#I’m trying to space out my posts about the au because I don’t wanna spam people lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thefactsofthematter · 3 years

Note

hi bestie <3 you said send in some requests, so i'm suggesting:

javid with, "it's not okay! you're not fine!"?

i hope you have a good day !!!

hi bestie <333 i had so much fun with this, i haven't done a short little fic in ages!! here's a 2.7k javid fic - a college au and a classic (emotional) hurt/comfort type deal, heavy on the comfort ;)

"Wanna come for dinner at my parents' house tonight?"

Davey is laying on Jack's couch after his last class of the day, since Jack's apartment is just off campus, and it's a ridiculously convenient place to go nap after a long day of school. He honestly spends more time here than at his own apartment that he shares with his sister, a short train ride away.

"I'd love to," Jack replies, his gaze still glued to his computer screen, "but I totally forgot I have an art history paper due at midnight, analyzing a painting, and I haven't started. It needs to be ten pages, and I don't even have an outline. I'm gonna sit here and write until my eyeballs fall out."

Davey laughs softly.

"That sucks. Do you at least have some research done?"

Jack turns to him with completely dead eyes.

"Not a single academic source."

Davey glances at the clock. Jack has seven hours to pull this off, which is doable, but... intense. It would've been a lot easier to spread it out over a few afternoons, and it'll be a painful squeeze to get ten comprehensible pages of writing done tonight. Jack can write decently fast, but his spelling and grammar are atrocious, so he'll have to factor in editing time too. Davey is not envious of these circumstances in the slightest.

"Shit. Good luck. That sounds awful, but I'm rooting for you. What's your prof's late assignment policy?"

Jack, entirely beaten down, leans forward to rest his forehead on his keyboard.

"He won't accept them past the due date without a good reason... which I don't have. I'm just an idiot and forgot to put it in my planner— thank god Romeo texted me today to ask if I was done."

Davey pushes himself up and walks over to where Jack is sitting at his little dining table, under the constantly-flickering fluorescent bulb. He wraps his arms around Jack's shoulders and kisses the back of his neck.

"You got this. I'll come back here after dinner and bring you leftovers, okay? My mom's gonna be sad you couldn't make it, so she'll totally pack up a plate for you."

"You don't have to come all the way here," Jack sighs. "Your place is closer to your parents, and this is out of your way— you have work in the morning anyways, so you should go home and go to bed. I'll be fine, I'll probably write faster alone anyways."

Davey kisses him again, this time leaning around to plant one on his cheek.

"If you're sure." Jack's plan is probably the smart move, since Davey's shifts at his stupid coffee shop job start ridiculously early, and coming here would mean staying up with Jack until he finishes, probably distracting him. "In that case, I'll see you tomorrow after work, and I'll bring the food then... keep me posted about the paper, text me when you finish. And make sure you eat something."

Jack turns back to look at him with a strained, stressed attempt at a smile.

"For sure. Go have a nice time with your family, and tell everyone I say hi."

"Aba, you're doing it wrong. You have to use your left arm."

It's getting late in the evening, dinner has been eaten, and Les is trying to coordinate the family to make a TikTok with him. It's not exactly going well.

"My left or your left?"

"It doesn't matter, we have the same left!"

Davey has thankfully been placed in the back row, both because he's tall and lanky, and because he's so uncoordinated that Mom used to make you wear one of those leash backpacks as a kid to keep you from wandering into traffic... which is true, but Davey isn't sure why Les even knows about that. He certainly wasn't around yet when that was the case, so he probably heard it from Sarah.

While Les tries once again to explain how this little dance is supposed to work, Davey's phone starts to buzz in his pocket. It's probably a spam call, but he's not particularly invested in the dance lesson so he pulls it out to check.

Incoming call: cowboy babyy 💖🤠

Davey frowns. Jack never calls him. It's always texts or voice memos, since he's got some kind of weird aversion to talking on the phone. If he's calling, it must be important.

"Hi babe," he says, pressing his phone to his ear and walking off to his old bedroom to get some quiet, while Les shouts at him in the background for not taking this seriously. "How's the homework going?"

Jack is quiet for a second too long as Davey toes the door shut.

"...Not great. I'm really frustrated." He pauses and sniffles a little, sounding almost like he's holding back tears. "I don't know why I called you while you're having a good time with your family, though. I shouldn't be bugging you."

"Hey," Davey breathes, "you're not bugging me at all, sweetheart. Is the paper not going well?"

"I just... I'm so bad at writing, and I don't know what I'm talking about, and I have no idea how I'm gonna get this done in time." His voice is shaking, and it's breaking Davey's heart a little. "I'm being dramatic, though. I just need to keep working on it."

Davey sits down on the edge of what's now a guest bed, his old outer space-themed comforter replaced with something more neutral.

"You're not dramatic, it's okay to be upset. Do you want me to come over and help?"

Jack's breath hitches softly, and it confirms that he's almost definitely crying.

"You don't have to, you're busy with your folks. I'm sorry for calling." He shudders a little as he must try to take a deep breath. "It's okay... I'm fine."

Davey sighs, almost exasperated with Jack's self-sacrificial sense of pride. He'll never ask for anything for himself, not wanting anyone to go out of their way for him, even when he seems to be having a panic attack of sorts.

"It's not okay; you're clearly not fine, Jackie," he replies. "We already ate, and I'm not busy. If you want me to come over, I'll be there... do you?"

Jack is quiet for a moment again, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"Yeah. I do."

Davey nods, though Jack can't see him.

"Okay. I want you to take a little break from writing until I get there, alright? Change into your pyjamas and have a glass of water. Try to relax a little."

"Okay... thanks Davey."

The call ends, and Davey rejoins his family while tucking his phone away in his pocket.

"I have to go." He kisses his mother on the head as he walks by. "Thanks for dinner, Ima."

"Is everything okay?" she asks, catching him gently by the elbow before he can get too far.

"Yeah..." he sighs. "Jack's just having a hard time with homework, I'm gonna go help him out."

His father ruffles his hair and gives him a quick hug.

"You're a good boy, David. Take him those leftovers— your mother's cooking can fix anything."

"For sure. I'll see you guys next weekend, and I'll try to bring Jack along then."

He waves goodbye to Sarah and Les, grabs the dish of food, and then sets off on a speed-walk to the nearest subway station.

Jack is sitting on the couch when he arrives, his knees pulled to his chest, looking very soft and cozy in pyjama pants and one of Davey's old hoodies from some baseball tournament. He's staring into space, and he hardly even moves to acknowledge Davey's presence when he walks in.

"Hey darling." Davey leaves the dish of food on the counter and crouches down in front of Jack to try and catch his eye-line. He carefully takes Jack's hands in his own. "Hanging in there?"

Jack finally looks at him and nods, but as he blinks, more tears slip out and roll down his cheeks.

"I'm only done two pages," he mumbles, practically whispering. "I don't know why it's so hard, but I just can't do it."

"Oh, Jackie..." Davey reaches up to wipe Jack's tears, cupping his face gently with both hands. "Hey, you still have three hours, right?" Jack nods. "That's lots of time. We're gonna figure this out... let's just sit here and calm down a little first. It's gonna be okay."

He climbs up onto the couch to pull Jack into a hug, and the moment he's settled, Jack wraps his arms around him and breaks, sobbing into his shoulder. Davey cards his fingers through his hair and rubs his back; he's never seen Jack this distraught, especially not over homework. There's a good chance the problem runs a lot deeper, and stressing over an assignment was simply the last straw.

"You're alright," Davey continues, since talking is what he does best, even in moments like this. Jack is shaking with the force of his tears, breathing so hard Davey worries he might hyperventilate. "Listen, it's just one assignment, my love... if you get a bad grade, or if we don't finish in time, we can deal with that. We'll hand in whatever we finish tonight, so at least you won't get a zero. Worst case scenario, you retake this class in the spring... even that doesn't sound so bad, does it? I know you could handle it, if that's what happens."

Jack nods a little, but his tears don't stop.

"I'm so tired of being stupid," he hiccups, after a long while. "I keep getting distracted, and I can't word things right, and I spell everything wrong, and- and maybe I should just drop out, because I'm clearly not meant to be doing this."

"Baby..." Davey sighs, giving him a gentle kiss on the temple. "You're so intelligent, Jack. You're almost done your degree— after this term, you've only got one year left, and it's not like you do poorly in your classes, is it? Even when it's something hard for you, like writing, you always do well when you put in the work. What did you get on your sociology paper a couple weeks ago?"

"Ninety percent," Jack mumbles, muffled by the way he's speaking into Davey's shoulder. "But I spent so long on it, and you edited it for me. I'm gonna fail this one. I can't do it in one night, and I can't write papers without your help."

"Well, I'm here to help now, aren't I?" He rests his hand midway through brushing it through Jack's hair and scratches his scalp gently, which makes Jack shiver and laugh quietly through his tears. "Right? And you can write, darling— all I do is fix up the spelling and grammar for you. The ideas and words are all you, just like when you give presentations and knock it out of the park every time. I sure can't do that."

Jack finally looks up at him.

"Yes you can. You get nervous beforehand, but when you do a presentation, it's always really good."

Davey smiles at him, now that they're actually looking at each other.

"It's hard for me, though. Just like writing is for you— but with lots of effort, you're really good at it. See my point?"

Slowly, a small smile spreads across Jack's teary-eyed face, and he nods. Davey feels rather accomplished with this development.

"I guess so." He wipes at his eyes and sighs. "Sorry about this. I'm such a mess."

"No apologies. I don't blame you for getting overwhelmed— you're in a tough spot here." He pulls Jack in for a quick kiss, which they both smile into. "I brought you dinner. Go heat it up when you're ready; I'll look over what you've written so far and see if I can come up with some more ideas to add on. We're gonna work together on it, okay? What painting did you choose?"

"The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew by Caravaggio," Jack sighs, looking almost forlornly at his computer on the table. "I have a lot to say about it, and lots of good stuff in my notes, but I just can't put it into paragraphs and sentences that make sense."

Davey nods, watching Jack as he stands up to go put the leftovers from Davey's family in the microwave.

"Well, I don't know anything about paintings, but if you talk me through it, I can help you put the actual paper together." He pauses as an idea dawns on him. "I'm gonna email your professor and ask about an extension— it might be a shot in the dark, but we should at least try. The worst he can do is say no."

"Sure," Jack replies from the kitchen, his voice still shaky. "He's a total hardass, though. Fingers crossed for a miracle."

Davey sits at the table, opens up Jack's email, and starts a draft.

Hi Professor Diaz,

Apologies for the short notice, but I'm wondering if it would be possible to have an extension on the analysis assignment, even if it's just by a few hours. I unfortunately mixed up some due dates in my planner, and I thought I had an extra week for this assignment; I only realized the mistake today, so I'm currently scrambling to get it done in time.

Would it be at all possible to turn it in a few hours late, just to have a bit more time to finish it up? I would really appreciate any amount of time you're willing to give me.

Thank you in advance for your understanding, Jack Kelly

He shrugs, sends it, and sincerely hopes a little professionalism and a decent (if slightly fabricated to make Jack look less forgetful) excuse will go a long way.

It's quarter to eleven, the paper is now five-and-a-half pages long, and Jack isn't crying anymore. He's in the zone, talking aloud about the painting while Davey helps him get his vague ideas into concrete sentences, and they're on track to have at least seven or eight pages by the time midnight rolls around— it might not get full marks, but it'll be better than nothing.

