#unsolved problems in math

[abalidoth]

Happy halloween (here in guam)!! Trick-or-treat ::::3

Happy Halloween! I assign you:

The optimal sphere packing is not known for dimensions other than 1,2,3,8, and 24. The packing in 8 dimensions is especially beautiful, based on a structure called the E8 lattice. The number 8 always makes me think of spiders!

[burning-academia-if]

I was like what's NOT an artsy hobby? Speed maths??? Then realise sports exist 💀 I am but a humble clown 🤡

Ajsjsj I feel like non artsy/non sporty hobbies must exist, but I really cannot think of any for the life of me

[bayetea]

another silly thing about being in an interracial relationship is that sometimes people need to let you know that they think it's cool as fuck that you're together and give you a fist bump

[elliesbabygirl]

Synopsis: In a far away modern au...where ellie's a piece of shit to y/n. The girl doesn't know what she wants and she keeps making mistakes on how to figure it out while dragging y/n down.

warnings: Ellie being a piece of shit, emotional & physical cheating, swearing, arguing, mentions of Cat, + Dina being your best friend plus activating mama bear mode on Ellie and cat. Angst with no comfort because we like trying new things here.

part one -> part two

The door of the dorm slammed behind you before Ellie could step in after you.

“Seriously?” you said, voice tight. “You’re really gonna act like that didn’t mean anything?”

Ellie froze halfway inside, her hand still on the doorknob. Her face was red from the cold outside — or maybe the drinks — or maybe the fact that she knew exactly what this was about and didn’t want to hear it.

“What are you even talking about?” she asked, already annoyed, already defensive.

You stared at her. “Don’t do that. Don’t play dumb.”

She sighed, letting the door click shut behind her, backpack sliding off one shoulder. “If this is about Cat—”

“It is about Cat, Ellie.”

You hated how your voice cracked, hated how you couldn’t just be cold and distant and above it all. But this had been building. And tonight — seeing Ellie laughing with Cat at that house party, the way Cat grabbed her wrist, the way Ellie let her — it broke something inside you.

“She was all over you,” you said, arms crossed now. “Again.”

“I wasn’t flirting back.”

“You smiled when she said you looked hot.”

“She complimented me.”

“And you took her sailing last weekend...on Joel’s boat.”

Ellie blinked. “That was— It was with the group.”

“You didn’t invite me.”

The silence hit harder than shouting. Ellie opened her mouth, then closed it. You watched the gears turn — excuses, deflection, maybe even a joke — but nothing came.

“Why do you let her talk to you like that?” you asked, quieter now. “Why is it so hard for you to just say, ‘Hey, I have a girlfriend’? That’s not complicated, Ellie. That’s not some unsolvable math problem.”

Ellie rubbed her temple. “I didn’t want to make a scene.”

“Bullshit,” you snapped. “You just didn’t want her to stop liking you.”

“That’s not fair!”

“No, what’s not fair is being in a relationship with someone who lets their ex hang off them like they’re still a thing. What’s not fair is me sitting on that damn bed that night, wondering if I should’ve just gone home.”

Ellie paced. She always did that when she was cornered — not angry, just trying to escape the space with movement. You sat on the bed, arms crossed, pulse loud in your ears.

“You know how I feel about you,” Ellie said, not looking at you. “You know that.”

“Then act like it.”

She stopped moving.

You shook your head. “It’s not about trust, Ellie. It’s about respect. And you keep choosing not to give me any when she’s around. Like you’re still waiting for her to want you again.”

“That’s not— That’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?”

Ellie looked at you, finally. She looked tired. Like she’d been running on fumes for a while and only just noticed.

“I don’t know,” she admitted

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

You took a breath, jaw tight, trying not to let your voice shake. “You didn’t invite me.”

Ellie blinked. “What?”

“You invited her to go sailing, on Joel’s boat. With our friends and you didn’t even think to ask your girlfriend.”

Ellie’s mouth opened, but you didn’t let her fill the air with whatever half-assed explanation she was about to give.

“You planned it. That wasn’t a ‘spur of the moment’ thing. You made a group chat for it. You packed snacks. You brought music and... and decided to not invite me.”

Ellie winced.

You shook your head, incredulous. “You keep saying I’m weird with my feelings, that I don’t open up enough. That I make it hard for you to ‘read’ me. But somehow, you’re a goddamn genius when it comes to knowing exactly how to protect whatever’s left of your thing with Cat.”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” she said quickly.

“Then what are you doing?” you asked, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re keeping her around as backup and every time she leans in and calls you cute or grabs your wrist like you’re still hers, you let her.”

You could see it on her face — not guilt, not really. Just confusion, like she’d never let herself look at it that closely. Like she’d built the whole thing on vibes and nostalgia and now that you were poking holes in it, the air was finally leaking out.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me anymore,” she muttered.

“Then why did she get a day on the water with you, and I got silence?”

Ellie didn’t answer.

You stared at her. “You keep telling me I’m hard to read, that I don’t say enough. So I’m saying it now. This hurts. It makes me feel small. It makes me feel like I’m just a placeholder until you’re ready to admit you still want her.”

“I don’t want her,” Ellie said, louder now, like saying it harder would make it more true.

“But you want her attention.”

Silence again. This time, Ellie didn’t move.

“I need you to choose, els,” you said, voice low but steady. “Because I already am. I already did.”

You crossed your arms, not in anger, but to hold yourself together.

“Just stop calling me confusing when you’ve built a whole friendship with your ex on mixed signals and unspoken history. At least I’m trying.”

Ellie sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, hands clasped like she didn’t know what to do with them. Her voice came out small.

“You’re right.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, I know I’m right.”

She flinched a little, but you were past caring about sparing her feelings right now. You’d swallowed too much already.

You took a few steps across the room, pacing now — needing to move because staying still meant crying, and you weren’t giving her that right now.

“It’s not just that she flirts,” you said, turning back to face her. “It’s how you let her. Every fucking time. You don’t flinch, you don’t set a boundary, you don’t even pause. It’s like you’re just waiting for her to go there.”

Ellie opened her mouth.

“No. Don’t say it’s harmless. Don’t say you don’t notice it. Because if you notice me being ‘distant,’ you notice that.”

Ellie’s jaw worked, clenched. “It’s not like I’m trying to—”

“But you are,” you cut in. “Maybe not consciously. But something in you still wants it or wants her to want you. And I have to sit there, pretending like it’s no big deal. Like it doesn’t feel like you’d still fuck her if she asked.”

Ellie’s eyes snapped up, sharp. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Seriously.” You were done filtering. “That’s exactly what it feels like, Ellie!”

Her voice came out low, rough. “You really think I’d do that to you?”

“I don’t know what you’d do, Ellie. That’s the point. Because you don’t say no. You just… comply. You laugh, you smile, you let her lean into you like she still gets to have you.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Then act like it.”

Ellie stood suddenly, too fast, like she couldn’t sit with it anymore. “I am! I’m with you, aren’t I?”

You took a step back. “No, you’re performing like you are. Like you’re checking all the girlfriend boxes and hoping I won’t notice the crack in the foundation.”

Her voice rose. “I’m trying! I don’t know how to make it perfect for you!”

You stared at her. “I never asked for perfect. I asked for honesty. I asked for respect. You don’t have to burn her out of your life — but jesus, Ellie, you have to stop acting like her attention is more important than my feelings, than us”

That landed. You saw it in the way her shoulders dropped, the way she looked away from you like it physically stung her.

“Do you even want to be with me?” you asked, voice low, raw.

Ellie looked up at you — and didn’t say anything.

She just stood there. Still. Quiet. Mouth parting like something was almost going to come out, but didn’t.

And that was it.

Your face dropped. The silence hit harder than any answer could have. Your heart plummeted like your body had been yanked off a ledge.

“Oh my god,” you said, a sharp, broken whisper.

It wasn’t panic.

It was disgust, and realization sinking in like a slow poison.

You let out a bitter breath, laughing once, joyless and short. “Wow. She really fucking got in your head, huh?”

Ellie’s eyes flicked up. “It’s not—”

“No. Don’t,” you snapped. “You didn’t say yes, Ellie. You didn’t even try. You just stood there like you were waiting for a better question.”

Ellie’s mouth tightened, but she still didn’t speak.

You nodded slowly, your hands trembling as you reached for your phone and charger from the nightstand. “Cool. Great. She wins. Cat can finally have you all to herself.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” you threw back. “You practically gift-wrap yourself for her every time we're in the same room. At least now I won’t be in the way.”

You grabbed your hoodie, phone, keys. No suitcase — that would’ve been too dramatic, too permanent. But you were done pretending this wasn’t something broken.

“I’m staying at Dina’s tonight,” you said, shoving the charger into your hoodie pocket. “Maybe longer. I don’t think I owe you a heads-up next time.”

Ellie stepped forward. “Wait—”

But you were already at the door.

Your hand on the knob, you paused — not out of hope, but to see if she’d finally say something that meant anything.

Behind you, she was silent.

So you opened the door, and left her standing in the dark.

Dina didn’t ask questions when you showed up at her door with red-rimmed eyes and your voice hanging on by a thread.

She just stepped aside and let you in.

Now you were curled up on her couch, hoodie sleeves damp from wiping your face, legs tucked under you like if you compacted yourself small enough, maybe the pain would shrink with you.

You've been talking for what felt like hours. Maybe it had only been fifteen minutes but it didn’t matter.

“She just stood there,” you cried, voice hoarse from it. “I asked her point-blank — 'do you even want to be with me?'— and she just… stood there. Like I asked her the weather. Like she needed time to weigh it.”

Dina sat by you, holding you against her chest, arms wrapped tightly as she rocked you slowly, steady.

Her fingers brushed through your hair in soft, repetitive strokes. Like a mother coaxing her child to sleep.

You were practically shaking in her hold.

“And I knew. I knew this was gonna happen. I fucking knew she wasn’t over Cat,” you sobbed, angry now. “Like some part of her still thinks Cat is this golden ticket or some shit. That if she keeps orbiting around her long enough, Cat’ll wake up and suddenly be less of a self-centered, smug bitch.”

