#I can’t think normal anymore every time I come back to this website there’s new worms that pop up in my head | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

byunbaekby · 4 years ago

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title — the things i know pairing — soccerplayer!jisung x female reader genres — angst, fluff, high school au, strangers to lovers au, first love au, long distance relationship, hurt and comfort, coming of age overall warnings — underage drinking, cancer, character death, language, mentions of hickeys, fainting, mentions and descriptions of hospitals, soccer inaccuracies, lots of angst (you’ve been warned!) word count — 14.8k summary — jisung has never been keen on growing up, or even understanding what adulting means. at seventeen, all he knows is: he loves soccer (and he’s damn gifted at it), and girls are very pretty but also plenty scary. then he met you, his first love who turned his life upside down and made his stomach roll like the soccer balls he loved to kick around the field. but when your cancer comes back after years in remission, jisung thinks, he doesn’t really want to grow up anymore. playlist — falling, harry styles ; your guardian angel, red jumpsuit apparatus ; my first and last, nct dream ; bye my first, nct dream ; orchid, jeremy zucker

additional — for the heartbreak hotel collab hosted by @nct-writers. my concept in the five stages of grief was “acceptance and hope.” thank you to my babes @suh-insane and @astroboy-lele for proof-reading!

The thing about knowledge is that you never know when or what you’re going to learn. There’s no way for you to predict what will be of your mind when you fall into bed that night, surrendering to the moon. In the morning, there’s no telling what knowledge your brain will choose to store away for remembrance over the course of the night, and what your brain will decide is unnecessary. What you decide not to remember is a memory you can’t even miss.

When you wake up every morning, you don’t know if you’ll go to bed having met someone who will change your life forever.

At seventeen, there are two things that Park Jisung knows. One, he loves playing soccer (and he’s damn good at it, the way his long legs carry him across the field in what seems to onlookers like seconds). Two, girls are very pretty but plenty scary as well.

The day starts out normally, like any other away game that the team plays.

He wakes up at six o’clock on the dot, and eats a large breakfast to hold him over for the game, then packs a few granola bars into his soccer bag and lets his sister know he’s leaving before he jogs the way to the park where the bus is waiting for his team. The ride is normally an hour long, so he either tucks his earbuds into his ears and tries to get in a short nap or he converses with his teammates.

Today though, the bus ride is three hours long. Crossing his hoodie-clad arms across his chest to act against the cold air of the bus, he focuses his gaze outside and watches as the town goes by.

“Yo, Jisung, check this out!”

At the sound of his name he turns his head, blinking when he sees a number of his teammates in the surrounding area nudging him closer. A few of them are leaning in towards a particular teammate, who displays a proud expression. “What’s up,” asks Jisung as he too leans forward toward his team member, curiosity slightly piqued.

Jaemin, the teammate in question, tugs the collar of his jersey down to reveal his skin. On the milky white curve of Jaemin’s collarbone, he sports a dark purple bruise, surrounded by a perimeter of yellow where the skin seems to be healing. There’s no question as to where that mark came from, and it definitely wasn’t from soccer.

“Ew, man, that looks sick!” comes from Donghyuck, along with a few comments from others, either approving or disturbed.

“Where’d that come from?”

Renjun slaps Mark on the chest, eyebrows furrowed at him. “Obviously, it was from Anne! Didn’t you see the way they were all over each other at last week’s game?” Jaemin grins, eyes going lovesick at the thought of his girlfriend.

Jisung’s expression contorts into one of disgust. “That’s disgusting, man,” he comments, nose still scrunched in distaste as he leans back into his original spot on the bus seat. Another thing he’ll never understand is why people are so desperate to grow up, as if giving hickeys and sneaking vodka into their Hydro flasks makes them somehow more adult.

He slips his earbuds into his ears, playing some light muzak to lull him to sleep with his head leaned rather uncomfortably against the cold window.

Jisung doesn’t think that he’s exceptionally smart; he’s gotten passing to above average grades his entire life. He’s not musically talented, nor is he particularly a smooth talker.

But hearing people call him gifted is a feeling he relishes every time.

With his long legs and strangely large and spacious lungs, soccer called the boy’s name from the time he could run. He dominated the peewee league, then the club teams until this point, at the ripe age of seventeen waiting to be scouted for college teams.

He wasn’t usually one to brag but today, he had shot the winning goal.

Everyone has their thing, the one thing that they excel at. For Picasso it was painting, for Yiruma it was piano, for Renjun it’s spending four hours every night researching alien conspiracy theories. For Jisung, it’s soccer. But he’s never been exceptionally good at speaking to people.

“What’s your name?” He hears a voice, cheery and upbeat, behind him as he’s grabbing his bag on the side of the field. The game is over, and the crowd begins to dissipate while the team members are gathering their things to return to the bus. Turning over his shoulder he sees you, wearing a bright smile. Cautiously he responds, “Jisung Park.”

“Oh, so you’re Korean then. I’m gonna write that down, okay? How long have you been playing soccer?” You ask next, and now Jisung’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“Write what down?” He asks, trying to keep his tone as polite as possible. Even so, how is he supposed to react to a random person at a game suddenly appearing to ask him questions? As he wipes his forehead with his towel he adds, “Who even are you?”

Quickly you say, “I write in the high school newspaper, and wanted to get a close-up of today’s star.” It’s then that Jisung realizes the camera slung around your neck and the notepad in your hands.

“Why are you writing about me? I don’t even go here.”

“Because,” you say, a slight sigh creeping into your voice now. “Our team sucked today. You straight up stole the show, and no one wants to read about a team that lost. I’d rather give them a peek at the star.”

“14!” His coach yells his number once, causing Jisung to look over his shoulder to the source of the voice, where his teammates are already beginning to pile onto the bus. The boy in question slings his bag over his shoulder and tucks his soccer ball under his right arm before finally getting a good look at you. “Shouldn’t you be writing something to raise your team’s spirit or something? Giving them support, maybe?”

You shrug. “I don’t like underdogs. Don’t like writing about them. I’d rather read about the heroes. So how long have you been playing soccer again?”

“Jisung!” Now it’s Chenle calling after him, and he really needs to go. Eyes flickering to the street where his teammates are gesturing for him to hurry, he looks back to you. Your eyebrow is raised expectantly, right hip popped out as you wait. Before he starts to run off, he manages a small, “I’ve been playing eleven years. Um… bye.”

Then he turns away and his long legs carry him to the bus a few meters away. Even so, behind him he can hear your loud, proud voice yelling after him with the name of your high school: “Check the online newspaper! You’ll see my article!”

What a weirdo, he can’t help but think as the team cheers for their star player getting on the bus back home.

A week later, it’s another Saturday night following a victorious win against another team in the local area when Jisung gets a call from Chenle. “What’s up,” he asks immediately, leaning back in his desk chair to throw his soccer ball up in the air and catch it with one hand.

“Wanna party tonight? Celebrate our win a bit?”

“Where?” asks Jisung. He’d never been big on parties. For one, his long legs that were great for running weren’t exactly skilled in dancing or anything of the like. Secondly, he’d definitely be expected to talk to girls and he’s not really in the mood to make a fool of himself.

“Taeyong’s house. Me, Mark, Hyuck, and Jaemin are going. Renjun’s busy, and Jeno wants to spend time with his cat. What do you say? Wanna join?”

Jisung sighs. He was honestly just exhausted. “Think I’ll pass. My sister’s been getting on me about my bio grade.”

Chenle groans on the other line. “Lame.”

“Next time, promise,” says Jisung.

“Fine. Have fun studying, looooser!” This is the last thing Chenle says before hanging up, leaving his best friend alone to shake his head with a small laugh. Then he remembers something, some words that a stranger had yelled out to him a week before.

Sitting up at his desk, Jisung opens his laptop and types in the name of your high school, along with your town. A few clicks around the website finds him at the online news section, plus a scroll or two past some questionable articles, there it is: a picture of him mid-kick, the winning one if he remembers well enough. His nose is scrunched in concentration and strands of dark hair cling to his forehead.

Soccer Superstar from the opposing team steals the show and the win!

A small scoff leaves Jisung’s lips, trying to humble himself as he reads over the first few paragraphs.

Our school’s boys soccer team faced a devastating loss on Saturday in the face of the opposing team’s ace player (pictured above). The game ended promptly when the superstar player confidently kicked in the final shot, though the result had been clear from the first half of the game.

A short interview with the hotshot player revealed that he has been playing soccer for eleven years! A senior from Neo Culture Prep, it is clear as day that the school is very lucky to have such a prodigy on the team.

Who is this superstar player, you ask?

His name is Jisung Park.

Geez, Jisung thinks. He knew he was good but not that good. The article did a good job of spicing him up, making him look like he was a lot better than he really was. There’s too much fluff; sure, he’s skilled and he knows it, but—he touches his cheeks. They’re warm—the article makes him sound like a soccer god, and it’s beyond embarrassing. Who even are you?

A scroll to the bottom of the page tells him all he needs to know.

Article written by: (Name) (Last Name).

He doesn’t return to your town for almost two months. There’s a tournament today, the hours lurching between games giving him more than enough time to psych himself out about how he’ll play.

It’s noon, the sun shining overhead causing a sheet of sweat to amass on Jisung’s forehead. His team has just won their second match of the day, and in waiting for their next game, his eyes are scanning the bleachers set up for observers on the side of the field. It’s not hard to find you, same camera hanging around your neck.

With his long legs, he jogs over to you towel in hand. You’re not at all focused on him, eyes pressed into the camera’s viewfinder as you attempt to capture a good shot of the current game.

“I don’t like the stuff you said about me in your article.”

His deep voice suddenly intrudes your thoughts, and you jump in your place. As you turn to him and drop your camera from your face, he catches sight of the way your eyes widen at his appearance. A flood of recognition replaces the shock before you tilt your head. “Why? It was all good stuff.”

Patting at his forehead with his towel, Jisung responds, “Yeah, exactly. I’m not that good. I could’ve played better that day.” This brings a small snort from you. “Really! They were narrowing the angle on me, I should have flanked or lofted.”

“I have no idea what that means.”

“It’s—”

You cut him off before he can explain. “You’re good. Why are you so shy to accept that?”

“Why do you keep trying to paint me as the main character of the team? Everyone works hard together.” He questions, eyebrows furrowed.

“Because you are,” you respond matter-of-factly, focused enough to press your eye into the viewfinder again. A few seconds pass, and Jisung recognizes the click of the camera as you capture something on the field. “You’re clearly the best player on the team by a long shot. You’re the main character, the hero.”

At your response, Jisung shakes his head in disbelief and scrunches his nose. There’s really no getting through to you. “I’m more than the hero you think I am.”

You turn to him, facial features contorted into a mischievous expression. “I’m sure you are.” Jisung realizes then that you’re holding something out to him. Taking it, he observes it. A… business card? With your name and number on it. “(Name). Aspiring journalist.”

“You have a business card? Aren’t you like, seventeen?”

You shrug, smile tugging on your lips. “Never hurts to be prepared. Call me.” It’s the last thing you say before you flitter away on quick feet, leaving to interview the team which has just won their match. He watches you leave, wondering if you know what kind of effect you have on people.

“I don’t know, man. She seems kinda crazy,” says Hyuck from the seat next to him, leaning his head back. However, a sudden bump in the road causes the bus to jump, startling the boy a bit. Jisung had just shared his thoughts about asking you out with his friend, who immediately made a face and shook his head.

“Crazy?” Sure, you’re a bit forward and maybe slightly reckless, but he doesn’t think you’re… crazy. It’s been a few weeks since he last saw you and from the conversations you’ve shared over text and phone… he thinks he likes you. Like, really likes you. It’s goddamn terrifying.

“Yeah, we all saw her article,” Chenle speaks up from the seat behind him. “She’s obsessed with you.”

Jisung rolls her eyes. “It was one article. That doesn’t mean she’s obsessed.”

“I think you should do it. It’d be funny to get on camera in case you fail,” snorts Renjun.

Jaemin pipes in from in front of them. “But if you do ask her out, she lives three hours away. That’s a lot of distance.” He’s the only one in a relationship, so maybe he has the only opinion that Jisung trusts.

“Other people have done more distance.”

Now, it’s Jeno’s turn to pipe in. “But you’re not other people, you’re Jisung Park. You’ve never had a girlfriend.” Should he feel insulted? Chenle also adds, “Jeno’s right. You’re a senior! It’s your year, and you wanna spend it tied down to some girl who lives three hours away?”

But you’re not just some girl. Mark’s the only one who hasn’t spoken, and most of the time, he’s the most level headed. Jisung turns to him with a sincere expression and asks, “What do you think?”

Though he had been trying to stay quiet throughout the conversation, he stretches a bit in his seat before finally saying, “I think you should go for it.”

“I think you should too!” Jaemin says. “But I think you should be prepared for what it means.”

“Whatever you decide to do, we’ll hype you up.”

“I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?” Jisung asks. “If she rejects me, at least she’s three hours away, right?” There’s murmurs of agreement around the seven of them. He tries to sound relaxed, but the thought of asking a girl out for the first time causes his heart to thump loudly in his chest. Oh god… should he do it?

“So?” asks Hyuck after a few seconds of silence, and it’s then that Jisung realizes everyone’s looking at him. “Are you gonna do it?”

He gulps. “... No idea.”

A collective groan emerges from the group of boys. Hyuck, ever the genius, straightens his back with a glint in his eye. “How about this? If we win, you ask her out. You’ll be riding on a winning spree and it’ll give you confidence. If we lose then… there’s more girls back home.”

That… doesn’t sound like a bad idea. But oh god, he doesn’t know which option he wants.

For the first time, Jisung feels like his legs are knotting into each other, tumbling over his feet.

Soccer had always come easily to him, like breathing. But for some unknown reason, he’s totally off his game today. He knows the play, his strengths, and even the weaknesses of his opponents, but he trips over his feet.

No, that’s a lie. He definitely does know the source of his nervousness, and it lives in the form of a girl with a camera and a notepad sitting in the bottom corner bleacher. His breath is frantic as he zips back and forth across the field. The sounds of the game are ringing loud in his ear, and he can hardly even focus on the black and white ball being kicked around, let alone what the coach is screaming at them. They’re so close, one more goal should do it.

He knows what’s going to happen. Jisung Park had always been known for his ending kicks.

But what if he messes it up? What if he fumbles the kick or whiffs it?

Then again, does he even want to win? That’s a dumb quesiton—of course he does—but the question is: is he ready for what comes with the win? He really shouldn’t look, shouldn’t peek for just one look at you, but he does. You’re scribbling in your notepad, and he swears in that millisecond that you look so pretty.

Yeah, he wants it. He really wants it.

He’s ready, and—oh god, Sungchan is passing the ball to him. Suddenly Jisung is on high alert, winding up toward the goal. He captures Sungchan’s ball with ease, no longer tripping over himself as he makes his way to the end goal.

One kick, just nail this one kick.

He winds up, turning his body to the correct angle; he kicks it and…

Please go in, please go in, he’s begging.

The ball flies in straight past the goalkeeper, who jumps toward it but there’s no use. It all happens so quickly, and suddenly his team erupts into celebration when the referee blows his whistle. Still standing there, Jisung catches his breath and stares into the goal.

He won.

That means… He glances at you. You’re wearing a huge smile on your face, and without noticing it himself, Jisung has his own proud smile on his. His momentary peace is interrupted by his friends running toward him, nearly knocking him over in their celebration.

“Yeeahhh, Jisung Park, you’re the man!”

A few minutes later, Jisung tries to calm his nerves after thanking the opposing team for a good game. When he returns to the sidelines where his stuff is, he can barely get some water down his throat before Chenle is pushing a soccer ball into his hand. “Good luck, dude,” he says, and Jisung can feel the others’ eyes on him. Oh no, it’s time.

He steals a glance at you, and—Oh. You’re looking at him too. A bashful smile spreads over your lips and you turn away, focusing back to your conversation with your friend. His heart is beating so loud, but Jisung doesn’t think it’s because of the soccer game. Turning back to his friends, he groans, “I need a pep talk.”

“Okay, uh,” Mark attempts. “You got this, you know you’re the man. Um… if she rejects you, then it’s okay, there’s other fish in the sea!” A groan erupts through the group. “That’s not a pep talk, Mark!”

“Listen,” says Chenle suddenly, grabbing Jisung’s shoulders to stare at him. “She’s not gonna reject you. You’re Jisung freaking Park! The star of the team and my best friend! Go get ‘em, and don’t take no for an answer!” With this, he gives Jisung a small push in the girl’s direction.

“Actually, uh—I think no means no,” pipes in Jisung but everyone cuts him off with a collective, “JUST GO!”

Pink spreads across his cheeks as he slowly walks in your direction. At a good distance away, he places the coveted soccer ball down on the ground and winds himself up for a kick. Okay, he just shot the winning goal of the game. If he can do that, he can do this. Running forward the slightest, Jisung gives himself a silent pep talk as his foot taps the ball. It goes moving from its spot, flying through the air… and that’s when Jisung realizes his mistake. Instead of gently tapping against your ankle like he had planned, the ball flies straight in the air, knocking the side of your head rather harshly.

“Not that hard, genius!” Chenle chastises from behind him, and Jisung has to hold back the desire to actually groan in that moment. He immediately runs toward you, hands out in surprise. “Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so sorry,” he repeats, reaching out for you. You’re rubbing the spot on the side of your head where the ball had hit, and he wants to disappear right there.

He never should have done this.

Why was he born again?

“I’m so sorry,” he says again for the nth time, feeling shame and humiliation speed up his spine at the way you wince when you touch the side of your head. “Oh my god, go get me an ice pack,” he demands over his shoulder at his friends.

“No, no I’m okay,” you reassure everyone. Now all the eyes are on the two of you.

A few moments of silence pass as you eye the soccer ball which has rolled some distance away, crouching down to pick it up. Ball in hand, you scan the outside of it… and destroying all of Jisung’s hopes and expectations, you burst into laughter.

You laugh so hard, the boisterous sounds leaving your lips so vehemently that you have to cover your mouth with your hand. Jisung furrows his eyebrows. “I just kicked you in the head and you’re laughing?” Oh god, he must have done more damage than he thought. You don’t answer, the only sounds leaving you are giggles and guffaws. It’s only making him feel worse; geez, he wishes he wasn’t so tall so he could positively disappear right now.

You finally look up at him and meet his gaze, your own eyes crinkled in delight. Flipping the ball over in your hands, you present to him the ball. Written on one of the large white spots reads a firm, “Go out with me?” in black marker.

“This is why you kicked me in the head?” You ask, still chuckling the slightest. Bashfully, Jisung nods. You laugh again. Every time you do that, he feels like getting smaller and smaller. “Of course I’ll go out with you.”

Wait, really?

He says these words aloud, eyes wide at your ease. He hadn’t expected you to actually say yes! “Sure,” you respond with a smile. “Though I could’ve gone without the head injury.”

This brings a laugh from the both of you. He really had been worrying so much about nothing. His frame instantly relaxes, taking the ball back from you. “You sure you don’t need the ice pack?”

“No, I could definitely use an ice pack.”

The first date happens two weeks after that game, and it’s his first real date so he has no idea how to act. Everything goes fine—he takes you to the local arcade in your town, and though he’d deny it to the ends of the earth, you beat him in foosball.

“Ha!” You had screamed. “Superstar soccer player Jisung Park, and you can’t beat me in table soccer?” His cheeks had burned pink at the sound of your voice reverberating around the public arcade, but honestly the mirth in your eyes was worth it.

His cheeks are red but the air is cold on the walk home to your house. He had promised to have you home by nine, and it’s—he checks the time on his phone—8:45.

A look at you, holding the giant stuffed teddy bear that you had won (he hadn’t won it for you, because lord knows he’s horrible at skee-ball), and Jisung can see the air leaving your lips. “Hey, you cold?”

“Nah,” you shake your head, though you scoot closer to him on the sidewalk. His tongue laves over his bottom lip quickly, and he almost wants to hold your hand. But that wouldn’t do much to keep you warm.

He purses his lips, then immediately his hands are working at taking off his hoodie. That’s a cute thing, isn’t it? Boyfriends giving hoodies to their girlfriends? “Here, take this.”

When you take one look at the hoodie in his hands and roll your eyes, Jisung knows he’s in for it. “Seriously? You can’t fool me with some cheesy rom-com moves,” you laugh.

Ouch.

That hurt his pride. He was just trying to be nice, maybe a tad bit romantic, but you clearly weren’t having it. He should have known you would be so tsundere, and maybe he does.

He knows you act strong, like there is no way on the face of the earth that you would ever swoon for his lame attempts at flirting. But when you reach upward on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek before you step into your house, he knows you like it just as much as he does.

For the longest time, it’s been just him and his sister Naeun.

His parents passed away shortly after his birth, so they stayed under the custody of their aunt. When his sister became an adult, she became his legal guardian. Since then, it’s been the two of them against the world.

Though kids had sometimes made fun of him for not having a mom or a dad, Jisung never paid those kids much attention. Sure, he didn’t have a dad to teach him how to drive or a mom to attend his parent-teacher conferences, but he had his sister and she was all he’d never need. Naeun gave up everything for him: she didn’t go to college, she traded nights out with her friends to help him with her math homework, she worked two jobs so he could play soccer. She had worked so hard, perhaps sheltered Jisung so much that he had always lived a comfortable life.

It never occurs to him just how much she had struggled until the morning she asks him to get a job.

She sits across the dining table at breakfast, and over his cereal, Jisung notes how shaken and guilty she looks. There must be something on her mind, but that’s how his sister’s always been; she doesn’t like to worry him, and speaks up when she’s ready. When she finally tells him, he blinks, confused.

“I can’t pay the bills alone. Not with soccer getting more expensive, and the landlord raising the rent—that bastard,” she mumbles under her breath, surprising Jisung. She hardly cursed. “It’s… It’ll just be for a short time. I promise.” She has tears in her eyes. Jisung furrows his eyebrows; she must feel guiltier about this than he thought. Immediately he nods in understanding. “It’s fine, Noona. Don’t worry about it. I’ll, uh, go out looking this weekend.”

He takes another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, thinking that the conversation will end there. But it doesn’t, his sister’s quiet voice reaching his ears. “Promise me you’ll go to college, Sung. Promise me you’ll make it. Make it all worth it.”

And it’s in that moment, in the way that his sister’s voice is on the edge of breaking, that it occurs to him just how much his sister has sacrificed for him. How quickly she had to grow up, having become his parent at eighteen, just a few months away from how old he was now. And he was nowhere near as responsible as her.

He swears in that moment that he’ll uphold his promise. He’ll get a scholarship, he’ll help his sister out. He’ll pay back everything she’s given up for him.

Finally, today you’re in town.

It’s the first time you’ve come to visit him in his town, and he’s so excited to show you everything: his school, his favorite ice cream place on the corner of the street from his apartment building, and even the park he grew up kicking soccer balls at. Even after all these years, him and his friends still came here to practice their soccer technique.

Today, the two of you are sitting underneath a tree at said park, his head in your lap. You’re running your hands through his dark hair, and wow, he’d never admit that it feels so good.

There’s a small laugh heard from you as you comb through his locks. “You should dye your hair.”

“Suddenly?” He asks. “I don’t even know what color I’d dye it.”