Jack's computer dings with the sound of a new email while they're taking a two-minute break— something they've interspersed every half hour, since Jack's focus is best in shorter bouts. He's in the middle of walking laps around the apartment to get his energy out and annoy his downstairs neighbours, but he scrambles back to the computer at the noise.

"We got a reply!" he shouts.

Davey is over on the couch, and he watches Jack's face closely as he opens the email. So far, so good... and then he slumps down in his chair in a show of what could either be defeat or relief. Davey can't quite tell, so he jumps up to go read it for himself.

Sure. Email it by 11:59pm tomorrow.

Sent from my iPhone

"Yes!" Davey shouts, grabbing Jack by the shoulders. "I told you it was worth a shot!"

Jack laughs, and then reaches up to pull Davey down for a kiss.

"You're the best, Jacobs. A fucking lifesaver." He rubs at his eyes, and then pushes his computer away, across the table. "I'll deal with this tomorrow. Let's just go to bed— you still have to be up early."

Right. Davey has a dreaded Saturday morning opening shift tomorrow— they open at five, and he has to be there well in advance to get set up, so he's got no chance at getting more than a few hours of sleep. He's going to be dead on his feet in the morning, probably fuck up a few coffee orders, but it'll be worth it to have helped Jack through tonight.

Poor Jack seems completely exhausted— as anyone would be after crying so hard earlier— so collapsing into bed after washing up quickly is an utter relief. Davey, despite being tall and long-limbed, greatly enjoys being the little spoon and Jack is happy to indulge him, so they curl into the familiar position.

"Thank you for everything tonight," Jack whispers, practically into Davey's ear. "I love you so much."

Davey smiles as his eyes fall shut, and he kisses Jack's knuckles softly, where his arm is wrapped around him.

"Any time, darling. I love you too."

#both my current projects are slow burns so an established relationship fic feels good #hope u enjoyed it!!!#javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #newsies fic #my writing

57 notes · View notes

knightofameris · 4 years

Text

—𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬—

◦ 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ◦ 𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑎 𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝𝑠! ◦ 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠! ◦ 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒! ◦ 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠!! (𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑡𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠!)

𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑠' 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒: blacklist “ameris 500 celebration!” if you don’t want to see any of my posts about this celebration! also if this flops i will cry. jk i won’t but it’ll definitely take a hit on my heart u__u (and if it does flop, you didn’t see this post)

—𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍—

Ahhhh! I’m so amazed that I got to 500 followers despite the fact that I barely?? Post?? And sometimes I just talk about random shit but even then, I still appreciate all of you guys so much? I have a few options on what I have to celebrate and I am so excited heheh. But before I get started I just,,, Have a few more things I’d like to talk about (cus I like to talk LOL). Feel free to skip though!!

content continued below the cut!! (warning; introduction is long because I just have a lot of thoughts I want to share LOL. seriously, feel free to just skip)

I know that I only really started posting Haikyuu!! around my 300 mark, and I feel like the people after my 300 mark are the one’s who are active because of how much I come onto tumblr and then disappear.

If you don’t know this, I’ve actually been writing on Tumblr since 2015/2016. I’ve just changed blogs so many times that it’s like, hey, this is my new blog. Or like, I would write for a few months, disappear, come back but then everyone who followed me was dead so I was like eh I’ll just start again or whatever. And I think this makes me very very soft because out of all the communities I’ve been in, I’ve truly felt more welcome/at home even?? With everyone in Haikyuu? Like yeah there’s shit that goes down every few days or whatever but it’s always so fun to see people interact with each other and though I was hesitant at first (because before this the only writer I’ve ever interacted with was Scout for marvel oop) I’m really glad I reached out to a few of y’all and vice versa.

But despite that, Marvel will always hold a place in my heart and to everyone who followed me from my Marvel days, thank you for supporting me way back when. And even to my Narnia days (AHAHAHA). I don’t think I would’ve continued writing on tumblr without your guys’ support. I know that younger me appreciated you all for reading those old works (even if I hate my old writing now).

And to everyone now, thank you for sending in asks or commenting on my works. I actually think I would’ve disappeared by this time from this blog if you guys didn’t interact. I’m not saying I’m writing for the follows or the notes, if that makes sense. But it’s more like, I feel less of a robot that people expect to churn out works. Idk, it makes me feel like a person? And it just gives me a lot more serotnin than you might think!!

One last thing though, it’s not me saying I expect you guys to always read my work and always comment. It’s more so, I’d actually rather have you guys comment or whatever because you want to and you want to read it. Like on one hand yes it does make me feel appreciated but I also don’t want you to feel obligated or feel guilty of you don’t read my things. No matter what, I will always be writing. It definitely does feel nice tho LOL

I promise in the future, if I ever do intros they won’t be this long lol.

Phew. Anyway.

For this celebration, this is only for Haikyuu!!

—𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒—

I love love love self ships SO much. So I want to hear about your guys’ self ships!

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

this will only be open from 12am september 23 — 11:59pm september 25 PST

any requests received before or after will be deleted (may be extended depending on how many requests I get!)

do keep in mind that i’m starting classes soon so it will take me some time to get through this.

send it in through asks or submissions!

send in as many asks as you’d like

if you use an emoji to show who you are, include it on all asks :3c

nothing nsfw for this, thanks!

since this is a follower celebration,,, i do have to ask that you be following me! honestly, i won’t check if you are, thats too much work on my part but it would mean a lot if you’re following me to participate in this celebration! );

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 [example]

i will be creating two instagram posts with one of them having a comment section (3-4 screenshots)

i might also include a screenshot of your profile and/or your s/o if I can put in more pictures!

chats with your s/o ( heheh (; ) (1-2 screenshots)

chats with your s/o’s team! (1-2 screenshots) (this will possibly be with the entire team or just a select few)

take a look at the example as that’s what i’ve done for a friend of mine!!

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨

send in 1-2 headcanons about you and your s/o

send in a little bit about your personality!!

your pronouns! and a name you’d like to go by!

give me your instagram handle! (not your real one, but what it would be within haikyuu) otherwise, i’ll make a random one based off your name!

what are your ~aesthetics~

what phone nickname would u have for your s/o (or any other people on the team) so it can be more personalized! or if ur like me where everyone is just their name besides a select few

do u have particular texting habits?

what’s your favorite animal? this is what I will be putting as your profile picture! alternatively if you submit all of this through my submissions and give me a piccrew, I will use that!

you could give me the most BASIC description, you don’t need to do all of these points, and i’d be fine with that. It’s up to you how much you want this to be personalized <3

(also this one’s not necessary, it’ll just be more ~fun~ but lmk if u wanna be a manager of the team! or if u have ur own little AU so u might have other certain details u want to throw in. otherwise i’m gonna make it a sorta free for all lol)

𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒: hi! my name’s ameris and i ship myself with suga! my pronouns are she/her/hers and i like to think that suga and i have a sort of childhood friends to lovers trope. i also like to think that we go stargazing at least once a month no matter what! my aesthetic is definitely space heh. i’m a little bit like suga where i’m chaos and baby! i curse a lot and i have way too many interests to count but i always like trying new things! my instagram handle would be ameris_stars (dude idk lMAO) and suga’s name in my phone would be Koushi <3 i make a lot of typos and i like using a mix of emojis and emoticons/occasional kaomojis. my favorite animal is a fox or dog!

this,,, is a lot but i’m okay with that! heheh

to protect you, I won’t publish your ask! I will make separate posts titled w/ your name + s/o + emoji (if you use your emoji). If you do it off anon, I will tag you!

Request List!! If you don’t see your name on here, just submit it again :3c I will not be tagging for the sake of not spamming you guys lol.

—𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔—

I would love love love to get to know you! So tell me about yourself!

what’s your favorite color?

who’re your favorite haikyuu characters?

favorite haikyuu teams?

you got any writers you want to give a shout out to?

maybe a little self promo too?

adsfasdfasdflj i will keep bringing this up but like any,,, spice asks,,, about the haikyuu characters cus like,,, lol

horn knee asks will be tagged with: “ameris needs a drink” which honestly sounds like i need an alcoholic drink and at this point, yeah

please be 18+ if you do send in any spicey asks!!

This can go on for as long as y’all want really, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’ll just answer these like normal and spread them out too lol

—𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐄—

I have a few ask games I’ve reblogged before, so I have a few linked for you LOL

intrusive asks 👁👄👁

~space~ asks! (this has a lot more!)

zodiac asks (just about my writing!)

writer’s asks

a little game I got from my friend which I think is absolutely so much fun

this is a version of fuck-marry-kill, but send in THREE characters (this one can be from any mix of my interests!) and I’ll choose which one I’d rather have a fanfic trope with:

“enemies-to-lovers”

“childhood friends-to-lovers”

and “fake dating”

would definitely prefer haikyuu characters

but doing a mix and match from all my interests is a lotta fun

things i used to or am currently into: haikyuu, marvel, bnha, demon slayer, rwby, sailor moon, voltron, dc, overwatch, tales of vesperia, legend of zelda, bungo stray dogs, narnia (lmao), one piece, uhm, i’ll add more if i can think of more, tbh u can even just say random characters and i’ll just google them

As always though, feel free to ask me any other questions!!

this will also go on for as long as whenever, i’ll probably spread out this one!

—𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒—

AH. It was lookin a little long so here’s the link to the post :3c (will edit post later!!! when I come back from my exam!!!)

to those who got to the end, omg i’m sorry. i talk so much. but thank you for your support and just getting through this block of words hakdfhkasf

#seriously #this is long #ameris 500 celebration!

10 notes · View notes

092219archive · 5 years

Text

planning out a kh!eren has been rough and planning out kh!eren’s nobdy has been even worse.

i don’t update here as much as i used to because all i do nowadays is spam my poor twitter followers (whoops!) with my cursed and awful ideas ft. verbal emotion talk. i have been working on things, particularly my kingdom hearts selfships 💦 some ideas i post and brainstorm, and others stay in the brain and never get to see the light.

but first things first, i want to complain about kh!eren, who is still being worked on in The Lab™ as i type this.

the thing is with kh!eren is that i still have no real grasp and understanding of the plot and lore. there’s a bunch of what ifs and hows that spin around in my brain while i’m trying to solidify my ideas, and i feel like my answers are right in front of me yet i’m so blind to them. at this point, i can’t really care much about creating this grand, original backstory for kh!eren because that’s a lot of brain work i can’t spare (i still haven’t read ansem’s notes). of course, i’ll change things up when the time comes around but since my knowledge on kh is still shaky, i’d rather not have to deal with weird plot stuff juuust yet.

it’s tedious, but it’s fun in its own way. what can i explore? what haven’t i? how can i change things? how will this affect what’s already existing? i could pull things out of my ass and then make things work, but alas, “canon is my playground.”

a lot of what i’m having trouble with is more technical stuff, too. i spent weeks trying to figure out exactly what kind of attribute i want my character to have, and what kind of weapon they’d be using while in organization xiii. i normally default to the “sniper role” as seen with my fate insert, but unfortunately for me, rat man was waaay ahead of my time. and then i figured i’d go for lances since that’s. well, it’s not my brand but i’m associated with characters that tend to use things similar to lances when in combat, you know? but xaldin beat me to it. and this is the part where i was like, “okay, well, you’re clearly having difficulties trying to find a weapon for kh!eren’s nobody... let’s move onto something else.”

