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sheppardsmckay · 10 months

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A bit of a rant here on main lol. Proceed at your own risk.

I’ve recently been going through a bit of healing and discovery about myself now that I finally have some time to process. It’s not a normal or fun thing for me to do to say the least. I’m a very closed off, private person who’s only just now understanding aspects of myself and working through about a decade and a half of trauma which has resulted in chronic health issues and a lot of mental ones too. I have a caregiver’s body at a young age, broken and failing before 30. It’s definitely not at all what I thought my life was gonna turn out to be, and although it’s certainly not been all bad (my career has made some wonderful strides this year, and parts of my health are improving), it’s been harder than I ever imagined.

Early this year was kinda the last straw for a lot of reasons. And because I was entirely too busy to deal with it I did what I do best: compartmentalize and box up the hell out of it. Unfortunately (for everyone) I’ve been developing healthier and better coping mechanisms which means that ain’t as easy as it used to be. A part of me I closed off a long time ago got torn open and left empty which is always exactly what someone like me just loves. And this time I found myself unable to close it again.

Long story (sorta) short, I had a mental epiphany/existential crisis/breakdown after randomly texting something to my friend and I realized “hmm, maybe I’m not keeping it together as well as I thought”. That forced me to take a minute and seriously start to figure this shit out.

So I sat down and talked to my friend (who is honestly the best for listening to my rants, I don’t know how they put up with me) and started processing everything as they recommended.

The process is taking a long time. It’s not like I can just sit down with my brain and be like “so tell me what’s wrong” and then we solve it before my afternoon writing session. It’s not like my brain even works perfectly all the time. But I’m trying despite it all, despite my neurodivergent brain and my health being uncooperative, and me barely understanding any of it, I’m trying.

And what’s the biggest thing that’s helped me in this? Well it’s two things actually. Some stories written by my best friend (same friend who listens to my rants on text, in person….) and a little sci-fi show.

I’ve talked about her here before, but my friend writes some of my favorite stories with some of my favorite tropes and themes. But also they’re very healing. Two in particular have kinda become a regular reread. The characters are relatable and real and I’m able to connect to the MC’s because of their pain, their struggles to survive in a world not made for them, and how they navigate the challenges of failing health in a fallen world. Happy Thought and Light The Way Back Home help me heal and process through these characters eyes, with all the magic and bravery of a fairytale. I read them when I’m hurting, when I feel useless or alone and they help me feel not so alone in the world, so I’m rereading them right now while I’m working through things.

And then along came Stargate Atlantis. Obviously I’ve talked about it a lot recently but this show was not something I planned on adoring so completely. And it was certainly not something that I planned on bringing me to my existential crisis and forcing myself to deal with it at the worst time lol.

But through it I’ve both grown and learned a lot about myself. I’ve become more myself and I’ve healed and worked through trauma because of it.

Through the show I’m once again remembering the value of finding a family, a home that doesn’t always include blood but most definitely warmth and love. Through Sheppard I’m learning that I shouldn’t deal with things on my own, that loyalty and bravery is important and you can rely on others. That the pain that you feel isn’t just a solitary experience and you don’t have to bear the world on your shoulders by yourself. That it isn’t your fault.

And through my dear Rodney I’m reminded that I’ll be loved despite my flaws, that you can be brave and true despite your worst impulses and you can keep trying and failing and trying again because it’s so hard but worth so much. And maybe, just maybe, you can be your weirdest, loudest self and be accepted for it anyway. Because of the show I’ve opened up more, laughed louder, cried more, and I’m realizing the importance of healing and love and a true family. A real one.

I’ve joked that I’m in my “villain era” but I think it’s just me being more of who I am and not what people expect, to create healthy goals and barriers and separate myself from the narrative of some of my family’s problems. I’m speaking up more for myself, which is causing some truly hilarious moments (I’m literally Rodney complaining sometimes it’s both funny and annoying I know) and I’m letting people in, letting myself be more vulnerable and open and not closing off the dangerous and hurt parts of me. I’m letting my wounds out into the sunlight and letting it heal instead of fester alone in the dark. I’m letting go, or trying to, and finding the value of the things to cling to. I’m trying.

And I’m writing again. I haven’t written in quite a well. I’ve edited a whole lot, but nothing new has come to mind. Until this all spiraled out and I decided to say “to hell with it, I’ll just put everything into this book”. It’s become a memoir (in a fantasy,steampunk, post ww2 way, of course) and helped me work through some issues that can only be explained in words on paper.

ALL of this very, very long post (I’m sorry/not sorry) to say that you can learn about yourself at any stage in life, that sometimes things don’t always turn out how they should (and it’s okay), that healing comes only in love and patience and light and that family doesn’t start or end with blood but it’s important, so important to find one. To never stop trying even when it feels useless.

And stories. Stories can mend and save and grow and teach and change. Stories can drag you into the light and they can help you become whole again. They can make you a better person, if you let them. So let them.

Special thanks to the author of the books mentioned, the dragger into the craziness that is SGA and helping me rant and heal and process and mentoring me through stories and writing and sharing. @lightthewaybackhome it’s been a blessing. And a real joy. I definitely wouldn’t have gotten here without you.

And I’m sorry for the Mckayness of me, it’s only gonna get worse I fear.

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shima-draws · 4 years

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Nothin like watching Legally Blonde with your favorite hoes to make the day better

#Today's been AWFUL lol I literally had to come home from work early bc I was so. Emotionally unstable #My boss looked at me and she was like yes god please go home and take a nap. For me #She's too good to me--#She understands my anxiety perfectly bc she also has it so she KNOWS. What it's like #Anyway #Had a breakdown. Came home early. Struggled through the afternoon #Then I said hey anybody want to stream with me #And Dai and Athena were like YEAH!!!#So we sat and watched Legally Blonde and it was incredible #I have them hooked now >:)))))))))))#Me; cackling: ALL ACCORDING TO KEIKAKU (Note: Keikaku means plan)#Friends #Shima speaks #Also I have a zine deadline but I am literally. So wrecked I can't draw rn gnfjsdkas #So I asked for an extension--hopefully they don't mind--#I'M USUALLY ON TOP OF ZINE DEADLINES BUT HHGHGHG. I CANNOT TODAY #I'm glad I watched the musical tho it always helps. Always. It makes me smile every time I watch it

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koocycle · 4 years

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hiii i’d like to request an angst + comforting fluff, like the OC has a hard time keeping old friendship and has like many doubts and worries and feels like a bad friend. basically an overthinker + emotionally sensitive OC. who among the boys could really fit for giving good advice and some comfort to the OC. could be romantic or platonic. bc i’m basically like that irl wew. it’s my first time opening up abt that.

adore u | jhs drabble

pairing; hoseok x reader

word count; 1,6k

genre; angst, fluff.

contains; bestfriend!hoseok, roommate!hoseok, sweet stuff, sad stuff :(

note; this drabble is based on some personal experiences,, being an overthinker nd emotionally sensitive person makes two of us :( it can be pretty hard sometimes but pls don’t!!!! keep it all to yourself sweet anon!!!! talk w someone if necessary, it can even be me!!

visit; my masterlist !

send me; your imagination right here and i’ll make it come true :)

You were never the kind of person to easily open up to new people, neither were you the kind of person to seek for any kind of social attention. Even when you were only a little child, engaging in conversations and interacting with others was something you definitely had to work on. After years of struggling with the idea of befriending new people and being an expected social butterfly, it didn’t seem to surprise you when people labeled you as ‘the quiet kid in the back of class’.

Very often, you found yourself doubting yourself from time to time, nothing much had changed since that time after all. You figured out that your ‘shy’ behavior even had a negative effect on your past friendships.

As a young adult, you had always thought that you would eventually grow past this perplexed phase of forced smiles and friendships. And now that you were actually able to call yourself a grown adult, you were even more disappointed in yourself when this ugly and toxic mindset still didn’t find it’s way out of your life. It made you angry how you were still doubting your social skills every time being surrounded by your friends.

Coming back from a day with some of your friends that was supposed to be fun, made you in reality mentally exhausted. Doubting yourself almost every day was one thing, but proving your negative thoughts to be right by hanging out with them was another thing you couldn’t quite get the grip on yet. You had no idea what was wrong with you and why you thought yourself to be such an awful friend, but you had been thinking this way for a good amount of years, and you were wondering if you would ever be able to change yourself.

So here you were, sitting in the drivers seat of your dark, cool car. Your car was already parked in the parking lot of your apartment for a little longer than ten minutes, and as to why you didn’t get inside your house already, you also didn’t have a valid reason for. The engine was turned off long ago and you had allowed your forehead to lean against the steering wheel, only for you to think in complete silence by yourself.

You had been looking forward to this moment all day long— the moment you were able to slip under your cool sheets and fill your head with even more negative thoughts.

However, you gave that idea a second thought when you had seen Hoseok’s car neatly parked in it’s usual spot, indicating that he had arrived home earlier than expected.

You took your time to pull yourself together before you would enter the building. Not wanting to ruin his time away from work with another set of your sad thoughts for him to go through. You knew that your best friend was about to ask you how your day went by, especially since you spent your day with some of your friends— something you usually try to avoid.

So when you had finally arrived in front of your door, you took one more shaky breath before you entered, only to be welcomed by your energetic best friend himself.

As usual, Hoseok’s energy was brighter than anything you’ve ever seen. Even though you had something close to a mental breakdown only a few minutes ago, you couldn’t help but smile widely at the sight of him. Your roommate was so hardworking, always waking up in the early morning, only to arrive back home in the late afternoon but still giving you the most beautiful smile whenever you needed one.

‘‘How was Jimin’s birthday party? Did you have fun?’’ he had asked you the moment you walked inside the living room. The first thing you did was plopping down the couch to sit next to him. You wanted to be comforted by his presence as you felt your happy mood shifting again upon hearing the question.

‘‘It was nice.’’ You let your temple fall against his his shoulder, the lie easily slipping from your lips as you closed your eyes at the feeling of him beside you. You tried to distract yourself, knowing how Hoseok wanted you to get into the details. ‘‘Can’t believe you can watch this without your insides doing a turn over.’’ You told him, indicating to the television in front of both of you playing some kind of American reality show.

‘‘There is not really anything else to watch at this time of the day.’‘ You heard him chuckle lightly. ‘‘You’re home early, by the way, I honestly thought you wouldn’t be home until tonight.”

‘‘Did you want me to?’’ You couldn’t help but let your insecurities get the better of you and ask such a silly question.

‘‘Hm? Of course not, I like being home with you. Just figured out you’d be home later than usual because you were spending time with your friends.’’ You felt his head resting on yours then, bringing his aura closer to yours. Hoseok was aware of your constant doubts and worries, he had always been one of the few people in the world to make you feel like it was alright to be a little shy. He told you that it was just fine to take a bit more time to open up to people than usual, it didn’t make you a bad friend at all, is what he had always tried to convince you.

And that’s one of the things that you liked most about him. He was the complete opposite of you, always getting along with everyone he met and being the bright piece of sunshine he was. Everything he did seemed to be natural to you. And yet, he still understood your worries, even though he had nothing to relate to, he was the one who was able to wipe a few of your worries away.

He was everything you ever wanted to be. You wanted to be just like him sometimes. It came to a point where you started to adore him, trying to pick up some of his habits, from talking to strangers to talking to a few of his closest friends.

‘‘Or did you not have fun?’’ Hoseok continued, smoothly trying to ask you about your day.

‘‘No It was fun, Hobi. Don’t worry about it.’’

There were a few moments of silence exchanged, the only sound coming from the television in front of you. He didn’t want to push you to open up about something you weren’t comfortable talking about, but he also didn’t want you to keep it all to yourself. ‘‘What is bothering you, then?” He couldn’t help but ask.

Another moment of silence passed by. You didn’t know if you should deny your feelings right now, but on the other hand, he could read you like an open book. There was no luck in pretending.

‘‘Do you think I’m a bad friend?’‘ You asked him softly, not wanting to hear how pathetic your voice sounded right now.

He had this idea that this was the thing bothering you. You didn’t seem as excited when you walked inside the apartment today, and he was able to recognize that sad look on your face better than anything else.

He knew that you didn’t want to talk about it because you were worried about bothering him with your bombarding words. But in all honesty, he wanted nothing else than offering you the most assuring comfort possible.

‘‘No. I think you’re an amazing friend.’’ He answered then, and you couldn’t help but plant another lump in your throat. ‘‘I would be packing my clothes and live somewhere else right now if it wasn’t for our friendship.’’

You smiled a little at that. ‘‘You’re only saying that to spare my feelings.’’ Your voice sounded hoarse as you played with your fingers, the volume of your voice going softer each time you spoke. ‘‘I know I’m troubling you with my worries, I didn’t want to bring it up again..’’

‘‘Hey,’’ he said then, disregarding his frame from yours, only to make you look at him a second later. ‘‘Your worries are not silly, they’re very reasonable. But don’t ever question our friendship to be one sided again, you know I love you. I love hearing your thoughts.’’

Hoseok gave you a somewhat stern look, wanting you to be aware of his side of your assumption. ‘‘I know you can’t help feeling this way, but you should know that you’re an amazing friend. My best friend, even.’’

‘‘Yeah I know, Hobi.’’

‘‘I don’t think you do.’’ He showed you a small smile, ‘‘come here.’’ Your friend pulled you closer to his side, going back to your previous position on the couch, but holding you tighter in his embrace this time.

‘‘Look at this beautiful friendship we’ve created the past few years. That wasn’t just because I wanted to spare your feelings. That was because I love you being my friend.’’ He told you as you drew invisible circles on his denim jacket, ‘‘Be a bit kinder to yourself, would you? You try to keep everybody satisfied with the love you give them, but what about yourself?’’

‘‘I don’t know how..?’’ you trailed off, not exactly knowing what he wanted you to do now.

‘‘I want you to show yourself a bit more respect. You can’t always satisfy everyone, it’s a part of it. You should love yourself a bit more instead of constantly worrying about your every move.’’

You hummed at his words, knowing that it sounded easier than it actually was. As if he could read your thoughts again, he spoke, ‘‘But don’t worry, we’re going through this together. As best friends should.’’

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mimzy-writing-online · 4 years

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Mourning My Vision- It’s more than depression...

Writing a post at 2 am when I’m absolutely exhausted and starting to lose it? Yeah, okay. This blog isn’t called The Late Night Writing Advice blog for nothing.

Okay, it’s 2 am and there’s something I want to talk to you guys about.

So my blog is known (I think?) as that one writing advice blog run by the visually impaired/blind person who makes posts on how to write blind characters. Those are my most popular posts. But I don’t talk as much about my personal experiences with blindness. So, here’s some of that.

I talk about the mourning period some people go through when they suddenly have a new disability, mourning the life they had before the disability and all the things they could do before but can’t do now.

For a lot of people that mourning period is depression. But saying that depression is the only form of a mourning period is a disservice and it actually hurt me in the long run to believe that.

The mourning period can take many forms, and a lot of it depends on how you got the disability, where you are in your life currently, and what your mental state was like before the disability.

Some forms are: PTSD, Anxiety, physical health issues such as fatigue, insomnia, oversleeping, anger, denial, emotional suppression followed by outbursts or emotional breakdowns. That’s off the top of my sleep deprived mind at least.

My personal experience of the mourning period was developing (redeveloping?) an anxiety disorder.

This is going to get long, but please keep reading. It’s important.

I had (and still would have had even if I never went blind) at least some anxiety. I thought it was social anxiety, but I would say it was more generalized anxiety, it’s just that the social aspect was what I was most concerned with when I got my diagnosis at age fifteen.

Uh, mental health history? I’ve had lifelong insomnia and anxiety and have struggled off and on with depression. I also might have had some PTSD in the past, though it was never diagnosed. I also have ADHD but I didn’t know that or get diagnosed until this past year, 2019.

I started noticeably going blind at the age of 22. I’d always needed glasses, but I was never (in italics) blind. Glasses always corrected to 20/20 until I was 22. I would like to mention that I started showing symptoms of vision issues at the age of 20, and at the time they were of some concern but I didn’t realize how concerning they were until I turned 22.

At age 22 I started getting shuffled around doctors office after doctors office. I wanted a diagnosis and to know if I would lose more vision. My mom wanted to help fix me. I did not want to be fixed. I’m not sure exactly why, but I didn’t want to be fixed. I was fine with it. At least, I thought I was.

Truth be told, I needed a cane when I was 20/21. I’m day blind and it began putting me in danger when I was 20/21, and I would need a sighted guide (usually my best friend) during the day time.

A quick note on day blindness: In situations with bright lighting, mostly outside during the day, as the name suggests, I am at my most blind. My eyes just don’t know how to process light. They take in too much light. Don’t know why. But image it’s like a camera and if it takes in too much light and becomes over exposed, the photograph becomes distorted and almost white. Literally take a photo of outside and use a photo editing app to turn the exposure as high up as possible. That’s me. Try navigating in that. Also bright light causes me awful, intense, never ending pain. I have to wear sunglasses outside to minimize the pain. The darker the better, but even the darkest lenses don’t completely take away the pain.

Back on topic-

And at 22, with enough vision loss, I decided it was “okay” for me to get a cane. I’d needed it for two years, but I waited because medically and legally I couldn’t be considered visually impaired, let alone legally blind, even though I had a whole section of the day, literally half the day every day, where I could expect to be 50-90% completely blind with white vision the second I stepped outside.

Which is why I get so pissy at the idea of “legal blindness” and letting sighted people determine what is blind and not blind and who gets aide and who doesn’t.

I wanted to get a cane. My mom said no. I was giving into my blindness too early. We could still get a doctor to solve all my problems. There had to be some surgery (which terrified me) to make me see normally again. But I didn’t think a doctor could cure what was wrong with me, and I was still terrified to go anywhere alone.

School was some kind of hell that year.

Seven months after doctors noticed I couldn’t see 20/20 with correction anymore, when I was starting to see 20/50 with best correction, I had an accident.

I was walking through a parking lot at two in the afternoon. It was October. It was bright out because I live in Southern California. I was following a friend. My whole method of travel was to walk one step behind and one step to the left or right of whoever I was with and stare at the ground hoping I could see their shoes and to listen for anything important. Not safe. Very bad.

And the world went blank.

I couldn’t see a thing.

I knew where I was. There was a building in front of me and I knew that as soon as I was in it’s shadow I would see more.

But the curb came before the shadow and I tripped.

I fell without seeing where I was falling.

It was terrifying.

I was fine. Ish. Fine-ish. My knees were both bloody and swollen for a week. I had scars from that for eight months. My palms were scraped to hell. I was limping. Nobody saw the blood because I was wearing pants and I still started bleeding at my knees.

I went home less than an hour later. Saw my bloody knees and marched to my mom and demanded I get a cane.

She had already just had a panic attack. I didn’t know that. I don’t know what caused it, but it was good timing because for once she didn’t fight it. I ordered my cane. And two weeks after I ordered it, it finally came. And that first day I noticed that having it made me feel safer. I knew that (finally) I wasn’t completely helpless, at the mercy of whoever was with me and whatever circumstances I was in. I had a bit of safety to help me find all the things I couldn’t see but could get hurt on. Like curbs.

It’s been two years, to the day I think, since I got it. I had just gotten it before Halloween and was still getting used to it and how differently people treated me on Halloween night. Halloween in 2017, and now it’s the 28th of October in 2019 as I’m writing this.

So, what happened to me was I was waiting for the mourning period to be a period of depression.

But instead it was anxiety, and possibly PTSD.

Leaving my house was terrifying. Any time I was out in public I was hyper vigilant of everything happening around me, especially if I couldn’t see it. Loud and sudden sounds made me jump. I would tense up. I couldn’t think. Sometimes headphones was my only way to calm down.

That was my mourning period. But I didn’t understand that until a few months ago when I was writing a chapter from Ulric’s perspective (Ulric is my blind character in A Witch’s Memory, a novel I’m currently editing). In the chapter I was writing about the mourning period and how he experienced it. Depression would be very in character for him. And he already has PTSD and anxiety too.

But then I realized my anxiety disorder (generalized anxiety disorder) was my mourning period.

