#flight path universe

[sushiwriterhere]

one: description & objectives

flight path

summary: "It’s then that it occurs to you that he might be doing a sort of calculus that means that even though you might win this battle, you’re going to lose the war."  rating: teen+ (eventually explicit, 18+ mdni) pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader word count: ~3.3k warnings: enemies to lovers!, college au!, eventual smut, hangman being hangman, no use of y/n.  notes: dedicated to @waklman this ones for u bestie. i have the rest of the fic planned, just gotta write :) pls pls pls let me know what you think! masterlist here tagging: @roosterbruiser @gretagerwigsmuse @joaquinwhorres @sometimesanalice @seresinsweetie @bobfloyds @theharddeck @sebsxphia @jupitercomet @dempy @gigisimsonmars @sunsetsimpsblog @shanimallina87 @djs8891

“Your project partners are as listed in the PowerPoint, please do not come crying to me about who you’ve been selected to work with, I will not be changing it. Your project ideas are due two weeks from today.” You can feel the dread filling your body as you scan the list of names on the slide in front of you.

The further along you get, the sicker you feel. Each person you know who could at least be somewhat trusted to pull their weight, is partnered. Anyone who’s even slightly normal, is also partnered. And not with you. 

The room fills with chatter as people stand to leave class and seek out their project partners, but all you can do is sit and stare at the name next to yours. Lifting your head to scan the lecture hall, you watch in abject horror as Jake Seresin, toothpick ever present between his perfect teeth, lifts a hand ever so slightly and wiggles his fingers at you.

You turn to the TA who always sits next to you, and put on your most flattering smile in hopes of a miracle, “Grace, I know Professor Simmons just said we couldn’t, but is there any chance—”

She laughs lightly, cutting you off, “Sorry kid, nothing we can do. Strict orders. But it shouldn’t be so bad, Jake’s second in the class y’know. I’m sure you two will come out on top.” 

Gritting your teeth together, you barely manage to keep yourself from explaining to her that that’s precisely the problem. 

You and Jake had met in freshman year intro to mechanical engineering—ENGR-M 101 to be exact. It was a larger lecture hall, but you’d ended up sitting next to the boy and his group of frat brothers. They were joking around, calling each other ridiculous nicknames, and you hoped you’d be able to avoid them throughout the rest of your time. 

You were an unassuming kid when you started college, far away from friends and family, and really only focused on becoming the top of your class so you could get into the best PhD programs possible. If MIT and Stanford weren’t an option for undergrad, they’d certainly take you with a perfect GPA and stellar recommendations. Becoming the best aerospace engineer, the best engineer overall, in your class wasn’t just a goal, it was your destiny. You realized that focusing so hard on academics really meant that, well, social life would be lacking. But besides, the STEM dudes were usually an odd bunch—you briefly considered joining some sort of campus club before the options overwhelmed you and you decided to try and volunteer in a research lab. It could be turned into a paid position. And, grad students could be your friends.

But in that moment, you met your nemesis. Really, it felt childish to say it like that, but Jake Seresin seemed to derive a special sense of pleasure from tormenting you. 

He’d introduced himself on that bright August morning with a winning smile, an extended hand, and a gentle Texan twang, “Jake Seresin. Nice to meet ‘ya.”

You shook his hand firmly, remembering the importance of men taking you seriously, and responded with your name. 

His response made clear exactly what his personality was, “Think you’ll survive the weed out? I’ve heard this professor’s a real hard ass, and I’m planning to be top of our class.”

“He’s perfectly reasonable in the lab; and I’m sure he will be here too.” You had sniffed, not exactly trying to sound haughty but not trying to be subtle about the fact that you’d already gotten a head start on the resume work already.

The smile that spread across his lips was poisonous, as if he’d figured you out just in that instance, “I see my competition has my work cut out for me.”

And with that, he turned back to his friends, ignoring the way your face seemed to warm a thousand degrees. You weren’t his competition, you were sure you were leagues ahead of him. The stereotypes about hot-headed, ignorant, frat boys traveled, and you weren’t a fool.

That light tension in your initial interaction had, frankly, spiraled into something drastically out of proportion and lightly legendary. Every class you had with him, you fought for who was going to set the curve, whose in-class answers were better. And at some point, the details of the first interaction faded and were replaced simply by how he had made you feel: like a bug under a microscope, but also like he was pulling your pigtails and taunting you.

So that was the beginning of a long saga in which you now find yourself facing the cruel reality of an entire semester where your grade depends on the very person whose entire life mission seems to be to take you down a peg. Which, frankly, you consider to be ironic because if there is anyone with an ego the size of the planet, that is Jake.

You keep your eyes trained to the front of the room as you shut your laptop and slowly begin packing up. You can’t really afford to avoid him, because this professor’s whole schtick is ensuring that all engineering students aren't terrified of social interaction. Hence, a semester-long project of ‘intimate’ work with a peer. 

It would be fine, except Jake isn’t moving either. He continues to sit and chat with his friends (somehow also engineering majors and frat bros?) while occasionally glancing up at you to see if you’ve moved. His smirk never wavers.

You steel your nerves, and decide that this won’t be the time he gets to you. You have to work with him? Fine. But you’ll take the lead, make sure it’s on your terms. No military themed projects, that’s for sure.

“Well look who it is, part two of the dream team.” Jake’s voice carries through the emptying lecture hall and you distantly hear some snickers, but his face remains almost impassive. 

You can read the mocking undertone, you aren’t stupid. So you stand slightly awkwardly off to the side as his friends disperse slowly around the two of you. The only friend of his that you know by name, much less respect, Bradley Bradshaw, sends him a warning look and says hi softly as he passes you. Despite the fact that Jake’s standing in a lower row, he’s still slightly taller than you when he stands to his full height, backpack over one shoulder.

“Jake.” You grit out, trying to mask your displeasure. You’re sure it isn’t working. 

“Sweets, it is a joy to see you.” His easygoing smile does nothing to make you feel at ease, in fact, you think it might be giving you high blood pressure.

“I will choose to ignore the fact that you seem to not know my name, and ask that we meet as soon as possible to start on this.” You cross your arms and turn around to start up the stairs, and you hear him hit himself on a desk in his rush to catch up to you. Serves him right.

He seems only slightly deterred by the fact that he just did the adult equivalent of smacking your shin with a scooter, and he keeps his stride even with yours. It’s your luck that you two actually have your next class together as well, something about senior requirements. 

“You’re being unusually nice to me. Scared that your grade’s on the line?” He teases, only slightly distracted by his phone which he’s typing furiously into. 

You round on him, and he grinds to a halt while you brandish your metal water bottle at him, “I take my grades very seriously, Jake Seresin, and I will not have you goofing around and sabotaging us just because you find glee in my suffering.”

Very cautiously, like he’s actually afraid you might hit him, he grabs the bottom of your water bottle and lowers it so it isn’t at his eye level. Then, he has the audacity to salute you. Not a corny one, but one that looks like he’s spent hours practicing it in the mirror when he’s doing his military nonsense. At the very least, he doesn’t snap his feet together, so he manages to save himself from looking like the world’s biggest dork. 

“I pinky promise that I will not sabotage our project because I find it funny. I do also care about my grades y'know.” You exhale just slightly, and you turn back around to start walking again. 

“Good to know you at least take something seriously,” You mutter under your breath, recalling all the times he’s breezed into lecture rooms right as the second hand indicates it’s the start of class.

He manages to catch your muttering, despite your best efforts, “I’m basically first in every engineering class we have, you cannot actually be questioning my academic prowess.”

Something curls in your chest, as you snap back, “Basically first?”

His laugh carries as you two finally exit the building and march through the quad. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. It isn’t an exaggeration to say that despite the size of your university, people know about your rivalry. 

When you get to your next lecture, Jake plops himself down right next to you, trapping you in the aisle unless you take the long way out. You bristle at the proximity and glare at him, trying to mentally will him into leaving you alone. He seems not to get the message as he fully unpacks and manages to irk you even further by using the shared arm rest.

You almost completely lose your mind when you finally decide to change seats despite the one next to Jake being your unofficial-official seat, and your professor chooses that exact moment to start class. 

Ignoring Jake through the lecture isn’t actually the hardest thing in the world. He wasn’t lying when he said that he took classes seriously–you notice that he takes diligent notes, keeps his online shopping and texting to minimum (that’s nothing to say for his frat brothers who seem to be intent on keeping their groupchat on fire), and doesn’t bother you. He keeps his elbow on the arm rest between you two, though. 

When there’s only a few minutes left and the professor notices that he’s losing everyone, you feel a poke. You ignore it and grit your teeth as you attempt to maintain your composure. Jake pokes you again. 

It takes all of your mental strength not to straight up just yell at him in the middle of a lecture hall, and you turn your head slowly to make eye contact with him. He’s wearing a shit-eating grin and it makes you even more annoyed. 

“Can I help you?” You whisper quietly, “I’m trying to focus here.”

Jake just keeps smiling and responds, “Library after this? We can have lunch.”

Then he has the audacity to wiggle his eyebrows in a way that makes you raise yours at him. He seriously bothered you for this? The same man who insisted he would take the project seriously is trying to distract you from paying attention in one of your most difficult lectures. 