turns out trying to figure out an attribute was worse. initially i joked around and said that kh!eren’s nobody should be able to manipulate space, but turns out rat man beat me again. i’m going to destroy you, xigbar. i would’ve defaulted to water or ice, but demyx and vexen respectively already have those attributes. after a while, i figured i’d work with poison but even now, i’m still unhappy with the attribute because it doesn’t really sit with me. i’ve never been a... “poison” kinda person, but i guess metaphorically it’d make sense.

and i can’t even let kh!eren’s nobody be associated with the moon because Saïx Was Here. there goes my sun/moon ship dynamic. all of my “go-to” ideas have basically been used in the official material (which is nice, but i’m also suffering), and i’m forced to think out of the box. that’s... probably why i’m having so much trouble too because, and as stupid as this sounds, i haven’t really thought out of the box in a while. most of my characters follow a singular trope with a very specific association, but as most of it was done already, i’m kinda forced to get creative because i’ll feel awfully guilty if i don’t. i don’t wanna steal ideas that already exist in canon!! that makes me feel bad.

the only thing i’m semi-okay with is kh!eren’s design along with their nobody, and even that’s subject to change as i gain more ideas and flesh them out further. technical information should have been easy to fill out, but to my surprise, it was hard to do even that. what’s their number? their title? you know, all that stuff. i realized that, “wow. kh!eren is... a pretty blank slate right now” besides the existing design. which doesn’t look that bad, actually. i got anxious about posting it because i felt that they wouldn’t belong in the kh universe, but those are trivial things i don’t have to worry about at the moment. design changes to kh!eren and their nobody can come later... i wanna worry about the other important stuff, like weapon and their attribute.

and i think, technically speaking, i could slap just about anything onto kh!eren’s nobody. but i also would like something that, well, i like. i know that they usually have to do with something... kind of natural? organic is a weird word to describe it as but that’s about it. i don’t think you can technically use an actual manifestation of “shadows” or “darkness” since xemnas has “nothingness” as his attribute which is kind of... the same, or similar to, thing to shadows/darkness. ANYWAYS, i’m still putting thought into this. it’s hard, and my brain’s the size of a pea.

but as for weaponry, i am getting somewhere! i was thinking of using something similar to the weapon, kama, except double that and then double that again. i don’t know what to name it yet, and i’m already thinking about how this can spark up interactions with the other members of organization xiii. but the fun stuff has to wait, because there’s a few roads i wanna take with kh!eren... i say a few as if there’s gonna actually be a “few,” but i’m honestly thinking like. two roads, at most. if i wanna go crazy then three, but that’s not very likely.

i mean, i guess to some extent, attribute isn’t so important that if i don’t figure one out, i’ll die, but also... if i don’t figure one out, i just might. it’s just a little thing i’ve been stressing out over!! i don’t think i should be, but god, i really am.

that’s also just the tip of the iceberg of problems, too. i have their whole backstory to work out and i may just use an au or two to make things work in their own right.

if you looked at my ugly handwriting (or under the read more), i put “birth by sleep/kingdom hearts union x.” i’ve been considering a few routes in terms of that...

see, if i let kh!eren’s starting point be birth by sleep, then their story would begin before the actual events of birth by sleep (with aqua, terra, and ventus). they’d be training under master eraqus to be a keyblade master as would any other dedicated student, but the teachings of light and dark eventually become convoluted within their mind. what’s right, and what’s wrong? is this really okay? things like that, where they question their role and their existence within the world, or worlds, rather. the answers spiral down into a dark place solely because kh!eren was in a dark place during these events. i’d imagine even before meeting master eraqus that their life was basically in shambles and they were put under this constant state of stress where they’d constantly turn to the darkness. however; i’d also imagine that kh!eren wouldn’t want to fall to darkness, because that’s what’s expected of them. nobody wants to succumb to the darkness because it’s terrifying. but there comes a point in their life where they’re just this void of any real feelings because they can’t recognize or distinguish what from what anymore, and they begin to question the world from their own perspective. this causes them to seek out “answers” to fulfill their curiosity and to give them something akin to a purpose, in which in the process, they lose everything and follow xehanort. or something like that.

but if i dropped them off into the place where everything began, then things would be just a liiittle different. maybe not entirely, but kh!eren would be a bit of a schemer. they question their existence after the happenings of the keyblade war to find out that nothing truly matters, and they become this cunning kind of character that breathes “using people for their own means.” but they’re not necessarily submitting themselves to darkness, because they believe that what they do is for “the greater good.” i guess this weird, chaotic neutral or good kind of character. but time passes and it passes, and there’s nothing but “i remember what i did before, so if i can keep up the act, i can pass as a person.” and that’s most of their life in the organization, which would just be going through duties and playing their role. do they know the truth? yeah, perhaps. do they do anything about it? no, what’s the point?

i have more material to work with if i start with birth by sleep, but at the same time, whatever happens in khux kind of interests me and i want to see where it goes... which is why i was planning two aus... but god knows i might just smash them together for convenience which. i’m not sure how’d that work considering both kh!erens start off at different times and have different experiences, even if they do end up ultimately the same by the end. one’s just more sarcastic! not that big of a difference.

god, this got so damn long. i’ve just been in this rambly mood where i wanna spam and dump my thoughts somewhere and i guess this is it!

#eren chats #long post

4 notes · View notes

broken-lycan · 5 years

Text

@thegreymoon replied to your post “@thegreymoon reblogged your photo and added: “Merlin Modern Tattoo AU...”

Just my two cents regarding answering the questions in extra posts (since you asked, of course, but I'm not the greatest at Tumblr etiquette, so take what I say with a grain of salt). I personally like to answer things in a reblog because then the entire thing is right in front of me. I'm the kind of person who likes to read conversations, tags, blogs and reblogs and separate posts are scattered.

I don't know if it's this way for others, but for me, the post with the answer opens the original post/text of the post just partially and then I have to click on an additional link to get the context when it appears on my dash. Mind you, I don't think of it as 'spam' and don't have strong feelings for it one way or the other, except for the fact that a reblog has everything visible right there, in a single thread.

Also, regarding the increased number of notes. I came to Tumblr from LiveJournal, from a fandom community where a bunch of us would have entire discussions and meta in the comments. A single post would go into dozens of comments from 3-4 users debating something silly. This was normal to me, and fun, because I like reading the discourse and taking part in it.

I was so surprised to discover a whole subset of social media users who consider replying to comments to your own posts bad form because they think it artificially 'inflates' the number of notes. This never occurred to me in all the years of posting and commenting on fanworks and I still don't get the logic.

I'm aware that people find me annoying on Tumblr because I ramble all the time (as you can see, I run out of space in the comment section all the time long before I finished saying what I want). Anyway, the point I'm trying to say is that I like single threads regardless of the amount of notes, but that this is a personal preference that may not be entirely compatible with Tumblr culture. I also still struggle with tags 😭

thank you answering this! I didn't expect anyone to actually say anything :))

I get what you say and I think as a person who leaves comments on other ppl´s posts I agree with you. also I´ve never been on livejournal

as the person who posts sth... when a post gets 20 notes at most (as I expect these manips to go) its kinda sad if I look back at the post and see it has 20 notes. but when I open them... like... 10 of those are my own replies.

it's not about other people´s comments (I love those, don't ever stop) it's more my own reblogs.

on ao3 for example you have the number of comments and comment threads. so you can just look at the comment thread number and know how many ppl commented.

idk... I guess I´ll think about it. maybe at some point, I´ll be like “fuck it! I´ll reblog my own posts as often as I want” I´ll see

I say stuff in the tags that I don't wanna say in the posts or stuff that isn't as important as the actual posts

EDIT: I almost forgot! if you want I can answer your comments with reblogs? if thats better for you? I dont mind

#im just really shy #and this mindset about post notes might just be anxiety #might not have anything to do with tumblr etiquette or anything #thegreymoon #random ramblings #brokenreplies

12 notes · View notes

chezzkaa · 5 years

Text

Numb pt 27

Click here for more Numb content OR JOIN THE NUMB DISCORD

Lumberjack AU Pairing: Ryan Haywood x Reader WC: 2750+

Date posted: 27 Jan 2019

A/N: Hey all! I was originally going to get this chapter out sooner, but I got so caught up at AH Live that it had to wait. Shout out to everyone who freaked out at me about the last chapter - hopefully this one gives you some warmer feels.

His flannel shirt greets your ascent along the path back home. Red against winter. Honey gold in the humming darkness. You want to call out to him, to tell him that everything is alright and apologise for bolting away; but you don’t trust your voice. Certain, in fact, that the sobs clinging to your ribs will tear their way from your lips as soon as you try to speak.

So instead you grant rejection and betrayal the time they need. Stinging your nose and quivering against your lips as you raise a hand to Ryan’s distant figure lingering at the top of the snowbank, waving him on. Motioning for him to continue and hoping more than anything that he will grant you the isolation your vulnerability needs.

He takes a moment. His expression distant. Watching you at the base of the path, your hand now pressed to one of the tattered trunks lining the ascent like a railing. His fingers twitch, curling into a loose fist before he takes a step back from you. Then another. Dragging his attention away and reluctantly disappearing like you urge him to.

In the dark you’re grateful, night having fallen fast over Motbury as though the sky were trying to hide the hurt you dress in. Unwilling, stubbornly so, to let Ryan see you break. Desperate, more so than anything, to avoid explanations. Knowing that as soon as you start unweaving the tale you tried to escape by moving to this town in the first place you’ll be unable to stop from unpicking yourself at the seams.

The bitter cold is thick against your skin, gnawing on your bones through the coat you pull closer. It sees your limbs stiffen and discomfort exude in steam from your lips. Still, despite the freezing temperatures desperate to claim your body, the heat of Jeremy’s words cling to your back as you keep pushing forward. White hot and screaming from the static shock you’d left him in, his feet rooted to the floor and expression one torn between anger and regret.

You don’t blame him. Not because you don’t want to; but because you can’t. You’ve been on the path Jeremy is spiralling down, you and the detective both have. Trapped in tunnel vision and bent on seeing one thing as another that you will it to be. Desperate to find connections when none exist, and far too eager to put a familiar face on a monster. Following a clumsy pattern that doesn’t make sense, and getting frustrated when the design is nothing more than a mess.

Your mess.

Last time it had gotten someone killed. Last time you hadn’t been able to save your sister or see your boyfriend for who he was around the target you’d painted on someone else's back - but not this time. This time you know better.

A storm is coming, you can feel it. Not just from the emotions churning in the turmoil, but from a glance at the clouds. Their anger so obvious you shy away from the sky.

Trying to put the past out of your mind, you submerge yourself in the calm scattered across Motbury. Taking in what you can of the stars as they guide you along the path you’ve walked so many times. Fresh air filling your lungs and washing away the panic that builds in your chest. Close enough to comfortable by the time the roof of your home stretches into view.

Ryan waits for you on the porch, doused in the light pouring from the windows. Caught in the same rich oranges and warm yellows painting the wooden beams and pooling across the snow. Everything about him screams nervously. Anxiousness set in his expression, knitted with the tug of his eyebrows and worn bags circling his eyes. Even the jitter of his hands, fingers drumming incessantly against his arm, tells the story of the panic and confusion.

Guilt knots your stomach, but the feeling doesn’t last long. Ryan drops his discomfort at the sight of you stumbling over to him, quick to smile and draw you close. The pound of his heart works wonders, his heat thawing your skin.

“Y/N,” Ryan murmurs, his voice draping across your crown, “are you alright? You scared me half to death when you ran off.”