Actually, a lot of my experience with vision loss snuck into that story. Including Ulric fighting to get his parents to accept that he was blind and that he didn’t want to be cured because the cure had its own cost. And his fight to get his cane and orientation and mobility training.

That was my mourning period. I wish at the time I knew depression wasn’t the only sign of it. It might have led to me getting therapy or treatment earlier. But it’s too late to change that.

Maybe reading this will help someone else.

It’s getting late. I’m going to reread this and check for spelling errors, and then I’m going to post it before I chicken out. Goodnight.

#actually blind #writeblr #blindness #writing community #my post #mine #mental health #anxiety #ptsd #mental health tw #ptsd tw #anxiety tw #blood tw #blood mention #personal experience #okay to reblog #please reblog #blind character #blind writer

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queerbutstillhere · 4 years

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Hi how are you? Yo remember that Jercy fluff piece with them realizing they’re gay for each other and both going ‘oh’. If you are up to it please make a part 2 it was so cute and I want them to like confess or something I stg you are such a good writer and your stuff is so cute thankssssa ❤️❤️🥰🥰

HI! Thanks for Asking!!! I’ve been wanting to write a part two to this for a while!!!! Click the link just below for part one!

Part One!

It had been two weeks since their sleep over.

Neither one had addressed anything, but the sad pining from across the dining pavilion and the mildly sexual sparing fights and the constant flirting was driving their friends insane.

(So insane that they had literally made a bet on when the two were going to get together. Nico and Annabeth said it wouldn't be until the last day of summer camp, while Will and Grover insisted it'd be within the first few weeks.)

The truth of the matter was neither one of them had any idea how to handle this.

Sure they had both been in relationships, but that was with girls, plus what if the other one didn't feel the same? Coming out to themselves had been a whole thing on its own, let alone coming out to their friends. Percy had told Annabeth first, and she just smiled and ruffled his hair. Meanwhile Jason nearly had a breakdown, bursting in on Will and Nico(who had been trying to have a nice evening in) and just ranted to them for nearly twenty minutes. They had heard so much about how hot Percy was in those twenty minutes. Nico had responded bluntly with "then go fucking kiss him, you dumbass".

"But what if he hates me after!" Jason had cried, truly distraught.

"He's not going to, trust us, Jason," Will had assured him.

Jason had promptly ignored their advice and returned to wallowing in self misery and hopeless pining. If only he had known it wasn't hopeless.

Percy, on the other hand, was accepting this rather gracefully. He wasn't terribly surprised he was bisexual, or pansexual, whatever. He'd spent enough time in Camp Jupiter, working out with hot Romans to have begun to realize that he wasn't just attracted to women. The problem was that he was hardcore crushing on his best friend. The boyscout, Jason Grace. Who was probably straight.

Why was his life a constant wheel of disappointment?

So, with the two idiots hopelessly in love and hopelessly dancing around each other, their friends abandoned the bet and decided to start playing matchmaker. Their rules were simple, however. They would not outright tell one that the other was crushing, because it was Percy and Jason's job to come out to the other. Even if it was so painful to watch.

There were so many times when they had arranged a group hangout, and then everyone else bailed fairly early, in the hopes that they would get talking and confess. But alas. It had yet to happen, and they were nearing mid July.

The turning point came when a group of them were hanging out around a campfire, late at night, and Percy, having forgotten that he hadn't told everyone, just spoke without thinking.

"I'm thinking about coming out to my mom."

There was a brief pause of silence before Will spoke.

"Yeah? How do you think she'll react?"

"Dunno, I think she'll be okay?" Percy said, glancing up from his intense staring into the fire, and then looking over at Jason.

Jason's blue eyes were the size of the full moon behind him, his mouth hanging open.

"What?" Percy asked with a laugh, and then it hit him.

Jason didn't know.

"Oh," he said softly. "Yeah I'm . . . Bi or something."

"O-oh," Jason squeaked out, voice cracking uncharacteristically. "Cool."

Nico suddenly burst out in laughter, immediately getting yelled at by Will and Katie Gardner. Percy frowned at them, before glancing at Jason, nervousness filling him. What was Jason thinking? He was chill with Nico and Will, surely he'd be okay with Percy being Bi?

Surely.

Jason was freaking out. Very silently. He did know how to keep his chill. But he was struggling. Because his brain was a screaming mess of "oh my gods he's bi. Oh my gods I might actually have a chance with him. Oh my gods-". Listen, he's just a chaotic, messy disaster bisexual, he doesn't know how to do these things.

It took nearly two days for him to bring it up, and even then it was just to Nico at breakfast.

"How long have you guys known he was bi?" Jason asked softly.

Today Nico was sitting with him. Will had pulled a late night at the infirmary and was still asleep, so Nico had no reason to sit with the Apollo cabin. The big three kids usually sat together, but Percy had gone home for the weekend, so it was just Jason and Nico sitting at what would have been the Cabin 1 table, but had just become the joint table.

"For like, weeks."

"Why didn't you tell me!"

Nico shrugged, pushing around his eggs on his plate. "Wasn't my place? You remember when Eros outed me?"

"Oh, right. Shit. . . "

Another shrug from the younger teen. They sat in silence.

"Are you gonna tell him?"

"What!" Jason asked, glancing up at Nico, who was now done with his eggs.

"Percy? Are you gonna tell him you're not straight?"

"I dunno. I dunno what I am."

Nico frowned, reaching to steal Jason's bacon. Jason didn't complain.

"What do you mean."

"It's like…. It's hard to explain. Like." Jason sighed, turning to face Nico. "Katie is really pretty, right?"

Nico turned to look at their friend, shrugging lightly. "Yeah."

"But I'm not like… attracted to her, or really, any woman? And when I realized I thought, oh, maybe I'm gay, but like. Malcom is really handsome. And I'm not attracted to him either."

Nico's gaze swung to the co-counselor of the Athena cabin. Then he looked back to Jason, frowning lightly.

"So then I was thinking, maybe I'm ace?" Jason continued, rambling now, more than anything. "But bro, Percy is hot as hell, and I'm incredibly attracted to him. So I'm just confused."

Nico was silent, staring down at the table.

"Demisexual?" He said randomly.

"What? What's that?"

"It just. . . Demisexual's don't really experience sexual attraction unless they have a strong emotional bond with someone. It's kinda what you just described to me."

Jason stared at him with wide eyes."Holy shit."

Nico smirked slightly, collecting his dishes and standing. "I gotta go get Will, but feel free to come chat during lunch."

"Yeah," Jason murmured, staring at the table and Nico walked away.

Mind blown.

By the time Percy got back Monday, Jason was mostly through his crisis. He had spent most of his free time Sunday researching sexualities and mostly demisexual. He felt that Nico had been right.

Percy came jogging over after his return Monday afternoon. Jason was in the middle of sparring with a kid from the Ares cabin when Percy called him over.

"Hold on," Jason told his opponent as he stepped back.

He still fought with the Roman style, and it drove the Greeks insane, Percy most especially.

"Yeah, sure," the younger camper said with an amused smirk.

Jason turned away and walked over to Percy. He was wearing an orange t-shirt and what looked like boardshorts, as well as sandals, and a couple bracelets that ran up his forearms. He was grinning, sunglasses pushing his messy black hair up.

"Hey, boy scout," Percy hummed, hands in his pockets.

"Hey, Percy, how was your weekend?" Jason asked, throwing an arm around Percy's shoulders and leaning on him.

Percy groaned dramatically, tilting his head away. "You're gross!" He exclaimed, yet slipped his arm around Jason's stomach, turning and leading him away from the other kids who were sparing in the small arena.

Jason couldn't ignore the flutter in his stomach as Percy's strong arm pulled him in tight against his side.

"My weekend was great. Estelle was so stoked to see me, we went to the park all day Saturday while mom and Paul went out grocery shopping."

"That's great!" Jason exclaimed, thinking faintly that he couldn't wait to see Thalia.

"Yup, and I talked to mom and Paul. . ."

Percy had stopped walking but hadn't let go of Jason yet, swaying them back and forth lightly.

"What about?" Jason asked, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember.

Percy looked down at him, looking amused.

"What?" Jason asked with a slight laugh, head tilted to be able to look at Percy comfortably.

"I was coming out to them this weekend?"

Oh gods Jason was an idiot.

"Fuck, I forgot!”

Percy laughed, eyes crinkling slightly. Jason's heart fluttered as his friend grinned down at him.

"Did you have a busy weekend?"

"Uh, a little? Nico and I hung out most of Saturday, Sunday I was in charge of activities."

"Oh yeah? It's good that you and Nico are so close," Percy hummed out.

"Yeah. He's a good kid. Wiser than his age."

"That's for sure."

They looked up at each other in silence for a bit, neither speaking, they were incredibly close, Jason could probably just lean in and kiss him…

Two things happened at once. First, Jason watched Percy's eyes flicker down to his lips, as he licked his own and started to lean in. And then they both heard the explosion from across camp.

"Oh shit," Percy exclaimed, pulling away.

Annoyed shouting could be heard.

"Harley," they both said at once, then laughed.

"I got it," Percy said, pulling away. "See you 'round!"

Jason watched him jog away and just then processed that Percy had been about to kiss him.

Thursday night at campfire was the next time they were actually anything close to alone. They were sitting together, off to one side, munching on their smores and listening to campfire songs.

"Hey, do you wanna get out of here?"

Jason looked over at Percy, realizing suddenly that Percy was looking at him and not the campfire.

"What?"

"Come on, we're counselor's aren't we? Let's abuse our powers," Percy told him, standing and offering his hand to Jason.

Jason put his clean hand(his other one had marshmallow on it) in Percy's and let himself be pulled up. Percy snagged a bag of marshmallows and led Jason towards the lake.

"Why'd you get the marshmallows?" Jason asked with a laugh as he sat on the dock.

"The nymphs like them."

Percy ripped open the bag and pulled a few out. He held his hand out and a few nymphs popped out of the water, snatching them and then disappearing.

"Huh. . . " Jason said softly, staring at the ripples in the water. Percy kicked off his shoes and then sat next to Jason, dangling his feet into the lake.

They sat in silence for a while, shoulders just barely brushing, Percy occasionally giving the nymphs more marshmallows, occasionally eating one himself.

"Hey, Percy."

"Yeah?"

"I think. . . " Jason stopped, clearing his throat. He was staring at the water, watching the way it rippled around Percy's ankles. "I think I'm demisexual."

Percy was silent for a bit, then looked over. "Okay. . . Could you explain that to me?"

Jason smiled slightly as they made eye contact, he carefully explained it to Percy, who listened silently, absorbing this information, his feet kicking through the water as he thought.

"Thank you for telling me, Jason," Percy said softly, putting his hand on Jason's thigh. "And I support you completely."

"Thanks," Jason said softly, smiling at Percy.

Percy grinned back, offering him a marshmallow then looking back over the lake. Silence stretched over them, they could faintly hear the campfire songs drifting over.

"Percy?" Jason said softly, trying to get his attention.

"Yeah?"

Percy looked over at him, and Jason leaned in, quickly kissing him. Percy made a slightly surprised noise but was instantly pressing back into him. Jason pulled away first, just far enough that he could look at Percy in the pale moonlight. Percy swallowed, licking his lips before leaning in and kissing Jason again, hand resting on his leg.

"Wow," Jason breathed out.

Percy started laughing, falling back to lay on the dock.

"Hey!" Jason protested, hitting his friend's stomach.

"I'm sorry! But we kiss and what you have to say is 'neat'?!"

"Shut up! I didn't think you actually liked me back!!!"

Percy just laughed and shook his head, looking up at him.

"Jason, you were literally my gay awakening."

Jason felt his eyes go wide. "Oh-"

Percy grinned at him. "You remember that weekend you spent the night at my house?"

Jason nodded.

"That's when I realized I was attracted to guys, and specifically you."

"Oh. . . " Jason said, yet again.

Percy nudged his hip. "And here I was worrying you did like me like that."

Jason made a noise that can only be typed as 'ajdjshdhs', shaking his head rapidly. "No. You're- you're the first person I've actually felt this way towards in. . . Well a long time."

"Really? Not even Piper?"

Jason shook his head. "That was a weird situation . . ."

Percy shrugged. "Yeah, you're right."

He sat up and turned to face Jason, crossing his legs. Then he laughed again, shaking his head.

“Wow.” He whispered, mocking Jason.

"Shut up!" Jason yelled, lunging and shoving the still laughing Percy off the dock.

Send me a prompt!

#thanks for the prompt!#thanks for the ask!#send me asks #send me prompts and shiz #send me prompts #prompt ask #asks open #korey answers #queerbutstillhere writes #queerbutstillhere #jercy fluff #jercy #jason grace #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians #Heroes of Olympus #coming out #pining

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fangirlhaley · 4 years

Text

She Will Be Loved.

Summary: No reason to stay is a good reason to go.

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,040

Warnings: Mentions of character death

Enjoy!

Here is the song the title came from.

A/N: This is literally something that I’ve had floating in my head for months...Nothing special but enjoy!

I don't mind spendin' everyday, Out on your corner in the pourin' rain. Look for the girl with the broken smile, Ask her if she wants to stay awhile. And she will be loved.

Dean Winchester was problematic. Not only in the sense that trouble seemed to follow him, but also in the sense that he caused problems for those around him too. That included her even though they had never met. He could see it every day. He could see the internal struggle that she faced. She didn’t know what caused the tears in the early mornings. She didn’t know what caused the breakdowns in the late hours of the night, but Dean did. You see, everyone has a soulmate. Dean knew it was hard to believe but it was true. She was his soulmate. There was only one slight problem, he was dead and she was alive.

Dean could remember the whole scenario as if it happened yesterday. He and Sam were on a hunt. They were hot on the trail of a pack of vampires and Dean was sure this would be a big win they had been looking for. The next thing Dean knew though, he was in and out of consciousness in the passenger seat of the Impala. Sam’s voice was the only thing he could really hear and he looked down at his hands that were covered in blood.

“Hey, stay with me, okay?” The younger Winchester said, his voice trembling with fear of losing his older brother. “Just stay with me, Dean.”

And then it all went black. It all clicked out like when you turn the lights off in a windowless room. There was nothing. Then, there was light. There was a bright light and Dean felt himself shielding his eyes from it with his hand. In the light, he began to make out shapes. He could see someone moving around as he took a few steps forward. The brightness in the room dimmed to a normal amount of light and Dean moved his hand to get a better look at where he was. Where the hell was he? He was standing in the corner of a room that he didn’t recognize at all, looking at a girl that he also didn’t recognize. The light in the room was dim with only sunlight flooding through the window on the far wall. The girl sat on the window ledge, gazing out the glass at the rain outside. In one hand, she had a cup filled with coffee and in the other she had her phone.

“I don’t know,” She sniffled. “I can’t explain it. I just, can’t stop crying.”

Dean tried to make out what the person on the other line was saying but he couldn’t. This had to be the doings of a trickster. Dean was sure of it.

“Hello Dean.” A familiar voice said and the older Winchester whipped his head around to see Castiel standing behind him.

“Cas,” He said in an exasperated voice, “Thank god you’re here. What the hell is going on? How do I-,”

“You’re gone, Dean.” The angel said, looking away from the man in front of him as if he would break down just thinking about it.

“Gone? What do you mean? You wanna elaborate?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at the angel.

“Gone,” Cas stated again. “Gone for good. Deceased.”

Dean felt his heart drop and his shoulders sag as the news landed on them like a weight. He was dead? Where the hell was he then if he was dead? This sure wasn’t hell and why would a woman he had never met be in his heaven?

“Then where the hell am I?” Dean asked and Castiel sighed, looking at the woman who was still sitting in the window.

“This is y/n,” He explained. “She is your soulmate.” Soulmate? What a load of bullshit. There was no such thing as a soulmate and Dean knew it. He scoffed a bit as Castiel told him that and he rolled his eyes. Castiel noticed Dean’s reaction and he sighed as well. “Soulmates are very real, Dean, and Y/N is yours. When one soulmate dies before the other, they act as their guardian angel.”

Dean really rolled his eyes at that one. Dean Winchester a guardian angel? Yeah right.

“Cas come on...You don’t really believe that do you?” Dean started to ask but Castiel was already gone and he was left in the room alone again with the girl. Could she see him? Feel him? Hear him? After trying to get the girl’s attention numerous times and failing miserably with each one he determined that he was practically invisible to her.

So this was his life now? Constantly looking after someone he had no emotional connection with? Lovely.

But that all changed in the following weeks as Dean found himself doing things like watching over her as she slept or finding things that she misplaced and putting them out in the open. This woman that he didn’t even know had stolen his heart and there was nothing he could do about it. She was a hunter as well and Dean found himself watching over her on every hunt, laughing when she would chalk up her victories to “someone watching over her”. After a hunt she would come home, grab a beer from the fridge and turn on her vinyl records and listen to the classic rock play from the speakers. Dean would usually sit in the window and watch her, talking to her every once and a while even if she couldn’t hear him. He did discover that she could feel him on occasion though due to the one time he brushed her shoulder while she was braiding her hair before a hunt. This caused the girl to jump up from her seat in front of the mirror and grab her knife. Dean would brush by her every once and a while but he mostly kept to himself.

This gig went on for years and Dean thought it was near perfect. He had someone. He had a purpose and it was to keep Y/N safe. Sure, it would be nice to actually be there for her but he had no choice. It was a constant struggle even for Dean. He was always there for her though even if she didn’t know it. He was there in the mornings when she made her coffee in the silence of the lonely kitchen. He was there in the afternoons when she was working on her latest case. He was there to dry her tears in the late hours of the evenings. Dean was there for everything and yet there was nothing he could do to make it better. She still didn’t understand the tears that came late at night, but Dean did. They were for him, a man she had never met and never would meet until her time on Earth was up.

But what was Dean supposed to do when he wasn’t needed anymore? That was the question on his mind the night that Y/N left without him for a date. A date? How the hell did she have a date when Dean was her soulmate? It was his job though to watch over her, no matter how upset it made him.

So he waited. He waited for hours, pacing back and forth across the creaky floor of the living room and watching for headlights to shine through the picture window. When they finally did, Dean caught himself looking out the window at a very familiar looking car.

A black 1967 Chevy Impala.

His black 1967 Chevy Impala.

Dean’s heart sank because he knew what was coming next when the lock on the door rattled and Y/N walked in holding hands with none other than Sam Winchester, his younger brother. How could Dean blame his younger brother, though? He had no idea what was going on behind the scenes. Y/N looked happy. She looked genuinely happy as she pulled Sam into a hug after they walked inside. The hug turned into a kiss and the kiss turned into multiple kisses on the couch when Dean decided that it was time he left to go upstairs. Sam also looked genuinely happy which conflicted Dean even more. There was no way he could be angry with either of them.

Dean finally had someone. He had a purpose and that purpose was slowly slipping out of his hands. He sat in the window, looking out at the stars and cursing at himself for getting attached to someone he could never have.

Y/N knew something was missing with Sam. But she felt happier than she ever had before and she would take the small missing piece instead of the large gaping hole that had taken over her heart the past few years.

Dean was there for all of it. He was there for the first date, he was there for the first box that was moved into the house when Sam moved in. Like he said before, how could he be angry? They were happy and Dean had always been known to put other’s happiness over his own.

Questions of his future purpose came into play when questions of Sam and Y/N’s future came up. There were talks of an engagement, a wedding, the start of a family. Dean didn’t want to interfere with any of that. But where was he supposed to go? Heaven? Hell? Wandering the Earth looking for the next person to help? He decided the last option would be what he would pick and he would pray to whoever would listen to give him some guidance.

It wasn’t until the wedding day when he really started to think about where he was going to go. Watching Y/N put the final touches on her hair and put on her wedding dress caused him to get choked up but not for reasons that he should be getting choked up. The tears that flooded his eyes should be happy ones. He should be at the end of that aisle either as the groom or the best man and yet here he was, unable to even make his presence known to the love of his life. The love of his life who was now marrying his younger brother. Dean sniffled and quickly wiped the tears away from his eyes even though no one could see them.

