one of the best realizations I have had as I have grown up is how amazing it is to show up for the people you love, unashamedly and unapologetically. show up to their classical music productions when you don't know anything about that kind of music, their chemistry club meetings when you are a literature student and don't know anything about chemistry but your bestie is doing cool experiments with copper sulphate, the very alluring blue portion you were tempted to drink in school cause it looked so magical. show up when they wake up from a long nap and have missed dinner and are feeling shitty, make them maggi and get them their fave chocolate. show up when they rant about animal documentaries excitedly and listen when they tell you the plot of jujustu kaisan at 4 am during exam week. take a walk with them at 11 pm in night because they told you you have no classes tomorrow so come down (it's their emotionally suppressed way of saying I miss you). cuddle with them to sleep because they are scared of thunderstorms. make them an art piece and write them a love letter for their birthday to show them you love them so much and you will never stop probably and that scares you sometimes but their presence will reassure you always. I know you know that they know that you love them but when you gift them your "an incomplete list of things you love about them" in your shitty handwriting they will smile and cry and choke you in a hug for 5 mins, it will be a smile spilling out of the sun and it'll be so worth it always. reply to their messages of hey "your name" except your name gets weirder and weirder cause they are bored and miss you and wanna talk and even if you are busy and tired , do return some of their affection with a small message that yes, you missed them too even though you are too tired to express. give them your fave drawing and you'll see how they have hung it up on their cork board in their dorm room. tell them to spam their earring collections and marvel over their strawberry earrings. send them a video message when they send you their jiggly caramel pudding video because omg they can cook now and you are so happy for them that you want to portal through the phone and hug them (you're gonna give them a recipe notebook for their birthday). let them rant on the phone while you fold your laundry, it's manageable mostly.
there are days when you can't show up and it's okay and they'll understand, most people who love you do, they should. but gosh, putting in effort in any relationship isn't that the best thing? because they are not just worth your love, the point of worth never even comes cause they are the very meaning of love. because God remember what Miyazaki said when you love someone you inspire each other to live and grow even when you recognize how hard living is. growing is difficult but you love growing with them.
I used to think I love people too much but you know what they love me too much too. so when someone asked richard siken what do you do when you love someone too much he said congratulate yourself. and today I am congratulating myself cause I know the loves of my life are doing that too.
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thoughts on Ginny and Harry as a couple?
There are a lot of people who find their romance in HBP forced. I don't think it's forced so much as underwritten, and the books don't get the chemistry quite right (though the movies certainly don't, either). There's potential, but they just don't get enough actual scenes of substance (besides Harry thinking she's pretty or feeling jealous of Dean) for a lot of readers to buy that they're not only in love, but deeply enough in love to break up, get back together, and wind up married.
That's not to say I don't see the appeal. There's a very cool scene in Book 5 where Harry's doing a woe-is-me-Chosen-One act, and Ginny effortlessly puts him in his place about it by reminding him that she was possessed by Voldemort at eleven, which is a rare glimpse into her character and also a great synecdoche for their relationship — Ginny is a grounding presence who, like Ron and Hermione, isn't going to be awed by his past adventures because she knew him before they happened. In that respect, Ginny's probably one of the few women Harry could feasibly wind up with, because he only ever seems comfortable around people (let alone girls) who can see past the Chosen-One schtick and treat him like a normo (see: Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys, Luna, Hagrid). True to type, he doesn't get interested in Ginny at all until she's ditched her celebrity crush and ceased to view him as an idol, because in his heart of hearts, Harry wants to be a normal boy, and it's stressed over and over that part of what he likes about his relationship with Ginny is how normal it feels. He kind of has a horribly supercharged version the celebrity dating problem: after the Battle of Hogwarts, anyone he meets is going to know him first as Harry Potter, Chosen One, Boy Who Lived, and Actually Fucking Resurrected Messiah of the Wizarding World, which is... I mean, it's possible that there are witches out there who could get over that, but Harry's not an extroverted guy, and I'm not sure how he'd go about finding them. Ginny's the one who's been there since the beginning, doesn't need anything about him or his past explained to her, and actually likes him for who he is.
When you look at it that way, it's not surprising he married his high school girlfriend. She's one of the few people still alive who doesn't see him as a demigod.
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Note: this is not a Stancy story.
“Say it,” he bites out. He’s pushing too hard, being too mean, and he doesn’t fucking care. “Say you love me.”
Nancy’s eyes slide off to the side and she—she laughs, like he’s making a joke, but he can see in the way she’s got her arms wrapped around herself that they both know it’s not a joke.
“Steve, come on,” she says.