You hum in response, not quite ready to break your own silence. Instead you’re content in his arms until the moment drags on and he pulls back to gauge your expression. Offering him a smile, you lace your fingers through the hand he places against your cheek, the action easing the knot of his brows.

“Yeah,” you breathe, “I am now. C’mon, let’s get inside. It looks as though it’s going to storm.”

Lauren beams, brightening the room even more and eyeing your blush as Ryan skirts behind you in the kitchen. With a hand on your lower back, he leans for the tea towel on your left, laughing at the jokes pouring from Alfredo’s lips and soaking in Trevor’s half hearted complaints. You can feel your best friend’s attention, can practically see the knowing grin that adorns her face, but for a moment you can’t drag your eyes from the countertop.

“Those carrots sure seem interesting, huh?”

You scowl at her comment, forcing your gaze upward as Ryan drifts further into the space, smiling broadly before tossing the towel at Alfredo - who fails to dodge it. Lauren’s sparkling eyes meet yours, mischief obvious in the way her head tilts. You look to Trevor, already knowing the direction the conversation is heading, but he offers you an equally teasing expression from his position beside the fridge.

“But not as interesting as the new boyfriend.”

“Lauren, stop-”

She ignores you, and manages to avoid the ‘here we go’ Trevor throws her way as he places a drink in front of you before relocating to Lauren’s side.

“So,” she continues, whiskey cheering her on, “how did you two meet?”

“Oh my god, are you really going to do this?” The blush on your cheeks deepens, and you’ve never wanted to sink into a pot to hide more.

Ryan, however, doesn’t shy away. He moves back behind you, removing the knife from your hands and leading you to the side to take over. You want to argue, but the smile he shares is so genuine and caring that you allow the redirection. Instead you move to stand on the other side of the island, determined not to clutter the kitchen that Ryan and his assistant chef, Alfredo, have taken over.

“You know how we met,” you lecture her, stripping your apron and tossing it to Alfredo’s outstretched hand. He quickly dons it, eager and at attention. “You don’t need to hear it again.”

Lauren’s eyes narrow at you. “All I got from you was screeching and spam texts and ‘I fucked him’ freak outs-”

“LAUREN-”

“Besides, I wanna hear the story from someone in touch with reality.”

Ryan chuckles, warmth jumbling with the vegetables he gathers in his hands places on a roasting tray. “I might not be the best person to ask, then.” He glances up, cracking a smile. His own blush shimmers across his cheeks at the sight of your now beetroot complexion. Golden light fills the room, bouncing off his brightness and shining from his skin in the amber lights overhead. “I’m not good with reality.”

Lauren laughs, watching you direct Alfredo on how to crack and peel garlic cloves. “You’re better than someone I know.” Again, she ignores your playful scowl. “And I wanna hear it from you. What did you first think of Y/N? Did she curse you? Oh, or maybe put a spell on you so you’d put up with her shitty jokes?”

Alfredo snatches the herbs away before you can hurl them at your giggling friend, the cold frustration in your palms shedding from your skin in small flecks of light. They join the ceiling as though they’re snowing in reverse, faint enough to be missed but obvious enough for Lauren’s grin to turn wicked.

“Why are you like this?” you grumble, moving to perch on the arm of the sofa she and Trevor adorn.

“You brought this upon yourself,” her boyfriend muses, pressing a teasing kiss to Lauren’s neck while his arm winds around her. “You were just as bad when we started dating.”

You wait a beat before finally giving in. “I guess I did threaten you.”

“You did.”

“Fine, fine.” You wave your hands dramatically, sinking against Lauren’s side with a huff.

She shakes you off, taking a sip of her drink. “So, Mr Sexy Lumberjack, as Y/N likes to call you-”

“Lol, I swear to fucking god-”

“Shut up, Y/N. Jesus Christ. Let your man tell me the story.”

Ryan is quiet for a moment, contemplating the herbs and oil he swirls around the tray before slipping it into the oven. When he finally speaks, it’s gentle, his words joining the rag he circles across the countertop while he cleans. “I was hooked as soon as she walked into Geoff’s store.”

Your skin heats, sucking your internal temperature to the surface. You hadn’t realised he’d noticed you as he’d entered, remembering the way you’d bumbled your way through the aisles and backtracked to shelves far too many times.

“Shut up,” you tease, “you were not.”

“I’m serious,” Ryan insists, continuing to tidy up to the sound of Alfredo clattering the dishes. “You looked so peaceful when you came in. All rugged up and with this little smile on your face.” He lowers his expression just a little, bashful. “Every time I saw you pass through the aisles I was like, ‘woah’.”

You look away from his intense gaze, the intimacy too much. Lauren’s smile has settled into one of softness, the wicked teasing having soaked into the cushions. Trevor looks equally content, his chin resting on her shoulder and lips occasionally brushing her skin. You can see the fraction of a smile pressed against Alfredo’s mouth, but between the suds of too much dish soap, it’s hard to catch.

“I must have looked like an absolute idiot,” you laugh nervously, a shaky hand running through your hair.

Ryan shakes his head, leaning across the island with a smile that tells you he’s forgotten there are other people in the room. “You looked beautiful.” His eyes dart to Lauren as she lets out a happy, almost cringing breath, and he quickly collects himself. Busying around the kitchen, you can clearly see the red dusting his skin. “Y/N came over and helped me pick out dinner, and we picked on the resident detectives for breaking everything all the time. I made a stupid joke…” Ryan peeks at you over his shoulder, his features so gentle and vulnerable your heart threatens to stop. “And you laughed.”

You smile softly, fiddling with your sleeves. “All your jokes are stupid.”

He frowns, unapologetic. “Harsh.”

“But true.”

“Either way, you laughed,” he points out, “and asked for a job, so it can’t have be that bad.”

“Oh god.” Your head falls into your hand, sniggering at yourself while Lauren giggles. “I can’t believe I did that.”

You get an elbow to the side, your best friend’s expression surprised. “Since when are you that confident, huh?”

“Since he was hot!” you implore.

Trevor nods vigorously, making Lauren squirm beneath his chin. “Hotness beats a lack of confidence. Hell, I’d ask Ryan for a job.”

Ryan laughs. “If a position ever opens up, you’ll be the first to know.”

“It better not open up. Y/N is working for you forever now, no way around it.” Lauren puts on a stern mask, but you can see amusement crack at its edges. “Because if you ever hurt her, I’ll hurt you.”

“Please,” you groan, tossing her an exasperated glance. “No fighting in the house. Take it outside and maybe we’ll be lucky and the incoming storm will kill you both.”

Ryan pulls a face, his cheeks rosy and eyebrows knit. He can’t keep the grin from his features. “I’m wounded, Y/N.”

“Good,” you respond, hopping back to your feet and moving over, jabbing him playfully in the chest. “That’s what you get. Now scooch, I need to get the cutlery and plates out otherwise we’ll be eating like animals.”

The storm you’d felt creeping along your back as you’d walked home continues to rage from it’s early moments midway through dinner, and the night quickly fills with laughterm warmth and a surprisingly comfortable silence whenever conversation lulls. Nothing disturbs the peace. Comfort heavy across bodies like thick blankets by the fire, of which chuckles with gentle amber flames in the hearth.

Snow swirls behind the curtains you’ve pulled closed, biting at the glass; but inside it’s as though the idea of the cold has never existed. It has no place amongst the bodies sprawled across the living room and burrowed into comfortable nooks, unable to penetrate the soft stupor a night of drinking and new friends has brought. No stinging memories of your fight with Jeremy, and no aching loss from the digging up of your past. Not even the paranoia of an unwanted visitor, be it the wind or the tentative knocking of whatever likes to lurk on the porch when the weather turns and darkness falls, is able to bother you.

Comfortable, and all together peaceful when the sounds never come.

Pressed into the couch, you and Ryan lounge together in the dying light of the fire. His chest is firm against your back as you settle between his legs, one of his feet resting on the floor while the other rubs lazy circles against your shin. Clumsy and inconsistent, much like the strength of his voice.

Ryan’s grip on your waist loosens as the weight of exhaustion claims him, arms heavy and secure as they hold you close. His voice drifts, coarse as it catches in your hair, his lips brushing a final kiss against the crook of your neck before he gives in and lets sleep take over. Head falling back, you hear his consciousness slip into the pillows as a gentle sigh leaves his lips.

You smile. Dopey and overjoyed as you give one of his legs on either side of you an affectionate squeeze. “I’m surprised he lasted so long,” you hush to Alfredo with a chuckle, the man struggling to stand from the position he had sprawled out in across the carpet. “He’s never been good at staying up late.”

“Nah.” Alfredo rolls, stumbling with the sudden action while his face contorts into a strained expression. Eventually he manages to find his footing, holding out his arms and bending slightly to keep from toppling. “Dealing with your crap all day?” he teases, “I’m not surprised, man. You’re exhausting.”

“Rude.”

He sways, stifling a yawn. “But true. I’ll see you in the morning, I ain’t bout to pass out on the floor when I’ve got a bed upstairs. Night, Y/N. Night, Trev.”

Your goodnights follow him up the stairs while your gaze drifts to the only member of your family still awake, Trevor absorbed in the peace his girlfriend wears in her sleep. His fingers work through her hair, lost in long locks of blonde and the comfort the motion brings. Stroking free whatever stresses of the day remain in his fingertips while sunshine presses into his palm. He’s not paying attention to the conversation dwindling into the cracking of the hearth, oblivious to the soft smile and gentle expression he shares with the slumbering woman in his lap.

You leave him in the moment, his skin warm in the light of the fire and the soft glow of the one he cradles close. His eyes churn, molten and rich as he watches her sleeping expression, intent on committing it to memory. Drinking it in as though it’s both the first and last time he’s ever seen something so beautiful. As though there aren’t enough sunsets in the world to compare her to.

“You know,” Trevor says finally, his murmur swept away with the continued motion of his hands, “I’m going to marry her one day.” The statement is certain, so confident that you wonder for a moment if he’s ever seen anything else in his future. If, ever since he met her all those years ago, he’s kept the ring he bought on the first night in his coat pocket everywhere he goes. Your heart squeezes, already knowing the answer. “Then,” he breathes, smile so heavy with adoration that his lips struggle to hold it up, “she can annoy me forever.”

“You are,” you reply simply, “and there’s no way she’d let you get away with not.”

11 notes · View notes

eccacia · 6 years

Text

wonderful you came by [part 15]

Summary: Caitlin’s a no-nonsense science major. Barry’s the quintessential charming star athlete. When they’re paired off and forced to interact in class, Caitlin’s determined to resist his charms, but Barry’s also pretty determined to get under her skin… It all boils down to a battle between head and heart, and Caitlin’s not one to give in to her heart so easily. [College AU]

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, or read on ff.net

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Flash. The article that Barry cites here is called “What Is Nothing?” by Fraser Cain from phys.org.

One of the most important things that Caitlin’s father had taught her was the discipline of getting rid of a bad habit. He’d taught her that it wasn’t enough to drop the habit cold turkey: if change was to be sustainable and permanent, the old habit had to be dropped and be immediately replaced by a better habit. For instance, if she wanted to stop watching TV, she couldn’t just spend the rest of the hour avoiding the TV—she had to do something else, like read the encyclopedia.

It was with this logic that Caitlin resolved to excise Barry Allen from her mental life. It did not do to merely stop thinking about him, because it was impossible to stop thinking about him by sheer willpower; so instead, she filled her day with work—with outlining and practicing for the orals, with summarizing journal articles for her thesis, with drafting the next post-lab report—which successfully crowded her mind, so that there was no room for Barry Allen at all.