“You look beautiful,” He caught himself whispering, standing behind Y/N at the mirror and looking at their reflection. If only she knew he was there. If only she knew who he was. Dean stretched his arm out, gently touching Y/N’s cheek. She gasped a bit, shocked at the touch and turned around only to look obliviously right through Dean. It shattered his already broken heart even more watching her look around the room for the source of the cold touch and more tears welled up in his eyes before spilling over his cheeks.

That was the moment Dean knew he had to leave. He couldn’t watch her walk down the aisle to his younger brother, he couldn’t watch her have a family with someone who wasn’t him. He would wait though because eventually they would be together and that thought is what kept him going. Was it selfish? Maybe. Did Dean care? Not at all. He would give her space and give her time until they could be together in the afterlife that Dean was forced to live in without her. Again, he felt the tears welling up in his eyes and he knew the ceremony would be starting soon. He had to make his exit soon because he wanted no part in the festivities of the day.

So he left. He left her with simply a kiss on the cheek which caused her to reach up and touch the invisible force that had watched over her for years. Dean would still keep Y/N in his thoughts though. He had no choice. She would think about him too probably without even knowing who he was. The stories that Sam would tell about Dean would keep him in Y/N’s life and that was all that the older Winchester could ask for.

Because even Dean knew that no reason to stay is always a very good reason to go.

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macaronsforchat · 4 years

Text

Love Square Fluff Week Day 4 - Your Voice

read on ao3!

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 (you are here) | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

The school bell rang for the last time before summer break, and Marinette couldn’t hide how happy she was. She loved learning and seeing her friends everyday, but constant tardiness and early mornings and homework were all things she’d be glad to be rid of for a few weeks.

Their class had agreed to meet on the front steps to all say a proper goodbye before heading home, and Marinette raced down the stairs as quickly as possible without hurting herself. The wide grin spread across her face might’ve rivaled the brightness of the summer sun that day.

She saw Alya first, her best friend anxiously awaiting her arrival.

“There you are, girl! We’re all waiting!” she called, pulling her into a tight hug before smiling at her again. “Can you believe the school year is over?”

“Honestly, Al, this year felt like it lasted a century. I’m so glad it’s over,” she breathed, smiling at her best friend’s understanding laugh.

“A lot has happened this year, hasn’t it?” Alya sighed, looking over to Nino before taking his hand and grabbing his attention. The rest of the class was mingling and chatting, but when Marinette caught sight of him, she was reminded of another reason that she would be glad for some time away from Françoise Dupont.

A certain leather-clad superhero had begun to make regular visits to her balcony recently, leaving Marinette with way too many things to think about. She felt extremely guilty that Adrien had been replaced in her thoughts with another blonde, pretty boy. It was hard to look at her crush without feeling slightly anxious. She hadn’t told anyone about Chat Noir’s visits, and she didn’t plan on it.

Adrien’s laughter rang out over the chatter, his hair shining in the afternoon sunshine. She looked away, trying to push away negative thoughts and focus on giving farewells to her classmates.

Marinette found Rose and Juleka first, hugging them both tightly and agreeing to come see Rose’s garden over the break. She made her way to each classmate, embracing all the good friends she’d grown closer to this past year. Chloe and Sabrina stood at the top of the stairs, watching with their noses in the air, but Marinette made sure to call out and wish them a good summer, despite the annoyed look she got in return.

“Hey!” she heard behind her shortly after, her muscles tensing a little. She’d avoided Adrien for the past few minutes, but that didn’t mean she wanted to exclude him. She still cared about him immensely, but her tangled emotions left her feeling confused.

She turned to meet his gaze timidly, smiling.

“H-hey! It’s you!” she said awkwardly, grinding her teeth a little as the finger guns came up without her really wanting them to. But he only chuckled, looking down at her with warm eyes.

“Do you have any plans for the summer?” he wondered. If Marinette had anything planned in the next five years, there was no way she’d be able to remember, not while standing in front of Adrien Agreste.

“Oh, you know! Fun things and stuff! I’m sure you’ll be hot-- I mean! I’m sure it’ll be hot! This summer!” she struggled, wanting to rip her pigtails out. She kept smiling though, trying to hide how embarrassed she was.

He laughed gently, making the knots in her stomach tighten. How could she like someone’s smile that much?

“Yeah, I don’t have much planned either. But I’m sure my father will have loads for me to do,” he sighed goodheartedly. She fumbled with her hands as she nodded, trying not to speak unless she had to.

“Maybe Alya, Nino, and the two of us could get together at some point,” he suggested, watching her eyes widen.

“Yes! I’d love you-- to! I’d love to!” she almost shouted, almost crumbling at the sight of quiet amusement in Adrien’s eyes. She didn’t think her mental breakdown right in front of him was very amusing.

“Great! I’ll see you soon then?” he grinned, and she was vaguely aware of his arms moving towards her, too caught up in that //look in his eyes. After a second or two, she realized he wanted a hug. She jumped a little, moving to hug him a little too tightly and a little too quickly so he wouldn’t see the red spread across her cheeks and ears.

Marinette was in heaven, squealing to herself about how tall he was. Her head only reached to his upper chest, and she could hear his heart moving at a gentle pace.

Before she could get lost in a daydream, Adrien spoke up again.

“Thanks for being awesome this year,” she thinks he said. But as the sound of his voice resonated through his chest, she was brought back to last night, in her room.

Marinette could smell the leather again, and it was almost as if the warm breeze that had drifted through her window was sliding across her skin. Chat Noir had been in her room, and somehow while talking about video games and anime, she’d ended up with her head on his chest, the two of them sprawled out on her chaise in the darkness.

“You’re awesome, princess,” he’d spoken in a light voice, almost a purr.

She was pulled back to the present, Adrien pulling away to search her eyes.

“Mari?” he called, looking concerned. Chat Noir used that nickname. He was the only one...

Adrien’s green eyes gazing into hers struck her with another memory. Two emerald eyes glowing in the dark of her room, eyes that were eerily familiar to the ones locked onto hers at that moment.

“Your voice,” she said without thinking, studying his eyes and feeling slightly dizzy. What was going on? Why did Adrien look like he was guilty? He hadn’t done anything wrong.

She blinked quickly, pulling herself back with a nervous giggle.

“Your voice!” she laughed. “It sounded so funny!” With that, the guilty look was washed away, followed with a much softer, warmer gaze.

“I’ll see you soon,” he repeated, sounding almost relieved. Glancing at her one last time before starting down the steps, he headed towards his bodyguard waiting in the car. Marinette felt so puzzled watching him walk away.

She studied his shoulders, wondering why everything had felt so familiar yet so detached just then. Why was she reminded so vividly of last night with Chat Noir?

Without invitation, the striking possibility rang through her mind like an alarm, but she didn’t want to know that. She couldn’t allow herself to think about it. There was no way that was possible. It couldn’t be true.

