited the hospitals again and again. “What kind of drug is that?” “What does it do?” “How long does it take to take effect?”

Levi recalled the memory with a deep sigh. He missed his mother. She was at home, not too far away. Levi never had the time to travel the hour through the big city to visit her. When he did have free time, he spent it studying or sleeping. He felt his heart twinge at this. She had sacrificed everything to help him attend college and to give him a good life.

Now with his head cloudy, he went to reach his water bottle in his backpack. He opened the lid and took a sip. At that moment, he could hear some obnoxiously loud students throwing tennis balls back and forth to each other. He recognized these kids too, they were some (of many) of the lovely visitors his roommate had over most nights. Suddenly in the blink of an eye, Levi’s water bottle spilled all over his laptop, a tennis ball on the floor next to him, and some worried voices approaching him. Within seconds, the laptop started to steam and the screen went black.

His laptop was fried, he determined. He felt heat start to rise inside of him.

“Oh my god, man. I am so sorry,” One of the kids said, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah, man. We didn’t mean to.”

Levi took a deep breath and stood up. These kids… were gonna pay.

He closed his broken laptop and stood up. These kids were much taller than him, but looked to be easily intimidated by Levi’s presence.

“Do you have the money to pay for this?” He sneered, getting very close to their faces.

“Eh… no, but we have jobs! We can pay you back over time,” One of the kids trailed off. They seemed to be intimidated by the short man. “You live in 112 right?”

Levi nodded, his face heating up with anger. “This laptop cost me a lot of money.”

“We get it, man! We said we’re sorry,” the other kid explained. “We’ll pay you back or whatever.”

“Tch,” Levi clicked. He was extremely pissed. These kids should not be throwing balls at each other in the hallway. Also, they spilled his water which made a mess. “Which room are you both in?” They responded with 118. The one kid explained they get paid on the 15th and 30th of each month. Luckily, their pay day was 4 days away.

“I’ll stop by Tuesday, the 16th,” Levi decided, before gathering his things and heading to the stairs. He began to walk through the campus. Fuck, now where was he gonna go? How was he gonna find his topics? His computer was fucked. Putting it in rice wouldn’t have helped. He was so occupied having a debate with himself about where to research, he almost missed it. If he looked the other way or even blinked in that moment, he wouldn’t have seen it. It was the campus library. No, not the campus library, but a campus library. It blended into the surroundings, hidden from the passerbyers. There was a sign in the window “We’re Open!”.

The library was small, to say the least. It was old fashioned, which contrasted the modern aesthetic of the university. It was a small, dark brown, wooden building with four-pane windows. The door was a lighter shade of brown. He decided it was easier to check out this little library instead of walking another 10 minutes to get to the main library. He didn’t have time to waste. He had to get started with his paper right away. He walked up to the door and opened it. When he did, a little bell rang at the doorway.

“Just a minute!” A woman’s voice called from the back. Levi decided to wander around. There were many books crammed on the shelves. There were two computers on each side when he walked in. They looked out of place, considering they were very modern compared to the architecture of the library itself. The books were all shades of bright, vibrant colors. It was strange. From the outside, it seemed creepy and gloomy. Once he walked in, it was very cozy. The dark walls of the library contrasted the beautiful colors of the books.

Then, he saw the woman come out. She came up to the desk. He expected an elderly lady with her glasses on a chain, but he assumed this woman was a student. She was a young woman who wore thin oval glasses and her brown hair thrown up in a messy half-up-half-down ponytail.

“Hi!” The woman said. “How can I help you?”

“I want to use a computer, please,” He announced. He glanced at her nametag which hung like a necklace around her neck. “Hange” was the name on the tag. It was strange and unordinary, but it had a nice ring to it. The name seemed to suit her.

“Sure! You are allowed up to two hours a day,” Hange explains. “You can choose whichever computer you’d like.”

The computers were unoccupied. In fact, the entire library seemed vacant except for him and the employee.

“Does anyone actually come here?” Levi asked, setting his stuff down next to a desk, and looking her way. She looked like someone who would work at a library.

The brunette chuckled. “You are my third visitor today!” She exclaimed proudly. It was already about 3pm. He remembered the sign in the front says “12pm-6pm weekdays”.

Levi chuckled silently, air huffed out his nose. “How do you stay in business?”

“Well, the university thinks it’s good to have a small library in the outskirts of the campus so students have access to books and computers because the main campus library is in the center of the plaza. Sometimes we get about ten people a day, and sometimes they don’t even take anything out. Sometimes I wonder how…” She began to ramble now. She definitely has not had anyone else visit her today.

She was starting to get on his nerves. It’s been 20 minutes since he arrived, and she was still talking. He zoned out until she caught his attention.

“Hey,” She said. “What’s your name? I have to track whoever comes in to use the computers.”

Why? No one else comes in. He noticed her clipboard with the sign-ins was blank.

“Levi Ackerman,” He announced. She scribbled his name down. “Okay, it’s 3:30 now, so you have till 5:30 if needed.” She pointed to the clock with her pen as she explained. He nodded and proceeded to walk towards the table with the computer he claimed. He sat down and began working.

He was an hour into his research when he finally threw his hands up in the air in frustration. He still couldn’t think of a topic. He groaned aloud.

Hange was leaning against the main desk, her nose stuck in a book. “How Trees Communicate” was the title. When she heard the young man groan, she looked up.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, peering over her book at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” He mumbled. “Fine…”

Hange raised an eyebrow. She placed her bookmark at her spot, then strolled around the desk and walked over to him.

“What are you working on?” She asked, sitting in the seat next to him and put her hands on her knees, looking at him curiously. He scoffs. It was none of her business, he thought to himself. And it’s an invasion of privacy.

He was frustrated and desperate. Hoping for a miracle, he managed to tell her anyways.

“I need a topic for my paper and I can’t think of any…” Levi began. “It needs to be based on pharmaceuticals, my major. It also needs scientific evidence to back up my research…”

She was fully absorbed in what he had to say. She was bored, so helping Levi would’ve been something to do at least. Besides, Levi was in luck. She was an avid reader, always reading about anything and everything. She was studying plants and botanicals, but she found herself frequently taking out books about cooking; religion; war; animals; and medical topics including surgery, pathophysiology, anatomy, and pharmaceuticals.

“What about how diuretics affect blood pressure?” Hange suggested. Levi was taken aback. His eyebrows furrowed, and he shook his head in confusion. “Or if anti-alzheimer drugs actually help slow the progression of Alzheimer’s? Why do you take different medications during certain stages of Alzheimer’s disease? Or how do anti-seizure medications work? That is something I ask myself all the time. You take this little pill and BOOM! You’ll be fine, no seizure! Oh, oh, oh! Or, how certain medications cause certain adverse effects? How come so many medications cause anxiety?” Her eyes started to light up as she talked. They were a dark brown, but when she started to talk, they seemed to morph to a captivating hazel. He felt he could see every color in her eyes. He saw brown and green and the little lines of her iris. Hange’s hands would move as she talked, and her smile grew wide. She couldn’t keep still. She was getting excited by coming up with all these ideas. She seemed so passionate and so willing to help; he was overwhelmed by her.

Levi was in shock. His day started off horrible. Now, he was almost glad his laptop was fucked. This woman was making his mind race with ideas.

“Are you okay?” Hange asked for the second time within his visit there. Levi nodded slowly. “I am just… How do you know all that? Are you a med student?”

Hange chuckled and waved her hand at him. “No… I am a bookworm! Also, my mom is a nurse, so she used to teach me about nursing stuff all the time. Oh! You could write about the pathophysiology of anticholinergics! Or beta blockers! Or how the body reacts to the use of long-term steroids?”

Levi took a deep breath. He felt euphoric. He had been casually trying to think of topics since last week. All of a sudden, this woman can just ramble off hundreds of ideas? Levi smiled visibly.

“Actually… I really like the final topic you suggested. About steroids.” Levi admitted.

Hange smiled back at him. “Great! I can try to help you find some sources or books.” She directed him to open a new tab and to go to a certain database. “This is where you can find reliable sources. Over here,” She pointed to his screen at the left side. “You can add filters. You can change how old or new you’d like the sources to be, filter out certain words or phrases, et cetera.” She had been closer to him now; she scooted her chair closer so she could explain the database to him. It was hard not to look at her as she explained. She was captivating.

Levi began to type in words for his topic.

“Steroids”, “Long-term use”, “Cushing’s Disease”, “Addison’s Disease”, “Addisonian Crisis”, “Pathophysiology”.

He felt like he was finally getting somewhere. He was finally making progress.

As Levi was walking home, he couldn’t get his mind off that girl. He decided to brainstorm about his topic in his room once he got there. The thing was, though, he couldn’t think of any more ideas. He found it funny. Of course he was full of ideas and inspiration when he visited that library, but now he’s void of any.

Levi’s weekends were no different than the weekdays. He made it appoint to visit the library again the next day, Saturday. It was a sunny, cool Saturday morning. Levi had inspiration to write. He needed a computer and Hange’s ideas. When he arrived, it seemed busy. There were three other patrons at the library. He recognized Hange right away, helping a tall blonde man with a big nose. He wondered if she was the only employee there. The man she was helping was taller than her, so she had to reach up on her toes to point to items. She was an average height, but this action made her seem shorter than she actually was.

Hange looked his way and greeted him with a toothy smile. Levi waved at her and started to head down one of the aisles of books. He was in the nonfiction section, but was lost. For now, he just casually browsed the section, but quickly got impatient. He needed Hange’s help to find books for this paper. He heard her laugh with the patron. Maybe he’s a friend, he thought to himself. Her laugh was airy and full of heart. It seemed genuine and passionate. Levi felt an urge to make her laugh, too.

She finally made her way over to him. Levi was looking down at a book when she caught his eye. “Hey, stranger!” She greeted him with a wave. “Whatcha looking for?” She placed her hands on her hips.

“I’m trying to find some sources for my paper. Steroids is the topic,” Levi explained.

“Oh, right. I remember! After you left last night, I tried to look for some books for your topic,” She said. She was trying to help me? Levi thought to himself.

She curled her finger in a “follow me” gesture and he did. She brought him to another aisle or two over from where they were. “These are the 600’s, where you’ll most likely find what you’re looking for. I found a book or two about Addison’s disease, but it’s more of a memoir. You can look around though if you’d like. Anything in the 610’s should be right up your alley.” She explained as if she was going to leave, but she didn’t. Hange looked for books with him.

After a moment, she made a noise. “Look at this!” She exclaimed. She reached next to him to reach for a book. She was on her toes again. “Mmmm,” She moaned as she tried to reach. “Actually, I’m gonna get the step stool. I don’t think I can reach it.” Quickly, she left and came back with the stool. It looked unreliable, but Levi was sure he’d be able to prevent any accident from occurring. Hange placed it on the ground and stepped up on it, grabbing the book with ease. She stepped down with the book in her hand. This book had a white cover with a blue label and was titled “Coping with Prednisone”. Levi was surprised she even knew what prednisone was.

“Here!” She reached it out for him to grab. He took it and looked at her face. She had that same look in her eyes. “Did you want to use the computer?” He nodded and she led him towards the front of the library. The library was small from the outside, but very deep inside. It reminded him of a forest.

“I got your name, don’t worry,” She said, clicking her pen and writing his name down on the sheet.

“Oops!” Hange made a quick grimace. “I added an ‘e’ at the end. I’ll just cross it out.” The statement sounded like it was addressed to herself rather than to anyone else. She crossed out the extra letter.

“Ackermane”. Levi was gonna attempt to make her laugh.

“If you thought I looked like a horse you could’ve just said so.”

Mane, horse mane. Get it?

It felt like forever before Hange responded. She looked up at him, starting to laugh. It was a short but audible laugh. Her head nodded back and she smiled. Her cheeks turned pink and her eyes lit up for a moment. It made his heart skip a beat. It was a bad joke yet she still laughed. She chuckled. Giggled? No. Laughed lightly. Chortled? Maybe that’s the right word. Whatever it was, he wanted to do it more, maybe even more than that.

He followed her to the computers. The blonde guy she was helping earlier was on one computer. She led him to the two computers across from the other ones and sat down in the chair next to him.

“What are you doing?” Levi asked, placing the book she found for him on the table.

Her eyebrows raised, and after a moment she reacted. She waved her hands in front of her.

“I’m sorry! I thought you may have needed help. I should get back to work anyway. I gotta go through a new box of books that just came in.”

Levi looked up at her. Is she blushing? he asked himself.

“I’ll let you know if I need help.” Levi responded. She smiled at him before quickly walking away.

He started to find some evidence-based practice articles about how steroids can cause long-term side effects, especially if stopped abruptly. He made sure to keep the tabs available. He’d have to cite them later. Levi’s mind was racing with words and sentences and ideas. He had to get them down on paper. He opened Documents on the computer and started typing away.

The clicking of the keyboard soothed him. He was a pretty fast typer, he didn’t make many mistakes either. The library around him began to become quiet as his typing got louder and he got deeper in thought. Before he knew it, his two hours were up. He felt someone approach him from his right.

“Hey,” Hange said, gently tapping the table next to him. “It’s 2pm. I gotta close up.”

Levi snapped out of his focused trance with a quick head shake. “Right. Sorry.” He pulled out a flash drive from his backpack and plugged it into the computer. He transferred his document. “I got the first page done.”

Levi asked himself for a brief moment why he was sharing this information with someone he just met. Maybe since she helped him, he felt she should know.

“That’s great! It seemed like you were really focused,” Hange said, walking away to shut off some lights. Only then did he notice the white noise of the overhead lights quickly dissipate. The room buzzed with silence now. Levi and Hange were alone in the library. Suddenly, Levi felt nervous. He watched Hange walk around the room frantically, making sure to shut off all the lights and computers. She grabbed a bag. The bag was a fabric material with a patchwork design that had a long strap that hung on on her shoulder. Maybe she made it herself. She grabbed her big mess of keys and walked towards him.

“Ready?” She said. He nodded and walked outside, holding the door for her. She thanked him, locking the door behind her. They began to walk down the street slowly.

“Want to grab lunch?” Hange asked, looking at him. Levi looked back at her. She looked pretty.

“Sure, I can eat.” Hange chuckled at that. He didn’t try, but it made her happy for a brief moment. He seemed nervous but she was too.

They decided to eat at a cute restaurant on campus called “Life in Paradis”. It was a small, dainty place with a green and yellow checkered awning. The building was made of yellow brick, and the door was bright green. There were flower pots outside on the windowsill. Again, this place seemed totally out of place in the modern aesthetic of the university.

“This place is adorable!” Hange exclaimed. “I love the food here. You’ll love it too. They have all kinds of food here.” Levi felt a smile grow on his face. The way she talked made his heart flutter. She was always so passionate. They entered and got a table for two. This is not a date, Levi kept telling himself. Then why were his cheeks red?

They sat down and looked through a menu. Levi wasn’t extremely hungry even though he hadn’t had anything but tea this morning. He peered over his menu to look at the girl. Her hair was different today, he determined. Today all her hair was in a ponytail, and it was higher on her head. She wore a light yellow button-down with a long, light blue cardigan. Hange caught him staring at her and blushed.

“What would you two like to order?” The waitress asked him first.

“I’m gonna get a sandwich, I think,” He said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Turkey sub.” “I think I’m gonna get a chicken caesar salad,” Hange said. He nodded, grabbed the menus, and walked away.

Hange began to talk about how beautiful the flowers outside the restaurant were. They were all variants of pink, purple, yellow, and red. She described the petals and the leaves, the flowers’ origins, and all the meanings of the flowers. Levi wasn’t annoyed by her tangent this time. He actively listened to this girl talk about what fascinated her so much. He found it soothing. It made him wonder how her brain can contain all the information she was spewing at him. He enjoyed watching the way her eyes lit up when she talked. The beautiful green that blossomed at the bottom of her irises when the light hit her eyes at the right angle. The way her lips curled into a big smile when she talked to him. Her cheeks flush to a light pink when she describes the petals of the flowers or how flowers were used to express feelings when words cannot. It made his heart race.

“Levi,” Hange said. Her affect was the opposite of earlier when she was rambling. She wore a frown on her face, feeling guilty.“I’ve been rambling… sorry. It’s such a bad habit of mine. I can talk for hours and hours.”

“Don’t apologize, four-eyes,” Levi replied, leaning his elbows and forearms on the table in a crossed position. Hange smiled at him. Levi meant it. She shouldn’t apologize for talking, especially if it’s about something she loves. The food had arrived at the table. They ate. Levi felt the need to open up to her about something. He already learned so much about her, and her presence made him feel like he can open up.

“I like to run,” Levi said abruptly. Hange looked at him intently, chewing on a forkful of salad. “I don’t do it competitively or anything, but I enjoy running. I try to run once or twice a day.” Hange’s eyebrows raised and she nodded in agreement.

“That’s awesome!” She smiled again at him. “I like to run too. I’m really slow and get tired easily, but I enjoy feeling the wind in my hair and feeling my heart pound.” She took a bite of her meal again. Levi nodded and began to eat too. This sandwich was really good.

After talking some more about hobbies and school, they both finished their meal. The waiter brought over the check. Hange reached into her pocket for her wallet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Levi asked. Hange furrowed her brows.

“I invited you out to lunch. I will pay,” Hange determined, her wallet now in her hands.

“No,” Levi said too quickly. “I will pay. It’s the least I can do. You helped me with my paper after all.”

The bickering lasted a very long minute. Before she got to think of the idea, Levi grabbed the checkbook and shoved his card inside before handing it to the waiter. Hange looked surprised. She sighed, putting her wallet away.

“Thank you, Levi. But you really didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

In all honesty, Hange didn’t have much money. She worked at that library four times a week, but the money she made went towards paying off her tuition. She really wanted to treat this man, her new friend. She wasn’t sure if he thought the same way about her. Did he consider her his friend? She felt slightly embarrassed. She did most of the talking and felt like she was annoying him. Maybe he just wanted to pay so she would lay off.

But the truth is, Levi felt the opposite way of how she was thinking. He was interested to hear more from her. He was addicted to the way his heart raced when he saw her.

Over the next couple of days, Levi would go to that library whenever he was available. He knew it was closed on Sunday, so he went Monday and Tuesday to the library. Fortunately, he got his first batch of money from the brats that fried his computer. He received $100. Of course it was not enough, but it was a start. Wednesday the 17th came around. This specific day was a wild card. The weather was unpredictable. Levi entered the library just in time; it had started to downpour. The little bell rang as he entered the library. To his surprise, Hange was not working that day. There was a boy behind the counter who was tall and had a brown bowl cut hairstyle. He almost thought about turning around and leaving when he realized she wasn’t there. The rain charged towards the earth viciously, so he decided to seek shelter in the small library. It almost looked like a hurricane. He felt his mood change into a bad one. He didn’t remember to ask how often she worked.

“Hi there!” The man said. His name tag read “Moblit”. That’s a dumb name.

“I wanna use a computer,” Levi muttered, walking up to the main desk.

“Okay. Name?” Moblit grabbed the clipboard and a pen.

“Levi Ackerman.”

“Oh, I see you’ve been here before. A lot, actually.” Levi scoffed and rolled his eyes at his comment. He turned around, picked a computer, and sat down. He felt really stupid to not ask her about her schedule.

The two hours he spent working on his paper was incredibly slow. He didn’t get much done that day. He had writer’s block. He was almost done, so he didn’t worry about it too much. He didn’t know Hange’s schedule. He knew she worked Friday, the day they met; Saturday; Monday, and Tuesday. Maybe she only worked four times a week? Before he knew it, he asked Moblit aloud. It was almost an accident.

“Uh, she’ll be in on Friday,” Moblit replied. He probably couldn’t give out that information to some creep who began visiting daily with an attitude. He muttered a “thanks” before finishing up and heading out. The weather was holding up for now, so he decided to make a run for it. He didn’t say goodbye to Moblit.

He didn’t have an umbrella. The sun was trying to shine through the dark, eerie clouds. It wasn’t trying hard enough. He heard thunder rumbling in the distance.

Levi realized that this girl was all he thought about the past few days. Something about her enticed him. Something about her eyes and her presence drew him towards her. His heart skipped a beat whenever she’d graze his hand on accident, or even when she just talked to him. She made him happy. He hadn’t had too many friends in college. Although they just met last week, he felt a deep connection with her.

Suddenly, the sun poked through the clouds for a brief moment. The world lit up. It was at that moment he recognized a familiar face. Hange. She was walking towards him. She grinned when she saw him. She wore a fitted black t-shirt and baggy, light blue jeans.

“Levi!” She exclaimed. “I forgot my jacket in the library, so I came down to get it.”

“You didn’t tell me you weren’t working today.” Is all Levi said. Once he said it, he realized how creepy it must’ve sounded. A man she just met happens to go to this library to work on his project every day, who happens to come up with multiple reasons to interact with her. Maybe she thought he was a perv.

“Ehh!” She sighed. “I’m sorry! I thought I told you I was off today.” Levi shook his head. The comment itself may have sounded rude, but it wasn’t. She genuinely felt bad. “Walk with me.” Levi followed. Guess not.