In an instant, you remember that pissing him off completely probably isn’t the brightest idea, and even though you can already tell you’re going to spend most of this semester completely and constantly ticked off with him, you know you’re capable and you don’t want to have him drag you down completely. So, instead, you nod somberly at him, and turn back to the front. 

He seems surprised by your reaction but doesn’t push it, thankfully. 

Once the professor dismisses everyone, Jake once again takes his time putting everything on his desk away and finally standing to leave. You think you could’ve done a hundred physics problems before you two are leaving the lecture hall. Nearly everyone else has already left, and you just find that to be another reason to be irritated with him. This semester is going to be a million years long.

-

“Oh please, Jake, spare me the hyper nationalist histrionics.” You think this might be the fourth time you’ve rolled your eyes in the last two minutes as you and Jake argue about your project topic.

The two of you have claimed a table in the far corner of the second floor and spread textbooks, notebooks, and various supplies over it. Thankfully, there aren’t that many witnesses to the absolute hurricane of materials and the arguing that’s been varying in pitch for the countless minutes since you got here. You’re considering strangling him.

(Yes, you had argued about where to sit. You insisted on a study room on the fourth floor where it was quiet and you usually studied. Jake had won out only because of the fact that the fourth floor was a silent floor and “we’re probably going to yell at each other and I really don’t feel like getting on the librarians’ bad sides this early into the semester.” Five minutes after he said that, you’d raised your voice loud enough to make several people turn their heads– “Urban sustainability shows our versatility as engineers, asshole!”)

You only have two weeks to decide, and even that’s a stretch. These deadlines are fake in your mind–topic should be decided within three days to ensure maximum time for research, analysis, and polishing of the final product. You’d perfected your timeline second semester of freshman year and you were not about to deviate because Jake couldn’t understand that not everyone had their head so far up the Navy’s ass all they could see was its intestines.

So far, the only ‘work’ you and Jake have managed to get done is to argue about the ethics of the military industrial complex as well as, in his words, why you are not in fact a hippie just because you don’t approve of a bloated military budget. (“How much does one pilot’s helmet cost?”) Lunch is abandoned in front of you, a few containers of the sort-of-decent cafeteria food from the basement. 

Jake seems determined to ensure the two of you spend the next sixteen weeks turning yourselves into cadets, or whatever the hell they’re called, and you could not care less. In fact, you absolutely cannot care less because you are not going to do research on the military and a deep dive into urban sustainability projects is the only option. Navy or Army or whoever be damned. You’ve already told him as much at least three times.

“You just said the word histrionics. Who even says that.”

At the very least, you can take comfort in the fact that he looks just as annoyed as you probably do. His usually unshakeable, smiley demeanor is gone, replaced by a look on his face that says he’s probably regretting being so cheerful about calling the two of you a “dream team”. He leans back in his chair so he’s only on the back two legs and you bite your tongue at the urge to chastise him for the extremely juvenile behavior. Someone’s mother clearly never terrified them at age five about putting their head through the windows behind the kitchen table. 

“I say that, Jake, because I’m an adult with an adult vocabulary. And as an adult, as the adult, I’m deciding that we’re not doing some stupid shit about the Navy.” He narrows his eyes at you and you can see the gears turning. 

“Okay, well, I’m also an adult and I don’t say histrionics.” It’s a weak comeback and you both know it, but he seems more preoccupied by whatever plan he seems to be thinking through. 

It’s then that it occurs to you that he might be doing a sort of calculus that means that even though you might win this battle, you’re going to lose the war. You open your mouth to start arguing again, but this time about the project topic, when he holds up a palm to stop you. Now you’re not just considering throttling him, but wondering how aggravated assault can be explained away on graduate school applications.

“Okay, how about we compromise. We can do our project on fuel efficiency of a few types of Navy aircraft. That way I get to do the military and we can talk about the environment. It’s not exactly urban planning but,” He waves his hand around, gesturing wildly, “It’s some sort of planning.” 

For a moment, you think he actually might be trying to compromise. But instead, you narrow your eyes. Jake Seresin isn’t nice, least of all to you. And he certainly doesn’t believe in compromises. 

You stand firm, “I am not doing any project that involves the Navy. Or the Army.”

“National Guard?”

You almost leap across the table at the laughter that shakes his entire body. Instead, you sit and you seethe, considering how much clout you have in the department to get someone to convince your professor to let you switch partners. Or help you get away with murder.

Once he stops laughing, he settles easily back into his chair and then folds his hands together so he can rest his chin on them, a serious expression coming over his face, “How about a deal, sweets?”

Sirens immediately start going off in your head. Bad, bad, bad. You are not making a deal with the devil. But, some part of you is curious, what will he ask from you to let you take the lead on this?

“Go on.” You narrow your eyes at him, and gesture for him to continue.

“You have to come to at least five parties this semester at my invite, and stay for at least three hours, I’ll know if you don’t, and we will do the project the way you want it. I ask for three thousand words to talk about the military, give or take.” The twinkle in his eyes is mischievous in the worst way and it sets you on edge. 

“What’s the catch?” 

“What do you mean what’s the catch? An offer’s an offer, sweets.” He holds a hand out for you to shake but you shake your head at him.

“I wanna negotiate.” Jake raises an eyebrow at you (does he do his eyebrows?), but gestures for you to continue anyways, “I will come to exactly four of your stupid parties, and stay for two hours, no more. We do the project my way and you get two thousand words.”

You can tell he wants to say yes when he sits up in his chair, but then you realize that he’s getting too good of a deal so you cut him off, “Actually, no military or flight deviations. I hate parties.” You wrinkle your nose in displeasure.

“Zero is a hell of a lot smaller than three thousand, sweets.” A crooked grin spreads over Jake’s face and you make a mocking face at him. “And I know, but it’ll be good for you. Socializing with normal humans is good for the soul.”

“Okay well, our page limit is thirty, and that’s 7,500 words double spaced. Not including diagrams and footnotes, so I don’t want you eating up all my research space with military crap,” Jake scoffs when you say “my” but holds out his hand anyway.

“Fine. Four parties, two hours, project your way, one thousand words?” He wiggles the fingers of his outstretched hand like he had earlier in the day and you stare at it for a moment before deciding, what the hell. 

Shaking Jake’s hand makes you realize that’s the first time you’ve ever touched him.

[plugnuts]

Man sometimes I wish I could be a protagonist in a video game I want to know what it’s like to fear for my life but also fight for it and my future

[millersfinest]

pluto and charon | e.w

astrophysicist!ellie & aerospace engineer!reader

wc: 4k

blurb: there’s a new planet that formed in the milky way galaxy—and it’s dr. ellie williams’ (and a few research assistant’s) job to prove that life can exist on it. oh, and you’re the second opinion there to back her up and steer the ship (whether she likes you or not). but, when a sector of the shuttle malfunctions, locking the two of you inside… what will two analytical scientist do to fix it? was it a dignified sign from the cosmos?

warnings: nothing much, vulgar language, enemies to lovers (?)

note: ellie loves space, so i wanted to write her as an astronaut—please, enjoy! i haven’t written anything in awhile so…. had to get this off my mind.

⋆·˚ ༘ *

The thick sound of silence and machinery crowded the ears of everyone on board. It had been approximately one hundred and twenty-five earth hours since you have taken off from the ground—to and through the stratosphere. The ship was in autopilot, cruising through the nothingness of the milky way; passing whirling planets and asteroids that shied away from prying eyes.

This wasn’t your first time estranged from earth. It was your second. But there was no feeling like floating in metal that you concocted—stitched together with wires, buttons, and joysticks. You marveled at the large windows that displayed your universe just as enthusiastically as the research assistants on board.

Jackson’s planet was where you were headed. Previously named, J-74.

Through many study sessions and research assignments, it has been theorized that it could withstand human life. Earth’s depletion of resources has been making it difficult to live—for average people. With the atmosphere rapidly thinning, livestock, farming, and health sustainability has been dramatically decreasing.

There needed to be an intervention—and Dr. Williams was the one to jump start it.

You have been working off and on with her since your early years at NASA. Initially, the two of you came in as forthright interns who were too smart for their own good—arguing every chance you got because you both wanted the same thing; to see what space looked like from space. Not from a camera or laptop or extreme telescope.

Eventually, you split into separate fields and concentrations. It was engineering that began to pique your interest. You worked hard to curate materials that could withstand dramatic changes in temperatures and weather. Still studying planets and galaxies, but with a distinct perspective.

The space shuttle was made for damage—only certifying the safety of the mission. There was very little risk traveling to Jackson’s planet.

You couldn’t decipher if it was morning, noon, or night, but you just couldn’t stay asleep. Checking the watch on your wrist you have only been asleep for three hours. How puzzling. Typically, you sleep well in silence and whirring, but it was different this time. The sounds prickled under your skin, pulling you from the absorbing mattress in your sleeping quarters.

Finding your way toward the center of the shuttle, you used a key card to enter each sector. A ziplock of dried fruit was pinched between your fingers—reaching inside every few minutes for a bite. Wanting to estimate time of arrival, you navigated toward the flight deck. A pair of dark sunglasses resting on the bridge of your nose to dim the fluorescent lights.

Shuffling your feet against the floor, you slipped into chair of the pilot seat. There were many screens and buttons before you. All bright in different colors and hues—blinking. However, you focused on the screen that determined the path of the shuttle. It showed the ship following a dotted green line, with the time in the far-right corner. Six hours.