Could it?

~~~~~

thank you for reading! I really enjoyed writing this one, these dorks are incredible!

#lovesquarefluffweek2020 #lovesquarefluffweek #miraculous ladybug #adrienette #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #chat noir #adrien x marinette #adrien agreste #babies #ml sugar #my writing

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onebangtanstan · 4 years

Text

Power Style - Chapter Eleven : The revenge

A/N : Ok this is shorter than the previous chapters but DYNAMITE CAME OUT so that's what I've been doing. GO STREAM! 💜

He notices me staring him down. He scoffs before coming my way. We lock eyes and start an unspoken staring contest, just like the other day. As he's getting closer to me, I feel the muscles in my body tense up. His presence is enough to piss me off.

"You're late Namjoon." He's now standing right in front of me, forcing me to look up.

"It's M.Kim to you." His eyes are shooting bullets at mine, and so are mine, but neither of us looks away. We're both way too proud to do so.

"I don't have time for this." I turn away from him, starting to feel dizzy from keeping my head up to look at him. "Go get your make up and fitting done, we're all waiting for you Namjoon." I refuse to give into his twisted game, we're here to get a job done, whether we like it or not.

He executes himself, but I sense he's not happy with that. We can all see that he's stalling, and trying to annoy us. Thank God my team knows what they're doing and isn't giving into him either.

We can finally start the shoot an hour and a half after the original time. He stands in front of the camera, and I don't recognize the man posing right now. He turns into this extremely professional guy. The harsh lines he usually wears on his face have completely disappeared, making him look even better than usually.

Even though he annoys the shit out of me, I have to admit that he is a beautiful man. He's the stereotype of the ideal guy : tall, well-built, perfect amount of muscle, a jawline that could cut you. Even when he's the biggest asshole, his clenched jaw and frown make him look good.

To my surprise, we actually finish the shoot quite quickly. The team packs up and starts heading back to the office. I'm about to do the same when I'm turned around by a firm hand on my arm. I am facing Namjoon once again. I mean, I am being towered by him once again.

"Listen to me" He spits, talking only a few centimeters from my mouth. "It's the last time you talk to me like that, do you understand me?"

I set myself free from his grip by throwing my arm down. "No, you listen to me." I feel the fury raising in my body. "We have to work together, and I couldn't care less if you don't like me. The thing is, I am in charge of this campaign so you're on my turf now. You listen to me and do what I say. Am I making myself clear enough for your tiny brain?"

It looks like he wasn't expecting this reaction from me. He's about to answer but I immediately turn around and start storming out of the room.

I walk back to the office, feeling the need to clear my mind. I can't have him disturbing my schedule, and I most definitely can't go into the meeting with the mindset he put me in.

By the time I get back to work, the whole team is already sitting in the conference room, working on the editing. We do that all afternoon and plan the group shooting for the next day. We're going to have to take unit pictures, group pictures and shoot the commercial. We will be there all day, so I let everyone go early to get enough rest for tomorrow.

I decide to chill at home for the evening. I still have a bit of a bad mood because of today, so I put on yet another cheesy rom-com.

Just as I sit down with a bowl of popcorn, I receive a text from Jin. For once, I don't have that tightening in my stomach. I open it :

J : Hey, how are you doing? We haven't talked lately..

G : Hi! I'm good, how about you? I know, I'm sorry, I had a lot going on..

J : No worries, I've just been thinking a lot about you..

We end up texting the whole evening, catching each other up on our lives, and it feels really good. We eventually start talking about deeper stuff. Jin tells me that he really likes me and can't stop thinking about me, making me blush. Thank God he can't see me right now. I start typing and send a text without thinking too much about it. I have to give him something.

"Jin I need to tell you something. One of the reasons I have been distant with you is because I have issues with relationships. I'll explain it to you eventually but not by text. I hope you understand that it has nothing to do with you, and that I appreciate the time we spend together."

A few minutes -that feel like an hour- pass before he answers, making my heart pound.

"That's okay Gina, I understand. I'll go at your pace." I smile at his text.

We say our goodnights and I end up falling asleep with a warm feeling inside of me.

I wake up in a good mood, but the group shot pops into my mind, bringing my mindset down just a bit. I feel very pressured and anxious about it. Everything has to go perfectly, because we won’t have time to redo it.

I do the usual, get ready and head to the set. I stop on my way to get a cup of coffee and also get a big bag of french pastries for everyone. We'll be needing a bit of sugar before the day starts.

The boys haven't arrived yet, but we are already going through the schedule for the day. I talk with each person to make sure they know what they're supposed to do. Of course they do, I'm just doing that to calm my nerves.

Tae and Kook are the first to arrive. They're very clingy towards each other which makes me smile at them.

"Hey guys" I say as I hug each of them. "How are you guys doing?"

"We're very good." Tae tells me, making Jungkook blush. My heart could burst, they're so cute. I haven't gotten to a point where I can talk to them about whatever is going on between them, but I feel like that will be coming up sooner than later.

"Perfect. I need you all in a good mindset today."

"Well, we'll see about that." Jungkook starts, making me raise an eyebrow. "Yoongi is riding with Hobi and Jin, he spent the night there. And to be honest, we never know what to expect from those sleepovers, especially about where their minds are set."

Tae elbows Jungkook in the arm, making him realize he spilled something he shouldn't have. He opens his eyes wide.

"Shit" He says, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"It's ok, I had figured something was going on there. I won't pry, don't worry." I wink at them.

I notice relief on their faces. I offer them to get something to eat before getting their makeup done, making Jungkook run towards the bags of pastries.

While they're picking out what to eat, I hear the door open. Jimin enters the room and boy, does he make head turns. He has that je ne sais quoi about him that makes his presence noticed. He barely looks at anyone, heading straight for Tae and Kook. I see him take a pastry, only eating a few bites, and leaving towards the toilet straight after. "JIMIN" Tae starts running after him.

I quickly look away, feeling that I shouldn’t be witnessing whatever is going on, and notice the door open. Yoongi, Jin and Hobi enter. Jin is first, and comes straight to me, giving me a warm hug. It feels good to be circled by his big arms. He breaks the hug with a peck on my forehead. There must be an army of butterflies in my stomach at this point.

Hobi comes in for a hug next, being his usual charming self, but something is off. The spark in his eye is not there. It almost looks as if he's cried? I hold on tight to him, sending some love through my arms. I feel him sigh.

"Fancy a drink tonight?" I ask him. He needs someone, I can feel it.

"I would love that." He speaks in a low, appreciative voice. I can see his eyes twitch for a second.

"Your coat is amazing!" I quickly change the subject, sensing he's about to breakdown. He smiles back at me and goes to say hi to the boys.

Yoongi, who was already with them, came towards me as Hobi arrived. Shit, there's going to be tension today.

"Hi Gina" Yoongi is near me now, and he looks.. Well, he looks like himself. Nothing is being let through by his face, nor his eyes.

"Hey! How are you?" I ask, trying to hide the fact that I know something is wrong.

"Okay, I guess.."

We both turn our heads as we hear Jimin's voice coming from the other side of the room.

"V, I said let it go!"

Tae walks behind him, arms hanging on each side of his body, a powerless look on his face. All the boys turn around to him with an empathetic smile, almost as if they were telling him « it’s okay, you did your best ». They seem know the struggle he’s just gone through. The whole crew is looking at them too, which is exactly what Jimin wanted. He knew that by coming in here, the conversation would stop.

"The only one that could talk to him right now is Joon" Yoongi tells me. I scoff, having trouble seeing Namjoon comforting someone. Yoongi turns to me "He's actually lovely to the people he cares about. He helped me through a lot."

"Yeah, well he made it clear that he doesn't care about me or even about making my life easier."

Yoongi is about to answer, but a loud bang resonates. It's the front door.

Namjoon appears with his leg still in the air. Everyone has stopped what they were doing to stare him down for kicking the door open.

But I couldn't care less about that. I've noticed something else. Something that could fuck up the entire shoot.

Seeing it sends me in a state of rage so intense that I clench my fists, feeling my nails press into my palms. He stands tall in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. He's proud of himself, and he's now looking at me with a defying smile.

HE IS FUCKING SMILING AT ME. I am dumbfounded by the nerve this man has.

It might not seem like a big deal for everyone else, but I know that he did this on purpose to delay the shoot as payback for what I said yesterday.

He dyed his hair white.

A/N : White-hair Namjoon is back. Hands down his best era, no argument on that (second best, now that we have Blue Namjoon)

I mean LOOK AT HIM.

#bts #btsfanfic #fanfic #jin x oc #jin #rm #rm x oc #seoul #kpop #fila #bangtan #hobi

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farr-frrom-nothing · 4 years

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Zutara Week 2020 Day 3: Fuse

(And so the story continues. As always, I’m going to link Day 1 Chapter 1 here and the link for Day 2 Cahpter 2 is here. Hope everyone is enjoying Zutara week! I know I am!)

The sun rose early, blessing the skies, and the earth, and the seas with it’s radiant waterfall of golden light. But Zuko did not welcome the daylight, for he had not slept. He never slept anymore. Night after night he would roam the hallways, the alleyways, the gardens, the doorways. He would wander aimlessly through the palace, searching for something; he didn’t know. And as dawn quickly approached, as it always would, he would go to Izumi and kneel at his sleeping baby’s crib side. He would keep watch over her, ever vigilant, as he promised Mai he would.

Izumi would always wake with cries of anguish, grief, panic; emotions an infant should never know. Zuko knew she must be searching for her mother when she awoke flailing her tiny arms and grunting impatiently. Poor little soul, he thought to himself, too young to understand where her mother has gone.

He would lovingly take her into his arms, cradling her as he hummed the soothing melody that his own mother would sing to him as a child. He would silently prayed for the patience and wisdom to raise her on his own; the strength to do it. And when she would at last be lulled into dreams, Zuko relinquished the body of his daughter to the nurse maid. The nurse maid whom had insisted on staying with Izumi all through each night so the Fire Lord might sleep. But he never did.

Only then would he retreat to his chambers, alone.

Katara and Toph had spent their morning in one of the gardens, enjoying a peaceful breakfast, and feeding crusts of bread to the family of turtleducks that had become acclimated to the girls’ presence over the last week.

“Has anyone seen Zuko this morning?” Sokka inquired, as he and Suki entered the garden.

Katara appeared distracted, though not to Sokka’s surprise. His sister had been steadily declining since winter. She didn’t sleep, she barely ate. He had hoped returning to the Fire Nation, returning to each other, may have raised her spirits. Though now he feared that all of the death surrounding her would only cause her to fall deeper into depression.

“Katara?” he asked with concern, gripping her shoulder comfortingly.

Almost as if ripped from a daydream, Katara’s glazed eyes blinked as she struggled to regain her senses. Over her shoulder, Sokka’s creased forehead and pursed lips flashed worry in her direction. She knew he meant well, but she did not wish to be pitied.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?” Katara asked gently, despite her annoyance.

“He asked if anyone’s seen Zuko since last night. None of us have.” Toph spat as she folded her arms impatiently, mumbling something indiscernible under breath.

Katara wondered if she should tell them of her and Zuko’s late night bending session.

“I ran into him in the garden last night, but he didn’t stay. He was on his way to bed anyway.” She lied. Sort of.

“I just think we should be spending more time with him. He needs a distraction from everything going on.” Sokka replied as he shrugged his shoulders.

Katara felt insulted, by the word distracted. Again, she could understand her brother’s naive intentions of support, but his complete lack of any real understanding infuriated her.

“Sokka, he just lost his Uncle and his wife! That’s not something you just distract yourself from.” she spat, venom dripping from every word.

“I’m not saying that at all.” Sokka shot back, “ All I’m saying is that we came here to support him, so that’s what we should be doing.”

Katara scoffed, “Clearly you don’t know the meaning of the word support.”

Sokka studied his sister's face carefully. Despite how she wanted to be perceived, she was breaking, and he knew it. He wanted to give in to the hurt he felt festering in him, but he couldn't bring himself to blame Katara for it.

“Katara, I didn’t come all the way here to watch Zuko wallow in his grief-”

“But he has every right to his grief, Sokka! He has every right to miss them and to feel lonely, and broken, and empty, a-and-”

Sokka quickly consoled his sister, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her to his chest. He motioned with the tilt of his head for Toph and Suki to leave. Neither of them knew what was going on, but they thought it best not to ask and silently left the garden to the sounds of Katara's pained sobs.

Curtains flowed in the breeze, and the sunlight through the crimson fabric stained the room like blood. Zuko had always hated the color red. It reminded him of nothing pleasant; war, punishment, abandonment. Red was the color that represented his heritage, and he loathed it. He delighted in the idea of dousing his room in blue someday. Deep blue, like the color of the seas that surrounded the North and South poles. The thought tasted of rebellion and defiance. What better way to spite his father than to paint his palace blue?

Zuko hunched over the side of his bed, his face buried in his sweating palms. More nightmares. Azula, Ozai, and lightning. Such powerful lightning. He gripped his skin fiercely, where the shape of a star still remained, like a brand on his abdomen. Katara. she had been there. He had saved her. And she had saved him.

Zuko shuffled across the floor. The stones felt as ice against the warmth of his skin. He snatched the red tunic that was draped over the post of his bed, and slipped it over his damp body. He knew he needed sleep. He was no use to his country like this, no use to his friends, no use to anyone really. Except maybe the militia’s tucked away in the mountains that wished him dead. He laughed at the thought.

Zuko had relished in the company of his friends, enjoyed their dinners, enjoyed their afternoons in the gardens, enjoyed their visits to the market, enjoyed their secret bending sessions. Katara hadn’t mentioned their late night rendezvous at the pond, so he had decided not to either. It would remain their secret; a thought that made the Fire Lord smile rather wide.

Katara had predicted Aang’s arrival the previous night, so it brought no surprise to Zuko when one of his guards sheepishly rapped against his chamber door and delivered a letter from Aang, announcing his intentions to arrive in two days time. He was, however, surprised to feel a touch of pleasant anticipation in his gut.

He hadn’t been certain how discreet Aang would be at a time like this. The Avatar was one of the Fire Lord’s dearest friends, but the airbender sometimes lacked the...maturity to appropriately handle sensitive situations; this being one of them. But after a week of Suki and Sokka (and everyone else for that matter) treating him like a fragile tea set, Zuko felt like Aang’s blunt and unwavering “optimisim” was almost welcome. Almost.

The Fire Nation capitol had erupted in jubilation at the news of the Avatar’s return. Aang hadn’t spent nearly as much time as he’d have liked in the Fire Nation over the past year. In fact, he couldn’t even count on one hand how many times he’d visited since...nevermind. Katara scolded herself. Though as a matter of fact, she couldn’t even count how many times on one hand that he’d been home since winter.

She missed her husband, she did, though she had to admit there had been a breakdown in their relationship since...stop it! She chastised herself once again.

Katara resigned herself to watching the city from the window of this prayer room, old and forgotten atop the east tower of the palace. She listened to the hum of the city as the news buzzed from one home to the next, one shop to the next, one person to the next. The square was bustling, as she could tell from the jovial horns that echoed off the cobblestone streets, the distant ringing of bells on carriages, and the cloud of dust that wafted through the air, disturbed by the feet of firehorses prancing along the city roads.

She wondered, for a moment, if they should go down and join the festivities. Almost instantly, though, she’d decided against it. She was the Avatar’s wife. The same questions were fired at her every time. Can the Avatar please save my village from *insert crisis here*? What is it like being married to the Avatar? Can you please tell the Avatar to consider *insert generic problem/solution*?

She couldn’t bear the thought of being asked the same bothersome questions again. She’d sooner freeze herself to a penguin than announce to a room that she’s the Avatar’s wife. Is this how Mai felt being married to the Fire Lord? Katara wondered to herself. Famous husbands; the only thing her and Mai ever had in common.

“Sometimes I think so.”

Katara was startled by Zuko’s voice hovering in the stale air of the half shadowed room she sat in.

“Huh?” she questioned, her eyes widening and a feeling of mild terror spread through her upon realizing that her thought was actually spoken aloud.

Zuko glided across the floor with little resistance in his movements. Katara smiled favorably at him as he took a seat beside her, His long, scarlet robe pooling around his body.

“I can’t imagine how it must feel to be married to someone in mine or Aang’s positions. I guess I never really asked Mai how she felt about it...” Zuko trailed off, looking as if he was watching a distant memory play out in front of him.

He gazed out the window, his eyes scanning the brilliance of his city. Katara was still caught off guard by his mere presence, and his sudden willingness to speak of his wife. She remained silent, unable to come up with something to say.

“Uncle was used to it.” Zuko continued, upon realizing that Katara wasn’t going to reply, “He was born into this, same as me. But it always felt cold, being Ozai’s son. It felt lonely.”

It didn’t go unnoticed by Katara that Zuko referred to his father by his name, rather than just father. She knew that her friend had let go of his attachment to his father, but did he ever really forgive him?

She wanted to comfort him, but she felt as though there were no words she could offer that would bring such relief. She opted just to take his hand in hers and lightly squeeze it. His palm was hot to the touch. Almost like he shoots fire out of it.

Lonely. His word echoed in her mind.

A sharp cough from Zuko brought her to realize how long she’d just been staring off. Enough time had passed and she felt as though she could continue

“I’ve never felt bad with Aang. Just...forgotten.” Katara is surprised by her own words. Even more surprised by the truth in them.

Zuko finally turns to look at her. Her expression is clearly troubled, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say he sensed some resentment in her tone. He didn’t understand, but he wanted to.

“I’m sure that isn’t his intention. Why do you feel that way?” Zuko asks.

Katara can hear nothing but sincerity in his words. She should be offended by the question. If Sokka or Toph or Suki had asked it she would be fuming. Maybe it was the fact that Zuko only spoke when his words were carefully thought out and spoken with the utmost respect (or disrespect depending on who it was he was speaking to).

Katara pivoted until she faced him, though unable to look him in the eyes. Instead, she just stared at the floor, counting the ants that crawled single-file along each wooden plank.

“I don’t know.” she whispered softly. “I guess I just thought, when the war was over, that things would be different. They were supposed to be different.”

“How do you mean?” Zuko questions.

“It’s just, Aang and I were supposed to be together when it was all over.” Katara answer sullenly.

“Are you not?” Zuko inquires, confused.

“Sometimes I just don’t feel like we are. He spends so much time away, and even though we’re married it’s just...not what I expected. It’s-It’s...lonely.”

That word strikes Zuko hard. He knows the feeling. All too well. To her he, appeared stern, calm, and composed, as he always did. In truth, he was just digesting her words, thinking of a proper response.

“I know he loves you. He’d do anything to make you happy.”

She knew Zuko thought his reply was comforting, and she gave the smallest hint of a smile to convince him of such. But he didn’t buy it.

It was silent for a moment, and suddenly Zuko's deepening voice sliced through the air like a knife, "I never really thought of the effect my throne would have on our life together. We married so young, perhaps too young... He trailed off again.

He was speaking of Mai.

"She was accustomed to living comfortably, but living like royalty is quite different."

Katara knew that if Zuko was telling her this, he was attempting to relate to her. That was always his intention when it came to sharing any personal details. He wanted to understand and to be understood.

"The title of Fire Lady never felt like it was meant for her, and she said as much once. Mai didn’t enjoy my daily meetings to discuss the bruised economy, or my conferences with National leaders to negotiate post war treaties, or the long nights I would spend in my office pouring over trade documents and proposed laws.” The light of the fading sun cast a shadow across Zuko's angular face, making the lines of his nose and his jaw that much sharper and more defined. His eyes looked lost somewhere in time, focused on a where and a when he could never return to.

"I know she was lonely, though she never told me she was. When we found out she was pregnant, I think we both thought that things would just magically get better. And they didn’t.” He spoke so bitterly, a soul being eaten alive by regret.

Zuko couldn’t know how deeply his words pierced into her own guilt and regret.

“Sometimes I think to myself that she would have been better off married to a general, or an advisor, or anyone else who didn't carry such burdens on their shoulders."

Katara's heart ached for him. After all, he was only 23 years old, and he'd already experienced more loss than some people know in an entire lifetime. Already fought a war he didn't start. Already nearly died at the hands of his sister. Already inherited a country with deep wounds that he did not inflict.

"You're not a burden, Zuko." She soothed, as if reading his thoughts. His name rolled effortlessly off her tongue.

"Mai is dead, Katara.” he replied dryly. As if just stating a fact.

“That doesn’t mean it’s your fault.” She shot back quickly, her tone rising ever so slightly.

“All I’m trying to say, is that it’s normal for you to feel lonely. Maybe Aang feels the same way.”

Katara just nodded, allowing his advice to sink in. Allowing the dust to settle and the conversation to die there.

A comfortable silence filled the room, and Katara watched Zuko's face for a long time. The little spasm of his temples as he clenched his jaw. The barely noticeable flare of his nostrils as he breathed deeply. The fluttering of a stray hair that was caught in a soft breeze. And the parting of his lips as he started to say something.

Suddenly the sound of more wailing horns filled every last inch of the palace grounds, reverberating off of the marble pillars and granite floors, cutting through the solid stone walls, and dancing around the pointed spires of the rooftops.

A voice announced the arrival of Avatar Aang, and with a sharp glance at Katara, Zuko hoisted himself from the floor. He offered his hand to Katara, though she respectfully declined, voicing her intentions to remain. Zuko wouldn't disrespect her wishes by challenging them, so instead he excused himself from her presence.

He wished he could apologize to her. He seemed to only upset her more, rather than offer her any comfort. He just wasn’t very good at apologies and he didn’t even know if she would accept it. Perhaps she would take his advice. Or perhaps he hoped she wouldn’t, so he wouldn’t be the only one suffering. What a selfish thought.

#zutara week 2020 #zutara #fuse

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inversenova · 4 years

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Tales from the Cyrpt (2)

It is unsurprising that, when recalling memories of my past, the memories filled with the most unease, the most fear, and the most helplessness are the ones I remember most vividly. Although I am only just beginning my foray into the study of traumatic memories, I know enough from my very recent time in school that this is a relatively normal experience for those who experienced trauma, whether as a child or as an adult. Perhaps the hardest part of all of this, even just the idea of cataloguing and sharing my experiences seems...silly? Pointless? Was my childhood really that bad? There are others, people even that I know, who have been through events similar to my own, and even more who have gone through worse things, harder things, and yet they appear to have processed their traumas more effectively, more wholly, than I have. It is something that I continue to struggle with, these feelings that “It wasn’t THAT bad” or “There are people who are living in war zones and who don’t have any food to eat and here you are complaining because of bullshit!”

Despite these feelings, at the very least I know that I need to get these things OUT, even if they turn out to be “not that bad.”

It has been years since I’ve needed to recall anything and, as such, I find it difficult to remember if my parents fought often amongst themselves. Eventually, perhaps when I’ve worked on processing these things a little more, I’ll be able to speak to my mom about some of it, if only to try and clear up a little bit of the fog, although even she may struggle with remembering some of it. I say that because last year she commented on how, when I was in high school, she was worried I might have an eating disorder. I asked her why she had thought that, and she recalled that I used to worry about every bite of food, every sip of soda, that I would ingest to the point where she worried I might be anorexic. This came as a shock to me and resulted in confusion; I have no recollection of acting in this manner and, when I asked Leigh, a friend I was close with in high school if this sounded familiar to her, my friend Leigh was equally confused, as she did not remember this at all. I wonder, now, if my mother confused my fear of existing in the kitchen or around the rest of the family as me being “peckish” about my food? I used to have a large Ziploc bag with dry ramen and other canned foods that I would take from the pantry at night or when my parents weren’t around (at least, when we moved to Texas I did). What I do remember, however, was how much my mother HATED Bob.

Bob had always been possessive and over bearing towards my mother; I see it more now, as an adult, than I did when we were kids. My hatred of Bob came from the things he did to Aaron and me and the vitriolic, often infuriated, words from my mother who would often confide in me as one would a friend, despite me being her child and often too young to fully understand what was happening. I loved my mother fiercely and tried to be as protective of her as I could, even when all I could do was listen to her tell me what Bob was like and try to make her feel better. As an adult and interacting with a Bob who fought in Vietnam and who has been to, and continues to go to, therapy on a weekly basis I am able to gather more about what he was like when I was younger. My mother has always been, and probably always will be, the most important person in his life. He tries, now, to engage with me and be more open and welcoming when I am around, but even now I find it difficult to get alone time with my mother or to interact with him without her there as a “buffer.”

When we lived in California, Bob worried constantly about my mother cheating on him. He would stalk her, dragging me and my friend or my brother to sit in the van parked outside of where she worked (once she found a job outside of their joint business), where we would sit for hours upon hours so that he could watch the entrance and see if she went straight to her car or not. My mother, a strong woman who, much like myself, did not like to be blamed for things she was not doing, and who had not been cheating on him when she started her new job, eventually did, although I’m unsure of where she met the man she had an affair with. She told me, once she was in the thick of it, that she hadn’t even truly felt anything for the man, but that she’d been so tired of being accused of cheating that she decided that if she was going to be accused of it she may as well do it. I can recall, with a twisting sensation in my stomach, how she described her final meeting with him when he “asked to make love with her one more time” and how he cried or teared up and how...derisive my mom seemed about it all. Her words were contemptuous and she seemed to be making fun of him, but this was likely sometime in junior high and I was the opposite of knowledgeable about sex and love and so her words just confused me.

I’m not entirely sure how long her affair lasted, or when it really began, but I remember the man. I remember how kind he was, how generous and giving towards me and (I think?) my brother. I remember that he found out I was obsessed with Legolas from The Lord of the Rings films and promptly bought and framed a photo of him as a gift to me. I spent at least one weekend or one evening having a sleepover with this two daughters, both of whom were sweet and took to me quickly, playing with me even though we had never met before. This was significant to me, as I’d already begun having trouble with bullies, something that would get worse until my trouble with them peaked in junior high. I also remember strange things about the man and her affair, like that he once drove up to my grandparents house when my mother and I were visiting them so that he could see her, and I think he may have come to the hotel room on the night Bob found out about him; I remember all three of us curled up on a bed while he whispered encouraging and thoughtful things to my mother while we cried. Of course, this may have just been my imagination because my mother had supposedly ended things with him shortly before Bob found out.

The night that Bob found out has haunted me for a long time. My timeline is still off but I feel that this happened at some point during my time in junior high but I’m unsure of what year. I am also aware that all of this happened in the same day, but the order in which it happened is fuzzy at best. The screaming began before sundown, perhaps a couple hours of sunlight were left at most. Doors were slammed and I could tell that, while my parents had had blowouts before, this was something...new, something different. Mostly I knew this because, hours and hours before, sometime in the early afternoon, my father found out. I’m not entirely sure how, whether he’d done his own detective work or if someone else had told him

When he found out, Bob stumbled through the house, wailing and sobbing, louder and more emotional than I had ever seen him before in my life. Crying was not something men did, as far I had learned and been taught and told, and so to see my father in that state set me and my brother off quickly. To this day, I struggle with seeing men be openly emotional, not because “only GIRLS cry!” or anything so pedantic, but because the only time I ever saw a man cry was in my childhood and it was...bad. I only remember feeling fear, although I’m sure I cried, but I can remember my brother, Aaron, two and a half years younger than me, quickly caught up in Bob’s breakdown and sobbing along with him although he didn’t quite understand what was happening. At some point during this, Bob curled up in his closet in the master bedroom, holding a gun and cradling Aaron to him, inconsolable and unreachable no matter how much I screamed or cried for him to stop. Eventually, I found the phone number for some of the other employees that he had working in their store who I knew my dad felt close to and called them. I know that they must have come, and maybe even they took us all away so we could all collectively try and calm down, but I have no memory of anything else in that day until my mother came home that evening. This was when the screaming, as mentioned above, really started.

Knowing that whatever was going to happen was going to be bad, and I mean BAD, I quickly gathered my brother and our dog (a beautiful German Shepard mix), threw some snacks and water into a small backpack, and set out, leaving behind the fight that was only just beginning. This, of course, was before cell phones were common place and I certainly didn’t have one until high school, after we had moved to Texas. While it may have made more sense for me to have called for help as I’d done before, I don’t remember if that thought ever crossed my mind. At the time, I only remember knowing with absolute certainty that I didn’t want to be there, and that I didn’t want my brother or our dog to be there either. I don’t remember having a destination in mind, but eventually we found our way to a parking lot a couple blocks from my school where some construction company had started to dig a large pit for some reason. I set my brother and the dog free at the pit and watched them, chewing on my lip and pulling out my eyebrows and eyelashes, until the sun had gone down and what meager food and water supplies I had grabbed were gone. Nobody had come looking for us, or at least nobody had found us yet, but knowing that there was nothing else I could do, no one else I could turn to in that moment (stranger danger was always a worry and none of my friends lived within walking distance of my house or where we were at the time), I knew we had to go home.

We returned to our house amidst a few departing police cars and it did not take long for my mother to scoop me up and drive us to a motel. She left Aaron, I think because Bob would not let her take him (although at the time I was upset and did not want to leave him or the dog behind), and I still feel anger over that decision. How could she leave him there? Surely she’d known of the frightening display earlier that very day where Bob had held a gun so close to Aaron’s face? Didn’t she love Aaron?

She explained in the car that we couldn’t take Aaron for the aforementioned Bob reasons but that continues to not sit right with me, even years later. She went on to say that, yes, Bob had found out about the other man. When he had, and when she’d come home, he’d screamed and screamed and screamed and demanded that she tell him who the man was. Before that, however, Bob had tossed our rooms, both Aaron’s and mine, where he found a small cream my mother had given me that was supposed to encourage breast growth (I’d been super small, skinny, slim and without any curves or breasts which had caused a wide variety of bullying which I’ll talk about later), and he’d freaked out, thinking she’d given me some kind of “sex thing.” I’m not sure if he ever found out who the other man was, or that I had been as involved with him as I had been, but at some point my mother had locked herself in the guest bedroom and Bob had taken an electric drill to the door, destroying the lock to get inside. At the time I’d never really been worried that he would hurt her, which I think was why I’d mostly been concerned with getting us out. I’d never seen him hit my mother but I’d seen him hit my brother enough to be more scared for Aaron than for my mom. Eventually, at some point during their fight, Bob had called the police and tried to “turn her in” for the small amount of weed that she’d had stored. One way or another the cops had come out and left without arresting or citing anyone for anything, although my mother was furious that the dogs had been set loose in their bedroom where both the dogs and officers went through her clothing and tossed the room, leaving everything disheveled and some things broken in the mess. I remember going to the motel, and then little else beyond the other man maybe coming over to comfort my mother.

Unlike other things I’ll write about, I did not feel that this was my fault, or that I could have stopped it. Yes, I’d known that what my mother was doing was inherently wrong but... I had felt that this other man might grow to love me and, if he had, maybe he could be my father instead. Among the array of gifts he’d given me, the other man also found out that I loved to write and he’d purchased a small, faux-leather bound journal... Not once, even now, has Bob ever expressed such an interest in my hobbies or what I love. My mother tries, and usually she’s pretty aware, but the subtle encouragement that came with the gift of a notebook was something else entirely, something new and sweet and something I hadn’t even realized I’d been missing until I’d experienced it.

I still sometimes remember the sound of Bob’s wailing, his heart-wrenching cries of despair in our beautiful California home, and I shudder and clench my teeth and wait for the sound and all that it is connected to, to pass.

#TW: Trauma #TW: gun mention #TW: violence #jesus that was hard #and we've only just begun

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noona-clock · 5 years

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Working On It - Part 8, Final Chapter

Genre: Teacher!AU

Pairing: Brian (Day6) x You

By Admin B

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, Oh, yeah, and I love you, Nothing’s Wrong

About Two Years Later

Honestly, you could’ve sat in your car for about an hour and just cried. Cried with joy, of course, because you’d just finished your very last final of dental school. You were officially done, graduating in just a few days.

It had been a long, difficult two years, but you’d done it.

Not without some help, mind you. A lot of help.

Brian had made it seem like it would be no trouble at all to help you out financially, but he had obviously been very optimistic. It hadn’t been easy; he’d had to make a fairly large dent in his savings, but he also hadn’t let you stop him. He had continuously made the argument that it would all be worth it in the end.

Plus, he’d ended up moving in with you and Sammy before the end of your first semester which had lessened the load quite a bit.

But now. Now, it was all over. No more classes, no more tests, no more practicums, no more tuition.

All you had to do was find a job.

Sammy had helped, too, of course. He’d helped you study as best as he could, and he never complained when you took your textbook to his soccer games. He’d even pestered you to contact your old work to see if maybe they would re-hire you as a hygienist, something you planned on doing tomorrow.

Truly, how could you have survived this on your own?

A very long, heavy sigh escaped your lips as you headed to your apartment, clutching your keys. Now that you were done with school, the urge to leave this tiny, old place was overwhelming; you could barely wait to find an actual house with a yard and a garage and privacy.

Speaking of, you figured you would get some for a little while seeing as the middle and high school were still in session; both Brian and Sammy would still be at school.

It would be nice to have some alone time, but... you’d been so busy the past two years, you were very much looking forward to spending more time with the two guys you loved most in this world.

You unlocked the front door of your apartment, letting out another sigh as you walked in.

But then you froze when your gaze landed on just the two guys you’d been thinking of. They were standing in the living room, and the apartment was filled with streamers and balloons and a big banner which read ‘YOU SURVIVED’ hung up on the wall.

“Wha --” you gaped, your brow furrowing.

All of a sudden, Brian and Sammy erupted into cheers. Sammy even blew a noisemaker while Brian threw some confetti into the air.

“What is this?!” you chuckled, setting your bookbag down and making your way over to them. You held your arms out and wrapped them tightly around Sammy (who was now a couple of inches taller than you - don’t get me started).

“You’re officially done,” Brian grinned, accepting your embrace once you’d finished hugging Sammy. “It’s time to celebrate.”

“Both of you are supposed to be in school!” you pointed out, trying to scold them but failing miserably.

“I got a sub for the rest of the afternoon and checked Sammy out early,” Brian explained with a casual shrug.

“We weren’t going to miss this momentous occasion!” Sammy cried before blowing the noisemaker again.

You leaned into Brian, one arm around him with your hand clutching the back of his shirt. You hadn’t been expecting to see them until later, so being greeted by their smiling faces right as you walked in the door? You were already a bit emotional from having finally finished school, but now you were simply overcome.

Brian squeezed your shoulders when he heard you sniffle, and Sammy blew the noisemaker yet again to try and liven the mood.

“What are we doing to celebrate?” you asked with a watery grin.

“Whatever you want,” Brian replied. “We can have a night in, we can go out, we can do anything your heart desires.”

“Ooh!” Sammy gasped. “Can we invite Jae and Dowoon over to play League of Legends?”

Brian let out a single, very amused ‘ha!’ “We’re celebrating your aunt, not you.”

“No, that’s fine,” you chuckled. “Invite Sungjin and Wonpil, too, we can have a little party.”

Brian had a solid group of friends from college, and over the past two and a half years, you’d gotten to know them pretty well. After you’d run into Jae and Wonpil at the movie theater, Brian had introduced you to Sungjin and Dowoon over lunch. They had quickly accepted you into their friend group, and you’d even introduced them to Sammy on Brian’s birthday that first year (you hadn’t been able to get him any presents, but you had thrown him the best party you could at your apartment).

And now, hardly a weekend went by when Sammy didn’t request inviting over his two favorite video game partners. You’d even asked Sungjin to stay with Sammy one weekend when Brian had insisted on whisking you away for a romantic weekend in the mountains. You’d basically been on the verge of a mental breakdown at that point; the stress of school and money had gotten to you, but Brian had successfully calmed you down in the span of two days. He had a way of doing that, actually. Making you focus on the positives to help you overcome the negatives.

It was just one reason why you loved him so much.

“Are you sure?” Brian asked as Sammy pumped his fists in the air and whooped victoriously. “I mean, they’re coming to your graduation party next weekend, you’ll see them then.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, trying to hide a sly smirk. You stood on your toes as Sammy grabbed Brian’s phone from the kitchen counter and presumably began to type out an invite text to Jae. You placed your lips close to Brian’s ear and whispered, “You can ask one of them to take Sammy for the night.”

Brian’s eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. And his lips curved into a smirk to match yours exactly.

You could see it now: Jae would ask Sammy if he wanted to continue their video game back at his place, and while you knew this meant Sammy would stay up until almost dawn playing, Sammy didn’t know you knew. So he would think he was getting away with something, and you and Brian would have the place to yourselves to celebrate in a different way (if you catch my drift).

It was a win/win scenario in every possible way.

Except for the fact that Sammy would be gone. You cherished alone time with Brian, obviously, but you still missed Sammy when he wasn’t around. After almost three years of being his legal guardian, you realized it was sometimes kind of hard to remember a time when Sammy hadn’t been yours.

The two of you talked about his parents a lot, of course - Sammy’s counselor in middle school had urged him to bring them up at home since you were one of his only connections to his parents. But it had gotten to the point where you laughed more than you cried. You had more good days than bad days.

You’d gotten so close with Sammy these past three years, and he just felt like... yours. Like he was your son. And you knew your brother and sister-in-law would’ve wanted nothing less.

But anyway. Enough emotional talk and back to your current situation.

All four of Brian’s friends were able to come over, and the evening played out exactly as you’d imagined. Brian ordered about five pizzas for everyone, and Sammy was at a stage where he was eating so much, you honestly wondered if it would be enough.

Jae and Dowoon plopped right down onto the couch with Sammy and picked up a game controller. They would only set them down to eat and again later when it was time to leave.

Sungjin and Wonpil kept you and Brian company, talking about this and that, congratulating you on completing your degree finally, asking about your future plans. (Side note: you noticed Wonpil started to ask a question - “When are you going to --” and Brian cut him off. You tried not to think too much about it, but it was fairly suspicious...)

Once all of the pizza was gone and the sun had gone down, you watched as Brian shuffled to the couch and bent to whisper something in Jae’s ear. Jae nodded, winking conspiratorially at his friend before setting down his controller.

“Well, who’s up for continuing this at my place?” he asked, turning to eye both Dowoon and Sammy.

Sammy immediately spun to look at you with hopeful, pleading eyes, and you pretended to let out a ‘well, I guess’ sort of sigh.

“Sure,” you relented. “Just don’t stay up all night.”

Sammy sprung from the couch and ran into his room to pack an overnight bag as Sungjin and Wonpil began to clean everything up.

As soon as the door closed behind them about ten minutes later, Brian’s lips were on yours, and he promptly picked you up and carried you into the bedroom.

It had been a while since either of you had spoken. You were cuddled up in bed, and you were fairly sure Brian had fallen asleep. But when you turned over to face him, his eyes were on you, warm and curious as they always were.

“What is it?” he whispered, raising a hand and smoothing your hair back from your forehead.

You simply gazed at him for a few moments, taking in his handsome face while you had the chance. And then you whispered back, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he murmured before leaning in and pressing his lips to your forehead.

“For everything. I don’t think I can ever put into words how much it means to me that you --” You took a breath, already feeling the lump of emotion forming in your throat. “God, this sounds so cheesy, but you changed my life. If it weren’t for you, I would still --”

“You would’ve found your way here eventually,” Brian interrupted. “You didn’t need me.”

“But you came into my life at just the right time. I... I was struggling. I didn’t even know how badly I was struggling, but you helped me. I don’t know how I can ever repay --”

Brian stopped you with a kiss, and you knew if you tried to bring it up again, he would just keep kissing you.

So...

“No, really, I am going to --”

Your lips curved into a smile as Brian pushed you over onto your back, attempting to deepen the kiss through your grin.

Did you know your boyfriend or did you know your boyfriend?

You’d heard Brian and Sammy’s cheers as the dean read out your name and you began to walk across the stage to accept your diploma. Your cheeks warmed, and you lowered your head a little in embarrassment.

And then their cheers got even louder when you shook the university president’s hand and smiled for the quick photo op.

You knew they were proud of you, but did they have to be so loud about it?

When every single student in the auditorium had walked across the stage, you followed your classmates out, trying to keep an eye on your boys so you would be able to find them in the crowd of people.

As soon as you stepped out into the sunshine, you heard two voices calling your name, though one was saying ‘Aunt’ in front of it. You stood on your toes, trying to see over all of the graduation caps surrounding you.

All of a sudden, Brian’s arm shot up through the crowd and waved around. You began to weave your way through to get to him, your lips pulling into a smile as you shuffled closer.

“There she is!” Brian crowed the second he saw you. “The graduate herself come to grace us with her degreed presence.”

“Shut up,” you chuckled, your cheeks pink as you tilted your head to accept his quick kiss.

“All right, come on, picture time.” Brian slid his phone out of his pocket and waved Sammy over to you.

Your nephew came to stand next to you, putting an arm around your shoulders. You put your own arm around his middle as you held your black leather diploma envelope against your chest.

Brian took about a dozen pictures, instructing Sammy to hug you, kiss your cheek, look at you with fond pride - and by the end, he even had to instruct Sammy to smile.

“Come on, Sam,” Brian chuckled. “Look like you’re proud of your aunt, at least!”

“I am! I think it shows in the previous twenty pictures,” Sammy pointed out with a roll of his eyes.

“Okay, okay, fine,” Brian relented. “You come and take the pictures, then.”

So Sammy and Brian switched places, Sammy taking the phone while Brian took his place at your side.

Unsurprisingly, Sammy didn’t have to tell Brian how to pose in the pictures. He hugged you and kissed you and looked at you with fond pride and smiled all on his own.

“Okay, I think that’s good,” Sammy said impatiently after probably the fifth pose.

“No, just one more,” Brian requested.

Sammy groaned.

“Just one! It’ll be a good one, I promise!”

“All right,” Sammy sighed, lifting the phone up yet again.

You stood there smiling, waiting for Brian to put his arm around you or hug you or something. But you didn’t feel his touch. You only heard him say your name.

“Hmm?” you hummed, turning to face him.

But he wasn’t there.

Your eyes shifted downward, and the sight of Brian kneeling on the ground next to you made your heart stop.

Wait, not only was he kneeling -- he was also holding a small, black box in his hands, opened to reveal the most beautiful ring you’d ever seen.

You immediately gasped, your diploma envelope falling to the ground as your hands flew to cover your mouth.

Brian, meanwhile, was smiling as brightly as he’d ever smiled. Sammy was cheering, and you glanced over to see he still had Brian’s phone up, recording everything.

“Y/N,” Brian began when you turned to look back at him. “Will you marry me?”

Your eyes filled with tears, and you wasted no time in nodding your head.

Before you knew, Brian had swept you into his arms, holding you tightly and murmuring how much loved you into your ear.

And the ring was on your finger.

The past three years had been the most difficult, challenging, heartbreaking, and rewarding years of your life. You’d lost your grandmother and your brother, the only family you’d ever known. You’d struggled living paycheck to paycheck, your bank account going into the negatives too many times to count. You’d worried and cried and stressed more than any person should.

You’d lost a lot of things, but you’d gained Sammy. You’d gained a son - a wonderful, amazing, perfect son. And now you were gaining a husband. A wonderful, amazing, perfect husband.

Most people did it the other way around - gain the husband first and then the son. But you couldn’t remember the last time your life had been normal.

Maybe now it would be.

We’ll just say... you were working on it.

Epilogue I

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sevenhorns · 4 years

Text

Thank you, Taylor

I’ve been writing bits of this for the past few months, unsure as to whether I should actually post this. I don’t usually express myself online and, truth be told, I don’t really express myself massively in real life, either.

I do have a very active internal monologue, though, and on this subject, it’s been such a strong one that I’ve felt compelled to write it down - and now, to publish it. So here goes.

* * *

Over the past few years, I felt myself changing. Becoming more reserved. Feeling sad about things. Finding it hard to cope with seemingly insignificant moments. These were all aspects of my personality that were already there, but as I progressed towards the age of 30, were becoming considerably more amplified. I figured it was just a part of getting older - or at least, that’s what I told myself. There’s been so much talk about mental health and the efforts to destigmatise it (especially among men) that I figured I was associating with symptoms of depression because I was more aware of them, not because I actually had them.

I was kidding myself.

To cut a long story short, I had a breakdown while working at a very public event and realised that something was very wrong with me. Even then, I tried to push it to the back of my mind, thinking that because I knew and accepted there was something wrong with me that it would somehow ‘cure’ me.

Obviously, I was once again kidding myself.

When work asked me to attend a similar event, I had another breakdown and realised I had to take action. I took time off from my job (who were incredibly supportive) while I took steps to combat my anxiety and depression. I went to the doctor, joined a gym, and found a therapist. For the first time in ages, I felt genuinely optimistic.

The feeling was short-lived. The pills my doctor gave me did nothing, the gym couldn’t fit me in for an induction for two weeks, and the therapist I saw was awful. He listened, but he didn’t hear what I was saying.

At the time all this was happening, Taylor Swift released Lover.

* * *

My journey to becoming a Taylor Swift fan was a slow burn. I wasn’t much into chart music in the late 2000s (I was far too busy being some sort of edgy emo/goth/rocker hybrid) and, being a Brit, Taylor’s music took a while to filter over here. But the moment I heard Love Story, I knew it was right up my street. Over the following years, I heard (by chance, rather than because I’d sought them out) YBWM, The Story of Us, and a couple of others. By the time Red came out, I had to accept that maybe I was just a massive Taylor Swift fan, so I bought all her albums - and loved pretty much all of the songs.

Ever since, she’s been my absolute favourite artist, both because of her talents as an artist, and the fact that she just seems like a genuinely lovely human being. But I digress

* * *

When 1989 and Reputation released, I listened to them the moment I could. I’d pour myself a nice drink, stick on some headphones, and just listen. It was a new ritual, but one that I was nevertheless looking forward to doing with Lover. But I was in such a mental funk that the album sat on the shelf in its cellophane untouched. I just wasn’t in the mood to get excited about anything - even a new album from my favourite artist.

It was an odd time. I was signed off of work for mental health reasons, but none of the steps I was taking to improve things worked. While I was waiting for my gym induction and an appointment with a new therapist to open up, I was just spending days at home on my own with all this free time... and absolutely nothing to do with it. Wake up, have some breakfast, watch daytime TV, wait for my partner to get home from work, have dinner, go to bed. The breakdowns and anxiety attacks I’d had sucked, but the monotony of sitting around and waiting with nothing but my own broken thoughts for hours on end each day was horrendous. Wallowing in self pity had become a dreadful hobby.

One day, I was sitting at the computer, wasting time doing absolutely nothing productive, when I noticed that the early evening sun was really quite pretty. As I felt its warmth on my back and saw the long shadows being cast across the room, I had a brief moment of motivation: this seemed like as good a time as any to listen to Lover.

* * *

Good decision. I Forgot That You Existed was a solid start, and then came the absolute bop that is Cruel Summer. As that fantastic bridge hit, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of how much I was enjoying a song called Cruel Summer when my own summer was being pretty cool to me, too.

By the time I hit Paper Rings and Cornelia Street, I realised I’d had a genuine grin on my face and energy in my body. It was the first genuinely positive emotion I’d felt in weeks that was wasn’t the double-edged sword of relief or security. I was happy for the sake of being happy.

By this point, I’d stopped faffing on the computer and was just sitting, watching the golden sunset out of the window. As Daylight finished up, I wiped the moisture from my eyes and played through the whole thing again - not just in the hope of prolonging my happy feelings, but because Lover is quite simply an incredible piece of work.

* * *

I know that saying ‘music cured my depression’ isn’t exactly an original position to be in - and I’m glad of that. I’m glad that music can be such a powerful tool when it comes to mental health that has helped many people. And I wouldn’t say that Taylor Swift and Lover cured my depression - mental health is an ongoing battle that requires some degree of constant effort to maintain and I’m not sure if it can ever truly be ‘cured’ - but it was absolutely a key moment it helping me to turn things around.

Whenever I listen to it, I get the same feelings of happiness and joy, and all the great feelings of the love I have for my partner, and of how fortunate I am to have such an unbelievably loving and supportive family.

Most of all though, it takes me back to that sunny afternoon. It reminds me of the moment when I made a tiny bit of effort to improve my mental health - and it actually worked. After weeks of trying to help myself and failing each time, this action actually succeeded. It gave me hope that as long as I did the right things and put in the effort, maybe I could get some way back to being me again. That although I felt weak in my mind, I still had enough strength to fight my way out of the hole I found myself in. I was still in there somewhere

No matter the song, the time, or the place, Lover has managed to form a deeply personal connection to me in a way that no other music has ever come close to doing.

* * *

Nine months on and I’m like a different person. No, wait, that’s not right. I’m a different version of the same person.

The second therapist has turned out to be an absolute gem. I still have low days, but thanks to her, I know how to help turn things around. I know where my fears and anxieties come from, what’s likely to trigger them, and how to try and manage my depression.

I fell in love with the gym. As a guy who used the same weak excuse for three years at school to get out of doing PE, I never saw myself as someone who’d voluntarily exercise, let along enjoy it. I’ve lost 40 lbs since September and no longer feel ashamed of the person I see in the mirror.

I’m not going to say that it’s all thanks to Taylor, because that would be doing a great disservice to the friends, family, co-workers, and health workers who have all been actively brilliant. Also to myself - forgive me some self-indulgence, but I’m also really proud of myself and the part I’ve had to play in improving as a person, and the truths I’ve had to admit (which, as a notoriously stubborn guy, wasn’t always easy!).

But in creating an album so beautifully crafted that it reminded me what happy emotions were, Taylor has been a significant part of my journey. I know the chances of her (or anyone else on the zero-follower blog I created as an output for these thoughts) seeing this are astronomically tiny.

But on the off-chance that she somehow stumbles across this, I’d just like to say a wholehearted thank you.

Thank you so much.

Not only for inadvertently helping me, but for consistently creating such wonderful, expressive, and intelligent music; for speaking out and standing for important social issues; and for being a role model that so many people of all ages and cultures can look up to.

As a 30-something white bloke from the UK, I feel slightly awkward putting something like this out into the open... but then again, why should I? It’s OK to not be OK. It’s OK to be a man with vulnerabilities and emotions. It’s OK to like whatever you like - if it makes people think differently of you then that’s their problem, not yours. Embrace and share your passions and life becomes all the richer for it.

I really hope I’m able to make one of Taylor’s concerts one day. If you’re at one too, and you see an awkward-looking bloke quietly standing there, struggling to hold back happy tears during Afterglow, that might just be me. Feel free to say hi.

#taylorlurking #taylor swift #swifties #lover #taylor nation #usertaylornotices

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spacenerrrd · 5 years

Text

Don’t Judge A Book By It’s Cover: Chapter 8

Sander Sides

Word count: 1338

Characters: Patton/Creativity, Virgil/Anxiety, Patton/Morality, Logan/Logic

Warnings: Deceit character (known as Declan in the story), mention of previous bad relationships

Summary: Logan runs a library in a small town, allowing him to share his love of books without feeling left out. His business partner and friend Roman helps by running the bright Disney themed cafe that attracts more people to stay for longer. The two clashing but a somehow perfect match of friendship went their days peacefully in their small community until one day a new pair of brothers; Patton and Virgil moved into town and showed the owners a new way of life.

Chapter eight: Is That Tension?

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