There’s a hot, buzzing feeling in him like a hurricane.
The words peel out of him: “But…we’re soulmates.”
He’s gripping his forearm, holding it out in front of him even though he’s wearing long sleeves. It doesn’t matter. They both know whose name is written there in careful, neat cursive, like a puzzle piece slotting next to the blockier name scrawled on Nancy’s wrist.
Nancy reaches out to push his arm down and out of the way, out of her eyeline, but she laces her fingers with his like she’s trying to calm him down. Like an apology.
“Steve,” she says. “Let’s just—can we focus on the important stuff, here?”
This is important, why don’t you think that nothing could be more important than this. Steve doesn’t say it because he’s trying to be better. He can be better for her, for Nancy, his soulmate. So he swallows it down and nods, gripping her slender fingers tight in his.
———
It takes him a while, but he figures it out. It’s fate. It’s gotta be. It’s all a big part of their story, the one they’re gonna tell at their wedding, about the time they broke up and made bad decisions and were really unhappy. When you find your soulmate early, sometimes you have some growing up to do, he’ll say. Or maybe Robin will say it. He can’t imagine a wedding where Robin’s not his best man. Best lady?
It’s so stupid, but there was a moment, back in ‘85, when he thought maybe Robin could be his true soulmate. Like maybe there was some giant cosmic error, and the smart, funny, beautiful girl he’d been overlooking all summer was really the one he was meant to end up with after all.
When she tells him about Tammy Thompson, it’s almost a relief. The universe isn’t wrong after all. He actually feels really sorry for Robin, because without a name on her arm, how’s she supposed to know who to pick? And with the gay thing—it’s gotta be tough even just knowing who’s an option. He doesn’t think he could handle that kind of uncertainty.
It’s a good thing he doesn’t have to. All he’s got to do is hang on until his story and Nancy’s story bend together again, and become their story. He thinks it’s kind of romantic, even: like he’s been given this time to learn to be a better boyfriend.
So he’s in good spirits, especially when Eddie Munson gives him a heavy look that shoots through his veins like lightning and says as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen. If even Eddie can see it after spending about five minutes around them, probably not even knowing about the soulmate thing, it must be true.
———
Afterwards, he finds himself unexpectedly alone with Nancy in the hospital, waiting their turn to see Max and Eddie. It’s not exactly the stuff of fairytales; even though they’ve had a chance to go home and shower and get some sleep, they both have Upside Down gunk caked into their fingernails and purpling shadows under their eyes. The fluorescent lights overhead are way too bright. The flimsy plastic chairs are digging uncomfortably into his thighs.
But he’s not gonna get a better opening than this quiet moment, with Nancy slumped against his arm, tired and lovely.
“Hey, are you—” He clears his throat and tries again. “Hey, Nancy. Did you…think about, uh, what I said? About…you know. The future?”
She goes tense.
“Yes, Steve. I did.”
Maybe something in her tone should be warning him off, but he’s on this road now, careening down the fast lane with no exits in sight.
“And? What did you think?”
Nancy takes a deep breath, then lets it out after a second in a heavy sigh. “Steve, I…I’m with Jonathan now. You know that.”
“Yeah, but that’s—I mean, you know it’s not the same.”
“No.” She slips a thumb under the cuff of her sweatshirt and rubs it over her wrist. It looks like something she doesn’t even know she’s doing. “It’s not the same, no. It’s…Steve, it’s better. This way is better.”
He ducks down, tries to meet her eye. “Nance, I know I was kind of a shitty boyfriend, but—things are different now, right?”
Finally, she turns to him. Her back straightens, shoulders square, like she’s bracing herself.
“Yes, things are different,” she says slowly. She reaches out to take his hand in both of hers, soothing. “This hasn’t changed for me, though. It’s not about—I just can’t be with you, Steve. Not like that. I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t say but we’re soulmates again like a child, but it lives in his throat, in the thump of his heart. Maybe she just needs more time.
Maybe not, though.
(ETA: continuation here!)
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A.U.gust 2023 | DAY SIXTEEN — Soulmates
thanks to @gallavichthings for hosting! 🥳
“You really don’t see it?” Ian says, his voice rising with desperation.
Lip shakes his head. “There’s nothing there, Ian.”
Except that there is! A thin, red string loops around Ian’s left hand ring finger; the end of which trails out the back door of 2119 N Wallace, and disappears into the night.
“Don’t wait up.”
He barely registers Lip’s warnings, his heart racing like a hunter gaining on its prey. Ian’s heard of this before, knows what awaits him on the other end, but—no fucking way…
Mickey Milkovich stands on his porch, wrapped in disbelief and red thread.
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