She had come to this course of action the next morning, after a good night’s rest and after the alcohol had been flushed out of her system. She hadn’t been in a state of mind to think things through the night before—she was too confused and distraught, and her mind was muddled with emotion—but in the light of day, with some distance from Barry, she was finally able to evaluate the recent events with startling clarity.

It seemed that her null hypothesis regarding Barry Allen—that he did not harbor romantic feelings for her—was disproven by that kiss, as a kiss was the pinnacle of romantic feeling. But upon reevaluation of her hypothesis, she realized that a fatal error had occurred in her reasoning. She realized that it didn’t matter if her hypothesis was proven or disproven, because the underlying rationale of her investigation was faulty. It was similar to testing a hypothesis like “There is a significant positive relationship between the width of one’s hand span and the age of one’s maternal grandmother.” The numbers could indeed show that those with wider hand spans also had older maternal grandmothers, but the study itself was irrelevant. Similarly, her hypothesis assumed that it was important to be considered Barry Allen’s object of affection, which implied that romance was a worthwhile endeavor, when, in fact, it was not.

And the reason why it wasn’t worthwhile was simple: Love was temporary insanity. That was by far the most logical explanation for why she—she who was logical, clear-headed, intolerant of frivolity, unseduced by narratives of romantic love—had suddenly fallen for Barry in a span of two weeks, and why she’d found herself doing things that she would never have done, such as spending three hours on the phone, or singing onstage, or dancing with abandon in the midst of a sweaty throng, or leaning in to kiss someone that she barely knew.

In line with that, she realized that Saturday night contained all the necessary conditions to short-circuit reasoning. The context of a party simultaneously created an atmosphere of wild abandon and disabled the tools for rational thought: one is unable to see clearly when one’s vision is assaulted by the bright, blinking lights; one can hardly hear oneself think above the aggressive beat of the music; and, once inebriated, one is unable to wield logic at all.

And, during the party, when Barry had called her onstage to sing with him, she was placed in a context in which it was impossible for her to say no without dire social consequences—rather than to step off the stage, be booed by the crowd, and be labelled a killjoy, she was inclined to take the path of least resistance, which was to simply join him. Their dancing together had also been a function of context: after the sing-off, people were pulling friends and significant others onto the dance floor, and they, conforming to the crowd, had also moved to the dance floor. It was part of the script of a party to dance; it was not part of the script of a party to have a clear-headed discussion on the implications of him naming her as his partner for the sing-off.

That kiss was similarly manufactured by the demands of context. The open balcony under the starry night sky was a favorite setting of the romantic imagination, and with good reason: she suspected that standing under the vast night sky made people feel small and insignificant, and, faced with the overwhelming threat of their insignificance, they naturally gravitated to others, fiercely wanting the other to affirm their significance, wanting to be loved and known in order to save themselves from the reality that they were adrift and alone, a speck of dust on a piece of rock suspended in empty space. In fact, two of her most ill-informed decisions—deciding that she liked Barry, and leaning in to kiss him—were made under the night sky. Had they been around people in the light of day, in a sober setting like the library, such things would never have happened.

In any case, she would allow no more of this nonsense in her life. It was absurd to believe that this new self, this Caitlin-with-Barry self that had been forged in a mere two weeks, could overshadow the self she’d been for over twenty years; it then followed that the new self was a falsehood that had to be discarded, and the self she’d always been—the logical, clear-headed, impervious-to-romance self—was her true self, the self she had to maintain and protect. And, in order to do that, she had to cut Barry Allen off. It was regrettable, but it was necessary. Sometimes, to halt the progress of a disease, it wasn’t enough to scrape away the infected flesh; sometimes, it was necessary to amputate the entire limb.

She resolved to stand by her decision until his persistence waned and until he realized, as she had, that his energies were better directed elsewhere. She, for one, could focus on her career, as she had always intended, and he could focus on his transition into Forensic Science.

It was the most logical decision, and one that would benefit them both. It was, she truly believed, for the best.

Monday, 7:07 PM

Hi Caitlin, it’s me again. I don’t want to sound like a stalker or anything by spamming you with voicemail, so… just tell me to stop if you really want me to stop, okay? I swear I will. But if you won’t say anything, I’m just going to assume that your silence means, Yes, Barry, you can be as annoying as you possibly can. —Why, Caitlin, it’s my pleasure to serve up my specialty. In fact, this is your first daily dose of annoyingness, served fresh from the kissable mouth of CCU Cutie Barry Allen—ah, crap, Wally just heard me saying that. Crap. Now he’s laughing his butt off. Can you hear him? Here, I’ll move closer. He laughs like a hyena. It’s hideous. I don’t think you’ve ever met him, but I hope you will sometime… Anywaaay, uh, I called to let you know that I’m sorry, and I’m not giving up. That’s all for now. I’m going to dig myself a hole if I keep going while Wally’s listening, so call me if you want to talk, I guess. Bye.

Swipe. Delete.

. . .

Tuesday, 10:51 AM

Hi Caitlin. So, uh, welcome to day two of being annoyed by your local cutie. Heh, I can already imagine you wrinkling your brow and trying not to smile but failing not to smile, so you end up biting your lip instead, and you’d say, “Who’re the idiots that put you on the CCU Cutie list”—I’m number eight out of fifty, in case you’re wondering, not to toot my own horn—okay, fine, totally tooting it—“and don’t those idiots know that they’re just ratcheting up your insufferability index?!” Do you remember saying that, insufferability index? I know I should be insulted, but I usually end up flattered instead, knowing that you tailor your insults to me. I like to think of it as you showing your love. Although I’d still prefer compliments... ahem, ahem. Anyway, um… wow, I’ve spent half of this voicemail talking about what you might say. It’s… not as fun talking to imaginary Caitlin than it is talking to real Caitlin. So… give me a call? Or leave a message. Whenever you’re ready. Bye.

Swipe. Delete.

Tuesday, 8:23 PM

Hey, so I just got your e-mail. I’m… kind of bummed that you wanna study separately for the orals, but… if that’s what you want, I guess. Don’t worry, I’ll do my part. It’ll be harder to study without you slave-driving me, but I won’t let you down. I can’t believe I miss you slave-driving me, heh. Anyway, um… what else… Oh yeah, I’m free next Saturday for the make-up class and the STAR Labs tour. It’s so cool that we’re having our make-up class at STAR Labs. I’m almost glad he cancelled class on Monday. Dr. Wells is the best, isn’t he? …Anyway, uh, look, I know I could’ve just e-mailed you back, but… I don’t know, e-mail’s just not our thing, you know? If that makes any sense. Yeah… that’s all for now. You know the drill. See you Thursday for the orals.

Swipe. Delete.

. . .

Wednesday, 1:34 PM

Happy third-day-sary of being annoyed by me! Er, I wasn’t sure if it’s a cause for celebration, but I guess I’m feeling pretty optimistic. I mean, at least you haven’t told me to stop talking yet, right? …Anyway, awhile ago, just for kicks, I typed “Is nothing really nothing?” in Google. Not sure if you remember, but you told me the last time we talked that whatever happened between us was nothing, and nothing is nothing so it’s smart of me to pin my hopes on it. So I thought, Is nothing really nothing? and I figured it’d be fun to ask Google. Anyway, Google has this to say about nothing: “There are physicists like Lawrence Krauss that argue the ‘universe from nothing’, really means ‘the universe from a potentiality’. Which comes down to if you add all the mass and energy in the universe, all the gravitational curvature, everything… it looks like it all sums up to zero. So it is possible that the universe really did come from nothing. And if that’s the case, then ‘nothing’ is everything we see around us, and ‘everything’ is nothing.” Neat, huh? Nothing is everything. I know you super disapprove of me typing the whole question into the search bar instead of just typing the keywords, but I swear I didn’t get it from Yahoo Answers. It’s from a site called phys.org, which sounds pretty legit to me. Anyway, see you tomorrow for orals. I studied like hell for it, and you study enough for the both of us, so we should do great. I… I’m actually looking forward to it. Not the orals, but seeing you. So… see you tomorrow. Bye.

Swipe. Delete.

“Cait? Cait.”

Caitlin startled when she felt a hand on her wrist, gently lifting it from the keyboard of her laptop. She turned to see Felicity giving her a worried look.

“You’ve been pressing the spacebar,” she said.

“Oh.” Caitlin glanced at her screen. She had begun the post-lab document at page 1. She was now on page 15, and all the pages in between were blank.

“Are you okay?” Felicity ventured. “Did something happen between you and Barry?”

“No.” She highlighted the blank pages and pressed delete.

Felicity sighed. “Cait, you haven’t been talking to us since Sunday, so something obviously happened on Saturday night. Did he hurt you? Because if he did, I swear I’ll—”

“No.” She reread the paragraph she’d written so far. “We’re fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Felicity pursed her lips. “Cait, please. Talk to me. You’re overworking, you haven’t been sleeping, and you have lapses like this, when you don’t even realize that you’re spacing out.”

“I’m fine.”

“Cait—”

“Felicity! God, stop!” she snapped. “I’m fine, okay? I just, I have a lot of deadlines coming up, alright?”

Felicity recoiled.

“Okay,” she said, with barely concealed hurt. “Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

She turned away and slinked back to her desk.

Caitlin concentrated on her screen, trying to ignore the pain in her chest.

The next day Caitlin woke with a start. She blinked a few times at the light streaming in through her windows, peeled away a piece of paper that had stuck to her cheek, and shot out of her chair to get ready for the orals.

Or, rather, she stumbled out of her chair, felt around for the reviewers on her desk, and shuffled around the room to gather her other things—towel, clothes, shoes, backpack—as if blind, hitting the corners of tables and countertops as she went. Despite her astounding stamina for studying, Caitlin was not immune to the effects of sleep deprivation, and after totaling only six hours of sleep for the past three days, her mind was foggy, her eyes were dry, and her stomach (also owing to an overdose of caffeine and a diet of crackers and instant noodles) roiled with acid. She felt like either wanting to vomit or wanting to die.

But she was fine. This was fine. This was familiar. At the very least, her physical unease consumed such a significant portion of her attention that she was unable to obsessively rehearse all the worst-case scenarios in her mind, as she usually did.

She took the long route to the science and engineering complex, which ensured that she would meet less people along the way, and silently recited reagent names and reaction mechanisms as she went. Benedict’s Test. Positive results: orange to brick red. Indicates the presence of sugar. Negative results: no change in color. Indicates the absence of sugar. She paused at a vendo machine for some coffee and downed it in one gulp, grimacing when it scalded her tongue. Molisch’s Test. Positive results: purple appearing at the junction of the two layers of liquids. Indicates the presence of carbohydrates. Negative results: no purple at the junction of the liquids. Indicates the absence of carbohydrates. She took the stairs to the fourth floor, and then turned to the row of rooms that professors used for consultations and oral exams. They were usually occupied towards the end of the semester, but right now there was only one occupied room with the light on and the door ajar.

Caitlin crushed her coffee cup, tossed it into a nearby trash bin, and took a deep breath. Fifteen minutes, she told herself. She only had to endure fifteen minutes of this—and of Barry Allen—and she was free. She could do this.

When she entered the room, she immediately recognized the outline of Barry’s back, seated in front of Dr. Wells’s wide wooden desk, and Dr. Wells himself sat across him with his arms folded. They seemed to be in the middle of a conversation, but when she slipped inside, Barry turned around quickly and shot her a grin.