Time of arrival was only a few hours out. You were almost at the very planet you’ve been studying for the past two years. A tired smile stretched onto your lips, leaning back in the cushioned chair.

In the comfort of silence, you watch the celestial bodies minding their own through the three panel windows. Legs folded up, comfortably. You were currently passing Pluto and Charon. There were four other moons of Pluto, but Charon was the largest. And even bigger up close.

The coolest thing about the pair was that they always shared a face. There wasn’t a time where they weren’t looking at each other—scientifically, it was called mutual tidal locking.

“I didn’t think you’d be up…” A raspy voice muttered from behind your chair. She must’ve heard you crunching on your dried raspberries.

Turning around, you noticed her walking toward the co-pilot chair with a yellow notepad in her hands. Her gray NASA jumpsuit was tied around her waist, exposing the white, ribbed tank top she had on. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d kill some time up here.” You responded, watching as she sat down.

“What’s our ETA?” Her green eyes focus on the destination screen.

“Oh-eight hundred— we have six hours left of travel.” You pushed the glasses above your head, eyes glancing at the screen. “Raspberries?” Holding the ziplock toward her, you offered.

Ellie shook her head, clicking the pen in her hands. Pressing your lips together, you shrugged, zipping it tight before placing in the crevice of the chair. She quietly scribbled on the yellow pages—her thick eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

The other moons of Pluto came into your line of sight. They weren’t all close on your path, but Hydra and Nix made a clear appearance. Their shapes were not as circular as Charon; they were like any other moon on any other planet.

She hummed to herself, clicking her pen in thought. “Can you check this equation for me? I’ve been thinking about this since we boarded The Firefly…” Ellie hands the notepad to you. “It’s an estimation of sustainable oxygen and energy— if Jackson’s planet doesn’t provide us with enough… How much can we manually create for it to be habitable?”

It was your turn to hum in thought. Dragging your finger along the inked lines of her equation, you sucked your teeth. The numbers appeared to be correct—Ellie was always good at the math part of theory. “This seems about right, but we can only theorize so much.” You begin. “The only way we can thoroughly verify this equation is by settling on Jackson—running physical tests.” You hand the notepad back to her. “We need specificity, not estimation.”

“I’m just making sure that we’re prepared.” She grumbled.

“We are prepared, Ellie. If we have too many hypotheses, it may confuse our students… Overwhelm them.”

She pressed her lips into a line, averting her eyes toward the three panel windows. You could feel her level of irritation rise, as she adjusted in her seat. The ship was slipping past Pluto and Charon, leaving the bodies in your wake. “Do you have to challenge everything that I say?” Ellie muttered, leaning her chin on her fist with a pinched expression.

You deepened your eyebrows. “I don’t challenge everything you say… You asked for my opinion.”

“On the equation!” She whisper-yelled, pinching the bridge of her nose to calm herself. “Not your opinion on how to teach my students.”

“Our students—“ You corrected, but she abruptly cut you off by standing to her feet.

Scoffing, she ran her fingers through her choppy auburn strands. Rolling your eyes, you watched as she threw an adult tantrum. Ellie’s capacity for managing her emotions has never changed; she’s always been angsty and easily frustrated. “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to him— I should have chosen someone else for this mission.” She tossed her notepad onto a table, shaking her head.

With that, you stand up. Leaning your arm against the back of the pilot seat. “Oh, yeah? Who?” You squinted your eyes, condescendingly. “Jerry the fucking receptionist? So, you can feel intellectually superior enough to feel good about yourself?” Raising an eyebrow, you chortle. “Wow, Dr. Williams… Didn’t know you could stoop so low.”

“Fuck off…” She sucked her teeth, shaking her head, dismissively.

“Gladly!” You snatched the bag of dried fruit from your chair, before stomping toward the sliding mechanical door. Before raising your key card to the receiver, turned toward her one last time. “This isn’t just about your findings. It takes a team's effort for a mission like this to succeed. Challenges foster discovery— even if I’m the one doing it.” You wave your card over the receiver, the door releasing air as it slid open. “See you in few hours…” And back to your sleeping quarters you went.

It was difficult, but you managed to get four extra hours of sleep after that little argument. Typically, bickering with Ellie lasted more than just a few minutes, but you’ve matured—you’d like to think. Times have changed, and you were in space; you were working. There was no time for petty, egotistical arguments. Even so, you couldn’t help but wonder why you ground her gears so bad. Yet, somehow, she was always around you—orbiting you like the beautiful celestial bodies you know and love. Was she stuck in a gravitational pull—unable to flee? Or was she fully conscious?

Two hours until Jackson’s planet arrival!

The automated voice announced over the intercom. Which pulled everyone on board from their own devices—whether that was sleeping or exercising. The classes you and Ellie taught were basically conjoined; two in one. So, each of you had your own research assistant that tagged along on this mission. But they both worked for the both of you— you were their supervisors.

However, for some reason, Ellie’s assistant appeared to be distant from yours. Allan was his name. When everyone met at the breakfast table, there was a quietness in the room that felt unfamiliar. Usually, Allan and Sophia, your assistant, would be filling the room with casual chatter. About their personal lives. This morning was drastically different. Scraping your plastic fork against the plate, playing with your powdered eggs, you glared at Ellie. “Dr. Williams, how old are you again?”

“Dr. Jones, isn’t it disrespectful to ask a woman her age—?”

“Thirty-one, right?” The legs of your chair screeched against floor as you stood up. Taking your plate, you toss the food into the trash bin. Scoffing, you use your key card to leave the eating area. You navigated toward the flight deck to guide the ship the rest of the way. Flicking off the autopilot switch and taking ahold of the joystick. For as long as you’ve known her, you never thought she’d stoop as low as admitting to choosing another for the job.

You’ve never done anything to Ellie for her to be so adamant about being a pain in the ass. Academically, you rivaled each other, but that was it. At least, that’s what you thought.

In the distance you could see the blue-green planet ahead. Looking like the long-lost sister of Earth. You mused at the sight, grinning to yourself. That was what you were here for.

The sound of air puffing from the sliding door leading to the flight deck, caught your attention. For a moment, you thought it was Ellie, but a much softer voice called your name. “Dr. J,”

It was Sophia wandering into the room. “Tense morning, huh?” She raised her slender eyebrows, taking a seat in the copilot chair. You jutted your eyebrows in response. “I thought it’d be more enthusiastic considering we’re almost there…” Her light eyes glanced toward the three-panel window, glimmering with excitement.

“You and me both.” You responded, dryly.

A beat passed between the two of you. Sophia awkwardly rocking in the chair. “I can’t help but ask— what’s going on between you and Dr. Williams?” She questioned, softly. “I’ve seen you guys' bicker before but…” She dragged on, hoping you’d respond before she rambled.

You sigh, glancing at her. “We’re just having a disagreement. That’s all.” You swallowed, clenching your jaw. Keeping the relationship between you and your student professional, you change the subject. “We’re nearing Jackson. I suggest you suit up and start taking notes on what you see as we approach. Meaning asteroids, moons— anything.”

“Copy that.” Sophia quickly got up, to leave the flight deck.

Focusing, within the next hour you enter the atmosphere of the planet. The ship shuttering through turbulent clouds and temperatures. The ground resembled the dirt of Mars, just darker and muddier. The ship released stilts to prop itself on the ground of Jackson. With a hopeful sigh, she jumped from her seat. Going to slip into her protective suit and helmet. The whistling of heavy winds sounded against the ship, rocking it slightly.

You met the rest of the group in the airlock. Allan was about to press the button to shut the door into the hall—locking them out with an airtight seal. But Ellie stopped him with a wave of her gloved hand. “Your suits not zipped up all the way. Turn around.” She told you, gesturing with her hand for you to turn. Her voice echoing in your helmet, you do as she says; as it’s a safety concern. But you were still annoyed with her—and you were sure that she was still annoyed with you.

She zipped up the back, latching it with a metal button. Ellie even made sure that your helmet was sealed and secure. You grabbed your pack, swinging it onto your back. Then began locking everything into place with buckles and latches. “Thanks…” You muttered, barely sparing her a glance. “Allan, the door.”

He glanced at Sophia with eyes you couldn’t read, before pressing the button. The airlock sealed, puffs of air releasing from the hinges.

The hatch creaked as it fell open, hitting the ground with a thud. The assistants marveled, stepping toward the threshold. You and Ellie mirroring them, approaching where they stood. The morning sky’s were clear and blue. With the reflection of two, perfectly circular moons in view. Allan turned around, looking at his main supervisor.

“It’s your mission— you should be the first to step foot on it.”

Ellie smiled through her helmet, glancing at you, briefly. You didn’t spare her much of a glance, you just rocked on your feet. She should be lucky she has such supportive students.

“I think its just as much as Dr. Jones’ mission as it is Dr. Williams’.” Sophie spoke up, lifted her eyebrows. “If it weren’t for Dr. J… We wouldn’t have The Firefly; I think they both should go. Together.”

“Holding hands…”

You put your hand up, scrunching your eyebrows. “All right, that’s enough.” Rolling your eyes, you chuckled, dryly. “We can go together… If you don’t mind.”

Ellie shrugged. “It takes a team’s effort to succeed…” She held out her gloved hand.