~~~

Thump.

Logan was walking around the library, organising the books that were left at the front desk back to their places on the shelves. They made a heavy sound when they made contact with the shelf. Logan liked that sound, despite it being quite a repetitive and simple task. But the idea of order and making that order calmed Logan’s racing mind. As he moved through the aisles of books, he didn’t notice the shorter man who followed behind him until the man couldn’t help but speak up.

“Hi, Logan!”

Logan jumped, dropping the pile of books that were in his arms as he spun around to face Patton.

“Oh my goodness gracious I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“You’re… You’re fine Patton…” Logan cleared his throat and straightened up his tie to try and regather his composure. “I just wasn’t expecting to see you this early.”

“Oh yes, well I got to finish work a bit early and so I thought I would pop in and say hello!”

“Ah, that makes sense.”

They stood there. Patton, with a bright smile on his face while Logan tried to think of something to say.

“I don't think I have asked where you work…”

“Oh, uh, I work downtown. You probably don’t know it.”

“I know a fair amount of places around here Patton, maybe if you just told me I-”

“It’s really just a small corner shop, like real hidden and stuff, you wouldn’t know.”

“Ahh, I see,” Logan nodded, not noticing the relief on Patton’s face when he finally dropped the subject. “Well, I should pick these books up and get back to work.” He knelt down and started picking up the books he had dropped. There was a light thump in front of him. Looking up, he couldn’t help the small smile that was on his face when he saw Patton picking up some books. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, Logan! I thought I might as well help you since it was my fault. Plus, I have nothing else to do apart from helping you with these books.”

Logan nodded, starting to explain what jobs he had left as they both went around to stack the books.

---

“Have a nice day!” Roman waved off the last customer of the afternoon tea rush. With a smile on his face, he started going around and collecting the dirty dishes. Humming Bippity Boppity Boo from Cinderella, he didn’t notice the new person who came up to the counter.

“Damn baby, I forgot how good you looked in those pants.”