“I don’t work Wednesday’s and Thursday’s. Well I’m not supposed to be,” Hange explained. “Mobilt, one of my co-workers, is always calling out sick. So I basically run the place.” They walked towards the library again and entered.

“Hey, Moblit. How’s it going?” Hange said in a normal tone, heading towards the back of the library. Moblit responded briefly, following Hange. Levi decided to hang back, he figured it was a secure area. He looked around awkwardly.

“Hange, you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” Moblit said, following her towards the back.

Hange chuckled nervously. “He’s not my boyfriend,” she said bluntly. “He’s just a friend.” Moblit scoffed, rolling his eyes. “If he’s not your boyfriend, how come his mood entirely changed once he saw you?”

Hange found her jacket, folding it over her forearm. “Huh?”

“He was, like, in a bad mood when he came in. He used the computer but he seemed to be pissed or something. Now that he’s with you, he seems… tolerable.”

Hange laughed, feeling her cheeks blush. “It’s nothing like that. People have bad days, you know.”

Hange rolled her eyes and smirked, then headed towards the front of the library. “Ready?” Levi nodded and turned around.

“See you Friday,” Moblit called out. “See ya.” Hange replied.

The two started walking down the street. The air smelt of rain, and the ground was wet from the rain earlier. “Which building is your dorm in?” Hange asked. He was a bit surprised she asked him that, and she was so direct about it.

“Saint Maria,” He replied. She smiled. “Me too! I can’t believe I haven’t seen you around!” The wind picked up and the sky turned darker than before. They both looked up. “If you can’t make it to the library, you can use my desktop in my dorm room,” Hange offered. Levi’s cheeks turned bright red.

“Thanks, maybe tomorrow I can stop by,” Levi said. It was more of him thinking aloud than a statement. It was too late though, Hange already heard him. He could’ve sworn he didn’t say it aloud.

“That’s fine! I only have a class early tomorrow morning. Come by around 11, okay? My room number is 506.” Levi nodded. Thunder rolled and sounded closer now. They were almost at the dormitory building when it started to downpour. The rain was forcefully coming down on the two. Levi groaned in annoyance. He hated being in the rain. He hated being wet; he hated the wet socks and how gross he felt when it rained. He would’ve started to run to the building to seek cover, but he was taken aback by his new friend.

She was soaked and embracing it. She lifted her head up to face the sky and she laughed. It was loud, happy, genuine, and it took Levi’s breath away. Hange reached her hands out wide and spun around. He saw a strike of lightning light up the sky. He stared at her in awe. His heart swelled. Levi smiled big. After laughing, Hange looked at Levi and shared the look that he wore just a few moments ago. She loved his smile. She wished to make him smile more. She was also determined to make him laugh, too.

She grabbed his hand. “Let’s take cover!” And she pulled him into the dormitory hall. Saint Maria’s hall was beautiful. It had ceiling-to-floor glass pane windows that were always crystal clear. There was a big black modern chandelier that hung from the ceiling. It contained visible light bulbs. Hange secretly loved it. There were the same big, yellow, leather couches in the living room as there were in the study area on his floor. They both wiped their feet off on the big rug in the entryway.

“I love the rain,” Hange deduced, turning her head to look at him. As if Levi couldn’t tell. Her hand was still holding his. Levi looked up at her. “I like it, too.”

#levihan #levi x hange #levi x hanji #levihan fic #aot #snk #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk fic #aot fic #rivahan

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noritoshiikamo · 4 years

Text

driver’s license

cause you said forever, now I drive alone passed your street [au where suna is a doctor specialized in memory removal and his last patient of the day is his ex]

pairing: suna rintarou + fem!reader genre: pain, angst, doctor!suna + patient!reader tags//warning: medical procedure of mind erasing, slight suicide ideation, alcohol abuse note: the obligatory trio of mine: not well edited, lowercase intended, english isnt my first language im sorry if i murder it. the songs made me brawled i had to write something about it and i just so happened to finish haikyuu

“it’s odd,” he looked up from the computer screen, osamu approached him pointing to the screen, the last name listed in the appointment schedule under dr suna rintarou. please don’t say it please don’t say anything, he begged silently in his head. “she kinda has her name. haven’t heard her name in ages,” osamu shrugged, grabbing his next patient’s files, “want to get lunch later?” the doctor popped in another stick of gum, leaving before suna could even said a word.

funny that osamu said that. that is his girlfriend. he moved the cursor and clicked at the name. the birthplace, the date, her eye colour, the address and her number; it matches everything he ever memorized of her. except they are no longer together. it has been a month since their breakup.

she’s an architect. not by choice but she likes art. she’s talented and had once held an art show during school’s open day where they met. she didn’t draw him until they started dating, but she had known some of his close friends who was the subject of her drawings. her parents disproved of her ambitious and to compromise, she agreed to take architectural instead. she stopped drawing completely and suna was the only person in japan that has the largest collection of her paintings stuffed in boxes and behind shelves.

suna rintarou has been a doctor in inarizaki institute for 5 years now. inarizaki institute was different from others. it was the only medical institution that had successfully developed a procedure to remove unwanted memories. he’s one of the qualified doctors for said procedure. he had done the procedure multiple times now, even on his former high school friends and families but never his own girlfriend.

is it him she’s removing from her memories?

he didn’t remember how they broke up. maybe it’s because he was too busy. maybe it’s because she had fallen out of love with him. maybe they just couldn’t stand being in each other’s spaces, but it happened so quickly. she moved out from their apartment, returned when he left to clear out her stuff and he just threw himself back to work.

he did remember how they met. she was the miya brothers’ neighbor. one night when he came to visit them during semester break years ago, they were in their parents’ car with a girl. suna felt like he had recognized but couldn’t think of where or when. “oi, suna,” the window rolled down and asamu called him over, “come in!” despite being weirded out, he entered the back door of the car. “we are teaching our friend how to drive; can you believe it? she’s in our university and can’t drive to save a life.”

“shut the fuck up, atsumu or i’ll run you over,” she muttered angrily as she moved the driving gear.

suna saw the stick going down to reverse instead down further and he immediately reached for her hand. the girl startled at the stranger’s sudden touch. “what the fuck are you d-doing?” she choked up.

“you’re going to reverse into the wall,” he muttered bluntly, pouting his mouth to the gear. grabbing the stick through her hand, he pulled the gear into drive before letting her hand go. the light from the post shined in and he could see red flush on her face as she nodded, “oh okay, yeah d,” she muttered to herself. she started driving. she wasn’t exactly bad; she just needed a lot of practice.

so he came over every day of his semester break and accompanied them as she practiced her driving.

“i can drive you home?” she offered on the last night of his break before he returned to school.

“you don’t have too.”

“i insisted,” to which suna agreed and she glanced back at the miya brothers, “get the fuck out.” despite their disgruntlement and the it’s my mum’s car argument, she managed to kick them out. it was just two of them together. “so, i know we went to same high school and university. how come we have never crossed path before?” she questioned as she took her first turn. she memorized the roads to his home. suna shrugged as he fidgeted with the corner of the jacket’s zipper, “i played volleyball in high school.”

she chuckled, “i’ve never watched any sport matches in high school, sorry. anyway, i’m a last year architectural student by the way. are you taking the same course as osamu?” she glanced at him with a smile. his heart skipped a beat. “y-yeah. i’m in my 5th year of medical.”

“why not volleyball player?”

“i got bored.”

she let a soft exhale and shrugged, “fair enough. i took architectural to please my mother so i’m in no position to give any advice.” she slowed down in front of his house before pulling into a full stop. she pulled into parking and pulled the hand brake. she smiled and fist pumped herself, “did you see that? perfect stop!” suna didn’t expect what was going to happen next. he watched out of control as his arm reached out for her face and pulling her close. what he remembered being in control was asking her boldly whether he could kiss her.

her eyes sparkled and she smiled so widely, “yes.”

so, he did.

she moved into his apartment at the end of his graduation. she didn’t get any job for the first few months while he entered inarizaki institute as medical officer. she took commissions online and waited tables while going to a couple of interviews. he saw a decline in her motivation. when suna returned one night, he found her behind the sofa, drunk out of her mind. what spooked him wasn’t the bottles of whiskey on the floor but the stainless-steel paint scrapper she stabbed the canvas with. she could’ve hurt herself. but, putting her into therapy and pulling strings with some of her friends, she recovered, and he got her an interview. suna watched as she dreadfully shoved her portfolios and files into her bag.

“you’ll be alright,” he reassured, bringing her a cup of coffee. she sighed and pushed her bangs back, “i don’t know, rin. i just don’t feel like getting another rejection after another and then i’ll just spiral into a-” he stopped her rambling with a kiss. he tasted like coffee; she tasted like their toothpaste. every time she tried to pull away, he pulled her back into the kiss and she could feel him laughing against her lips. “this is going to turn into something else,” she whispered between the kiss and he nodded. he was half aroused. she drank the coffee and kissed him one last time. he felt her fingers slipped from his grip. she stood by the door and waved back.

“see you?” she beamed.

“always.”

suna snapped out of his own memory when an alarm blared out. he looked up past the nurses’ counter and saw a patient being pushed out of room B by a couple of nurses. he knew what goes on in that room; he helped in perfecting the procedure. osamu followed soon. he tugged the blue gloves off and shoved them into the yellow bin. “you would not believe who I met in the waiting room?” by the look of his face, osamu already got the feeling that suna already knew. osamu flipped his file and pulled out a pen. he signed the bottom of the pages and dumping it in the completed pile. “did she tell you?” suna asked.

“about?” the other doctor asked.

“the memories she’s erasing. did she tell you?”

osamu shook his head and pocketed his hand in the white coat. “she asked about you. whether you’re around. i said yeah, he’s on call and she just smiled.” suna stood up and grabbed the file. he felt conflicted. osamu stopped the man before he could enter the room. “look man, I’m sorry about whatever happen between you guys and I’m in no position to judge at all.”

suna shrugged and smiled, “it’s fine. we were just ruining each other.” the other man nodded understandingly before excusing himself. suna wanted to move but his feet felt heavy. he was glued down. room B was just a few feet away, but he couldn’t move. this is it. the end of them.

he forced himself into the room. standing in front of the panels and monitor, separating him and her was a one-way mirror. she sat on the seat, talking to the nurses in charge. his heart hurts. she had bangs now framing her face. she’s slight thinner and no longer wore the charm bracelet he gave during their first anniversary. the nurse placed a heart-beat monitor on her thumb and attached a couple more of sensors to her brain, forehead, and neck. his monitor lightened up and spitted out the information. this is it. “doctor, she’s requesting of removal of memory from 2009 up to last month,” the nurse’s words went in his ears and out. it’s of him.

all his own memories flashed through his mind.

the memories of every kisses, hugs, the late nights and the earliest of days, the coffees, the spilled paints. memories of every tear he ever wiped and for ever meals she had ever cooked. memories of all the paints of him that she had gifted to him and every night she drove down his streets. for every missed calls and unread texts. the way she touched him and the way she made him felt. he felt suffocated.

how could he ever love someone else?

“everything is accordingly. you may press the start, doctor.”

he looked at the flashing button and back to her. she was looking right at him. she might not see him, but she is looking straight at him and she looked so beautiful. a small smile appeared on her lips as her fingers fidgeted nervously. he felt tears prickling his eyes. his fingers brushed against the button and he slowly pressed it.

it took them 7 years to build this much of memories together and it took him 3 minutes to erase it clean from her mind.

she was drowsy and she had tears running down her face. the nurses rushed in after the red light disappeared and green light beamed. the alarm rang. another memory successfully. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” he heard her from the opened door. shutting off the machine, he immediately rushed out for the door, feared that he might bumped into her and lost it. he hid his shaking hands in his pocket and gritted his teeth.

“doctor?”

he stopped. the world stopped spinning and he felt lightheaded. the way she called for him didn’t change, the tone and the pronunciation were the same. it was always melodious yet painful. he turned around to see her being wheelchaired out of the room by the nurse. her eyes were slightly red, and her nose were puffy. the nurse passed her a cup of water. she smiled politely, thanking her and took the cup in her hand. she took a sip, coughing at the coldness of the water down her dried throat. it’s the side effect of the procedure.

“have we met before?” she asked, innocently.

suna shook his head and smiled weakly, “no, we haven’t.” he turned to the nurse and nodded. before the nurse could ushered her away, she called him out again.

with a smile on her face, she waved goodbye, “see you, doctor?”

“always.”

110 notes · View notes

flourgirl · 4 years

Text

Waiting On The Warmth

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You accidentally catch a glimpse of Peter’s spider-bite induced abs and it brings up feelings you didn’t know you had.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Just some super fluffy pining from two dorks in love. Also, some swear words.

A/N: I churned this out this morning during my very last architecture lecture of the semester! Hope you guys like it <3

“I watched you get undressed I must have turned bright red 'Cause I couldn't stand to face you 'Cause I liked what I saw And maybe we should just be friends” -Like or Like Like, Miniature Tigers

“It’s so cold,” you whined, rubbing your arms in an attempt to keep warm. You had only been in New York for five months and your body still hadn’t adjusted to the low temperatures. “Is nobody else cold? Is this just how you guys live?”

Midtown was too cheap to turn up the heat in the winter, meaning the school was only as warm as the concrete walls could make it. Even your chunky turtleneck wasn’t enough to suffice and your winter coat was just too bulky to be wearing around.

“Y/N, it really isn’t that cold. It’s only, like, 40 degrees. Plus, it’s October. The worst is yet to come,” Ned reminded you, your classmates filing into the auditorium to watch Principal Morita’s annual drug safety presentation.

You continued in agony, your teeth starting to chatter. Sure, it wasn’t even freezing temps, but where you came from, winter just meant that you had to throw on a hoodie before you left the house.

The crowd of students jostled you around, and you huddled close to Peter, who had quickly become your best friend. You didn’t know what you’d do if the two of you hadn’t been paired up in chemistry class. Probably sulk around and not talk to anybody.

“Are you actually that cold?” Peter asked, smiling down as you held onto his arm to keep from getting separated from the group. You nodded, your brows furrowed from watching kids pass by wearing nothing but t-shirts.

“Here, come on.” He pulled you aside as Ned, MJ, and Betty saved your seats. You watched gratefully as Peter proceeded to peel off his sweatshirt and hand it to you. The only thing was, his shirt was stuck to the inside of it, exposing the lower part of his torso for a split second.

Peter Parker had abs. Like a whole six pack. Is that really what had been hiding under his oversized sweaters and flannel button downs? Was he some kind of undercover student athlete?

You snapped yourself out of your daze, blinking back at Peter as he held out his sweatshirt for you to take, hoping that he couldn’t see how much you were blushing. Sure, he had always been cute to you, but this was different. Did you really think your Lego-building lab partner was hot?

“Thanks,” you said, sheepishly accepting his offer and slipping into the warm fleece material. Even though Peter wasn’t super big, it still hung off you like a dress, making you feel like you looked like a toddler. Nevertheless, you reveled in how much better you felt now that you weren’t absolutely freezing.

“You look good. Come on, let’s sit down before we get yelled at.” When he grabbed your hand to pull you to where the rest of your friends were sitting, as the two of you often did, your heartbeat suddenly got faster.

The two of you slumped into your auditorium chairs, and you were now hyper aware of how close you and Peter always sat. Your arm was against his, and you could tell that even in just his short sleeved shirt, he was still really warm.

You had never noticed it whenever the two of you hugged, but his sweatshirt smelled really good. A light, clean smell that made you wonder if May had some fancy brand of laundry detergent that you needed to ask her about.

It seemed like hours before the overdramatic safety ad was over and the drama club had performed their cheesy skit on drunk driving.

Peter leaned close to you, whispering in your ear, “Did you know Flash volunteers for this thing every year? He thinks it’ll get Sally Avril to notice him, but it never does.”

“Uh, yeah, he’s such an idiot,” you laughed awkwardly. His face had been so close to yours. Normally, you wouldn’t even notice, but that all changed when you found out about Peter’s secret six-pack.

You shifted in your seat, trying to scoot away from him so you could brush these dumb feelings aside and not ruin your friendship. Last time you checked, MJ had told you that he had a crush on Liz Allan. Little did you know, Peter’s spidey-senses could tell something was off.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking at you, making you notice how pretty his eyes were. Stop it, you begged yourself, you’re just friends. Good friends. Friends that cuddle during movie nights and wipe crumbs off each other’s faces and… shit.

You liked Peter. “Uh, yeah. I’m just super bored, you know?” you tried to assure him, wondering when this stupid thing would end so you could head off to the computer lab.

You needed to focus on your programming assignment and not how cute Peter’s hair looked when it was messy. It was honestly way too much for you to handle at this point.

Your leg bounced up and down, desperate for Principal Morita to wrap up his final warnings to the students. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before it was over and you were scrambling out of the auditorium away from Peter, hoping your silly little crush would go away by the time school ended.

----------------

Peter had no idea what was going on with you, but you were acting really weird. It had been bothering him ever since this morning when you practically ran away from him without a word. Did his sweatshirt smell really bad and you were just leaving to take it off in private to not hurt his feelings? He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Usually, he’d wait by your locker at the end of the day so the two of you could walk home together, but maybe you needed some space. Except he remembered the two of you had to watch Honey, I Shrunk the Kids for homework and somehow analyze the experimental process of inventing Wayne Szalinki’s wacky ray gun.

“Hey,” he greeted you, watching as you shoved your notebooks in your backpack without even looking at him. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s just head to your place and get this stupid movie over with,” you sighed. Peter was shocked. He thought you were excited to have an excuse for a movie night during the school week. You were still wearing his sweatshirt, though, so at least he knew that he didn’t stink.

You walked about two feet further from him than you usually did, and he thought about if someone saw you two on the street, they’d think you were strangers. He closed the distance between the two of you, preventing you from wandering any further unless you wanted to run into a parking meter.

Even if you were mad at him for some reason, the awkward silence let Peter appreciate just how cute you looked in his sweatshirt. He wondered if he should just give it to you, since it looked way better on you than it ever had on him.

She looks pretty in red, he thought, which surprised even him. He watched as you trudged down the sidewalk, your shiny hair bouncing in the cold air. Did you always look this good?

Peter usually spent most of his lunch period daydreaming about Liz that he had never even thought of you in a romantic way. But seeing you all bundled up in his clothes had given him all these mixed up feelings that he couldn’t shake.

When the two of you got to his apartment, Peter’s head had already been flooded with thoughts about what it would mean if he did have a crush on you. It would ruin the friendship for sure.

There was no way that you were interested in him like that. Is that what was going on? Was him giving you his sweatshirt too romantic that it made you this awkward around him?

“Hello, earth to Peter,” May said, waving her hand in front of his face to get him out of his head. “I asked what you wanted for dinner? Y/N said she’s cool with anything, so it’s just up to you and me. I was thinking we could try out that new Greek restaurant down the street. What do you think?”

“No!” Peter blurted out, surprising both you and May. “Uh, I mean, I don’t know if I’ll like eating there, you know? I think we should stick to something safe. Something that we know. How about Chinese?” He wasn’t just talking about food, but he hoped that neither of you could tell.

“Uh, okay. Whatever you say, squirt,” May sighed, giving Peter a pat on the shoulder before going to ruffle through the drawer of take out menus. “You guys want the usual? Pot stickers, lo mein, and sesame chicken, right?”

“Yeah, that works!” you called out from the sofa. Peter was relieved to see that you were returning to your usual perkiness as he sat down next to you, making sure to leave a good couple of inches between the two of you.

In just twenty minutes, things were starting to feel normal again. You were chowing down on your favorite foods and discussing the plausibility of shrinking objects. After about an hour, you were snuggled up to him laughing as the son get carried away by a bee.

Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut and you leaned your head onto Peter’s shoulder, and he decided that you looked too peaceful while sleeping for him to do anything about it. You smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and he thought about how he could get used to having you by his side like this.

You woke up to the loud soundtrack of tubas and stringed instruments to see the credits playing. You sat up, smoothing down your hair and adjusting the many layers that you had snuggled into.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Peter whispered, laughing a little bit as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

“What did I miss?” you yawned, lifting your arms in the air to stretch them.

“Nothing much. The son gets the girl and they eat a really big turkey at Thanksgiving.”

“Okay, cool,” you said, slumping back down into the soft cushions of the couch. “Glad you were here to watch it with me.”

You felt a lot better than this morning. Even if your feelings hadn’t disappeared, you had come to terms with the fact that you had a crush on your best friend, even if you were never going to tell him about it.

“May went out on a date,” Peter told you, trying not to think about how much he liked having you so close to him. “She said she wouldn’t be back until later.”

The two of you sat in silence, something that almost never happened with how much you both tended to ramble. You didn’t want to go home just yet, but you certainly couldn’t stay with Peter looking at you like that. Is that really how he always looked at you? With sparkling eyes and the sweetest smile you had ever seen?

“I, um, I should really go now. I’ll text you my answers to the homework, okay?” you stammered, throwing the blanket off of you and hurrying to pull his sweatshirt off so you could return it. But of course, you managed to somehow get yourself tangled inside of it. “Fuck! Hang on, just give me a second, I got this.” You didn’t.