Dina didn’t say anything. She just let you keep going, you needed this.

“She always acted like it was harmless,” you spat. “Like, ‘oh, Cat’s just flirty with everyone, it doesn’t mean anything’ — yeah? Then why the fuck did ellie take her on Joel’s boat? Huh? If it’s meaningless, why make that special little group outing and leave your actual girlfriend out of it?”

Your voice cracked on girlfriend, like you couldn’t even hold the word anymore.

“And Cat—Jesus Christ,” you growled, leaning harder into Dina’s side, like it would stop the pit from swallowing you. “That girl knew exactly what the fuck she was doing. She knew me and Ellie were together. And she still pulled that touchy shit. Still whispered in Ellie's ear, still got handsy, and still tried to own her.”

You sniffed, bitter. “It’s like watching someone flirt with your partner while they’ve got one foot out the door — and you’re the only one noticing it.”

Dina pressed her cheek to the top of your head. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“She’s a bitch, Dina,” you hissed. “A manipulative, smug little bitch with a sailor moon tattoo and too much eyeliner and no fucking boundaries. And Ellie? Ellie just fucking lets her do it. Lets Cat sink those little claws in like she was waiting for Cat to say, ‘I want you back.’ Like maybe then, she’d finally feel chosen.”

Ellie’s dorm was too quiet now.

Not peaceful — hollow. Like the air had been knocked out of it the second the door slammed shut behind you.

She paced, back and forth, back and forth.

Her fingers twisted the hem of her hoodie, tugged at her sleeves, and scratched the side of her neck until it turned red.

She couldn’t stop hearing your voice.

'Do you even want to be with me?'

And worse; the silence she gave you in return.

Her phone buzzed on the desk again, a second message.

She’d already seen the first one — the one Cat sent twenty minutes ago, after Ellie had made the dumbest decision of her entire fucking life.

Cat(therine): on my way. u alone?

Ellie stared at it, and locked the screen.

Before she unlocked it again, like somehow the message might change.

Because yeah — she had texted Cat, after you left. After Ellie sat in the dark, feeling that twist of shame and panic and something else she couldn’t name. The need for a distraction. Something familiar, Something easy.

Ellie told herself it didn’t mean anything. Just a conversation. Just closure, maybe. A buffer before Ellie tried to fix what she ruined with you.

Ellie ran her hands over her face.

What the fuck was she doing?

+

A knock at the door, Ellie froze.

It wasn’t loud — just two soft taps, like the person on the other side already knew she would answer. Knew she’d let her in.

Ellie stood still for a second, her hand hovering just over the doorknob. She didn’t want to open it.

At least, not in any honest, grounded part of her. But her body didn’t care about that.

Her body was running a script she hadn’t rewritten yet.

Cat stood there with that same confident smile — all glossy lips and fake innocence.

Her coat was slung over one shoulder, hair curled just enough to look casual, like she hadn’t tried (even though she absolutely had). Her eyes immediately dropped to Ellie’s mouth before drifting back up, slow and sure.

“Hey,” she said. Too soft, too smooth.

Ellie stepped aside and Cat walked in like she owned the place.

And before Ellie could even think about what the hell she was doing, Cat turned and slipped her arms around Ellie’s neck, pulling her in close. “Missed me?”

Ellie didn’t pull back.

She let her hands hover awkwardly at Cat’s waist — not committed, but not resisting either.

And for a second, she almost sank into it, muscle memory.

The way Cat fit against her. The curve of her body, and the perfume she always wore that lingered on hoodies long after she left.

Then she saw it — Cat's smile.

Too sweet, too curated.

It didn’t hit the same.

Because your smile had never been like that, yours wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t laced with agenda. It wasn’t trying to win, or trap, or conquer.

Yours was warm.

Quiet, honest.

Even when you were annoyed with her. Even when you were tired, especially then.

Ellie felt it — this sudden gut-punch contrast between what she had and what she was standing in right now.

She tried to shake it off.

“So,” Ellie said, voice tight, “you just happened to be in the area?”

Cat laughed. “You invited me, remember?”

“Right.” Ellie swallowed. “Right.”

Cat leaned in, brushing her nose along Ellie’s jaw. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Ellie said, too fast.

She felt herself go still, her arms dropped, and Cat didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe she did — and just didn’t care, not like you. You always cared.

“You’re tense,” Cat purred, fingers playing with the edge of Ellie’s collar. “Let me fix that.”

Ellie forced a chuckle. “You're always so helpful.”

And just like you said — Ellie smiled, let Cat touch her, and didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop her, didn't say no.

She was doing it again.

The exact way you had described it.

And for the first time, it wasn’t flattering. It wasn’t fun, it was pathetic.

+

Cat’s hands were sliding up Ellie’s hoodie, her voice a syrupy murmur near Ellie’s ear.

Ellie wasn’t hearing a word, not really. Her mind was spinning, spiraling, folding in on itself with every breath.

She felt detached, like she was watching someone else crash the car in slow motion.

Another knock at the door, distant.

Cat giggled against her collarbone. “Ignore it,” she whispered, hands tugging Ellie's hoodie. “They’ll go away.”

But they didn’t.

Click.

A soft jingle of metal, the door unlocked.

Ellie blinked, She hadn’t locked it after Cat came in.

The door creaked open.

And there stood Dina — backlit by the hallway, holding a familiar little card. The one Ellie had given you months ago, when things were still soft and stupid and sweet.

Dina looked at the scene in front of her.

Cat practically draped over Ellie like a designer coat, and Ellie standing there frozen, hollow-eyed.

For a second, Dina didn’t say anything.

Then she smiled.

Not a nice one, not even close.

“Wow,” Dina said, voice bright in the most biting, fake way. “Didn’t realize we were back in rotation already.”

Ellie opened her mouth, but her throat locked. “Dina, I—”

Dina raised a hand, cutting Ellie off.

“Nope. Not here for your breakup-tour monologue.”

Dina stepped inside, twirling the card once before chucking it across the room.

It bounced off the edge of Ellie’s desk, landing somewhere near Cat’s bag. Cat didn’t even flinch — probably thought it was beneath her.

Dina gave Cat a once-over, her smile didn’t move.

“Don’t worry,” she said to Ellie, sweet as poison. “I’m just here to grab her stuff.”

Ellie’s brows pulled together. “She—?”

“She’s in my car, Ellie.”

Ellie's face bloomed red, like she was slapped.

“She was sobbing so hard I couldn’t even get the full story until halfway through a box of kleenex,” Dina added, now walking towards the little stack of your things by the bed — your hoodie, your extra phone charger, and the book you left here three nights ago when you were still planning your weekend with Ellie.

“Didn’t think you’d already be playing house with your ex, though.” Dina’s voice was tight now, rage buried just beneath the sarcasm.

Cat cleared her throat, leaning into Ellie like she had something to prove. “You don’t have to be rude, you know.”

Dina didn’t even look at Cat. “Oh, sweetie,” she muttered. “You’re not even important enough to be the main point.”

She grabbed the hoodie, the charger, your book and them all into a reusable grocery bag she brought just for this.

Ellie still hadn’t moved, still stunned, like if she stood still long enough the whole scene might go away.

“You fucked up, Ellie,” Dina said, her tone suddenly razor-sharp. “And she saw it coming. That’s the worst part. She fucking knew.”

Dina slung the bag over her shoulder. “Just thought you should know that she stopped crying.”

She turned towards the door.

“She’s not sad anymore,” Dina said over her shoulder. “She’s furious.”

Then she walked out.

Ellie stood there, stuck in the silence left behind.

The room smelled like Cat’s perfume.

Her body was still close, hands brushing Ellie’s ribs as she leaned in, clearly trying to reclaim the mood.

“So,” Cat purred, trying to sound playful, “now that the drama’s out of the way—”

“Stop.”

Ellie’s voice came out flat, cold.

Cat blinked. “What?”

Ellie pulled back.

Cat reached for her again.

“I said stop.” This time it was sharper.

Ellie shoved her hands away, not hard, but enough to make Cat reel slightly.

That was it, that was the moment it all clicked. The noise in Ellie’s head cut out, replaced by one thing, one thought;

You were in Dina’s car.

Not in Ellie's dorm.

Not in her bed, and not with her.

But downstairs, with Dina.

Probably parked outside already, eyes puffy, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, curled up in the passenger seat while Ellie was letting someone else touch her.

Her stomach turned.

She staggered back a step, like her body was just catching up to what it had done.

“I have to go,” Ellie muttered, grabbing her boots, not even lacing them.

“Ellie, what—?”

But she was already gone, yanking the door open, and sprinting into the hall.

Author's note: heyyyy.... how y'all doing 😛 I'm back from my unannounced hiatus LMAO. I was trying to lean into something angsty but it's really long so I'm breaking it into TWO parts. The second part will probably come out later this week (hopefully)...

LMK if you wanna be tagged for the second part.

[danysdaughter]

It's Strange You Never Knew

pairing | 40s!bucky x 40s!reader & post-tfatws!bucky x 40s!reader & minor!40s!steve x 40s!reader

word count | 3.5k words

summary | decades after vanishing into war, bucky hears a voice on the radio that stops him cold—a voice he thought he'd never hear again. what he uncovers is a song written for him, by someone who loved him quietly, and died before he ever had the chance to say your name out again.

tags | post-tfatws, friends to almost lovers, slow burn (but it's too late), unspoken love, missed opportunities, angst/NO comfort , emotional gut punch, found after death, soft grief, lowkey alt!reader, songfic

a/n | another day, another 40s bucky fic, based on this request.

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

Brooklyn, June 1942

It smelled like cigarette smoke and gin, the kind that clung to clothes and memories long after you left.

Bucky sat in the corner booth, elbow on the table, jaw in his hand. Steve sat beside him, upright, neat, always a little too polite for the space. Two beers sat half-drunk between them, sweating glass against stained wood.