Roman immediately stood back up, turning around from the dishwasher to look at who spoke. “What… you’re not supposed to be here Declan…”

“Yea well, you were supposed to marry me once we got out of school, so we can’t all get what we want,” Declan smirked, taking off his bowler hat. “So what are you doing running a cafe? I thought you were going to perform on a stage?”

“I… I’m getting there…” Roman saw a familiar hoodie just behind Declan and almost felt the edge of his lips twitch up. “I have customers, please leave me alone.”

Declan turned around to face Virgil, growling at the back of his throat. “Fine, but I’ll be coming back Princey.” He turned on his heels, bumping into Virgil’s shoulder as he walked out.

Virgil frowned at Declan, walking up to the counter and pulling his headphones around his neck. “Damn, who pissed in his breakfast?” He laughed, but he cut that off when he really took in Roman’s face. “Ro, are you ok?”

The prince like character shook his head, lip starting to tremble. He slid down the counter and pressed his head back against the cupboard. He jumped a little bit when he was pulled into someone's lap but as soon as he recognised the jumper the tension left his body. He leant into Virgil’s shoulder as tears started to roll down his face. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracked as he spoke, displaying his vulnerability.

“Hush now dorkus, there’s nothing to apologise for.��

They sat like that until Roman’s sniffles had quietened down. Virgil grabbed him a pillow and blanket from the children area so he would be more comfortable on the ground. (Roman insisted that he would be fine to get back to work, but Virgil wasn’t having any of it and insisted that he would run the cafe for the rest of the afternoon.) Once he was sure that Roman was ok, he got up and started cleaning up the dirty dishes and taking orders for the cafe.

Roman admired Virgil with a smile. Despite his hand tremoring slightly whenever he talked to a customer, he made the coffees to the best of his ability and took care of the cafe very well. He couldn’t help the small smile on his face as he watched him with a sense of pride. But his eyes were getting heavy and when did he suddenly get so tired? It didn’t matter, because he just snuggled further into the blanket and let his eyes fall shut.

---

Logan and Patton both stopped in their usual track to the cafe when they saw Virgil standing behind the counter, wiping down the surface. They both stood there for a few moments, staring at the unexpected image.

It was Logan who moved first. He walked up to the counter and stood in front of Virgil to get his attention. “Where’s Roman.”

Virgil looked up and pointed down at the ground. “Sleepin’, he had a breakdown after someone came in to visit.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “Was the man taller than Roman, brown hair, smug face, wearing a hat?”

“I, uh, yea. Yea that seems about right.”

Logan gave a single nod. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll make sure that he gets home and is taken care of.”

Virgil nodded back, looking at Roman for a moment before he spoke again. “Will he be ok?” He asked quietly.

“Yes. It may take him a few days to be back to his normal self, but I am sure he will contact you before then. He has taken a fancy in you.”

Virgil blushed but smiled. “Ok,” he mumbled before throwing his bag over his shoulder and leaving the cafe. “See you later Logan.”

“Bye Logan!” Patton waved at him, smiling wide at Virgil before the two brothers left the library.

Logan smiled and waved back, turning with a sigh. He finished off the last packing up of the cafe before he went around to get Roman. He picked the man up by supporting under his knees and back. (This was the best way for Logan to pick up the hunk of a man. He’s had many chances in getting it down pat.) Then he walked out of the library to take Roman home. It was a struggle using the keys while carrying a bulky man, but Logan managed to swing Roman’s door open. He pushed it closed with his foot and brought the man to his room. He got him out of his prince uniform and into his pyjamas (another thing he has had practice in) and tucked the man into his sheets. Going into the kitchen, he grabbed a glass of water and some pain medication to place on Roman’s bedside table as a just in case for the morning. He also left a small note, saying ‘Call me when you get up.’ and left it with the glass.

Logan looked at his best friend. Even though he was asleep, Roman looked exhausted. He would need help over the next few days and although Logan wasn’t the best with emotions, he was determined to be there for him. But for that to happen, he needed his own sleep. So he turned around and closed the bedroom door carefully to not wake Roman up. Then, he started to head home through the wind, which closed the front door with more force than Logan intended.