“Y/N, calm down. Come on, let me help you,” Peter offered, easily lifting the sweatshirt off your head, only to be met with your pouty expression. His face was so close to yours, and you felt like you were about to faint.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, worry written all over his face. “I know you said you were bored this morning, and I’m sure you’re just tired and ready to go home, but did I do something to upset you? You’ve been acting, well… strange.”

You looked down at your socks, which had little dogs printed on them, unable to look Peter in the eyes. His soft brown eyes that you could just stare at for hours.

“No, um, nothing’s wrong, Peter,” you lied.

“Then why won’t you look at me? Please, Y/N, if something’s been bothering you, I need to know.” You peered up to look at him, his brows furrowed and his stare intense. You just needed to come out and say it. He’s your best friend. Nothing has to change.

“Have you been working out?” you asked. It was all you could muster at this point.

“Uh, what?” Peter replied, surprised that that’s what you had been thinking about this entire time. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, um, I saw your abs this morning, and I figured maybe you’ve been working out to impress Liz or something, and so I just wanted to know, you know, if that’s what was going on.”

He paused for a moment, and you could tell he was thinking really hard about what to say next.

“Y/N. I need to tell you something.” Oh god, here it comes. He knows. He knows you like him and he’s about to shut you down before your crush gets even more out of hand than it already is.

“I’m Spider-Man. That’s, uh, that’s where my abs came from.” What the fuck? Your eyes widened in shock as you tried to register what he had just said.

“Wait, what? How? When? Where?” You couldn’t believe it. Your dorky friend from Queens was New York City’s friendly neighborhood superhero?

“It’s a lot to explain,” he sighed, plopping down on the couch and motioning for you to do the same. You reluctantly sat down next to him. “You have to promise me that you won’t tell anybody.”

“Of course not, Peter,” you assured him, holding out your pinky to let him know that you were serious. He locked his pinky with yours and smiled, a wave of relief washing over him now that he didn’t have to keep secrets from you. Well, at least not the secret of his crime fighting alter-ego.

“Now, come on, Y/N. Tell me what’s the matter. I know you haven’t been upset all day over the fact that I have abs, right?”

You shook your head, feeling a blush spread across your cheeks. Did he have super senses that could tell how nervous you were? Your throat was suddenly dry at the thought, but you knew that it was now or never.

“I like you! Like, in a more than friends way. I never realized it until this morning, but I really like your hair and the way you smell and I know this is all silly because you like Liz and not me, and that this is probably going to ruin our friendship and—”

Before you could start crying any harder, Peter cut off your rambling with a kiss. You pulled away, wiping away your tears to see the smile you knew and loved on your best friend’s face.

“I like you too. In, uh, a more than friends way,” Peter admitted, tucking a stray piece of your hair back into place. His hand lingered a couple seconds longer against your cheek than necessary.

“Wait, really? You’re not just saying that because you feel bad for me right now, right?” You could feel the butterflies fluttering around inside you like crazy, hopeful at the fact that maybe things weren’t going to be as bad as you had thought.

“Nope, I promise,” he said, holding out his pinky to mimic your actions just a few minutes ago. You brought your hand up to take it, grinning as you felt your heart rise from the pit of your stomach. “I like you a lot. You can keep the sweatshirt, by the way. It suits you.”

You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly before pulling back to rest your forehead against his, grinning ear to ear. “So, uh, what now?”

“Well,” Peter started, “How about a date? We could go to that Italian restaurant you like so much, or maybe go ice skating at the hockey rink.”

“No ice skating,” you replied. “You know I’m hopeless on skates, and I’ll probably complain about how cold it is. But I think I could fit a dinner date in between washing my hair and re-watching New Girl. I don’t know. I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“Shut up, dummy,” Peter laughed, playfully flicking you on the forehead.

“Ouch,” you whined. “Fine, Friday. 7 o’ clock. Russo’s. Be there or be square.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he agreed, gently kissing the little red mark he had just made, before bringing his lips closer to yours.

But before he could kiss you again, May was walking through the front door. “Alright, kiddos. I’ve got leftovers! Loaded mashed potatoes and raspberry cheesecake and oh! Am I interrupting something? Is this finally a thing?”

She waved her hand at the two of you, Peter’s face dangerously close to a girl that he had spent months telling May was “just a friend.” The two of you stared awkwardly, both flushed and flustered.

“Aunt May,” Peter groaned, shooting her an annoyed look.

“Oh, okay. Message received. I’ll be going to my room now. Have fun,” she chimed, shutting her bedroom door behind her, before eventually cracking it open ever so slightly. “But not too much fun!”

You giggled, pulling Peter into another kiss before he could keep on moping over how mortified he was. Maybe your friendship with him really was never going to be the same, but as long as you got to keep kissing his stupidly adorable face and stealing his silly sweatshirts with science puns on them, you didn’t mind at all.

----------------

Taglist: @hommyy-tommy @itsgonnabeohtay @alltimekyn @allycat449-blog @greatpizzascissorstaco @dummiesshort @parkerpeterparker2004 @letssee2468 @parkerlovebot @alytavzla @yourbiggestspiderfan @silentium-tais-toi @jailcalledlife @orangesodafoam

P.S.: Please shoot me an ask or a reply if you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the taglist!

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #spiderman #mcu #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #spiderman x reader

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addierose444 · 4 years

Text

Spring 2021: One Month Update

We are now just over a month into the spring semester. This is a bit strange as mid-march normally coincides with spring break. Well, normal just isn’t the norm right now and hasn’t been for a while. Like seriously, it has been a whole year since Smith sent us home last spring. Here is a blog post from a year ago about my final week on campus. That was a stressful time, but I was also so naïve about what was to come. In some ways, it’s hard to believe that a whole year has passed; at the same time, it has felt like an eternity. This post is primarily about my current courses and other life updates, but it also felt incomplete without acknowledging the passage of time. Last semester, I wrote a few update posts. I started them because I literally didn’t know what else to write about. However, I found them to be an effective post style that is worthwhile to continue using.

There does finally seem to be a bit of light at the end of the tunnel. Namely, I have received my first dose of the Moderna COVID vaccine! I was eligible thanks to my job in ResLife. I will be getting the second dose in two-weeks time. I feel very fortunate to be getting vaccinated so early. I’ll also be honest in saying that it was really stressful taking the bus to UMass and navigating through the vaccination center. Another exciting update is that I have secured a summer internship at Microsoft! You can read about my application process here.

I am currently living on-campus in Parsons House. We are fortunately still operating in Green Mode which is our least restrictive operating mode. This still includes masks, social distancing, and testing three times a week. We are also still ordering most meals on the Grubhub app. However, there is now some limited seating in the dining halls and we have transitioned to using some reusable food containers. Furthermore, Chuckett (our name for Chase and Duckett) is open for true grab and go. The best part about going to Chuckett is that they have yogurt, ice cream, and snacks. Classes and house events continue to be primarily over Zoom so that we can practice social distancing and include those not living on campus.

As for my classes, it’s been a very busy semester. I am in class less than in past semesters but have had more work outside of class. With that said, this is in part because one of my classes is asynchronous with synchronous labs. To check out all of my past courses, click here.

PHY 210 has been more interesting than I expected. It’s not an easy class, but it hasn’t been the nightmare I was worried it would be. The class has so-called pre-class check-ins (PCCIs) which are short exercises due at the start of each class (Monday, Wednesday, and Friday). We still have a full homework set due each Wednesday, but I enjoy having the PCCIs as it’s more similar to the high school homework model (short more frequent assignments that don’t have to be 100% perfect). I now have a much better understanding of complex numbers and why they are useful. Other topics we have studied thus far include differential equations and the Taylor series (both topics were briefly introduced in past calculus classes). We have also been learning the basics of Mathematica and are currently studying integrals in two or more dimensions. Last semester in MTH 212, all of the exams could be taken over multiple days (unlimited time) so it’s not the easiest transition back to timed math exams.

PHI 220 is a great complement to my four STEM classes. Specifically, it’s reading and discussion-based and doesn’t have problem sets! While there is absolutely value in courses unrelated to my majors, I really love learning concepts that come up in computer science but from a different perspective. Over the course of the semester, we have been working our way through Gödel, Escher, Bach: an Eternal Golden Braid. We have been learning about formal systems and been gaining an understanding of Gödel's incompleteness theorems. Later in the course, we will be delving into the study of Turing machines. Each class starts with five minutes of breathing and stretching. The first day I thought it was really weird, but have now gained an appreciation for it.

EGR 220 has been my most time-consuming class, but I have also really enjoyed the course content. I am glad that I took PHY 118 last spring as it gave me a good primer for some of the circuit theories. This is particularly useful as circuits is a fast-paced course. Labs have been frustrating at times due to technical difficulties, but having a hands-on component definitely helps my understanding and makes things more engaging. As long as we stay in Green Mode, we will have a few small-group in-person labs! We have also had and will continue to have occasional full class in-person outdoor demonstrations. (All of my other classes have been and will continue to be fully remote). In terms of course content, we have learned about passive components like resistors, capacitors, and inductors and circuit analysis techniques like nodal analysis and mesh analysis.

CSC 250 has generally been enjoyable as I have an awesome professor. I don’t dislike the course material, but I definitely prefer programming and systems to theory. Also, theoretical computer science requires writing lots of proofs which is not my favorite. I am glad that I took discrete math (MTH 153) last semester as it introduced me to proof writing. MTH 153 an unenforced prerequisite of CSC 250, which I was originally going to take concurrently due to schedule conflicts. In the course, we have been learning about regular expressions, finite automata, context-free grammars, push-down automata, and most recently Turing machines. (See what I mean about the overlap with PHI 220!)

COMPSCI 230 is my UMass computer systems class. You can read more about Five College registration here. The course is asynchronous which has its advantages and disadvantages. It’s nice being able to self-schedule my coursework, but it’s strange not really interacting with my classmates. As the UMass semester started two weeks before Smith’s, I am just about halfway through the course which is honestly sort of crazy. In the course, we have learned about data representation, von Neumann Architecture, caches, and virtual memory.

I am not taking guitar this semester and unfortunately have hardly played my guitar. Last year I had set a daily practice goal that I did a really good job of sticking to. That said, I regret having set that goal as it made playing feel more like a chore. The issue is that when the year ended I was justified in taking a few days off from playing. However, as I was really busying during Interterm it was just too easy to dive into my coursework and other responsibilities. Playing guitar is something that I love, so I am trying to incorporate it back into my life in the right way. You can read about my musical history here. Another music update, that’s really just for me to look back on is that my current favorite song is The Story (written by Phil Hanseroth and performed by Brandi Carlile). I have been listening to a lot of Brandi Carlile’s music over the past few days and absolutely love it. As for 2020 goals, like many people, mine weren’t the biggest success. I originally set out to write four original songs but only wrote two (one of which I had started in August of 2019). I was successful in my reading goal so that was at least one win. You can read about my 2020 in books here.

#college #Smith College #spring 2021 #academics #engineering #computer science #music

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haifengg · 4 years

Text

Summary: You show up to your first night shift but you didn’t really manage to adjust your sleep pattern.

Genre: Fluff!

It was literally your first nightshift ever.

as you assigned for it you were just a little bit worried but mostly excited.

seeing common places at strange times of the day can be really interesting

different lighting, people and an overall different feeling...

but since you did never work the night shift before you don’t quite know what is going on at your company during the night

other coworkers have warned you about it, saying the nightshift is usually busier than the day shifts

but it pays much better so you thought ‘why not give it a try?’

you arrive at your company’s building a few minutes late

checking in through the main entrance showing the security your employee badge and walking straight up to your office

which you usually didn’t share even though it has two workspaces

due to staff shortage you are used to getting everything done yourself and also keeping you busy for 8 hours straight

but today there was aöready someone there

so you carefully opened the door and entered the room, not sure if you maybe made a mistake and messed up the date of your shift or something

“Hi, ehm, today’s the 16th, right?”

The man gets. up and looks at his phone

“Yeah it’s march 16th. Oh you must be Y/N? I got told we would be on the night shift together. I’m Seungsik.”

You shook his hand and then walk past his chair to get to your desk

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know there would be someone else here. Is it really that busy at night they need to people?”

“Sometimes. But you can never really tell beforehand. Just see what happens and roll with it.”

So you roll with it

and turns out: tonight would be a chill night

for the first three hours or so the two of you would work on the emails and papers that come in and get the paperwork done which the dayshift left for you

around 1 am Seungsik gets up and stretches

“You want some coffee?”

“Yes please. I feel like I am falling asleep any second.”

He snickers. “But it’s only 1 am. You have 5 hours ahead of you.”

“I deal with that once I get to it.” You joked and he left the office laughing, saying he would be right back

“So do you work here fulltime?”

You shake your head and take a smal sip of the steaming hot coffee and immediately regret it

“Part time.” You answer. “I am a student but I work every shift I can. You?”

“I study part-time and work here the rest of it.”

“So you study logistics or something?”

“That sort of thing.” He leaned back in his chair

You decide it is time for a break so the two of you get comfy in your chairs

Seungsik has his legs crossed and his security badge resting in the pocket of his dress shirt

you put your scarf on your thighs like a blanked about an hour ago

sitting like this you chat for a while about this and that until you find out you both study at the same university

“How come I’ve never seen you on campus our departments are not far from each other.” he exclaimes

“Not far? It’s the other side of the campus. Across the track fiel. How is that not far?”

“You see”, Seungsik sais. “I study logistics and not architecture. What do I know about numbers?”

You admit: “Touché.”

half an hour later you get back to work

a ton of emails did roll in while you talked

you are busy with that for the time being

But something is different than before though

since you talked with him that much and you got along so well you wondered if it would be okay to ask him for his instagram or number maybe?

Just to see if he is wroking any other shifts or ask work related questons ofc

but that yould be so weird, right?

after all you didn’t know each other and is older than you as well

you aren’t studying in the same semester

perhaps he even has a girlfriend? You didn’t ask him about so you wouldn’t know

at 3 am you start. yawning non stop

your eyes tearing up everytime and you sniff

“You good?” Seungsik looks at you amusedly

you shake your head once more: “Yeeah, I’m good!”

He laughs “Yeah sure.”

His fingers move quickly over the keyboard, filling out forms routinately while you barely manage to answer and email without too many typos

Minutes pass and you don’t even notice how your lids slowly fell shut and your minds starts drifting away

“You can go to sleep.”

His words woke you up and you twitch awake

“What?” You look around blinking. “No, no I can do it.”

Seungsik looks at you with softly smiling eyes reassuring you it’s alright and that he means his offer.

“It’s alright, there’s not much to do. I can take care of it myself.”

“What if someone checks by?”

“That never happened to me during night shift. At htis time people are just doing the bare minimum to keep this place running until the morning. Just sleep.”

After a bit more of ‘No, I will get through this’s and ‘But you will fall asleep as well’s you finally give up and settle in your chair

“but if there is anything you need an extra hand with you wake me up??”

“Yes of course. Don’t worry.”

the clock on your computer showes 5:30 am when he wake you up

the sun is about to rise and lime-washes the buildings infront of the window in a slightly lighter shade of blue

the last half hour of your shift nothing happens so you eventually gather your things and take the elevator down to the entrance

on the entire way you guys don’t say a word to each other, now both desperately trying to stay awake

after signing out you halt at the door

“Seungsik?”

He turns around “What is it?”

“Would it be very weird if I ask you for your phone number? Just for work related things of course! If I maybe have questions or to check when or if we’re are working together again?”

“It wouldn’t be too weird. I wanted to ask you about yours as well. Just -” He pauses

“Just?”

“I wanted to get your number for personal reasons. But if you only want to be colleagues than that’s fine with me! I didn’t even ask if you have a boyfriend maybe or a girlfriend. Either way would be great for you.”

You laugh and suddenly feel that huge relief

“You can have my number for such purposes! Working with you was a lot of fun, thank you.”

“Not that you worked much but yeah I can just give that right bak at you.”

“But you told me it was okay to sleep!”

he cackled and his laughter chimed across the street making some people turn their heads towards you

“I know I know. Now give me your number or I will miss my train.”

And just like this morning comes

Masterlist

#can this please happen at my company #pretty please #all i am asking for is having seungsik as my coworker pleasse #bruh as if #victon seungsik #kang seungsik #victon scenario #victon scenarios #victon imagines #victon seungwoo #seungwoo #sejun #victon sejun #do hanse #victon hanse #byungchan #victon byungchan

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thisnerdsadventures · 4 years

Text

research updates!

This post has been difficult to write, so I've been putting it off for a while, not gonna lie. The reason I put it off is because I'm not quite sure how yet to reflect on my MEng experience so far. I didn't have a great experience last semester because of social isolation, neverending confusion, lack of guidance, imposter syndrome, zoom fatigue, etc., so I was really hoping IAP would be better so that I didn't just write a really depressing half-assed post about "how my MEng is going/not going" here.

Well, IAP did go better! I finally figured out a path forward and have been able to make progress on my project on my own. This has led to a generally improved sense of purpose in life, which was VERY missing last semester. I think what was missing was my usual shenanigans that I randomly find myself in with my friends, whether it's hackathons or spontaneous trips or literally forming startups. But in my own way, I've done a couple things of interest in the past few months in addition to my research, just to keep this blog fun haha, no other reason

My Actual Research

So last semester was rough because I was ramping up to a somewhat new project, a new direct supervisor, and a new degree program/way of life..... all remotely. I thought it would be fine, and yet it wasn't? I talked to some of my friends who started a full time job, and nearly all of them agreed, that ramping up to a new job in zoom land was extremely difficult. One of them said they hadn't even finished ramping up yet (T.T) I reflected a lot on why it was hard, and I determined it was because I only had one or two hours of scheduled face to face with my direct supervisor per week, and little to no other guidance outside of that. I was trying to learn as much as I could about existing research, which was not only in compilers (which, to be honest, I didn't know a lot about), but also in computer architecture (which I also did not know much about at all) and trying to understand things from discussions where I barely had a foundational knowledge to begin with. I struggled to even find the questions to ask that would help me out.

At this point, my supervisor was also really busy with his own deadlines, and I don't think he had much management experience of his own, so it was also probably hard for him. If we were in person, he'd be able to sense the confusion in my face and I'd be able to pop by his office whenever I needed, even if that was every day. But zoom calls are laggy and poor resolution and emails asking for help are often left unread. For the first two months of my MEng, it was mostly like this, just kind of feeling I was bumbling along, not really sure what I should be doing.

Wow, my imposter syndrome was off the charts. I began to panic about whether I’d be able to finish my degree on time, even though I was like literally like. two (2) months into this endeavor. At some point in November (I think literally right around the election), I felt really, really worthless, as a researcher, as a contributing member of society, and I felt really, really lonely and constantly anxious because I didn’t have like //my job// to ground me to reality. The Thursday after this, I sat on the Esplanade with my friend, our feet hanging over the water and we watched the sun go down. As we talked, I felt myself grounded again, and my overthinking brain calmed down for the time being.

When I went home, I decided I was going to find outside things to occupy me if my research was going to. I signed up to be a tech lead for my school’s Google Developer’s Student Club (yes, I really cannot leave Google), and I signed up to interview for MIT. I decided to #manage #up and make things better re:research by asserting my confusion??? if that makes sense lol

By Thanksgiving, I was home in California, and I felt like I had a way better plan moving forward for my research and was busy planning a few things here and there for my various obligations. I was also taking microeconomics for fun, which was actually.... really fun (as it turns out).

IAP

This IAP was pretty much just an extension of the semester, I mean like I guess that is just how MEng goes lol, but I actually did a good amount of /stuff/ this IAP. I would usually work on my research for the morning and some of the afternoon, and in the afternoon I would bake or go on walks with my mom and workout, and in the evenings, I would work on my other obligations, or read, or other random side projects. Such side projects include: investing in penny stocks, writing music, creating tiktoks

I have very little to report on IAP, i really haven’t done much anything noteworthy in the past couple months tbh lol. My research has been going a lot better, I have more of an idea of how I can troubleshoot/explore different avenues on my own, and I can get a lot done before asking for help. The 8am meetings are killing me though. I have one tomorrow and I will complain about it surely. Not sure if anything is going to change for the upcoming semester, though I decided to just become a straight up econ major for my last semester for no apparent reason, so that’ll be fun1!11!! (i registered for three econ classes lol) MIT told us they were vaccinating us when the time comes, so that’s good too !!!

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bumblebeetlejuice · 5 years

Text

IDK HOW TO USE THE READ MORE BREAK ON MOBILE SORRY

Beetlelands human/college au

slight nsfw

“Don’t say shit!” The unholy screech echoed through the library, disturbing the other students there.

Adam was standing over his partners, hands raised in a nonthreatening gesture. Barbra couldn’t help snickering, but she didn’t turn away from the monitor. Beetlejuice, on the other hand was full on glaring. The open word document on his computer was still impressively blank.

“If you say a single goddamn told you so, I’m going to crush your sexy twink throat with my thighs!”

“Alright! Alright! I came to support you not to antagonize you!” Adam reminded as lovingly as he could. Quickly he pressed a kiss to Beetlejuice’s forehead before he could be swatted at.

“Shut the fuck up.” He dramatically spun back to the screen.