And there you were—on the small stage, wrapped in dusk-blue light. Your voice didn’t suit the era. It wasn’t bright or chirpy, didn’t do big crescendos or razzle the room. It drifted. Mournful. Haunting. Strange.

And somehow, it held everyone captive.

You leaned into the mic, eyes barely open, like the whole room was a dream you weren’t sure you’d chosen to be in.

“I want to hold the hand inside you

I want to take the breath that’s true...”

Your voice poured out low and aching, each word like a secret too heavy to keep.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, watching you like you were something fragile and unsolvable. You’d been friends for years, all three of you. You’d grown up together. Laughed. Sat on stoops and shared cigarettes and talked about futures that never felt real.

And yet, there was still something about you that didn’t belong here.

Not in this club.

Not in this city.

Maybe not even in this world.

“I look to you, and I see nothing

I look to you to see the truth...”

Steve said it once. That you were the kind of girl people didn’t really understand until it was too late.

You weren’t cold. You weren’t aloof. You were just... elsewhere.

You felt things too deeply. Cried at newsprint poetry. Dissociated in diners. Laughed too hard, then got too quiet. You never looked at people when you spoke—except Bucky.

You always looked at Bucky.

And right now?

He didn’t notice.

“Fade into you

Strange you never knew

Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew...”

Your eyes scanned the crowd—but not for applause.

Not for recognition.

Just... to see. To see him.

And Bucky? He was still frowning.

Not because he didn’t like the song.

Because something in it hurt. Something he couldn’t name.

Steve looked at him. Then at you. And knew.

You were singing about him.

And he didn’t even know.

“I think it's strange you never knew...”

The final note of your song settled into the room like smoke, warm and heavy.

A moment passed. Then, polite applause—soft, respectful. No whistles, no standing ovation. Just the kind of acknowledgment that came from being heard, not just listened to.

You gave a small, grateful smile and a gentle nod. Then turned and stepped off the stage, your heels clicking softly on the wood as you disappeared behind the curtain.

At the table, Steve exhaled through his nose.

“That was… somethin’ else,” he murmured.

Bucky didn’t answer.

His eyes were still on the stage, brows drawn slightly. Like he was trying to solve a math problem in a dream.

Steve glanced at him, then said gently, “She wrote that one, you know.”

Bucky blinked out of it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Still, Bucky didn’t say anything. Just rubbed the back of his neck and sat back in the booth.

Steve waited.

When nothing came, he tried again. “Sounded… personal.”

Bucky shrugged. “She always sings like that.”

“Not like that.”

Steve watched him carefully.

But Bucky didn’t respond. Not really. Just mumbled something about getting another round and stood, heading toward the bar without looking back.

Steve watched him go.

And just after you stepped out from backstage, the echo of the spotlight still clinging to your skin. You scanned the room, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth—small, shy, the kind you only wore around them.

But your eyes stopped at the table.

Steve sat alone.

You blinked once. Twice.

Then your gaze shifted—slow, unsure—and landed on Bucky.

He was at the bar. Leaning in. Smiling.

Talking to a girl with curled hair and a cherry-red mouth.

Of course he was.

There was always some girl.

Something inside you settled low. Not a stab. Not a shatter. Just that dull, familiar ache.

The kind you’d grown used to.

Steve saw it.

The way your shoulders dropped. The flicker behind your eyes. The way your mouth stayed soft, but your light dimmed just slightly.

You turned to him, smiling like you hadn’t just been emptied.

“Hey,” you said lightly. “Walk me home?”

He nodded, instantly. “Of course.”

Because of course he would. He always would.

Even if you never saw him the way you saw Bucky. Even if he had to walk beside you in silence, knowing you were thinking about someone else.

Because you asked.

And he loved you enough to always say yes.

The Stark Expo, 1943

The night buzzed around you—lights flashing, music floating in the air, people crowding through stalls with wide eyes and sticky hands full of caramel popcorn. The future was plastered in every direction: flying cars, synthetic fabrics, mechanized kitchens. Howard Stark’s voice echoed through loudspeakers with the arrogance of a man convinced he was the future.

You stood beside Bucky, arms crossed lightly, hair pinned just enough to pass for neat. You weren’t a crowd person. Or a lights person. Or a people touching your elbow every five seconds because the walkway is too narrow person.

But Bucky had asked.

He’d written you when he was stationed upstate. A note folded three times, your name in familiar script on the envelope. Back for a few days. Stark Expo’s this week. You free, songbird?

And here you were.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting.

Probably not this—him in uniform, cheeks pink from the cold, blue eyes gleaming under the lights, standing beside you like he’d never been gone.

Still. You couldn't help yourself.

You kept your gaze ahead, watching a prototype robot swing a fake hammer at a fake nail, and said, dry, “You sure you want me here tonight? Pretty sure Connie would've made better company.”

You didn’t say it mean.

You said it like you always did—quiet, a little too flat, too easy to miss the wound beneath.

He turned his head to you, blinking like you’d spoken in a language he didn’t quite catch.

“Connie?” he echoed.

You shrugged. “She’s got that big laugh. She’d fit in better.”

Bucky was quiet for a beat. Then another.

And just when you were about to deflect with something half-funny and half-sarcastic to cover your own embarrassment, he said:

“I like being around you.”

You looked at him.

He looked back.

Not like it was a line. Not like it was a performance. Just… Bucky. Honest.

“I mean it,” he added, softer now. “I don’t have to… do anything when I’m with you. Don’t have to fill space. Don’t have to entertain. You don’t expect that from me.”

Your brows furrowed slightly.

He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking to a group of sailors posing near a booth. “With most people, I feel like I gotta be on. Gotta be charming. Gotta talk all the time or tell jokes or flirt or—y’know, be that guy.”

He looked back at you.

“With you, I don’t gotta do that.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

But something in your chest pulled a little tighter.

“I mean—people always wanna talk, or laugh, or keep things busy. But you…” He glanced at you, eyes soft. “You don’t need all that. You’re... quiet in a way that makes me feel calm. Like I don’t gotta be anything.”

And maybe the fair lights glinted too hard in your eyes, because you couldn’t quite meet his for more than a second.

So you looked away.

“Suppose that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said about my social skills,” you muttered.

He smiled. “Ain’t about skills.”

And for a minute, it didn’t matter that you hadn’t said what you felt.

He didn’t need you to perform.

And you didn’t need him to get it all right.

You just stood there, shoulder to shoulder, watching the future blink in lights in front of you—two people who’d never said I love you out loud, but kept trying to find new ways to say it without the words.

Later that night — Stark Expo Grounds

The crowds had thinned.

Most of the music had faded, replaced by the low hum of generators and the occasional pop of a leftover firework in the distance. The metal contraptions were winding down, the lights flickering soft above the empty food stalls.

You were standing a few feet away, looking up at some display—a rotating solar panel exhibit that buzzed faintly, glowing like it thought it was a moon.

Your hands were in your coat pockets. Shoulders slightly hunched from the wind. Your hair moving just a little in the breeze.

Bucky watched you.

Not the way he watched girls at bars or on street corners. Not the way he smiled and made them laugh and forgot their names by morning.

This was different.

You weren’t trying to look beautiful.

You just were.

God, you always had been.

He didn’t even remember when it started—when he began to notice the way your voice changed when you were talking about music, or how you’d go quiet in crowds like you were waiting for something to make sense. You were... still. Even when the world spun.

You grounded him.

And that scared him more than anything.

Because he didn’t know how to name what he felt. Didn’t have the words. Didn’t know if he deserved someone like you—someone who felt like poetry in a decade that had no patience for softness.

But he felt it.

In the way he always sought you out first. In the way he never had to fake a smile around you. In the way you hadn’t once asked him about the war tonight.

You turned then, catching him looking.

And you smiled.

Just a little.

He smiled back—slow, real, aching.

Maybe he’d tell you next time.

Maybe he’d say something when he had more time.

But for now, he stayed quiet.

And watched the girl he might’ve already been in love with, under a half-broken moon.

Brooklyn, November 1943– Atlantic Avenue Train Station

The platform was crowded. Not loud—but full. Families clustered in soft coats and wool hats, mothers holding handkerchiefs to their mouths, kids standing awkwardly near duffel bags they couldn’t lift.

You were standing near the edge, arms wrapped around yourself, coat buttoned all the way up. Your lipstick was a little smudged—one of those mornings. But your eyes were clear. Focused.

You spotted him as soon as he stepped off the steps.

Bucky looked good.

Not movie star good. Alive good. Real good.

His hair was pushed back from his face, uniform pressed. He had a bag slung over one shoulder, and the moment he saw you, his grin slipped right into place like it never left.

“You didn’t have to come,” he said as he walked up.

You shrugged. “Didn’t have anywhere else to be.”

He smiled at that, soft and a little crooked.

You stood facing each other in that liminal space between platform and train, not touching, not speaking.

You didn’t know how to say don’t go.

He didn’t know how to say I wish I didn’t have to.

“Steve couldn’t make it?” he asked.

“Doctor’s appointment,” you said. “They’re running more tests.”

Bucky nodded. Looked down at his boots for a second.

Then: “You’ll look after him, yeah?”

You smiled. “Always.”

He shifted his bag, like he wanted to say something else. Something bigger. But what?

Stay safe? Come back? I’ve never felt more myself than when I’m standing next to you?

Instead, he nodded again. “I’ll write.”

You looked at him then, really looked, and you almost said it.

Almost.

But you just reached up and brushed a piece of lint from his lapel, fingers soft.

“Make sure you get the name of the train stop right this time,” you murmured, your voice a little wobbly, a little teasing. “You sent a postcard to a grocery store last time.”

Bucky chuckled. “Maybe I wanted them to know how I was doing.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling, eyes stinging.

The loudspeaker crackled. Final call.

His smile faltered. “Well…”

You leaned up—quick, soft—and kissed his cheek. It lingered just a second too long.

“Go,” you said gently, stepping back.

He looked at you like he might say something. Like he might reach out.

But he didn’t. He just turned. Shouldered his bag. And boarded the train.

You stood there long after it pulled away.

Hands in your pockets.

Wind in your hair.