Thump.

~~~

A/N: I’m sorry this took so longggg. Hopefully, I’ll get the start of the next chapter going before I get swamped in school againnnn :)) also I have a feeling my tags aren’t working or people aren’t liking my recent writing after my break I had to take due to school work :((

Next chapter

DJABBIC Tags:

@deathbyvenusftw @moonlightinwater @princeanxious @roman-is-a-gay @coffeekeyboardsss @ocotopushugs @thepoolofthedead @sanders-sides-things @angered-turtle @gayrobotalien @rebaobsessions @a-ghosts @catsandrandomness @fricksonsticks @v-blue-writer @hanramz-the-fander @your-username-is-unavailable @emphoenixcat @daughterofsomnus @anaveragegayfan @louisthewarlock @saro510-mp4 @6tick6tock6 @nienna14 @fandomsofrandom @notalwaysthevillian @thestoryoferissur @at-least-seven-pretty-potatoes @virgil-crofters @thatgaydemigodnerd @ijustreallylovesanderssides @221b-quote @bubblycricket @charlielgbt @why-only-have-one-fandom @jesjessode @thrown-out-pasta @athenashipsthings @tisithelittleelephant @aroundofapplesauce @muliphandomer @icequeenoriginal @virgilsandersisme @emo-nithtmare @follow-pheonix-inside @depressed-potato-bean

#djabbic #don't judge a book by its cover #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #deceit #ts deceit #deceit sanders #logicality #prinxiety #sander sides #sander sides fanfic

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irwintry · 5 years

Text

The Tilt-Shift Effect

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, brief mention of drugs

Author’s Note: i think i spent too much time on this honestly i dont even know how i feel abt it

playlist

Word Count: 6.2k

–– a phenomenon in which your lived experience seems oddly inconsequential once you put it down on paper, which turns an epic tragicomedy into a sequence of figures on a model train set, assembled in their tiny classrooms and workplaces, wandering along their own cautious and well-trodden paths.

Ashton had wealth, but he ate his cereal out of two-dollar plastic bowls from Target. He owned fourteen, specifically, so he could let them pile up in the sink for two weeks before he was forced to accept the grimy challenge of washing dishes. He had the cabinet space to hold up to twenty-one, though he figured that was a bit excessive. His laziness could only be condoned for so long. If he chose to purchase more, he’d be better off hiring a maid.

Sometimes, Ashton took up weird hobbies during his downtime. His works of crochet were hung on the walls of hallways, and his ceramic mugs got their daily use through early morning coffee fixes. Once upon a time, he tried beading, and his old girlfriend received most of the precious pieces. He had to do something other than songwriting or else it would fry his brains out.

He purchased a new pair of winter gloves the other day. He lived in Los Angeles–– he didn’t need a pair of winter gloves, let alone a new one. Ashton wasn’t spending money on pointless things because he was bored of his life. No, he loved his time on tour with friends. He loved sharing moments and memories that would last forever. And then, he would be home again, cooped up in the confines of his expansive home with fourteen plastic bowls and crocheted hallways. Ashton needed his life to be fast-paced, otherwise, he’d start beading again.

A few weeks ago, he considered writing a novel. He purchased a Nalgene, hiked up whatever mountain was closest (while simultaneously sweating enough to fill his new water bottle three times), and jotted down whatever emotions slammed into his head. He was hit with nothing. The destructive instinct of tossing his journal into the deep brush overcame him, and Ashton decided that if he were to write a novel, he’d need to go somewhere a bit more inspirational than the dry mountains overlooking smog city.

He suffered from tinnitus quite often, especially on airplanes or any high altitude above sea level (to be exact). Maybe it was partially due to his career as a drummer, or maybe it wasn’t. Whatever it was, and whatever the reason, he despised the perpetual ache. It ruined any social event or interaction for the two days following, but in this case, it ruined his right to think. After packing for twenty minutes, Ashton sped to the airport, his ear already clogged from the mountain climb earlier that morning. The information desk was his first destination, and then it was wherever from there.

“’m sorry, Ash, but you’re where?”

Ashton took a glance around at the baggage claim area. So, he could take the silver line, get a taxi or a limo, or schedule an app ride to wherever he was going. It was good to know he had options. But what the hell was the silver line?

He chuckled. “I think I took a flight to Boston.”

The other end of the phone call was silent.

Truth be told, Ashton hadn’t meant to fly to Boston. He hadn’t been tremendously picky when it came to choosing the final destination, so he picked a random time off of the top of his head, and whatever flight was scheduled to board then, he’d buy a ticket. Boston it was.

“Why the fuck are you in Boston?” Luke wondered, his sentence ending with a lilt and a laugh.

Calum entered the conversation. “Are you having an emotional breakdown?”

“Did you try beading again?” Michael quipped.

Ashton had to chuckle once more. He wasn’t sure he would ever tire of his friends. “Needed t’get out of LA, mates. To clear my head.”

“So, you chose Boston?” Luke spoke up through laughter again.

“’s not a bad city,” Ashton replied. The loud buzzer by his baggage claim began to sound, and a second or so later, the first suitcase tumbled down. “There’s Cambridge, too. That place can be pretty.”

“I think Ash will make the perfect Bostonian,” said Michael. “He gives off perfect Masshole vibes.”

Ashton snorted. “Thank you, Mike.”

“Anytime.”

Ashton noticed his bag was the fourth to slide down on the conveyer belt. “So, uh, does anyone know what on earth the silver line is?”

There are ninety-five to a hundred billion nerve cells in the human body, and right now, Ashton could feel every single one. The safari app on his phone had close to ten tabs open purely to help him understand the train system, but then he ended up freaking out and taking a Lyft instead. He had started to realize his mistake in coming here the moment he finalized everything with his Airbnb in Back Bay (wherever the hell that was). He could vaguely remember a few designated spots him and his mates hit for yoga or brunch when they had been in the city, but they were never here long enough.

The penthouse he was renting lacked activities, but the bathroom was nice. The lighting made his pores stand out a bit more than usual, so that was another downside. Also, he was two inches taller than the showerhead. Otherwise, he loved the place. The roof would be a nice touch if the temperature outside hadn’t frozen his nips off through three layers of clothing. With a sigh, Ashton tossed his belongings to the floor and collapsed onto the couch.

So, he didn’t know why he was here or what he was going to do while he was here. He hardly made it out of the airport alive, and he assumed that, once people knew he was here, walking the streets would be a damn nightmare. Maybe he could give himself cabin fever and write down whatever psychotic thoughts came into his head. That would be an interesting novel.

Ashton didn’t know what he was thinking, but he did know that he needed a fucking beer. And, like all great cities, there were plenty of bars.

However, despite the lovely array of bars, he needed a place that was lowkey. He needed the place three blocks west in its eighteen-table glory. He needed the distance murmur of conversations from old friends and regulars, and he needed that sharp sting of tequila sloshing down his throat. What he didn’t really need, was the live performance taking place in the closet-sized underground bar, but he felt bad that the ten people in there hardly gave a shit.

Ashton listened from a small round table by the wall. He didn’t know why–– maybe it was the alcohol, but the light strum of guitar and angelic singing voice traveled through every ninety-five to a hundred billion nerves in his body. His heart connected to the lyrics, the strings plucking as if it were on the guitar. Maybe this was why he was here.

You had noticed him from the corner of your eye, though your hands only froze for a split moment before you flickered your gaze back to the few men on barstools. This was the exact reason you had to perform with a lyric sheet before you–– unexpected guests like Ashton Irwin would wander in and listen to you sing.

Truth be told, this was your first time performing in front of a big name, and you were somewhat upset you had worked through your headache to be here. It should have been a sign when your guitar took twenty minutes to tune and when two cars almost ran you over on a crosswalk. It should have been a sign when your vanilla latte from Pavement burned your tongue and made you cry.

But here you were, singing lyrics you no longer felt with a shaky voice in front of a man whose eyes were glossed over from the alcohol. At least, that was what you assumed. His thumbs darted to the inside corners of his eyes and rubbed along the water line. You absolutely could not believe it. You had made him cry.

“Uh, thank you,” you said into the mic. Only Ashton was watching you, so truly, you were thanking him. “I’ll be back soon with some happy songs, I promise.”

He cracked a smile.

You had your back turned for under a minute as you put your guitar away, and when you stood to go talk to him, he had already gone.

“I’ve tried approximately seventeen coffee shops in the past week, and only four of them sold bagels, and two of those four had comfortable seating,” Ashton explained. With his phone nestled between his shoulder and his ear, he darted around the kitchen, a spatula for his eggs in one hand and a bottle of orange juice (for some reason) in the other.

“And, how many of those places had good coffee?” asked Calum.

Ashton sighed. “Seven.”

“How ya gonna narrow it down, then?”

Once he set down the bottle of juice, Ashton placed his phone on the counter and pressed the speaker button. A buzz of white noise filled the large kitchen. “Well, two of the seven had bagels, and one of those had good coffee, good seating, and bagels. But the problem is, those bagels weren’t that great. So, like...”

“Life really sucks for you,” his friend replied with a quick chuckle.

“And I still haven’t figured out how the fuck to ride the train, so I’ve spent like two hundred dollars on Lyft rides because I can’t walk, and– “

“Are you doin’ okay, mate?” Calum questioned, worry lacing his tone while Ashton struggled with scraping the eggs off of the pan and onto his plate.

He thought for a moment as he turned off the burner. “I’m– ‘m not doing bad. Jus’...” Ashton sighed. “A part o’ me doesn’t wanna leave, but I don’t have any reason to be here.”

There was silence on Calum’s end for a moment as well. Meanwhile, Ashton was pouring his juice. Truth be told, it was close to one in the afternoon, and he was just now having breakfast.

“And like,” he mumbled before letting out a quick huff due to the small juice spillage on the counter, “I feel kinda stupid. Like, I literally hopped on the first flight that caught my eye. I coulda gone to Milwaukee, or I coulda gone to Paris!”

“Boston’s pretty cool,” replied Calum.

Ashton shrugged to himself. “There was this really good singer at this bar the other day. Thought she was cute n’ all.”

“Did you get her number?”

“No,” he said. “I– I left pretty quickly. Dunno. I panicked. I haven’t been back since.”

“Why?”

“Dunno.”

“You should go back.”

Ashton’s brows knotted together. “Y’think?”

Calum let out a laugh. “You’re acting like a fourteen-year-old.”

Ashton sighed.

“Yeah, go back,” his friend continued. “Why not? If she’s not there, try one more time. And if she’s not there again, go to fuckin’ Belize. Ash, ya flew to Boston on a whim. You’re feelin’ burnt out–– you want to write a fuckin’ novel for Christ’s sake, mate! Maybe it’s all a path that leads to her. I mean, ya never know if you don’t try.”

Ashton nodded as he poked and prodded at his peppered eggs with a fork. They had cooled significantly now, and his hunger was only growing stronger. “I’m supposed t’be the wise one. ‘m older.”

In response, Calum snorted and uttered out a meek “yeah, right.”

“I’ll– I’ll go back tonight.”

And, Ashton did. His stomach twisted tightly as his long legs took him in quick strides across bridges and down busy streets. He kept his head down the entire time, his thin sweatshirt hood loose against his untamed hair (he hadn’t thought to put in the energy). The cold bit, and he figured he would have to invest in a nice winter coat from some store down Newbury. He heard it had a lot of nice stores.

The bar was quiet again, the same few guys still situated on their stools as if they hadn’t left in six days. He paid for a beer – didn’t matter what kind – and stalked towards the same table he had sat at before. Everything was the same, but you weren’t there, and he assumed you wouldn’t be. For a second, he hoped he had gotten the time all wrong, or maybe he had imagined the whole thing. Moments later, his beer had gone down a few centimeters, and you were rushing down the stairs with your guitar case on your back and a music stand in your hand.

“Sorry, sorry Stewart!” you yelped after banging the shoulder of one of the men at the bar.

“Jesus, Y/N, you don’t have t’rush,” he joked, but you continued on hurrying to get your things set up. “We’ll be here all night.”

You huffed. “Well, how ya gonna have an enjoyable night without me?”

Someone else chuckled. “I’ll drink to that.”

So could Ashton. His heart rate had tripled since you raced in wearing your cute bee socks. He hoped the flush of your skin meant more than the freezing temperatures outside, but he wasn’t entirely confident you had noticed him sitting there until you were situated on your stool.

“You missed out on the happy songs,” you said as you – to his surprise – gazed over at him. “That’s okay. I’ve got a few more in store.”

Ashton didn’t cry often when it came to happy songs–– he truly thought his reactions to music were pretty conventional. Somehow, you were able to evoke more emotion than he even knew he had. His beer had more tears in it than alcohol by the end of your set. He wondered why no one had discovered you yet, but then again, you fit perfectly in the position you were in: playing for only him to listen.

He wanted to do what Calum suggested. He wanted to talk to you and personally get your name without having to know it because he overheard it from Stewart. For some reason, every ounce of confidence that Ashton had spent years developing in the music industry stood no chance in comparison to you. He darted as soon as you smiled his way.

Ashton had burned through four bottles of Naked juice by the next evening. It was his compensation for hardly having a thing to drink at the bar simply because his brain chose to be infatuated with you for that short amount of time. Also, he bent the shower head by accident, and he almost locked himself on the roof last night when exploring.

In the morning, he had briefly forgotten where he was. There were ten texts from friends awaiting him as he fumbled with the coffee machine in the kitchen, and most of them had something to do with him flying across the country to a city that hardly mattered a thing to him. Ashton chose not to answer any of them. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation for his decisions; however, he felt as though he owed you his ears. You deserved to have someone who cared about your music.

You, on the other hand, had been hoping and praying that the previous night would run smoothly. Ashton had no reason to show again, and you assumed he had only been in town briefly. And then, he hid in the corner once more, eyes trained hard on you as the tears threatened to spill. You had to blink a few times to make sure your mind wasn’t playing tricks on you. This man played arenas holding thousands all across the world. You played for your roommates and middle-aged drunkards in a bar with a maximum capacity of thirty. He should not have been there.

Though the nerves were still there as you played through John Denver covers and original songs that would only see the inside of the bar, it was nice to have someone new listen in. It was numbing to only play for Richard, Frank, Steve, and Stewart. Now there was Ashton, the famous drummer who somehow found his way to Boston and somehow wandered into the same bar you played at a few times a week. Had someone filmed you and posted it online? Was he here pretending to be a talent scout?

You needed to know. But Ashton was good. In that same minute you were putting away your guitar, he slipped out again.

So, you figured he wouldn’t show anymore. Nobody of great importance stayed in Boston long enough. And then, he did show. For the third time in a row, Ashton was giving you his full attention, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. He showed a fourth time, and then a fifth. A whole two weeks had passed, and he was still showing up.

By this point, you convinced yourself that it was a-look-alike.

Ashton, meanwhile, was convinced that you were the reason he was here in the first place. He didn’t know if it was the cute giggle that escaped your lips when you slipped up on the chords, or the crinkles by your eyes once you let yourself get lost completely in a song. Or, maybe it was the precious pout you wore when there were mic difficulties.

It was possible he had become a bit too hooked.

“What even is there to do in Boston?” asked Luke while Ashton was busy avoiding ducks and squirrels by the edge of the pond. A part of him considered dropping his phone into the shallow waters, but his friends needed to know that he was doing okay.

“Uhh,” Ashton glanced around, the dead leaves and bundled-up strangers catching his eye. Truly, he should have picked Italy or something. “Ride a train. Eat food. Yell at cars.”

Someone cackled on the other end of the call. “You make me sad.” It was Michael.

“I’m fine,” the dirty-blond answered, “truly. It’s about Christmas time, so the lights are really nice. Depends on where ya go but things are like, kinda calm here. And, there’s this bar– “

“Jesus, Ash, have you even talked to her?” asked Calum.

“Well, no, but– “

“Her?” It was Michael again.

Ashton frowned. “Well there’s– uh, there’s this– “ He kicked at a few stones and watched them tumble into the water. “Girl.”

A chorus of ooo’s and laughter filled the receiver before Luke spoke up and said, “All right, Ash, buddy. What’s she like? Satisfyin’?”

“I-I haven’t even talked to her yet.”

And then, there was a moment of silence.

“She plays at this bar,” Ashton continued, “a few times a week. And, fuck, she’s like if Sara Bareilles and Phoebe Bridgers had a baby or somethin’. ‘m probably the only person in that joint who gives a flyin’ fuck about her. She’s so beautiful.”

“Well shit, Ash,” Michael interjected, “what’re you waitin’ for?”

“That’s what I told him!” Calum shouted.

Ashton didn’t know. He didn’t know after the phone call ended, and he still didn’t know on his walk back home. He thought about you too much to not give this a chance.

At home, he thought about you while making dinner or shaving his beard. He thought about you when coming up with strategic ways to get around the city without being seen. He thought about you once he finally figured out how the train system worked. No matter what, he thought about you, the cute girl who sang her heart out for people who only talked over her.

He wondered if you thought about him, too. There was no possible way you hadn’t noticed his presence–– you locked eyes too many times and it made his heart flop every damn time.

Ashton would spend the walk over to the bar thinking about what sweater you would wear that night. Would it be blue or red? Would it fit perfectly or leave enough room for another human to cuddle underneath? You took your shoes off when performing, so he began to think about what socks you would wear, too. The blue ones with cats? The frilly white ones? The rainbow ones with dinosaurs? His smile grew wide as he climbed down the stairs to the small bar.

Tonight was the night he would talk to you he decided. He couldn’t fall into the habit of coming and going, especially when he truly wanted to talk to you. Somehow, those billions of nerves held him back.

Ashton sat at a table closer to the tiny stage. You were in the middle of a song when your eyes glanced down to his figure, and he swore you could see his cheeks burning hotter than the neon sign beside his head.

“Hey stranger,” you said after the song had ended, and you sent a wink his way. “This next one is dedicated to you.”

His mouth fell open, but he quickly covered up the expression with a long sip of his beer. It was like you knew how to win him over. A few chuckles sounded the bar from behind him, but he couldn’t take it upon himself to care as your nimble fingers strummed a melody that felt like pure honey in his ears. Your voice was what made it sweet.

It was possible the small bit of alcohol that made the fuzz in head travel down his spine. The bubbling in his chest was an artist, for the smile it etched on his face was unlike no other he had felt. Ashton couldn’t imagine the sensation of actually speaking to you face-to-face.

“Thank you to my– my number one fan,” you mumbled shyly with the prettiest smile that could send anyone into a euphoric state. Your eyes were gentle as they peered down at him, and he swore his heart had taken a flight to Milan by now.

You turned around to pack your things, and Ashton had to restrain himself from fleeing like he typically did every time. Usually, he was better at this. He could talk to anyone back home without a single ounce of anxiety, but now, his feet did most of the talking. So, he imagined that he was stuck butt-first in cement and stayed still.

He didn’t know that you would nearly drop everything when you turned to see him there. Ashton fought free of his invisible restraints so he could rush over and help gather your lyric sheets, but he didn’t know he would be so shaky doing so. He hadn’t been this nervous since the first ever performance with his band.

“S-shit, thanks– thank you,” you sputtered, clearly flustered from the accidental mishap. You began to lightly laugh at yourself as you crouched down, and he admired that. “’m a bit clumsy.”

“Is that your name?” he asked and cracked a smile. “A bit clumsy?”

Maybe you had blushed, maybe you hadn’t. Or, maybe it was the few lights shining directly on the two of you from above the small stage. “Uh, n-no. ‘s Y/N.”

He smiled and nodded, reaching out his free hand to shake your own free hand. He knew your hands would be soft despite the guitar callouses, but he hadn’t realized how badly he wouldn’t want to let go. “Ashton.”

“Yeah,” you replied hazily, then your eyes widened before you rose to your feet. He followed suit as you stuttered out, “I-I mean yeah, I– shoot. I mean I know who you are, it’s just– “

“Y’okay?” He grinned. So, he wasn’t the only one who was nervous. That was good.

You nodded. “I’m– I’m great. Just confused.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well...” You shrugged and placed the sheets of music back onto the music stand. “You-you're not exactly a Boston native. And, you keep comin’ to this bar.”

“Cos’ you’re talented.”

“And– wait, what?”

Ashton’s smile grew. You truly did have more confidence on stage than you did in person; it just meant you were destined to perform. “I keep comin’ back to hear you. I like your stuff. I like your voice.”

You gazed up at him, cheeks hot, and you were desperate to get out of the harsh lighting you had been sitting in for close to a half hour. Behind him, the folks at the bar were chatting and gazing back occasionally at the two of you. “You’re... wow.”

“You’re really good.”

“Th-thank you,” you replied, “so much.” The smile had yet to escape you, and it was possible that it had grown larger. “Um, so why-why are you in Boston? Of all places?”

It hadn’t occurred to him that you would ask that question. Surprisingly, in the past two weeks, no one had. He went a few days without getting recognized altogether, but he knew he’d have to answer questions at some point. But, for now, he shrugged. He didn’t know the answer. “Spontaneous adventure.”

You chuckled. “To Boston...”

He laughed a little, too. “Yeah, to Boston.”

The simple question of “can I walk you home?” could only go so far. Ashton hadn’t insinuated anything, and you didn’t think he had either. But if both of you were honest, you didn’t want to say goodbye just yet. So, you told him to “hold tight” as you raced up to your apartment to drop your things off. He was in the same spot where you had left him, hands deep in the pocket of his pretty-penny coat that had a hood the size of Canada.

“Y’sure you don’t have plans?” he asked you, letting out a puff of air through the frigid night. Ashton didn’t mind the cold as long as he spent it with someone to preoccupy his thoughts. You were well-qualified for that–– he couldn’t think of anything else but you and the way the lights in the trees reflected in your eyes.

“It’s eight-thirty on a Thursday night,” you said. “Normally, I’d be in bed by now.”

Ashton let out a chuckle, and he couldn’t believe that he could have had this last week. You admitted that you had been hoping he’d stick around after all this time, and ever since that moment, he tried not to mental curse himself.

“Walk fast,” you muttered to him. “My favorite coffee shop closes in an hour and a half.”

You were taking him through parks and vacant neighborhood streets, and he was grateful. These were shortcuts he hadn’t thought to take himself. Besides, he’d rather enjoy them with you anyway. You hopped off of curbs, kicked stones in your path, and jogged across large fields whenever the two of you came upon one. He had never met anyone who found such joy in the little things, and he loved that about you. The night was cold, but you were happy.

Were you happy because you were with him?

Ashton tried to enjoy it as much as you (well, he did enjoy himself, but he preferred watching you enjoy yourself–– it meant more to him anyway). Watching the way your eyes lit up as a few snow flurries fell from the sky was enough to keep his mood steady for the next few months.

“If we get coffee fast,” you said, “we could go to the MFA. I mean, like, you would have to pay unfortunately because I get in for free, but– “

“The MFA?” Ashton asked you as the two of you turned a corner. Before he realized, you were walking up a few steps and opening the door to the coffee shop you told him about.

“Museum of Fine Arts!” you exclaimed before greeting the baristas in the small establishment. “Can I get a small caramel latte with almond milk and a molasses cookie, please? Both to-go”

He grinned, still watching you intently as if you were made of pure gold. Everything you said was drenched in it. Ashton didn’t know how to not fall for you. He pulled out his wallet before you could and handed the person at the register his credit card as he said, “small cider for me, please. Also to-go.”

“Excuse you,” you gasped, and then you pouted, and Ashton thought he was going to lose his shit. Either that or his cheeks would fall off from smiling so much.

“You worked hard tonight,” he said. “You deserve it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Dummy.”

Ashton liked the fact that the two of you spoke to each other as if you had been friends all along. It felt natural, and that only made him more nervous. If it felt natural after only knowing you for a few hours, he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel later on.

“Want some?” you asked, holding up the molasses cookie as you both began in the direction you came from. “It’ll change your life.”

“Uh, sure,” he replied, pulling off a bit of the cookie before placing it on his tongue. Ashton had never been a huge fan of molasses, but he didn’t mind it all that much. Nevertheless, he nearly moaned at the taste just to please you. “That’s crack,” he joked before taking a sip of his cooling cider. “MFA time?”

“You wanna go?” you asked with a small gasp. “You still wanna spend time with me? I’m shocked.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think tha’s a crime. You’re talented and fun to be around.”

“Half of the world is jealous of me,” you said.

“Yeah, well,” he sighed, “luckily, half of the world doesn’t know about you yet. Once they do...” Ashton didn’t want to think about you becoming overwhelmed with personalities and fans. He liked you here. He liked you now. And then, he realized he said yet. But you didn’t notice.

“I can only imagine,” you huffed through a mouthful of cookie. “Dunno how you’re able to get around here without strangers proddin’ into your life.”

“Ah, I’ve recently developed ninja skills,” he said. “And, I’m also Spider-Man, so I can jump from building to building. Oh, and I’m a mermaid, too so I can swim across the Charles if I need.”

You winced, and you even made an euughhh sound before saying, “I wouldn’t even stick a toe in the Charles if you dared me for a million dollars.”

Ashton felt his laughter deep in his chest, and he hadn’t expected it to echo as the two of you prepared to cross the giant field once again. And when you danced your way across the turf, he gladly held your belongings so he could slowly catch up to you. He was amazed that you felt no sense of embarrassment, but that made him even happier. It just meant that you were comfortable around him.

He didn’t mind paying for his ticket whatsoever–– he would spend all of the money in his bank account if it meant never leaving your side. You showed him all of your favorite pieces, like Dance at Bougival by the artist Pierre-Auguste Renoir (who, according to you, was definitely one of the best Impressionist painters), and you took him down to the Ansel Adams exhibit. That was his favorite part in particular; it was the kind of photography he wished he could create.

Most of all, Ashton didn’t mind standing back and admiring you from afar as your eyes scanned the wide canvases before you. He wanted you as close as possible, but he could appreciate your beauty in full this way.

“Do you smell potatoes?” you wondered aloud at one point, and truly, he did smell potatoes. The smell hit both of you before the sounds of whatever event was being held did. Soon after, you could hardly hear your thoughts over the band and loud chatter. “C’mon,” you said, taking his hand and pulling him down a large hall, “I wanna see if we can crash.”

Your hand was in his. Your hand was in his, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Your smile grew as you followed the blaring music into a great big hall. There were servers and chefs darting behind dividers, and from the middle of the room, you could see down into where the event took place. People were dressed to the nines as the band in the distance played a song he recognized from Notting Hill.

“Art installation,” you gasped, tugging on his hand. Meanwhile, he was trying to figure out a way to intertwine your fingers with his. “Do you think I could get them to let me in by wooing them with my magical voice?” you joked, giggling as your entire face lit up with laughter.

Ashton nodded. “You could woo them with your smile, darlin’,” he replied. The next moment, he managed to wedge his fingers in between yours, and you didn’t even think twice about it. Your eyes sparkled while you tried to sneak up further to catch a better glimpse at what was happening.

“Well, you could woo them with your smile... darlin’,” you said, shooting him a wink.

Ashton finally decided that Boston hadn’t been a bad idea after all.

“I’m not tired,” you replied despite yawning midsentence. “Promise. It’s only– “ You checked your phone. “It’s only two in the mornin’.”

“Bedtime for me, sweetheart,” Ashton chuckled. “But believe me, I don’t want this night to end either.”

You sighed, wrapped your arm around his as you rested your head on his bicep. Ashton felt the need to thank you for this. He felt warm around you, and not just because you were leaning into him. He had developed feelings for the idea of you during the past two weeks of witnessing your lovely performances, but tonight, he had developed feelings for the actual you. It was quite possible that you had as well.

“Where ya stayin’?” you mumbled against him.

“I have an Airbnb on the next street over from here,” he responded as he glanced down at your tired self all cuddled against him. It made his heart got berserk. “But ‘m gonna walk you back to your place.”

“You don’t have t’do that,” you said.

Ashton shrugged lightly. “I want to.”

You sighed again, letting your head fall back against him as he pulled you closer (if that were even possible). The two of you walked in comfortable, sleepy silence down a few more blocks and over avenues. At one point, he swore you had fallen asleep, yet your feet were still walking as normal with him blindly guiding you along. He didn’t recognize where he was whatsoever, though, within a few minutes, the two of you reached your destination.

“Hm, we’re here,” you mumbled, blinking rapidly before rubbing your eyes.

“So we are,” he said, mostly to himself as his brain sped through countless options as to what he should do next. Would he ask for your number? Would he tell you he’d see you again soon? Ashton didn’t know what to do, but the moment you stepped closer to him, he knew he needed to pull you in for a hug. He needed your warmth, and you gladly accepted his. And when you began to pull away, you stood high on your toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“See you tonight?” you asked, a lazy smile forming on your features as you slowly backed up towards the front door to the building.

He grinned, grazing his cheek with his fingers as he muttered out a satisfied, “see you tonight.”