She ignored him. She put on her deadpan mask and hoped that it wouldn’t crack.

Dr. Wells smiled at her. “Ms. Snow, nice of you to join us,” he said, as she took a seat across him and beside Barry. “Well, since you’re both here now, why don’t we start?”

“Ready when you are, Dr. Wells,” Barry said.

Caitlin merely nodded. Her anxiety was building now; her palms were beginning to sweat and her throat felt dry. She absolutely hated oral exams and anything that resembled it—presentations, panel interviews, defenses, anything at all that required her to speak, to be judged for each word she spoke, and to witness the judgment passed on her through the facial expressions (or lack thereof) of the professor or the panel even as she was still speaking. It was an absolute nightmare. The only time when she didn’t feel that way was when she was drunk—her drunk alter ego enjoyed being the center of attention, for reasons she didn’t want to contemplate—but she couldn’t very well show up drunk during an oral exam or a panel interview. Of course, she’d gotten better at hiding her fear as she went through college, but the beginning was still the worst part.

“Alright, let’s start with something easy,” Dr. Wells said. “Ms. Snow, enumerate the tests for carbohydrates and their indicators for positive results.”

This was easy. She knew this. She’d rehearsed for it just a few moments ago, and she also distinctly remembered summarizing the tests in table format for their post-laboratory report. She remembered inputting each entry and polishing the format of the table—bolding the headings, alternating the row colors, affixing the caption—and the memory remained so vivid in her mind that she could recite the answer as if she were reading directly from that table. She had this. She had this.

But when she opened her mouth to speak, no sound came. She was paralyzed. The table was still etched in her mind’s eye, but fear constricted her throat and scrambled the words she’d intended to say. Oh God, she thought, her hands fisting in the fabric of her jeans, not now not now not now—

A second passed. Then two. When three seconds crawled by, the silence became tense, and Caitlin felt all the more the crushing pressure of having to say something, if only to fill the silence; but anxiety and humiliation collapsed her airways, bound her mouth in a steel trap. She felt like she literally could not speak.

Beside her, Barry cleared his throat.

“Mind if I go first, Dr. Wells?” he said, careful not to look at her. He continued lightly, “I’d like to volunteer to answer all the easy questions before they run out.”

Dr. Wells shifted his piercing blue gaze from her to Barry, and he leaned back against his chair with a slight smile. “I can’t guarantee you any more ‘easy questions,’ Mr. Allen, but go ahead.”

Barry grinned and launched into his answer, completely at ease as he talked—so much so, in fact, that he even made a joke while he was at it. When he finished, he pretended to bow to an imaginary audience, and Dr. Wells was shaking his head in barely disguised amusement.

He paused to write something on a sheaf of stapled papers, and then looked up at Caitlin again.

“Ms. Snow?” he said expectantly. “Ready for the next question?”

Her breath caught in her throat. No, she wasn’t. She felt like fading away from the scene. It was one of her defense mechanisms—during stress, she shut down. She disengaged. She was there-not-there. Each passing second with her fear felt like a knife-tip grating down the notched bones of her spine—

She was so caught up in her internal struggle that she startled when she felt something warm cover her hand.

What the—

Her eyes flickered down, and she saw that Barry was holding her hand.

During an oral exam.

In front of Dr. Wells.

She was so livid that she couldn’t move. What was he thinking? Scratch that—was he even thinking? She was going to kill him—

But, no, wait—he wasn’t really holding her hand, per se—he was only running his fingers over her clenched fists, cautiously coaxing them to open. She hadn’t realized she’d been clenching them so tightly that the muscles were strained from the tension. When she finally unclenched them, he quickly withdrew his hand, and continued rambling to Dr. Wells—he’d been managing a conversation this whole time—as if nothing had happened.

She blinked and took a slow, deep breath. She felt like she was coming out of her stupor, as if unclenching her fists had also uncoiled the anxiety that had gripped her body.

“Mr. Allen,” she dimly registered Dr. Wells saying, “most people answer after they’ve been asked a question, not before.”

“Just wanna show off how much I studied,” Barry said, grinning.

Dr. Wells shook his head and turned to her. “I have to apologize for pairing you off with him, Ms. Snow.”

“Hey! I resent that,” Barry protested. “I’m a pretty decent lab partner.”

“Perhaps ‘highly distractible’ is more appropriate.”

“But I can’t help it, Dr. Wells,” he said. “It’s just how I am. I get really excited about anything science.”

“Ah, Mr. Allen,” Dr. Wells said, his eyes shifting briefly to her, “I don’t think science is the only thing you get excited about.”

Oh my God, does he mean—she didn’t even want to continue that train of thought, but when she saw that Barry, for once, had been struck speechless, she supposed the implication was clear. Oh, God. This was embarrassing. Had he seen Barry reach for her hand? But it was a wide, high desk—he couldn’t have seen it—and Barry had been so discreet that she hadn’t even seen him move—

“Dr. Wells,” she blurted out, just to end the humiliation, “I believe it’s my turn…”

“So it is.” His usually stern features softened into a reassuring look. “Don’t be nervous, Ms. Snow. This isn’t so different from reciting in class or conversing with the panel in open forums.”

Caitlin swallowed and nodded.

“Ms. Snow, can you tell me why Molisch’s test for carbohydrates yields a purple color? An explanation of the reaction mechanism will do.”

She took a discreet breath. She could do this. From the corner of her eye she could see Barry glancing at her out of concern, no doubt readying another excuse to answer for her if she blanked out, and somehow the thought that he had her back quelled the anxiety rising in her throat.

“Molisch’s test determines the presence of carbohydrates by dehydrating them in the presence of sulfuric acid,” she began. She spoke with some hesitance at first, but as she continued speaking, her confidence rose, and she forgot her fear.

When she finished, there was a faint smile on Dr. Wells’s face.

“Good,” he said. “Very thoroughly explained. Now, Mr. Allen, the third question…”

While he briefly consulted his notes, Barry turned to her and smiled with a mixture of pride and relief, but she quickly turned away. She turned away because guilt had crept into the void that anxiety had carved, and this guilt—the origin of which she could not yet name—made her unable to look at him for the rest of the exam.

. . .

The rest of the orals was a breeze. Caitlin told herself that she could have gotten over her fear without Barry’s help—she’d always managed (to her own surprise) to pull through those first few minutes—but there was another part of her that said that wasn’t exactly true. When before, anxiety seized her afresh each time a new question was asked, this time, right after that first question, she felt like she’d entered a state of flow, like the question-answer sequences had already been programmed in her mind and all she had to do was to produce the answer when prompted by the question. That thoughtful gesture of his had played no small part in helping her get over her fear.

She felt, then, that the situation obliged her to thank him—if not the situation, then common courtesy, at the very least, required her to reciprocate his act of kindness with gratitude. Yet, when he’d beamed at her after they’d stepped out of the room, she’d brushed past him as if he didn’t exist; and to add insult to injury, she’d even kept her eyes trained on a spot in the distance to avoid seeing the naked hurt on his face.

Caitlin knew, objectively, that a curt “thank you” would have been no big deal in any other scenario. But this scenario was not any other scenario, and in this case a “thank you” wouldn’t be a mere expression of gratitude: a “thank you” would also be the first crack in her silence, and if she allowed that crack, she would render herself helpless against his efforts to worm his way back into her affections. A “thank you” in this case was also thus an implicit “I’m sorry for ignoring you” and “I want to talk to you again”—both of which she could not allow herself to say, because if her campaign to dissuade Barry from ever speaking to her again her was to be successful, she could allow no exceptions.

But driving him away with silence wasn’t without its consequences—she felt guilty for repaying his kindness so coldly. Normally, one could assuage one’s guilt by approaching the wronged party to make amends, but she already established that she could not approach him, so she felt doubly worse—from being unable to thank him, and from being unable to apologize to him for not thanking him.

With this guilt, too, came shame at the person she had to be in order to reject him so completely. She’d been afraid of the person she was becoming when she was with him, but now she was appalled at who she was becoming in order to drive him away. It seemed that Barry’s kindness only magnified her heartlessness; his gentle persistence, her haste in cutting him off; his unwavering thoughtfulness, her ruthless excision of him from her mental life.

She sighed. Why did he have to be so nice, anyway? She would have welcomed his anger and his resentment, because those would have made sense; but instead he was kind, and she was completely disarmed by his kindness. It was a sincere, pure-hearted kindness at that, without any undercurrent of manipulating her into guilt. But then again, that wasn’t Barry’s style, and come to think of it, she couldn’t imagine him angry and resentful… If she were to become the cause such ugly, blistering emotions in someone as good-natured as he, she was going to feel like a monster.

The least she could hope for, she thought as she settled down in her next class, was for him to give up soon. That way she didn’t have to keep hurting him—or rather, she didn’t have to keep hurting them both.

. . .

Still, that night, as she lay alone in her dark room—Felicity had been avoiding her for the past few days, and she knew she deserved it but she was yet too ashamed to apologize—she placed her phone on her pillow, beside her head. As usual, he’d left a voicemail, half an hour after the orals.

She allowed it to play.

Hey. Are you okay? I knew you told me you didn’t like orals, but I didn’t know you were that terrified of them. I hope you’re okay now. Sorry for holding your hand, I know you’re still iffy with the whole touch thing, but I didn’t know how else to comfort you. I’m really glad you got over it, though. Actually, everything turned out great in the end, don’t you think? We made quite the pair, with me slaying all the easy questions and you slaying all the hard ones, heh. Well, anyway, that’s all for now, I have to meet up with Coach. He’s been really hard on all of us lately since tomorrow’s the finals. It’ll be great if you could come watch, or even if you could drop by to say hi. I really miss you. Call me or message me or something, you know the drill. Bye.

His voice dissolved into the silence.

Caitlin swiped left, and her finger hovered above the bright red Delete button. But, right before she pressed it, the memory of his hand over hers during the orals flitted through her mind, and she shut her eyes and took a shaky breath.

She was just… so tired of this. She was so tired of resisting him, of constructing all these elaborate denials and rationalizations and justifications. She knew that there were to be absolutely no exceptions, but…

She drew her phone close.

She played the voicemail again.

Hey. Are you okay? I knew you told me you didn’t like orals, but I didn’t know you were that terrified of them. I hope you’re okay now…

He lost by 0.91 seconds.

To make up for her momentary lapse in resolve the night before, she’d adamantly avoided his meet, but she might as well have been there with the way she obsessively refreshed her Twitter feed; and, when she saw the headline “KCU’s Hunter Zolomon Bags First Place, Dethrones CCU’s Reigning Champ Barry Allen” an hour or so after the meet, she could hardly believe it.

He lost, she repeated, the thought sinking in. She could only imagine what he was feeling right now. He’d told her, during one of their phone calls, that he wanted to finish this season strong before quitting. “My heart’s not in it anymore,” he’d said, “but my ego is. Does that make sense? I mean, everyone was so proud of me when I won my first national meet. It was unbelievable. My mom and dad couldn’t stop telling their friends about it. For the first time in decades the track team finally got support from the school. Stores wanted to sponsor us. People were flocking to our meets. My teammates were so psyched, and Coach hadn’t smiled so much since his wife gave birth. It was… a pretty great feeling, I guess.” “You just like the attention,” she’d said, and he’d laughed. “Not denying that. But it’s really nice, you know, having started all that, making people proud. It makes me feel like I matter.”

But, she wondered now, if winning made him feel like he mattered, what did losing make him feel?