And everything unsaid echoing like a song you hadn’t written yet.

New York City, 2024

The city didn’t feel like it used to—not the way it did in memory, not even the way it did in nightmares. It wasn’t hostile, exactly. Just fast. Fast in ways Bucky wasn’t built for anymore.

But he was trying.

He had a therapist that didn’t flinch. A neighbor that smiled without fear. A plant that hadn’t died yet.

Progress.

Most days, he took long walks without an endpoint. Just movement. Just being.

Today, he ended up at a coffee shop. One of those low-ceilinged places with battered chairs and exposed brick that made people feel artistic. He didn’t need coffee—caffeine made him jittery—but he liked the noise. The murmurs. The steam.

He was flipping through a battered copy of The Stranger someone had left behind when he heard it.

A voice.

Low. Haunting.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

He didn’t move at first. Just blinked.

The radio on the shelf behind the counter buzzed through static, then cleared again as the song reached its chorus.

It wasn’t like anything else on the station. The other songs were crisp, polished, engineered to be catchy.

This voice didn’t care if it was catchy.

It ached.

Bucky’s grip on the book slackened.

He turned slightly toward the sound, frowning, lips parting.

He knew that voice.

It was buried in a place he hadn’t gone in years. Before war. Before Hydra. Before ice and blood and triggers.

But it was hers.

He turned to the guy behind the counter—a younger kid with a chipped name tag and AirPods still in one ear.

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly, nodding toward the radio. “Who’s this?”

The barista looked up, then grinned like he was always waiting to be asked. “Oh, this one’s a favorite. They reissued her stuff a couple years back after the doc came out. Cult following now.”

He paused to glance at the screen on the register.

Then he said your name.

A name Bucky hadn’t heard in decades. A name he hadn’t let himself say.

It hit like ice water, straight to the spine. His fingers loosened around the mug. His jaw slackened, just slightly.

The kid didn’t notice. Just went back to wiping the counter like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb into the middle of Bucky’s morning.

But Bucky couldn’t unhear it.

That voice. That name.

And suddenly he wasn’t in a coffee shop anymore—he was twenty-two. In a dim club. Watching someone sing like they didn’t care if anyone clapped, only that they felt it. And he never told you.

Not once.

The rain had stopped by the time he walked home, but he barely noticed. His thoughts moved like static—jumbled, crackling, stuck between then and now.

He sat at the edge of his bed, boots still on, and opened his laptop.

He typed your name into the search bar.

And there you were.

Not just a voice now.

Photographs—grainy, luminous. Pressed smiles and bold lipstick and that gaze he remembered, soft and distant like you were always looking at something no one else could see.

Hollywood starlet. Rising talent. Quiet icon.

He clicked through articles. Magazine scans. Studio portraits from the late 1940s, each one sharper than the last. Headlines gushed. Words like ethereal, unconventional, difficult to define.

Of course they said that.

You were never built to fit.

One article had a quote from you—typed clean in block letters:

“I don’t want to be the kind of famous people forget in five years. I want someone to hear my voice thirty years from now and still feel something.”

Bucky stared at the words.

And then he saw the date.

1952.

He clicked again.

And everything dropped out from under him.

Died tragically at the age of 33 in an automobile accident in Los Angeles, California, September 1952. Survived by no immediate family. Buried at Rose Hills Memorial Park. Her music saw a resurgence decades later following the release of a documentary celebrating her life and work.

The breath left his lungs.

He sat there, still, eyes fixed on the screen like if he stared long enough, it would change.

He missed it.

He missed everything.

You were gone.

Gone before he ever made it out of the ice. Before he even had the chance to remember you.

And still—

Still your voice had found him.

He leaned back slowly against the headboard, swallowed hard, and pressed a hand to his chest like he could quiet the ache growing there.

You were famous.

You were loved.

He kept reading.

Article after article. Fan pages. Archives.

And then—he found it.

The song.

The one everyone seemed to come back to. The one quoted, tattooed, sampled, played over clips of you smiling in old interviews and black-and-white concert footage. It had been your biggest hit. Released in 1945. Re-released. Covered. Immortalized.

“Without You.”

He clicked.

Before he hit play, he saw the description. An old interview—grainy transcript, scanned from some vintage magazine.

“It’s about a boy,” you had said. “A boy I never got to love. He went off to war and didn’t come back.”

“He made me feel seen. But he never saw me.”

“I think sometimes, if he ever heard this… he’d know.”

The words hit like a shot to the ribs. Bucky stared at the screen.

Fought.

Didn’t come back.

He had. But not whole. Not to you.

Not in time.

He sat there for a long time before he hit play.

The song began—soft, almost fragile. A synth swell. That voice. Your voice. But lower now, richer. Still carrying that sadness like it was stitched into every breath.

“Everything I want, I have

Money, notoriety, and rivieras…”

Bucky stared at the screen, the words soaking into him like rain on bare skin.

“Tell me life is beautiful, they all think I have it all

I've nothing without you…”

His throat tightened. He couldn’t breathe.

“Can you picture it? Babe, that life we could’ve lived…”

He shut his eyes.

Because he could.

He saw it in flashes—your laugh, that night at the Stark Expo, the way you looked when you sang for almost no one in that club in Brooklyn. The way he’d never told you. The way he always looked away.

“We were two kids just trying to get out

Lived on the dark side of the American dream…”

A choked sound left him.

Not quite a sob. But close.

Because it was him.

It had always been him.

And you’d sung that truth into the world when he wasn’t around to hear it. When you were grieving someone who never knew you waited. Someone who didn’t come back in time.

“All my dreams and all the lights mean

Nothing if I can't have you…”

The song ended quietly.

No fade-out. Just silence.

And Bucky sat there, surrounded by it.

Wrecked.

Alone.

And finally, finally, understanding what you had tried to tell him all those years ago.

He played it again.

The song.

He didn’t mean to. His hand just… moved. As if his body knew before his mind did.

The first note hit him just as hard the second time.

Then the third.

And the fourth.

By the time your voice cracked on “Hello? Hello? Ca-can you hear me?” his hands were trembling in his lap, and he was blinking too fast for it to mean anything.

The apartment stayed still around him—shadows long, lights off, only the soft blue glow of the laptop flickering against the walls.

He didn’t need a funeral.

He didn’t need a eulogy.

You were here.

In speakers. In wires. In this strange little machine you never lived long enough to imagine.

And your voice—God, your voice—was proof that you never really stopped waiting for him. That part of you, some secret, haunted part, had held on even after the train pulled away.

He didn’t cry. Not fully anyway.

Just sat there, hands curled into his sleeves like he was trying to stay warm, eyes fixed on nothing.

When the song ended, he didn’t move.

Didn’t shut the laptop.

Didn’t wipe his eyes.

He just let the silence settle around him.

Because for the first time in eighty years…

He finally heard you.

And he finally knew.

songs used: fade into you by Mazzystar without you by Lana Del Rey

[sewi-li-suwi]

that's not true of every shape tho! what about a really long thin rectangle - if he got unlucky about which way he was facing he could be walking for hours.

minimising the longest possible time would mean making sure that can't happen - in this case, walking in an L sorta shape would be a big improvement

i love how some maths problems are like. Bellman's lost in THE FOREST. he has no idea where in THE FOREST he is and does not want to be here. the exact shape of THE FOREST'S borders have been made known to him by DIVINE APPARITION. how does he minimise the longest time he could be in THE FOREST?

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° only threw this party for you

( sae itoshi x fem! reader )

♡ a/n — i fear i got very off track with what i originally wanted this to be

♡ word count — 2.6k

♡ content — sae itoshi x fem! reader, reader could be gn but i put fem bc i think i used 'girl' once or twice, drug use (implied), disfunctional family, childhood best friends to strangers (AHA), goes from ages 10 to 20, emotional trauma, regret, unrequited love, unsolved feelings, singular club scene, alcohol mentioned (once), not proofread :)

♡ synopsis — Sae Itoshi has been unknowingly giving you pieces of his heart for the past 10 years. At some point, there's no more to give.

── .✦ got the party bag with the purple pills

The summer you turned ten, you met Sae Itoshi properly for the first time.

You’d seen him before, of course—he was Rin’s older brother, the one with the quiet eyes and the half-zipped sports bag always slung over one shoulder. 

He never lingered after soccer practice, never joined the other boys who traded snacks or played keep-away until the sky turned violet. 

You’d always thought he looked like he was already somewhere else, like his feet were still in Japan, but his mind was halfway across the ocean.

You never spoke to him until the day your mother forgot to pick you up from school.

You sat alone on the front steps, legs swinging, homework open on your lap, and the sun slowly burning gold behind the trees. 

One by one, the other students trickled off. Even the teacher who promised to “check back soon” had long since vanished into the teacher’s lounge.

You pressed your pencil into your math workbook, erased something, wrote it again. Got it wrong. Again. 

You were starting to cry—quiet, angry tears that you blinked away before they could fall.

“You didn’t carry the one,” a voice said.

You flinched. Looked up.

Sae Itoshi stood beside you, shadow stretching long across the concrete. His tie was loose around his neck, his shirt a little rumpled. 

He looked like he didn’t care if he got in trouble for being here. Like rules didn’t apply to him.

“What?” you mumbled.

He stepped closer. “That one. You’re supposed to carry the one.”

He tapped your page once, then stepped back again. He didn’t sound like he was teasing. Just… stating a fact.

You stared at the problem. You hadn’t carried the one.

“Oh,” you muttered.

“Try again,” he said, but softer this time.

You glanced at him again. “Why do you care?”

He shrugged. “Because you look like you want to get it right.”

You hadn’t realized until then how much you needed someone to believe you could.

So you tried again.

And again.

By the fourth problem, he was sitting beside you. Quiet. Focused. Helping without hovering.

Rin eventually came running, shouting his brother’s name across the empty schoolyard.

“There you are! We’re gonna be late—”

“She’s doing math,” Sae said simply. "Be quiet."

Rin blinked. “You know her?”

“She’s good at fixing her mistakes,” Sae replied, standing up and brushing off his pants.