“You should do like, a blue or something. Oh, purple! Purple would be nice!” Your excitement causes him to roll his eyes promptly, sitting up. “I’ll dye my hair purple if you dye your hair purple,” he retorts to you.

“Maybe I will,” you say, standing onto your feet now that he’s gotten off of you. Wiping the grass from your legs briefly, you nod toward his soccer ball a few feet away. “C’mon, let’s play.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You wanna play soccer.”

“Yeah, is that so surprising?”

“Um, yeah, a little bit considering the fact that you said it’s boring and that you complain having to get up to go to the fridge at two in the morning,” quips Jisung with a laugh. You only roll your eyes in response. “I never said soccer was boring, I just said it’s only interesting when you play. And you’re gonna teach me right now, so stand up,” you say, extending a hand to him.

He takes your hand, rising to his feet before picking up the ball. “Fine,” he relents, a smirk making its way onto his face. “Try to keep up.”

For fifteen minutes, the two of you race up and down the park’s open grass field, chasing the ball in every direction. He evades you, long legs carrying him and the ball while you chase after him.

“Wait,” you say mid-sprint, slowing to a stop. Your chest is heaving, and slowly Jisung stops his running also. “You good?” He asks from a few feet away.

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, reaching a hand up to wipe at your forehead. “Just… gimme a sec.” A minute passes of you catching your breath, but Jisung doesn’t pay it much attention—a person who didn’t play soccer and have trained lungs like him would struggle.

“Okay, okay,” you finally say, shaking your head a bit. “Let’s go again.”

“Are you sure?” He asks, worry seeping into his tone.

“Yeah, yes! Just—just go.”

So he does, beginning to kick the ball down field as he chases after it, stopping past center field to pass the ball to you. You’re racing after him, and though the ball is coming your way, you trip over it, falling straight onto the floor.

Your head hangs low, and he immediately rushes over to you.

“Hey, hey! You okay?” He asks, kneeling down but your eyes are closed. He swipes a hand over your forehead, and it’s that moment when he realizes your eyes are closed. Did you pass out? Had he pushed you too far? “(Name)?”

No response. Oh god, what is he supposed to do?

Is he supposed to check if you’re breathing? Where can he check for a pulse again? In his moment of inadequacy, he pulls out his phone and calls his sister.

She’ll know what to do, but it pains him that he doesn’t.

His sister arrives quickly, and immediately takes you to the hospital. According to her, you do have a pulse and you probably just had heat exhaustion. He sure hopes so…

For a few hours he sits in the waiting room as he awaits the arrival of your parents. They rushed over from your town, four hours away, and this definitely was not the impression he wanted to have on them. Head in his hands, he can’t help but worry about you.

You do wake up, eventually but he can’t see you until your parents arrive.

They take you back home. You’re walking and talking again, but as you shoot him a weak smile from over your shoulder, walking down the hall and out of the hospital, Jisung can’t help but feel that something has gone terribly wrong.

He swears he’s never been so tired.

Working at McDonald’s isn’t horrible, per se, it’s just different. But it definitely takes more out of him than soccer ever did. The second he walks into his room Jisung drops his backpack on the bean bag next to the door and almost collapses on his bed. Throwing his work cap on the floor, he runs a hand through his hair and pulls out his phone.

The best thing about coming home from work, is coming home to you.

He immediately fishes for his phone from his pocket and opens it to speed dial. Pressing on your contact, Jisung presses the phone to his ear and waits for his girlfriend’s voice on the other end. The line picks up.

“Hey,” he says, a smile spreading over his lips without him even knowing.

“Hi…”

Something’s wrong. Your voice is missing its signature excitement, the snarkiness he had grown accustomed to. He sits up in bed, eyebrows furrowed. “Is everything okay?”

Yes, you’re supposed to say. Everything’s fine. Everything’s just peachy.

But you don’t. “I got a call from the hospital.”

After you had fainted the other day playing soccer with him, the hospital had run a few tests to make sure you were okay. He knew this, you both did. They were supposed to say that you had been dehydrated, that you hadn’t eaten in a few hours. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, Jisung…”

“What, what is it?”

There’s a momentary silence on the other side, then a shaky breath. “When I was ten… I got really sick. I was always having nosebleeds, always tired—some days I didn’t even want to get out of bed. They took me to the doctor and they told me that… I had leukemia.”

Jisung releases a heavy breath, staring into his sheets. No… don’t say it.

“I fought it for two years, and I beat it. God, it was… it was really hard, and I got through it. It’s been five years now but—but the hospital called and…” Please, no. “My cancer came back.”

Jisung’s never felt this way before; like all the air in his lungs have been pulled from his chest, lost to the universe. Not even when he sprinted across the soccer field, not even when he had gotten punched in the chest. All those times, his chest burned with fire, be it anger or passion. But now… his chest feels empty and hollow and numb. He manages to spit out a few words.

It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re supposed to be okay, you’re supposed to go to prom together. Graduate. He’s supposed to get a soccer scholarship, you’re supposed to study journalism at the same school, and the long distance would cease to exist. You were supposed to be happy. “But it’s gonna be okay, right? You’ve fought it before, you can do it again.” Perhaps it was a bit selfish of him to ask for consolation when you were the one with the illness. But you were a journalist, never a liar. Your voice is weak, like you’ve already given up.

“I don’t know.”

“What’s up with you?” Chenle’s voice is almost worried, but Jisung wouldn’t be able to tell because his eyes are focused on the ground. He’s been kicking a soccer ball around with Chenle and Mark for a while now, but there’s clearly something very off about the teenager today.

“Yeah, is something wrong?” Mark asks.

Jisung blows some air into his cheeks. Should he tell them? It’s your private information but technically, you’re his girlfriend right? The news has been troubling him for a few days now, and he’s had no one to talk to. Surely, he can’t talk to his sister about it.

He should just spit it out. “(Name) has cancer.”

It’s like the world stops, his friends taking in his words. “W-What? What did you just say?” Chenle speaks first, then Mark quickly follows. “Did you say (Name) has cancer?”

Keeping his gaze on the ground, Jisung nods and gives the ball a small kick in Mark’s direction. “Yeah. She had leukemia when she was younger, and… the other day she went to the hospital and they said that it came back. Her cancer came back.” When he looks up, both his friends are looking at him with genuine concern etched across their faces.

“Seriously? Cancer? And you’re still dating her?” Mark asks, causing Jisung to raise an eyebrow in confusion. Did he just insinuate what he thinks he did?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Chenle speaks up next, trying to defuse the sudden tension. “Jisung, you guys have only been dating like, a couple months. It was just like yesterday that you kicked her in the head asking her out!”

“And?” Jisung asks pointedly. Suddenly he’s in front of Chenle, and though he technically towers over the latter in height, Chenle’s chest is straight as he makes his point.

“Is it really worth it to stay on a sinking ship?”

Jisung’s voice reaches a new level of low, erupting from a place deep inside of him that he’s hidden away. It’s a place of rage, of anger sizzling and bubbling in his stomach. Suddenly they’re both chest to chest, unwilling to back down. “Now, I know you’re not talking about my girlfriend.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Mark interrupts, hands coming between them to tear the two boys apart. “Calm down. Both of you.”

“He started it,” accuses Jisung quickly, dark eyebrows furrowed in frustration. “My girlfriend is not a sinking ship. Neither is my relationship, and I don’t need you to comment on it.” He looks to Mark for guidance. Mark had always been the most logical one, the one he would look to for help, and though he thinks that Mark will agree with him, he almost looks guilty.

“But it’s true, Jisung. We’re worried about you. She’s just a girl. Is she really worth hurting yourself over?” He had trusted Mark to be on his side, but now Jisung just releases a scoff. He had been hoping for his friends’ support, but it seems like he’ll be going through this alone, then.

You’ve been avoiding him.

Of course, there’s not much that can be done to avoid him when you live hours away from each other. But you haven’t been responding to his texts, and when you do, they’re mostly short and taut. You’ve been cutting your phone calls short, often saying that you’re tired. Maybe you really are, but it hurts hearing the line cut off, not knowing how you’re really feeling.

Jisung can’t help but feel like he’s failing. He should be doing better.

It’s like your relationship is an hourglass, running out of time with every day that he spends going to school, work, or soccer practice. Like you’re getting further and further away with each short text message.

His entire life has been spent running. Speeding forward center field like a lightning bolt, long legs carrying him far ahead everyone else. But for the first time, Jisung feels like he’s falling behind.

It only takes a three hour bus ride (four, with the added stops) but in Jisung’s mind, it’s all worth it. It won’t be the first time he’s gone over to your house, but it is indeed the first he’s ever showed up unannounced, which is a strange appearance given that he lives three hours away. But with everything happening, he’s willing to give up the day and six hours worth of travel for you.

Sitting on the bus, he pulls out his phone. It’s early, like nine in the morning, but he knows you have a doctor’s appointment in a few hours so you’re definitely awake. He presses the facetime button, but you quickly reject his call. His eyebrows furrow, but lighten with an incoming text from you.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : jisung, i’m using the bathroom rn. call you back in a bit.

He nearly rolls his eyes, but it’s a sweet one. You’re always so candid.

[ message to : (Name) ♡ ] : you act like you’ve never facetimed me on the toilet before.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : wow, call me out more why don’t you

[ message to : (Name) ♡ ] : pick up my call, brat ♡

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : no, You pick up My call :p

Seconds later, his phone is lit up with an incoming facetime screen. A laugh almost leaves him at your tenacity before accepting the call.

The call opens up to the visual of his girlfriend, you in your PJs fixing the phone up against the mirror in the bathroom. He sees himself reflected in the mini screen, hoodie on and earbuds in wearing a boyish grin. “Hey pretty girl. Make sure you wash your hands.”

You roll your eyes at his remarks. “Hey ugly boy. I’m already doing that. What are you doing?”

“Just making sure, because I don’t think you brushed your teeth after you fell asleep on call the other night,” he teases, clicking his tongue as you’re the only person he can tease so easily. “I’m on the bus to practice.” A lie, but a white one at that. “What are you up to?”

You wack your still dry toothbrush in front of the camera, nose scrunching up in the slightest. It’s a habit of his that you’ve picked up. “I’m also doing that right now.” You wet the brush, putting some toothpaste on it. “I thought you didn’t have practice this Friday? Or was that next Friday?”

Your actions bring a low laugh to his lips, and his eyes momentarily focus on the passing landscape outside the bus window as he’s now three hours out of his normal perimeter. “Uh, Coach wanted to add in a practice today. Don’t you have a doctor’s appointment today?”

You nod at his answer, toothbrush in mouth. “I do, I think it’s like, in a hour or something.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies simply as the bus comes to a stop, your house only a short walk away. He stands, gathering his bag. “Gotta go, but I’ll talk to you in a bit, pumpkin honeysuckle,” he snorts, making his way to the front of the bus.

Your brows furrow as you give him a disapproving look through the screen, shaking your head slightly before moving to rinse your mouth. “Talk to you soon, don’t get hurt at practice or I’ll fight you.”

He scoffs as he steps out of the bus, into your neighborhood. “Like you could take me. Later.” You probably could, given your determination, but he gives you a nose scrunch before ending the call. He’s only taken a few steps when his phone rings with a text message.

[ message from : (Name) ♡ ] : you and i both know i could take you :)

A snort leaves him. Classic (Name).

When he arrives a few minutes later, he hesitates at the door, only praying that the person who opens up is you, not your parents or god forbid, your brother. It only takes a few hard knocks before he hears your voice on the other side, determined to see just who the hell had the nerve to interrupt your laziness this early in the morning. “Who the fu—”

He tsk’s in distaste. He shouldn’t have been surprised that the first words to leave his girlfriend’s mouth are cuss words. “You potty mouth. I thought you’d be happy to see me,” he says, opening his arms.

Jisung’s not quite sure what he expected. For you to jump in his arms? What a delusional boy. You blink for a few seconds, then suddenly you’re throwing yourself at him, fist first to land a deserved punch to his arm. “I thought you had practice? What are you doing here and why do you look so much cuter than when I last saw you?”

“Well, I lied,” he snickers, patting your head. “I’m here to annoy you, obviously. But you look too. For a—” A person dying of cancer, but he can’t say it. He won’t. “—person who barely got up twenty minutes ago.”

Your hand immediately begins rubbing the spot that your fist landed, worried that it might actually bruise in a bit. Jisung asks, “So are you gonna invite me in, or?”

“What are you, a vampire or something? I’m pretty sure you weren’t given permission when you entered my heart so just come in and cuddle me before my appointment.”

Your response catches him off guard so he blinks before entering in silently, sticking his hands back into the loose fitting pocket of his hoodie. Even after six months, he’s still not used to you saying those kinds of things. Hell, he still gets sweaty holding your hand.

“Hey Mom! Dad!” You’re grabbing onto his arm, tugging him into the kitchen. “Jisung’s here!”

After a small breakfast and conversation with your parents, he’s given the permission to go with you to your doctor’s appointment. The two of you take the bus, hands interlaced as you sit, and Jisung smiles awkwardly when an elderly woman compliments the two of you, calling you a cute couple.

He’s never really been in a hospital before.

For an arduous soccer player, he’s lucky enough to never have suffered a pain great enough to warrant a visit to the hospital, nor had he ever been sickly enough to send him there. It’s for that reason that he feels slightly out of place, tucked in his hoodie whilst trying his best not to gaze at the others in the waiting room. Instead, he tries to keep his gaze focused upon his girlfriend as you remain bright despite their surroundings. Your hands intertwined, he feels a comfortable warmth seeping into his veins, gold in color and feeling. Gold like the ring on your finger, and like your heart.

He’s so lucky to have you.

“I don’t really have anything planned,” he says softly, giving your hand a slight squeeze. It’s true that your itinerary is next to nonexistent for this impromptu date, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. If anything, a hospital is a strange starting destination for a date but your relationship is a bit strange. Quietly, he says to you, voice low in the hopes that no one overhears, “Don’t hospitals scare you?”

He knows that you spent a good portion of your time here; surely you must have grown accustomed to it, but Jisung was not. Hospitals were cold… white and bleak and much too quiet.

“Nah, not really,” you answer with a shake of your head. “Except for all the souls wandering around.”

Jisung blinks. “Souls?” He gulps.

“Yup. The souls of the passing.” You click your tongue, along with a wink in his direction now that you’ve successfully managed to creep him out. Do you ever stop making jokes?

The door to the waiting room opens and a medical assistant calls your name. “Hey, I’ll be right back,” you tell him, standing and releasing his arm. He gives a hesitant nod, watching as you leave through the door and disappear down the hall.

When you emerge, some forty-five minutes later, the mirth is gone from your eyes.

He knows right away: you didn’t get good news. His heart is pumping in his chest, like he’s waiting for you to collapse right there. Years could pass, and Jisung swears he’d never be able to erase that memory of you. “Are you—” Okay, he wants to ask. But you just give him a small smile and shake your head. It’s not the time. He cuts himself short, reaching a hand out to you with a small, albeit forced, smile. “Let’s go on our date.”

It’s a long afternoon, spent in the arcade where you had had your first date—this time, for memory’s sake, he gets another ring from the claw machine—then McDonald’s and ice cream. He treats you to lunch, courtesy of his employee discount, and the entire day is filled with laughter and mutual teasing. Everything feels like it’s okay again.

Jisung enjoys these moments the most.

The moments where he doesn’t feel like he has to be anybody: not the star soccer player, not the kind understanding younger brother, or a kid trying to look grown up at an adult party. With him he’s just you, awkwardness and quirks altogether. You’ve never hid yourself from him, and now he doesn’t have to hide himself either.

Now that the day is touching evening, the two of you sit at a park, relaxing mindlessly on the swings next to each other. Now that the romantic buzz is gone, the two of you have fallen into a comfortable silence.

“Thanks for coming this far, Ji. This was… nice.”

A small smile spreads over his lips. “It was nothing. I wanted to do it for a long time.”

“No, really,” you say, turning to him with a thankful smile. Your eyes are serious now, and Jisung feels the sunlight seep into his skin. “I really missed you.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. This moment feels heavy, like he’ll remember it for years to come. “... I missed you too. A lot.” You both turn back to face the sunset, watching the sun fade behind a hill. It’s setting, streaks of gentle reds and soft-spoken oranges staining the empyrean firmament. It’s then that Jisung feels his heart begin to sink, like the sun, into the pit of his stomach.

“Are you scared?”

A moment passes without you saying anything, then you speak up beside him. “Not really. I mean, it’s just the hospital. The only thing that’ll suck is not being able to leave. I never thought I’d say it but, I’m really gonna miss going to school.”

Did you think you were never going to return? “Are your chances good?”

The implications from earlier at the hospital return. What are the chances that things aren’t looking up? “They say so,” you breath out.

That’s not good enough. Anything could happen. Jisung needs clarification, confirmation. He doesn’t want to lose you. “What if you—”

“I might.”

A beat of silence.

Jisung feels like crying. It gathers in the back of his throat. “What would I do without you?”

There it is: the implication that you’ll be gone. That one day, Jisung will have to wake up and face a world without you in it, a world with less happiness and less passion. A world where there isn’t someone who will call him ugly when really they think he’s the cutest to walk to the earth, or where there isn’t someone to make fun of him the way you do. A world with less love.

Your voice is dry as you speak.

“You’d move on.”

“I don’t know if I’d ever love anyone like you,” he finds himself saying.

“L-Love?” You suddenly say, voice the smallest he’s ever heard. You’ve always had the loudest voice, most prominent in his brain, but his words seem to have caught you off guard. “Do you? Love me?”

He doesn’t know what love feels like. He’s just a teenager, what is he supposed to know about love? About loss? Is it all-consuming, like in the movies? Is it meant to hurt? “... I think I do. I think I love you.”

There’s a sniffle next to him, and he turns immediately, alarmed that he may have made you cry. There are tears in your eyes, but they don’t fall. Being a writer, you talk too much. Your words are eloquent and true, though sometimes Jisung has a hard time getting you to stop talking. But this time, you choose to abandon words altogether, instead leaving your swing to stand in front of him. Compelled by nature, he stands too. Instead of speaking, you reach upward on your tiptoes once more. Except this time, you kiss him.

Your lips meet, and everything is golden.

And against the backdrop of the setting sun, it feels like the closing scene of Jisung’s very own romance movie. But this isn’t the end, he knows.

When he walks you home, he offers his sweater again.

This time not out of obligation or the desire to appear more romantic than he is, but because you’re cold. Really cold. You’re shivering, arms wrapped around yourself not giving enough warmth.

“Here,” Jisung says, already beginning to take off his hoodie, but you stop him with a hand and a pointed look, though your chattering teeth cause you to stutter. “S-Still trying to woo me with cheap rom-com tricks?”

You’re stubborn. You’re so stubborn and he hates it.

“Just take it,” he says, pushing it into your arms.

“No,” you argue. “You have a three hour ride home, it’s late and you’ll be cold.”

It’s obvious your illness has made you even more sensitive to the cold, and for that reason, Jisung’s fine facing the biting cold as long as you’re okay. “You’re freezing, please just take it.”

“Jisung, I said no.” Your voice is stern now, and he gets the feeling that he’s upset you. He gives up, gnawing on his bottom lip in deep thought. He just wants to make you feel better, doing what he thinks will help but with you, it never does. You’re so independent, too much so and much too stubborn to admit you need his help… “Fine,” he says before putting his hoodie back on. If you won’t take his warmth, then he’ll give it to you.

He lifts his arm, placing it fully around your shoulders and pulling you to him so your bodies meet. “At least let me hold you,” he mumbles. Your frame freezes in his for a moment, until you wrap your arms around the circumference of his chest.

Burying your face into his side, you relent into him. “Okay, fine.”

And later, he finds that you’re right. When he sits alone on the dimly lit train, he realizes that the warmth he had been feeling earlier, bathing in the sun’s rays with your lips, is long gone. All he feels now, is cold.

“You skipped practice the other day.” Jisung looks up from where he had been sitting on the bleachers, tying his shoes after practice. It had been a tough practice; he had missed quite a few passes and whiffed more than just a couple shots. He can only blame himself. He’s been distracted; alongside his worries about you, he also has a job to attend to and even more, the results for his dream school’s soccer scholarship is supposed to come out soon. His gaze falls on all six of his closest friends, looking down at him.

“Yeah, something came up,” he says easily.

“More like, someone,” retorts Donghyuck easily. “We know you ditched to go see your girlfriend.”

“And what about it?”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you, man. You never want to play ball with us anymore, you don’t want to hang out with us. Whenever you invite you to a party, you raincheck. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore,” Chenle spits out, arms crossed over his chest.

“Chenle,” says Renjun carefully.

“No,” interrupts the boy in question. Chenle looks straight at Jisung, who stands now to meet the others’ heights. “He needs to hear this. Ever since that girl came around, it’s like you’ve lost your way. You used to be all about soccer and friendship. Now you always have her on your mind, and—did you see the way you played earlier?—she’s messing you up. Your head’s not on straight.”

“Chenle, stop.” Donghyuck speaks up now, voice low as he tries to stop the younger from going off. “You’re not the same Jisung I met in peewee camp, and I don’t know if I like who I’m seeing,” Chenle finishes.

That’s enough for him. His voice comes out before he can stop it.

“You know why I never party with you anymore?” Jisung suddenly says, voice booming and clearly at his limit. “Because I’ve always hated partying. Because I have a job now, and because I don’t want my sister to stay up worrying about me while I’m getting piss drunk. I hate drinking, I hate trying to look cool while actually looking fucking stupid, because I don’t know how I can even think about partying when my girlfriend is fucking dying.”

A hearty scoff leaves his lips, as though he can’t even fathom the words he’s faced today. “You don’t even know me anymore? That’s where you’re wrong, because you never knew me. Not all of me. You only see me as the star player who’s gonna get you your win. She knows me, she knows all of me, and she doesn’t try to change me. Well, sorry that I’m not the same kid you met years ago who let everyone walk all over him. I thought you guys were my friends, but clearly you only want me around for as long as I can play.”

Those are the last fiery words to leave Jisung’s mouth before he turns on his heels, storming off the field and away from everyone else. He just needs to get out of here, away from everything before he ruins it. Mark and Hyuck follow after him, while Jeno and the rest hold Chenle back.

“Don’t listen to him,” Mark says, ever level headed. “We know what you’re going through.”

Though he appreciates their concern, Jisung spits, “No, you don’t.”

Both of them stop walking, no longer chasing after him as Jisung pulls out his phone.

A new email.

He immediately opens it, eyes glazing over the text.

Dear Jisung Park,

Thank you for applying to our university’s soccer scholarship. We reviewed every application with our utmost dedication and attention. Unfortunately, we regret to inform you that we cannot accept your application at this time. Our soccer program is one of the most competitive at this school, however we encourage you to reapp…

What a load of shit.

The past few weeks have been horrid.

Soccer is as tense as ever, though Jisung would be lying if he said that his fight with Chenle didn’t fuel him to work even harder during practice. His job sucks, especially after someone spilled a bucket of old oil on him (it was cold, thank goodness but still gross nonetheless). So far he’s gotten another rejection. Who knew that getting into college would be this hard?

He wishes that he could say his relationship with you is the saving grace, but it’s really not. You’re in the hospital now, and the two of you have been talking less and less. Even now with his feud between his friends, he feels even more alone. Today when he calls, you sound even more tired than usual.