Sighing, you took her hand. She held onto your gloved hand, gently, pulling you toward the hatch. The wind whistled, nearly blowing the two of you over, but when your feet jumped into the mud—the assistants cheered. “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind!” Ellie exclaimed, swinging your arm, unintentionally.

You meet her eyes, laughing at the reference. “Be original.” You playfully, jested. Turning back to the team. “Let’s begin our testing— shall we?”

The team was out there for hours with test tubes collecting matter of different forms. You grabbed bites of temperature and took notes of the environment. The assistants diligently worked—doing exactly what they were told. Ellie kept her distance from you, but never forgot to spare you a glance every now and then. Pretending not to notice, you kept to your work. Walking in and out of the shuttle, collecting data. Trying not to mind it one bit.

Fatigue began to rain over everyone—including yourself. Despite your incessant need to prove otherwise. It was reaching twenty-one hundred; it was past their bedtime. Allan and Sophia had grabbed the supplies propped outside, bringing them back into the shuttle. They were the last touch the ground for the evening. But, you and Ellie had been hibernating inside the shuttle running chemical tests on the matter collected.

A makeshift dinner was prepared by the leading astrophysicist as a prized delight. She was proud with how hard everyone worked—giving the pep talk of a lifetime. Her influential words were really meant for your students. You even added a few supportive statements to hers. Applauding their work. Then, eating ensued; chowing down on the blandest food known to mankind.

It was not long before half the crew went to bed. You disappeared into the comms room to film the first scientific update of Jackson’s planet. The sliding door shutting with a smooth sss sound. In your hand, you held a personal vial of the dirt you found. With pieces of rocks and, what you could only assume to be, grass stuffed into the top. White scotch tape labeled the small glass: J-74.

There was a small television screen built into the wall. Touch screen. With a little camera at the top center of the shape. You pressed the screen until the recording option came up. Clearing your throat, you started by saying the date and time, then your name. “We just finished day one on Jackson’s planet— it was a busy day.” You held up the vial of dirt, shaking it around. “But it was well worth it.” A grin stretched across your face.

“The team has loads of research ahead— thank God for Allan and Soph; they’ve already made this trip easier— but the odds are looking up.” You nod, continuing. “Jackson just might be everything that we need for our survival. Just like Dr. Williams anticipated.”

Sss!

The door opened, revealing the auburn-haired academic. “Shit-talking me in the comms room?” Ellie raised an eyebrow as she entered. But, upon noticing your filming, she paused in her steps. Cursing to herself. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” She cursed herself, again, for swearing on company file. Her notepad was glued to her hand—as per usual.

“Speak of the devil and she shall appear.” You chortle after glancing over your shoulder at the woman. “Dr. J, signing off.” Ceasing the recording, you swiveled around in your rolling stool. Ellie wandered around the room with a nervous aura. Bending the notepad back and forth. “I hope you’re not wanting my opinion on another equation… I’m on too much of a high to bicker tonight.”

Ellie chuckled, dryly. “Not this time. I actually wanted to apologize for this morning.” She inhaled, stiffly. “I was unprofessional— you’re the best this team has; I could never replace you—“

“Okay, I get it. Apology accep—“

“Let me finish!” She held up a hand. You blinked with a slightly surprised expression, pursing your lips. “I could never replace you nor would I want to” Ellie paced the floor before you. “And, yes, it was very childish for me to ask Allan to take a vow of silence when communicating with Sophia and you. That was wrong. But, in his defense, he argued me down about it…” She rambled, messing with her hair, notebook, fingers—everything to busy herself.

This may have been the first time that she has ever thoroughly apologized. Usually, the two of you let the frustration from arguments simmer; then, eventually talk to each other. “Where’s Ellie Williams and what have you done with her?” You joked, standing to your feet. She was a nervous person, but never this nervous. “Seriously, it’s fine. No hard feelings— we do this all the time.”

You move to leave the room, pressing your key card against the receiver. That familiar puffing of air doesn’t sound—the door doesn’t open. The light flashes red. Deepening your eyebrows, you try again. Ellie watches you, intently. Her lips parted, wanting to speak. The focus on you breaks when she realizes she can’t leave either. “Let me try.”

She waves her card, and it flashes red. You swear, stepping backwards, in thought. Was it the high winds? When you built The Firefly, you made sure to consider every possibility externally. Did you really forget about the smaller details—like doors? You weren’t the only one working on this contraption, so this issue couldn’t have been on you. “Have there been any complications in any of the other sectors of the shuttle?” You asked.

“Uhm, not that I know of— I haven’t had any problems.”

“So, it’s just this one… Hm.” You hum, feeling the gears of the door. Bracing your hand on the part of the door that opens, you attempt to pry it open with your hands. Grunting, using most of your strength. Sighing, you look at the woman next to you—gawking. “Are gonna stand there or are you gonna help me?” You exhaled. “You must want to be locked in here with me.”

She jumped to action, tossing her notebook aside to try to pry open the door. “To be honest, I’m not complaining…” Ellie muttered to herself. But she was close enough for you to hear.

Abruptly, you stopped pulling. “What?” Your eyebrows deepened, placing your hands on your hips. “What did you just say?” You questioned, gently. Confusion written along the faint fine lines across your face. Ellie pressed her lips into a line, stepping back from the door as well.

“I have a confession.”

“A confession? Am I being punked?”

She crossed her arms. “Do you seriously think I’m incapable of being nice to you?”

You shrugged, pursing your lips. “For longer than ten minutes… Yeah, I find it a little hard to believe.” Ellie scoffed, dropping her hands at her side. She began to pace, again, but in a different way. Leaving a trail of frustration and irritation in her path. “Ellie, we’ve been butting heads since we met. Excuse me for being a little surprised at the word confession.”

The scientist looked over her shoulder, partially glaring. “Did you ever consider why we bump heads so much?”

You cleared your throat, awkwardly. “Uhm, you hate that I’m smarter than you.” You chortle, but she doesn’t laugh. “Kidding.”

Swiveling around, her freckled cheeks were as red as a tomato. “Ellie, I’m kidding.” You tried, approaching her slowly, remorsefully. You’ve never seen her this way before. Her foresty eyes were glistening and wide like she wanted to cry. Placing a hand on her bare arm, you felt her muscles flinch. “You’re probably the only person at work that actually meets my intellect— maybe even exceeds it at times.”

“Pluto and Charon.” Ellie mumbles, examining your features. Overthinking the feeling of your hand on her bicep.

“What about them?”

“Do you think Pluto always noticed Charon?”

You thoughtfully averted your eyes, but your fingers remained against her warm skin. “She’s so large, I doubt Pluto didn’t always notice Charon. How could she miss her? I mean, they share a face.”

A beat passed between the two of you, leaving room for you to finally understand. Were you that stupid? The most remarkable thing about you was your intellect. So, you wondered, how this could slip by so easily? Ellie had to frame her words in a way that you’d understand. Astronomy.

“Oh.” Your hand drifted up her arm, over her bones shoulder, resting lightly over her trapezius. “Ellie… You have a thing for me?”

She tries to brush your hand off her skin because she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. But, you resist, taking her other hand in yours. Perhaps, you never fully thought about it—drowning yourself in your work. However, when you do think about it, you loved working with her. Even if that meant arguing and bickering every few minutes. At least you got to be around her; seeing her pretty freckled face for hours at a time. Watching her eyebrows twitch in thought as she solved equations.

“Don’t shy away from me now.” Your hand reached to cup her cheek; drawing comforting lines across her skin. Pluto always noticed Charon. It was natural for them to be in each others orbit—stuck like glue.

Despite her nerves, Ellie’s hands found solace at your hips before she leaned in for your lips. You pushed your body against hers, wrapping your arms around her neck; somehow wanting her closer. Her lips were soft and slow moving against yours—melting with passion and warmth. You could tell that she yearned for you, unlocking a part of you that yearned for her. Slowly, the kiss intensified. Ellie’s hands clenched at your tank top, slipping her fingers under the hem.

While your skin was being set aflame by her touch, you pulled away. Eyeing her with glimmers of lust in your irises. “This is great, uhm, but we’re still stuck in the comms room…” Your brushed hair from her face. “I don’t want the entirety of Houston to see or hear what we’re doing.”

“We’re not doing anything…” She smirked, keeping your hips flush to hers.

“Right.” You grin. “Let’s wake the assistants.”

The two of you separated, hesitantly. Ellie reached for the intercom button, but when you both heard giggling from the other side of the door—all movements ceased.

“Those little assholes.”

The cosmos.

[villainessbian]

Concept: most aliens can get anxious, can get scared, can get fight-or-flight. What most aliens do not get, however, is stress. Stress is a weird thing even by human standards. It can build up over time or be something tied to a very limited situation. It can be caused by a lot of things, and it comes in a lot of different ways. But it's a core human reaction, when a situation is wrong, it causes stress until it is righted. And it even affects different people differently!

Cue Human Cassandra, on a ship with her friend and co-worker Human Pauline. The ship is crewed with a mix of species. It's a cargo ship - load up in a space port, unload in another, get news and supplies during their stops, and live as an ever-shifting family as some of the two dozen crew members, give or take, get replaced. Some leave come payday, and new ones come looking for the thrill of low-level adventure, experiencing warp drives across the safer roads of the known universe.