Even though Beetlejuice put on an expression of indifference, it was true. He had practically begged Adam and Barbra to spend the night in the library with him. Out of his five classes there was only one he wasn’t failing and that was World History. Beetlejuice had somehow maintained a solid seventy all semester which meant this last essay was the only thing between him failing or passing.

It didn’t matter that much to Beetlejuice. Since third grade there wasn’t a single class he hadn’t had to repeat or at least take summer classes for.

But Adam and Barbra were taking American History next semester. If he passed, that meant they could all sign up for the same course.

They’d be forced to spend an entire hour with him!

And he could copy their homework!

Finally the tapping on his shoulder broke through his thoughts. Beetlejuice spun to face Barbra.

“It’s almost 7, BJ. Start on your rough draft.” Even though it was a command, Barbra made it sound like the gentlest of suggestions.

“Fiiiiine.” His eyes moved back to the screen. He could see Adam’s reflection. The brunette had settled in a chair behind them, typing something on his tablet.

Beetlejuice scrubbed a hand through his crunchy hair. Green flakes rained down in front of his vision.

What the fuck was he supposed to be writing about anyways? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to that stupid class. October had been a blur of frat parties and drug experimentation. November had been a blur of seasonal depression and long cocaine binges.

God he could really go for a hit of something right now.

Beetlejuice looked over at Barbra. She probably had some weed in her bag somewhere. Then again, she actually knew how to balance her school and party life. She was the type to get high then come to the library, not bring a joint inside.

“Beetlejuice.”

“What? I’m thinking!”

Barbra tilted her head, “Looks like you’re not thinking about the right thing.”

“I didn’t give you consent to read my mind, babe. You guys are always riding my ass about this kind of stuff so what’s with the double standard, huh?”

“Here.” Adam had stood up. He leaned over BJ to get to the mouse and keyboard.

Beetlejuice ended up with his neck sandwiched between Adam’s arms. The top of his head was brushing against Adam’s chin.

“Let’s start with the heading.”

“Mm actually Adam, while you’re at it, why don’t you type the essay and I’ll proofread it.”

“Afraid I can’t do that, love. I’m here to help, not to do it for you.”

“But you’d be helping by doing it for me-” BJ whined, “Don't put that! My name’s Beetlejuice!”

Adam corrected what he had typed, without arguing, “Okay now what’s this essay about? I can help you with the outline.”

“Good question.” Beetlejuice casually rubbed a hand over Adam's, interlacing their fingers.

“Do you have notes or anything?”

“I’ve got a few notes. I can’t hit the high ones too well anymore on account of my balls dropping.”

Adam took that as a no. He clicked open a different tab, scrolling through BJ's folio account. Eventually he found a link for the essay requirements. It was pretty tame as far as college essays went. Three hundred words over any of the topics listed below. AP format. The works cited page even counted toward the three hundred.

“Alright, so which of these topics do you know the most about?” Adam asked highlighting the list.

Beetlejuice chewed the red nail polish off his ring finger as he forced his eyes to focus on the words.

Blah, blah, blah, empire, blah, blah, blah, crusade, blah, blah, blah, civilization.

Using the hand not in his mouth, Beetlejuice poked a random topic on the screen.

“The Byzantine Empire?”

“Yup.”

“Alrighty! That was an interesting period of time, especially architecturally.”

Of course Adam knew a lot about boring history stuff. That sexy nerd was majoring in the most boring major there was: architecture.

“During thi-"

“You guys hungry? I’m starving!”

He could see Barbra raise a brow out of the corner of his eye. The two of them had already stopped to get food before they got here. Barbra had insisted, since she knew how hard it was to get things done on an empty stomach.

“Don’t give me that look, babe. You know I’m a fucking fatass.”

Her expression shifted, “You’re beautiful, sweetie.”

She pulled a dollar from her pocket, “Here. Go get something from the vending machine.”

Adam moved back as Beetlejuice snatched up the dollar.

“Hold up!” BJ grabbed his backpack and dug out a roll of masking tape.

The couple watched as he carefully taped one side of the dollar then carefully taped the other side. He’d seen it in a video once and was eager to try it.

Beetlejuice jumped up, zooming to the vending machines on the other side of the room.

If this worked he was going to clean out every vending machine on campus.

The dollar disappeared into the slot easily enough. Beetlejuice held on to the tape, waiting for the pulling to stop before he yanked the dollar back out.

B3.

A bag of m&ms edged forward before dropping into the slot.

“Fuck yeah!” Beetlejuice yelled.

At least thirteen people glared at him. That didn’t stop him from cramming the dollar back in.

Beetlejuice managed to snag two bags of m&ms and a honey bun. He was waiting for a bag of doritos to fall, when the bag stopped.

“What the fuck? Hello?” He banged on the machine once.

The chips were stuck.

Beetlejuice let his other snacks fall to the carpet. He shoved the dollar in his coat pocket before winding up and kicking the machine. The resulting sound was loud but the chips didn’t budge.

Fine. He could do this the hard way.

He took a small running start, then slammed his shoulder into the machine.

Nothing.

He backed up and did it again.

Nothing.

Again.

Nothing.

Someone might have been saying his name, but they’d have to wait.

He slammed into it again.

Suddenly Adam and Barbra were standing in front of him, looking equally concerned.

“Beetlejuice!” Barbra snapped.

“Huh? What!”

“What the heck are you doing?” Adam joined in.

“Chips got stuck. Now move.”

“BJ, sweetie, don’t worry about the chips. We can get someone to open it later.”

“Yeah, look at the snacks you’ve already got.” He hadn’t seen Adam pick up them up, but there they were in his hands.

Barbra wrapped an arm around Beetlejuice’s back, steering him back to the computers, “Come on. If you break another vending machine I don’t think they’ll let you off with another warning.”

“It’s bullshit anyway. We already pay to go here! Why do we also have to pay for food and parking and stupid books we don’t even use!” He was accidentally yelling.

Barbra pressed a kiss to his cheek. Her and Adam managed to wedge him into a chair between their chairs, with a hand on each of his arms.

“We know, BB,” Adam practically purred, “You can’t keep picking fights with vending machines though. We don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m…” It was hard to argue when they ganged up on him with their special brand of gentle affection. Beetlejuice practically melted, “…Fine. Whatever.”

They stayed like that for a little while until Beetlejuice’s attention shifted back to the food. He dug into the honey bun while Barbra asked for critique on her own paper. It was for some literature class and wasn’t due until the next night.

From what Beetlejuice heard as she read aloud, it sounded pretty good. Adam gave suggestions on some sentence structures. Beetlejuice suggested she add stuff about reverse cowgirls.

She put on the final touches, submitted it then turned back around expectantly.

“So, BJ.”

He spit the bit of m&m wrapper he’d been chewing onto the floor, “So Barbra.”

“What time is your paper due?”

“…7AM. I got an extension because I’m stupid.”

“You are not stupid.” The couple spoke in perfect unison.

Beetlejuice waved them off dismissively. It was already 8:57… somehow.

Whatever. He still had like twenty hours.

“Now that I’m finished, we can all focus on getting your paper done!” Barbra chirped.

“Yeah!” Adam pulled BJ and himself back over to the computer, “I was going to suggest writing about the architectural aspects of course, since I could really help you there, but you’re probably not interested in that.”

Beetlejuice bit off another piece of wrapper, chewing on it thoughtfully.

“What about the fall of the empire?” Barbra suggested, “You love dissecting weak societal structures.”

That was true.

Beetlejuice nodded.

“Okay this is good.” Adam excitedly began typing, “You’ll have an intro, three paragraphs then a conclusion. Your intro can explain the inner workings of the empire…”

Beetlejuice looked back over at the vending machine. His poor chips were still in there, just waiting for someone to free them. Someone, meaning Beetlejuice. If anyone else tried to take those doritos he was going to break their fucking shins. That was a promise.

“Beetlejuice, we pulled up a few links that talk about the fall of the Byzantine empire. All you have to do is sort through the information and use it to support your topic.” Adam explained.

Beetlejuice blinked, “That doesn’t sound difficult to do at all.”

“Of course not. It’ll be fun!” Barbra smiled.

BJ moved the mouse around the screen, clicking through the links they had pulled up. So many words. So much reading. He was getting tired just thinking about reading.

One of the links was a video. Beetlejuice immediately went for that one.

“This is one of my favorite educational channels,” Barbra informed, “It’s certified as academic content and they really get right to the point.”

Beetlejuice checked the video length, “Fifteen minutes! How the fuck do you get right to the point in fifteen minutes?”

“I’m sure it’s possible.” Adam pushed a notebook and pen into BJ's hands, “I want you to write down anything interesting you hear in the video.”

Beetlejuice groaned loudly, “Can we take a break?”

He expected them to say no and call him lazy since he literally hadn’t done anything yet.

“Yup. We can take a break after the video.” Barbra said instead.

That was… fine. A fifteen minute video then a fifteen minute break. Beetlejuice gnawed on the end of his pen as the video began. Vaguely, he realized he had swallowed the wrapper piece.

Adam and Barbra took turns hitting pause whenever they noticed the scratching of pen on paper. They even made the video interesting by making jokes about people in ancient Rome.

By the time it was over, Beetlejuice had accumulated an entire page and a half of semi usable notes. His handwriting was barely legible, but if he stared long enough he’d probably figure it out.

“Break time!” The notebook and pen landed messily on the floor as he jumped to his feet, “You guys wanna make out on the staircase?”

Barbra smirked sideways at a blushing Adam, “We'd get in a lot of trouble if we got caught.”

“Who gives a shit!”

Obviously Barbra and Adam did. The goody two shoes. Even though they hadn’t admitted it, Beetlejuice knew they’d chosen to meet at the library because every time they did a dorm study night, no one could keep their hands to themselves.

Clearly they had underestimated his love for exhibitionism.

Beetlejuice pulled them both closer as he aggressively smushed a sloppy kiss to Adam’s lips. Adam only resisted a little, shoulders slumping.

“B-"

He cut Barbra off by immediately turning and connecting his lips to hers'. It always caught her off guard when he was gentle. She gasped lovely and perfectly into his mouth.

“Beetlejuice Shoggoth.” Adam snapped, pulling him from Barbra.

Apparently he had underestimated Adam’s goody two shoe-ness.

“Getting in trouble for public… inappropriateness does not look good on a permanent record!” He hissed.

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes, plucking himself down onto Barbra’s lap, “God Adam calm down. Why you gotta be so sexy.”

Barbra stroked his back while she giggled. She was still a bit dazed from the kiss, “We can have all the fun we want when we get back home.”

“Can we go now?”

Adam shook his head, “I’m setting the break time for ten minutes. That’s not really enough time to walk there and back.”

“We don’t even need to go back to someone’s room! There’s a unisex bathroom right there!”

“Absolutely not!” Adam’s face was a delicious shade of cherry red.

“Beetlejuice, darling, Adam said no.” Barbra stepped in, pressing her face into Beetlejuice’s shoulder.

“Baaaaaabs!” He whined, leaning into her.

“Don't babs me! How about you and I go for a little walk, clear your head, then we can knock out this essay?”

Beetlejuice had already forgotten about the essay. The reminder almost completely extinguished his mood.

“Yeah… okay. Adam, make sure no one steals our shit.”

Adam nodded, face still very red.

Beetlejuice stood up, clutching Barbra’s hand.

He didn’t spend a lot of time in the library. The last time he’d been there, he’d been stoned to the point that his roommate had had to give him a piggyback ride home. The time before that him and Barbra had taken a nap on the floor of the satanic cult book section. They’d been pretty hungover that day.

“Did you know there’s four floors?” Barbra asked as she led him to the staircase.

“Me and the library don’t really hang.” He mumbled back.

Barbra went on as if she hadn't heard.

“My lab partner told me that the fourth floor is haunted! Apparently there was some sort of smoke problem and a few people didn’t make it out. She said that’s why no one uses the fourth floor.”

“You know what?”

“Hm?”

“That sounds like the perfect place to make out.”

Barbra gave him an absolutely filthy grin, “Six minutes. I don’t want Adam to worry.”

Beetlejuice hurried his ascent of the stairs, eagerly pulling Barbra with him, “Six minutes is all I need!”

It was weirdly empty on the fourth floor, not that either of them was really paying attention.

They bee lined for one of the walls not lined with windows and Barbra was immediately on top of him.

They may have gotten a little carried away.

Beetlejuice blamed Barbra. She was fucking hot when she dropped the polite exterior and took what she wanted.

So fucking hot.

Really fucking hot.

Maybe too hot.

Beetlejuice stuffed his underwear in the bathroom trashcan.

He rarely went commando in a suit. The general sweatiness and chaffing made it a little uncomfortable, but today he would take it instead of the other option.

Beetlejuice rejoined Barbra at the top of the stairs. She looked a little embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.” She said quietly as they descended.

“Babe. Baby girl. Babs. I would do it again in a heart beat.” He gripped her hand.

It was a lot easier to think now, he had to give her that.

Adam looked surprised to see them, when they got back to their corner. “Wow. You guys were almost on time. Ready to get back into it, Beetlejuice?” Coming from anyone else it would’ve sounded sarcastic and patronizing, but from Adam it was genuine.

“No, but let’s do it anyway!” BJ snapped with fake enthusiasm, “Byzantine empire and how it fell, huh.”

Fell.

Like the way vending machines sometimes fell and crushed people. That was one of the many Die-o-ramas from that old Crash Bandicoot game. What was the name of it? Whumpa racing? The villain was that ugly whumpa guy, but there was also that green guy with a German accent that was probably an offensive German stereotype. What was the name of that game? Beetlejuice used to play it at his cousin’s house all the time. Lydia only played it sometimes. Her skills mostly lay in backseat gaming. Was it a one player game? He definitely remembered playing it with her, but he also remembered Crash being the only playable character. That was probably in adventure mode. God that game was great. Next time he was back in his home town he’d have to play it again. What was the name of that game though?

“Nitro…? Nitro racing?”

Beetlejuice realized he’d been muttering bits of his thought process out loud. Barbra and Adam were staring at him blankly.

Fuck it.

He pulled up a search engine and attempted to spell Bandicoot.

“Should we…?”

“Let’s let him find it, or else it’ll bother him for the rest of the night.”

Adam knew him very well.

Beetlejuice spent the next few minutes typing and scrolling and retyping while Adam and Barbra did their own things on their phones.

“TAG TEAM RACING!”

There was a reason the seats around them were empty.

“What a stupid fucking name! How’d they go from Twin-sanity to Tag Team Racing?”

“The 2000’s were a simpler time.” Barbra shrugged.

“The only reason Crash died is because he jumped on top of that shit. RIP to Crash, but I’m different.”

“What?” Adam closed the tab, “Wait, no, never mind. BJ, you need to get back to your essay.”

Beetlejuice huffed. It was only…

He looked at the clock. It was already past ten.

“Holy shit! It’s almost midnight! I thought you guys were gonna fucking help me!”

“W-“

“Wait, no. I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. Sometimes I lash out at others when I’m really just disappointed in myself… and by sometimes I mean always.”

“It’s okay, Bee.” Barbra rubbed his back comfortingly.

Adam picked up the abandoned notebook, “Yeah we know school's tough, but you did come to us for help. Acknowledging your problem and accepting help is the first step to improving.”

“Didn’t know this was an AA meeting.”

Adam couldn’t help but smile, “Okay. How about you type up these notes then we can start incorporating the rest of the sources into the body.”

Beetlejuice nodded. Typing in Microsoft word was baby work.

It didn’t take him long to do at all.

All he had to do now was read a bunch of stuff and type three hundred words.

“You finished the notes?” Barbra asked.

“Yeah.” Beetlejuice picked up the pen, clicking it idly.

“Alright so, what I would do is read through some articles and find parts that explain your topic. You can copy and paste them into the word document then we’ll go back in and rewrite a lot of it.” Barbra stared into his eyes as she spoke, ensuring he was listening.

“Find parts, copy and paste. Got it.”

Beetlejuice returned to the internet tabs. All of the articles had looked boring when he first flipped through them so, he picked one randomly. It was a lot of words in tiny font. He sighed, settling his chin in his non occupied hand as he began mentally scanning the page. Every time he began reading a sentence, his eyes would bounce to the bottom of the page and he’d lose his place.

“Would it be easier to read aloud?” Barbra more suggested than asked.

Beetlejuice glanced around at the steadily emptying library. If he spoke at the volume of an average person, only Adam and Barbra would hear him.

He pulled his eyes back to the screen.

“In three-thirty A.D the Byzantine empire was it’s title- dubbed it’s title by empire Con… Con- Constant? Constant. I?” He squinted at the words, “What the fuck.”

“Emperor Constatine the first.” Barbra supplied.

“Yeah. That…. He it- wait, fuck. He declared it New Rome on an Ancient…” Beetlejuice lost his place for a moment.

Refusing to submit to dragging his finger across the screen and forgetting the highlight feature of the mouse, he took a good minute to find his place.

“Ancient Greek colony.” Beetlejuice hated fucking reading. It took him so long to read that one sentence.

He blinked and scrubbed at his tired eyes.

“You’re doing great, bug!” Adam chirped, rubbing his back.

Beetlejuice wanted to call out Adam for lying, but he couldn’t. The compliment and acknowledgement of how hard he was trying, felt good.

He gave his eyes one last hard rub, before resettling in his seat.

This was going to be a long ass night, but at least he knew Barbra and Adam would be there to help him through it.

#beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice #barbra maitland #adam maitland #beetlelands #fic #BUZZFIC

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captainkippen · 5 years

Text

I don't know where I'm going with this, it's just a piece of free writing because I felt inspired. Might keep going and turn it into a short story or something.

TW: Implied abuse.

1994.

The door clatters open like a twister is blowing through and I jerk up with such violence I almost slide right off my seat. There are a few bleary-eyed moments of confusion as my heart calms down before a takeaway cup of coffee is thrust under my nose and I'm forced to take it before it ends up decorating my shirt.

"Rise and shine, loser. You fall asleep at your desk again? You know you're gonna have permanent keyboard marks on your face if you keep doing that."

I bat Jay's hands away from my neck, saving myself from one of his terrible massages. He keeps telling me he has magic hands, but I'm pretty sure the crick in my neck only sticks more stubbornly when he tries to get rid of it. I give my shoulders a roll, sighing into the satisfaction of feeling my joints click, and swivel around to face him.

He's dressed in the same clothes he wore to mall yesterday and the heavy stench of too many cigarettes clings to him which means he probably spent the night at Ricky's - our local 24 hour diner - periodically ducking into the alley to burn through a new pack of Marlboroughs. A fresh smudge of dark purples and blues stains the skin around his eye. I hope he at least gave his brother a bruise back to match.

"What time is it?" I punctuate my question with a yawn just to make a point, but he just grins and holds up his watch.

7:15AM. Wonderful. At least he waited until he used the front door for once. My parents fret about him breaking his neck every time he leaves scuff marks on the window ledge to avoid waking them up.

"Did you actually get any sleep last night?"

"Did you?" He fires back with a raised eyebrow, shrugging off his jacket and flopping onto my bed to grab the latest issue of Rolling Stone from where he left it strewn across one of the pillows last time he crashed here. Comfortable silence falls as I admire the way his fingers bend the magazine back. There's this little crease that forms between his brows whenever he's concentrating, physical evidence of him trying to force his brain to focus on one thing at a time and not the myriad of random thoughts bouncing in there at any given time. I hide my smile in my coffee - he knows I'm not really annoyed, but I refuse to give up the illusion. It's a ageing routine, but one I never get bored of.

I count the minutes until the silence breaks. One. Two. Thr-

"So I was thinking," he says, the sighs like he's exasperated at his own inability to keep words in. It's one of the many things I like about Jay - he always speaks his mind. It makes it easier to understand him.

"Dangerous task for you."

An unimpressed middle finger greets my words before they're completely out. I hold back a snort.

"Sorry. Go on?"

We've known each other since we were seven. Across the street neighbours. He was the first person I met when I moved in with my foster parents. In a street full of unfamiliar tree and looming white houses he sat there on the curb pretending to fish with a stick and a piece of string. He'd called over as I got out of the car, asked if I liked trout. I didn't even know what trout was. That was okay. It was gross anyway, apparently.

I don't remember ever making friends so easily, like we just fell together and that was it. No fuss. Ten years on and the surprise hasn't waned.

"You guys want breakfast?" My mom pokes her head around the door with a tired smile, interrupting whatever train of thought Jay was hopping on.

I shake my head and lift my coffee, ignoring the disapproving look she gives me. Coffee is not food nor is it particularly good for you, but it's also not worth a battle over nutrition before eight o'clock.

"All good here, Mrs H." Jay smiles, all teeth and charm and twinkling eyes, then pats his stomach as if to confirm it. It's a smile that's impossible to disagree with when it's directed right at you.

"You sure? Alrighty then," Mom says, doubt creeping into her tone despite her fond look. She was forever trying to feed Jay, convinced he was too skinny. Worried he wasn't getting enough to eat. I can't say I blame her - some days Jay looks like he's auditioning to play Mike Teevee right after he got put through Willy Wonka's stretching machine, but it's all an illusion. I've watched him consume an entire box of donuts in one sitting more than once. His stomach might as well be a trash compactor for all the junk he eats. Plus he always has snacks tucked into the glove compartment of his car in case of emergencies, right alongside a sock full of laundromat destined quarters, a spare toothbrush and his shaving kit.