“Hey, chocolate honeycomb bunny,” Jisung says, giving his absolute worst at giving a cringe-worthy nickname. It seems you’re too tired to even give a repulsed response.

“Hey.” You’re quiet for a moment, only your breathing heard across the line. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” sighs Jisung, running a hand through his dark locks. “Just exhausted. My coworker is getting on my last nerve.”

“The same one you talked about last week?”

“Who spilled the dirty oil on me? Yeah,” he responds with a roll of his eyes. “We’ve both been working the same amount of time, I just want to know why he’s so slow to pick it up.”

It’s characteristic of you to agree, seeing as complaining is one of your favorite past times. But you don’t, voice only coming out softly across the call, “Maybe just give him some time.”

“Yeah, I don’t know,” he sighs. “How about you? Are you feeling better?”

“About the same,” you respond truthfully. God, you sound so tired. He almost feels bad for making you talk to him when you clearly sound exhausted. “Any more results?” You ask, regarding his college acceptances.

“No,” he shakes his head. He doesn’t understand. He’s a good student, he’s done community service. Just what more do they want from him? “You said I was special, but I don’t think the colleges see that.”

He can almost see your small smile in his mind. “You are special. Just ‘cause they don’t see it doesn’t you aren’t.”

“Eh, I don’t know,” Jisung says, playing with a loose thread on his bedsheet.

What you say next catches him off guard. “Maybe we can both be college-less, together.”

“What?” He asks, brows tightening in confusion. “Didn’t you get into the journalism program at that one university?” He’s caught you. You’re silent on the line for a few long seconds, but the quiet is deafening for him.

“I did, but Jisung, I…” You hesitate. “I’m not going.”

“What do you mean you’re not going?” He asks.

“I… I don’t know if I want to.” In a small voice, you continue, “I don’t know that I’ll make it that long.” What are you saying? What are you implying? Heart racing, Jisung tries to decipher these words in his mind. To him, it just sounds like the end.

“You’re giving up already, I hear it in your voice.”

“I’m not,” you say, a broken promise. “I just… want to be prepared for the worst.”

“The worst isn’t coming. You’re going to get through this. You’re going to beat it. I know you are.” It becomes blatantly clear in this moment that the person Jisung is trying to convince, is himself.

His pleas fall upon deaf ears, because you argue back in what seems like the strongest voice you’ve made in months. As though you’ve amassed all your remaining energy for this conversation. “I’m not a hero, Jisung. I’m not cut out for this. The doctors said it’s not looking good.”

“Then prove them wrong. You’re gonna beat it.”

“I don’t want to be the underdog either, Ji. You know I hate them.” What you say next has his blood boiling. “I don’t deserve it anyways, no one would want me to come back.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jisung raises his voice now, volume growing with each word.

“No one likes me,” you spit out across the line, and he doesn’t need to see you to imagine how incensed you are at the moment. “I’m rude, I’m loud, I cross boundaries and I say things that hurt without caring about who it touches. And before you yell at me that no one thinks of me like that, these are things I’ve heard from other people.” Your voice breaks, as does Jisung’s heart. “If this were a movie, no one would root for me to survive.”

“I do,” Jisung says, voice strong. “I’m rooting for you. Every. Single. Day. And who cares about how other people see you? You’re rude? You’re crass? I like you because of those things, because you’re different from me. Am I not enough?”

“You’re different,” you relent, voice tired. “You’re the only one who matters. But I—“ You choke up. “I’m just tired of fighting. I don’t want to go to sleep every night not knowing if I’ll wake up the next morning. I want to be strong, and I want to face every day knowing that it could be my last… I don’t want to leave anything behind—”

“You’re not leaving,” he cuts in.

“—and I can’t go through every day letting you think that everything is okay, because they’re not. But I’m ready to let go, Ji. Because I’m happy with what I had, with what we had, and I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Tears are falling down his cheeks now, suiciding off the surface of his face and staining his bed sheets. He doesn’t know if the tears are the result of sadness, anger, or the pain of loving someone the universe would never let him have, yet it hurts all the same. “But I love you! I told you that I loved you.”

“I love you too,” you cry, and the sound is heartbreaking. “But I just wish that were enough.”

A pregnant silence consumes both of you. All that can be heard is the sound of your mutual crying, along with your breathing that Jisung had learned to fall asleep to. When you speak again, your voice is steady. You had always been the stronger one. “I don’t think you should call anymore.” A few sniffles. He can’t even speak. “Goodbye, Jisung.”

Then the line dies.

It’s Christmastime. He knows it’s cold, probably even colder in the hospital where you are.

Now, Jisung knows you don’t want anything from him. You don’t want him around. In the past weeks he must have become someone even he wouldn’t want around. And though he gets the feeling that you’ll never need him again, he figures you could use a sweater. It’s nothing much, and really he thinks it could be better.

A hoodie, not fit to your size but slightly larger because he knew you well enough to know you’d like it like that. On one sleeve, near the wrist, a patch of a soccer ball. He had learned how to sew it on himself. On the other, his initials. JS.

He sends it in the mail, in a box to the hospital with your name and room number on it. There’s no letter, nothing. Just his bare soul in the form of an oversized cotton hoodie. He’d send it himself, appearing at the door to your hospital bed, but something tells him he’s run out of things to say.

His phone rings at three in the morning.

He knows what it means.

February 2nd, at 2:39AM. The world lost you.

It would never be the same again, and neither would he.

Grief is an interesting thing, someone once told him.

He doesn’t quite remember who it was, whether it was his sister comforting him after the death of their goldfish, the guidance counselor at his school giving him a required appointment after the passing of a student, or yourself. But as the hours go by, it feels more and more like a weight in his chest that has been sitting on a hollowed place in his heart.

Grief is indescribable, and Jisung doesn’t know if this is because his limited seventeen year old vocabulary hasn’t collected enough fitting words to even begin to verbalize his emotions, or if because it really is indescribable.

The first few days had been hell.

He had almost become someone that he didn’t know, barely stepping out of bed and perhaps worrying his sister out of her mind. It was his way of ignoring the world, dissociating himself from the irrefutable truth that you weren’t really gone. You were still laying in bed, three hours away as usual, struggling but still fighting. If he could lay in bed, sleeping the days away and ignoring his text message condolences from his friends, he could pretend for some time that things were the way they were, eight months ago.

Eight months before it.

Eight months before he lost you. Before your relationship, a burgeoning dandelion in the nook of spring. But dandelions represent rebirth, the reappearance of hope like a beacon after an arduous winter, and you would never have another spring.

He could not pretend, because every morning the sun rose again, and he would have to reach his head out from the burrow of blankets he had buried himself in. He would need to face it for himself that he woke up, and you didn’t. His friends texted. His sister knocked on his door and begged him to eat, even going as far as to cook his favorite foods as a means to lure him from the darkness of his corner. He ate. But it was never the same.

Messy bedheads, earbuds tucked in with muzak playing gently like the thrum of his heart which beat enough for the both of you, tear-stained pillow cases, knees to the chest, light failing to shine in through the blinds which remained closed, counting the seconds between each breath, dreaming insubordinate dreams.

The first few days went like that. Empty.

Then he was angry.

Angry because the world had given him a love worth changing for, then ripped it from his inexperienced hands. He had never had anything in his life! Not a mother, not a father. Could he not have this one lily, this flower which sought to remind him of the fragility of life? And even more so, he was angry for you. You were a fire—you were a bottle of passion bursting at the seams, a well of untapped potential, a boldness which no one else could emulate—and the universe crushed you beneath its foot.

And suddenly, the emptiness of your hollow space reflected upon him.

He should have been better, should have done more. A soccer ball proposition? A sweater? It was laughable; that was the least he could give? If only he had called, if only he hadn’t listened to you like the meek child he was, things could be better.

And above all, he was sad.

What would he do without you?

Moving on seemed useless. A light at the end of a dark tunnel which stretched for ages. An epiphany that you would never reach.

He just hoped that it was not cold. That you left the world in a ball of light, surrounded in the warmth of family and love, not the rigidness of the unforgiving world. Perhaps it was selfish of him, but he hoped that the soccer ball sleeve had been clutched to your chest, and that his hoodie could have provided just a little bit of that warmth.

The walking pattern outside his bedroom door is different from his sister’s. So is the knock on the door; his older sister’s is much more quiet, reserved, as though she was afraid to wake him. This one is harsh, and it reverberates through the room before the door opens.

The air in the room is still for a moment.

“Jisung.”

It’s Chenle. And Mark, Renjun, Jeno, Donghyuck, as well as Jaemin. They all take their seats either on the end of his bed, the floor, or his beanbag, but Jisung doesn’t move from his place underneath the blankets.

“What do you want?” He manages to groan out in a small voice.

Someone places a hand on his leg, a comforting gesture. He thinks it’s Jaemin from the gentle touch. “We’re here for you.”

Donghyuck comments, “You haven’t been to practice this week.” Of course that would be what they would mention first. Jisung scoffs. “I’m kind of going through something.”

“And we’re here.” Mark’s voice.

“We wanted to apologize.” Chenle speaks now, and despite being best friends since they were five, he’s the last person Jisung expected to say sorry. In their decade-long friendship, Chenle was the confident one, the one who charged forward without consequence while Jisung trailed behind, cleaning up his mess. “We’ve been… assholes, simply put.” Had he been in higher spirits, Jisung would have snorted. “We thought we understood what you were going through, and we thought it was dumb. To let yourself get hurt over some random girl… but we were wrong. We didn’t understand your point of view.”

“Not even a little bit,” says Donghyuck, head hanging low.

“Yeah, we’re supposed to be your friends. Your team! We’re supposed to lift you up when you’re down and… well, we haven’t been doing that. And we’re sorry. I’m sorry.” Chenle says. Slowly, Jisung lifts his head from below the blanket to face his friends. They all wear a variety of expressions, all somber. “And we know now… she’s not just some random girl.”

Yeah, they’ve all been assholes, some more than others, and Jisung can’t exactly say that they were any help in his struggle. But perhaps this was something he needed to go through alone. At the time, he needed you. But now… he just really needs his best friends.

Tears sting at his eyes for the nth time.

“Come here, you crybaby,” says Jaemin, opening his arms.

It’s Monday, meaning he has to go back to school today. He’s not ready, how could he be? It hasn’t even been a week since you… left, but he knows he has to go back. His sister, God bless her, had let him take the first few days off but now that the weekend has ended and school has rolled back around, he has no choice.

“You look like shit.”

Donghyuck has always lacked a filter. It would hurt if Jisung didn’t know that Donghyuck meant that in the best way possible. You look like shit, he says. So I’m glad you found it in you to come to school, is what he doesn’t say.

Jisung closes his locker with a sigh. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” snickers his friend, and Jisung turns his head to find Mark and Jaemin approaching. “Morning,” greets Jaemin as he taps the top of Jisung’s head, despite being shorter.

“Hi,” responds Jisung quietly, clutching his chemistry textbook to his chest. The three of them look at him with quiet and somber eyes, but don’t say anything. Mark places a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a small rub.

“You got this.”

The truth is, he can’t do this. The world feels quiet and empty, lacking a particular passion that you used to always embody. It could be worse. Thank goodness your relationship was rather private; he doesn’t know how he’d be able to function at school had there been curious eyes on him, if you had gone to the same school as him.

The day goes rather slowly, and Jisung busies himself with catching up on his work that he had missed. He could almost pretend like things are normal. It’s not until fifth period calculus that something strange happens.

An office TA pokes her head in and scrambles over to the teacher, who was in the midst of a very enthralling lecture on integrals that Jisung was definitely not paying great attention to. The TA whispers something into the teacher’s ear, then hands her a piece of paper. Mrs. Huang nods, then suddenly Jisung finds her eyes on him. “Jisung, Mr. Moon wants you in his office.”

Him? Why him of all people?

Mr. Moon is the guidance counselor at their school, and Jisung has a moment of internal panic—had he somehow found out about you? Should he prepare himself for a lecture about grief and moving on?

With a gulp, he nods.

Mr. Moon is a fairly nice man, with a friendly smile and a reputation for being a pushover teacher. Jisung had met with him a few months ago to discuss his desire to pursue a soccer scholarship but he highly doubts that’s the case now.

When Jisung enters Mr. Moon’s office, the first thing he sees isn’t Mr. Moon but a tall man with a stoic expression standing behind his desk. In contrast to the stranger, Mr. Moon wears his trademark smile. “Jisung, good to see you. Still getting a kick out of that old ball?”

Of course, Mr. Moon doesn’t know that Jisung skipped practice all last week to mope in his bed, but Jisung nods politely. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” responds the teacher with a smile. “Take a seat.”

He gestures to the chair in front of his desk, and cautiously does Jisung take a seat. The tall, bruff man is still standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, having not yet said a single word. Somehow the atmosphere is tense, and Jisung’s quite sure he knows what this is about.

“Now, Jisung, I’ve called you in today because—”

“Is this about (Name)?” Perhaps it’s a bit rude of him, but Jisung doesn’t want to be prodded at, at least not by people who think they know him. The last thing he wants is pity.

Mr. Moon’s eyebrow raises just the slightest, and he leans forward on his desk. “Why, yes, it is. How did you know?”

A scoff leaves Jisung’s lips, but it’s much weaker than he would like. “My question is, how did you know? Who told you?” Who was it that shared information on his personal life? Was it his sister? His friends?

“Nobody had to tell me, Jisung. (Name) sent the letter to me herself.”

Wait… what?

Jisung blinks, hands falling slack on his lap. “W-What? What letter?”

Perhaps his staring is a bit too obvious, for Mr. Moon gestures to the stranger in question with a hand. “Jisung, this is Johnny Seo.” Finally, the intimidating stranger has a name. “Johnny is the head coach of the soccer team at Greenwood University—” Wait, Greenwood University? That’s Jisung’s dream school—well, it was his dream school, until they rejected his application for a soccer scholarship. What would they want to do with him? “—and he wants to offer you a full-ride scholarship.”

What?

Jisung’s mouth falls open. What? What the hell? Hadn’t they just rejected him three months ago? His eyes must be bugging out of his face, so he blinks repeatedly, trying to find the words to say.

“W-Wait, what? A… A full ride?” He stammers, unable to find his tongue.

The man named Johnny only nods. “Full ride. Covered tuition, dorming, and soccer costs. All you have to do is keep your grades up and keep scoring those fancy goals of yours I’ve heard about.”

“But—But, you rejected me… why now?”

For the first time, Johnny gives a small smile. “Because of the letter.” There it is, that letter again that Jisung has no idea about. He looks to Mr. Moon for guidance. All the counselor does is open his desk drawer and pull out an envelope, which he slides across his desk. “(Name) (Last Name) wrote a recommendation letter to the university, and honestly, it was stunning. It was enough to make the admissions board… bend a little, to say the least.”

Reaching forward, Jisung grabs the envelope and examines it in his hands. It’s opened, but yes, on the front is your handwriting. He’s cried so much this past week that he doesn’t know how many times tears have touched his eyes, but they sting once more. This time, he doesn’t let them fall.

“She… wrote a letter. For me?”

“That she did,” responds Mr. Moon.

“She’s right,” says Johnny suddenly. “In our work at the university, we’re always looking for the best of the best. We should look deeper, sometimes.” The words sink in the room, and Jisung finds himself staring down at the envelope in his hands. What things had you had to say about him?

Honestly, all he can think about is his failure. How he failed to be there for you, how he cowarded in your presence when you told him to leave you alone. He bites down on his lip.

“So? Will you accept our offer?”

Jisung looks up again, meeting Johnny’s expectant eyes. “I…” His mouth suddenly runs dry. “I don’t know, I… I need to think about it.”

“You’re not graduating for another four months. Take your time.” Slowly, still in glassy-eyed disbelief, Jisung nods. His fingers find the edge of the envelope, tracing its pointed edge. You wrote that for him. From across the desk, Mr. Moon speaks up. “You should read that letter, Jisung, and realize what’s coming for you: good things.”

To Whom It May Concern,

Hello. My name is (Name) (Last Name), and I am a high school student writing this letter to appeal a rejection by your university. Not of my own application, but of an extraordinary person with the name Jisung Park. In my humble opinion, I believe that your institution has made a grave mistake in not offering a scholarship to Jisung. So, I write this letter to appeal such a rejection, and to do something that he hated, though it was what I always did best: write about Jisung.

Now, Jisung is a humble person who never speaks up about his struggles, but the truth is that of all students, I believe he is the most in need of this scholarship. His parents passed when he was young, and he grew up in the care of his older sister who raised him. Their small but strong family made sacrifices, gave up luxuries, and endeavored to survive.

In the midst of this crisis, Jisung found his one savior: soccer.

He is, without a doubt, the best soccer player I have ever seen in my entire life. He can sprint across the field in half a normal player’s time, and I’ve never seen him miss a goal or a pass. But his soccer prowess isn’t what makes him great. Moreover, Jisung is the person you want on a team. He believes in teamwork, but is always striving to be better. He doesn’t want to stand out, but does so anyways. He is never arrogant, nor boastful. If there is one person who deserves this, it’s him.

But, I am sure that you are thinking: why should this letter mean anything to you? I’m not a highly valued individual in the community, nor have I done anything significant for my name to mean anything. I’m only a seventeen year old student, a struggling journalist.

The answer to that question is, I know Jisung Park. You only see his grades, the shallow things on his application. You will never get to see the Jisung Park that I knew and loved.

In my time alive, Jisung Park made an impact on my life that will never be forgotten. Even when life seemed the darkest, not a beam of light in the field's view, Jisung picked me up and made me see the sunset. I know now, the sunset is beautiful, warm, and comforting—everything that Jisung is. He never left my side, and never for a single moment did I ever feel alone in his presence. The world often overplays the saying “a heart of gold,” but the truth is that Jisung has one.

I used to think that love would be red, like the burning of one’s lungs racing down a soccer field, or black and white, made to be simple. But the truth is, love is golden. Golden like the sunset painting streaks against the floor, golden like Jisung. It’s a warmth that covers you from head to toe, relenting into a future that you don’t know.

He is my golden boy, and he can be yours too.

I may not have a future, but if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that Jisung deserves one.

I’m a journalist. I don’t write love letters, but perhaps this is the closest I can ever get. And should Jisung ever read this letter, I hope he knows that with this, I dedicated my last spark of sunlight to him.

Sincerely,

(Name) (Last Name)

Your funeral occurs on February 13th, a week and four days after your passing.

Jisung stands in front of the bathroom mirror, nose scrunched in concentration as he makes a feeble attempt on his necktie. This is surely not as easy as throwing on a soccer jersey. “Ugh,” he groans, fingers getting confused again.

“Need help?”

His sister’s dainty voice calls him from the bathroom door. Dressed in all black, she’s ready too. Turning his head, Jisung sighs. “Please.” She makes his way toward him, fingers coming to work on his tie already with steady hands.

“You’re too tall now,” she says softly, with a chuckle. It’s true; he used to look up to her, physically and figuratively, but now he’s an entire head above her. “You’ve grown up a lot.”

It was his eighteenth birthday just a few days ago but to be quite honest, he hadn’t had the heart to celebrate it. If anything, he had always thought that his eighteenth birthday would be like an epiphany for him. As though he would wake up the morning of, feeling like an adult with all the answers to the world.

The truth is, he’s eighteen now and he still feels like he has no idea what he’s doing.

“I don’t feel any different,” he admits. “I thought eighteen would mean something.”

“You’ll get there, trust me. And anyways, I always told you not to grow up too fast.”

For a moment there’s a silence as his sister swoops the tie in and out, weaving it to form the perfect knot. Feeling something scratch at the back of his throat, Jisung speaks. “... I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for, silly? I was the one who never taught you how to knot a necktie,” she chuckles.

“Not for that,” he says. “For last week. I… probably scared you.”

Suddenly, his sister is wearing that demure smile of hers again. The one that is small and polite, but always seems to carry more weight in it than he can see. “No. It’s okay, I knew you’d be better.”

Naeun finally finishes the knot, tightening it the slightest around Jisung’s neck. “There you go.” He offers her a small thanks as he turns to look in the mirror, and she begins to leave. A sigh leaves him; there’s no avoiding it now, he’s ready to go.

“You know, Jisung,” she suddenly speaks up from the doorway. “I’m glad that you met her. Even if it ended up like this… you’re different. In a good way, and I think she had a lot to do with it. Even if you don’t feel different… you are.”

In the months of your relationship, Jisung had come to learn your insecurities. You were loud and proud, but with that confidence came an unwavering insecurity that you were unliked by those you spilled your tongue to. At the funeral, Jisung sees that that’s not at all true.

People give speeches for you, place flowers on your grave. The school newspaper had even written an article to commemorate your presence on their team, and the president of the club reads it aloud. A number of hospital staff make their appearance.

Even Jisung’s friends show up, despite the clear memory of them calling you crazy early on. Maybe they were right, maybe you were crazy. But he probably was too.

It doesn’t rain a single drop, though it had been pouring for three days before. Instead, the sun peeks through the overcast clouds, gifting sunshine.

Jisung smiles.

He probably looks like an idiot, carrying the soccer ball around the entire funeral but he knows what it means to him, and what it means to you. When he places it on your grave, the grass still fresh, his eyes catch the carefully written words on a singular white spot.

I love you.

He knows that he means it.

At eighteen, there a lot of things that Jisung still doesn’t know. But even so, there are a handful of truths that he can hold onto forever. One, he’s still an incredible soccer player and girls are still very scary. But like soccer, maybe that just takes time and practice.

Two, growing up isn’t about a number. It’s not about partying or drinking, nor is it about rushing into relationships that have little meaning. For years Jisung had wanted to grow up, to face the world with no fears and be able to cruise through. But he knows now that growing up is about being strong in the face of sadness, pain, grief. About waking up every morning even if you feel like you have no reason to.

Love is the same.

Love isn’t about making out on the bleachers after practice or trying to copy the coy clichés seen in romance movies. It’s about the sacrifices, like four hour bus rides. It’s about communication and connection, like a recommendation letter traced in gold. Because of you, he’s moving forward. He can go to college, and the day will never come when he stops being grateful toward you and everything you’ve done. That’s love, and he will spend the rest of his life loving you. Maybe the love will change but it will always be love.

It hurts that you’re gone, it really does. Jisung doesn’t think it’ll ever stop hurting.

But the last thing he knows is that things will be okay.

Life moves on, and he will too.

#neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #nct-writers #neohbh #neothestars #park jisung angst #jisung angst #jisung fluff #park jisung fluff #park jisung fanfic #jisung fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct angst #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic

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goggles-mcgee · 4 years ago

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Too Late: Alya & Nino (commission for miner249er)

Fourth chapter of @miner249er ‘s commission

Chapter Summary: The truth is harsh. Teens are harsher.

Previous Work

Last Chapter Next Chapter

Truth.

As an aspiring journalist it was something Alya strived for. It was the most important thing she could give the people who followed her so diligently. She thought she had been giving them that. She had been so good about giving them the truth, her truth, and Ladybug’s truth in the past, she foolheartedly believed she was continuing to do so despite taking shortcuts later on in the road. Why didn’t she fact check herself? Why did she throw that very thing in Marinette’s face? What kind of reporter was she? What kind of friend was she? The answers were all around her and yet she still wasn’t ready to face them head on. There was still that voice in her head that was telling her that this was all Lila Rossi’s fault.