Ashton started his novel the next afternoon, the words finally hitting his brain in just the right places as they found their home on an empty word document. He wrote and wrote, his fingers hardly feeling the repercussions of the endless typing, and before he knew it, it was time to see you again. A part of him wanted you here with him as he wrote–– maybe you were the inspiration he needed all along.

And when he walked into that bar he now knew all too well, you were already there to greet him with a smile so big, any satellite in space could see it. Ashton knew he would be head-over-heels from the get-go; however, he hadn’t expected to fantasize about stupid things like taking road trips or late-night kisses. They weren’t stupid per se, though they weren’t his typical fantasies. Sure, he had a hard time showering without thinking of you, but that made him feel guilty. He could bite his fist and pull his hair all he wanted, and he’d still wonder about how you liked your eggs or what your favorite color was.

He took you out to eat afterward, both to congratulate you on another fabulous performance and to make it known that this did, in fact, count as a date. He had even let the word slip out once or twice, hopeful enough that you would catch on and not feel uncomfortable. You made it clear that you were enjoying yourself nevertheless. You wouldn’t be playing sugar packet Jenga with him otherwise (at least, that was what he assumed).

An hour or so later, he was walking you home again. Instead of you reaching up to kiss his cheek, he bent down to kiss your lips, and the world felt okay once again.

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shittyfandomimagines · 5 years

Text

Anxiety

Sad but fluff

Word count: 2,079

Shawn just seems like some bf material.

GIF creds to owner

You should be a better person, it wouldn’t kill you to be nicer. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that it probably made you sound stupid. You need to venture out some more and go out with friends more, it’s weird that you’re okay with staying home all the time.

Well, you’re not obligated to go out all the time. No one is going to remember what you said, it’s not that bad. You’ve got the biggest heart.

I have learned from years of therapy that I just needed to challenge my thoughts, I was letting my anxiety and irrational thoughts begin to interfere with my life again. I had a few years of easiness, I learned to push through it. Now, I’m just spiraling back into my old ways.

I spent a while in a day program that was like a mental hospital, it helped with the end of my teenage years, but apparently, I’m still the same fucking mess from 5 years ago. I was constantly looked down upon for my constant anxiety, it pulled me out of school for a while. My family didn’t believe in mental health issues, my friends made me feel like I disappeared just because I couldn’t hang out. You never realize who is truly there for you until you can’t mentally or physically be the person they wanted to be.

I met Shawn and it was easier to be with him. I don’t think I ever explained that I had anxiety but maybe I was just someone who liked to stay in. Which, in hindsight was good for him because of the press. I didn’t have to change myself for him and the more I stayed with him, the more I was able to open up and go back into the world.

“Babe, please come with me to the supper tonight.” He pleaded earlier today. I could tell that he was defeated or disappointed when I said no. I knew he wanted me there and I’d love the time we would spend together. It’s just my irrational side of me just knew I’d make a fool of myself and wish I was back at our home.

I’ve thought about how upset he had been all afternoon and here it is at 7:30, I’m still a worrying piece of shit. “One last call, are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” He asks as he walks back into the room as he exited the bathroom. He did look really fucking good in his Armani suit, I wanted to go just to stare at him.

“Sorry babe, no.” I wanted so bad to just get up and be in the present with him, I’m just not that person right now. He just sighed defeatedly and then stood in front of the mirror, he was trying to fix his tie.

I get up to stand behind him, I was staring at his reflection in the mirror, I just wish I was the right fit for this lifestyle. “You look great Shawn.” I smile from behind him and he turns around to face me. “Well, you could look even more amazing if you came with me.” He pouts and I get on my tippy toes, I kiss his lips gently.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t feel like it,” I say as I get back to my regular height. “You never want to go out with me anymore.” He puffs out air and I could tell he was upset, I didn’t know how to respond. I did feel like there was a blow to my chest because he never once was angry at me because I was a homebody.

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to socialize tonight,” I admit and take a small step back, I shouldn’t even have to apologize for my own valid feelings. “Well, then when will you ever? You haven’t really wanted to anything for like 2 months now! When will it change?” His tone started to change, I wanted to cry so bad.

“You’re going to be late.” I clear my throat and I took a bigger step back, I just needed him to leave so I could cry it out. “Whatever.” He rolls his eyes and I wait for him to walk out of the room before letting the tears start to fall.

I heard the front door close loudly, I flung myself on the bed. If the roles were reversed and it was his mental health on the line, I would’ve never made him feel like shit for not wanting to go out. Then again, I never was open about what was ‘wrong’ with me.

I have felt this torment for a long time from friends and family when I didn’t want to hang out, I was always known as the Debby Downer, the killjoy. I was never once asked why I didn’t want to, I was just labeled as the person to stop asking if they want to hang out.

I felt all the years of disappointment and pain start to make my chest tighten in panic; holy shit this is going to be a situation like my old friends who stopped trying. He will most likely break up with me, great.

God, you’re so fucking stupid and I never wanted to hurt Shawn. I really did love hanging out with him when I didn’t let my anxiety take over, just seems like I’ll never really win the fight with anxiety.

——

I had already accidentally induced 2 panic attacks by 8:45, I mean I’m a whole fucking mess. I always seem to distance myself and hurt others. Great.

I heard the front door close and I jump slightly, I wasn’t expecting him to be back until at least 11. It wouldn’t be new for them to go to eat and then go get some drinks at the club.

I quickly rub the tears off my eyes and turn the bedside lamp off and flip over onto my stomach, shutting my eyes quickly. I let my hair fall over my puffy eyes, no need to concern him with my crying.

His footsteps get closer to the room and I feel my anxiety build in my chest, I was so afraid he’d come to my side and see my tearful eyes.

When I sense his body in front of me, I cuss in my mind for jinxing myself.

I feel his hand start to brush my hair out of my eyes, he stays quiet for a few seconds. “I know you’re awake.” He says and I sigh defeatedly. “Yeah, I am,” I say and keep my eyes closed still. He turns on the lamp and pushes my legs over so he could sit down.

“Sit up, I want to talk.” He softly demands and I sigh once more before sitting up, my eyes opening slowly. He sees my red eyes and I watched his face falter. “Why are you crying

baby?” He asks and I shake my head, I wave it off.

“Is it me? I’m so sorry.” He grabs my hand and I shrug. “It’s okay,” I mumble and he kisses my hand softly. “I came home early to apologize actually. I just wanted to make sure you knew that I wasn’t mad at you for not coming. I knew it came across like that, I was just sad that we haven’t gone out together in a while.” He explains even though I told him it was okay.

“It’s all forgiven.” I really was accepting his apology, but I felt a new wave of tears just overflow in me. I was sad because I knew I was letting him down, I wasn’t what he was hoping for in the past 2 months. He jumps up quickly to sit beside me, he pulled me into his arms.

I felt bad for even crying, I just wanted to disappear so I wouldn’t hurt him even more. “Baby, it’s okay. I’m sorry I upset you so much, I’m so sorry.” He whispers and I just felt like shit, now he’s worried that he was the initial part of my pain.

“It’s not just you babe.” I try to say but I was a choked up mess. “When you’re ready then I’m open ears.” He whispers and I nod, I just hide my body into his chest. I felt so safe in his arms and I hated it.

“I have really bad anxiety and I’m always letting people down. I’m so sorry that I’m one more person you have to deal with.” I sob and he rubs my back, I felt like a wimp. “You never mentioned your anxiety.” He whispers and I nod slightly. “I didn’t want to disappoint you with my problems,” I admit and he scoffs, mentally I knew it was so stupid when said aloud.

“I once made you leave work to come to the animal shelter with me, we’ve established that our problems will never be disappointing or silly.” He soothes and I nod.

“I was in a partial hospitalization program when I was 17, I had allowed my anxiety to get so bad when I was a teen. I avoided school and I stopped hanging out with all my friends or family. So when you said that I wasn’t going because I didn’t want it to be with you, I felt like all my reoccurring fears surfaced. I spent years in pity for myself because all my friends left me behind because they stopped caring about me once I became absent. I just felt like you would’ve left too.” I spoke so quickly and I let the tears roll down, I felt bad for crying on his suit.

“You need to change. I’m going to mess up your suit.” I push myself off of him and he sighs. “Well, I wouldn’t even care but since you won’t let me hold you, I’ll change.” He jokes as he walks into the closet. He came back with some gray sweatpants without a shirt on. “I don’t want to cry on your bare chest! You’ll be all wet!” I hated that he was so goofy and made me laugh when I’m in the middle of a breakdown.

“Fine!” He exclaims jokingly and went back into the closet, he came back out with a black shirt on. He jumps back to his spot and pulls me into his lap again. He was wiping off the tears and he messed with my hair.

“I would never leave you just because you didn’t want to go out. I wish you would’ve told me about your anxiety a long time ago, so I wouldn’t make you feel bad for it. I know what it’s like to struggle with it and I would never want you to feel like a burden that I have to carry around. You didn’t choose to have anxiety, I’m sorry that people made you feel bad for it all of your life.” He was rubbing my cheekbone gently and I felt more tears surface.

“I just feel stupid for even crying over this!” I sniffle and he just shushed me. “Hey, baby you have no reason to feel stupid over it. I’m glad you told me so we can face this together. I want you to get help and I want you to know I’m here for you every step of the way. I promise.” He puts feathery kisses my forehead.

“You promise that I’m not just something you have to deal with? I don’t want to sleaze you into trying to help me. I don’t need to be a burden or a nuisance.” I almost croaked it out, he just shakes his head.

“You’ve been the love of my life for two years, just because you didn’t tell me a long time ago doesn’t mean that you’re sleazing me into helping. I love you and I want to support you, I can’t magically heal you as the stories go. I just want to be your helping hand because I love you.” He kisses my cheek and I felt more tears surface, only because he was being so amazing and I never had anyone understand as he did.

“I love you so much.” I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a bear hug. “I love you more, we’ve got this.” He tells me and kisses my neck gently.

“I believe in you.”

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gremlinsae · 5 years

Text

Here is my @yoihomezine piece! Thank you to everyone who helped us raised $1649 for UNHCR!

My submission was a Yuri Plisetsky introspection piece. I hope y'all like it even though it's a bit angsty. 😅

Enjoy~

◇

Agape was difficult.

As Yuri exited the sit spin, he could feel his lungs burn with strain. Memorizing the elements was easy, but executing it made him realize that his senior debut was going to be on a level he never skated before. He was frustrated and Victor’s attitude was really grating on his nerves.

(The sting of Victor’s forgetfulness over the promise he made and his obvious pining over the pig even more so.)

Victor’s annoying clap reverberated against the rafters of Ice Castle, signaling for Yuri to stop mid-routine again. Victor stood on the ice, his stupid fake smile plastered on his face as he lectured Yuri about his supposed lack of feeling in On Love: Agape. Yuri swore that if Victor spouted some more philosophical whimsy about going to a temple he was going to take off one of his skates and chuck it at him.

“What does Agape mean to you?"

He actually put serious thought into the question, despite his abrasive answer and turning the question back on Victor himself. When Victor prattled on about some bullshit of agape being hard to define as it is a feeling, something intangible much like the love of God or a parent, Yuri scoffed at the idea.

In his fifteen years of life, he had never felt unconditional love from either.

Living with mom - Moscow, Russia

He had never known his father. By the time he was five years old, he understood that his father was out of the picture and never would be in it. It was up to him, and sometimes grandpa, to hold his mother’s hair back as she puked up that foul liquid she had been drinking all day; to rub her back as she sobbed and whimpered out half-assed apologies, yet still grabbing for the poison the next day like it was her lifeblood.

He started school smaller than the other kids, which was difficult enough without the concerned glances from his teachers and the visits to the counselor’s office where they would ask about what life was like at home. He never answered much. The school never intervened as there was no actual proof of abuse or neglect (and Yuri would never have defined it as such anyway) so they continued to let him take the school bus home where he’d find his mother sitting at the dining table with another drink, heavy bags under her eyes, as she fretted over the newest bill to arrive in the mail.

At seven years old, he had learned enough math to know they weren’t doing well - despite how hard his mother tried to hide it. Before he was born, she was ballerina with a bright future...until she got pregnant at seventeen. The damage to her reputation was harsh, but she managed to find a job as an instructor. The pay was meager, barely enough to support herself let alone a child, so she would eat less, go without, make sacrifices - all to make sure he had enough...the alcohol she abused was the only exception.

He never blamed her. Stress was high and inebriation was her only escape. He always felt guilty asking for anything, so to help out he would take quick, cold showers as to not run up the gas and water bills higher than they already were, shivering yet soldiering on. There were times where the power would go out, leaving the food in the fridge to rot and his mother to fret and overwork herself to try and make ends meet. At the end of each day, when she drank herself to an unconscious heap, he’d help her move from the dining room to her bedroom.

Rinse. Wash. Repeat.

It was difficult, but overall it wasn’t so bad. The winters were harsh in Moscow without heating, but at least they had each other and grandpa. There wasn’t much in the way of celebrating birthdays or holidays and it reached the point where he no longer asked - but even so, grandpa always made sure he had a decent pair of ice skates to practice in once he fell in love with the sport. He got through school like any other kid, ate enough that he wasn’t starving, and he got to ice skate after school every day for free. He had no complaints.

The best moments were when his mom was sober. It was hard to find her not drinking, the most excessive spells being at the end of the month when stress was high, but there were times few and far between where she would smile and spend her free time with him instead of at the bar or the dance studio. They would dance together and laugh, and on special occasions they would go to the animal shelter and cuddle with all of the kitties and she would promise that one day, when everything got better, she would adopt one for him.

It was hard, but he was happy. They were happy.

Until one afternoon he came home to find his mother, drunk and crying, with an eviction notice in her hand.

Hasetsu On Ice - Hasetsu, Kyushu, Japan

Leaving Ice Castle before the pig even finished his routine left a heavy weight in his stomach. Yuuko tried to cushion the blow somewhat, but he knew from the look on Victor’s face and that disgusting whistle at the beginning of Katsudon’s routine that he was fighting a losing battle.

Victor wasn’t coming back to Russia, and “Yurio” didn’t belong here.

He ignored the way his eyes burned as he said his last do svidanya to Yuuko, who had treated him with nothing but the kind of care and attention he wished he had received from his mother during his competitions and ice shows.

What he didn’t expect, as he was waiting in the terminal for his flight back to St. Petersburg, was to see his mother standing off to the side, waiting for him to notice her presence.

To say he was shocked was an understatement.

The bags under her eyes were less prominent, but she did not age well despite being only in her thirties. There was a certain heaviness in her features, the product of a lifetime of stress and addiction. Her smile was soft, her eyes bright, as if for the first time she was truly seeing him without the fog of inebriation.

“Your skate was lovely, Yura,” she began, her voice strained as if holding back tears. If he wasn’t so shocked, he would have corrected her - she had lost the right to call him by his diminutive years ago when she abandoned him. He was still trying to grasp that she was here, in Japan, and had watched his first performance of Agape.

A little too late, if you ask him, but yet he still paused, his saliva thick and his throat just slightly constricted from the overwhelming emotions waging war inside of him.

He didn’t stop her from sitting next to him, but the silence was uncomfortable.

A part of him wanted to rage - to demand answers, but even he knew that the situation was delicate. He never blamed her for the hardships of his life, no, and he knew that’s where most of her guilt came from. But the one question he never received answers for, the one that still made it difficult to look her in the eye, was why did she leave?

Why did she try so hard and sacrifice so much in order to support him in his early years if she was only going to abandon him later?

Did he even matter to her?

She let out a sigh, realizing that he had no intention of speaking with her. “I know there’s a lot I need to make up for,” she began, hesitating slightly as she twisted a handkerchief in her hands, “and I understand if you never forgive me, but I would like a chance to at least be here for you now, to support you in your career like I should have.” Her eyes began to water so she quickly dabbed them with the distressed handkerchief. “I won’t ask for anything else.”

The remainder of the trip home was silent. Yuri didn’t know how he felt about it, but as long as his mother didn’t distract him he would let her do whatever she wants.

But deep down, beyond the pain and anger, he felt a slight pang of nostalgia.

He had missed his mom.

Living with Nikolai - Moscow, Russia

Living with his grandpa started out great. He and his grandpa had always been close and the homemade pirozhki was a huge bonus. Winters were still harsh and the house was falling apart since his grandpa wasn’t exactly well off either, having been one of the victims of losing his job at the fall of the union, but he had enough for them to get by at least.

The hard part wasn’t living with grandpa…the hard part was watching his mother slowly wither away; overhearing the arguments his mother would get in with grandpa over her drinking, the angry voices and the shattering of liquor bottles as grandpa tried to convince her to get help and quit.

He pretended every morning that he didn’t hear a thing, but he knew grandpa saw through his facade. Grandpa always tried to make it up to him by getting him out of the house, usually to spend extra time at the skating rink, just so he didn’t have to watch his mother drink herself stupid or deal with the silence of her absence when she disappeared to who-knows-where.

He pretended he didn’t care. So what if his mom never showed up to watch him skate, to see him be chosen to participate in skating competitions and shows because he was getting better and better? So what if the house was now full of arguments and emotional breakdowns every other night?

He didn’t care.

He didn’t.

He kept skating with a single-minded focus. He would hear on the radio of Victor Nikiforov quickly becoming Russia’s living legend and he could feel the burn of determination, the desire to be the best skater of them all. He was only ten years old and he was already able to do jumps that kids in juniors were still struggling with and his spins were the best in his entire age group.

He would prove that he was strong.

He would.

As long as grandpa was able to show up to his competitions, he didn’t care if his mother never supported him.

The day his life changed forever was the day he was in a local competition at a small rink in Moscow. He had to take the bus - his grandpa complaining of back pains and his mother was too inebriated to drive - but he made it just on time. He didn’t have a fancy costume and his skates were in need of repair, but none of the other kids could top his skill, his flexibility, his choreography. He worked until his feet were bruised and bleeding and it was all worth it to have that golden medal placed around his neck.

As he stepped off the ice, he frantically looked for grandpa. Despite his back trouble, he promised he’d be there.

But he wasn’t.

It felt like his entire chest had caved in, crushed by the absence of the man he wanted to make proud. The excitement over his win was gone in an instant. He fought back tears, still continuing to look around to see if maybe, just maybe, he had missed his grandpa sitting farther away or...something…

An elderly man began to approach him, and for a brief moment he allowed himself to hope, but the old man wasn’t grandpa. His skin was tanned and he had significantly less hair on the top of his head. He didn’t walk with a limp and the square of his jaw was harsher, his eyes calculating.

The man held out his right arm to shake his hand. “Congratulations on gold, Yuri Plisetsky. My name is Yakov Feltsman.”

Rostelecom Cup - Moscow, Russia

Yuri tried to get through Agape, but the absence of grandpa left a sour taste in his mouth. His vision blurred and all he could feel was simmering contempt, not the lightness of the all-encompassing love he was supposed to demonstrate in the short program.

Victor and Yuuri yelling their support from the sidelines only enraged him further. He didn’t need them. It’s not like they meant it anyway.

No one ever did.

Yakov and Lilia tried to keep him grounded, but his focus was lost. He got through the skate with little to no error, but he knew he would have to over-perform in his free if he wanted to win and rub his victory in JJ’s smug face.

And when Victor had to suddenly return to Japan, leaving Katsudon to compete by himself...he felt pity.

It was strange feeling empathy towards the pig, but he knew the feeling of abandonment and he knew it well. Even though Victor’s absence was temporary, having a loved one leave in the middle of something that’s important to you always left a gaping hole behind. During practice the morning before the free skate, Yuuri was flubbing his jumps more so than usual.

He pretended he didn’t care.

...but he did.

Later on, Grandpa made up his absence to him with an entire bag of pirozhki. Grandpa was his inspiration for his Agape for this reason because even though he had disappointed him just as much as his mother did, he at least tried. He didn’t make excuses, he didn’t give senseless apologies and self-depreciating anecdotes. He just showed up once his back healed with a pile of pirozhki or some words of encouragement. Grandpa never doubted him, never underestimated his strength. He had faith that Yuri could overcome any obstacle and it was a relieving to have someone who didn’t dance around his emotions like he was a child.

The gift also gave him an idea to help cheer Katsudon up...just this once.

The free skate was hell, his whole body burning with exhaustion. He felt a searing pain in his right thigh that had him worried of a pulled muscle and a twitch in his left hip that made his entire leg shake, but he pulled it off and managed to make it into first with only JJ and Katsudon left. He was proud, and the smile on his grandpa’s face made him even more excited, and for once he felt confident enough to cheer Katsudon on…

JJ’s comment made him pause. So what if he low-key considered Katsudon a friend? At least he wasn’t as bad as Victor. Katsudon’s skate was still beautiful, despite his inconsistencies with the quad flip. He would never admit it to anyone, but if the pig had anything it was his step sequences and overall emotion in his choreography.

He tried to ignore it, to save face in front of JJ, but it was difficult to tear his eyes away.

Huh…

Katsudon and Victor really do love each other.

Living alone - St. Petersburg, Russia

The government sponsorship was a dream come true. He had been scouted as a potential candidate for the 2016 Winter Youth Olympics to represent Russia, and with it all came his own apartment in St. Petersburg and a coaching contract with the Yakov Feltsman.

The only contingent was that he must win most of his competitions. Yuri was just fine with that.

The summer after his first gold medal was spent in Yakov’s junior training camp. He had never taken formal ballet lessons before and yet he was still one of the best in the class - whispers of him being the next Victor Nikiforov began circling due to his natural talent. He took the praise, but he never lost sight of what was important.

Grandpa was unable to move to St. Petersburg, his health as well as his livelihood in Moscow preventing him, but his mother tagged along and for the first time in years he felt excited. It would be just like old times with her - only this time they had enough and she wouldn’t have to drink away her sorrows. They could start living the good life if Yuri continued to skate well and he knew he would. He was dominating in beginner competitions and he would be able to skate at the junior level in two years, the Youth Olympics in four, and seniors in five. The private sponsorships would start rolling in and he’d be set.

His mom wouldn’t have to worry about anything from now on. She had exhausted herself to be there for him, now it was his turn to take care of her.

...or so he thought.

He almost couldn’t believe it, but his mother actually drank more. There was never a time that she wasn’t drinking, even when she was sick and hungover. Yuri would leave early in the morning and his mother would be on the balcony, a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other. He would come home for lunch most days just to try and spend some time with her, but she would be gone...no note, no explanation, and she wouldn’t return until late in the evening.

It wasn’t until he was a little older that he realized the reason she always wore long sleeves wasn’t because she was cold. She kept it well hidden and out of his apartment, but it soon became obvious that alcohol was no longer her only vice.

The parts that hurt the most were the few times he did manage to run into her. She would avoid eye contact, keep her answers short, and he could see the shame in her body language yet she did nothing about it. The dark circles under her eyes were a permanent fixture, she was too thin, and she was always scratching at the marks down her arms. They would fight, yell and scream at each other similar to the way she did with grandpa, but he wasn’t patient like grandpa was.

It was always “I don't need therapy, Yura” or “It's nothing Yura, don't worry about me” until his temper would hit a breaking point. She'd make excuses, disregard how much damage she was doing to her body, the damage she was doing to him every time she left. She would cry and moan of how she was a terrible mother as if to make him feel sorry for her, to make him pity and put up with her self destruction all so she didn't have to take responsibility for her own actions.

Things were finally improving for them, why couldn’t she just try? Why would she actively work toward destroying everything they worked for? He was willing to take care of her, to give her the time to recover until she could go back to teaching dance again. None of it made sense to him and it made him inexplicably angry.

Why couldn’t she at least be happy for him? He had accomplished so much in a short amount of time and not once did she ever say that she was proud of him. In fact, with his success, she only seemed to become more disappointed, more distant…

The image of his mother became tarnished and their relationship strained. The last thing he heard from her before she disappeared was a handwritten note left on his coffee table.

I’m sorry.

Grand Prix Final - Barcelona, Spain

Yuri Plisetsky had the unforgettable eyes of a soldier.

The words echoed back at him at he lay in his hotel bed. Meeting Otabek was an interesting experience, considering he never had a friend around his age. Growing up, he was mostly ignored as he had a “bad attitude” - and later, he focused more on skating rather than socializing. It felt nice to finally find someone who took him seriously and genuinely wanted to be his friend.

Yet he also felt hesitation. He never talked to Otabek before and yet Otabek was able to see the parts of him that he usually kept guarded.

The vulnerability was scary.

Was that what he had been missing? He had loved ones that he kept close, but he never allowed himself to be vulnerable with them. With his mom, he put on a brave face for her so that she wouldn’t stress out more. With grandpa, he hid his disappointment because he knew it wasn’t his grandpa’s fault that his health was declining. Even with Victor and Yuuri, who he was close to regardless of his annoyance with them, he refused to show them the parts of himself he’d rather keep hidden. Victor had a habit of making light of the situation by teasing him, which made him even more hesitant to share. Katsudon was a bit better, listening without making the situation awkward or giving him unnecessary advice and pity, but he still struggled separating Katsudon from Victor that getting close to him felt awkward.

The engagement announcement still made him sick. Who got engaged so early in a relationship?

Those two were too sentimental, too hopeful…

Too lonely.

That’s the thought he had as he found Victor staring out at the sea the next morning. The sight of Victor’s defeated expression caught him off guard. His first instinct was to wipe that pathetic look off of Victor’s face so he kicked him until it disappeared.

Yuri didn’t pretend that he didn’t understand. Victor had been the top skater for Russia for longer than most people were in the sport. Dedicating your life to your craft always made it hard to make friends, spend time with family, process trauma...he turned and walked away quickly so Victor couldn’t see his momentary flash of empathy. He might understand, but it's no excuse to just give it up - to throw it all away.

Maybe what they all needed was balance.

“The ocean here reminds me of Hasetsu,” he commented dryly, giving voice to at least some of his thoughts. Victor smiled in response and something clicked into place.

Russia was no longer home for Victor. Victor found something in Hasetsu, in Yuuri, that gave him a sense of peace that skating never could.

Yuri walked away feeling more at war with himself. The last twenty-four hours gave him too much to process.

Living with mom was full of love, but there were too many empty promises and stress was always high. Living with grandpa was full of pirozhki and quality time with his family, but also full of anger and disappointment. Living on his own wasn’t what he had hoped, full of resentment and loneliness from his mother’s abandonment. Living with Yakov and Lilia was an experience, but it was purely professional and reeked of a broken home with their strained relationship from the divorce. He briefly thought of Yutopia Katsuki and Ice Castle, and while he didn’t consider Hasetsu a home he did feel more at ease around Katsudon’s friends and family - but being forgotten by Victor and his loss against Katsudon made his visit bitter.

The more Yuri thought about it, the more he wondered…

Where did he belong?

He carried the question with him as he prepared for the short program. He felt calm as he thought about everything, ignoring the skaters before him. He knew his grandpa was watching the live stream, as well as his mother who was living with grandpa again, and the Katsuki’s were having a viewing party according to Yuuko’s texts. He had the support of so many people, even his own competitors, and he thought of them all as he finally stepped out onto the ice.

His mind was blank, nothing but his feelings - the good, the bad, the old, the new - for his loved ones.

For three and a half minutes, he finally felt like he was home.

#yuri on ice #yoi #yuri plisetsky #yoi home zine #okaeri zine

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