"Sawyer, honey, can you please clean up a bit in here? It looks like a bomb hit it. Guests don't want to sit in this."

"Half of this is his mess!" I splutter as my mom smiles and disappears back down the hall. "He's not even a real guest!"

Jay only laughs and ducks out of the way when I throw a balled up sock at his head. Asshole.

"So as I was saying..."

"As you were saying," I roll my eyes, gesturing for him to continue.

"I think we should do something."

"What, like go to the movies?" There's nothing good out at the moment, I'm pretty sure. We spent all last weekend debating whether or not to go see the latest Keanu Reeves movie only to spend all our cash on popcorn and get kicked out halfway through because Jay's running commentary made me laugh so hard I choked.

"No man, like... something interesting."

"...bowling?"

He shoots me an unimpressed look and I raise my hands in surrender. What else could he possibly have in mind? Our town only has three things to do; movies, bowling or the mall. We've been cycling through each option all summer. It's the same thing every year and it does get old after a while, but it beats sweating to death outside and spending all day playing video games sets my dad off on the perils of computer addiction. If I ever have to hear another lecture about technology rotting my brain it'll be too soon.

"For a writer you sure are lacking imagination."

"Well what do you suggest, then?" I huff.

There's a gleam in his eye and the warning lights start flashing in my brain just a beat too late. I know that look, it's the kind that got me put in detention three weeks in a row last semester for filling Roy Jackson's football helmet with food dye after he called spread a false rumour that Mary Harring blew him in his backseat. In my defence, it was all Jay. In his defence, I didn't stop him. Principle Ikener's never looked so disappointed. Roy Jackson's face was pink for a week. Scraping gum off the bleachers has never been so satisfying.

"Okay, hear me out first, alright," he says as I groan. We both know I'm already doomed to agree, but we play the part like he has to convince me anyway. Like I said, an ageing routine.

There's a pause in which I repress a sigh and let him dramatically drum roll his fists through the air and then he says, "Europe."

The word is emphasised with jazz hands and I can only stare at him for a moment, my brain trying to compute it. Did I mishear? Did he get part way through a sentence then forget the rest? He stares at me expectantly and it's all I can do to repeat the word slowly after him. His resulting nod is reminiscent of my aunt's excitable golden retriever.

"What about Europe...?"

"We should go."

"What?"

"To Europe," he insists. "We should go."

"You want us to go to Europe."

He looks at me like I'm being deliberately stupid. "That's what I said."

"But... why?"

Summers at home are dull. Three long months of sweltering heat and so many snow cones we make ourselves sick, and weeks on end of trying to think of new things to do, but it has never been so bad that we've resorted to leaving the country before. I'm confused.

"You're always talking about how much you want to travel! And we've got time. two and a half months before school. Think about it, we could be spending that time on the beaches in Spain, or looking at fancy architecture in Italy! I can drag you 'round some museums, you can force me on a tour of places famous English writers lived and we can get sick of each other in style."

Morning light spills through the window and highlights the dustmotes in the air. The bruises on his face seem darker with his face haloed in gold. I get another whiff of cigarettes and realise the smell is staler than usual.

"I don't know," I say. "My parents-"

I get a set of pursed lips in response. His expression is strained.

"Your dad is always saying we should broaden our horizons. He'll be thrilled. Besides, think of all the cute European girls we'll meet."

"How would we even afford it?"

It's a deflection. For a pair of teenage boys, we're both pretty good with money. Weekend jobs at Blockbuster and Baskin Robbins. I still have money saved from my Bar Mitvah, mostly because I've never really wanted anything enough to really splash out. My clunky computer works just fine and I'm content with books and notepads. Jay saves like his life depends on it, and maybe it does. Money for gas and food for the infinite hours spent avoiding his own home. Money for college. Money for escaping.

He stares me down.

One, two, three days since he left the Rolling Stone on my pillow only to pick it back up this morning. I'd noted his lengthy absence yesterday, but I'd just assumed he'd gone fishing. I should have known something was off.

"Please?" There's a desperate edge to his tone that rugs at my heartstrings and it's all I can do not to demand he tell me why he's suddenly so keen on visiting Europe when he's never expressed any such desire before. Instead I just sigh.

"Okay, but you get to convince my mom."

#my writing #tw implied abuse

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artdjgblog · 4 years

Photo

Innerview: Sonya Baughman / Review Magazine

July 2008

Image: DJG's "Live & Let Die" Record by Paul McCartney & Wings

Note: Interview for a magazine feature.

01) Where did you grow up and where do you live now? My young cloth diapers treaded a lot of dirt, dead animal and doggy acres in the North Central stick regions of Missouri, Mid-West, USA. Currently, adult plastic diapers drag and sag me in mid-town Kansas City, MO. The first six years had me bucking bales, falling off hay wagons, piercing my cheek on a hay bale stinger, assisting with the old cow stuck in the mud, designing elaborate tunnels and forts from tomato cages, watching “The Muppets” and “Star Wars” a lot, hearing scary stories of Leopard Man, posing for many pictures with dead and live animals, rocking out in cowboy boots to “Live & Let Die” on my Papa Smurf guitar, and crying at night to my raccoon wallpaper…among many other early formative brain tattoos. Act Two had many dry summers and the bank repossessing the farm and moving us to the home and acres where my Dad grew up. The new place had a blacktop in front of it and a gravel lane with a bridge/creek. The blacktop was a reservoir for leaving behind summertime shoe and bike impressions and for popping tar bubbles in the blistering heat. I also was of age to really explore and build many forts and treehouses in the ditches, barns and woods. Also, I started to go hunting and spend time in the fields with my Dad. We never had a shortage of animals and pets too. A lot of spare time was also spent in the sandbox or in the bedroom designing and building things based on what I saw and experienced. There was also a massive in-take of drawing and pop-culture from comics, books, music, television and movies. There wasn’t much of a cap on what my siblings and I could devour. Oh, and loads of sugary sweets and cereals. Go through the yearly motions and I end up at Southwest Missouri State University in Springfield, MO. There I got some very formal education and incredible interaction with students and design professors from the great making thing ways of Eastern Europe and Russia. I pretty much maxed out my art and design class card and was even making a ton of design work on the side for musicians. I then received a higher calling to drop out of school and make my guts out in Kansas City, MO which is where I’ve flopped around now for the past seven years. 02) Talk a little about your artistic background. Are you self-taught, did you go to college for art (if so, where)? My background is painted with loads of pop-culture from the 1980s and ’90s mixed in with the soil of farm life. I also designed and built many elaborate tree houses and forts up until the age of eighteen and spent most any spare minute in the sandbox or locked in my room drawing, reading, studying, video game playing, movie watching and just playing in general. I’ve never understood people’s ability to get bored or to not use the creation within them to ooze life out. I’ve enjoyed drawing comics, sports mascots and WWII battle scenes with my Dad at a young age that involved aircraft carriers, tanks and flags of those involved in conflict. My older brother would also draw a lot with me. He was better though. My younger sister and brother were pretty solid too. We have no idea where our creativity came from other than a great uncle, maybe? Also in my youth I would make giant collages out of magazine clippings and lots of mix tapes of Dr. Demento’s bizarre radio program and recorded and memorized many a variety of cartoon episodes and cool shows like Pee-wee’s Playhouse. I’ve also been a constant collector all my life. Back in the day I was all about the whole spectrum of toys, comics, ball cards, cereal boxes and loads of other junk…even kept dead animal parts under my bed. In the fifth grade I won a county wide logo contest for a skating and bowling fun center and it was the first time I realized disappointment with design as my logo was butchered by those higher-up. In middle-school up until my junior year of high school I studied more comics, logos, sports architecture and wanted desperately to design new-vintage baseball stadiums until the realization of my poor math skills hit like a ton of collapsed buildings. I even won a Kansas City Royals baseball essay contest. Getting made fun of daily in high school stunk, but it really fueled my work ethic, dreams and caused me to lock up in my bedroom at night. Though, I still wish I would have worked harder in my youth. I still really enjoy working hard and being alone to this day. In the summer of 1996 I was selected to attend the first ever Missouri Fine Arts Academy and learned that I had more to offer with my insides and got a chance to interact with more likeminded minds. I came back to my senior year of high school with notebooks of typographic graffiti designs and a whole new language of what I thought was the art world. There was also a new art teacher at my school and he was serious and seriously cool and recognized that I had something to offer. I also came back to my senior year with more confidence in expressing myself and decided to dive into the world of graphic design for my post-high school studies. I had no idea what I was going to really do with it, but I knew I just wanted to use my gift of making stuff for the rest of my life. And graphic design somehow promised a bit more security in money than going the fine art route. Though, I’ve now managed to merge the two and to still not make any money. My high school scores had me at number 12 out of 24 in my class and I scraped the bottom of the test barrels to get me into college. Southwest Missouri State University in Springfield, MO said I could come and so I did. They were the only institution I applied for and I had liked it from my three week stay at Fine Arts Academy the previous year. College was great, but I could tell quickly that I wasn’t a top art pup like I was in my small school way back down the line. I was with the bigger dogs now. I struggled with drawing classes because I realized that I wasn’t as good as I had been told I was for the previous eighteen years. That was a set-back and I still wish to this day I would have worked harder at drawing. But, mostly I have trouble drawing in a cramped room with a ton of people breathing down my neck and at certain times of the day. The introduction and foundation art classes were more my calling and I could take the stuff home and work alone and all night. Most of my friends complained because they couldn’t wait until sophomore year when we would be on the computer for design. I didn’t really understand what I was getting into with graphic design. In fact, one day I exclaimed to my friends that I was taking the graphic design route that didn’t use computers and was entirely hands-on. They thought I was pretty insane for saying that and pretty much called me a fool. It’s kind of funny now though. I was so naïve at 18 and 19 to what the formal graphic design world was and I think I still am ten years later. Back when I was more bushy-tailed, I just wanted to make things and cut stuff out and not chain up to a computer…and I guess I’m still bushy-tailed, though I have a computer and use it mostly as a tool. When I finally did get placed in front of a computer, it was a struggle and I just couldn’t get into it and past the screen barrier. It almost stopped me from majoring in graphic design. But, we weren’t on the computer all the time as we were taught to conceptualize and to think and to be hands-on too. But, we needed to know the computer too. I just couldn’t get along with the computer for the longest time. Of course, the computer whiz kids just couldn’t wait for the next semester that involved a wordy world called typography. Which, naively enough I thought was about the art of map making. I liked maps, so I was excited too. But, I soon found out it was a whole new world that would poison the ABCs in me forever…good and bad. At least in type class we were still taught to think and do things by hand before messing with computer fonts. That first year or two of official design school was just terrible for me as I felt I wasn’t really “getting” it and didn’t think I would be happy as a graphic designer. I was just fulfilling project requirements and with zero heart or much care. It wasn’t until I haphazardly signed up to duel major in illustration that things started to make music inside of me. I began to really pour myself out and realize that I could approach things in a similar light as to when I was a child and be happy. Illustration saved me and I found my voice with it and my classmates and instructors started noticing. The energy there was great and everybody fed off of each other and helped each other see in new light(s). I also began to understand the valuable importance of the experience of my schooling as the instructors not only had a unique style of teaching, but they also had interesting backgrounds and culture from Eastern Europe and Russia. I could mildly relate to them as I was a transplant from the foreign farm world of North Missouri. After many design trips to studios I began to feel a very empty feeling with the profession I had chosen to represent my working life. It was not what I wanted to do with a “career”, or my time. I didn’t wish to work in a factory of fried monitor goo-lash. I wanted to just make stuff and at my own pace and pleasure. I was also very protective of my work and wanted parental rights and not for it to belong to another man’s name or dream. My love for music started to fuse with design and I began to start making many things on the side for musicians, which spread to other types of word-of-mouth work for me. An eye-popping lecture by modern rock poster designer Art Chantry sealed my personal deal for wanting to do my own thing. Shortly after that I decided I needed to change many gears in my life and secretly drop out of school following my final design class in the fall of 2001 and live with a band (and some) in a big old dilapidated orange house behind the original Lamar’s Donuts in Kansas City, MO. While some senior students had trouble looking for one real world client to work with for their final projects, I had close to 10 off the top of my head and whole bunch of future blank pages to fill. 03) During the time you have been making art have you always been drawn to this type of graphic expression? Did you “find” a style or did a style find you? I’d say a bit of both. I’ve never really gone for a set “style”. I’m sure that I’ve got one that has become recognizable to my thumb prints. Honestly, I never really think too hard about what I’m making or the why or how of the making until I have to answer questions like this. Then I start to over-think things. Also, whenever I’m told that I’m a good collagist or good at hand type or so-and-so rendering, then that is the only time I really make an effort to switch gears. I have boiled the majority of my output to be relational to the immediacy of my moods, thoughts, tickles, inclination and whatevers. Though, sometimes life can get in the way and I’ll have to slide down a small sliver of time and energy depletion, like I am with trying to get this writing out on time! But, I’m a big fan of cranking stuff out no matter what. Life is pretty darn short to sit on my hands. It seems that style can be a bit of a drag for some people and/or a hole. I’ve always been more in-tune to the folks who just follow what their gut, heart, hands and eyes speak instead of creating a set template. Some people never stray too far from that and only a few can truly get away with it. Edward Gorey is perhaps one of the few who could really make it work for me. I would certainly love to draw and think as well as he did, but I might be quite miserable doing the same thing over and over even if I was able to do it for a living. I think that a lot of people get confused and think they need to have a style and either invent one or pick other people’s noses instead of sniffing what they’ve been wearing all their life. Style to me is a lot like decorating or something. Though, at the same time that decoration might marriage perfectly to what somebody thinks they need. I don’t know though. Sometimes I think it’s funny when we as people think we need something to look or feel a certain way that’s already been communicated or visualized. I think that sometimes we are too caught up in what’s done before instead of thinking for ourselves. I’m guilty too. What’s really confusing to me, on a personal level, is when I get a request like, “We like all your work so make whatever you want!” and then the client ends up being really disappointed because it wasn’t in their “style” and then it’s awkward. Style is just an odd thing to me. But, most things are. I try to just trust my gutty heart and just make. 04) Do you see your work as communicating your identity or as helping to communicate the identity and message of others? … or both? I see it as me communicating what I’ve gathered from being on the Earth for 29 ½ years and spreading that manure the best I can. It’s a heaping helping to tell the story of others by telling my story. Most of my work fits into fine art and design, at least I’m always told that. I’m not really sure. Of late I’ve been pushing into more of the fine art bin. But, I’m not a big fan of labeling things and I would like to do many things with this thing I do. With design, one does have a role to play with helping somebody else tell their story, and at times, sell their story. There is also a responsibility to the venue the product is in or where it will eventually end up, whether a fine package on a shelf or a poster in the gutter. I feel it can be easy for a designer to lose perspective of the role playing. With leaving behind an identity…well, I like the idea of a paper trail, time-line and bruising thumb prints on this life. However, I don’t necessarily have the intent to say “Hey, look at me.” I am just another human, and one who happens to make things. If the work speaks or inspires (probably frightens and confuses on occasion), then that means a lot to me, especially in these fast-paced and flashy “everyone’s a designer-decorator” times with millions of images and advertisements everywhere. I think it’s great to recognize and at times celebrate gifts and achievement. But, I feel there needs to be a healthy balance. It can be a dangerous thing to play with at times. Some artists I feel become the work of art themselves and end up playing God with the gift and this saddens me as it usually ruins them in the long run. 05) Is there anything about your geographic location that has given you a unique perspective on design and the art you create? Certainly, growing up country might have my visions at a stranger advantage, and a howling merge to that with the city life now. You might see a lot of wonderfully strange things on the streets of the city due to the amount of activity by varieties of people and culture. But, only in small town Missouri do the deer pile up outside the meat locker and blood runs next door to the Baptist church as the high school band splash-marches through it. Growing up it was easy to take my lifestyle for granted. I enjoyed it immensely, but when I was 15 to 18 I wanted to get out a bit more. I was hungry to explore, and not just the many acres we lived on. I wanted the rest of the world. I became a little disgruntled with growing up country and I think that there is a certain stereotype placed upon people anywhere they are, but country folk get it pretty bad. I definitely ate from both sides of the fence, but also didn’t want to be hung up in it for a living. As I grow older I appreciate my roots a lot more and celebrate them and am very thankful. I enjoy going back home. And some day I’d like to move outside of the city to a small plot of land with a making things shack out back. But, my family home isn’t too far down the road for a getaway weekend visit to sit with the stars, coyote yips and fish. 06) What do you consider influences on your art? (this can be other artists, music, philosophy, nature – anything. this question is not just limited to “I’m a big fan of Banksy”) First thing, I believe in the compiling of all days in life to influence an artist’s output (horse apples or clean streets). Our walks tell a lot about who we are in the present prints. I feel that one would be lying to me if what they created was not in their full vision. But, I too think that we all wear and share influences as witnesses to what we’ve seen and where we’ve been. We all help shape each other. I’ve rattled off my early influences of popular culture. I think I’m more in-tune with my child’s self now than I was then as I sit alone and make things and pull from all my days. It’s also easy to feel that I was really moving and discovering more back then with naïve, childlike faith that I’m trying to get back now. I have some good days though and mostly when I’m not thinking too much. I’m still a fan of absorbing lots of things and from many angles. Of course I have my artistic influences. One of my big influences as a child was my Grandma Gibson. She is from the old school of the country and a very hands-on person with making many things like clothing, dead animal backpacks, blankets, pillows, fridge magnets and game board pieces. I still have a lot of the things from those years. I think a lot of my approach to making things came from her. My “professional” art world as a kid had an outside knowledge from trips to museums and PBS specials, though I felt a little detached from that world and still kind of do. My heroes were at the movies because they were more immediate to me, guys like Jim Henson, Stan Winston, Dr. Indiana Jones, Rambo and Han Solo. But, it was Henson’s world that opened me up to the first idea of an artist’s legacy, vision and spirit and glimpse of another world. Something big-time ached in my decade old gut the day I found out he passed away. Musically speaking I was very much a child of my Mom’s Beatles records, “oldies” music and a ton of television theme songs, novelty sing-alongs and old church songs. I still put a lot through my ears now and my biggest influences in music in my older years are Bruce Springsteen, Jeff Buckley, Elliott Smith and Bob Dylan. Also, I am still a big fan of tons of picture books and just anything really. I just know that I’ve never had bare space on the walls and shelves of my home and head. Oh, and wherever I am I’m usually distracted by the stuff on the ground. I’m a big collector of found notes, writings, scribbles, addresses, children’s drawings and good-bad-silly-stupid-smart designs. I like to collect ‘em all. I’ve also collected stamps since I was 10. I’m a big nerd. Here’s a listing of some names in the art and design canon who have made things that either attracted, influenced or moved me in some ways (in no particular order): Saul Steinberg, Seymour Chwast and Push Pin, Lester Beall, Edward Gorey, Ray Johnson, Art Chantry, Henryk Tomaszewski, Vaughn Olver and V23, Raymond Pettibon, Paul Klee, Stanley Donwood, Stefan Sagmeister, Cy Twombly, Saul Bass, Ivan Chermayeff, Ralph Steadman, Robert Rauschenberg, Jean Michel-Basquiat…most anybody who has something to say and develops a bad back carving out their paper trail. Movies are also a giant influence on my work and I study them almost daily. Some of the filmmakers who capture a certain craft of unique spirit that I enjoy include P.T. Anderson, Wes Anderson, Michel Gondry and the Coen Brothers. Folk Art is another big mind-blow and one of my favorite areas to study and get ticked by the of-the-moment heart, purity and passion. I love the idea of somebody just up and making something for the heck of it and not for art’s or ego’s sake. That’s the childlike thing I miss the most. The makers and shakers that move me the most from the folk art movement are Henry Darger, Bill Traylor and Robert E. Smith. And sometimes I get more out of the work on display in county and state fairs by everyday arts and crafters than so-called “professional” art and design work. 07) What is your perspective on the place of poster art here in the Midwest (or KC specifically) as it interacts with the rest of the art community and how the poster art coming out of this community may be perceived on a more national level? I’m curious about this because of the recognition Kansas City artists in general have been receiving lately on a national and international scale and how the art world tends to waffle between interest and disinterest in artists in this region. The music scene here is very interesting to me and a lot of times I think that it is just like 20 people all making it happen. Though, there is a lot of talent, diversity and genre-bending for a small town like this. There are a lot of groups making a mark here and down the highways, same with the people making stuff for them. Though, I get a little strange sometimes because I sometimes feel that the small scene mixed with the internet’s social networks and fewer record stores (oh, and most of my posters take up a whole bulletin board!) makes the poster almost secondary information and so-so decoration. In the same thought though, most of the stuff I see on the internet passes by me in a two-second window like that of highway advertising. Though, some do stick out to me because I’m always on the look to get tickled. And I don’t feel the art of the printed piece will die any time soon. Anyway, the scene just works here in Kansas City somehow and everybody takes care of and appreciates each other’s roles and contributions. I’ve had some great response to what I’m slapping up, but at the same time I think that a lot of people don’t get it. What’s not to get, it’s not too special? But, that’s fine with me. I’m not sure where I am in the scene. Maybe more-so in the “seen” department with my meager budgeted work hanging above a stool in the blurry-eyed late hours. I still think that toilets are one the best places for information gathering. Poster art in general in the last ten years alone has received a great breath of fresh air. Many of the makers are respected within a small collective, and have also been breaking through to represent on a national level of design aesthetic, as well as a well-rounded view of the printed timeline to life and culture. It’s also something that anybody can do and a lot of bands still just make their own stuff, which I’m cool and whatever with it. Everybody has their own style, agenda and empty pockets. But, the personal computer has saturated the landscape with a lot of “samey”. Then again, if it works, it works. In the end if it gets people interested and enthused, then what is there for a bum like me to complain about? And sometimes I really get a kick out of unskilled design stuff(s). I try to stay out of design politics for the most part. There is more to life than design dogma. Though, there is design all around us as we interact with it in every way from the tip-top of a tree to a paper scrap for this article. I enjoy the simple act of creation and inspiration that comes from something that seems like nothing, yet has always been a “something” growing and building and will continue to grow if the viewer lets it do so. You just have to add the proper mix of ingredients, I guess. And I guess my brain isn’t one to formerly function on the full realization to what it’s thinking. So, I’m babbling right now. I do know that something I’ve always enjoyed about the concert poster is the relatively short life span it has and how that can be used to the advantage. I just want to encourage people out there, designers/artists, non designers/artists or even church secretaries, to really push things and work harder. I don’t really care if everyone isn’t versed in design and art. In general I just encourage more to experiment with poster art, find your voice(s) and find new ways to spread the good word. Even if it’s not for a concert or an event, just make something and get it out there. Throw your junk off the overpasses if need be. 08) How has your work been received within the arts community here (and also in other geographic regions if you have been branching out)? For seven years now I’ve somehow managed to remain fairly anonymous and at the same time have sparkled a bit of attention…maybe just a glittering. Life and day job dwindle my hours to where it’s hard to even pay attention on my own stuff sometimes, so I don’t get out much here in the city. Though, I guess it is easier to keep up with things on the internet, papers and here-say. I think Kansas City is making her own dent right now with a wide variety of things going on in the arts landscape. The town is kind of booming and bustling right now. Being that we’re a small town, it’s easy for a small fish to get more wet feet. Though, I’ve never put my whole foot into anything. I just do my thing. Some days I’m not really sure what that thing is, but I do it despite my muck. When I first started on my design quest, like when anyone tackles something head-on, I was head-over-heels and not sleeping much. I was also living with bands and interacting more and actually going to shows several times a week. I don’t know how I did it without exhausting my ticker, but for some reason it all worked. I started to garner a little bit of buzz here that seemed to spread quick outside the state and international borders. Many people contact me from all over and slap my stuff alongside some of my design favorites in magazines and books. It’s a hoot. People are always interested in my story and creations. It’s all still really odd and blushing to me in some light that the little things I make are reaching a selective audience on a much grander scale. Anyway, I’ve certainly learned now that sleep is important and that it’s better for me to work smarter, not harder. Though, that’s not entirely the truth as I still work pretty darn hard and I believe in it greatly. Still, I’ve struggled with my own brand of discontent since I fell from a slide and blacked-out at the age of five. It’s something that I’m working and wrangling with. But, with any kind of actual work you’ve studied, worked hard with and duct taped up the switch with 24-7, you learn to just not think and rather DO and the moves become mechanical. I just have to put to use different types of oil to keep from rusting. It all becomes a fluid thing, or something constantly coming down on me in the grocery aisle, tree leave holes and side walk crack scribbles. It can be challenging when life stuff gets in the way, but I shouldn’t see it as getting in the way. I easily get confused, but then I realize that the things I experience and see and do (good-bad) all go into my design pot mixed with my past and then I just have to do the upchucking as I move forward and I tend to feel better. Recently I’ve definitely stepped back on my massive production of concert posters and I’m sure that many people reading this will think, “Geesh, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen this idiot’s work?” Not only has my life changed in some ways, but I also had to give myself permission to take a time out and to learn to say no to some things. A break was needed before burnout and bitter rotted my worms in the apple, among other things. I had a year of little activity and practiced sitting on my nest. I still made a bunch of stuff, but a lot just for me. I’ve also been involved in various group art shows around the country, design books and special art projects with friends spread about. Another thing I did, and still do, is just to see what other avenues I’d like to take my one man show. I’m learning to use the internet for the medium that it is too. Anyway, I’ve always got some stew samples back burning, but my biggest competition is myself…on top of time, energy and money. Mostly myself, as I’ve always been extremely hard on myself. Though, I’ve been told I make it look easy. I’ve never been good at math, so you go figure. I get exhausted from trying to figure this out. 09) Is artwork your main profession and, if not, are you intending to make it so? It’s really flattering and kind of sad when every spring I get more and more inquiries from freshly plucked and talented college students about a possible internship or job with DJG Design. In general, due to what most think to be a large and varied output of work, people who don’t know what I’m about think that there is a D, a J and a G making things. It always excites me to be contacted by enthused students and other design people (any walks of life, really) who saw something or connected to my work and got a spark. It makes me rosey, but it also keeps me a little down as I don’t make enough money to do this full-time. But, it all keeps me at my little basement bay working on my bad back and poor eye sight, keeps me (under)grounded in some ways. I’ve always worked full-time jobs and have been married now for three years. So, certain responsibilities come with walking hand-in-hand with another. For now I just spin the day job blues and try to stay content and disciplined, burning the fuel before and after work. But, age is setting in a bit and I’m getting antsy. I also grow tired easier. Good things do come out of day jobs, good design work does too. For the first four or five years I was a janitor and groundskeeper. So, loads of perks came from great finds, discards, dumpster dives and lots of free food and more time to read and study and draw. Heck, I even designed a few posters between clock punches. Currently my position has me staring at a computer doing data entry. The health care, artificial air and hours are great and I can walk out my back door and be there in seven minutes. But, it can be difficult to know that I’m sitting and squandering something back home. I do take it with me everywhere upstairs, and I do a bit of networking during the day time, but there is still that itch to make things full-time and not have a full plate of non-stop. It’s all hard to balance. But, making things is the only thing that I’m told that I’m somewhat good at. Well, other than eating junk food, watching movies, being confused and petting my four kitty cats. I am fast approaching thirty and the visual of time stacking is more evident than ever. Each space between second hand clicks is another scratch of tiny pine box to me. I am slowly checking off my list of “Before 30 Goals”, but I’m usually several cars back and sometimes it’s a pileup. Life takes a different course too. But, I have caught back a hold of a torch of some sort. I am constantly tacking up side boards to the wagon. After eight years of looking at Gigposters.com, I finally have ALL of my poster work up on there. It’s a great way to generate exposure and get my work out some more. I also have my new website up and an extensive volume of imagery on my Flickr.com account. It can be a bit odd to put one’s self out there in such a reservoir fashion, but I do like the idea of the timeline and personal file cabinet. And if my house burns down, it’s all digitized and makes it easier on my friends when they have to move me. So, day jobs…they are both blah and bling in my mind. My sling shots just point back at me on certain days. Sometimes they change direction with every sentence. At least I’m now under a thousand dollars on my student loans. I don’t make a thousand dollars in most years on design. 10) Tell me a story – have you had any strange poster requests? A project where you just about lost it? A poster that succeeded beyond expectations or failed in a way that took you totally by surprise? A project-situation-chaos that always sticks out when I’m asked a question like this happened to me back in June of 2002. It’s not a poster, but it’s pretty whacky and ended up being one of the best things that I think I’ll ever make. It was a special run of 250 homemade CD packages for the band Elevator Division. I’ve had many projects that demand more production time than my little brain imagines, but this one was the worst. Actually, the finished piece is a lot tamer than my initial idea. Though, the final image’s concept married to what the band was communicating on the disc inside is way better. The following true story I’ve released for a previous interview, I just tweaked a few glitches… The idea came at the night I started printing. Well, actually it was spray paint. I had an image made for a month or more and then changed it at the last stroke of inspiration. It married the themes for the album “Whatever Makes You Happy” perfectly. With reflections of war and relationships in the songs, I made an image of a hand shooting off its index finger like a missile. It was the idea of shooting off one’s options and making decisions. It was aggressive, inviting, serious and humorous all in one. It was not only fitting for the band/music but also to the national/world agenda and climate. I went to war that night with many cans of spray paint and the idiot mind to do two-hundred and fifty all in one massive sweep, and in my basement, which is something I will never do again because I could have died. I will probably also never be involved with another package like this again (take that back, I have been). Anyway, each one was hand-cut from cardboard and handmade stencil sprayed and rubber stamped. Inserts were cut, folded and glued. At the last mist of red spray a crack of thunder shook the massive turn-of-the-century home and I bolted from the basement and out the front door to a down poor fit for Noah himself. I was like a much less cool version of Dr. Frankenstein though. I leapt off the front porch and slid head first down the embankment and into the street turned river current. But, like a taxidermy nightmare, I was born again. The drug dealing squatters across the street were on their front step perch per usual summer evening, looking at the fire in my eyes and the red paint streaming from ears, nose and mouth. It was a high much higher than that of chemical substance. Well, maybe a three pack of design, life and paint fumes. 11) What is it about the poster as an art form that you feel is unique among other art forms? What purpose does it serve in your mind that can’t be served by another type of visual art? I’ve hinted at this in a previous question. I like the idea of the poster’s life-span being short, relative to the date and time…event, whatever. But, if it connects in the right way, and it can be different for everyone as art-design-whatever, is all relative to the viewer, I think that even a concert poster’s impact can last a long time. Since my first year in Kansas City I’ve had people find me out and say that they had a bedroom wall filled up with my work. It really moved me that something so simple (and sometimes stupid) that I squeezed out caused somebody else to be moved enough to hang it above their dreams at night. It means a lot to me when others get something out of something I’ve made. I know from child to adult, I myself have gotten something out of the stuff I’ve collected and tacked to my walls. It’s odd, yet a really nice feeling to know I’m somehow contributing to a landscape in some way. Making things is an act that I’ve always needed to do and has helped me get the best out of many days. I’ve always had difficulty with contributing in many forms of communication and on some days it’s terribly hard even just to be out and about. Making things has served as my calling with communication. It’s nice to know it can help others too in whatever way. -djg