But is it? Alya thought as her and Nino ate together at her house, the TV on in the background. At first it had been on the news but Alya was done with the news for a long while, all it had been was coverage of The Protector and Nino had immediately taken the remote and changed it to cartoons. This was hitting him hard, harder than Alya had expected if she was being honest. When they found out Ladybug and Chat Noir had, in fact, not defeated The Protector and instead the akuma, that Marinette had gone missing, it hit the class hard. Hard because they learned the truth about Lila in that time and that had been rough to work through. Then they had to come to the realization that they believed Lila over Marinette, the sweet, kind, selfless girl that had all at one point been friends with.

Then the lies got to them. It poisoned them. That’s what Alya had written on her blog anyways. They were victims of a silver-tongue and they had paid the price, one they had not been prepared to pay for. Their friend was missing, had been missing and they couldn’t do anything. Alya had been searching through as many local papers and news around the world for any clues if Marinette had possibly gone to those places. Everything was coming up empty. She had even made a separate website along with Max all about Marinette and what had happened, she left ways to reach her and her classmates in case anyone had any info. Nino said they should have added Tom and Sabine’s information as well but Alya was too scared to ask them if they would be okay with it, last time they had all been at the bakery the tension had been palpable.

They weren’t banned like Nathaniel had worried they would be but every time they went in with their families, because that was the only time they went in there, it was always awkward. Tom and Sabine were much too nice to ban them even if they felt like they deserved it. How did everything go so wrong? Even school wasn’t as fun as it had been. Walking into their classroom was like taking a walk of shame, people from other classes, even teachers just stared at them. Some even glared. Then there were the whispers, Dieu the whispers, they followed them everywhere not just school, but they were the most prominent there. Her, Nino, and their classmates would find notes in their lockers, none were really threatening but they tore at her heart all the same. Things like, ‘You’re the reason she’s gone,’ or, ‘Are you guys proud of yourselves now?’ ‘Were the lies worth it?’ ‘You traded in a gem for fool’s gold.’ ‘What a reporter you turned out to be.’

All the notes hurt. That was the truth. That last one? She had found it in her locker this morning and it burned. Alya had been bullied before, she never liked to think about it, who would? But she was and she had to acknowledge it because she had told herself she would never allow herself to be bullied again, and most importantly, she would never turn into a bully. Wrong. She was wrong, and it wasn’t the first time she had been made aware of this since everything happened. Since everything changed. It was a blessing that Nino and her were still together, he never partook in the “tough love” the class had been giving Marinette before she...before she had been akumatized. Sure he didn’t stop them, and that was bad, but he didn’t go out of his way to not invite her to things until she stopped being “jealous” and started acting like the bigger person. Nino wasn’t the one who ignored her text messages, which now that Alya read them, were pretty telling that her friend had been hurting and she had only made that worse.

“What are you thinking about babe?”

Alya looked up from her half eaten bowl of soup to see Nino gazing at her in concern. “Marinette.”

“Oh…” He breathed out as he put his spoon down and looked down at the table before placing one of his hands on hers and giving her a small smile. “Everything will be okay Alya. Someone will find her and then she’ll be back home.”

Empty words. Empty words fed to him too much from adults who didn’t have any updates on anything. “You don’t believe that. And even if she did...who's to say she would even want to talk to us!? What’s to say that anything would be better? We would still be seen as the bad guys! We will still all have to eat lunch at our houses or the park just to avoid the stares and the whispers and the tossed trash our way and the “accidentally” spilled drinks!”

Alya had never understood just how much their class had been living in its own little world. Not to say they were completely unattached to the rest of the school, Alix, Nathaniel, Rose, Chloe, and Sabrina were in the art club (the art teacher and the rest of the club had made a mural of Marinette without notifying them or asking for their help. Everyone is encouraged to leave notes about Marinette on the mural. The art room even has a chair decorated in honor of Marinette that no one else can use. That was announced very pointedly Alix later shared.), Rose was in the scrapbooking club (no one asked to use her materials anymore like they used to), and Max was in the gaming club which Marinette had helped him set up (people weren’t showing up lately.) They weren’t kicked out, but they were reminded of Marinette all the time,it was like everyone’s way of punishing them. It had never occurred to any of them how popular Marinette was.

So popular that the whole school seemed to hate them. Even Mlle Mendeleiev seemed to be harsher than normal and that was really saying something, it would seem like she had a soft spot for Marinette. In their class everyone avoided Marinette’s seats in class, Alya had to step up as class representative but the silver lining was that Nino had stepped up to be her deputy. Though another negative was the fact Nino had stopped making his music and taking DJ gigs. At first he hadn’t said anything to her or their friends, Alya found out because of Chris actually, but then her and Adrien confronted him and he broke down. He cried and he didn’t stop for a long time, but when he had calmed enough to talk he pulled out old pictures of him and Marinette, told them stories about how they had grown up together. It had made the pit in Alya’s stomach grow, she had just been thinking about her and how much she blamed herself and how much she missed her best friend, she hadn’t even thought how this was affecting Nino.

“I...I need to believe it Alya. I need to. Because if I don’t I will break apart. Mari...Marinette and I were best friends in l'école primaire. I never thought she would ever not be a part of my life. Then the whole Lila thing happened and I turned into a coward again, like I had with Chloe! No, worse than a coward! I don’t even know what I would call myself but I know I can’t call myself her friend.” His voice rose the more he spoke and near the end it cracked.

“Nino…”

“No. I know that’s the truth! And I know, I know that things at school have been rough. Hell, they’ve been awful, everyone sees us as these villains in some trashy young teen novel when all we’ve done is make a mistake! Yes. It was a big mistake but it was a mistake nonetheless but we’re...we’re kids dammit. We’re just kids.” Alya felt tears race down her cheeks as she saw her boyfriend break yet again, his cheeks wet with his tears, his voice choked with his guilt.

“I know. I just...I just want her back. I want everything back. I don’t know how many times we have to apologize to the school, but they’re not even the ones that need to hear the apologies! The one we need to have hear us isn’t here and…” Alya could feel herself breaking but she tried to hold on. Nino needed her to be strong. Her class needed her to be strong. Her family needed her to be strong.

“I can’t take the stares! Or, or hear Rose’s cries that she tries to hide from us. Mylene hasn’t been eating and I know she thinks we don’t notice and Adrien, god Adrien. I’m trying to hold it together because my bro is falling apart at the seams! First Marinette gets...gets fucking akumatized, then his dad and Nathalie get taken to the hospital from some supposedly random attack but it’s pretty obvious it was Mar-the akuma’s doing, his mom freaking pops out of nowhere but of course that can’t just be a good thing because everyone has to talk about how his dad and Nathalie were probably Hawkmoth and Mayura! And I’m over here trying not to think too much about all that because it makes actually too much sense, but then we find out that Marinette was most likely Ladybug! LADYBUG!” He lamented, not bothering to hide the fact he was crying, more like sobbing. It just made Alya cry more.

“I...I wanted the truth for so long, but not like this. Not like this. I...I know this makes me sound like the worst person on the planet but I kind of wish stupid Gabriel Agreste wasn’t Hawkmoth because then I could be akumatized and maybe I could be some kind of time-travelling akuma and we could go back and fix everything and school wouldn’t be hell and the twins wouldn’t act like they had to walk on eggshells around me all the time and my dad wouldn’t look like he’s always so disappointed in me and my mom wouldn’t look at my with only pity in her eyes and Nora would talk to me and Marinette would be back!” Alya sobbed out. At this point her and Nino had moved from their seats to the kitchen floor and were huddled together hugging each other for comfort.

The two just sat there soaking up whatever comfort they could and dreaded the time that passed. For each minute that passed, was a minute that brought them closer to having to go back to school. Alya didn’t know if she had the strength to go back and deal with everything, she didn’t know if Nino could handle it either, but she knew her mother would be by any minute to give them a lift back to school. If there was a way she could just finish school online, Alya was willing to do it, but her father wouldn’t ever allow it. He had put his foot down, Otis Césaire was mad, then he was disappointed and he thought it only fair that Alya face her peers and continue on at Françoise Dupont. It didn’t feel fair, it didn’t feel fair at all, it felt like punishment. Hadn’t she been punished enough? Even in sleep she wasn’t safe, all she dreamed of was Lila and her making her act like a puppet. She would see puppet her do all these things to Marinette and she would wake up in sweat and tears.

“Okay I’m here, I hope you two are ready to head ba-” Alya looked up to see her mom standing there staring at her and Nino, her mouth agape. “Oh Alya...Nino...How about I call the school and tell them you’re not feeling good? And I’ll call your parents Nino.”

Alya was going to respond, she really was, but when she opened her mouth nothing came out but a choked off cry and nod. Nino nodded as well as he took in a shaky breath. “Th-Thanks, Mme C.”

“Nino, you know I told you to call me Marlena. Now you two go rest in Alya’s room while I make those calls. Then maybe I can get the rest of the day off and-”

“No manman. Things...things are already bad enough, don’t make it worse by not going back to work. I don’t...I don’t want to be the reason why you get fired.” Alya mumbled as she and Nino got up off the floor.

“Oh...Oh my little one, that won’t happen. And if it did, not because of you. Never. Don’t you think that.” Alya’s mother breathed out as she pulled her daughter into a hug before taking her daughter’s face in her hands and doing her best to wipe her tears.

“Papa and Nora would! Nora still won’t talk to me and Papa only looks at me like he’s disappointed he ever had me!” Alya cried out before she could stop the words from coming out. Her mind completely forgot that Nino was standing right beside her until she felt him hold her hand and give it a squeeze.

“Your Papa is just being stubborn, but you listen to me, he could never ever be disappointed in having you. You are our daughter. You made a mistake yes, but I know you know you made a mistake and that you are sorry. Your Papa will realize that. He just needs time. And Nora...she just needs time too. I just think she doesn’t know how to handle everything and that she’s mad that she couldn’t protect you sweetie. She’s always been the protective older sister, and this was something she couldn’t protect you from herself. They’ll come around. I’m sure.”

“If you’re sure manman…”

“I am. Now you kids go relax. I’m going to take the rest of the day off and go to the store for dinner ingredients, I’ll be back soon. I know things are hard my little Melusine but they won’t always be like this.” With a kiss to her forehead and a swift hug to Nino, Alya’s mom left the two teens in the family apartment.

At first they just stood there in silence and sniffles, but Nino made the move to put their plates in the sink and rinse them out while Alya gathered their schoolwork back into their bookbags. Then they made their way to Alya’s room and kicked off their shoes before sitting on the bed. Nino nudged Alya who looked at him in confusion until she saw him give her a crooked smile and open his arms which she fell easily into. She took off her glasses and placed them on her bedside table while she felt more than saw Nino take off his cap. For a while they just sat there in the quiet of the moment and Alya was content to do just that, to just have a moment of peace, but she slowly pushed away and reached for her remote to turn on the TV and quickly pulled up Netflix. Her mom wanted them to relax so why not fry their brains with some television.

“Anything in particular you want to watch?” She asked as she settled back against Nino.

“As long as it has nothing to do with school or superheroes...I’m good.” Nino responded with a hollow chuckle.

“I’m glad we don’t have to go back too…” She murmured, “Should we...tell the others?”

“Probably. But if I’m being honest I don’t really feel like talking to them and them asking how we are and if we’re okay when they know we’re not. I just. I don’t think I could handle that. Not today.”

“I get it. Sometimes I feel like everyone else even blames me for what happened. Like... Like it was my responsibility to not fall for the lies and to warn them. Like my word would have made a difference! Mari...Marinette’s didn’t so why would mine?” Alya huffed as she scrolled through all the movie and show choices and tried her best not to cry again.

“If they blame you then they need to blame me too and blame the people in the mirror. We all fell for the lies. Sure you’re the budding reporter, but the blame could just as easily be pushed onto Max who is so smart he created a living AI. But we have no one to be mad at but ourselves and we can only do that for so long.” Nino sighed as he held her closer and kissed her temple. Alya relished in the warmth of it all.

“When did you get so wise?” Alya teased softly.

“When I decided to rewatch Star Wars. But no seriously. If anyone in class bothers you please tell me because we should be sticking together not at each other’s throats.” Nino stuck out one hand and Alya slid her hand into his.

“Cross my heart and hope to die. I will. And you’re right, we do need each other, especially now, especially at that school.”

“Especially at that school, yeah.” He laughed out. “We’re going to get through this. I don’t know how, but, we are and we’re going to do it together.”

Alya smiled wryly before she looked up at Nino and it slipped into a real small smile. “Together.” She agreed softly.

Last Chapter Next Chapter

l'école primaire - elementaryschool

manman - Haitian Creole for Mother

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #ml salt #ml salt fic #alya cesaire #marlena cesaire #etta and ella cesaire #nora cesaire #otis cesaire #nino lahiffe #djwifi #ml class salt #lila rossi salt #akuma class #revolt of the akuma #they are kids and they made a mistake #others need to recognize that as well #goggles commission

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! I hope you’ll answer this question bc it bothers me quite a lot.. https://www.quora.com/What-does-it-mean-now-that-BTS-are-partial-owners-of-Big-Hit-Entertainment do you think it is true what the second person (Christine Herman) said? After reading this, i started to wonder…what if BTS does really have only profit in mind while doing new projects these days? Maybe they don’t really care anymore about creative and meaningful lyrics and sound? With Butter and PTD…all this generic music sung in English. Of course they say “we wanted to make fans feel good”, “butter and ptd represent who we are” and all these things fans want to hear but.. do you really think it’s true? moreover, don’t get me wrong, i don’t find product placement in their reality shows as something terrible, i believe this is a normal thing, however, nowadays the members really film ads and do marketing a lot. so yeah, for some reason i began to question their integrity dhsjjss i hope you will understand from where my concerns come from and won’t find this ask stupid sjdjjdjd

After reading that persons answer I can immediately tell you that I basically don't agree with an overwhelming majority of what she said (even more so since a lot of it just makes her sound like a manti that hates the company and basically would want them to make music for free or something). Generally I don’t agree with most of the opinions this person holds, and also Quora really isn’t a good source for info or good opinions, most of it is written by mantis, haters, and toxic shippers with an agenda so most ARMY will tell you to stay as far away from that website as possible.

Anyway, her focus in that answer was on money, since BTS are shareholders (and how that’s a conflict of interest despite other artists doing the exact thing but no one really cares or ever thinks about it), but what she failed to consider and note was that Big Hit Music, so BTS' label, isn't part of HYBE in the sense that shareholding has no baring on it since BHM is private. So while BTS profit off of HYBE doing well, and have a small percentage of a voice as shareholders, that has nothing to do with BHM in the classical sense, even if BHM's earnings reflect well on HYBE numbers and the shareholder money.

BHM was made private to ensure their artistry would remain untouched, that was the whole point of that.

Even if they weren't HYBE shareholders, take Namjoon as example. He has more than 170 KOMCA credits, is among the top 3 Korean artists with the most credits and is also the youngest of them all. It is said that his earnings from that alone can sustain his family for 3 generations over. Look at Hobi and Chicken Noodle Soup, that song was a hit and he paid the original creator of that song 2 million dollars upfront and earned a lot back due to how successful it was. Same goes for Hope World which, again, was and is still immensely successful. Look at Yoongi and his work both as prod. SUGA, featuring artist SUGA, and as Agust D, as well as the credits he holds for his work on BTS songs (giving him as well a total of over 100 KOMCA credits, just like Hobi). Bangtan have worked and continue to work extremely hard for their music, put their heart and souls into it, and it shows even if their style changed as they grew older and more mature.

Yes, money is a major motivator, but looking at the above paragraph, do you really peg the members as these corrupt money hungry sellouts with no music related integrity? Who would need to sign major deals and would throw away their passion to just release empty shells of music for the sole reason of money? Am I naive enough to believe that they don't care about money? Of course not, we live in a capitalist society and even if BTS wouldn't care about money anymore at this point, HYBE very much does, and yet still I can't find it in me to agree with any of what was said in that answer that person wrote.

More below the cut:

And that point about how Hyundai cars were sold out because of BTS, isn't that the point why literally any company ever hires celebrities to advertise and endorse their product? And sure, again, I'm certain they earned a lot on these deals, they aren't the first or last or only ones in the history of ever to do so. Besides, look at JK and what he's done for small companies, or Tae who wore a brooch made my a small creator at the airport which catapulted that creator into the eyes of millions of ARMYs enough so that they could move to a proper studio and earn money with their work. Or the modern hanboks JK wore which led to the brand being able to move into actual stores in malls because of their sudden new popularity and demand. Or him wearing a bracelet that helps whales with a percentage of the money from the sales of said bracelet. And for all of that JK and Tae didn't earn any money at all. JK himself said that he's more conscious of the brand he wears now because he wants to help smaller businesses in these trying times, not because they pay him to do so (especially since they would never be able to afford that), but because he's aware of the influence he has and how he can use it to help others. Sound very much like a capitalistic villain, right?

As for the product placement bit, have you been on YouTube recently? Have you noticed that many, if not most, YouTube videos by “bigger” creators (and by that I mean even people who are around the 100k subscriber mark) begin with them thanking whoever sponsored that particular video and give you a scripted minute to two minute long ad before getting into the actual topic of the video? And In The SOOP featuring Chilsung Cider, FILA clothes and the random mention of how good Samsung phones are isn’t much different from it, though really, if you’re not someone interested in fashion much, would you really notice or care that they wore FILA? It’s just...clothes? If it weren’t a BTS related show, would you even notice it much? And it’s not even like they mentioned those brands every five minutes or anything, just a few times, which sure sounded a bit out of place at times, but personally I thought it was easy to look past. That’s just how things work nowadays and it’s odd for people to behave like somehow BTS are the first and only ones to use product placements despite literally every movie and show doing it in subtle and less so manners.

The answer by that person you sent also mentioned the Hyundai song for their car IONIQ and, unsurprisingly, that person wrote it off as just some commercial jingle but I’d actually disagree with that. Not to sound like a Hyundai and Samsung stan, which I am neither of, but I actually think those two knew best how to utilize the artist they have spent millions on signing a deal with. Hyundai didn’t just write them off as pretty faces with a millions strong fan army behind them and that’s it, they remembered that they are musicians so they gave them a song and made a whole music video for it as well. And say what you will, it is a good song. Then, just a few days ago, Samsung stepped up their game and we were given Over The Horizon Prod by SUGA of BTS. For those who aren’t Samsung users, Over The Horizon is their signature ringtone and basically their company sound, and over the years different artists were asked to make their own version of it. And this time they reached out to Yoongi and asked if he’d like to do it as well. It’s kind of a big deal. Sure, Butter is used in one of their commercials much the way Dynamite was last year, but that’s beside the point. Would that person make the same claim about Imagine Dragons whose song Believer is also part of the ads for the new Samsung phones? I have my doubts.

Furthermore, and I don't want this to come across as mean toward you but, I think it is uncalled for to question their artistic integrity based on a total of 3 (three) English songs when last year alone we received 50+ songs, most of which were in Korean, among them the entirety of BE which was, according to the members, the album they were most involved in ever when it comes to both music and everything around it.

You can dislike their English songs, that’s more than fine, they have a very extensive discography you can listen to instead, but questioning their integrity based on them doing something that most, if not every, artist on their level does (as in sign ad deals with brands etc) is a bit much if you ask me. Does that mean indie artists whose songs get picked up for commercials (or for Netflix shows or movies) and thus it catapults them into the mainstream are also just money hungry people with no integrity and ones who don’t care about their music? Or is that, again, just a standard Bangtan is held to (as in that their integrity is questioned based on everything, even the most trivial/normal things) that only applies to them and no one else?

In the recent Weverse Magazine article about how Permission to Dance came to be there is a lot of talk about not only that song but also Butter and Dynamite, among the things being discussed and talked about they mentioned how the original lyrics for Butter were much more materialistic but that the members didn't like that so they asked for that to be changed. Likewise the original lyrics for Permission to Dance, as you'd expect from the penmanship of Ed Sheeran, were much more romantic, almost proposal like, which wasn't what the members wanted either so it was, again, adjusted in a way that would fit what they, as well as the A&R team, wanted. While you may not like these songs, they still had a say in them to a certain degree, could say yes or no and ask for adjustments. Why else would PTD take eight months?

While they might outsource their English songs, their main focus, so their Korean (as well as Japanese) discography is still centered around them, their lyrics, their songs, their sound. Of course you’ll also find outside producers and some lyricists on those as well, because that’s how music works these days, as in collaboratively, that doesn’t change anything at large. Their integrity is still very much there, their hearts are still in it, what other reason would any of them have to say that they want to continue for a long time, for Yoongi to say they want to figure out how to make their career last as long as possible, for JK to say that he wants to sing forever?

Admin 2 also wanted me to add that in their opinion, to a certain degree (though not fully of course), their English songs are like a way to laugh at and expose how shallow the English-centric music industry is. As in, while they made music in Korean with deep and meaningful lyrics, the US industry didn’t care but once they switched to easy to listen to sound with easy to understand English lyrics, they suddenly paid attention, are played on the radio, and even received a Grammy nomination which they wouldn’t have gotten for a Korean song ( A1: regardless how much Black Swan or Spring Day really would’ve deserved it...).

#answered ask #BTS #hybe entertainment

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literaila · 5 years ago

Text

the sun

“the end”

spencer reid x reader

this is part threeee. heres part one. and part two. you should probably read those first :)

summary: spencer has amnesia. he doesnt remember the reader. and he has decided be doesnt want to to be continued...

warnings: mentions of blood, angst, depression, fluff, note writing if that scares you, mentions of fire, i think thats it?

a/n: hahahahahah hi. this is the last part my loves. i hope you enjoy it. thank you so much for loving it.

***

Moving on was easy.

Moving on was so much much simpler than trying to stay.

Of course, moving on was so much easier than trying to wear his brain down, then trying to force the information inside, the information his brain was keeping locked up behind a thousand cages, it was so much easier than trying to break all that information out.

Spencer didn't know her. He only knew the little bits and pieces he told him, he only knew as far as the questions he had asked, but he didn't know beyond that, he didn't know anything about the girl he had fallen for before the accident.

So it was so much easier not trying to force himself to know her.

It was so much easier to go through every day, to live every day, and just be himself. To just have all the information in his head, to not have to learn new things all the time, it was so much easier.

Spencer didn't have to actively try to be a person he wasn't.

He didn't remember her. He didn't know her. He didn't know the person he was with her. He was glad he didn't have to try anymore.

It was a weight lifted off his shoulders, all the change in pockets had been emptied, and he was happy.

Moving on was so easy.

Spencer worked. He worked with his friends, who loved him just the same even after the accident. He did his job, and he wasn't missing anything. He wasn't looking for something that wasn't there.

It was so easy.

Sometimes, he still had to go into the hospital, still had to get an update on his brain, make sure nothing had happened, but most weeks were completely normal. And he was just himself.

****

That's not to say he didn't think of her.

Because he did.

All the time.

***

Everything was easy.

But there was still something.

There was still something weighing him down, still, something that was pushing and pulling him back and forth, moving his heart from the bottom for his feet to the very tip of his head.

There was still something wrong.

***

It was difficult.

Moving, breathing.

It was difficult.

She didn't blame him. She couldn't. She knew that, in her heart, in her head, that it wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't remember her, it wasn't his fault that she had been erased, and it wasn't his fault that he didn't want to keep trying.

None of it was his fault.