Disturbed by her own question, she put her phone aside and stared at the articles open on her laptop, willing her focus to return, but she couldn’t bring herself to get back to work. Guilt nagged at her conscience even more insistently now. He’d held her hand when she’d frozen up in fear during the orals, and now that he was the one who needed comfort, she was refusing to be there for him.

She knew that she couldn’t afford to make any more exceptions, but…

She dug the heels of her hand into her eyes and sighed in frustration. Sure, she could ignore a happy, cheery Barry, the Barry who sent her all those chipper voicemails, but can she really just ignore a sad, hurting Barry…?

The thought of him like that had her rising from her desk. Vaguely, she cursed herself for making that first exception last night, because now she’d set herself on the slippery slope of exception-making; but that sentiment wasn’t strong enough to stop her from heading out her door. She didn’t even think to message him to ask him where he was—it seemed her feet moved on their own accord, following the invisible trail that led to him. She knew, without knowing how she knew, where he was going to be.

. . .

She did find him there, at the Observatory.

It was sunset, like the last time they were here, and the soft light cast a warm glow on his skin. He was sitting on the ground, leaning back on his hands, silent and unmoving as a statue.

She watched him from a distance. She watched the wind tug at his hair, watched him turn his face to the dying sun and stare blankly at the smattering of stores, at the specks of people moving mutely below.

Minutes passed. Still, she remained behind a copse of trees, standing on a patch of flat ground in the midst of gnarled roots, too afraid to approach. She didn’t know what to say. She’d never been good with words, and she’d never been good at filling silences, and she didn’t know what to offer as solace. Should she begin with the bland reassurance, as most people did, that everything was going to be okay? Should she ask him how he was feeling? Should she make him laugh, offer him a hug…?

Lost as she was in her thoughts, she only dimly registered the crunch of leaves underfoot. Barry looked to his right, and, more out of instinct than curiosity, she mimicked his movement and turned to look.

At first, Caitlin couldn’t make out the person’s features, as her profile was cast against the light; but as she neared, she caught sight of a head of blond hair and a flash of straight, white teeth.

“Hey,” she said. “Thought you’d be here.”

“Patty, hey,” Barry said, and Caitlin’s world stilled.

Patty. Patty, the girl with the dimpled smile who went to all his meets, the one everyone believed he was with. How did Patty know that he’d be here? Had he brought her here, too? But how could he bring her here? Wasn’t the Observatory their place—?

Wait—why did she even think of the Observatory as theirs? In the first place, there was no ‘they’ to speak of; they weren’t even together! And wasn’t this place Barry’s safe haven? Since he was the one who’d discovered it, didn’t he have the right to share it with whomever he chose?

Caitlin took a deep breath, trying to stamp down the unfamiliar burn of jealousy in her chest.

“Can I sit here?” Patty said.

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Patty folded into a sitting position, the movement supple and fluid. “So, how’re you feeling?”

The question echoed numbly in Caitlin’s mind. It was the same question she’d thought of asking him when she’d first seen the headline, the question she would have asked him had she approached him first.

“Pretty bummed, I guess,” Barry said after a lengthy pause. He exhaled. “I knew I was going to quit anyway, but I didn’t know how badly I wanted to quit a winner… Does that make sense?”

Caitlin swallowed the rising bitterness in her throat. Does that make sense—he’d always asked her that whenever he shared something serious and personal about himself, and it had always seemed an intimate phrase to Caitlin: in that question he was allowing himself to be vulnerable, to lay bare his need to be wholly understood. It had never occurred to her that he also used it while speaking to other people.

While speaking to Patty.

She felt doubly betrayed—Patty also knew about this place, and she was also privy to this more vulnerable side of him, as she was—but what, exactly, had been betrayed? Why was she the one who felt betrayed, when she’d cut him off first?

Patty nodded and touched his shoulder. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Her eyes lingered on that touch. Another small intimacy.

Her fingers curled and scraped the bark of the tree, and she had the sudden, violent urge to tear it apart—and then she caught herself in horror. What was jealousy turning her into? She did not recognize herself in these feelings, these thoughts; jealousy was making her illogical, melodramatic, and it was extremely unlike her.

She closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down, and when she did she continued to watch them. She knew she shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this conversation—the second time it was happening, it seemed—but she found herself unable to leave. She just… had to know. She had to know what everyone else saw in them. She would leave, of course, when things became too private, and while she didn’t want to imagine how private things could get, a part of her also wanted to see whatever intimacy might unfold between them. It would hurt, of course, but at least the hurt would be allayed by the grim triumph of knowing that if he had such intimate moments with Patty, then he didn’t really like her, which rendered her decision to cut him off all the more justified.

“But you know,” Patty was saying, “I don’t think people will remember you as the guy who broke CCU’s winning streak. They’ll remember you for putting CCU on the map.”

He scoffed, but Patty insisted, “No, really. We’ve never been known for sports, but since you joined the track team, everyone’s suddenly crazy about track. School spirit’s the strongest during your meets. That’s really something to be proud of, you know?”

“…I guess.”

“Hey, cheer up,” she said, bumping shoulders with him. “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but the whole block’s waiting for you at Jitters. We’re throwing you a party, and it’d be nice if you could show up, being the guest of honor and all.”

“I don’t know,” he said, reluctant. “I’m not really hungry.”

“No way. Is that really you, Mr. ‘I Never Say No to Food’ Allen?”

He cracked a smile, and she continued, “Come on. You can have a whole tray of lasagna to yourself.”

He was grinning now. “Are you bribing me to attend my own party, Spivot?”

“Bribing? Who said we were paying for your lasagna?”

He laughed, and Patty smiled and stood, mockingly offering him a hand after she did.

Caitlin felt faint. She couldn’t bear to watch this. It had been a mistake to assume that she would only be hurt by a dramatic show of intimacy, because watching them during those few ordinary moments hurt like hell, too. They just made so much sense together—they had the same sunny good-naturedness, and they carried themselves with the same ease around people. She could never be like that. She couldn’t have comforted him the way Patty had, and it would never have occurred to her that, for someone who loved people as much as he did, he would have been cheered by a party, by being with good friends…

She whirled around, hurt and confused and keen to leave; but she’d forgotten she was standing on the only patch of flat ground in the middle of thick, gnarled roots, so when her toe snagged under one, she tripped and fell with a barely contained yelp.

Barry and Patty fell silent.

“What was that?” Patty said.

“Don’t know,” Barry said. “Must’ve been the wind…”

Caitlin winced, hoping they wouldn’t see her. Great. Just great. Why did she have to be cursed with such terrible bodily coordination? And what was it with this bleeding tree root? Couldn’t it have at least allowed her to walk away with dignity? She knew it was wrong to take her frustration out on it, but she viciously tore it away from her foot anyway.

“No, really, I think there’s someone—”

Caitlin froze at how close their voices suddenly were. Shit, now she couldn’t move until they passed by. It was getting dark—she had that on her side, at least—and she just hoped to God that they wouldn’t look too closely between the trees.

“Nah,” Barry said, turning to face Patty, “no one else really knows about this pla—”

And then he froze, his gaze landing right on her.

Oh shit.

He quickly placed his hands on Patty’s shoulders, steering her so that her back was turned to Caitlin, and said, “Look, why don’t you go ahead to Jitters?”

“What? Why?” Patty said.

Caitlin quickly got to her feet—wincing slightly when she put weight on the foot that had caught in the root—and turned to the opposite direction. He’d already seen her, anyway, so it was best to get the hell out while he was still talking to Patty.

“…need a little more time alone before I face everyone…” he was saying, his voice growing faint. She moved as quietly as she could, like she did when she first made her way up, and she was thankful for the night breeze that rustled the leaves and disguised the sound of her footsteps.

She glanced back to assess her progress. She saw Patty heading down the more well-worn path, and Barry… heading right towards her.

She cursed inwardly, unable to believe her terrible luck. She had the urge to break into a run, but it was already dark and she didn’t want to trip again… And besides, if she broke into a run, he would, too, and he could catch up to her in no time.

Damn it. She was trapped.

“Cait,” he said, his voice a lot nearer now, “wait, don’t go—”

She exhaled and turned to face him. A maelstrom of emotions roiled inside her, more violently now that she’d come face to face with its cause; but she held them under tight rein, and she willed her face into a blank mask.

He slowed when she turned, looking windswept and bewildered. “It really is you,” he murmured. “What’re you doing here?”

For a brief moment, she considered telling a lie, but she knew how easily he would see through it; there was simply no other believable excuse for her being here. She had no choice, then, but to tell the truth, and an irrational resentment welled inside her at this choicelessness, one that flattened her tone and blunted her words.

“I saw the tweets,” she said. “I’m sorry you lost.”

“Oh,” he said. “Uh… thanks.”

“Look, I have to go—”

“What time did you get here?” he said. They had spoken at the same time, but he chose to ignore what she just said, looking determined to steer the conversation. “How long have you been standing there?”

Caitlin’s face burned with humiliation. So he’d realized that she was eavesdropping. Another lie waited on the tip of her tongue—Just now, actually—but she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not when he was looking at her like that. “Long enough,” she said. And then, before she could stop it: “I overheard some parts of your conversation. I’m sorry.”

She thought he would have been mad, or at the very least annoyed, but instead he softened and took a cautious step towards her.

“I never brought her here,” he said.

Her breath caught in her throat; the maelstrom inside her surged, strained from the leash of her composure. He wasn’t supposed to say that. He was supposed to be annoyed or angry; he was supposed to throw his hands up in frustration; he was supposed to give up and walk away. Those reactions she could deal with, could categorize. But this? This was leading her into unknown territory, and she was afraid that if she stepped into it, she would find no solid ground beneath.

He continued, “I did mention it to her, because she once asked what my favorite place in campus was, but I never—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, willing her voice to remain even. “You’re free to bring whomever you want.”

“I know,” he said softly. “That’s why I brought you.”

The leash snapped. A flood of emotions assaulted her—first relief and hope, so strong that she wanted to move towards him, touch him, hold him and be held by him; but, only moments later, panic overpowered that—panic that she was no longer in control of the situation, that she was no longer in control of even herself; panic that she was standing on the precipice, on the verge of hurtling into something she would later regret. She could not allow herself this, she could not allow any emotional excess; she should not feel, else she could not think.

“Look,” she told him, gathering the remaining threads of her frayed resolve, “it was a mistake for me to come—”

“No, Cait, don’t do that—don’t shut me out again.” He sidestepped just as she turned away, so that she came face-to-face with him again, but she stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. “Please, can we talk?”

“We just did.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And you already know what I have to say,” she gritted out. “I’ve already said everything that needs to be said.”

“Then,” he said, “why are you here?”

Her airways constricted. Even if he’d said it so gently, she felt like she’d been disarmed and trapped. Because that was the real question, wasn’t it? Why, after all her efforts to push him away, did she still seek him out? Why did the idea of him hurting sadden her? Why was she so compelled to cheer him up, to be there for him? She knew she’d had an answer to that, one that contained unthreatening truths, but she couldn’t summon it to mind now. Instead the answer that flashed into her mind—that flashed and then branded itself there, so searing that she couldn’t unthink it—was the truth she was too afraid to face, let alone say aloud.

So instead she lashed out.

“I don’t know, okay?” she snapped. “I. Don’t. Know. I feel like I’m always fumbling around in the dark when it comes to you—I don’t have answers ninety percent of the time, and the ten percent of answers I do have, I’m not completely convinced of. So, please. Don’t. Ask.”