And just like that, he walked away.

You didn’t know it then, but that was the first time Sae gave you a piece of his heart—subtle, unspoken, and absolute.

When you were eleven, you told Sae about your family.

He had come over after school, still in his uniform, and you had opened the door with smudges under your eyes and a scratch on your wrist you didn’t remember getting. 

You didn’t bother hiding the mess in the living room. 

Didn’t bother pretending the yelling from upstairs didn’t make you flinch.

Sae didn’t comment on any of it. He just sat on the floor next to you and pulled out his notebooks.

He helped you study in silence until your hands stopped shaking.

That day, you told him about the stash in your uncle’s drawer. 

About the time your older cousin went missing for two days and came back with eyes that looked through you. 

About how your mom used to be softer. 

How you didn’t want to become like them.

“I want to change things,” you had whispered. “I want people to stop looking at my last name like it means I’ll end up in jail. Or worse.”

Sae was only eleven, but his eyes met yours like he already knew the weight of a dream.

“I think you can,” he said.

And that was that.

You were thirteen when he left.

The news came one afternoon, passed through the school halls like a ghost. Sae Itoshi had been scouted for a youth program in Spain. A real academy. A once-in-a-lifetime chance.

You didn’t say anything for a long time. 

Not when he told you. 

Not when Rin threw a fit and refused to talk to him for a week. 

Not even when the suitcases appeared in the halls of his house and your friends started whispering about it at lunch.

But when the day finally came—when the taxi pulled up and Rin was still upstairs, refusing to say goodbye—you stepped outside, heart thudding against your ribs like a caged animal.

“I hope you don’t forget me,” you said, quiet.

“I won’t.”

“Promise?”

Sae stared at you for a moment too long. Then he stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.

You gripped him like he was the last solid thing in your world. “Make me proud,” you whispered.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded against your hair.

He left that day.

Rin didn’t cry until after the car was gone.

Sae? He didn’t cry at all.

But something inside him cracked when he felt your arms around him—like a piece of his heart had splintered off and stayed with you. 

And he carried the ache with him all the way to Spain.

When Sae came back at fifteen, he was different.

Not just in the way he walked, or how sharp his jaw had gotten, or how even Rin didn’t seem to recognize the boy who came home with his bags already packed to leave again.

He left his brother in the snow, arguing, fists clenched. He didn’t explain himself.

He showed up at your door instead.

You answered in sweatpants and a worn hoodie, blinking like you weren’t sure he was real. Your eyes were duller somehow. 

Your smile a little too practiced. You spoke slower, but your leg wouldn’t stop shaking.

Sae noticed it all. But he didn’t ask.

You didn’t mention the rumors about your family. About your mom’s latest boyfriend. About the fight last fall that ended in flashing red and blue lights.

Instead, you watched movies together in silence. Ate popcorn. Shared a blanket on the couch.

“I saw Rin,” you said eventually, eyes still on the screen. “He said you didn’t even try to explain.”

“He’s in some teenage angst phase,” Sae said. “He’ll grow out of it.”

You snorted softly. “You’re only two years older than him.”

Sae shrugged. “I feel like I’ve lived five lifetimes since I left.”

You didn’t say anything after that. Just rested your head against the couch and let the credits roll.

The next day, you hugged him goodbye again. Told him to make it big.

Another piece of his heart—gone.

And you didn’t even know.

Sae didn't come home again for five years.

Not even for holidays. 

Not for Rin’s matches. 

Not when your mother was in the news for another domestic charge. 

Not when you stopped answering his texts.

He wanted to write. Wanted to ask. But every message started and stopped the same way.

Hey, are you-

I saw something today that made me-

Do you remember-

Delete. 

Delete. 

Delete.

Because what was he supposed to say?

Sae told himself it was for the best. 

You had your own life. He had his. 

If you really needed him, you’d say something.

But you didn’t.

And that silence began to rot somewhere deep in his chest.

He saw the list of players for Japan’s U-20 match and felt something stir. A strange, breathless thought

Maybe I’ll see her. 

Maybe she’ll be there.

He didn’t expect to lose. 

But when he did, he left the pitch before the final whistle even echoed.

He got on the first flight out. Didn’t wait for the press. Didn’t call anyone.

He told himself there was no one waiting, anyway.

The club was loud. Too loud. Sae didn’t know why he was there.

Spain was suffocating lately—too clean, too calculated. 

He wanted noise. 

Chaos. 

Something messy enough to drown the quiet parts of himself he couldn’t silence anymore.

The music pulsed. 

Lights strobed. 

Bodies swayed and twisted like smoke.

He didn’t drink. Just sat with a glass of untouched gin and stared into the dark.

Loud, stinky, and a blur of bodies. That’s all this place was.

But the club is alive. 

The air is thick with the pulse of bass that rattles your chest, and strobe lights paint the room in jagged streaks of color. 

You’re lost in the crowd, in the music, in the haze. Faces blur, shapes melt into the atmosphere, bodies bump and sway like they’re all just trying to escape themselves. 

You don’t know what you’re doing here anymore. 

You don’t care. 

You don’t need to.

The pills, the drinks, the strangers—you’ve learned not to question it. 

You take what they give you, let it flood your veins until everything softens, until nothing feels real, until you can float somewhere between the noise and the numbness.

Your heartbeats are the only rhythm that matters now.

It’s then that you see him.

He’s not supposed to be here. 

He doesn’t belong to this world. 

The world you’re tangled in, the one where you’ve erased parts of yourself to keep breathing.

But Sae is there, standing still in the middle of the chaos, his face carved from stone. He’s older now. 

More defined. Colder. 

His black outfit blends into the shadows, but there’s something about him that stands out. 

It’s him. 

Your Sae. 

The boy you once knew.

Your body freezes, heartbeat speeding up in your chest. 

The lights flicker, flashing neon red, blue, then white as if your heart has stopped beating and the world has cracked open. 

It’s him. 

You blink, and everything comes back to you. 

All the pieces—the way he used to look at you like you were everything he needed, how he used to pull you close when the world felt too heavy. 

How he would hold your hand while you studied, laughing together, promising to make it out.

But now, he's a stranger. 

Someone distant. 

Someone colder.

And yet, the pull to him is magnetic. You can’t help it.

Without thinking, your hand reaches out, fingers curling in the air—beckoning him, not with words, but with the kind of invitation that only the two of you understand. 

Come closer. 

Join me. 

For just one moment.

You don’t know why you do it. You don’t know why you need him to come to you. Maybe you’re just tired of being lost. 

Tired of forgetting. 

Maybe, just maybe, you want to feel something again—something like how it used to be.

Sae’s gaze locks on you across the floor. 

His eyes harden, and for a split second, you feel like he’s going to turn away, disappear into the crowd again, just like he always does when the world gets too real.

But then, he doesn’t.

His steps are slow at first, unsure, as if every instinct in him is telling him to stop, to walk away. But something pulls him in—something deep, something he can’t resist. 

He’s always had a weakness for you. A vulnerability that he can’t shake, even now, even after all this time.

When he reaches you, there’s a moment of hesitation, his breath almost shaky. His hands hover over your waist as if unsure of where to touch. 

He seems like he’s trying to hold onto something—anything—that might remind him of the person you used to be.

Your hands slide up his chest, slow, languid, pulling him closer. 

His body stiffens, and for a second, you can almost feel the struggle in him. 

Him trying to convince himself this isn’t a good idea, that you’re not the same person, that he should leave.

But you press against him, your lips brushing the skin of his jaw, your breath warm and unsteady.

“I missed you,Sae.” you whisper into his ear.

The words are slurred, the chemicals in your veins blurring the edges of your thoughts. But you mean it. 

You’ve missed him more than you’re willing to admit. 

More than you’ve allowed yourself to think about.

Sae’s hands finally settle on your waist, his grip firm but not harsh. His face is inches from yours, and for a moment, you feel a flicker of the connection you once shared. 

His eyes are darker now, colder, but you still see something in them—the boy who cared, who held you close when everything else was falling apart.

And then, before either of you can stop it, he kisses you.

It’s not like any of the others you’ve had in this club. 

It’s not hurried, not full of heat and urgency. 

It doesn’t taste of a mix of pills and weed.

It’s slow, almost tentative. 

His lips brush against yours like he’s trying to remember you, to bring you back from the person you’ve become.

You kiss him back, and everything inside you crumbles. 

You press closer to him, your hands weaving into his hair, pulling him deeper, as if the act itself can make him stay. 

You forget the music, the club, the lights flashing around you. It’s just him and you. Just the soft brush of his lips against yours.

But it’s not enough.

Sae pulls away, breathing heavily, his hands lingering on your waist, his forehead resting against yours. 

There’s a tremor in his touch, a quiet desperation. “You’re not…” he murmurs, voice low, almost broken. “What happened to you?”

You try to answer, but your head is spinning, your thoughts scattered. The words feel heavy on your tongue, and you can hardly keep them straight.

“I’m fine,” you say, but the way your voice cracks betrays you.

“No,” he says, his voice rough. “You’re not.”

His hands move to your face, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. And for a second, you think maybe he sees it—the cracks, the pain, the emptiness inside you. 

Maybe he sees what you’ve become.

But he doesn’t say anything more. 

Instead, he kisses you again—harder this time, deeper, like he’s trying to make it stop, to stop the pain of seeing you like this, of knowing he can’t fix you.

It’s messy. It’s desperate. And it’s not love—it’s a yearning for something lost, for a piece of you that’s slipped away with time and circumstance.

When you break apart, it’s not with a promise or an apology. It’s with the quiet weight of something that should’ve never happened, but did anyway.

You stare at each other for a long moment, and Sae’s face hardens again. The walls are up. The man he’s become is standing in front of you.

But his hands stay on your waist, a lingering connection. He doesn’t pull away. Not yet.

“I can’t stay,” he whispers. “I’m not… the person you knew.”

And you know it’s true. But you still want him to stay. 

Just a little longer. 

Just for tonight.