But that didn't erase the pain, the seizing, burning pain, that she felt buried beneath everything inside her.

It was an unfortunate thing that Spencer could forget, but she couldn't.

It was a deafening thing, to remember.

Most nights she wished she didn't.

Just so she wouldn't have to know all that they could’ve been. Just so she didn't have to know how it felt to be loved so desperately, to be the entire world to someone. Just so she didn't have to feel everything, to know that Spencer felt nothing when she looked at him.

Just so she didn't have to grieve him.

Because she had lost him.

The man she loved, the man she had never imagined letting go, was gone. Spencer was still there, Spencer was still alive, still breathing, still Spencer. But he wasn't the same. He wasn't the man that loved her.

That man was gone.

It wasn't fair that she had to grieve him. It wasn't fair that she was grieving while he was still there.

But that didn't make it Spencer's fault. It had never been Spencer's fault.

It was difficult. to move, to breathe, to pick herself off of the cold floor that had become her home. It was difficult to do it all.

But she did. She got up every day, she stopped looking at pictures obsessively, she stopped staring at the pictures late at night when the pain under her skin got so intense that she could sleep. She stopped reminiscing over the look that used to be in Spencer's eyes, she stopped looking at all the pictures with them together. She stopped calling him just to hear his voicemail, she stopped calling completely. She’d blocked his number. She stopped checking the FBI website every day, stopped looking for a tribute, a sign that something was wrong. She stopped texting Penelope about him. She picked herself up off the floor, and she tried, she tried to forget, she wished every day that she could just forget all of it.

The pain wouldn't stop. Wouldn't stop coming up every time she saw a couple on the streets, every time she saw someone smiling with someone else. It didn't stop when she saw an accident on the news when she heard anything about a hospital. It didn't stop when she heard about a book Spencer had told her about so long ago. It didn't stop when she avoided her family's questions about Spencer when she ignored the phone calls she got from all her friends.

She was an empty body. She was just trying to move on.

She was just trying to get through each second, through each beat of her heart.

She went to the park all of the time.

She laid in the grass and she avoided thinking. She avoided breathing. She avoided everything and just laid there.

She was being beaten down everyday, kicked back and forth by the grief that wouldn't leave her body, but the grief that filled her pockets filled her body, filled her brain, filled her eyes with nothing.

She could barely move her hands some days.

The doctors said she was fine. Said she had healed months ago, that her ribs were fine, that her head was fine, that everything that had happened had healed. She was fine.

But they were wrong. Because wounds you can't see, they never heal. And memories that don't leave, they won't heal either.

You have to heal for them. You have to leave for them.

***

There was a cloud in his head.

It was always there. Hanging on his shoulders. When he was at work, the weight seemed almost unbearable, and he was worried that it would be too much, that he would fall. But when he got home, the weight only got significantly heavier.

But the weight when he got home.

The weight when he got home was everything compared to the weight at work.

It felt like he had everything, had the sun, the moon, the sky, all forced together on the cloud that was hanging on his back, that was forcing him down, forcing him to carry it. He had everything on his back, but he wasn't strong enough, he was almost not strong enough to hold it all.

The cloud hanging over him, hanging on his shoulders never left.

He didn't understand the cloud.

He didn't understand why it was there, why it wouldn't leave, why it was so heavy, why it kept all the light from coming in. He didn't understand any of it. He didn't understand how it could just be in his head but feel so physically exhausting. It was one of the few things he didn't understand.

A cloud hanging over him, a cloud proving his world to be dark, to be covered in nothing but the dark clouds that surrounded him.

There was a cloud hung over his head.

The sun had disappeared.

The sun was a thing that never existed in this new world he was in. There was no sun, there was no light in his life, there was nothing but the darkness that the cloud kept him in.

There was nothing. No warmth, no light, no sun.

There was no sun.

No.

No sun.

Oh.

The clouds swirled around him. Weighing on his shoulders.

He got dizzy with realization. His back collapsed under the cloud weighing him down, his bones were cracking, his body was falling.

The sun.

His world titled.

***

“Garica.”

His voice was pleading, his body was still broken.

“No Spencer.”

“Garica, I need it.”

Garcia turned around to look at him. Her face was hard, her eyes unmoving. She wasn't going to give into him, even when he was giving her his big eyes, his desperate face. She wasn't going to.

“Spencer. She told me not to.” she crossed her arms, wished he would understand, wished he would stop looking at her like that.

“Garica. She blocked me.”

Y/N had moved. She was gone. She wasn't answering his calls, she wasn't in their old apartment, she wasn't at the park, she wasn't answering him. She was gone.

“Spencer, I really wish I could help you, but she told me that she wanted to move on. I’m not going to disrespect her wishes.”

Spencer sighed and felt his body sting. She wanted to move on. She deserved to move one. But she wanted to. He took a deep breath and stared at Garcia. She had to help him. She just had to.

“Okay, don't give me that look.” She finally said, upset, her eyes mad.

“What?” Spencer asked.

“You said you didn't want to try anymore Spencer. You said that. That girl, she loves you with all her heart, and she would’ve gone to the ends of the earth for you. But you decided to give up. She doesn't deserve you changing your mind.” Garica sighed, flailing her arms around, relieved that she could finally get the words out of her mouth.

She had been mad at him for a while. Had been mad that he had hurt her friend so deeply, that it wasn't even really his fault, that there was nothing she could do. She was furious with the situation, and Spencer asking her to help him find Y/N was only pushing her over the edge.

“I don't like seeing her in pain. I don't want to see it anymore.”

Spencer looked away from her. Ashamed. He wasn't being fair. He knew that he was angry with himself, angry that he had given up so quickly, that it took months of being apart from her to realize his attachment to her, angry that any of this had happened in the first place.

He was angry that he couldn't remember. He’d always wished he would stop remembering things, stop being able to memorize every detail of things that terrified him. But now, now that his mind had taken away everything, had taken away the things he knew he would want to remember forever, he’d never wish to forget anything again.

He was tired, but he wouldn't stop now. One more chance. He needed one more chance. He couldn't stop.

“Penelope. I know- I know she doesn't deserve this.” he took a shaky breath in, messing with the ends of his shirt, looking away from her, the women he’d never thought to be threatening until now. “But I didn't see her, I didn't realize until now.” he shook his head, ashamed at the thought of not realizing. “I need her. I thought- I thought that it was different, that I must have lost the person I had been with her, the person everyone keeps telling me I used to be. I assumed that the feelings had been forgotten with the memory-” He took a breath in. Begging himself not to cry, begging his friend to just understand. He wished he wasn't where he was. He wished he was back at home, back to a year ago when he could still remember. “But- I don't know, I still feel something. I can't stop feeling it. I just-” he sighed, rubbing his eyes.

Garica looked at him. Her eyes now soft, her expression now concerned. While she had seen him fall apart before, while she had seen him desperately in love, she had never seen him like this.

He seemed so ashamed, so angry, to be wrong about something. He seemed like he wanted nothing more than to go back in time to change everything.

And while sometimes she couldn't understand a word coming out of his mouth, she understood this. She understood his desperation, his intense feelings, she understood how it felt to be so wrong.

“Reid.” she finally said, his head snapping up to look at her in surprise.

For his sake, she pretended not to notice his red eyes, his bleeding up lip, and the dark circles under his eyes that seem so much darker than before.

“You are not allowed to hurt her again. That girl has been through too much, is too broken, for you to hurt her again.”

Spencer winced, reminded of all the things that he had done.

“Do you understand me?” Garcia asked finally. Her face testing, her eyes studying him.

He nodded his head rapidly, feeling relief in his chest.

“Okay,” she said, and she started to write something down.

Maybe, just maybe, he could fix what he had broken.

***

Pain.

Buried deep in her chest.

Pain.

Burned into her heart.

Pain.

Scarred on her body.

Pain.

That was never-ending.

Pain.

That she wondered would ever go away.

Pain.

It didn't seem like it. It didn't seem like this feeling, this ghost of a memory, living with her, would ever leave.

Pain.

She tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend that she was making it up, that like all of her doctors had said, she was fine. She needed to move on. She needed to stop obsessing, to stop worrying, to stop feeling all of this pain. She just needed to try harder, to try harder to become a person that wasn't as broken as she felt.

She was still working from home. Even after she had moved, leaving the memories of her old apartment behind, she hadn't decided to find a new job. She was going to keep working online, working with different companies, as long as she could.

She didn't feel like she could do anything more yet.

She was leaving the house more often now.

She prided herself on that.

She prided herself on spending more time in the coffee shop that was next to her new apartment. She prided herself on the fact that she was getting to know her neighbors, meeting new people so she didn't have to be alone all of the time. She was proud of the days she spent in town, just walking around, just looking for something new to do.

She was proud that she hadn't fallen back on the floor, that she was actively trying to do something.

She was upset that doing these things didn't remove the pain. She was upset that her distractions could only last so long, that she couldn't just ignore it when she laid down at night, that the beating of her heart only reminded her of the heart that used to beat next to hers.

She refused to utter his name. Refused to think it.

She was trying to move on.

She hadn't moved far enough to be apart from Penelope, she hadn't completely abandoned her old friends. She had only moved so that she could get out of that apartment, so she could escape the ghosts that were living in it.

She still talked to her friend. Still called her sometimes, still talked just to catch up.

She didn't say a word about him.

Neither did Penelope. She understood.

Y/N was moving on. She was going to move on. She was going to get rid of this pain, she was going to forget it, and then after that, she would move on completely.

Time. She just needed time. She reassured herself that.

Unfortunately, time wasn't something she had.

There wasn't enough time for her to mend herself, to feel complete, to stop the pain flowing through her body like blood, there wasn't enough time to move on before he showed up.

Because he showed up.

Because still, even without the constant reminders, he was always there.

His memories haunted her.

At first, when she saw him, she pretended she was dreaming. Pretended that this was just another moment of sleep that she couldn't control, just another night of him filling her head like he always did, pretended that this was normal. That he always showed up to her doorstep.

It was just a dream.

Even when he started talking, something he never did in her dreams of him, even then she still pretended it was a dream.

“Y/N?” he asked, his eyes looking so clear for a dream.

She didn't say anything.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his eyes concerned now. Her dreams didn't usually go like this. Usually, he was telling her how he didn't want her, usually, her dreams turned into nightmares.

She wondered when she would wake up. She could never sleep for too long.

“Y/N?”

He took a step closer.

And then she woke up.

She shook her head, her eyes becoming alert with panic. Her body froze up.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice came out breathless, cracking with every word. Her mouth was dry, and her eyes were already stinging with tears.

Why was he here?

“I need to talk to you-”

“No.” she muttered, turning away from him. “No, no, no.”

“Y/N-”

“No.” she said harshly, her voice louder now.

She turned away from him, turned away from the pain facing her, from the memories she didn't want to remember, she wanted to disappear.

Pain. There was so much pain. In her body, in her brain, in her eyes.

She wiped away a tear that fell from her eyes. Surprised that she was already crying.

“Y/N. Please?”

And she wanted to say no. She did. But she was tired, and she, she just couldn't.

She nodded, leading her into her apartment. She tried to calm herself down, tried not to sob at just his voice, tried to stop the tears from running down her face.

She dropped her stuff by the door. Kept walking. She stood in the middle of the room, waiting for the man following her to say something.

“I like your apartment,” Spencer said softly, trying to break through the silence gently.

“Spencer,” she almost screamed at the taste of his name in her mouth. She sighed, turning to look at him. Avoided his eyes. “Why are you here?”

She didn't want him to be here. She didn't want to be there.

“I need-” Spencer swallowed. “I need to talk to you?”

She wasn't happy with that answer. Wasn't happy that he was here. Wasn't she supposed to be moving on?

“What could you possibly have to talk to me about Spencer?” she said, sudden anger coming out of her voice. “What could be left?”

Spencer took a step back. He was shocked by her reaction. In the few months, he had gotten to know her, he had never known her to be impatient, in fact, she was quite the opposite, she was always calm and collected. She had never raised her voice, never said anything to him with any malice. He supposed she was tired. Tired of not being mad. He supposed he deserved it.

“I need- I just-” Spencer tried to collect himself. Tried not to be nervous. He clenched his fists over and over again, trying to force the words out of himself. “I shouldn’t have ever stopped trying, I just- I was wrong. Again. I don't-”

“No.” Tears shimmered in her eyes as she looked at him. She shook her head insistently.

“Y/N-”

“No.” She gritted her teeth, her eyes now threatening. “You don't get to change your mind again. You don't get to be wrong again. I just- I can't do this again. I can't- I can't have you change your mind all the time.” Her eyes were red and hot and she ignored the way he was looking at her. “When will you understand that I-” she paused gasping and throwing her head back, the pain burning her throat. “I love you.” she broke.

Falling to the floor, falling back to the place she had been before.

“You can't do this to me- you can't” she gasped. “I can't- I can't.”

Spencer tried to move toward her, tried to find some way to comfort her, tried to do something so that the tears would stop falling from her eyes.

“No!” she shouted, her voice raw with pain. “No! Go- just go- I can't-”

And because Spencer couldn't bear to see her like that anymore.

He left.

She sobbed against the floor. Feeling nothing but relief as he walked out the door.

***

It was a week before anything else happened.

Y/N woke up and got dressed as if nothing had happened. She had been pretending nothing had happened for days.

Today, she had decided she was going to go pick up things to bake something.

Today, she wanted to be distracted.

She had spent all night, tossing and turning while dreams danced in her head. Dreams of Spencer, dreams that always turned into nightmares.

She needed distracting.

She was still pretending nothing had happened.

And she was walking out the door, ready to keep pretending, when she saw a cup of coffee on her doorstep. A note rested against it.

She furrowed her brows and looked at it.

Her name was written on the note, in a messy scrawl. She pretended she didn't recognize it.

She opened it.

I’ve decided to start slowly. I’m hoping it's easier for you.

I’m sorry Y/N.

But, I’m hoping I can build back your trust. In whatever way is easiest for you.

This morning, please enjoy the coffee.

Call me when you’re ready.

Spencer.

She ignored the tears glistening in her eyes. She was too tired of crying.

She decided then she wasn't ready.

The coffee was good.

***

The next day, there was a muffin at the door. Y/N was still surprised. She hadn't expected anything else.

Y/N,

Garcia told me which muffin was your favorite. I’m sure I knew once.

Don't worry. I'm still trying.

I hope you’ll be there when I remember.

I’m not giving up this time. I promise.

Call me when you’re ready/

Spencer.

This time she let the tears run free. She laughed.

This was her favorite muffin.

***

And it didn't stop.

Today, I brought you a book.

I heard it was your favorite.

Call me when you’re ready.

Spencer.

***

Y/N,

I spent my day thinking of you.

Strangely, I miss you when you’re not around.

I didn't realize I felt like that until I gave up.

I hope you enjoy the candle.

Call me when you’re ready.

Spencer.

That day, she felt a pang in her heart, she smiled, acted like she wasn't hoping for anything.

***

I can't remember seeing you for the first time.

But, I can remember you walking into the hospital room. I remember how sad you looked, how tired you seemed. I’ve been trained to notice little things, so I knew you were nervous. I knew you were trying not to make me uncomfortable.

I finally understood what Derek was talking about when I first saw you.

Even though I can't remember seeing you for the first time, I know I thought you were beautiful.

I still think you’re beautiful.

Call me when you’re ready.

Spencer.

***

I regret ever letting you go.

I hate that I can't live in our memories with you.

I’m hoping you can wait longer, I’m hoping you’ll grace me with a little more patience.

I know it's not fair.

I don't want to lose you.

Call me when you’re ready.

Spencer.

***

Garcia told me that you have a sugar addiction.

We have that in common.

So I brought you some chocolate.

I hope it's enough for now.

Call me when you’re ready.

***

Weeks went by. Y/N never called. But, Spencer noticed that she was reading them, that she was taking the time to read them, and taking his gifts. He would wait. He could live with waiting longer if she wasn't ready. This time, he was going to let her call the shots.

And each day he was going to learn more about her.

Learn more about why he loved her.

***

There's not a gift today.

Only my words.

I hope that is enough.

I want to explain why I left, why I gave up.

Some of it was for purely selfish reasons, I didn't want to have to keep pretending to be the Spencer you needed. I didn't want to have to keep working for memories that clearly weren't there. I was tired, but I know that's not a good excuse.

But, I also did it for you.

I didn't want you to have to keep pretending for me. I could see how much it hurt you, how much all of my questions broke you just a little bit more. I didn't want that for you. I know now that leaving wasn't a good decision. And I’m sorry.

But, I also know that if I could keep anything from hurting you I would.

I’m going to try to protect you from everything. That includes me.

I’m not going to give up this time. Not until you ask me to.

Call me when you’re ready.

Spencer.

That day, that message, then.

She felt ready.

***

“Spencer?”

She held the phone to her ear, listening to his breathing.

Eventually, she heard a sigh, she heard a smile.

“Y/N,” he breathed out in bliss.

***

She was laughing when they walked through the door.

They had been out at the park, playing chess, when it started raining.

It was a welcome surprise.

Eventually, they had decided to walk back to Y/N’s apartment, Spencer warning her that she might get a cold, and her teasing back but relenting anyway.

She didn't know that two months could be just as amazing as they had been.

She had eventually called him, had eventually been ready to talk to him, been ready to move on, this time with him. She had decided that she was willing to risk herself one more time, willing to give one more chance to the man she loved.

Spencer understood that. He knew that he only had one more chance to be with her, only one more chance to fix the things that he had broken. He had accepted that. He was giddy at the thought of another chance anyway.

Together, they had decided that instead of trying to rebuild the memories they had lost, they were going to create new ones.

It was amazing what past mistakes could fix. It was amazing what could be created in only two months.

They had spent two months getting to know each other again, going on dates, asking each other questions, questions that didn't put any pressure on the two of them. They went to movies, and dinner and they spent time with their friends.

And while it wasn't exactly the same, and they still had to get to know each other as the people they had become after the accident, it was a perfect start.

Bliss was what they lived in.

Y/N almost thought she was dreaming.

Months ago, she was terrified at the thought of Spencer leaving, grieving the person she had once known, the man she loved.

Now, she was with him. Now, she had decided to start over with him.

And so they were laughing.

They both shook off their coats, smiling at each other as they walked into the apartment. Y/N went to set her bags down as Spencer struggled to get his shoes off near her door.

She was smiling, the only pain in her body was the ache of her heart, knowing that Spencer was there with her in her apartment.

“Do you have anything I can change into?” Spencer asked, standing in front of her with completely soaked clothes.

She giggled a little bit, amused at his weary expression. “Yeah. There's a box full of some of your old stuff that I found when I was moving. It's in my closet. Top shelf.”

Spencer smiled as she turned away, walking into the kitchen to make them lunch, he watched her for a moment before turning into her bedroom.

Over the past couple of months, Spencer was surprised at how much he was finding out about his girlfriend. He learned more about her than he had in the months after the hospital. It was a surprising change, it was a happy change.

His clouds, the clouds that had been following him everywhere, always seemed to disappear when she was around. Her smile, her eyes, her laugh, they all brightened the room, acted as his own personal sun. She was scaring the clouds away, taking bits of his heart as she did it.

Spencer still didn't think she realized the intensity of his feelings. Sometimes Spencer didn't realize it. He supposed that it was easier to fall in love with her like this, to fall in love with someone a part of him had already been in love with. He was sure that subconsciously he had always loved her, that the feelings hadn't faded with the memories.

He didn't want to rush into things this time, didn't want to scare her, to overwhelm her as he had before. It seemed silly to be afraid of admitting his feelings to someone that had loved him for five years prior, but still he couldn't shake the nerves in his heart.

He would tell her soon.

Tell his sun.

He took to calling her that in his head, found it to be the only word that fit her beauty perfectly.

She was the sun in his world. And he thought, just like the sun she would never leave.

He walked into her room, smiling at the books spread across her bed, and went directly to the closet.

His cheeks were in pain due to the amount of smiling he’d been doing, he quickly tried to frown, tried to offer his sore muscles some relief, but found he couldn't do it.

He couldn't stop smiling.

He only smiled wider at the thought.

It was easy to find the box she had been talking about, it being the only thing that looked like it hadn't been touched, out of place in her colorful closet with the brown of the moving box. He took it down, wondering what would be in there.

For a brief moment, he was sad that she had this box, that she had been too afraid to open it, but reminded himself that they had started over. That she didn't have to be sad anymore.

He grinned a little bit at that.

He dug through the box, finding a couple of old books, some sweaters that looked nice. He looked through the clothes, found a pair of shoes he wrinkled his nose at.

And when he got to the bottom of the box he found something else.

A small box.

Velvet.

A ring.

A loud crash came from the other room. Immediately Y/N felt her heart speed up, and she rushed into her room, millions of different possibilities running through her head.

“Spencer!? Are you alright?” she shouted as she walked through the door, the silence being the only thing filling her brain.

She was breathing heavily by the time she made it to the closet doors, not seeing him in her room.

“Spencer are you-” she paused when she saw him sitting on the floor, his head in his hands, crawled up into the corner

He looked so small, he looked like he was fighting with himself like there was something wrong. She wouldn't let herself worry.

“Spence? What's going on?” she asked, kneeling down to sit next to him, she tried to pry his hands away from his face to no prevail. He wasn't looking at her, and he was sitting on the floor, and she had no idea what was happening. “Sweetie, are you alright? Is there something wrong?” she asked softer this time, just a whisper in his ear.

She waited for him to say something.

She looked around the closet, noticing that he had found the box she’d been talking about, she thought that maybe something had fallen on his head, maybe he had gotten a headache. That wasn't so bad. She looked over to him, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“Spence-”

His head snapped up. His eyes looked red, his hair was messy, and she looked down with wide eyes to notice his hands shaking. His face was white but his eyes didn't look sick, not they just looked alarmed as he stared at her.

And then suddenly awe transformed his face.

He was pulling her up, helping her stand up with shaking hands, his eyes only focused on her, as she looked at him confused, her eyebrows scrunched up in worry.

“Spencer what's going on-” she started to say, but he kissed her, kissed her, and stopped her from saying anything.

Relief and surprise-filled her body at the same time. Now, she could see that he wasn't hurt, but she still had no idea what had just happened, why he was acting so strange, why he wasn't talking to her, she didn't understand what was going on, why he was kissing her-

She was still confused when he blurted out

“You’re perfect to me.”

And she looked at him with her mouth parted.

Her eyes were confused again.

But he was staring at her, he was looking at her with his eyes blazed and twinkling, he was looking at her and he wasn't saying a thing, just staring at her, his face completely changed from how it had been a second ago, and he was looking at her, he was looking at her like-

Oh.

She thought about his words. Thought about the look in his eyes.

She gasped, bringing her hand up to her mouth.

He smiled at her, taking her face in his hands

“Always,” he said, and tears ran down her cheeks.

Always. Always. Always. Always.

He had said always.

She gasped again, air meaning nothing compared to the words he had just said.

Spencer just laughed, kissing away the tears on her cheeks.

She breathed in and out rapidly, her eyelashes fluttering.

“You-” she gasped out in shock, her voice barely there, the words barely making sense when her brain was so full of his words. “You remember,” she said, more tears flooding her eyes.

He nodded, grinning at her. His face looked so much different than she had ever seen before, but his eyes, his eyes were looking at her the same as they always had, the same as they always had-

She gasped again, the realization hitting her over and over.