#innerviews

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gothlokid · 5 years

Text

How They Met

(unofficial tittle, I don’t know if I’m ever gonna use it in a real fic but this is just a little snippet that came out)

Steve/Tony - 5k - college au (no mature/explicit content)

Tony’s vision is somehow bleary and his legs don’t feel like they are strong enough to support himself at the moment. Yet, he abandons the stool he had been sat at the bar, trying to stand up – because one minute he was sure he was talking to Rhodey and in the other there were three empty tequila shots glasses right beside him and no Rhodey.

Looking around himself, Tony notices the bar is packed and a little dark, there’s loud music spilling from the speakers and loud chatter amongst the tables around him. It makes his head spin a little.

Where the fuck is Rhodey?

He said he would stay with Tony, keep an eye on him, make sure no one found out the fake ID he had once again forged. Pff, as if. Computer genius Tony is, no one would ever tell the ID is fake. He hasn’t graduated in Computer Science (and Engineer, not that he likes to brag) for nothing (obviously he didn’t graduate from MIT only for that. But it has its perks). And so, what difference does it make that he’s one year younger than what his ID says? It’s not like he hasn’t been living in a University campus since he was fifteen. It’s not like Tony had never had an illegal drink in his life.

“Not outside campus, you dickhead. For a genius, you can be a bit thick sometimes, Tones,” Rhodey had said just as Tony had shown him the laminated card, begging Rhodey to go out with him for his birthday.

“Nobody will know. Nobody outside will know me, c’mon.”

“Yeah, no one will know Tony Fucking Stark.”

Tony had rolled his eyes and grabbed his leather jacket that was lying on his bed, putting it on anyway. “I’m going out either way. You can come with me and make sure no one finds out, or you can leave me be, can leave me all unsupervised, just turned twenty and illegally drunk, to hear an earful from father dearly that you didn’t keep an eye on me. Still want that internship, James?” He quirked a brow at him.

“I’m your roommate, not your nanny, for fuck’s sake, contrary to what your father’s thought of me for the past 5 years,” Rhodey had groaned, as he also grabbed his jacket and shoved Tony across from their dorm towards the door. “But fine, if you as much puke near me tonight, I’ll leave you alone to deal with your father, then. And the internship is a low blow, shut up.”

Tony had smirked, knowing that Rhodey would never leave him alone. He knew how to persuade his best friend, even if it was with empty threats (or light banter. The Internship was Rhodey’s anyway. Not that Tony had any say in who his father took inside his own company, but even though Howard barely cared for what Tony was doing, his academic and professional paths were guaranteed, and so was Rhodey’s).

Contrary to what had happened a couple of hours before and what Rhodey had told him, Rhodey had indeed left Tony alone, fucked off to God knows where with God knows who as Tony’s pissed drunk all by himself trying to make his legs work.

“Where’s my Rhodey?” He slurs, whining out loud. He doesn’t even know why he’s calling Rhodey his. He isn’t his. Well, he is his best friend, his roommate, his partner in crime… but not his. No, ew. Not Rhodey.

Tony turns his head around, trying to catch a glimpse of the tall back guy he calls his best friend around the place. That should be enough to find him, goddamnit. Rhodey is over 6 feet tall, what is all that height for if not for Tony to try and find him in crowded bars as he’s drunk? Rhodey is fucking useless, that’s what he is. He is Tony’s useless friend and Tony can’t even walk two feet in front of him without feeling like he’s gonna fall face first and Rhodey is not there to pick him up.

Instead, there are arms securing Tony just as he was almost certain he was gonna trip over his own feet. There are strong arms embracing him and Tony finally looks up to see that those are certainly not Rhodey’s arms.

“You’re not my Rhodey,” he hiccups as he tries to focus on the face that’s very close to him.

Blue eyes blink at him with a soft and concerned gleam. “No, I’m not. I see you’re looking for him, but for that, you need to make sure you’re in one piece.” His voice is soothing and Tony is somehow still trying to figure out why there is an angel – a beefy angel by the way his arms feel around Tony – holding him, who also sees to be worried about him.

“My savior,” Tony laughs, tries to smile at Beefy Blue-eyed Angel, but he’s not sure he can feel his face. “At least someone in this damn bar cares about me. One point for Angel, zero for Rhodey, boo hoo.”

There’s a chuckle from blue-eyed angel and Tony thinks he has never heard a sound so soft in his whole life. “No angel. Just Steve.”

“Still better than a Rhodey.” Tony feels Steve leading him back to the stool he had just tried to walk away from.

He sits back on it again and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to make his head stop being all woozy. “Thanks, though. I’m sure I’d have fallen very ungracefully if it weren’t for you.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t have been a pretty fall.” Steve takes the seat beside Tony and Tony opens his eyes to finally take a look at the man in front of him, finally able to see the full picture.

And wow. Just. Wow.

He knows this face. He has been staring at this face for the past four months and–

“You’re pretty.”

That’s his drunk sluggish brain talking because in four months Tony hadn’t been able to produce one word towards Steve. And yet right now, his mouth has no filter, is simply spilling something he had thought since the first day he saw Steve in the same class as him.

It might also be the alcohol, but Tony sees Steve’s face getting a flush that wasn’t there before.

“I, hm…” Steve clears his throat.

“Oh, sorry, I–” Tony shakes his head, aware that he must’ve said something stupid.

Of course, that was stupid. He doesn’t know Steve and Steve doesn’t know him, even though they’ve been classmates for quite a while.

Well, but he does know Steve, that’s the thing. He knows Steve is somewhat recluse, on the verge of shy, keeping it mostly quiet in class, taking notes on his notebook on a desk in the corner of the room, sometimes doodling pretty things Tony can’t make out from where he’s sitting (but that he knows that are pretty). He knows Steve plays for MIT’s soccer team as he sometimes goes to class in jerseys and sweats with his name on the back. He also knows Steve must be studying something in Architecture or Planning since he always runs off after class to that department building (leaving Tony to sadly trail back to his classes in Mechanics). He also has a very good hunch that Steve is a few years older than him – who isn’t in this goddamn University anyway? – but not that doesn’t actually matter.

He knows plenty about Steve if his stalking (“It’s more of an observatory skill, Rhodey, fuck off.”) is anything to go by. But the thing also is, Steve doesn’t know Tony and doesn’t know that Tony has been having a full-on crush (“again, I just like to observe things and things that are beautiful deserve to be admired, Rhodey, I don’t have a crush.”) on him since the semester started and Tony found himself doing an elective class, in which this God Entity with the name of Steve Rogers also happened to be taking part of.

And that’s where Tony should’ve drawn the line. Because that’s all he knows about Steve. He doesn’t know Steve outside of their class together and just because he’s drunk off his ass, it doesn’t make calling Steve pretty at all alright.

“No, don’t be sorry.” Steve is calm and if Tony can say, he seems endeared, even. “I, well. Thanks.” There’s that chuckle again and Tony takes the opportunity to see Steve smiling, shyly, with his eyes downcast and, fucking hell, he never had the opportunity to look at Steve from this up close, and God forbid his drunken state, but all he wants is to kiss that tiny cute smile on his lips, because it’s the most beautiful and endearing thing Tony has ever seen in his life. “It’s just, being called an angel and pretty on the same night? That’s quite a lot if I’m being honest. I’m flattered.”

Tony can see how bashful Steve is and as much as he doesn’t want to embarrass him even more, God, what he wouldn’t give to keep seeing that face, that sweet pretty face and keep it only for himself.

“Right, I’ll try to tone it down, save some other compliments for some other time.” Tony tries to wink, he’s pretty sure he doesn’t succeed because Steve is trying to keep himself from laughing out loud.

“Anytime. I know you’re busy still trying to find your Rhodey now, aren’t you?”

And if Tony were a decent and sober person, he wouldn’t take the tone of Steve’s voice as an indication that he sounds jealous. Is he jealous? Of Tony? Does he even know Tony? If he knows Tony, then he knows that Rhodey is not his-whatever he’s thinking right now. And if he doesn’t know Tony, then well, it’s only Tony’s duty to make sure Steve has no doubt that there isn’t anything that’s his and that he isn’t anyone’s either.

“Not mine.” Tony waves his hand in front of his face. “Not that I’d like him to be mine.” He knows he sounds like every other drunk person, but he swears he’s making sense in his head. “Not that I want to be his either.” Oh, God, no. He doesn’t sound coherent even if he tried. “There’s no Rhodey. And no one else, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

Steve is looking skeptically at him, but slightly biting his bottom lip, trying to suppress a smile. “Right, ‘cause that’s very relevant. So you’re looking for a Rhodey that’s not yours.”

Tony can hear the teasing tone in Steve’s voice and as much as he is appealed by the fact that they are bantering (and maybe flirting, Tony doesn’t even know at this point), he really wants to make his point across. “He is my friend. That’s what he is. But no Rhodey, because he’s not here right now, and we’re not– he’s not my-whatever, he’s not mine if you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t, but thanks for clearing it up.” Steve shrugs, running a hand through his light and well-trimmed locks.

“Just making sure you understand that I really meant that I’m saving up more compliments for you for next time.”

If Tony thought he had sobered up at least a little, now he’s pretty sure he hasn’t and that he’s still a drunk with no filter in his mouth because he wasn’t even planning to say that.

“You’re pretty drunk, pal.” Steve shakes his head, but the tiny smile is still lingering on his lips.

“No pal, just Tony. And thanks.”

“Thanks for what?”

“Calling me pretty even when I’m drunk.”

Tony prides himself with how clever and witty he still is while drunk because the laughter he earns from Steve after that is too precious and it has made the whole semester of observing (yeah, he’s gonna stick with that, thank you very much) the other man completely worth it.

“Only returning the compliment.” Tony sees it must’ve taken all the willpower in Steve to say that because he’s not even looking at Tony when he ducks his head and plays with a loose piece of wood from the bar counter. And that only goes to show how Steve’s a braver person than Tony, who had been dumbly paying attention to Steve for months on end and didn’t find the courage to say anything to him while Steve, on the first chance he got, not only managed to save Tony for an ungraceful fall but also flatter him.

“That’s cheating,” Tony rolls his eyes, trying not to show how affected he is by Steve light flirting (because keeping the goddamn butterflies in his stomach still is a really hard task – or maybe that’s his empty stomach talking, who knows).

At that Steve perks up his head, confused. “What?”

Tony laughs slightly, moving the stool a bit closer to Steve, trying to balance himself as so not to fall. “You’ve started ahead of me. I said I had a few other compliments for you, but here you are, already trying to make me think of other things to say to you. I wanted to save it, can’t use all my ammo only in one night.”

If Tony’s coming out strong, he doesn’t even care because Steve licking his lips nervously and running his hand again through his soft hair is a sight for his sore and bleary eyes.

“I’ll tell you what,” he starts before Steve can say anything again, but making the other man catch his full attention, “the only way to outrank you now, is by buying you a drink.”

Steve leans against the counter, head resting on his palm, intrigued. “Didn’t know this was a contest.”