But getting the supplies you need, or want, in stops is never so easy. Humans are new to the galactic community, and their needs misunderstood. Most broad-edibility food is bland for them, but that's okay. A big enough bag of their condiments can last them years. But ADHD meds... now that's less easy to get, the further from Earth you are. And a contract too big for their captain to pass on came up, much farther than the two humans expected.

Cassandra's mood deteriorated, her work priorities out of order, her sleep schedule in disarray. Little by little, she grew restless, shifting moods and gears unpredictably. A few weeks in and she was a mess, barely able to keep up with the minimum her job doing maintenance and running safety diagnostics for the route charting team required of her. While Pauline could help with the mechanical aspects of keeping the ship running, picking up the "slack", the safety had to be double-checked by the charting and pilot teams. When the curves of asteroid probability reached beyond a certain level, several hundred simulations had to be run, time-consuming processes had to be used, to avoid any collision at speeds beyond speed c. Some truly exotic things happened to ships that experienced those, but none of them contained the words "surviving crew." A safe route avoided any probability of collision over .1% and when going faster than light, any choice of course required thinking in 3 dimensions plus relative time to navigate dangerous probability fields in one piece, finding time-specific corridors and accounting for a dozen variables at once.

After she had a breakdown over a path she would normally have been able to find in under a minute, Pauline spoke to a concerned pilot team member:

"You have to understand her, this is a stressful situation and she's doing her best..."

"What do you mean by 'stressful'?" Gabalt asked. The furry little creature stood on two arched legs, and barely reached up to Pauline's shoulder, opening three wide eyes with curiosity and concern in equal parts.

"Things are... getting difficult for her, and keep getting more difficult because she does not have medication to help her brain be efficient. It makes her tired, and inefficient, and as it goes on, she's less and less able to cope with the situation. The longer this goes on, the worse it gets, and that is stress. Getting more tired because it takes more energy to deal with the situation, and less efficient because she's more tired, and things get harder because she's less efficient, on and on until something can solve the problem and the stress goes away."

"That sounds... hard. Do all humans have to deal with this?"

"Well, everyone has sources of stress, but she's got a disability. Without her meds, she gets stressed all the time. Not a lot all at once, but it always adds up."

"Oh no! So she'll be stuck like that until we get closer to Earth?"

"Most likely, yes."

But the most momentous thing to happen this day was not her breakdown. Not an hour later, alarms blared up. The simulation holograms all displayed blinking red masses - the less-travelled "safe route" was not as well protected! An asteroid range had been detected cutting through the border field, and it was in their way!

Pauline froze up, not knowing what to do. Gabalt was too surprised to act fast. All the courses from the ship's library of regular manoeuvres suggested a crash chance of over 60%, and mere seconds to act before entering the field!

Before anyone could react, Cassandra came in running from her corner to the front of the bridge, slamming the warp drive shutdown button. Most holograms stuttered and collapsed, the exit from FTL essentially dividing one or several of their dimensions by zero.

Looking quickly at the few remaining ones and gazing at the screens showing the current outside situation like a large window would have - plus a few critical extra points of data - she adjusted the angles manually while everyone still shuddered from the gravitational and temporal whiplash of suddenly coming back into normal time. Unblinkingly, she spotted the asteroids on the route while the ship was still going, if not at relativistic speeds, still fast enough for a single pebble they met to vaporise the Whipple shields, the outer hull, the inner hull, the crew members, and the hull again coming out if they but grazed it. Confirming the angles visually, she played with the reaction wheels, the thrusters, the gravity drives, to divert the ship's course just enough to miss a collision while not risking any grave injury on board. There was no time to react - if anything showed up straight ahead on the "unaugmented" outside view screens, it was too late to not get splatted. After half the crew had had the time to get thrown to the side or on the ground due to the rough handling, she'd managed to avoid any crash.

Gabalt was reeling. While it was surely not impossible, these was the kind of moves experienced veterans would never wish to attempt, and the margins for error were ridiculously low! She'd saved the ship and everyone on it, whereas she'd been unable to do a simple safety run so soon before?

Pauline was white as a sheet, but this was nothing compared to Cassandra, shaking violently and breathing unevenly.

"Pauline? What is she doing?"

"That's... probably the adrenaline."

"What's it for?"

"It's from stress. When it comes it overcharges the body. It's like the traditional, 'fight or flight' instinct from survival in prey-predator paradigms, it lets you move fast but paralyses thought... it feels pretty bad after a lot of it is released though. Now she's crashing down, must be harrowing."

"How did she do that? And you said her thoughts were paralysed for precision manoeuvres?"

Cassandra's voice came, nearly a mutter: "I just... had to. do it."

Gabalt needed to understand what happened.

"What do you mean you had to? Someone had to do it, but why you?"

"It- it was very stressful, I saw you freeze, and so."

"But... but HOW did you do all that? That was extremely complicated, few pilots -whose main craft is directly piloting- would want to even try doing that when given a choice!?"

"I had to. do it, so I did. I couldn't. couldn't make a mistake."

"This makes absolutely no sense."

Pauline interrupted. "She just works like that. Lots of stress and when people freeze up, humans with her condition... sometimes, surprisingly, function better in the moment than others can."

"Ah. So it's a human thing. of course, it's a human thing. NOTHING MAKES ANY SENSE WITH YOUR ACCURSED SPECIES" the diminutive pilot pouted.

And so one more story of the humans doing the impossible spread around. Humans of a subtype, more easily harmed, sometimes unstable and needing help for the simplest things... accomplishing odd, unthinkable, borderline heroic feats under duress none could be expected to withstand - but only then. Cursed, blessed? No story-teller seemed too certain. But the "magical" species never stopped surprising all others. And a new proverb developed: "it's not over until the human says it is".

[novy2sirius]

universal year numbers

— each years energy

trigger warning: violence, death, and weight ♡

universal year numbers can tell abt the main energy of the year for everyone ♡

u can find the universal number by adding the year together. example: 2024 = 8 ♡

ur personal year number will also affect the energy of each year, but this is abt the main theme for everyone ♡

2023 -> a 7 year: gaining new knowledge that will help u in upcoming years, prone to illness, becoming more spiritual, prone to loneliness, not a good year to start a relationship, good year to spend time alone (ik i did a lot in 2023), good time to gamble

2024 -> an 8 year: getting back karma for things u did in the past years (this can be positive karma or negative karma depending on what type of person u r/have been in recent years), making money, gaining power, good year to start a new business

2025 -> a 9 year: gaining intelligence, becoming more spiritual, more deaths occurring (9 is the number associated with death, so we’ll likely see a lot of celebrity deaths this year)

2026 -> a 1 year: good year for new beginnings, building confidence, becoming hotter, becoming a leader/standing up for things, getting into more fights/arguments (this includes verbal and physical), expect ppl to be more aggressive than normal

2027 -> an 11 year: more ppl will find love/their soulmate (a good year to start a relationship as long as ur viet zodiac isn’t the ox and ur life path number isn’t 1) lots of new celebrities will become famous (especially actors), more emotional energy, good year to workout, don’t take a lot of flights in 2027 (if u have to avoid 9, 7, or 11 days)

2028 -> a 3 year: more laughing, better communicating, good year to gain fame on social media, more good luck (especially financially, as long as u don’t have a lot of negative karma), good year to network

2029 -> a 4 year: good year to put in work for rewards in future years, bad year to break the law (higher chance of going to jail), ppl will be more sensitive/violent, good year to join the military

2030 -> a 5 year: good year to travel, good year to get pregnant, having more sex than usual, a lot of ppl will have a glow up (especially if it’s ur 5/9 personal year as well), good year to release a beauty product line, good year to improve ur health, good year to socialize

2031 -> a 6 year: good year to spend more time with ur family, good year to buy a home, good year to fix broken relationships, good year to have a family (children), good year to make friends, there may be more struggles with weight (especially if it’s someone’s 6 personal year)

[meazalykov]

different worlds

esmee brugts x reader

summary: why would she want to be with someone so ordinary as you? you thought to yourself

warnings: angst

you’ve been with esmee for three years now, and it’s been nothing short of amazing. even with the distance, you’ve made it work, and not just work…thrive. 

she’s in barcelona, living her dream playing football with her dream club, while you’re back in the netherlands, knee-deep in textbooks and labs, working toward your bioscience degree that will hopefully grant you the path to move down to esmee in spain.  

it’s not easy, being apart. some nights feel heavier than others, especially when you’ve had a hard day at university and all you want is to hear her laugh in person or feel her arms around you. she always knows, doesn’t she? it’s like esmee has a sixth sense for when you need her. 

she’ll call you just as your chest feels too tight to handle, her voice soft and steady, grounding you as you spill out your frustrations.  

on her end, esmee works tirelessly. the intense schedule is packed with training, matches, and media commitments, yet she never makes you feel like a second thought. you know how much energy football takes out of her, but somehow, she still sends you late-night texts about the things she can see from her balcony or pictures of her post-match meals, accompanied by funny inside jokes that only the both of you can know. 

you’ve both made a promise to visit whenever there’s a free day. sometimes, it’s you hopping on a flight to barcelona, your heart racing as you land and see her waiting for you at the airport, her smile brighter than any sunrise. 

other times, it’s her coming home to the netherlands, her suitcase clutched in one hand and pretty flowers for you in the other.  