“I love you,” Spencer whispered against her lips, leaning against her.

He lifted the box up, flicking it open in front of her eyes.

She gasped one more time, her eyelids drooping.

He kissed her.

He remembered.

***

Ten years later, love was a memory that would never fade.

Spencer had stayed, had kept to his promise, Y/N had stayed with him, had been patient as he relearned, as he rediscovered the life he wanted with her.

And eventually, they didn't have to try anymore, eventually, everything was easy.

They were together, and their memories were set in stone, the ring on her finger made it clear enough.

She hadn't taken her ring off since she had gotten it.

Spencer didn't mind. He was particularly fond of how it looked on her hand.

Their love was set in stone, their pasts only a path to the life they had built together.

The friends they had, the family they were creating.

Their lives were surrounded by nothing but love, but memories that they wished to keep forever, memories that they cherished more than ever.

And some nights, on the especially cold ones, on the ones that felt alone. On the nights when the wind blew in old ghosts, reminding Y/N of everything, of how easy it was to lose someone, on those nights she always asked, never once forgot to ask,

“You remember me?”

And Spencer was never hesitant to answer.

“I’ve never forgotten.”

And like always, he kissed her worries away.

Because on those nights when she felt alone, when she was cold and worried, on those nights

He was always there with her.

And he always remembered.

the tags: @eternal-fandoms @mathewggubler @chiffonchronicles @wooya1224 @boredoomfm @swannbreezethesweet @cielo1984

my masterlist here

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds rp #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg blurb #mgg fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

Text

Human Relations Snippet: Tim teaches Jon the internet and odious goats are sacrificed to the cult of Bezos

There’s no reason for this to exist. I was rereading a bit of HR and I saw a throwaway joke about Jon wanting to buy Martin a Portal Gun. I started wondering about how that would even work. The answer is, obviously, a 200 year old man squinting at a computer screen wondering why there’s so many horny singles in his area. I get possessed by demons easily, so I took three hours out of writing my daemon au and wrote this instead. Bon Appetit.

(Edit, quick clarification: I think that Jon would refuse to use the name for the Beholding that Smirke made up, and although all of this exists in my head and you guys don’t know this, there was a lot of tension between Jon and Jonah’s ‘circle’. So Jon hated Smirke and thought he was a hack. He uses Smirke’s terms to others sometimes for ease of understanding or in deference to Jonah (:/) but I think that mentally he mainly calls the Beholding his own name, The Witness. It rings of that personal and intimate connection Jon and the Beholding has. Anyway, onto the story.)

After one hour in anguished uncertainty, fifty popups that advised Jon of very many ‘hot singles in his area’, six separate sites that Jon’s God had to inform him were covers for thieves that stole money from you, and a very confusing retreat to Jon’s favorite internet page ‘Wikipedia’ as to what an Amazon was, Jon had given up.

Normally this was where he asked one of his personal assistants for help. Normally, he wouldn’t even be trying, and he would have just told one of them to do it. This was how Jon had cunningly mostly avoided using computers for the past twenty years. Some endeavors were unavoidable, and Jon was proud to say that he mastered email in 2010. Or was it 2008? He liked to think it was 2006, but it was possible...never mind. If it was important, the Witness would tell him.

Peter Lukas was right on almost nothing, Jon thought disgruntledly as he slammed his laptop shut - including in his taste of men, company, philosophies, men, patron deities, professions, and men - but he was right in his proclamation that the internet was the degradation of society. Not that he hadn’t sacrificed his morality and sold out, feeding his patron through something called “incel forums” and “Reddit”. Between him, Jonah’s “Excel spreadsheets” and “TurboTax”, and Annabelle Cane’s ridiculous “MMO guilds”, the Society was filling with computer geeks. Jon could always read the wind: he had to keep up, and quickly.

Besides, Martin had kindly educated him on how it was almost unheard of for a young man like Jon to not understand how to work that Goggle thing. Giggle? Martin was very streetwise and was one of the most insightful people Jon had ever known, he was definitely right.

Which is why he had to buy him this “Portal Gun” that he wanted. He had even shown Jon the website! And if Jon was in desperate times trying to navigate these confusing webpages entirely with URLs he memorized, then he would take desperate measures!

“I’m going down to the Archives,” Jon said, slithering off the couch and clutching his laptop to chest. Jonah had bought it for him. He appeared surprised that Jon was using it. “I may not be back for a while. I need...a book.”

Jonah didn’t look away from his own infernal machine. It seemed he was on that ‘Excel’ program again. Was it one of those ‘video games’ he kept hearing about? “Do I want to know what you were doing on that laptop.”

“Reading Wikipedia,” Jon said immediately, and somewhat defensively. Jon had discovered Wikipedia in 2001 before promptly funding it and throwing his weight behind its development. He had spent a solid five years convinced a computer was a kind of electronic screen that let you read digital Encyclopedia pages, like in Star Trek. He’d seen Star Trek. Georgie made him. “Did you know that -”

“Yes, yes, have fun. Haven’t you read that entire site already?”

“Not even,” Jon said defensively. “I can’t just sit and read through entire Encyclopedias anymore, Jonah. We know more things now.”

“What a way to describe the last two hundred years,” Jonah said, not even looking away from his computer. “We know more things. Never change, Jon.”

“You’re the one who never changes,” Jon grumbled. But it was a weak comeback, and considering his brand new delightfully short stature somewhat untrue, so Jon breezed out of Jonah’s office with full knowledge that he’d think of a better comeback halfway down the steps to the Archives.

In fact, it wasn’t until he was at the door, and by then he felt stupid for losing a point against Jonah anyway. He easily opened the door, stepping inside and quickly bee-lining for Sasha’s office. Her burgeoning powers were wonderfully flowing in the shape of access to and understanding of technology. He had never seen such gratuitous breeches of privacy as she casually committed. Every day Jon was validated in his decision to save her from the Stranger. A balance, an equal yet opposite Archivist from Jon, would be invaluable. Not that Jonah and Jon weren’t their own yin and yang, but Jonah’s powers were paltry and out-of-date. Mind reading and spying through iconography was so 1960. They needed fresh blood.

Sasha had been a wonderful choice, and Jon didn’t regret choosing her to act as saviour. Most of the time. Some of the time she -

“She’s not in.”

Jon’s fist halted in front of the door, about to sharply rap on her office door. He turned around to actually look through the bullpen, only to see that Timothy was sitting in his chair chewing a sandwich. Somehow angrily. Definitely suspiciously.

“Are you sure?” Jon asked dubiously. “Because you’ve lied about this before.”

“Because you should stop coming down here and bothering her.” Timothy balled the saran wrap in his hand and dunked it in the trash can, somehow undoubtedly giving the impression that he wished it was Jon’s head. “Just bugger off.”

Someone was in a snit. Normally Timothy wasn’t this hostile. Jon had thought that learning his name might make him less mean, but it did little to help. But when Jon looked around he didn’t see Martin, and a quick check assured him that both Sasha and Martin were having lunch at their favorite deli and engaging in that plotting hobby they both enjoyed. Timothy had elected to stay behind, stewing in his own angry and paranoid juices.

He would have to do this with Martin out of the Archives...and he really wanted to take care of this now so Martin would get it before the weekend...and it wasn’t as if Jon was scared of this boy he was one hundred and seventy years older than…

“Uh,” Jon said intelligently, “can you help me with...something…”

Timothy’s face twisted in a novel combination of surprise and disgust. “What,” he sneered, “your evil fear god or whatever can’t figure it out for you?”

“I don’t need others to think for me,” Jon said stiffly. It was something he’d had to say far too many times. “The Witness is less helpful with...troubleshooting...look, do you know how to work a computer?”

Timothy stared at him blankly. “Like, at all?”

“I’m trying to buy Martin this toy he desires,” Jon said desperately. Fuck it all, he walked over and sat down in the chair next to Tim’s desk. He pulled a little bit closer, placing his laptop on Tim’s desk, and ignored the way the other man leaned away. “But whenever I try I keep on seeing alerts about hot singles. I’m not interested in young women, I just need to buy a ‘Portal Gun’. Do you know what a Portal Gun is?”

Timothy continued staring at him, eyebrows raised. Clearly involuntarily, so quick that he may not even have noticed, one corner of his lips was ticking upwards into a smile.

“How many credit card scams have you fallen for?”

“Absolutely none,” Jon said, very quickly. He pulled out his credit card, placing it on the table. He knew a credit card was involved, although he didn’t know how. “What do I do? Do I swipe it? Is there a port?” He picked up the laptop and squinted at its sides, looking for a port. “I wanted to ask Sasha for help, since she’s the expert in hacking, but surely you know the basics?”

“I mean...I can’t, like, code, but yeah, I can work Amazon.” Timothy carefully opened the laptop, watching the display light up. He effortlessly navigated to an icon on the screen, clicking it open.

“That’s not right,” Jon said urgently. “You’re supposed to press the E.”

“I do not want to know how many toolbars you have,” Timothy said bluntly. “We’re using Chrome. That’s another way to look at the Internet.” He rubbed his hands together. “Yeah, I got a grandmother, we can do this.”

Jon perked up. “So you’ll help?”

Went unsaid: even though you hate me?

“Whatever,” Timothy grumbled. Jon decided not to press his luck.

Jon decided that he liked the Chrome better than the Internet Explorer, because it was simpler and Google was on the first page. Tim rapidly typed on ‘Amazon.com’ into the search bar and easily scrolled through the very busy and picture filled page that immediately popped up. Why was everything so fast? Maybe this was why the young people had no attention span: these pages just came up immediately. No flipping for indices for finding anything in phone books.

“Right. What was it, a Portal Gun? Like from the game?”

“A board game?”

“Video game.”

“Like on a VHS…?”

“Right.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, Sasha said that you’re one of the most famous sociologists and anthropologists in British history.”

“I am extremely intelligent, Timothy, and I won’t abide any insinuation otherwise,” Jon said curtly. “I cannot be expected to keep constant track every time there’s another - iPhone or whatever. You have teenagers in your family, correct? Do you always know what they’re talking about? That’s, what, a twenty year age gap? Multiply that by ten.”

That shut him up. Timothy sighed again, much more aggressively, but he clicked the white bar and typed in ‘portal gun’ anyway. “Right. Not fucking apologizing, but right. I still don’t fucking know what ‘Twitch’ is.”

“It’s a brief spasmodic contraction of the muscle fibers,” Jon said helpfully. “Fascinatingly, this phenomenon was first observed in frog’s legs before I was even born in 1780, by Luigi Galvani. Erudite man, by the way, but he couldn’t hold his liquor. It was the birth of the study of bioelectricity, although the exact mechanism of muscle contraction eluded scientists for years.”

“Never mind.” Timothy sighed again, the perfect mix of aggravated and long-suffering. It seemed to be the man’s two favorite emotions. “My grandmother has a PhD and she still can’t figure out her cell, either. We had to get her a Jitterbug.”

Amazon, as Timothy explained, was a kind of shopping mall, except you could pick out what you wanted by its picture and have the shopping mall pack it up and send it to you. Jon didn’t quite understand why people preferred this to just going to a shop yourself, seeing as you could get it immediately instead of with a three or four day turnaround, but Tim explained that Amazon was cheaper, had a wider selection, and didn’t make you get off the couch.

“Oh,” Jon said, finally getting it, “this follows the economic model of large scale businesses underpricing their products to undercut smaller businesses in the area, driving them out of business until they hold monopoly over the market and can raise their prices without worrying about staying competitive.”

Timothy stared at him.

“I mean,” he said, “I guess?”

“This explains why my Alexa project was successful so quickly,” Jon mused. “With a lack of competition or alternatives, consumers are more likely to accept the dramatic invasions of privacy as normal. Normalizing intrusions into privacy took ages, but my early efforts paid off very well. The Ring doorbell was even better, along with the line of security and home protection systems. We’re now working on live streamed 24/7 surveillance to social media platforms.”

Timothy stared at him further.

Finally, he said, “Alexa was...you?”

“Of course,” Jon said, baffled. Who else would it be? “I gave Jeff the idea and convinced him it would be profitable. I didn’t understand the whole mechanics of it, but once I gave Jeff a vision from the Witness he was eager to implement the divinely inspired spyware.”

Timothy continued to stare.

“The evil fear god controls Jeff Bezos.”

“He thinks I’m a prophet, actually,” Jon said helpfully. “I let him become Cardinal of the imaginary cult in exchange for funding some of my more esoteric programs. Had him sacrifice a goat and everything, it was great.” At Timothy’s alarmed look, Jon was quick to elaborate, “It was the most evil goat you’ve met in your life. Morally odious.”

“...for my sanity I’m going to pretend that you said none of that.”

In retrospect, although Timothy had worked at the Institute for a few years, it did take quite a bit of time to acclimate to the fact that the Avatars permanently shaped the shape of human existence in order to better feed their gods. Jon knew better than anyone: when humanity made gods, and gods made man, and man made gods...the feedback loop could self-perpetuate for years. Eternity, if needed.

But they had no luck on ‘Amazon’. With Jon’s eidetic memory he was able to easily pick out the one that looked most similar to the one that Martin had showed him, but all of the little toy guns were for someone named ‘Rick’. Then Timothy took twenty laborious minutes explaining the entire plot of ‘Rick & Morty’ to him, which Jon patiently sat through.

“I think young people today deeply enjoy explaining media,” Jon said, once Timothy finished telling him the funny jokes. “I’m very interested in your interests, Timothy.”

“You are so fucking condescending. And please call me Tim, you’re sounding even more like my grandmother.” When Jon brightened, Tim - Tim! - quickly said, “This does not mean we are friends.”

Granted, Jon had never once in his life gave a shit about making friends, but he felt as if he should be making more of an effort with Tim. He was a sort of supernatural brother in law, wasn’t he? Although Sasha perhaps Sasha was more of a favored niece. At least, he would be, if today’s generation found some morality and stopped living in sin.

Good lord. Now he was sounding like Jonah. Georgie used to joke that he was born in the wrong generation - he should have been born a 17th century Puritan instead. Jon found it a very funny joke. Jonah did not.

“Are there any other shopping websites?” Jon asked finally, after Amazon failed them. He’d have to call up Jeff later and complain. “Or is this the only one?”

Tim sighed. “Let’s check Google.”

Quickly and efficiently, yet with many lightning fast detours, Tim found another site called ‘eBay’ - pronounced ‘e-Bay’, not ‘ehbay’ - that listed off exactly what they needed. They weren’t under the toy section, instead listed as something called ‘cosplay’, but Tim seemed highly resistant to explaining that one, so he dropped it.

They picked a likely looking white toy gun that looked the most similar to the one that Martin had liked and Tim talked Jon through punching in the numbers on his card into the website and sorting through the billing and shipping information. Tim helpfully took down the numbers on his card to file later.

“And...done!” Tim said, pressing a button and leaning back. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It was ten times as complicated as I thought it would be,” Jon assured him, “but also much more fun. What else can you buy online?”

“Oh, god. What can’t you buy.”

Jon brightened. “Can you buy books?”

“Old Gertrude used to buy Leitners on eBay,” Tim said dully, “so yeah, sure, why not.”

Jon stared at his computer. He carefully navigated the mouse to the big red x and clicked out of the internet browser. “That’s enough of eBay, then, I think.”

Guess he would have to stick to buying Leitners in person. It was no good buying fucked up books from sketchy sources. Always stick to people you trusted, or at least trusted to be themselves. Mikaele was Jon’s favorite supplier since the kid Leitner disappeared, and they had a pleasant working relationship. Mikaele shared his grandfather’s stories about the history and culture of the Maori, and Jon told him which of his haunted artifacts would be the most helpful in the imminent apocalypse.

“Well,” Tim said finally, gently pushing Jon’s laptop away, “that was...something, great bonding session with my local supervillain, please run back to Elias and bother him instead.”

“You were very helpful, Mr. Stoker,” Jon said, as professionally yet paternally as possible. Tim was six years older than his body, so he’s not sure how it came off, but the touch of grey at his temples helped with the dignified air. “And as soon as you start acting like a man and propose to my Archivist, you’ll make an excellent brother in law -”

“Uh, excuse me?”

Jon spun around in his chair to see Sasha and Martin standing at the door, holding doggy bags and looking somewhat flummoxed. Probably confused at the sight of him and Tim having a civil conversation, which admittedly had never happened before. Possibly also confused at how completely mortified Tim looked.

“Who said anything about proposing?” Sasha asked incredulously. “Tim, are you -”

“No! No, god no!” Tim stood up quickly, holding his hands out as if he was placating a raging bull. “Nobody’s been saying anything - I would never do that to you -”

“Oh,” Sasha said frostily, crossing her arms and letting the bags swing, “would you.”

That was a domestic Jon should stay out of, even though he definitely caused it. He and Martin sidled away in tandem, huddling near the back of the Archives as Tim frantically pled for his life.

Sneakily, Jon glanced at Martin out of the corner of his eye. He looked happy. Happy, and just as stressed as he always looked - Jon had never known Martin when he wasn’t constantly stressed out, and he was more than aware that it was his fault.

He looked good, too. Really nice, broad jawline that gave his face a friendly round shape. Just friendly and round in general, it was really handsome. His hair was as nicely short and ruffles as ever. The big glasses were super stylish, and really framed his face well. Really big, broad hands. Jon, who had always been so poky and tall and thin and gaunt, like some kind of haunted scarecrow that lurked through the corners of time, was envious. He wanted some of that softness and gentleness. Really, he wanted some of Martin’s -

“So what were you and Tim doing?” Martin asked. “I didn’t know you knew he existed.”

“You told me his name,” Jon said anxiously. “I don’t forget the things you tell me, you know.”

Martin smiled shyly and him, and Jon found himself smiling back. “It’s pretty good for my ego to hear that I have something to teach the immortal genius.”

“I don’t know,” Jon said, as Sasha yelled in the background, “I’ve been learning a lot lately.”

“Really?” Martin teased. “Anything interesting?”

“Oh,” Jon said, watching the yellow fluorescent light cast Martin’s dim smile in soft relief, “I can think of a few things.”

#my writing #jonathan sims #tim stoker #archivist!sasha #martin blackwood #sasha james #mild homosexual activity and massive old man activity inbound #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #im posting this at an awkward time so prep for a lot of self rbs

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whoistheasshole · 4 years ago

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How do I get out of this unsatisfying life I’m living?

Anonymous asks: So the thing is that I feel incredibly stuck - I have all the basics of life which I'm grateful for but also that was my BIG dream as a kid, to get tf out of my parents' house - but now I have that and idk what to do for the rest of my life. Like, if I try those "visualize your future" things I'm just like, "I'd like to sleep for a month, maybe longer" & it feels like I don't really WANT anything so I can't plan, you know? Just flailing here honestly. Pretty tired of it.

I wrote back: I got your question. To pinpoint my answer a little better, can you tell me about your current situation, like how long has it been since you moved out? Which are the things you have in order to your satisfaction? Some vague idea of your age range would also be helpful, but I can work without it too if you’d rather not share.

Anonymous answered: Ah, sorry. I was trying to fit in the character limit & also whenever I think about this my mind just goes flbbbbth. It's been about 5 years? That's about the only thing I'm truly HAPPY about, I'm not thrilled with my social/love life, career, etc & have pretty much been just coasting tbh. I'm almost 30. Thanks for entertaining this.

Alright, thanks for adding some background. I will come at this from different angles and you can pretty much pick and choose what sounds helpful and leave the rest, okay?

First, while there are people who have it all figured out, methodically planning their next career step or fully certain that there is no greater joy than raising a child, there are tons of other people who just, to quote, go „ flbbbbth“ when asked about their next steps or, god forbid, their life plan. I would say I fall in the latter camp, but I don’t mind because I think there is nothing wrong with that. I let myself be guided by the things I need to be happy (more on that later) and by current necessities – if my job becomes shit, I need to find a new job. If a friendship goes sour, I need to end it respectfully. But I couldn’t tell you specific career or personal goals, except...

... let’s talk about the „later“ now.

I’m an organizer, maybe even a worrier, and therefore I like lists. And for that reason I made a list a while ago that I still have and expect to keep for a long time. It is a list of everything that I need to be satisfied with my life. It consists of 29 entries and has three of them checked, though several others could be counted as half-checked. I wrote down everything that came to mind, paying no attention whether it was reasonable or feasible to want. That wasn’t the question.

It covers stuff like a clean flat (not checked), restful sleep (not checked), friends that I see regularly (checked) or a job with purpose (not checked). This list is my guide. Well, generally my needs are my guide, but it can be hard to be aware of your needs sometimes, so I got this list. And if I wonder what I need or want to focus on, I can turn to it and choose one of the entries and see what I can do about it. I can also look over the list every few years and see if things have developed in the right direction. Little progress is no reason to chastise myself, but helpful information to see whether I need to re-direct my focus.

Please note that I wrote „satisfied“, not „happy“. Being happy is a passing emotional state. It is completely normal and okay not to be happy all the time. But quiet satisfaction with where you are or where you are going, that is pretty achievable. It certainly is a process, but an enjoyable one.

This list is not a race and it is not really a to-do list because most of the things I wrote down aren’t easy to accomplish with a single action. They take months and years and, for some items, I can only try and hope it works out some day (see anybody who ever purposely looked for a partner).

So maybe this kind of list could be an exercise for you. Maybe it provides you with some insight, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s not the right point in your life. But if you sit down and the only thing you can come up with is „cry forever“ or „sleep forever“ then, you know, that’s a sign.

Which brings me to my next point: Journaling or automatic writing. This method is especially helpful for those „I feel some kind of way and I couldn’t even tell you how“ moments – so maybe exactly where you are right now. Captain Akward has introduced me to a website called „750 words“ and I’ve used the principle of „morning pages“, though not the website, since then whenever I felt like some emotions were starting to boil over.

I sit down, ideally in the morning, and just barf it all on the (digital) page. There are only two rules: 1) Don’t edit or judge yourself, write everything as it comes to mind (that’s the automatic writing part) and 2) Don’t stop before you’ve reached 750 words. You are not looking to write anything readable or clever or lyrical, you’re looking to get all the weirdness out so you can move on. Repeat this as many days as you feel queasy or weird or confused or angry or sad. Each day, as soon as you’ve reached the 750 words, you can walk away. Heck, you could even delete/burn the document if that feels right. It’s just about giving your thoughts the room they need so you can continue with your day, hopefully feeling somewhat relieved.

While we’re at writing, I also have a question for you: Where is the pressure coming from to „do something with your life“? Is it truly coming from inside you or are there outside factors? Are people in your life asking you when you’ll have kids? Do you live in a culture where it’s expected that everybody does something of note, works certain prestigious jobs? Do you compare yourself to the people around you and feel like you’re „late“?

Maybe mull this over on a leisurely walk or write about it, using the method above. No matter where it’s coming from, the feeling of pressure won’t go away just by knowing its origin, but the knowledge can help you keep it under control. And if you find it is truly your own wish, you will have tools to shape your life according to your needs.

So, next, sleep: Maybe do that?

You wrote "I'd like to sleep for a month, maybe longer". I understand this was half a joke, but also … it was probably more than a joke.

How are your energy levels? How does life feel? Are you trying to jog through jello most of these days?

If we’ve been overachievers or had a tough home life or needed to take care of ourselves pretty early, we can become accustomed to everything being difficult. This feeling and behavior can become a way of life, even when circumstances change and we have a chance to act differently.