“Of course it is. You already came out too strong, wooing me with your angel face and knight in shining armor attitude and all that. I have to up my game.”

“Wasn’t trying to woo you. Just wanted to help, that’s all.” Steve clears his throat and Tony has a hard time believing what comes out of his mouth when the blush is back on his face, making his blue eyes glint brighter.

Tony smirks because even in his drunk state he knows when someone’s trying to approach him and he doesn’t know how that happened that it’s Steve of all people who is trying to make a move on him, even as shy as he seems, even as uncertain as this all looks.

“Right,” Tony slaps one hand on the counter and straightens himself on the stool, trying to feel more confident than he’s ever been regarding his unsolicited – and not deep – feelings for Steve. He’s just turned twenty and he has the boy of his dreams’ attention all on him. He couldn’t have asked for anything better tonight, the only thing left for him is to go for it. “But I am.”

He sends what he thinks is a glaring smile at Steve and turns to the bar, ordering a beer bottle for each one of them. It’s not like he can get any drunker than he already is and if he can buy Steve one drink and keep him in his company a little longer, then that’s what tonight’s all about.

Turns out, Tony can get more drunk as he and Steve share not only that one beer. Tony doesn’t even know how many others he has drunk as the night goes on as he and Steve keep on talking. He doesn’t even know what he and Steve talk about. All he knows is that those blue eyes are too soft for that strong body, and they keep looking at Tony as if he’s the most interesting thing Steve has ever looked at. He gets lost in them and in Steve and in the time and doesn’t even see the night going away, too entertained by Steve’s smile and shy but interesting personality.

He would like to remember what they talked about because he’s pretty sure at some time Steve must’ve told him a joke about their professor and Tony had never laughed so hard in his life and he wants to remember every bit of every word Steve has told him. All he knows is that he wishes he remembered Steve telling him that they’ve probably had enough, that Tony wasn’t even making any sense anymore but still laughing along with him, and putting his hand on Tony’s shoulder and squeezing him tight. Tony wishes he could remember when they thought it was reasonable to leave the bar, with Steve holding Tony by his waist and dragging him back to campus, telling Tony that he wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to end up in a dumpster in the morning. Moreover, Tony regrets not remembering what Steve told him as they stood by his dorm door as Tony probably lingered longer than acceptable staring at Steve’s well-carved face and probably told him something stupid about how his cheekbones were to die for and that he wanted to kiss him. He regrets with all his being not remembering if Steve had indeed kissed him.

All Tony remembers, actually, is a blur of a night as he wakes up to Rhodey shoving a pillow to his face.

“What’s that for?” He mumbles, trying to open his eyes, only to realize that had been the worst decision of his life as the sunlight reaches him and his head starts pounding.

“For not telling me you let your fucking crush escort you back to your dorm?”

Rhodey is standing by Tony’s bed, arms crossed over his chest with a dark brow arched at him.

“What are you on about?” Tony shakes his head trying to soothe his headache and finally focus on what’s going on. He pushes himself up on his bed in a sitting position, rubbing his hand over his eyes and scratching on his still growing beard.

“I leave you for a minute and you manage to throw yourself on his arms, apparently.” Rhodey rolls his eyes and reaches for the nightstand, fetching a glass of water and handing it over to Tony. He also shoves a couple of pills into his hand.

Tony is too sleepy and hungover to deal with whatever his best friend is saying and doing, but he accepts the water and the pills without protest, taking a moment to drink from it and have another liquid in his body that isn’t alcohol. When he finally chugs the glass empty with the pills, he feels his head clear a bit and he processes Rhodey’s words.

“First, you didn’t leave me for a minute, you wanker.” He places the glass back on the nightstand. “You were gone and didn’t tell me. I looked around and you weren’t there! And… that’s all I remember, really.” Tony frowns, forcing his brain to remember what had happened just after that.

“I went to the bathroom, I told you!” Rhodey rubs one hand against his wrinkled forehead. “When I came back, you were engulfed by no other than the dude you’ve been drooling over the past months.”

There’s a short-circuit in Tony’s brain. “Stop fucking with me,” he says sternly.

“Ain’t fucking with you, Tones. Why would I?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I’m drunk? You want to pull one on me, take advantage of my poorly state. Mock me, as you always do. May–”

“You’re stalling, Stark,” Rhodey laughs sarcastically. “Don’t be in denial. You were hanging out, some might say flirting with Steve Rogers last night, I saw it with my own eyes. I wouldn’t fuck around with that.”

Tony’s pretty sure his eyes are about to leave his face as he fixes Rhodey with an intimidating look. “Then why didn’t you do something about it?”

Rhodey snorts. “What would you have wanted me to do? More importantly, would you have wanted me to do something about it? You looked very smitten with Steve’s eyes only on you.”

“Stop it, James!” The pillow Rhodey had attacked Tony with flies back at him as Tony tries to find something to wipe the smirk off his friend’s face. “If you’re messing with me…”

Rhodey catches the pillow and throws it back on the bed and walks over to sit beside Tony. “Dude, why would I mess with you?”

“Because you’d never let me talk to Steve if I was that drunk, so drunk that I can’t remember talking to him myself. So drunk I must’ve said something stupid and you’ve let me do it!” Tony punches Rhodey on the arm.

“Tones,” he slaps Tony’s hand away as he chuckles, “I only let you keep talking to him because I’ve never seen you with a smile as big plastered on your face as you had, and only because I saw he was smiling back at you the same way. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to let you have that after sulking for him for months.”

“I wasn’t sulki–”

“Oh my fucking God.” It was Rhodey’s time to punch Tony back. “You were, Tony. So hard. God only knows what I’ve had to endure listening to you talking about ‘his arms, buddy, his fucking arms could rip me apart’. Yeah. That was sulking and pining and sexual frustration,” he explains with a pointed look as Tony rolls his eyes.

Okay, yeah, maybe he was.

“Right, fair enough. Thank you for that then, apparently. But you’ve–,” he shakes his head, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, trying to make his brain remember something, anything about last night. “You said you’d be there with me, and you’ve let me with him and I don’t even know what we talked about. I– Rhodey, what the hell did I do?” He pinches the bridge of his nose, not daring to imagine what kind of an ass he must’ve made himself in front of Steve.

Rhodey’s hand come to rest on Tony’s shoulder, making him look at his best friend again. “Honestly? Dunno, man. I figured you’d be okay with him, that something would come out of it. I came back to the dorm and you didn’t return for a few hours later. I heard you in the hallway and you were loud and talking, but I couldn’t make out what it was. When you came inside, you didn’t even say anything. I asked if you had a great night and you said ‘marvelous’ and lie down and fell asleep like this,” he gestures to Tony’s body, making him look down at himself to notice he’s still wearing last night’s clothes.

“I–” Tony tries to make sense of what James is saying, tries to piece together the night but still comes flat with nothing. No memory whatsoever of spending a few hours with Steve. His brain can be a very big let down sometimes. What does it matter if he’s only twenty and already on his way to graduating on his Master in Mechanical Engineering if he can’t even remember flirting with the boy he’s head over heels? “Fuck.”

“Well, yeah, that’s precisely what you didn’t do last night.”

“Fuck off.” He pushes Rhodey away playfully. “No seriously, Rhodey, fucking hell. What am I supposed to do now? I apparently had the night I’ve been dreaming of for months, and I can’t even remember it. Happy fucking birthday to me, thank you universe.”

“I get off on how smart you are for some things and how dumb you are for others,” Rhodey says, pulling Tony into a half hug. “It’s not like you can’t just go after him? Meet him again? Think, Tones, just think, use that big brain of yours for the matters of the heart too instead of only creating useless computer interfaces and dumb robots.”

“Stop saying my robot is dumb.” Tony tries to wriggle himself away from Rhodey, pouting stubbornly.

“You realize you named it Dum-E.”

“He’s a prototype!” Tony uses all his strength to kick James and let him fall off the bed. “He’s dumb now, sure, but he’ll get better.”

“That also goes for you if you don’t fucking do something about you and your big ass crush on Steve.”

Tony inhales deeply as Rhodey stares at him with those big brown eyes as if he has the answers to all of Tony’s problem. Sometimes he does and Tony hates that his best friend is always right.

Honestly, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have survived for as long at MIT if he didn’t have Rhodey beside him and now, there he is again, making sure Tony doesn’t make another mistake, one he’s taken too long to solve (why he still doesn’t know. He’s never been one to be shy around people he fancied. In fact, he always got what and who he wanted easily. Why Steve Rogers has been the first one to have that effect on him, Tony would yet figure out).

What follows then is that Tony puts his big brain to use and tries to come up with a plan to get to talk to Steve again. Thing is, there aren’t a lot of opportunities. In fact, when he thinks about it, there’s truly only one.

Crammed by final projects and tests and essays to hand in, Tony can’t find the time to look for Steve around campus. His stalking/observatory skills don’t come in handy because Tony hadn’t allowed himself to actually find out where Steve lives, (that’d be too creepy, even he has to admit it) and so, the only chance to see him would be at their joint class. But that problem with that there lays in the fact that their Professor had given them two weeks to complete their final assignment, resuming class on the day of their deadline only for the students to hand it in.

It seems the universe’s not working on Tony’s side lately and so he has to rely on this sole opportunity, hoping that Steve shows up to hand in his final paper at the same time as him, otherwise planting himself at the front of the classroom waiting for him will have to be the only other option (“too creepy, Tones, if you still don’t want to be called a stalker”). He doesn’t let himself think over his plan too thoroughly. If it’s meant to be, then it will, because letting his heart take over his brain at this point in the semester won’t do for him. He has a Masters to focus on and if he gets to have even if it’s just a little bit of Steve, then that’s just his luck.

Two weeks is a long time though and Tony tries to pretend he’s not apprehensive about this whole Steve deal. He feigns his anxiety for the number of things he has to work on, but in reality, he knows he’s a ball of nerves because of Steve because he couldn‘t stop thinking about him. When it comes to the exact science, nailing his studies or doing rational things, Tony doesn’t even have any problems, but when it comes to things he can’t have control over, that’s when he starts to doubt himself.

Folder in hand with an essay on the evolution of technology and its effects in modern times revised over and over and only finished two hours ago, Tony walks towards his classroom, aware of his surroundings and the people around him, trying not to look so obvious that he’s looking for a specific pair of blue eyes, broad shoulders and light golden locks. He feels himself walking as slow as he can, taking his time, giving Steve his time to just fucking show up so Tony can– well, can say anything, he hasn’t even thought about what he’s gonna talk about to him, but he knows he will. If only he shows up, that’s it.

There’s no reason for him not to. Steve’s been a very participatory student in class, Tony has noticed, even as shy as he is. He’s attended every class, has given presentations and handed in other assignments. Why would he not hand in their final paper and fail an elective class? He has to show up, Tony prays to whatever God that there is above him.

But for the long minutes Tony stretches on as he makes his way down the front of the class, chats a bit with the professor after handing in his essay, stalls him by making up questions and doubts he doesn’t even have or bringing up facts he knows the teacher is not even interested in, Steve hasn’t showed up yet.

Tony sighs deeply, holding his satchel bag tightly over his shoulder and making his way out of the classroom with his head held down. He feels defeated by destiny and he doesn’t even believe in it, but that’s only because he thought he had a shot at speaking and seeing Steve one last time because apparently, he blew the one he already had with him by not remembering a single thing that happened. There it goes two weeks of overthinking if he would ever have a chance with Steve again by feeling like a complete failure and utterly disappointed in himself (even if all his exams grades showed that Tony still continued to be the genius that everyone took him for).

His self-deprecating thoughts are washed away from his mind just as he’s about to open the door to leave the classroom, only to have it almost slammed against his face.

“Fucking hell!” He stumbles backwards, sure he’s gonna fall on his ass with all the other students looking at him when he feels a hand holding him by the arm.

“Second time’s a charm, Stark.”

When Tony looks up, he pretends he doesn’t feel his stomach lurching, that he doesn’t feel like his whole face is gonna split open by how hard he wants to smile.

He scolds his expression, but still smirks as he balances himself up again with Steve’s help.

“Was counting on that.”

He isn’t even sure what he’s talking about, but as Steve keeps his hand on Tony’s arm, looking at him with those piercing blue eyes, Tony remembers how Steve had held him back that night, preventing him from falling for the first time.

Little did he know it hadn’t been the first time Tony had fallen. For Steve, he’s sure he’s been falling for the past four months.

“Took you long enough.”

If Tony had been nervous that Steve wouldn’t respond to whatever flirting or mention of their time together, he now leaves a sigh of relief because the uncertainty he remembers feeling from Steve that night, that has completely vanished with the way Steve is smiling at him – with confidence, with as much relief as Tony’s feeling.

“Nothing like the last minute,” Tony jokes as he lets go of Steve and fixes his bag. “Could say the same to you,” he gestures to Steve’s folder in his other hand and then looks back to the front of the class as the professor is already gathering his stuff to leave, “don’t wanna keep you from handing in your paper, sorry.”

“No, you’re not– Sorry I slammed you with the door.” He scratches the back of his neck.

“No problem, big guy,” Tony smiles. “I should be saying sorry for standing on your way. Even now. Go on, or else Mr Durant will be on his merry way.”

Steve nods and smiles faintly at Tony, taking one step away and making to move towards the professor but then abruptly stops, turning back to Tony again. “I– Hm, do you want to– I mean, could you wai–”

Tony doesn’t even have to let Steve finish what he’s about to say to understand what he means to ask. He knows and he wants and–

“Yes, of course. I’ll be outside,” he winks at him before opening the door and stepping outside, leaving Steve to turn around, but not before seeing a big and lovely and hopeful smile on his face.

#i don't even know what this is but i like it very much #kind of a birthday fic?#this is unbeta'ed so yeah any mistakes are my own #i might delete this later lol #stevetony #stony #stony fic #stevetonyfic #fanfic #no explict / mature content #my writing #steph talks

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neqeyam · 5 years

Text

Forgotten Myth; Chapter One.

Word Count - 2746

Warnings - possible trigger for fears of heights, and falling, and mean hall monitors.

Summary - When fourteen year old Ruby Moore is chased down the hallway at school by a character out of one of her fever dreams, she gets thrown into a world of tales and myths that society has ruled out to be fake. Befriending a Pegasus that hates everyone, and gathering friends strong enough to be considered a small army, she has to embark on a journey that will change her life forever.

POV- Ruby

Chapter Two- https://rqmcuwdwpjo.tumblr.com/post/188483698489/forgotten-myth-chapter-two

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking; ‘wow, demigods are so cool! That must be so much fun! I bet they get lasers!’ Well, it’s not that fun; it actually gets old after like two days. I’m not trying to die every ten minutes. As for the lasers, unless they’re made by the senior counselor of the Hephaestus cabin Leo Valdez, they’re not going to be on your side.

My name is Ruby Moore, but I’m sure you’re more concerned with how I know all this. One word; experience. Example one of why the life of a demigod isn’t fun, ever witness your best friend and favorite teacher fight off Echidna in the middle of the hallway? Didn’t think so. Imagine my surprise when freshman Ruby was trying to run away from Echidna during fifth period and my best friend pulled out two daggers to fight the thing. That’s where this story starts, me sprinting down the hall while a character from one of my fever dreams slithers after me.

I twirled the hall pass around my index finger, leisurely strolling down the hall toward the bathroom. The hall monitor, Mrs. Johansson stopped me, her yellow eyes narrowed as she scrutinized me silently.

“Pass,” she demanded, holding out a hand for it. Now, Johansson sounds like a nice name; most people associate it with Scarlett Johansson from Iron Man, but Mrs. Johansson of Marbur Academy in Columbus, Ohio (In the schools presentation they say that they’re the best for your ADHD children, and let me just say; ehe, that is not correct.) is exactly the opposite. Take Sirus Snape from Harry Potter; genderbend him, add a few pounds at the hips then give him a lisp and the voice of Roz from Monsters Inc. That’s Mrs. Johansson.

I held up the pass for her to see, she studied it for a few minutes; looking between me and the pass. She always spent extra time looking at my passes since Jackson Ryans accused me of faking a pass to get out of class early (not that’d I’d so such a thing, wink wink, hint hint).

“You don’t look very great… no, definitely no threat here,” she murmured, handing me the pass back.

“I’m sorry? I-I feel fine,” I said, confused. Mrs. Johansson waved me off, I started to walk away when she hissed. Not like the weird girl from third grade that thought she was a cat, no, like a snake hissing in warning. I turned back towards her just in time to see her legs fuse together into a tail- no wait, the bottom half of a snake. Her eyes slit and a long snake tongue slipped in and out of her mouth.

“A-Actually… on second thought-” I took a few steps backwards, trying to put some space between the snake lady thing and I. She hissed again and looked down at me, sneering as our eyes met.

“Whatssss the matter? Ssscared?” The snake lady hissed, swiping a hand at me.

“Uh- Yeah…” I squeaked, taking off down the hallway. The snake lady yelled and slithered after me, throwing rocks and other various objects at me. How she got these items was beyond me.

My legs carried me faster than I’d ever run before, burning when I skidded around corners. I felt like I’d been running for forever when I finally came across Ayla Weber; my best friend, talking to her architecture 1 teacher Miss Chase. They noticed me sprinting down the hallway before I could call out, breaking the distance by jogging toward me. Ayla looked more worried than I’d ever seen her look before.

“Ruby, why are you running?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as I slumped over, trying to catch my breath.

“Mrs. Johansson… snake thing- chasing- me…” I panted as I sat down on the floor hard. Miss Chase knelt down next to me, her gray eyes filled with worry.

“Snake lady? Like Echidna?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever that is.” I mumbled, putting my arms over my head to open my airways. Just as I was about to lay down, the snake lady thing came barreling around the corner and down the hallway, yelling in another language. Although, I realized, I could understand her. This was definitely a fever dream.

Miss Chase and Ayla looked at each other and nodded. Ayla reached into her backpack and pulled out two eighteen inch long daggers, while Miss Chase pulled a shorter dagger out of a sheath under her shirt. Together they ran at the snake lady, cutting and slashing at it. The snake lady pulled out a sword to fend them off. Miss Chase got in behind the snake lady thing while Ayla distracted it from the front. She yelled in agony and flaked away, a dark dust that reminded me of coal. They turned back to me, assessing me I guess. I stared at them in awe, mouth hanging open, eyes wide.

“That was awesome!” I yelled, standing up so quickly my vision spotted, (stupid iron deficiency). “When and where did you learn to fight like that Ayla? You’ve been holding out on me girl!” I said, flailing my arms in exaggeration.

“We need to go, there’ll be more if we stay.” Miss Chase said, pocketing her phone and jogging to get her computer bag out of her classroom. Ayla put her daggers back in her backpack, perfectly hidden behind the straps.

“Where?”

Ayla pulled a necklace out from under her shirt. “To camp of course,” she said, I looked at them, her first bead had a painting of a tiny centaur in a dress, another was all black except for a turquoise trident in the middle of it.

Miss Chase -who told me to call her Annabeth- hurried us outside and across the parking lot to the football practice fields. As we got closer I noticed two chariots waiting for us. (I only knew that because of a mythology class I failed out of last semester). Each chariot had two Pegasi reined to it, waiting for takeoff. One of the Pegasi had its wings stretched out and it had to have had a twenty foot wingspan.

Ayla hopped into the closest chariot, pulling me in after her. We stood on either side of a semi scrawny kid with bright blond hair like mine, and a medical bag slung across his body. Annabeth hopped into the chariot in front of us, taking up position next to a really buff guy. The Pegasi unfolded their wings and with one flap we were in the sky.

“Brace yourselves.” the blond kid said. Ayla grabbed into the handles on either side of the chariot, blocking the path in case I fell. I grabbed the handle next to the scrawny kid as he whipped the reins. Our chariot lurched forwards, the wind pushing me back so hard I almost fell… again. It felt like how you would imagine going into hyperspeed in Star Wars, or how the Flash feels when he runs really fast. The wind was hitting my face so hard I couldn’t breathe, and I felt bad for Ayla; who was probably swallowing my hair. Suddenly, the blond kid tightened the reins and the Pegasi went straight up. He was smart enough to put a hand on my back. He whipped the reins again and the Pegasi nose dived, tucking their wings at their sides completely. Ayla slammed into my back, smashing me against the front of the chariot.

“Will! What in Hades!” Ayla gasped over the wind. He looked back over his shoulder, I followed his gaze to see two concentrated storms following us. Lightning flew at us, horizontal across the sky. The blond kid, whom I’m assuming to be Will; jerked the reins to the left, just barely dodging the lightning. It curved toward us, and Will kept trying to dodge it.

“Get on the Pegasi!” he yelled, shoving me over the edge of the chariot. I lost my balance and fell face first onto the back of the first Pegasus. Ayla came flying over to the second one, her shoes had sprouted wings. I was too confused to do or say anything.

“What about you?” I called back, turning to see him cutting the ropes attached to him and the Pegasi. He didn’t say anything and cut the final rope, the chariot fell at an angle. Going with the lost momentum of the Pegasi. Ayla and I looked at each other in horror as we watched him fall. The chariot gained more speed than he did.