His gaze softened, and he drew closer to her, but she remained rigid, her spine cast in steel. “Is that so bad?” he said. “Not having all the answers?”

“Of course it is,” she said vehemently. “Nothing is ever complicated for you, so of course you wouldn’t understand—”

“I wouldn’t understand?” he said, incredulous. “Cait, I don’t have all the answers either, but you don’t see me running away—”

“I’m not running away,” she said, hands balling into fists, “I’m solving the problem once and for all!”

“How?” he said, raking his hair in frustration. “By completely ignoring me?”

“Yes!” she seethed. “But you don’t seem to be taking the hint—”

“No, you’re right, that part I don’t understand,” he said, his voice rising, his features contorting in confusion and anguish. “Tell me, Cait, what exactly does that solve?”

She opened her mouth, but suddenly all words fled her, withered under the fire in his eyes.

“Well? Enlighten me,” he said, the word twisting his mouth in bitter irony, and it was such an unfamiliar expression on him that her gut wrenched in horror. Had she really been the one to put that expression on his face? She thought she’d be able to handle his anger, but it seemed that it only weighed her down with the guilt of being its cause. But couldn’t dwell on that now—not when she had to take control of the situation, not when she had a fight to win. “Maybe then we can be on the same page.”

“I’d be wasting my breath,” she said tightly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “Then make me,” he said, his voice strained. “Make me understand your problem, Cait! I’m not a mind-reader!”

“My problem?” she bristled at the accusation in his tone; the blood rushed to her face, and the confusion, jealousy, and barely-leashed longing that she’d bottled and sealed finally burst and boiled over. “My problem is you! My problem is that you came along and threw my entire life off-course!” All rationality had fled her now, and she was running on the adrenaline of her anger. “Like I said, you wouldn’t understand. You’ve had crushes and girlfriends since middle school. I haven’t. It’s just not who I am. And I was perfectly fine with that.” Barry looked as if he were about to interject, but she couldn’t stop talking; the words rushed out of her in a raging torrent. “Actually, I was grateful for it, because it meant my work would never suffer from the unnecessary angst of romantic entanglements. My life was uncomplicated. All my efforts revolved around school and internships and scholarship programs, anything that could bring me closer to becoming a bioengineer. And for the most part, I was in control of everything in that world.”

She took a shaky breath. “But then you come along,” she accused with renewed vehemence, “and suddenly I’m not in control of anything. Everything’s incomprehensible. Every time you talk to me, it’s like you’re speaking in code. Every time a conundrum is solved, ten new ones appear.” The words burned like acid on her tongue. “My own feelings are incomprehensible to me. I’ve always been able to analyze them to death, but this time, the more I analyze, the more confused I get, and the stronger they become.”

His lips parted in surprise. “What do you—”

“So, Barry, tell me,” she said bitterly, her throat closing. “Tell me, how is it possible that in a span of two weeks, I’ve gone from being single-mindedly focused on building a career in bioengineering, to thinking of you every single moment of the day? How is it possible that I’ve gone from not being attracted to anyone, to liking you so much that I feel I’m going out of my mind?”

He stared at her, stunned.

The instant that last sentence fell from her lips, the invigorating haze of her anger cleared and left in its wake a cold dread that coiled in her stomach. Fuck, what did she just say? And why the hell did she have to go out and say it? She felt like she had just torn down her own defenses, and now she was standing in front of him, stripped of all her armor. Fuck, she hated this. She hated feeling so vulnerable.

“You like me,” he said in disbelief. And then, his lips stretched into a slow smile. “You like me.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed, wanting nothing more than to find a hole in the ground to bury her head in. If she could, she would have already raced back in time to take back everything she said, but instead she had to suffer the humiliating crush of the present. “That’s not the point—”

“No, Cait, I think that’s exactly the point,” he said. “Everything else is beside it.”

“You can’t call everything I’ve just said beside the point—”

“Okay, okay, you’re right, they’re not,” he quickly amended, holding both hands out in surrender to appease her. “What I meant was, can we start from this point?” He took a step closer, his eyes luminescent with hope. “Can we start from the fact that we both like each other and then figure out what happens from here?”

“I’ll tell you what happens from here,” she said through gritted teeth, trying to hold on to the last shreds of control that had so rapidly slipped from her hands. “We’ll go out on a few dates. You’ll find out that we’re not suited for each other. I’m too serious and uptight, and you’re too sunny and carefree. Everything that occurred over the past two weeks was exciting because of the novelty, but once the novelty wears off you’ll lose interest—”

“I’ll lose interest?” he said, drawing back in hurt. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“—and you’ll move on to someone else more suited to your personality.”

There was a beat of silence, and then comprehension dawned on his features.

“Like Patty, you mean?” he said.

“I’m not implying—”

His tone turned teasing. “Is that jealousy I’m hearing, Caitlin?”

She glared at him. “I’m just making a realistic assessment of the situation,” she said.

“Well, let me give you my realistic assessment of the situation,” he said. He was looking at her now with such tenderness that the steel in her spine had begun to melt; and before she could move away, he took her hands in his, just like he had during the orals; and he ran his fingers over hers, his touch warm and light and reassuring.

That was it, she was a goner. The last drop of resistance drained from her body. Deep down she knew that she had already lost—and she knew, even deeper down, that just maybe, she was glad to lose.

He slowly threaded his fingers through hers, his eyes trained on her, bright in the moonlight. “You have nothing to be jealous about,” he said, bringing up her hand and pressing a quick kiss onto her knuckles. The gesture struck her as so sweet and innocent that, even if she still had half her mind about her, she didn’t protest or pull away. He tugged on their joined hands to pull her even closer, and again she let him. She would never admit it to him—she would hardly even admit it to herself—but she was relieved to be so close to him again, after trying so hard to push him away.

His lips now ghosted the shell of her ear. “No one,” he said, with quiet resolution, “comes close to you.” He leaned his forehead against hers, and he was gazing at her through half-lidded eyes; his breath was warm on her skin, and it seemed that her world had narrowed to just him, in this moment, in the moonlit forest. “Look, I don’t have all the answers either,” he said softly. “Two weeks is a crazy-short amount time, but I’m already so in love with you I can barely breathe. I can’t explain it; all I know is that it is.”

A blush crept up her face. Her eyes fluttered close, and she swallowed, unable to speak; an unfamiliar happiness thrummed through her body, about to burst from her skin. She had never been schmaltzy or sentimental, but right now, she supposed she could make this exception for him.

“We don’t have to think about what’ll happen to us in a few months, or even after a few dates,” he said. “We can take it one day at a time, one moment at a time. At whatever pace you’d like.”

A few dates… She bit her lip, feeling her old apprehension return. There was a reason she avoided him so assiduously, and she’d disguised that reason in so many other layers of peripheral truths that she’d almost lost sight of it; but now that he’d brought it up, it emerged from the debris of her logic, demanding to be noticed.

Caitlin took a deep breath. If anything was to happen between them, she had to tell him this.

“I think—”

“Oh, that can’t be good,” he teased.

She wrinkled her nose at him and continued slowly, “I think I need some time alone to let this all sink in. No, wait, let me finish.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze to ease his alarm. “Barry, I’m terrified. That was the problem—I’m completely terrified of this. Of going out with you and being with you.” She swallowed. “I was avoiding you because I like you enough to know you could hurt me, and I don’t want to get hurt. I figured that if I cut you off first, you wouldn’t be able to hurt me.”

His expression mellowed. “I wish I could say something like ‘I’ll never hurt you,’” he said, “but that’d be a lie. I think the more you let someone in, the more power you give them to hurt you. So I get what you’re saying.” His grip on her hand tightened. “But I think it’ll all be worth it in the end.”

“You don’t know that,” she said.

“But we never know anything for sure, anyway,” he said. “Even the most thoroughly researched predictions turn out wrong, and even the most improbable events come to happen, against all odds.” He flashed her a boyish smile. “As for me, I’m willing to take a chance on this”—he gestured between them—“improbable event.”

She shook her head and huffed a laugh. “For once, I don’t think I can argue with that logic.” He beamed, but she continued, “But I still need to let this all sink in. I just came to terms with everything, and it’s still extremely confusing…”

“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay. I understand. But promise me you won’t shut me out again,” he pleaded. “I don’t think I can bear any more of that. And besides, I’m running out of ideas for voicemails…”

She smiled, amused. “Alright,” she said. “I promise I won’t.”

“So… when’ll you talk to me again?” he grinned.

She pursed her lips. “Maybe after a week?”

“A week?!” he said, and then he cleared his throat and amended, “I mean, alright, sure, a week. I think I can do a week.”

She rolled her eyes fondly. “Thank you,” she said, and, on impulse, she tilted her head to press a kiss on his jaw.

He looked surprised, but he recovered quickly with a mischievous smile. “Can I have more of those to get me through the week?” he said. “Like, one for each day—”

“Don’t push your luck,” she said, and he laughed.

“I’m kidding,” he said. “Really, take your time. Just, you know, not too much time. Okay, to be honest, I can’t wait for next week to come…”

“You really have no patience, do you?”

“Absolutely none,” he chirped. “But when it comes to you, I guess I have a little bit more than my baseline patience.”

“How romantic,” she said dryly, and he grinned.

“Now that I have a ton of,” he said.

“Well, I don’t have a romantic bone in my body,” she said, with a teasing smile, “but when it comes to you, I guess I have a bit more than a scaphoid to spare.”

He laughed. “I’ll take it,” he said, brushing his lips on the inside of her wrist, right where her scaphoid was. When he looked up at her again, his eyes were shining with mirth. “We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

“Yes we are,” she said quietly. “We definitely are.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, surrounded by the soft rustling of leaves, the glow of streetlamps along the well-worn path, and the smell of the earth.

After a few moments, Caitlin ventured to speak.

“By the way, how’re you feeling?” she asked. “After that meet…”

“Oh… I’m still upset about it,” he said. “But it was partly my fault—Hunter was a new contender so I might’ve underestimated him—but you win some, you lose some, I guess.” He pulled away briefly to give her a pout. “I’m really hurt you didn’t come, though.”

“You’ll get over it,” she said dryly.

“The least you could do is kiss the hurt better,” he said, and she swatted his arm. “Ow, ow—fine, fine, I’ll stop soliciting kisses… But can I at least have a hug?”

He grinned, and she sighed.

“Fine. One second.”

“…Are you seriously giving me a hug time limit?”

“No such thing as free lunch, as they say.”

“But hugs are supposed to be free!”

“Not in my currency,” she returned.

“Well, how about two seconds?” he wheedled, giving her the smile that she couldn’t resist. “I mean, I was second place and all…”

She pretended to consider it. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Yesss!” he cheered, disentangling his hands from hers to spread his arms open for the hug, but she pushed him back lightly at the shoulders.

“Wait, don’t you have a party to go to?”

“A par—oh, that. That can wait,” he said. “Not fair. You’re doing that on purpose.”

She tilted her head to the side innocently. “Doing what on purpose?”

“Cait, seriously, this is the worst time to make me wait,” he said, petulant. “I would really like to avail of my hug now, please.”

She smiled. Oh, she missed him. She really missed him. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he quickly pulled her flush against him, his arms strong around her waist. He let out a contented sigh and buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she closed her eyes and melted into his embrace.

They stayed like that for far longer than two seconds, but neither of them were counting.

#snowbarry #snowbarry fic #barry x caitlin #barry allen #caitlin snow #felicity smoak #harrison wells #patty spivot #wonderful you came by

41 notes · View notes