Do you feel rested? Do you have regular moments of quiet in your life that let you breathe? If not, this is where I would start. Forget about lists, though morning pages might be a helpful accompanying tool (if they don’t become a task to punish yourself with if you don’t find the energy).

Take some weeks or months, maybe even a year to make rest your priority. You will have to find a way that works for you. Yes there is a lot of clinically proven stuff out there, but you will not see me do yoga or meditate. Though feel free if that’s up your alley. If you love cycling or taking photos or drawing or just plain lying on your bed and staring at the wall, see where you can add more of that to your day. Whatever brings you closer to yourself and makes you feel like you can exhale and stand still for a moment, that’s the way to go. Do this as long as sleeping seems like a fine choice. And for good measure maybe a month longer. You are ready to stop when you cannot wait to do something else goddamnit I’m bored!!! (you might say)

If you are in this picture, please start here. Any kind of life plan, next steps, strategizing, solving of riddles would set you back and perpetuate your exhaustion. Rest is not time wasted, rest is how you get your life back.

If you are in this picture, you will likely find that if you really pull through, if you truly rest, as long and boring or even scary as it may be, the other questions will probably have an intuitive answer afterwards. Not like „this is my 20-year career plan“, but „I feel like doing x this week“. And that is enough. Because you won’t need to strain to hear your needs through the fog of exhaustion anymore.

Finally, some practical information and links for when you do have the energy and inclination to tackle your job and social life. I am not saying you need to change anything if that’s not what you want to focus on. These are just some tips, in case they become relevant.

For your social life, I recommend what others have recommended before me: Pick an activity that you do with other people and stick with it long enough to become a familiar face, see also here and here (yes, meeting gay people is similar to meeting other people). If you try out new stuff, go there at least 5 or 6 times before you decide it’s not for you – of course assuming nothing bad is coming up like racist or abusive people in the group. Shop around if the first group/activity doesn’t work for you until you find something that you’d like to do permanently. Maybe you’ll gain some friends, maybe you’ll find a romantic opportunity. In any case, if it’s something fun that you like to do anyway, you will have found an outlet with a social group attached. It is absolutely not as easy right now, with Covid and all, but if nothing outdoors-y comes to mind, you could also use this time to brainstorm what sounds like fun for when things are safer again.

Of course you can also look at opportunities online, like Discord servers, online interest groups etc but I do understand if that’s just not appealing right now. I am certainly over sitting in front of a screen.

To round this up, don’t sneeze at contacts that you already have. Are there acquaintances, friends of friends, colleagues, family members who you would like to get to know better? Then go do that! Suggest a time and place to meet up and see how they react. Say yes to the potential friends.

Speaking of which...

The Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes might also be interesting. Sure, it’s a little pop culture positive thinking kinda stuff, but I did like the impulse it gave me to consider when I say no to opportunities out of anxiety or worry. It made me accept some social invitations from colleagues (… in the before times) that I would not have otherwise considered. I did not gain life-long friends, but I did learn another valuable info: That my FOMO wasn’t justified for these events ;)

It also lead me to the decision to do one new thing every month – visit a new place or try a new activity or cook a new food. If the concept sounds appealing, just think about what sounds interesting and achievable to you.

And finally, the advice blog recommendations that I’ll always have. For social life, love life, and general life planning turmoil: Captain Awkward. For everything job-related, including how to write a good cover letter or interview well and, of course, how to get out of the dreaded current job you have: Ask A Manager.

To sum it up:

1) Figure out if you even have the energy to tackle any of this right now.

2) Figure out your pillars for a satisfying life – nothing big and shiny, just … basic needs, wishes, social needs.

3) When you feel like it, pick what you want to tackle next and see where it leads you.

4) Stay flexible. This is your life and it’s okay to go where it takes you, even if it doesn’t look „cool“ or „impressive“ from the outside. All you need is to make it your own.

And if you want to, let me know how it goes some time. :)

#post #questions #advice #WHO IS THE ASSHOLE #life advice #rest #recovery

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survey--s · 2 years ago

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487.

What is something you’re behind the times on? TikTok lol. What are you brainstorming ideas for right now? Nothing right now, to be honest. Do you have a neighbor who plays real annoying music? Nah, mostly our neighbours are pretty quiet and respectful luckily. Do you miss someone? No. What’s something you’ve had a toxic reaction to? Nothing as far as I’m aware.

Have you ever had a severe allergic reaction? No, thankfully not. What do you want to be for Halloween this year? Nothing, thanks. If you don’t know, what are some ideas you have? ... Are you happy at the moment? I am happy! I just finished work for my Easter break and my GOD it’s been a long time coming lol. I just need some time out. Do you have a headache? No. I have stomach cramps instead. What color are your glasses, if applicable? Black and purple. Do you still look in the toy aisle, or do you pass it by? I can’t remember the last time I looked there. List a great $1 store find: Amazingly nice scented candles. List a great garage sale find: I’ve never been to one. They’re not really a thing over here. Have you ever had a friend push you away for no reason? Probably not for no reason, even if it felt like that at the time. Looking back, we just grew apart and didn’t really have much/if anything in common anymore. What are your summer fashion essentials? Suncream, nice dresses, comfortable shoes that don’t rub lol. Do you have a 5-year plan? I don’t even have a five minute plan. Who is one celebrity you would like to meet? I don’t know, Johnny Depp maybe. Who is one youtuber you would like to meet? None of them. What are your fall fashion essentials? Oversized, chunky sweaters and a cute ankle boots. What was your favorite outfit to wear this past summer? I don’t really remember anything specific, I mostly wore shorts and t-shirts to work. Where do you buy most of your clothes? I haven’t bought new clothes for ages, but normally a mixture of Fat Face, George and Amazon. Do you post on youtube regularly? I’ve not uploaded a video on YouTube for well over a decade. Do you have your own website? Nope. What do you sell, if anything? I sell natural dog treats as part of my business. Do you think you would be a good salesperson? I’m good at selling my services online or via social media, but I’d be absolutely rubbish at it in person lol. What are ten positive words that describe you? Animal-lover, organised, loyal, hard-working, open-minded, determined...and I really can’t think of anything else lol. Are you getting excited about fall?!?! I mean, it’s only April. What’s your favorite school supply to purchase? I used to love buying cute notebooks and folders. Do you keep a planner every year? I just use my phone diary for work appointments. My days change constantly so having a paper planner/diary would just get very messy, very quickly. Do you write a lot? No. What’s your favorite color pen to write with? Black. Do you go to church? Nope. What’s your favorite fall drink? Nothing that’s specific to that time of year. Do you use a sunlamp? No. What’s your favorite thing about Sundays? It depends, every week my days are different depending on what jobs I have to do and the weather. Generally I get to sleep in on Sundays though, which is good. Do you like candy corn? We don’t have them here. What’s on your to-do list for today (or tomorrow, if it’s late)? I got up, did housework, had breakfast, worked 8.30-12pm, picked the dog up, came home, fed the animals, had a shower, had lunch and now I’m doing this and watching TV. Tomorrow I plan on doing as little as possible lol. Where do you buy calendars? I don’t. Do you like to wear skirts? No. I like dresses, though. What is your name (first and middle)? Nicola. I’m not giving you the rest. What are your sibling(s)’ names? I don’t have any siblings. What would you have been named if you had been born the opposite gender? Alexander. If you had another sibling, what would he/she be named? My parents didn’t want any other children. Do you like your name? It’s okay. I wouldn’t bother to change but it’s not a name I would pick for anyone either. What does your name mean? According to Google, it’s Greek and means “people of victory”. What would you name your daughter/daughters? I don’t want children. What would you name your son/sons? See above. Do you want to have kids? Absolutely not. What was your favorite vacation you went on as a kid? I loved skiing in Switzerland and Canada, summer holidays in Italy and seeing family in Australia. Were you happy as a kid? Yes, for the most part, especially as a younger child. Which Barbie had your hair color? I have no idea, I never really played with Barbie. Do you have any toys still from when you were a kid? No. What were some of your favorite toys as a child? A rabbit named Beauty, a bear called Cameron and a doll called Rosie.

#survey #surveys

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electric-sympathy · 4 years ago

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On the dishonest use of “but my interpretation” as a get out of jail free card and the normalization of outlandish shipper behavior...

Jensen has said "No" straight up to a “”””bi interpretation”””” multiple times, so don’t use that deflection bullshit with me. He has crossed out a fan’s “Dean winchester is bi” essay that she coerced him to sign, and told a fan to stop when she tried to force him to answer a question with the framing that Dean was already bi. He has said point blank that d*stiel is not real several times. Shut the fuck up, all of you, shippers or not and take your lumps like everyone else.

You're clearly working on some homophobic, misandrist stereotypes to "read this into" a man that has ALWAYS been played AND written as straight. If you see “the q*eer struggle” in Dean’s character arc it’s because you don’t understand what the gay struggle is, or are so hopelessly delusional that you can’t help your constant projection and need to stop trying to turn your mental health issues into meta to force on others. People are people, they have the power to define themselves. And fictional people are CRAFTED. Deliberately, by people, to represent specific things. If you read either of them wrong it’s because you’re WRONG. ACCEPT IT. You can’t reinterpret the sky as fucking turquoise because it’s “close enough” and you can’t reinterpret a deliberate creation as something else. It literally just does not matter what your justification is.

There are REAL lesbian or pan characters on this show that were thrown out like yesterday’s garbage, and TV shows with REAL LGBT characters and creators going for the last 15 years, even on the same network, but you just couldn’t make yourselves care about those. I wonder why?

I mean, we all know what original dipshit ship opened the door to making degeneracy acceptable in this fandom, established all the pedo dens and made this all possible, but might we wake up and meditate for a moment on how fucking insane the public, actor-facing behavior here is?

Like let me ask you pissants something: If I saw a gay man on TV and I tried to say “Oh I interpret him as bi” would that be okay? Like would you all pretend that just because I faux-softened it with the word “interpretation” it would be fine? All social justice and rep and blah blah blah aside-- would that be okay with you? If I spent my time scrutinizing every eye movement like some kind of freak so that I could come up with fake reasons his dalliances with men “don’t seem properly gay” and every slightest interaction with a woman looked totally super straighty to me, If I went to a bunch of normies that don’t watch his show and told them he was totes bi, and when that didn’t work I went to a charity where my contribution had to be accepted no matter what or disadvantaged people would miss out on help and told everyone he was totally bi, and I went up to the actor and said YOU’RE BI, and/or YOU’RE PLAYING A BI MAN WITHOUT KNOWING IT BUT I KNOW THE TRUTH, supposed he was cheating with women on the side, and when people yelled at me I said, “But there’s soooo much biphobia in the world you guys!!!” (which there is, which I would be trivializing) and spread rumors about this gay actor being a biphobe, would that be okay with you?

I mean, let’s break this down even further. Let’s say I was watching Better Call Saul. Say I spent all my fucking time saying, “You guys, Jimmy is SCHIZOPHRENIC! That’s why he can make up such crazy stories so easily, he hallucinates them!!! It’s even why he believes Chuck about his allergy! Bob Odenkirk gave me a really wishy washy answer that didn’t feel like a no to me about it when I met him because he was so confused why I would think this, so I can say it’s true as much as I want! MY interpretation is that Jimmy McGill is a schizophrenic ICON and I LOVE HIM.”

Imagine that I raised such a stink and it got so big that Odenkirk was forced to say, in public, at a con, with cameras on him, “No, Jimmy is not Schizophrenic.” But then I decide his words don’t matter to me anymore even though I used him to justify myself for years. Then it reaches the show, where Jimmy is diagnosed as mentally healthy. And still I ignore it and plug my ears. And then I ran around throwing a fucking fit saying that I’m mentally ill too so you have to accept this bullshit because I need this for my health... And then when THAT didn’t work, I turned my back and told everyone that BETTER CALL SAUL IS ALBEIST, and I screamed it so loud and so long it hit the news media...

I would be the fucking laughing stock, piece of shit, most obnoxious cunt in the fandom. No one would entertain me for a second. It would be obvious to everyone that I think this because I'm an ableist that’s weirdly obsessed with Schizophrenia because I don’t understand it at all. And if people in the BCS fandom made jokes about Schizophrenia to each other, it would be my fault.

But because you people either pretend to be social justice warriors to hide fetishism or are deeply delusional social justice warriors that prioritize selfcenteredness above all else, it’s seen as fine. The act of turning a sexual orientation into a bizarre laughingstock in the eyes of the entire rest of the website like we’ve seen in the past few months is just fine. It’s totally cool. As is the obscene levels of entitlement, the twisted scorn and thievery upon artists that your fandom wouldn’t even exist without, and everything else. Supernatural is a well-known cesspit because of YOU.

#anti destiel #destiew #spn wank

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izzytheauthor · 4 years ago

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Peppermint Winter (Weasley Family x Weasley!Reader)

Pairing: Weasley Family x Weasley!Reader (I'm pretty sure it's gender neutral, but let me know if I missed something!)

Summary: Christmas Eve is always magical at the Burrow, but there's something special in the air this year. Based on the song Peppermint Winter by Owl City.

Author's Note: I meant to have this done last night for Christmas Eve, so sorry for the delay! I don't think I've ever listened to a song as many times as I did for this fic. Thanks to my new website I now know exactly how insane I am listening to this song for 5+ hours. Whoops. I picture this fic happening in the Twin's first year and the year before you attend Hogwarts, but I suppose it can be read however you wish. Just a really fluffy fic for Christmas because it's my favorite holiday and this is one of my favorite songs.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Food, but I think that's it. Just a bunch of fluff.

General Taglist: @dogweedanddeathcaps @jenniweaslee @sanitisegermsfree @lostaurorax @loony-loopy-lupinn @freddielupin @lxvegoods

There's the snow, look out below // And bundle up cause here it comes // Run outside, so starry eyed // A snowball fight breaks out

Life at the Burrow was always a bit crazy no matter the time of year, but there was nothing quite like Christmas with your family.

This year was even better than normal. You hadn’t had a Christmas all together since Bill graduated from Hogwarts to become a curse breaker. That changed this year when he finally got to take a few days off to be with the family.

But even with the extra magic in the air that came with having your family together, there was something missing this year. Something big.

For the first time in your life, there was no snow on the ground here at the Burrow on Christmas Eve.

You had made the best of it though. You and Molly had baked dozens of cookies to give to the neighbors. Celestina Warbeck’s Christmas album had been playing every waking moment for the last week. And of course the house was decorated from top to bottom like something out of a muggle magazine (minus the stupefied gnome that topped the tree).

Christmas Eve dinner had been delicious, as usual. Molly was quite possibly the best cook in the world, and she always proved it during the holidays. The meal had been filled with smiles and laughter, as well as the occasional argument between Percy and the twins. But overall, it was everything you could have asked for from your family.

Molly passed around a tray of cookies you’d baked together earlier that day, everyone taking more than their fair share.

“These look great mum.” Charlie complimented.

You coughed dramatically and stared at him expectantly.

“And Y/N of course. How could I forget? You helped by licking the spoon.” He winked.

Your jaw dropped open, but Molly interrupted before you could get a single word out.

“Now, now. Y/N helped me decorate some of them.” She smiled, digging through the pile to find one you had done. “Ah, there’s one. Doesn’t it look wonderful?” She asked, showing off the cookie that was completely covered in frosting and sprinkles.

“It looks like a unicorn threw up on it.” Fred said, causing the table to erupt into laughter.

You sat pouting, but Molly came to your rescue.

“Well I think it looks wonderful.” She said, putting it on her plate before passing the tray to you.

“LOOK!” Ginny yelled, pointing out the window.

You almost dropped the tray in surprise before turning to see what she was pointing at.

Outside a steady stream of fluffy white flakes drifted down from the sky, illuminated by the light from the full moon. At some point during your dinner a blizzard had started outside, creating a pristine layer of snow.

You abandoned the cookies, rushing to the window and pressing your face to the glass. Within seconds you were fogging it up, but you didn’t care. You were just happy to finally see the snow.

“Let’s go!” Ron exclaimed, already out of his chair and running to the door.

“RONALD WEASLEY!”

He stopped in his tracks, turning back to face his mum with wide eyes.

“You can’t possibly think you’re going outside at this time of night.” She scolded, hands on her hips.

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, unsure of what to say.

Arthur looked around at the longing eyes of his children that were still trained on the window behind him and smiled.

“Now Molly, it’s Christmas Eve. Let them go play.”

“I’ll go too mum, I’ll keep an eye on everyone.” Bill added.

Everyone’s eyes drifted to their mother, waiting as she thought over her answer.

“Oh, alright!”

She had hardly gotten the words out when the sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floor filled the room, all of her children eager to get their coats on and head outside into the winter wonderland.

You were halfway to the door when you spun back to grab a cookie. As you did, you saw that Percy was still sitting at the table with your parents and you shook your head with a smile.

“Come on Perce!” You said, tugging on his sleeve.

Despite his protests, you didn’t miss the little twitch of a smile he tried to hide. You knew he loved you all, he just didn’t always know how to show it.

You and your siblings stumbled over each other trying to get your snow gear on and be the first out the door. Ron won that race having had a head start, but the rest of you followed quickly behind.

You and Ginny held hands and spun in circles together, heads thrown back and mouths open to catch snowflakes on your tongues. Giggles erupted from the two of you as you began to get dizzy, but neither of you wanted to stop.

That is until something hard hit your shoulder.

The two of you snapped your heads to the side, seeing the twins laughing to themselves.

You had hardly processed what had happened when you felt a half-formed snowball slam on the top of your head. Your jaw dropped as your hands moved to your hair, suddenly regretting that you’d forgone a hat in your hurry to get outside.

You turned to Ginny who was now laughing so hard she could hardly breathe.

“It’s every wizard for themselves!” You yelled, quickly packing a snowball and throwing it at an unsuspecting Ginny, running away before she could get her revenge.

Runny nose, my frosty toes // Are getting cold but I feel alive so I smile wide // The snowflakes start falling and I start to float // 'Til my mean older brother stuffs snow down my coat

The snowball fight died down after a while, a truce being declared when your fingers became too cold to form any more snowballs.

Unfortunately, the terms of the truce included the twins claiming victory. You all disagreed with that call, but the fight would have gone on for another hour if you hadn’t agreed with it.

You could hardly feel your toes anymore, and you’d begun sniffling about halfway through the battle, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. As cold and tired as you were, you never wanted this moment to end.

While the snow was no longer untouched, you still thought it was the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. The snow was still falling, but at a much slower rate, and the wind had died down as well, leaving the flakes to dance gracefully to the ground on their own. The tree branches were topped with a layer of snow, and you wondered how long it would last before it melted and turned to icicles instead. But best of all, the front yard was now home to eight snow angels, one for each of you.

A figure appeared at your side, and when you turned around you found George next to you studying the snow angels just as you had been.

“I can’t believe we got Percy to make one.”

You shrugged. “He’s not that bad.”

He turned to look at you in disbelief. “He sucks the fun out of everything. Hogwarts has been great, but he seems to be around every corner ruining all the fun. I’m sure it’ll be even worse next year if he makes Prefect like Bill and Charlie did.”

“You probably deserve it though.” You laughed, but your smile faded as you noticed the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Perhaps.” He winked.

Before you could turn around, you felt something ice cold drip down your back.

Your eyes widened as you spun around to catch Fred laughing behind you, his mittens still covered in snow.

“FRED!” You screamed. “What happened to the truce?”

He and George spun around and ran, laughing all the way.

“That wasn’t technically a snowball!” They chorused in sync.

You grabbed a handful of snow of your own, and ran after their retreating figures, determined to give them a taste of their own medicine.

All this holiday cheer // Heaven knows where it goes // But it returns every year

Molly eventually put an end to the winter shenanigans and called you all back inside. As you walked through the doorway and stripped from your winter clothes, she handed you each a mug of hot chocolate.

“Thanks mum.” You smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek as you walked into the living room to cuddle up by the fireplace.

You and Ginny sat on the floor together, sharing a blanket. It was just large enough to wrap around both of your shoulders as long as you sat close enough. The warmth that radiated from the blanket and the fireplace was nothing compared to the warmth in your heart as you looked around at the rest of your family.

Molly and Arthur sat together on the couch cuddled up together, Arthur pressing a gentle kiss to Molly’s cheek. Percy had hardly touched his hot chocolate, instead giving his complete focus to the book he was reading. Bill sat in the rocking chair with his eyes closed, gently rocking back and forth to the beat of Celestina Warbeck’s Nothing Like a Holiday Spell as it played on the radio. Fred and George sat by the tree whispering to themselves as they pointed at different presents, probably trying to guess what was inside them. Charlie seemed to be doing the same thing you were, sitting in the arm chair and stirring his hot chocolate as he looked around the room with a content smile. And you could just barely see Ron from where you were sitting. He was in the kitchen by the cookies, and you had no doubt he was stuffing his face with them.

There was something in the air tonight. Maybe it was the Christmas miracle of getting a white Christmas just hours before Christmas arrived. Maybe it was because for once in your life your family was quiet and peaceful, just enjoying each other’s company. Or maybe there was just something about the holidays that felt magical.

Whatever it was, you wanted to savor it while it lasted.

What's December without Christmas Eve?

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sturchling · 5 years ago

Note

A new girl shows up and takes Lila's spot but instead of lying she's actually does them but she's two face and tries Lila worse than Lila treats Marinette and Lila looses her followers whenever she tries the same tactics and up like Nettie(who switched classes) Lila for the first time is genuinely miserable like Mari for real ( will give u an idea 4 a sequel after this)

Here you go! Sorry it took longer than I would have like, but I had sudden job interview. Now that it is over, I had some time to write! :)

Hope you like it!

Lila was happy with how things were going in her life right now. The class was completely under her spell. They believed anything that she says and look at her like she hung the moon. She had succeeded in making that pathetic Marinette miserable. Marinette was so miserable she even switched classes. Sure, Adrien knows she is a liar. But Adrien can’t say anything, since Mr. Agreste has forbidden it. Yeah, life was going well for Lila. That was, until, Sadie arrived

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

It had been a normal weekend for Lila, she had been coming up with new stories to tell the class on Monday. She was sure these new stories would keep the class singing her praises for a while. As she walked towards class, she heard the class already chatting excitedly. It is common knowledge that Lila doesn’t like attention not being on her. So, she got ready to tell another story, to get the focus back on her where it belonged. Not like the class was talking about anything important, probably just talking about whatever stupid thing they had done that weekend. But just as Lila entered the classroom, a new lie on her tongue, when she noticed someone new.

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

The class was surrounding a girl that Lila didn’t recognize, and this girl was sitting in Lila’s seat. This girl had long black hair that reached to the base of her spine, and blue eyes. She was wearing a yellow floral sundress, with a black cardigan and black flats. Lila was furious seeing this strange girl sitting in her seat. Lila had worked hard to manipulate her way into that seat by Adrien, and she wasn’t just going to let it go. She sauntered up to the group, “Well, hello. Are you new?” Alya turned, now realizing that her bestie had arrived, “Oh, Lila! Good morning. This is Sadie, she just transferred here from America. Her dad is a marine and has been stationed to guard the American embassy here in Paris. She was just telling us about some of her adventures. Can you believe it, it sounds like you two have been running in the same circles!” That confused Lila, what did Alya mean by that? “What do you mean Alya?” “Well, Sadie was saying how she has also worked for several go-green organizations, and has also helped out a bunch of celebrities. She also knows a bunch of Hollywood actors, from when her dad was stationed in San Diego. She even has tinnitus like you, she and her dad were visiting a friend at an air force base and she got lost. She wandered to close to a plane and nobody noticed her so her hearing was damaged. That is why she is sitting up front too. You guys can be desk mates!” Lila paled at that. She had worked so hard to get a seat next to Adrien. “But Alya, what about Adrien? Where will he sit?” “Don’t worry Lila, Adrien was fine with the seat change since another student needed to sit up front. He will sit where Marinette used to, near Nathaniel.” Lila was fuming, but she couldn’t exactly do anything about it without looking bad. So, she just smiled and played along, sitting down in Adrien’s old spot.