the time you get together is never enough. every moment feels precious, like you’re trying to hold water in your hands. she’ll curl up beside you on your couch, her head resting on your lap as you scroll through your notes or finish an assignment. 

she claims it helps her relax, even though you know she always falls asleep within minutes.  

every goodbye stings, but neither of you let it show too much. esmee kisses you like it’s a promise she’ll be back soon, and you hug her like you’re trying to memorize the shape of her. you’ll wave her off at the airport, holding it together until you’re back in your car, the scent of her perfume still lingering on your jacket.  

distance is hard, but it's something worth fighting for with es.  

it’s something you try not to think about too much, but the thoughts creep in when the nights feel too quiet, or when you scroll through social media and see another photo of esmee at training or celebrating a win. 

she looks so confident now that she is in her second season with barcelona.. she’s so radiant, like she was born to be under the spotlight. sometimes, you can’t help but wonder how you fit into her world, with your notebooks, lab reports, and quiet lame routines.  

esmee doesn’t need college like you do. she’s already made it… her career is the kind of thing people dream about…playing for barcelona, traveling the world, making people’s happiness spark with every match. 

you, on the other hand, are still figuring things out, navigating your degree, hoping that all this work pays off someday. it’s not that you’re not proud of what you’re doing..you are. you love bioscience. when you compare yourself to esmee, it feels like you’re standing in her shadow.  

there’s this insecurity that pokes at you, though you’d never say it out loud. she’s so cool, so effortlessly amazing, and sometimes you feel…ordinary. you think about how many women footballers date each other..how they must understand each other’s lives in a way you never fully could. 

esmee has told you a hundred times that she loves you, that she doesn’t care about any of that, but your brain doesn’t let you believe it all the time.  

then there’s the dutch national team. you know how close those players are, how much time they spend together. the thought of her meeting someone who shares her career, her lifestyle, someone who gets it on a level you can’t…it makes your chest tighten. 

what if esmee realizes one day that it’s easier to be with someone like that? someone who doesn’t have to fly in for visits, who knows exactly what it’s like to juggle matches, training, and recovery?  

it’s not that you don’t trust her..you do. esmee does not have the capacity to hurt you in a way like cheating. however, trust doesn’t always stop the little voice in your head from whispering all the ways you could lose her. 

you’re scared, because esmee is your whole world. you know she tells you you’re hers, but what if someday she wakes up and decides she needs someone else? someone better? someone who doesn’t feel like an outsider in the world she thrives in?  

the thoughts have been relentless lately. they whisper doubts that echo louder the more you try to ignore them. the insecurity has always been there but this past week, it’s felt more like a roar. 

you love her more than anything, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that you’re not enough for someone like her.  

so when she asked on tuesday if you’d be coming to barcelona that friday, you hesitated. your answer came slower than it should have. 

“i can’t,” you said after a beat. 

“i have a bioscience lab to complete.”  

it wasn’t a lie. your coursework has been piling up, and you genuinely do have a lab due. but in the past, you’ve always found a way to make it work…to book a late flight, to finish early, to prioritize her in the way she’s always prioritized you. 

this time, though, the weight of your doubts held you back.  

“okay,” esmee said softly, her voice calm even though you thought you caught the faintest hint of disappointment.  

the rest of the week passed slowly, each day heavier than the last. one week turned into two, then into three. you didn’t book a ticket. you told yourself it was because of school, but deep down, you knew the real reason: 

you felt unworthy. the longer you stayed away, the more convinced you became that she was better off without you.  

you noticed her calls became less frequent, her texts shorter. it wasn’t that she wasn’t trying…she always sent you good morning and good night messages, little updates about her day, or photos of her meals…but the warmth, the easy closeness, wasn’t there. 

you knew you were pushing her away, but it felt safer than facing your fears head on.  

the distance you created didn’t make you feel any better. in fact, it only made the doubts louder. scrolling through social media didn’t help either. you saw photos of esmee at training, videos of her celebrating on the pitch with her friends like kika and ellie, snapshots of her laughing with ingrid and mapi. 

she looked so radiant, so confident, like she belonged to a world you could never fully understand.  

you kept imagining scenarios in your head..esmee meeting someone else, someone who shared her life in a way you couldn’t. someone who could keep up with her training schedules, her travels, her world. the thought of her with another footballer, maybe even one who plays for the dutch national team if not for barcelona, felt like a knife to the chest.  

one friday afternoon, you’re sitting in a cozy café in amsterdam with a friend who insisted on meeting up. you didn’t think much of it when they texted you earlier that morning, urging you to take a break from studying. 

you hadn’t been out much in weeks, so you reluctantly agreed.  

the café is warm and inviting, the smell of coffee filling the air. you’re halfway through a latte, distractedly picking at a muffin, when the door opens, and a rush of cool air sweeps in. 

you glance up out of habit, and your heart stops.  

esmee stands in the doorway, her eyes scanning the room until they land on yours. she looks different than she does on the pitch..dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, her hair pulled back into a simple bun.. different from her braids..but she’s still just as breathtaking.  

your friend shifts awkwardly in their seat, mumbling something about needing to run an errand before quickly excusing themselves. it hits you then..

this was a setup. they knew.  

esmee walks toward you, her strides purposeful, her expression a mix of concern and something else you can’t quite place. she stops in front of your table and slips into the seat your friend just vacated, her hands resting on the edge of the table.  

“hi,” she says softly.  

you swallow hard, suddenly hyperaware of how quiet the café feels. 

“hi.”  

“just hi? are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asks, her voice calm but firm.  

you glance down at your hands, unable to meet her eyes. 

“what do you mean?” you ask weakly, though you know exactly what she means.  

“three weeks, y/n,” she says, her tone gentler now but still insistent. 

“you haven’t come to see me. we barely talk anymore. i feel like you’re pulling away, and i don’t understand why.”  

the lump in your throat feels impossible to swallow. you’ve been dreading this conversation, but now that it’s here, there’s no way out.  

“esmee, i—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. you take a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you try to steady yourself. 

“i just… i feel like you could do better.”  

es’ brows knit together in confusion.

“what?”  

you look up at her finally, tears brimming in your eyes. 

“you’re amazing, esmee. you’re playing for barcelona, living this incredible life on your own. and i’m just… me. i’m stuck in school, trying to figure out my future while you’ve already got everything figured out. sometimes, i feel like i’m holding you back.”  

es’ expression softens, but there’s a flicker of hurt in her eyes that makes your chest tighten even more. 

“is that really what you think?” she asks quietly.  

you nod, the tears threatening to spill over. 

“i just… i don’t want you to wake up one day and realize you could be with someone who’s more like you. someone who understands you better.”  

for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. then, she reaches across the table, taking your hands in hers. her grip is warm and steady, grounding you.  

“y/n,” she says softly, 

“you’re not holding me back. you’re everything to me. do you know why i love you? it’s because you remind me of what’s happening outside of fotball.when i’m with you, i don’t have to be ‘esmee brugts, the dutch footballer.’ i get to be just… me. and that means so much to me.”  

es’ words hit you like a wave, breaking through the wall of doubt you’ve built around yourself.  

“we’re not in different worlds,” she continues, her voice firm but gentle. 

“we’re in the same world. this one. here. together. i don’t want someone else. i don’t need someone else. i need you, i only want you.”  

the tears spill over then, and she lets go of one of your hands to brush them away, her touch light and reassuring.  

“please don’t ever think you’re not enough for me,” she says, her eyes searching yours. 

you nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. she smiles softly, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

masterlist  

[caughtthedarkness93]

Not to do more Furiosaposting (and SPOILERS AHEAD), but a couple more things I noticed on a second viewing:

• I think Dementus is being honest about how he lost his family when Furiosa confronts him about it, and that's a big point the film is making. Furiosa isn't like Dementus when she finally chases him down. But she recognizes that she could become like him - a vile, cruel warlord who uses his own pain as an excuse to run roughshod all over the wasteland, smashing everything in her path, using her pain as an excuse to take from others. By that point, she's already a part of Immortan Joe's war machine. She is already complicit. And he does say to her that killing him won't give her what she wants. She resists the idea, but ultimately, it sure seems like she realizes he's right. And ultimately, that leads to her big choice - make a positive change rather than simply trying to hurt the people who hurt you. Granted, she still does do plenty of hurting the people who hurt her (Nice face you got there, Joe, be a shame if something happened to it). But the big, real legacy she builds is taking the Citadel in the name of a greater cause than fueling Immortan's cult of cruelty.

• Praetorian Jack is also complicit, honestly. And it's something he seems to recognize. He outright says that he's looking for a righteous cause. There's a lot we don't know about this man. He tells us very little of his history, nor do we know why he chooses to ride for Immortan Joe. But we do know that after meeting Furiosa, he wants to do everything in his power to help her. She becomes his righteous cause. So the whole film, Furiosa is kind of pulled between those two directions - Dementus, and Jack. Do you defeat the pain you carry by throwing it back to the people who gave it to you? Or do you seek a righteous cause to build it into something positive?