“Sae…please-”

He stood there, a million things breaking at once, unsure if his chest hurt because of you or because of the person you'd become.

But then he remembered the way you hugged him at thirteen, whispering make me proud into his shoulder.

And he turned around.

He didn’t look back.

Because this time, the piece of his heart that broke—it wasn’t given to you.

It was buried in the cold realization that he didn’t know you anymore.

And maybe you didn’t want to be known.

Sae boarded his flight the next morning.

No headlines. No goodbyes. Just a one-way ticket and a heart that had finally run out of pieces to give.

He stared out the window as the wheels lifted off the tarmac, and he imagined it—his final gift, the last shard of himself—falling from the sky like ash.

He left it there, on the ground, buried beneath flashing lights and bad music.

He left you there, too.

Because maybe you were already gone.

And Sae Itoshi—ice-cold, silver-eyed, always in control—didn’t cry when he landed.

But the ache in his chest never stopped.

lol this was literally supposed to give jay gatsby and...it ended up like this

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

❀ tags: ❀ @kenyuukissme ❀ @irethepotato ❀ @kiyy0mei ❀ @x3nafix ❀ @sugacor3 ❀ @ohagiyoo ❀ @reigensuperstar ❀ @nevvynevnev ❀ join the taglist here !

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[https-bobreynolds]

insane together

pairing: robert ‘bob’ reynolds x reader, mentions of the void x the enchantress

summary: just a random conversation on a monday morning in the kitchen with your boyfriend, bob.

author’s note: this is just pure random fluff, thanks for all the love guys <3 am not having a good time rn, reading all your comments and reblogs makes me feel so much better

“love,” you called the man, your boyfriend, who’s sitting beside you, “do you ever find it weird..?”

he gave you a look, “do i find… what, weird?”

“the fact that the two entities inside of us are also a thing?”

bob sighed, sipping on his cup of coffee. “it is a bit… weird, i suppose. why… why do you ask?”

you shrugged, “i don’t know, the thought just crossed my mind, that’s all.”

bob nodded, setting his cup down on the kitchen counter, “well yes, it is weird, but i prefer not to think too much about it, it’s-“ he paused, trying to find the right words, “it’s like… trying to make sense of an unsolvable math problem.”

you chuckled lightly, “yeah… i guess it is pretty much like that, huh?”

he nodded, a small smile on his face, “yeah… i don’t really want to get a headache trying to do the math to figure them out.”

you nodded, picking up your mug, “yeah, i don’t want to either. our relationship already confuses the public enough, imagine what their reaction would be if they find out that our respective entities are practically dating, too.”

bob chuckled quietly, his expression turning amused, “probably… probably just utter confusion and disbelief, followed by a lot of questions, and a few headaches.”

you laughed, “yeah, no kidding. they’re either going to think we’re insane or we have lost our minds completely. maybe both.”

he nodded, a smirk on his face, “oh yeah, they’ll definitely freak out. and imagine how they’ll react when they learn about the whole treaty thing we have with them…”

you rolled your eyes, a small grin on your face, “that’ll blow their minds- they’ll wonder how the hell we manage to come to an agreement with a goddess, worshipped by the pre-columbian maya and inca civilizations, AND a destructive entity which is the literal embodiment of depression.”

bob chuckled, “yeah, i’m sure they will. hell, i don’t… i don’t think they’d even believe us if we told them the whole thing… they’ll think we made it up.”

you nodded, “honestly, i wouldn’t be surprised if they do end up thinking we made it all up. the whole idea of it sounds a bit ridiculous when you say it out loud, don’t you think? who do you think will believe that?”

he sighed, “not one person for sure. they’ll think we belong in a mental institution… but… i don’t mind, though. being crazy with you seems better than being normal. a-at least, in my opinion.”

you rolled your eyes playfully at that, “yeah? you enjoy being crazy with me, huh? do you like being labeled as insane?”

he chuckled, “hey, being insane with you? i love it. as long as we stick together… i don’t care what people think of me or what they label us as.”

you cracked a smile, “yeah, who needs normalcy anyways? insane together, right?”

he returned the smile, his eyes filled with affection, “insane together indeed, sweetheart.”

tag list:

@lovetoalll

[slxtarchive]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✦ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐁𝐘 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. when you find yourself struggling in one of your classes, you thank your lucky stars for such a helpful professor

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃. yes, you can find it here.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. SMUT ! age gap [ up to your interpretation but about a 4-5 yr age gap is intended ], degrading, use of the words dirty & filthy, name calling [ slut, dirty girl, filthy girl, whore, sir ], pinch of handjobs, pnv sex [ unprotected - not recommended ], table sex & standing doggy style.

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒. he looks so good in that photo. thank you for being patient, i hope you enjoyyy [ divider is made from youtube & capcut ]

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 2.4k.

the classroom was quiet, the only thing heard was the scratching of the chalk on the old school chalkboard. standing in front of the equation you tried and tried to think of how to solve it but ended up stumped. your lips pressed into a pout as you turned around. “i don’t get it.” you sighed, finally turning to glance in colby’s direction.

professor brock with his hands on his hips leaned back against his desk. he crossed his arms and gave you an encouraging nod. “alright, where are you stuck?”

you bit your cheek. “um, everywhere?” you replied, motioning to the unsolved problem on the board.

he let out a soft laugh, pushing himself off the desk, and walked over to stand beside you. “okay, let’s just break it down again,” he spoke pointing to the beginning of the equation. “what’s the very first thing you do here.” his tone was soft and light holding a bit of a intelligent sound.

you hesitated getting a bit distracted by the wafting scent of his cologne. you bit your cheek trying to think about the equation. “simplify?” you guessed mindlessly.

he held a light grin. “close.” his voice was so patient. “distribute first, then simplify. go on, try it.” he nodded to the boards.

you nodded slowly grabbing the chalk and began to write. you were on a roll but your hand froze halfway through. “shit — no this doesn’t even make sense.” you groaned, glancing up at him.

your professor sighed, stepping closer so he was standing right behind you. “here,” his tone was light. “let me guide you.”

he reached out, placing his hand gently over yours. his touch was warm and steady, and he guided you through the motion of writing out and solving the next step.

you felt a fire ignite on your skin and your heart started to race. his breathing was slow on your neck as he focused on solving the problem. everything about this intrigued you, turned you on even. he was so — “see?” he murmured, his breath brushing against your ear. “it’s not as complicated as it looks.”

you looked at the problem and noticed everything had been solved. you had been daydreaming. you swallowed harshly before speaking up, “i don’t know.” the uncertainty in your voice was apparent. you tilted your head up at him slightly noticing the flush in his cheeks. “it still feels… complicated.” the eye contact you made with him felt very intimate so he found himself stepping back.

he froze as he put distance between the both of you, your hands no longer touching anymore. “you just need practice.” he cleared his throat.

the way he stood there awkwardly showed you that he felt the exact same way. how he put his hands in his pockets and tried to avoid any extra eye contact.

“maybe,” you bit your lip to fight off a huge grin as you turned toward him. “or maybe i just need the right teacher.”

colby raised a brow noticing your flirty tone and how your posture was telling. “yn…” he said with a warning, though his voice was soft.

“what?” you asked, feigning innocence. “i’m just saying, you’re really good at this.”

his jaw tightened, and he looked away, trying to focus on anything but the way you were staring at him. “we should continue to focus on the math now.” he said, his voice low.

you put on a playful pout. “i am focusing.” you replied taking a step closer. “but maybe i just need a little… incentive.”

colby’s chest rose and fell heavily as he met your gaze. “yn, this… this isn’t— ”

“isn’t what?” you raised your brows. “professor, you don’t have to pretend like you don’t feel anything that i feel.” your voice was quiet and insistent.

he ran a hand through his dark hair looking at the way your shirt was tight around your body leaving just a few to the imagination. how your skin looked so soft, so smooth, so pure. his resolve slowly crumbled around your boldness. “this is a bad idea.” he muttered softly, barely above a whisper.

you were closer than ever before, your body nearly making contact with his. she looked up at his tall figure. “then stop me.” you whispered, your voice daring as you stepped one more inch closer.

he didn’t move. not one inch. he couldn’t. he wanted this.

for a long charged moment, neither of you spoke. your heart was beating so fast, racing even but you held your stance. you searched colby’s eyes trying to wonder what his next step would be.

then, as if something inside him snapped, coming closer to the distance between you. his hands found your waist, pulling you against him as his lips claimed yours.

the kiss was intense, a release of all the tension that had been building between you two. you pressed your hand against his chest, tilting your head to deepen the kiss as he backed you against the chalkboard.

you gasped as your back hit the wall. he pushed you further up against it kissing you with passion and need.

when you both finally pulled apart, you were breathless and felt dizzy trying to register what just happened. colby rested his forehead against yours. “this is going to get us both in trouble.” his voice was hoarse.

you lightly smiled, licking your bottom lip. your fingers curled into his shirt clutching it in your hands and pulled him closer. you then whispered against his lips, “then let’s make it worth it.”

he seemed to have an internal battle within himself before he grabbed your face pulling you toward his slowly, tortuously slow. your lips touched ever so slightly as your breathing mingled with his. he sighed softly, wanting to connect them.

you leaned forward trying to mold them together but he pulled back teasingly. he grinned looking at your eyes and then lips. you let out the slightest whimper that had him lose all control.

he molded your lips with his gripping your waist with urgency. your moans got caught in your throat as he grabbed you harshly before muttering ‘up’. you gasped before jumping so his hands rested on your ass carrying you over to sit on his desk.

he knew it was risky but at this point in time, he didn’t care. he shoved everything off his desk to make room for you and continued to kiss you on your lips, then brought his own all the way down to your neck — sucking and biting. “this is so wrong.” he groaned against your neck.

your eyes fluttered shut loving the feeling of his skin on yours. your chest was moving up and down as you tried to speak through your staggered breathing. “is it?” you questioned, trailing your hand down until you found his print. he was hard under his slacks. you felt excitement course through you as your brain rested on the thought of how you were turning colby on.