“Dive!” I yelled, grabbing the broken rein and whipping it. I had no idea what I was doing but it felt right. The Pegasus folded its wings and we hurdled toward the ground. It took all the leg and stomach muscles I didn’t have to keep from falling over the front of the Pegasus. We’re not gonna make it, I thought. Blonde hair was whipping around in the wind so hard I thought it was going to rip right off my head while my mind went into overdrive as I tried to think of a way to speed up.

“Fly toward him!” I yelled over the wind, the Pegasus obeyed. Flapping its wings propelling us toward the Earth faster than I would like to. When I could make out Will’s facial expression I reached out my hand, snatching his flailing arm on a luck shot. With one hand, I tightened the rein like Will did. The Pegasus flattened its wings and we seemed to float for a moment before it pushed them down. Throwing us upward before all three of us crashed into the ground. With that momentum I pulled Will onto the back of the Pegasus.

“Well that didn’t go according to plan…” he murmured. Sitting upright as I tried to tell the Pegasus to straighten and fly forwards.

“What was your plan exactly?” I asked breathlessly, holding the reins tightly. Will slowly wrapped his arms around my waist, sending shivers down my legs. I wasn’t used to such close contact with a boy. Especially a boy that looked to be five years older than me.

“To grab the rope and pull myself up on Sandblast here, even though she would’ve hated it.” He said, patting the Pegasus’s back. I nodded, trying to keep my nerves from making me throw up. “But it seems like you’re a natural! Sandblast hates everyone except Butch.” he added, earning an annoyed whiny from Sandblast. She had an all white coat, except for blonde specs near her hooves and on her wings, which I guess is where the ‘sand’ part in her name comes from. I’d hate to find out where the ‘blast’ part came from.

We flew in silence other than Will giving me directions to wherever we were going. When we passed over a cluster of trees he told me how to land. Our landing was a little rough, but Sandblast didn’t break any bones and neither did Will or I so to me, it was a win. Ayla ran up to me and scooped me up in a hug, then examined me.

“Oh my gods you’re okay! That was so scary but also really cool how you dove after Will.” she said, using her hands for emphasis. A centaur and a pudgy man with a bottle of diet coke in his hand came walking over.

“So this is our new recruit?” the centaur asked, looking down at me. Now, I was average height-wise for a girl, but this centaur guy made me feel short. Will dusted himself off and nodded, lightly punching me in the arm.

“You should’ve seen her! She’s a natural Chiron, Sandblast listened to every command she gave with no pull back. And she actually knew Pegasi commands.” Will exclaimed, making me blush. The centaur looked at me, his expression shocked.

“Is that so?” he asked, as if I knew.

“In my defense, I was left alone in the sky. I panicked.” I said, hoping they’d look away from me. I hated being the center of attention. Annabeth laughed, and I saw Ayla grinning.

“I want to see this girl fly then.” the pudgy guy said, taking a swig of his coke and belching loudly. They all looked at me and I felt a hot breath on my head. I looked up to see a horse head. Sandblast towered over me, her eyes screamed pick me.

We walked to a clearing that overlooked a lake. Out over the lake there were more Pegasi flying around, some with riders and others that were just out for a joyride. I mounted Sandblast and looked to Will, who smiled at me and gave me a double thumbs up. I nodded to Chiron, who held out a hand as if to say the skies yours. With that, I slouched over, getting into what Will called my ‘riding position’.

I tugged on the rein once and Sandblast unfolded her wings, giant, ten foot long, white with blonde speckled beauties. She galloped a few times and right at the edge of the cliff she jumped, flapped her wings once and soared. We’d gotten over the middle of the lake when a water spout just about blasted Sandblast and I out of the sky. She whinnied and I yanked her reins to the right. Another spout, yanked to the left. Another spout up ahead of us this time, we went over it. One arching right at me, I moved the rein slightly again and Sandblast dove. We dodged water spout after water spout, only getting sprayed with the mist that came off them. She rolled over something that whizzed passed from the trees, I realized that there were people in the trees. Their clothes reflected white light and silvery glows followed them. A water blast that I didn’t even see knocked into me, throwing me off Sandblast. She kept flying for a moment then dove, but it was too late. I was falling toward the water too fast for her to catch me. I mean, sure, Pegasi are fast, but she’d have to get under me without diving into the water. I closed my eyes and accepted my fate, falling three hundred feet into water? Might as well just fall onto concrete. A warm feeling fell over me and I felt like I was being dipped into the water, like someone had grabbed me right before I smacked into the lake. I do not wish you the same fate as Icarus, a voice in my head said. It sounded vaguely familiar.

When I resurfaced, I saw Sandblast hovering in a circle above my impact point. I held my hands up to say c’mon man. She whinnied and flew off. A soft current grabbed me and pulled me toward the cliff. I braced myself -yet again- to ram right into the side of the cliff, but instead of face planting into solid rock, the water propelled me up and I landed face first on the grass. There was applause, and there were whispers. I looked up to see a crowd gathered, Ayla and Will leading the applause. A black haired kid stood next to Annabeth and Chiron, a slight smile on his face.

“That was some great flying.” he said when I walked over.

“There is something wrong with your lake. Normal lakes don’t try to kill people.” I said, wringing out my shirt. They laughed a little, then gasped. I looked at Annabeth who seemed to be glowing golden, no wait- something was illuminating her face. I slowly turned my head up and above me a golden Lyre- wait, how did that? Bigger question, why was a golden Lyre floating above my head? Will screeched and scooped me up into a hug, his face dangerously close to mine.

“We’re siblings!” he yelled as he swung me in a circle.

“We’re what!?” At this point, I figured that I had too many questions to ask. They wouldn’t be able to keep up. Will set me down but then took me by the arm and started leading me down the hill, Sandblast landed behind me and trotted happily close at my heels. “Wait- where are we going?” I asked, looking back to see the crowd snickering. Will just kept walking and rambling about who knew what.

#pjo fanfic #fanfic #pjo #hoo #toa #Forgotten Myth #Ruby Moore #Ayla Weber #Jackson Ryans #oc fanfiction #greek gods #greek mythology

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thepatricktreestump · 6 years

Text

I Love Her Anyway: Chapter 6

A/N: holy guacamole! my stats are alive, my inbox is popping, i have new followers, and people are actually reading my writing??? i feel like my blog just got revived, thank you! thank you! thank you!

tag list: @un-amoosed-padalecki @mtb04308 @dragonqueendany @cupcakesweetness @kitykatnumber @svintsandghosts @greatheromuffinpalace @echoloki @geekybeauty8793 @jigglypuff1999 @timisnotmontydlc @galaxy-moon @lugialagia @pageoftheclouds

All day, you couldn’t help but wait for the time when you’d be in his car, him driving you home. You tried not to give yourself any expectations, but you couldn’t help it. All night you were imagining giant chandeliers and a gorgeous ballroom, four stories with elevators and butlers and maids, lavish furniture and an indoor swimming pool, a golf course in the backyard along with a private lake. After all, he was the richest businessman in the town. Your father was lucky enough to work for him, much less you. Just the thought of stepping into his home made your heart skip a beat. As you entered his office that morning, you tried to contain your excitement, but couldn’t help it. As soon as you set both of your coffees down, you wrap him up in an embrace and bury your face in his chest as you giggled with glee.

“Someone’s rather excited today, hmm?” he can’t help but laugh himself. God, you loved him so much. You were terrified to ever tell him though.

“Just can’t wait for tonight,” you admit, blushing. “I hope what I’m wearing is okay.”

“What you wearing is just perfect, darling,” he reassures. You’ve picked out a blush colored blouse with a floral skirt and you spun around for him, making his smile widen. “It’s almost just as cute as you are.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “So what do you have planned for me today?”

“Before we begin, I just want you to know that packages came in last night,” he gestures to several bags that are waiting on the sofa for you along with a box which you assume the dress is folded in. “However, I think we should wait until tonight to open them.”

“Thank you,” you beam.

“Today both of us have a lot going on,” he returns to the subject. “We have a business conference across town. That’s why I had planned dinner for us tonight as a celebration for sitting through an entire day of boredom.”

“W-wait,” you stammer out. “I’m coming with you, sir?”

“Why of course,” he replies. “I need a secretary to take notes over the information we discuss. There will be food and drinks there, along with several presentations, a meeting, and speakers. It’s about the San Antonio project, the one with the four-lane bridge.”

“Oh yes,” you nod, although you’ve emailed so many projects in just the past three days this one doesn’t seem to stand out in your mind.

“We’ll be leaving in fifteen minutes and stay there until the end of the day, but we will come back here to gather our things and then leave from this location,” he explains.

“Hold up,” you stop him. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Why yes, darling. There’s no time to lose. You’ll need to bring your laptop and several files,” he instructs. He says it so casually and calm you have to check the clock to make sure he’s not making this up. You’ve just walked into his office, you can’t believe he didn’t tell you to arrive earlier. Then again, you’re dependable when it comes to showing up on time and never disappointing. You pride yourself in this conclusion.

In just a couple minutes, you find yourself in the backseat of a taxi with him with a briefcase on the ground. There’s tinted windows and the driver seems to be distracted, so you don’t feel too bad when he reaches for your hand in the back and lets you lean on his shoulder. You feel so strange, being out of the office with him, sitting in the back of a cab, being able to touch him. If you had told yourself several weeks ago that this would be happening, you wouldn’t have believed it at all. You notice him squeeze your hand and then move it towards your thigh, making your breath hitch. The driver switches the radio station and turns up the song playing and you close your eyes as you feel his hand move farther up your thigh. Why would he being doing this here? In the back of a taxi? Wasn’t he just as afraid of getting caught as you were? Even if there wasn’t an age difference, you still shouldn’t be doing this!

“Brendon,” you hiss. “Cut it out.”

“What?” he whispers, glancing at you and making your insides squirm. “You don’t want to have a little fun?”

“I do,” you whine softly. “But what if he sees us?”

“He won’t,” he reassures, then travels his fingers underneath your skirt, making you bite down hard on your lower lip as not to moan. “Is this okay?”

You nod your head several times, your legs already trembling as he reaches to drag his fingers across your panties. You want it so bad. He shouldn’t be surprised that you’re already wet, but he still lets out a small hum as he begins to move your panties aside and drags his fingertips against your folds. You’re dripping for him. He slides a finger up and down before pushing it in slowly, your head tilted back and your legs instinctively closing together shut, and he has to take his other hand and pry them open before slowly working it in and out of you. He’s about to add another when the driver takes a rough turn, making his finger press deeper and causing you to yelp aloud. He instantly retracts his hand in his lap and you shove your skirt back down to your knees.

“Everything alright back there?” the driver wonders. “I know a hit a bump on that turn, sorry about that.”

“It’s o-okay,” you clear your throat, still shaken up by the prior events, nervously straightening out your skirt, legs still trembling. “D-don’t worry about it.”

“Just wait until later,” Brendon whispers in your ear, and you melt as you watch him stick his finger in his mouth and suck your juices off of it. It only makes you even more wet.

The following minutes until you arrive at your location, Brendon stares out the window. You assume it’s for the same reason he had once kept his eyes glued to his computer screen, because if he takes so much as one look at you, he won’t be able to control himself. When the cab stops, you thank the driver, Brendon hands him a tip, and then he helps you out of the cab and carries the briefcase for you, helping you onto the sidewalk. You don’t get very far.

“Mr. Urie!” a reporter rushes towards him, catching him by surprise. “Before you go, can we please ask you some questions about the conference?”

“I’d be honored,” he smiles. “First let me introduce you to my newest secretary, Miss y/n Jackson.”

“Lovely to meet you,” the reporter eagerly shakes your hand.

They ask him all sorts of questions about the upcoming project, things about how the architectural culture has shifted throughout the years, what kinds of collaborations he’s looking forward to, and even presses him on some touchy subjects as to how much money he’s made the last year or why he hasn’t reached out to a certain company in the past few months. You stand there, perfectly poised, glued on smile and false attentiveness. You aren’t listening to anything he’s saying, but rather just focusing on his voice, the highs and lows and the different tones. You wish you could just record him and put him on an endless loop. It’s like music to your ears.

Before you know it, it’s time to go, and so he ushers you into the building where there’s thousands of other men dressed identical to him, along with their secretaries and assistants and other coworkers. It’s a bit breathtaking, seeing so many people in one place, all dressed up in suits and blazers and ties and heels. You take a seat towards the stage and Brendon gives an apologetic smile towards you as if saying sorry for taking you along. You tell yourself it can’t possibly be as boring as he says, and even if it is, nothing could ever come close to your old algebra class from last semester. Much less, you’ll be sitting right beside him, and if you ever get bored, you can just stare at him. In fact, you silently tell yourself that’s honestly what you’ll probably be doing the entire time you’re here.

When the speaker opens up the power point presentation and begins to speak, you pretend to act interested, opening up your laptop and taking a skeleton of notes. However, you’re only taking glances at the man sitting just a couple feet away from you. You make note of the stubble covering his chin and cheeks, the way his plump lips press together in thought, how he furrows his brow. You look at the different shades of brown found in his eyes, the chestnut and mocha, tan and honeycomb, burgundy and cocoa. His hair is done up effortlessly each time, strands in a perfect swoop upwards only to fall down, styled somehow both messily and flawlessly at the same time. You’re so fucking infatuated with him it’s ridiculous.

“Hey,” he nudges you, waking you up from your daydream. You’ve lost track of what had been happening. “It’s time to move. Come on, we’ve got a luncheon to go to.”

“Right,” you nod, staggering up from your seat and following him. There’s a massive ballroom filled with tables and chairs, waiters running around pouring glasses of wine to each table and placing baskets of bread rolls down as well. You take a seat alongside him and some others do as well. As soon as they’re served the soups and salads, they instantly chatting about prices of piling, which doesn’t seem the most interesting of topics to you.

After poking your salad around with your fork, the waiters clear the table and begin to set down a variety of appetizers including raspberry jam drizzled brie, caviar on crackers, toasted ravioli, and onion blossoms. The second they are set down on the table, your eyes grow wide. “Eat up,” Brendon chuckles at your reaction, reaching for several petals of the onion blossom and dipping it into the sauce before taking a bite. The food is absolutely gorgeous. All of it.

The rest of the meal consists of plenty of other delicacies you wouldn’t even dream of. Steamed lobster, veal chops, roasted lamb, and slices of salmon are displayed upon the table and you don’t even know what to go for first. You sip on your Shirley Temple and slowly pick up a plate of your choosing before going to work. It tastes absolutely divine. You’re just glad nobody’s talking to you so you have time to devote simply to scarfing down food. This has to be the best thing you’ve ever tasted in your entire life. Well, other than Brendon’s lips. You chuckle to yourself at the thought. If any of the people at this table had known the kinds of things you two had been up to… God, you would hate to know what would happen.

Dessert comes next, which you can’t even begin to describe. You would’ve eaten more but you’re already stuffed and can only manage to grab a couple bites of tiramisu and a small serving of Sakura jelly, along with a handful of macaroons. “Enjoying yourself?” Brendon smirks at the way you stare at your empty plate with complete awe. “You look kind of stunned.”

“I am,” you confess. “That has to be hands down the best meal of my life.”

“I’m glad,” he beams. “Sorry I can’t give you all my attention, I promise I’ll make up for it tonight.”

“Don’t worry about that,” you narrow your eyes. “You’re at a conference right now, you have other things to attend to, people to talk to, a reputation to keep up. There’s no need to babysit your little secretary.”

“Thanks for your understanding,” he sighs. “I’m sorry, I promise it will be over soon.”

When you walk back into the hall, there’s more speakers and meetings, and at one point, you almost even doze off. He was right, it was quite boring. By the end of the day when you get back in the taxi, you find yourself falling asleep on his shoulder. You dream of being at the meeting and him tugging you towards the bathroom in the middle of one of the speakers, locking you both in a stall and making out with you, pressing you up against the back of the door and- he shakes you awake. “S-sorry,” you quickly stammer out, getting up from him.

“It’s okay,” he insists. “I know you were tired, it’s alright. But we’re here. It’s over now.”

You try to shake the thoughts from your dream out of your mind as he helps you out of the vehicle, pays the driver, and then you both enter the elevator together. It’s just you two, and as soon as the door closes, you wrap your arms around his waist. “I was having quite an interesting dream before you woke me up,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

“Were you now?” he raises an eyebrow, amused by your sudden behavior.

“It involved you and me skipping one of the talks at the conference to have a little naughty fun in a bathroom stall,” you confess, a smirk tugging at the edge of your lips. “A shame it didn’t happen, really.”

“I hope you know you’re far too precious to fuck in a bathroom stall,” he narrows his eyes. “Or this elevator for that matter. You deserve nothing but a bed full of satin sheets and red rose petals, my love.”

“I don’t care where I am as long as it’s with you,” you argue and he sighs, kissing your lips. His tongue is about to slip into your mouth when you hear the elevator ding and you immediately back away from each other, swallowing your nervousness as several workers file into the elevator beside you. Some greet Mr. Urie while others simply check the time on their watches, glad to be out for the day.

That’s when the thing you least expected to happen, happened. Your dad got into the elevator, eyes lighting up upon seeing you. “Y/n!” he grins. “How’d work go today? I think I overheard someone say you left with Mr. Urie for the big San Antonio conference? Fun stuff, huh?”

“Y-yeah,” you nod awkwardly. If only he knew you had just kissed your boss. Well, technically his boss too. Fuck.

“I hope she’s behaving for you. I told her your expectations remain quite high,” he jokes with Mr. Urie and Brendon simply laughs. Behaving would be the last word you’d use to describe how you’ve been handling your new job. More like misbehaving thanks to Brendon.

“She’s exceeded my expectations, really. Truly exceptional, your daughter,” he gives a polite smile. “Mr. Jackson, I cannot tell you just how glad I am to have her working for me. She took plenty of notes and learned quite a lot today. I’m sure in a few weeks she’ll know this job like the back of her hand.”

“Beautiful,” your father beams. “Y/n, you said you were going to the mall with your friends after work? Will you need a ride?”

“No, I got one,” you reassure. “Thanks for asking though.”

“She might get home late,” Mr. Urie warns, making you tense up at his comment. “She’s been telling me about how excited she is to go see this movie with her friends afterwards, but the showing doesn’t begin until eleven and they might not even get out until one.”

“Oh, that’d be just fine,” your father waves off. “Just make sure you have a ride and you’re able to wake up early for work the next day.”

“Perfect,” you give a fake grin, secretly wondering where the hell Brendon’s going with this. Why would he need you to stay later? Much less, as late as possibly one in the morning? Not that you were complaining, but he was making you a little bit nervous.

As soon as you got out of the elevator and reached the floor, you and Brendon stepped out and walked into the office. “Ready for tonight?” he wonders. “Thanks to that little conversation with your dad, we’ll have plenty of time.”

“About that…” you stare at him strangely. “Why?”

“Why I would want to spend more time with you? That seems like a ridiculous question,” he says flatly. “You know I’ve always wished we had more time together.”

“No,” you shake your head. “Why so late?”

“Guess you’ll find out tonight,” he winks, picking up the bags and the box from the floor and then pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But you’ve got to get there first to find out.”

“Right,” you draw the word out, picking up your purse and drawstring bag with your clothes inside.

His car is luxurious, a fancy black Bugatti Chiron with electric blue trim. You’re almost afraid to even touch it. Getting inside only has you twice as amazed, and he can’t help but chuckle at your reaction to all of this. First at the luncheon and now in his car, he must think that you’ve never seen anything in your life compared to him. He lived and breathed money, and while your dad worked for his company as an accountant too, your lifestyle didn’t amount nearly enough to his. Yeah, you had a pretty great life, you got three meals and your own bedroom along with a closet full of clothes and your own cellphone, but you weren’t spoiled either. You worked your own job and paid for your own hobbies and interests, plus your parents taught you to be humble and keep your head on straight. Brendon on the other hand, didn’t even have to say a single word to become a show off. Just his possessions spoke millions for him already.

“You can relax,” he laughs, starting down the street and making note of the way you haven’t been able to exhale as soon as you’ve sat down.

“I’m just a little awestruck, that’s all,” you admit, forcing yourself to ease into your seat. You look at him smiling back at you.

“This thing can reach 260mph,” he says casually, and you instantly shake your head.

“Please don’t fucking show me,” you beg, only making him burst into chuckles.

“I promise I won’t,” he insists with a laugh. “Just sharing a fun fact.”

“I think I’d vomit if I ever heard the price of this thing,” you confess. “Jesus, I knew you were rich but holy shit. I think I might pass out when we roll up to your house.”

“Probably,” he teases, reaching out to hold your hand. You quickly take it, squeezing his hand as he sped up a little bit once you hit the highway. “But don’t worry, I’m right here beside you.”

“It’s just a lot,” you sigh. “God, I still can’t believe this is real.”

“Well you better believe it baby,” he grins. “Cause it’s only going to get more unbelievable from here.”

“Trust me,” you smirk, giving a laugh of your own at this point. “I don’t think you need to tell me for me to know.”

#i love her anyway #miss jackson #panic! at the disco fanfiction #brendon urie fanfiction #panic! at the disco imagines #brendon urie imagines #panic! at the disco x reader #brendon urie x reader #tagging is for losers

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