• Perhaps one of my biggest takeaways is related to Jack's death. It's not until Dementus kills Jack that Furiosa gets really set on revenge. Like she clearly loathes Dementus before that. Her first time meeting him as an adult, she goes straight for her gun. The camera highlights their relationship a lot, and I'm pretty sure her vengeful drive towards him has its own musical motif - listen for that driving, distorted noise that you hear sometimes. But revenge doesn't become her biggest driver until after Jack dies. Even as she feels clear hate and rage towards this man, she's still set on getting home all that time. But when Jack dies, she goes out of her way to try to kill him. And, relatedly, when Jack dies, she loses the arm that has her star map tattoo on it. So to put it another way, when she chooses to commit to vengeance, she loses her way.

• We need to consider perspective and narrator here, as this isn't like Fury Road where it's from the point of view of Max, who was directly there. Because this film's opening shot isn't of Furiosa. It's of another character - it's of the History Man. The first line belongs to him - "As the world falls around us. How must we brave it's cruelties?" The closing narration is his as well. Something that sticks in my head more and more is Dementus' ultimate fate. What gets me about it is that it feels implausible. Not only for Furiosa as a character, but for the way the series usually handles injuries. So George Miller was a paramedic before he was a filmmaker. In fact, his work as a paramedic is what partly inspired the first Mad Max film and what funded it. And in these films, Miller has put his medical knowledge to use. The characters' injuries are usually handled in a realistic way, with a few flights of fancy for people to make it through frankly absurd car wrecks. You see this especially in Fury Road, which takes the time to establish that Max is a universal donor twice so it makes sense to have him give a blood transfusion to Furiosa at the end. It talks about the ultimate effects of her collapsed lung and how to treat it. The injuries in these films feel realistic in a way movie wounds often don't. Dementus' final fate does feel a little complicatedly cruel for someone as pragmatic as Furiosa, but what really gets me is how medically implausible it is. We're supposed to believe that Dementus has been stuck in the citadel with a peach tree growing out of him for five years without dying? I...kinda don't. Why does this matter? I think it signals that aspects of the story fall to unreliable narration. These films are campfire stories from a world that fell and rose again. Always have been. But this one has a more direct narrator. The History Man is telling this story. It is filtered through his perspective.

• And that adds another layer to things, considering Furiosa and the History Man's backgrounds. We see the History Man, we see a guy who is clearly horrified by Dementus' actions. When Furiosa's mom is getting executed, he cries. He tells Furiosa that she needs to make herself indispensable - likely because he feels that it's the best way to protect her. But he still does Dementus' bidding, often without question or argument. In a word, the thing that ultimately separates the History Man from Furiosa is that where he was complicit until the very end, Furiosa chose to rebel.

• And I guess if I had to boil it all down, I think there's a great big takeaway from this film. Don't seek hope. Become hope.

Man, I love this movie.

[omegasmileyface]

im so fucked up. theres a scene in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe (the sequel to hitchhikers guide) where zaphod is rummaging through the ruins of a long-destroyed city on a lifeless, abandoned planet, looking for a way off, and he stumbles upon the crumbling remains of a spaceport, and miraculously one of the crafts is still intact, and there's still a quiet hum of power going into it from a connected cable, and it's making a quiet noise. so he rigs up a makeshift stethoscope and listens, and there's a PA system saying something like "we are very sorry for the delay. we are currently waiting for a restocking on lemon-soaked towlettes, for your hygienic and culinary pleasure. in the meantime, we will be serving coffee and biscuits on the deck." and he finds the remains of the arrivals/deparetures board, translates the dates and does a little math, and discovers the delay has been 900 years. spooky, yeah? but he goes on the ship, hoping he can get it flying, and it's perfectly well-functioning and an android flight attendant comes out and tries to force him to sit in the seating area, continuing to apologize for the delay. and when he gets to the seating area, every seat has a person in it. long-haired, long-nailed, and completely silent, but very much alive. and another android comes out with a tray of coffee and cookies, and all of the people wake up and start screaming in agony as she gives them their snacks. zaphod is terrified, so he runs to the control deck and locks the door behind him, and he finds the autopilot computer, which repeatedly tells him to return to the seating area, and he eventually convinces it to talk to him. "have you seen the planet?" he says, or something to that general effect. "there's no civilization! you're not GETTING a lemon-soaked napkin shipment!" and the autopilot says "the most likely path to us receiving our shipment is to wait until another civilization develops on the planet and they can deliver it. so we have put the passengers in suspended animation, and we wake them up once a year for coffee." and then? and then zaphod's friend who he was looking for shows up and the plot carries on and they don't say another word about the ship (at least, as far as i know from my place a couple chapters later). thats it. some classic Space Horror Of Grand Proportions, a doctor who plot, a twilight zone plot, an scp article, an asimov short story— that, when a ship ran out of a luxury amenity and didn't get it fulfilled quickly, the autopilot ai decided that, regardless of plentiful fuel and safety, the ideal way to deal with the situation is to suspend the lives of all of the passengers, waking them up once a year, until a new civilization could evolve around them to produce napkins— and it takes up about two pages total before being put aside completely!

[evilminji]

You know one of the purposes of Lining?

Shock Absorption.

If the Zone is the Inter- and EXTRA-Dimensional Lining, connecting, containing, and generally powering all of Multiversal Creation? The Great Primordial Soup? The Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust, from which we came and too which we return?

If the Zone itself is basicly the place between Universe, where your soul goes to get washed down, cleaned up, recharged, and sent out to wherever the next random portal takes it? To BECOME whatever you happen to find? An infinte recycler and Multiversal management?

The great metaphorical Yggdrasil, grown far beyond few branches, into an incomprehensible forest of one?

Well!

That kinda changes things! And also nothing! Because it means that those who remain? Are basicly squatting in the DMV's attic. Have built bunkers, under the country's main power generator. They really SHOULD move along. Granted, there is no one to MAKE them... but like...

That's cause no one thought anyone would NEED too?

Lol. Don't they feel silly? Anyway, I'ma put MY house over-! *wander off to go squat in the rafters*

Yeah, the CONCEPTS are native. But those probably just generate naturally. It's all the Souls constantly flowing through. Lots of background Sentience and Memories and such being washed away into the air. But? Then these lil souls were like "yeah, but if THEY get to stay... me too! D:< " "no, you can-" "ME TOO" and then they stopped listening and did what they wanted.

Good thing we have literally infinte amounts of room.

T...there's so MANY, you guys.

But! Not the point here!

*smacks white board* Realities! The Die too sometimes! And get born! A beautiful process, really. You can find Reality Beads if you know When and Where to look, some times. They, OBVIOUSLY, don't last for very long. Since they are basicly just seed universe. The explosive growth takes them almost immediately out of our range of perception, as they Begin.

Foundations of all Life and such.

But good God are they MAGNIFICENT!

However, sometimes? The REVERSE happens. If you find the area of the Zone your in? Is getting... "wavey" is the best way people describe it. Distorted. Fun house mirror. As though your vision has weird wrinkles that are distorting and stretching your view of things? Get Out. FAST.

If it's only SLIGHT? Barely noticeable? You can grab your Lair. IF, and ONLY IF you are NEARBY! If not? Remember. Things can be replaced. YOU? Can not.

Cause that "wavey"-ness? Is the final stage of Realm Entropy. The universe that portion over the Zone is covering and connected too, is all hollowed out. And about to CAVE IN. You DO NOT want to be there when that happens!

Remember! You see "waves"? Fly for three days!

Get to the edge of the affected area then KEEP GOING for a full three days flight. Warn everyone in you path. We stay safe together, guy. Collapses are NO JOKE. People get... well. Let's just say it's NOT a nice way too go.

Knowing this of course? We should all be SAFE right? Respectful if Awed distance from Reality Seeds, run like he'll if "waves"? We Gucci?

.....Sooooorta.

*flips Whiteboard to other side, to reveal a cartoonishly drawn Supervillian labeled "Asshole"*

Behold! A Terrorist!

It's a charged word. Not used lightly. But THESE fuckers? Oh ho ho! THESE fuckers?! "Ooooh~! Look at MEEEEE! I'm gonna play with FORCES I DONT UNDERSTAAAAAAAND! Destabilize my whole funckin UNIVERSE! Kill countless TRILLIONS OF TRILLIONS! Cause life was bad to me personally and I'm mad about it! Wah wah wah!!" ASSHOLES!

These fuckers? Cause Collapses. Blow Outs. Weird Fucked Up Cancerous Real Growths. You ever seen the Cleaners? No? You don't WANT TOO. They are basically eldritch, deep sea, angler fish looking mother fuckers THE SIZE OF SOLAR SYSTEMS. They travel in SCHOOLS.

BIG ONES.

When Realities collapse, they "fall off" as it were. Detach. And have to get recycled. All the countless impurities of Life eaten way to a blank slate. So it too, can start again. Thus the Fish. But! They ALSO eat anything "problematic".

Like tumors. Cancers. Poisoned, Multiversal Threats. Those quote on quote "God Killers".

Yes. Yes this IS part of why you DONT want to be near a Collapsing Reality.

No I WON'T explain how I know.

I DONT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT.

*smack the board with pointer* pay attention.

Jason Todd. Not! An Asshole. Sexy thighs. Fancy lil hair strip. We all miss him. But! He's off living his "no really, I'm totally alive, guys" hot girl summer or whatever. We are going to respect that! But!!! How did that happen? When he was DEFINITELY Hella dead?

Superboy Prime-y Pants. Who IS an ASSHOLE.