you palmed him through the thick material of his pants, earning a low groan from him. he clutched your hips pulling you closer to him. you moved your hand from between you two allowing your centers to collide with one another. you felt that pressure send a shock up inside you. “feels so good.” you whined as you held onto colby’s shoulders.

a low laugh left his lips. “yeah?” he fiddled with his belt with his free hand. you took your hands off his shoulder one by one to prop yourself up. he took his hand off your hip looking down at you as you sat down staring up at him. “so pretty starin’ at me.” he licked his bottom lip unbuckling it swiftly before unbuttoning his pants.

you pulled him by the belt loops of his pants then brought your hand up to his chest clutching his shirt. “make me feel pretty.” you pulled him closer. he looked down at you just before grabbing the waistband of your skirt and tugging it down a bit. you lifted your hips so that he could fully take it off so it pooled hanging off your legs.

his hand reached inside your panties using two fingers to collect your arousal. “already so wet for me, so filthy.” he purred. “my filthy girl.” he brought your slick up to your clit slowly rubbing circles. you bit your lip whimpering slightly.

he kept this going as he spoke in your ear. “you love the thought of fucking your professor? dirty dirty girl.” his fingers picked up the pace stimulating you so good. his words also brought you close and faster than you’ve ever cum before. you felt yourself try to catch your breath and keep up. “gonna have to teach you another lesson huh?”

you nodded the pleasure practically blinding you as you clenched your eyes shut. you felt your legs practically shaking as you felt your impending orgasm. suddenly colby stopped his actions, bringing his fingers up to his mouth. your eyes were mesmerized by how he licked and sucked them clean. “wanna taste you so bad but i have a meeting in a few minutes. can’t believe a dirty slut like you…” he grabbed your jaw. “would make me late for a meeting, all because you’re greedy and needy for my cock, yeah?”

that mouth of his had you completely dripping on his desk. he noticed laughing humorlessly. “making a mess too, so disrespectful.” he pouted. “you wanna be like that, probably shouldn’t give you what you want huh?” he stood still not making any more to continue what was happening.

his words causing you to speak up. “n-no! please… please fuck me.” you begged. “promise i’ll be a good girl for you professor.” you bit your lip as you called him his professional name. he raised a brow, secretly loving the way you called him that but he was looking for more.

“beg more. how bad do you want my cock, huh?” he put your hair behind your ear.

you gulped bringing your hand inside his boxers before grabbing his hard dick and gently pumping him once. “s-so bad sir. so bad, been wanting it.” you licked your lips as you saw his head lull back at your touch. “want you so bad. promise i won’t be filthy anymore. i’ll always be a good girl for you.” you blinked at him.

you were so hard to resist for him, he just had to give you what you wanted.

he licked his teach grabbing your hand and moving it aside grabbing his own cock out. he pumped himself a few times before nudging your legs further apart. he lined himself up with you feeling how smooth and silky you felt.

your hands fell behind you once again holding your balance. you almost felt yourself collapse when colby pushed all the way inside you. you gasped your jaw dropping as you felt him immediately nudge that sweet spot and at that moment, you knew you weren’t going to last long. he thrust in and out of you slowly enjoying the feeling of you wrapped around him.

he moaned at how your walls closed around and swallowed him. “taking me so well. whore for this cock, yeah?” he grabbed your hips thrusting in and out. the view in front of you is so hot. the way his hair fell in front of his eyes, how it was sticking to his forehead because of his sweat — a dream you got to see in reality.

he looked at his watch noticing he had to speed things up. “fuck — have only five minutes.” he groaned, “wish i could take my time with you.” he muttered. he ended up pulling you off the desk and turning you around. “don’t worry baby, gonna make you feel so good, jus’ quicker.” he said sliding back in. you gripped the desk as he pushed down onto his. skin slapping together echoed through the lecture hall — your tiny whimpers and moans threatening to escape.

you felt that natural feeling in your stomach rising up and banding together. you couldn’t help but clench around colby. “fuck — gonna cum! please please please…” you whimpered, the pleasure becoming too much.

colby had a lazy grin on his face as he felt the same way. “cum on my cock. be the greedy good girl you are and milk my cock.” he groaned, grabbing your hair into a makeshift ponytail as he felt himself spill inside you shortly after your legs shook in response to your orgasm.

your hands gripped the desk until they appeared white. sweat beading down your forehead.

in the silence that followed only your harsh breaths mingled in the air — the reality of what just happened settling into place. you slowly stood up as colby helped you lift up your underwear and skirt. you felt colby’s cum slowly dripping out of you; a reminder of what previously occurred.

you bit your cheek observing him buckling his pants up and fixing his collar. then he finally made eye contact with you. “i’m dropping you.” he stated.

your heart dropped out of your chest as he gathered his things. “what? i — im sorry professor brock. i… i didn’t mean to—”

he shook his head. “yn, i’m dropping you because i can’t have any romantic relations with a student.” his face did not at all show how serious dropping you from the class would be.

you gulped realizing he was right. did you regret what happened? you didn’t know. all you knew though was that you needed the class.

“i’ll make sure to get you enrolled in another class though.” he nodded. “and by no romantic relations with a student i mean, it’s because i… want to do this again. i’d like to take you out though, if that’s okay.”

his words caught you completely off guard. he just asked you out? it wasn’t just some in-the-heat-of-the-moment sex, he actually wanted to get to know you.

the smile that made its way onto your face was huge. he pressed his lips together trying to refrain from smiling back. “we'll talk tomorrow, can’t be late to this meeting.” he opened the door waving you over. “you have my number.” he stated as you walked out.

you nodded, giving him a polite smile. his thoughts raced clouding with thoughts of what just happened and what could happen as you walked away.

© 𝐬𝐥𝐱𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞

[abalidoth]

trick xor treat!

Because of that xor, you get:

Because one of the tools we have to analyze NP problems is 3-SAT, or Boolean satisfiability -- because it's NP-complete, any NP problem can be reduced to it in polynomial time!

[13thpythagoras]

pointing out our good mother Earth's axis doesn't sit 90 degrees from our orbit around the sun, it's on a 23.5 degree tilt:

this tilt is what causes the seasons summer and winter, to occur in our temperate regions. It's what causes 24 daylight at summer solstice in polar regions and 24 hour night. Why does our planet have this tilt?

Imagine if you will, a planet 10 times the size of earth, passing about 8x the distance of the moon away, and it's on a weird orbit not totally aligned with ours.

This megaplanet would have knocked us off our 90-degree perpendicular axis and spun that tilt proportionally to its own orbit. Would be interesting to see a CGI rendering of this interaction.

(so fun having these thoughts, like as science discovers why ancient people had those weird stories, talk of Nibiru and Planet X, as I tongue in cheekly call it, but science calls this "Planet 9" formally just PSA for those hoping to do easy research independently, which I always encourage; indeed I go light on providing links just to keep formatting easy, understanding it's more important to spell and name things correctly to best facilitate the independent research of the reader, my intent is always to ask questions that lead to many more questions, I shy away from questions that lead to fewer questions)

Indeed given the strong likelihood that planet X is on a 26,000 year orbit of chaos, super elongated and whatnot, that means it was last here literally 13,000 years ago, almost to the millennium.

That means it is at is orbital maximum distance from the sun! It's basically standing there motionless like Regan's dead body

This is literally the only time when we have a chance to push planet 9, or Nibiru, or planet X, into the next neighboring star system where there's only one planet with the potential for liquid water and it's tidally locked to a red dwarf star prone to atmosphere-destroying superflares; needless to say I can conclude we will be saving lives and our grandchildren and our friends' grandchildren and our cats and dogs grandkittens and grandpuppies, and the whales, and the mushrooms, and everything, is what we defend when we make the moral highground claim that we have license and duty to eject planet 9 from our solar system once and for all, this is an extremely, profoundly unique and rare time in the history our our universe, where we have a species coming into awareness of its biggest existential threat collectively, and gaining the ability to engage in collective planetary defense. Sorry proxima centauri B! We will seek to provide scouts, and potentially if life is found, Noah's arks for Proxima centauri B's life, and give that life its own planet here in our safer solar system, free of planet 9 / planet X / Nibiru's existential threats. Wish I was kidding but I'm grateful the internet allows quick communication. What a time to be alive. And I am grateful for the bravery of anyone else willing to look at this problem with me...what a weird topic to have to research.

But just to think, as advanced as any earth civilization ever got, they never beat planet 9

I'm talking about Babylon, Egypt, Mu, Lemuria, Atlantis, all them, the Venutians, the Martians, the sentient dinosaurs that became spacefaring lizardpeople; everyone and anyone who's ever been anything in our solar system's history has FAILED thus far to defeat planet 9, and thus they have FAILED to protect us from a totally existential ongoing threat.

Strategy talk! *7 year old raises hand* Could we also just push Planet 9 into Jupiter? like a direct hit?"

I just would see that as not guaranteed to work- Jupiter is a gaseous planet, and planet 9 is potentially a rocky one; there is a strong likelihood that planet X / planet 9 would pass through Jupiter completely unharmed, maybe just leaving a new red spot. I wouldn't see it as guaranteed at all that Jupiter could just swallow up Planet X like a garbage disposal. And if there was a rocky collision of planet X with another rocky body in our solar system that is exactly the problem we're desperately looking to avoid. This would, almost needless to say, create an explosion of epic proportions of rock and would shower down buge meteors and asteroids onto our planet.

A bold claim for generational self awareness points

we are the only generation / few generations of human beings within a 40,000 year window who have any chance to defeat the chaos king, or planet X

#IRL lore

my math holds that this chaos king planet is at a gravitational apex, meaning its furthest distance from the sun, right now.

Once it gets up to ramming speed, there will barely be any chance to redirect its course much less defend ourselves from the asteroid monsoon.