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

The rest of the morning hadn’t gone any better for Lila. She had tried several times to get the attention back on her, but no matter what she did, the class only wanted to talk to and about Sadie. It was infuriating. Not even Lila’s new stories were enough to capture the class’ attention. Anytime Lila mentioned something she had done, Sadie had done it too, but bigger and better. Worse yet, is that Sadie appeared to be telling the truth. The go-green charities that she claimed to help start, all had official websites and awards and Sadie was always listed on those websites as a founding member. There were even videos of her at some of the award ceremonies. Sadie also had pictures with every single celebrity that Lila had also claimed to know. And not just one picture, like they had just happened to meet by chance, but several pictures. Some looked like they had even been taken at parties. And when Mrs. Bustier had finally arrived, Sadie had an actual doctor’s note for the tinnitus. The little brat had been telling the truth all morning.

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

Lila hadn’t been this angry since Marinette had challenged her. This meant that Lila would have to go to war again. This Sadie girl seemed just like Marinette. Kind and sickeningly sweet. Lila thought this meant that Sadie would be just as easy to destroy, but she was very wrong. The next day, Lila cornered Sadie in the bathroom and threatened her. “I don’t like sharing the spotlight newbie. So, you are going to stop trying to hog all the attention. I worked hard to become the queen in this class, so you can either bow down or get out of the way. I already eliminated that Marinette girl and I can do the same to you too. The choice is yours, you can either give me back the attention I deserve or I can destroy you.” Sadie just smiled at Lila, but in a way that felt very threatening. “No, here is what is going to happen. Alya told me all about your stories and it is clear that you are lying. I am the real deal. The rest of the class already thinks I am a saint. You may have been the queen, but your reign is over. I am in charge now. If you tell the class anything about this conversation, or try and ‘destroy’ me I can promise you the only one that will be destroyed is you. I may seem nice, but I am not some push over, and I will not be dictated to by some liar who is so desperate for a cool life that she had to make one up. As far as I am concerned, we are enemies. I am going to make your life hell-” Sadie seemed to want to say more, but just then Rose poked her head into the bathroom and told them it was almost time for class. Sadie quickly wiped the glare from her face and smiled at Rose. “Thanks Rose, I’m coming. See you in a minute Lila.” With that Sadie walked out of the bathroom, chatting happily with Rose. Lila was shocked. She had thought that Sadie was a goodie-two-shoes, she hadn’t expected her to be so cold and hostile. If Sadie wanted to be enemies, then Lila was willing to play that game.

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

Despite Lila’s best efforts, nothing was working. Sadie had quickly become the class darling and everybody loved her, much to Lila’s annoyance. And what was worse was that Sadie had started tormenting Lila. Lila had never gone so far as to physically attack Marinette herself, but Sadie had no problem attacking Lila every time the two were alone together. So far, Sadie had tripped her close to a dozen times, trapped her in two closets, and had even spilled food all over her. But the class never saw any of this happen. Sadie was really good at finding just the right moment to strike. Lila had tried talking to the class several times, but they never believed her. “Oh Lila, Sadie wouldn’t do that.” “It must have been someone else.” “Maybe you just got confused.” Lila was at the end of her rope.

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

What was worse was anytime that Lila tried to talk to the class, Sadie started to poison the class against her. It started small, Sadie started asking the class, “How could Lila say I would do all those mean things? Did I do something wrong?” The class fell all over themselves to tell Sadie she hadn’t done anything. Then the class began to wonder why Lila was so insistent it was Sadie. When Lila didn’t stop trying to convince the class, Sadie continued her assault, both physically and socially. She was playing the long game with turning the class against Lila. It was so gradual it was hardly noticeable.

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

Eventually, when Lila still hadn’t gotten the message, Sadie pulled out the big guns. First, she started fulfilling the promises that Lila had made. She started introducing the class to celebrities in the field they each wanted to go into. She introduced Alya to people at the New York Times, Nathaniel to the editors at Marvel, and even helped Kitty Section get a meeting with some big-time music producer in LA. Then she started wondering aloud to the class why Lila hadn’t already done all this for them. When the grumblings in the class continued to grow, Sadie went for the killing blow. She accused Lila of attacking her. “Lila was so mad. She wanted to be the one to introduce you to all these people. She told me that if I keep doing this then she will make my life hell!” Sadie even threw in some realistic fake tears, not fake sobs like how Lila used to do. Now the whole class had turned against Lila.

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

Lila’s life had become miserable. She was the class outcast, the only time someone talked to her was to make rude comments or tell her off about ‘how she is treating Sadie’. Thankfully, her lies hadn’t been exposed yet, somehow. She was worried though. Sadie kept getting closer to exposing her with each day. In an attempt to stop that from happening, Lila stopped trying to go after Sadie. Sadie stopped going further with her stories about Lila, but she was still making Lila miserable. She kept tripping her and shoving her and now the rest of the class had joined in. Lila’s stuff was routinely destroyed to the point that Lila didn’t even bring anything she didn’t need to class anymore. Right now, Lila was on another ‘trip with her mother’ and skipping school. She had tried switching classes like that loser Marinette had, but her request was denied. All the other classes were full at the moment. She also tried to convince her mom to let her change schools entirely, but her mother didn’t want her to switch schools in the middle of the year. Lila was stuck and had lost all her power. She was no longer the queen of the class, but was treated more like a prisoner. Sadie had won the war.

#ml fic #ml fanfic #ml salt #ml salt fic #ml salt fanfic #ml class salt #lila rossi #lila salt #miraculous ladybug #miraculous fanfic #miraculous salt fanfic #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #miraculous fic #miraculous salt #miraculous salt fic

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nev3rfound · 5 years ago

Text

it’s just a nightmare : b.b

brief summary: every night, you help bucky after a nightmare. yet, during one night where the nightmare feels too real, you’re no where to be found

word count: 3.4k requested: nope, just something I felt like sharing :) warnings: none that i’m really aware of (if you find any do say!)

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved. - thank you to everyone who helped regarding the wattpad situation, you’re all amazing)

masterlistin’ / permanent taglist

They all start the same, every night.

Bucky is standing on a beach with few around as the waves crash against the rocks, the tide nearing as the sun begins to set. He can feel the warmth against his skin, the light glistening off his metal arm. And then he hears it, the angelic laughter echoing through his mind as he turns to his right, seeing you.

You’re in a sundress without shoes. A sight unknown other than in Bucky’s dreams.

“Bucky!” You call out joyfully, waving to him as you giddily run away from the waves as it nears your feet. “You coming or what?” He listens to the quirk in your voice, how you radiate happiness as you smile to him, only to him.

As always, Bucky takes a step forward and can feel himself nearing you. You’re just out of reach when he’s stuck, unable to move his feet.

“Doll?” Bucky quivers as he looks down, his feet sinking into the sand as you continue to play in the water, splashing around. “Y/n?!” He yells for you, but you can’t hear him, you can’t see him.

After his attempts at fighting the sand, he shuts his eyes, accepting his fate. But then you release a blood-curdling scream, and Bucky tries to use any energy left to get out and find you.

Sadly, he knows this opening sequence to these nightmares all too well. Bucky won’t ever see you again.

The scenery around Bucky quickly changes. Sunlight has been blocked out by wooden boards covering any and every window or gap in the beams, he feels cold and damp as water drips from his clothing.

“He’s awake?” A deep voice questions from behind the shadows, but Bucky is too tired to try and focus on them as his eyes continue to drop against his better judgement.

As his eyes continue to close, Bucky listens to the sound of footsteps approaching him, and those words being listed off.

“No, please,” Bucky pleads, looking up as Zemo stands over him with the book in his hands, pacing around. “you don’t have to do this.”

Zemo pauses, glancing over his shoulder to see Bucky fighting against his restraints, fists clenched tightly. “Oh, but we do, soldier.” Zemo sighs as he continues to list off the trigger words. “We’ve got so much planned for you, James.”

Bucky closes his eyes as he yells out in pain, feeling venom coursing through his brain overriding his self-control until he snaps.

“Soldier?” Zemo shouts, and Bucky lifts his head up, easily breaking the restraints as he rises to his feet in front of Zemo.

“What are my orders?” Bucky coldly asks, now blank before his new master.

“Kill the Avengers, every single one.” Zemo smiles as Bucky nods, turning around toward the weapons displayed for him. “Spare no one, Soldier." Zemo adds. “Not even the girl.”

“Bucky? Bucky, can you hear me?”

Bucky can feel a hand resting on his shoulder whilst the other is against his cheek, stroking along his jawline as quiet mumbles follow.

“You’re okay, it’s a nightmare.”

Opening his eyes, Bucky can feel his heart beating rapidly against his chest and is convinced you can hear it. Focusing on your face, he reaches up, cupping your cheek as you lean against it.

“You’re okay, I’m okay.” You add quietly with a soft smile as Bucky continues to pant. “Breathe with me,” You whisper, slowly helping him calm his breathing and heart rate.

Sweat lines Bucky’s forehead as you keep your focus on him, ensuring his remains on you. “It, it was bad.” Bucky mutters as his teeth chatter, forcing himself upright against the damp sheets.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready.” You remind him, something you often interrupt his dark thoughts with when you find him like this.

Your soft words are something that Bucky will always be appreciative of, even if he can’t vocalise those thoughts to you.

Shaking his head, Bucky leans away as he runs his shaking hands through his matted hair. “I, I was him.” Bucky quietly states as his eyes remain fixated on his fists clenching the bedsheets in front of you. “They, they wanted me to do things again.” Information comes in short sentences as Bucky tries his best to explain whilst you listen in silence.

“But you didn’t do it, Bucky.” You whisper, resting your hand over his flesh one as it softens beneath your touch. “That isn’t you anymore.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky can’t help but fall back into his pillows and exhales deeply. “It just feels like I’ll never be normal, you know?” He glances up to see you chuckle, nodding in response.

“Hey,” You squeeze his hand lightly, making his attention shift to the gentle smile on your face whilst your eyes harden. “you’re getting better, Bucky. And trust me, normal is overrated.” You shrug a shoulder and listen as Bucky lets out a short laugh.

“What would I do without you?” Bucky thinks to himself as you sit before him, listening and helping him after yet another nightmare.

“What’d you wanna do?” The same question Bucky hears every night as you rise to your feet and rub your eyes, removing the sleep still lodged in your inner corners. “We could go for a walk, or get some food?” You try to suggest alternatives each night, ignoring the fogginess of your brain.

Yet, despite your best efforts, Bucky can see how tired you’re becoming. “How about we just try and sleep?” The suggestion is almost whispered as Bucky still worries the day will come where you’ll say no and leave him alone.

Without verbally responding, you hold your hand out and guide him down the hallway into your bedroom.

There was something about your room that made Bucky feel calm within an instant. Whether it was the soft smell of peppermint and lavender or your company alone it made him feel more secure.

Lying down in your bed, Bucky follows suit and curls up into your silk pillowcase as he faces you. Even though the lights are out, he can still make out the curves of your face as you begin to fall asleep.

“G’night Bucky.” You sleepily mumble as your body shuts down, missing the chuckle leaving Bucky’s lips as he leans closer, kissing your forehead.

“Sleep well, doll.”

You always woke up alone, a slight indent remaining from hours prior and a small flower placed on your bedside table along with a fresh coffee.

Since you moved into the compound and became an official Avenger, there was something you soon learnt that few knew. You discovered Bucky Barnes, the white wolf, an ex-assassin suffers from PTSD; and as a result, constant nightmares.

Steve was the only other person Bucky could truly confide in, but no one could comfort Bucky like you. It was something hidden from you, as Bucky knew it would only inflate your ego and be a running joke with Sam.

“Morning sleeping beauty,” Sam calls out as you wander into the shared kitchen with a half-empty mug of coffee.

Hearing your soft laugh, Bucky lifts his head up from his morning paper and can feel his heartwarming at the sight of the mug in your grasp.

“Good mornin’ birdman.” You mumble as you wave to Steve and Bucky. “Cap, Buck.”

“Sleep okay, Y/n?” Steve questions as you stand over the coffee machine, waiting for it to finish brewing before you add to your mug.

Letting out a yawn, you nod in response, missing the way Bucky’s shoulders sink.

Yet the action does not go unnoticed by Steve as you make some breakfast, your eyes evidently dropping with each passing minute. “Anyone wanna train this morning?” You speak up, looking at the three of them.

Sam exhales and shakes his head. “I’ve done my run with Steve, Y/n.”

“Hardly a run, Sam,” Steve mutters, and Sam scoffs lightly. “you were on lap 2 when I was on 10.”

“Who here has super serum? Not me, okay.” Sam defends himself, and you chuckle before looking to the two soldiers.

“How about you, boys?” You raise an eyebrow, and Steve looks to Bucky.

“I, I don’t mind doing some training,” Bucky answers quietly, and you nod.

“I’ll be in the training room in an hour. See you there.” You happily call out to Bucky as you retreat from the kitchen with your breakfast back to your floor.

Once out of earshot, Steve turns to Bucky, resting his arm on the counter. “What?” Bucky sighs.

“She still helping with the nightmares?” Steve questions, already knowing the answer before Bucky can bury his face in his hands. “And you still haven’t told her how you feel?” Steve comments, and Bucky simply groans.

“I wish I could, Steve.” Bucky admits as he tears his hands from his face. “But I’m scared I’ll ruin things.” It was a lot more than simply ruin the thing Bucky had with you, he didn’t want to lose you as someone in his life. You’d been there for him in more ways than Steve could ever understand.

“You could never ruin things with Y/n, Buck. She really cares about you.” Steve rests his hand on his heart as Bucky rises from the counter. “Just, don’t wait forever and miss your chance.” Steve adds as a sad smile crosses his lips before Bucky wanders back to the floor he shares with you.

The training with Bucky didn’t last too long. Sam came in halfway and as usual, things got sidetracked. Bucky felt uncomfortable as Sam made jokes on your stance, even though you were trying your best. You didn’t even get a chance to ask Bucky if he wanted to help make dinner before he stormed out with a sour mood.

For the rest of the day, you mostly kept to yourself. You had some mission reports to finish, and by the time you’d forced some food into your system, it was almost midnight.

You glanced over at your phone, sitting to your right on the table, just in case you saw a message from him. Yet, once you started looking at your phone, it was all you could think about.

The nights you shared with Bucky have been the most comforting nights you’ve ever had. He holds you close in his arms, but he isn’t scared you’ll break if he hugs you too tightly. You sometimes wake up before he leaves and you can admire how his lips remain parted as he sleeps, his brows furrowed and arms loosely holding you against his chest.

Time was rolling on, and with it being 1am and no noise emerging from Bucky’s room, you couldn’t help but wander to the roof of the compound with a blanket. Little did you know, it would be a slight mistake.

As soon as Bucky closed his eyes, he waited for the dream to begin. And as always, he opened his eyes to find himself on the same beach.

“Bucky, what’s keeping you?” You laugh lightly as you swing a beach bag in your left hand, and Bucky focuses as a ring on your finger catches the light. “The kids are waiting for you to swim, honey.” You add as Bucky tenses up, looking out into the water to see a young girl and boy splashing around together.

“I, I’m a Dad?” Bucky mumbles to himself as you glance over your shoulder at the kids before walking toward Bucky until you’re standing in front of him.

This is different, a new dream?

“You alright, baby?” You ask him as your hand rests in his, and all Bucky can do is nod before you lean in, kissing him softly.

Retracting before he can respond to your lips on his, you smile before looking back at the kids play and laugh happily in the water. “I, where are we?” Bucky questions, focusing on you as the wind glides through your hair, some clinging to the lipgloss on your lips.

“Our favourite spot.” You roll your eyes to him. “I told the kids last night about how we used to come here for an escape, and they asked all night to come.” You chuckle. “I just can’t get over how fast they’re growing up.” You admit, leaning your head on Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky nods along, watching as the two kids retreat from the water and grab their towels. “Mom, Dad did you see us!” The boy calls out and you run forward, high fiving him as you pick up the little girl.

“You were so brave, Stevie.” You tell him as your little girl nuzzles her head against your chest. “Did you see any mermaids Becca?” You ask her as she shakes her head. “Oh, I’m sure you will next time.”

Remaining still, Bucky cannot take all this in. Married life, a family, with you?

It was something he’d obviously thought about, but never had it been encapsulated into a dream.

“Daddy! Will you come swimming with me?” Your son calls out as you all look at Bucky.

Bucky watches as the boy runs over, grabbing his hand and guides Bucky to you and your girl. “I think your Dad might’ve had too much sun, kids.” You joke, looking up as Bucky smiles softly, finally having a good look at the two children before him.

They’ve got your smile, but the little girl, her eyes are bright blue. She looks like him, just like the photos his Momma once showed him.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods along to your comment as his focus shifts to a figure emerging from behind the rock pool up ahead. “how about you guys go in, and I’ll follow?”

Both kids rise to their feet as they dart straight in, laughter following as they splash through the gentle waves. “Are you sure you’re okay, honey?” You question, snapping Bucky from his gaze as the figure becomes clearer, and Bucky can feel his chest tightening.

“I’ll be fine, doll.” Bucky smiles to you as you lean forward, kissing his cheek before following the kids, still wearing your sundress.

Rising to his feet, Bucky walks away from you and the children, nearing the figure holding the red book he wished could leave his memories.

“There you are, soldier. I wondered where you had gotten to.” Zemo chuckles as Bucky clenches his jaw.

“Not here, please.” Bucky speaks up, looking over his shoulder to see you laughing as you jump waves with the kids and falling in repeatedly.

Zemo clicks his tongue as he focuses back on Bucky. “’ Fraid not, Soldier.” Zemo states coldly as he starts listing off the words, causing Bucky to fall to his knees as he covers his ears.

“Please, stop!” Bucky is yelling, his eyes tightly shut to block it all out. But it’s useless, he can’t ignore the words as he feels himself take the back seat. The winter soldier now in control.

Closing the book, Zemo watches as Bucky stands up now void of emotion. “Mission report?” He questions and Zemo stands taller now.

“Kill them.” Zemo motions to the three of you behind him, and without a moment to falter, Bucky marches over a gun now in his grip as he aims it at your head, shooting without hesitation.

Crying out, Bucky sits upright as Steve stands over him.

“Bucky! Are you awake?!” Steve calls out, panic covering his face as Bucky’s eyes widen.

“W,where is she?” Bucky stumbles over his words, fear still consuming him as he brings his knees close to his chest, rocking himself back and forth. '

Steve takes a step back as tears fill Bucky’s blue eyes, something he hasn’t seen since they were kids.

“I don’t know, Buck.” Steve sighs and Bucky clutches his pillow to his chest and screams into it. The muffled sound breaks Steve’s heart, his friend this vulnerable who is usually so strong. “I’ll find her, okay? Just, just stay here.” Steve reaches out, but Bucky flinches away from his touch.

Turning away with a heavy heart, Steve wanders the halls of the compound in search for you. When he heard Bucky crying and screaming from the floor above, he knew things must’ve been bad. Before he made his way to Bucky’s room, he checked on you. Yet, you were no were to be seen. The bed still made, papers piled neatly on your desk and phone on charge.

“Come on, Y/n, where are you?” Steve thinks aloud as he stands on the top floor before hearing the faint sound of humming from outside.

Opening the door leading to the roof, Steve lets out a sigh of relief to see you on the swinging chair, wrapped in a blanket.

“It’s not nice to sneak up on people, Steve.” You call out, remaining perfectly content staring into the wilderness surrounding the compound.

Steve remains quiet as he walks up to you, kneeling as he rubs his face. Only then does your smile falter, and you lean forward with worry hanging heavy in your eyes.

“What’s happened?” You ask, trying to control your heartbeat as Steve takes your hand and guides you back inside to the lift.

Standing in silence, the blanket remains draped over your shoulders as you begin to descend to your floor. “I can’t explain it, Y/n.” Steve finally speaks up, and you look up to him as his eyes focus on anything beside you.

As soon as the doors open, you walk alongside Steve to Bucky’s room.

You don’t even wait for Steve as you open it and pause, now understanding why Steve couldn’t put it into words.

“Bucky,” You mutter, stepping forward to see him curled up on the cool tiles of the floor, a sheet covering his body as he shakes violently. Slowly, you kneel down, holding your hand out toward him. “Bucky, it’s me.” You call out softly as his eyes remain empty as tears mixed with sweat fall across his face. “You’re okay, I’m okay.”

Shaking his head, Bucky flinches as he sees you in front of him, only worsening his cries.

“I killed you, doll.” Bucky manages to force the words out through a thick sob. “We had a family, and they made me kill you all.”

Unable to fully process, you glance over to Steve who takes a step back. “I’ll leave you two.” He tells you, and you nod in response before returning your attention to Bucky.

“You didn’t kill me, Bucky. I’m right here.” You fight back your own tears as you shuffle closer to him, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles. “I’ll always be here, you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

Looking up at you, Bucky scans your face, any sign that you’re lying, that you’re an intruder. “It really is you?” He weakly questions, unable to hold himself upright as waves of exhaustion overcome him.

“It’s me.” You take his hand, resting it against your cheek as you lean into it.

“I don’t want to hurt you, doll.” He shakes his head, but you shush him as you help him sit upright.

“You won’t hurt me, Bucky. I know you won’t.” But despite your protests, Bucky refuses to believe you. “No, because I can’t see that ever happening. I care about you Bucky, I, I love you too much to let you hurt me.” You focus on the shift in his gaze as you tell him your truth.

Unable to respond, Bucky falls into your arms as his cries continue. You cradle his head on your lap, running your fingers through his hair as his cries soften.

“I think you should be somewhere more comfortable, yeah?” You suggest and Bucky nods.

Helping him to his feet, you guide him down the hallway into your bedroom, and immediately he can feel comfort invading his senses.

“Let me go get some fresh PJs.” You rest your hand on his arm, helping him sit on the bed whilst you go back to his room, allowing yourself a moment to properly compose yourself.

Whilst you’re gone, Bucky looks around at the photos on your shelves. Most of them are of you and the other Avengers, but a special few contain private memories shared between the two of you.

“Okay, here’s your pants and a top.” You hand them to him and turn around as Bucky weakly changes. If he had enough energy, he’d probably make a joke about your coyness.

Clearing his throat, you take the blanket back from the duvet and climb in next to him. You curl up against his chest as Bucky wraps his arms around you before you have the lights switched out by FRIDAY.

“Y/n?” Bucky whispers, still able to see you looking up at him with your full attention. “I love you too.” He leans down and kisses you softly, seeing you smile as he pulls away. “And I promise, I’ll never hurt you.”

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