We are the only ones with the opportunity to push and nudge and shove this guy into orbit with another star, somehow, and get it off our backs, while its at its momentum-minimum on a 24,000 year cycle

This 24,000 year cycle will claim us too if we don't, so it's just self-awareness

[beanxiv]

˗ˏˋ📓 ─── U + I = LUV .ᐟ ˎˊ˗

riddle rosehearts x gn!reader . . trying to explain trig to your infatuated partner is hard work .ᐟ 1.1k word count.

note: based on the need for a man not to mansplain to me, but to gently teach me content: suggestive, petnames [main masterlist] . [twst masterlist]

waking up in and having to navigate an entirely new world is likely— no, definitely one of the hardest things you've ever had to go through.

you would think math would give you a break when you get to said new world. but no. math is still math. twisted wonderland has no magic to make precalc easier. not that you have any magic, but still, it would be nice.

you're torn between standing up in your chair and screaming like a madman while ripping apart your worksheet, or continuing to do your homework like a normal person.

a quick glance around the library has you choosing the latter. none of these students need to see you crash out (again). you also don't need crowley breathing down your neck about anything (again).

you click your pen while staring down at the trig problem staring right back at you, unsolved. people are starting to look at you and you realize your pen clicking is bordering obnoxious. you shoot the octavinelle kid an apologetic smile and turn to your boyfriend.

his nose is buried in a practical magic textbook, jotting down notes every few moments.

“psst,” you try to get his attention. he’s focused though, and doesn't hear. you try again, “riddle. ….riddle,” you nudge his foot with yours and he finally looks up.

“yes? what's wrong?” 

you slide your worksheet toward him sheepishly, “do you understand this? i'm kinda lost.”

riddle closes his textbook— not before bookmarking it— and glances down at the worksheet, a thoughtful frown tugging at his lips. “this lesson wasn’t taught very well, was it?” he murmurs, looking up at you then back down at the paper.

“this one is simple— the wording is what must be confusing you,” he says, and he’s right. damn these word problems.

“let’s take what we know and…” he’s writing down numbers and corresponding symbols,  explaining everything to you as he does.

at some point, during the middle of the equation, you're distracted by the gentleness of it all. riddle— who you honestly couldn’t even stand when you first met him— has come such a long way from his outbursts and near-violent need for control. here sits, not a riddle rosehearts who's snapping at you for speaking in the library at a volume higher than a whisper; not a riddle rosehearts who would remind you that “rule eighty-two states that all math work shall be done under the roof of your own room!” or something— you're not sure if there are actually any rules like that, but even so!

no, here sits a riddle— just riddle, who lets you pick flowers from the garden on wednesdays, even though it violated rule two hundred twenty-eight. here sits your boyfriend who is explaining a math problem to you so softly, you’ve forgotten all about trig and calc.

“my rose?” he tilts his head to catch your eyes, snapping you into reality. “should i explain differently? you look like you're still lost…”

“oh! no, no, i got it now, i think,” you shake your head, and your whisper probably borders more of a whisper-yell, but riddle doesn’t comment on it.

“are you sure? it seems as if you were zoned out,” he gives you one of those unimpressed looks and you can't help but shrug.

“if it makes you feel better, i was still focused on you! just not… on you explaining.” you offer, and his brows pull up as if to question the reliability of his flustered partner’s words. his look makes you huff, “honest!”

“we have a test later this week, my rose,” he reminds you. “i think it’s to your benefit to understand this.” he taps his pen to the sheet of paper.

“how can i focus when you look so pretty?” you sigh, leaning forward to squish his cheeks between one hand. “being all intelligent and sweet.”

now it’s riddle’s turn to be flustered, and his face lights up with heat, blush dusting his cheeks. “i’m jus’—!” his words are slightly muffled by the way his lips are forced into a pout by your pushing his cheeks together. he grabs your wrist, not roughly, and lowers it between yourselves. “i’m simply explaining a problem to you, i don't see how..” he glances away, back down at the paper in attempt to hide the blush that’s practically making the room glow.

“how i think my boyfriend is the prettiest in the room?” you lift a brow.

he opens his mouth to retort then closes it again, which you take as a victory. you also take the chance to steal a victory kiss from his still-warm cheek. he huffs in that riddle-esque way, but doesn’t push you away. he never does.

on the contrary, he finds himself always giving in to you and your antics. half the time, he just can't deny you.

“need i remind you we’re still in the library?” he mutters, turning to reopen his own textbook since it’s clear you’re in too much of a teasing mood to get any of your own work done. leave it to riddle to attempt to mask the ever prominent blush that leaves him quite a mess, honestly. “oh, c’mon!” you whisper, “i’m complimenting you and you’re pushing me away!” you know that’s not actually the case, but you like to mess with him. riddle, though, finds your mocking to be unassuming. he says your name, in that authoritative way that sends a chill down your spine, “let me explain the content to you. then, you’ll do the page, and then i’ll indulge in your fun. although, not at the library. i’d much prefer somewhere without so many prying eyes– and a setting not as professional as this one.” you know he just means the comfort of ramshackle or heartslabyul, but the way he says it makes it seem as if theres implication in his words and that along with his tone is enough to get you to lock the fuck in. “yes sir,” you mumble, scooting your chair in closer to his. “trig, my absolute favorite! go ahead, mr. rosehearts, i’m listening.” riddle softens at that, shaking his head and yet chuckling despite himself. “are you now? good.

where was i before? ah, right. so this problem is asking for this missing angle, and to find it…” he loves you, and that must why he not only allows you to be so carefree and playful, but also himself. jeez, how far gone is he?

© beanxiv — all rights reserved. copying, reposting, translating, feeding into ai, and modifying on any platform or by any means is not allowed.

─── reblogs with tags are much appreciated 💝

[cappuccinoandglitter]

Canon Eddie is making it really hard for me to want to include Eddie in my fics at all. Like, I get he's grieving too, but he once again accused Buck of making things about himself with no basis. If Buck is his supposed best friend, it's logical to expect that Eddie would keep him in the loop on major life changes. He looked like he was about to punch Buck in the face, then proceeded to make it about himself instead.

He sounded like the BoBs with the whole idea that he could've really made a difference in what happened. The tragedy of Bobby's death was that it was an unsolvable problem. The math wasn't gonna math no matter what.

And not only did Eddie again not apologize (has he ever?) he outsourced the whole thing to his kid and his tia. Eddie doesn't deal with his emotions, or impulses, at all. He either coasts or outsources.

People want this kind of a relationship for Buck? What in the Victorian tragedy is this shit?

He's done nothing but treat Buck like an afterthought if at all the entire season.

[sensaitist]

We're going to run out of breathable air soon but not because we dont produce it. its just that someone did a perfect math problem on paper that cant be unsolved

[yourfavvvintj]

mercury in retrograde

dear socks,

every time i'm sad, i think the world is ending, and when i'm away from you, the earth tilts and snaps back into another plane, leading me to theorize that i'm dizzy from the pull of the tides, or because mercury is in retrograde, or something—is it a mystical hex of some sort, a spell you cast, back when you first whispered my name aloud, with talk of compasses and stars and things that lead you home? was it an enchanted object you slipped into my back pocket long ago, when you held me all-encompassingly until we were both shaking with nerves like capsaicin (though fire might be too mild a word to describe the feeling)?

or maybe i'm just making excuses for the way my heart skips a beat when i talk to you, and the way my sentences are becoming difficult to end because it always feels like i'm still missing something in the distance that i can't quite grasp—you, probably.

the moon seems to be a symbol for higher power and maybe the farness of the people that have made their homes in my barren heart. iconography takes up more space in my mind now that i can't stop asking all the right and wrong questions—google, what does it mean when you dream of endless skies and veins so full they might burst and kissing your best friend? life is full of unsolvable mysteries it seems.

tell me why i can't form the right words and why i love you so much already and why it's so hard to get to where you are. closeness is all i crave and it's making me sick, biting my tongue from how sweet my mouth tastes and wondering if yours might be like honey, as viscous and amber and stupidly confusing as you are.

once i hold your hand i know i'll cry when i have to let go. i have this problem where i get attached so easily and love all the way to the bone, and your wry nature and half smiles don't bode well for any exception towards this tendency.

god really has it out for me; when i see pretty girls and you still come to mind, i am reminded that holding you in my thoughts is a kind of power itself—one you exercise over me as you let the soft, secret things lodged in your throat slip into my palms. (math class is a good setting for letting your heart loose; it's difficult to always keep it on a leash.) likewise, i stopped choking on sentences around you not because i ceased to be nervous but because i can't help but tell you every thought that crosses my mind.

but to be honest i've always lacked courage, fashion sense, a witty instagram handle, all the things that matter, you know. i've always lacked the things i imagine would catch your attention. (in my mind, i don't; i smile and you smile and i slip into your head like a thief in the night and i learn your birthday and your sister's age and why you grew up into such a sad kid and from there it's all easy.) it's not easy.

if you figure out how to rent a sizeable living space in a brain that can never go still, filled with too many thoughts and fictions (any price; i can pay), will you tell me so that, once there, maybe i can enamour you enough to inspire at least 4 disgustingly romantic poems? (prose is acceptable too.)

with gratitude and resentfulness,

north

---

@ravensncrowsx @regardingrowan @salmonsushi13 @inkandteaxx @frenchfryturtle @yourlocalbadgerscales @rainystarssx @raysofpoetry222 @nyxmahogany @girl-rudely-interrupted @fennec-sucks @preposterousray @alley--rose @raeprise

---

for @somemismatchedsocks. we know the drill.

[that-wildwolf]

Man I love cafés. I'm sitting here writing fanfic. The woman at the next table is designing intricate tattoos in her notebook. She's really good. I kind of want to marry her.

There's a teenager who's clearly cramming before an exam. He looks like he's one unsolved math problem away from a mental breakdown. He orders his second iced americano since I've been here. I smile sympathetically as he passes by my table.

The barista puts pistachio syrup in my coffee for free because I always compliment her earrings and stop to chat with her as I wait for my order. She plays Viva La Vida by Coldplay every time it's her shift. I tell her I like this song. She smiles.

There's a couple sitting in the corner. It looks like they're on a first date. It's not going well. I go back to my writing.

We're all drinking coffee. We're all sitting here, everyone doing their own thing but no one alone. I really love cafés.