Because THAT fucker? PUNCHED HIS REALITY SO HARD IT NEARLY SHATTERED. Oh, no, I'm sorry! He punched SOMEONE ELSE'S reality! Because he is a tantruming MAN CHILD! And NOW? Now, Your Majesty, that WHOLE ASS Reality is more hair line cracks then border walls! One good shove? It'll cave in. Killing every soul inside.

The Cleaners are ALREADY circling.

It needs to be patched. Immediately. But that's not something normal ghosts can DO. The Zone won't LISTEN to us. Nor allocate the energy for it. The Concepts of Healing? We can't even FIND them.

We need help.

Please help them, King Phantom. You're the only one who CAN.

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[astrobiscuits]

Astro obs part 10 (mostly Saturn related lol)

🧸 Individuals with Sun trine/sextile Saturn tend to have a great relationship with their grandparents (if they were a part of their life, ofcours). They usually inherit lots of traits from their grandparents

🧸 Sun trine/sextile Saturn people also have a great moral compass and sense of justice. They follow rules and regulations and are well seen in society (unless Saturn is retrograde, then they still try their best to be exemplary, but they might fail from time to time)

🧸 Most Libra Moons i've met went to law school for their university degree

🧸 Saturn in 1st house people tend to look really good when they get older. When they are young, they might often look older than their age, but once their Saturn Return hits them, they age up like "fine wine" from that moment on

🧸 Saturn in 2nd house individuals literally fit the "old money" aesthetic. Often times they come from a wealthy family. If they don't, then they are very motivated to work hard and become millionares. Bonus points if their Saturn is at 28°/29°, as 28° signifies the household degree (being famously known for your family OR in your family) and 29° signifies long-term fame for completing a (often times) karmic cycle and reaping its rewards

🧸 Saturn in 4th house peeps have always felt like the black sheep of the family. Often times they end up abandoning family traditions in the pursuit of following their own individual path. Growing up, they have often felt lonely in their family and shy around people they weren't familiar with

🧸 Saturn in 5th house individuals take their hobbies and passions seriously. They could pursue one of their hobbies/passions as a career later on. Child prodigies tend to have this placement. If there are other planets in the 5th house, those can give hints on the "talent" (but in the case of Saturn here, it's not talent, just hard work)

For ex. Saturn and Venus in 5th house - pursuing art/fashion/make-up/singing/baking sweets as a career

Saturn and Mars in 5th house - pursuing martial arts/race car driving/working out as a career

Saturn, Mercury and Pluto in 5th house - pursuing drama writing as a career

The exception would be for Saturn and Jupiter in 5th house - these people tend to have multiple talents that they could turn into careers

🧸 Saturn in 5th house is also often an indicator of an unhappy childhood. This child felt like a lot of expectations and responsabilites were placed on him by his parents from an early age. Another meaning of this placements would be that Saturn in 5th house children were brought up by their grandparents

🧸 Those with Saturn in 11th house feel more comfortable befriending people who are older than them. They're also not very keen on the latest technologies and prefer sticking to the ideals of the past long gone (aka they love victorian era and prefer to live like they're a gal/man from the 19th century). They also tend to be interested in politics

🧸 Earth Venuses and the type of chocolate they love:

Taurus Venus - milk chocolate

Virgo Venus - white chocolate

Capricorn Venus - dark chocolate

🧸 Individuals with Chiron in 5th house tend to struggle with infertility issues from a young age

🧸 Uranus in 3rd house individuals prefer taking short-haul flights when travelling short distances, while Uranus in 9th house individuals prefer taking long-haul flights when travelling long distances

🧸 Neptune in 6th house people make great psychologists and psychiatrists!! Often times these people have had a long history of dealing with certain mental illnesses, but instead of wallowing in their pain, they are inspired to help others overcome their own issues. Their capacity to emphasize with people's emotions is heightened, as they tend to relate to many of their client's symptoms. These people are also fit as somnologists (sleep doctors)

🧸 The sad part of Neptune in 6th house is that they often have to deal with stomach issues :( Their digestive system is extra sensitive, so they need to be careful with what they eat

🧸 Wanna know if you're secretly Jewish? Check out asteroids Hebrewu (271763) and Israel (7507) in your natal chart and your family's natal charts. If you find atleast one of these asteroids aspecting the angles (ASC, DSC, IC, MC), Sun or Moon in your chart and your family's charts, then there's a high chance you've got Jewish ancestry

🧸 In synastry, if your Ascendant conjuncts another person's Ascendant (so your house cusps become overlays), it's very likely that you've experienced the same events during your lives. This person would be your mirrored soul, which can prove to bring a great understanding over oneself

🧸 While we're still talking about aspects in synastry, Moon conjunct Chiron is not for the weak ones!! The Chiron person must display a sense of maturity or atleast be emotionally evolved enough to be able to deal with the Moon person. Chiron can trigger Moon's childhood trauma on a subconscious level, while Moon can trigger Chiron's deepest wounds regarding their house's themes. They can either heal each other or wound each other even more. This conjunction requires a great deal of patience and understanding between Moon person and Chiron person

[another-goblin]

A little analysis of Ratio's owl symbolism. He's absolutely covered (and surrounded) with stylized images of owls. Here are just some examples (feel free to study him to find more). He was even (apparently) supposed to wear an owl mask in an older version of his design. But why.

1. In western culture, owls are traditionally associated with knowledge and wisdom, which indicates his connection with Erudition, as a scientist. That's the most obvious explanation for his owl imagery, and probably the only one intended by the designers. But why stop here. Why not overanalyze it.

2. Owls are known as highly specialized and effective predators. So basically, an embodiment of the Hunt.

Dr. Ratio (about the phase flame): Do you know what to do with cornered prey? Hunt it to the death.

Btw, considering that paths are not just a gameplay convention but the actual in-universe things characters recognize in themselves and others, it's even more ironic that the character who dedicated his whole life to science and education belongs to the Hunt. Because gameplay-wise, the Hunt is the opposite of Erudition. The poor guy couldn't have been further away from Nous even if he tried.

3. Owls are good at being unnoticed. They hunt by hiding, observing, and waiting for the right time to strike. It reminds me of that mission at Herta Station, where we first met him. Most people on the station didn't even know that he was there, even though he personally saved these researchers. 

Screwllum (about Ratio's involvement in that mission): …and pulling the strings from behind the curtain is akin to laying down the gauntlet to a genius.

There is a theory that more or less the same thing is happening on Penacony, with most characters probably not knowing that he's even there.

4. The special structure of an owl's wings and feathers makes their flight practically noiseless, so they can approach their prey unnoticed. In addition to point 3, with him moving through Herta station unnoticed, it also reminds me of how he silently disappeared a couple of times in the middle of his conversation with Aventurine.

5. They gave him vertical pupils, probably in an attempt to make his eyes more owl-like. The problem is, I wasn't able to find a single photo of an owl with vertical pupils. They are round. So, if anything, it makes him look more like a cat.

6. And the last point, it's most likely not true, it's my little conspiracy/crack-theory. 

But he's sometimes referred to as a Professor; he's as much of an Owl as Aventurine is a peacock. Game, please don't tell me he has nothing to do with Penacony's Professor Owl the origami birds often mention, whoever it is.

In fact, if he wasn't too young for that, I wouldn't be surprised if he had something to do with the creation of Dreaworld. Because he mentioned before that taking a bath helps him with going to sleep, and on Penacony you take a bath to go to sleep (what are the chances), and then you enter a world filled with images of owls. It's probably actually nothing, but what a coincidence.

[sushiwriterhere]

two: required texts

flight path

summary: "It takes your remaining sober thoughts to refocus on beer pong instead of how hard it hits you that you want Jake."  rating: mature (eventually explicit, 18+ mdni) pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader word count: ~6.9k lol warnings: angst, masturbation ment, enemies to lovers!, college au!, eventual smut, hangman being hangman, no use of y/n.  notes: dedicated to @waklman bc u entertain my insane dms <3 pls pls pls let me know what you think everyone!! masterlist here this fic is being posted from my queue while I have little access to the internet. any tag list requests/fic replies will be slow; thanks!

"Jake said you were coming to our party this Friday?" Bradley's smile is so genuine, so unlike everything about Jake, "Never thought you'd agree but it'll be good to see you."

Sometimes you regret making things so sour with Jake, because Bradley’s actually really sweet. He’s been letting you and Jake duke it out about your project at their breakfast bar counter while he cooks in the background. He’s kind of always on FaceTime with someone, usually a girl, and he even makes a mean chocolate chip cookie. Something about the flakey sea salt just does it.

Bradley is the kind of guy you think you might settle down with one day. Bradley doesn’t throw his hands up in the air at you in frustration when you argue about what exactly qualifies as sustainability, and he certainly does not make deals with you to try and get you to come to frat parties.

That being said, he looks so happy to hear that you might be joining them that you really don’t have the heart to knock him down. 

“Oh, yeah, Jake–” You consider your words carefully. 

Jake hadn’t explicitly said that the deal was to be kept hush-hush, but you didn’t really know how much you wanted people knowing that you were willing to trade your introvert lifestyle just to ensure a good grade. Plus, it felt just a smidge pathetic that that was what you’d caved to. 

“Jake told me he talked you into it in exchange for going with your lead on your project, but it doesn’t seem to really be working.” Bradley’s laugh fills the hallways of the lab and you feel yourself tense up. 

God, you really did get the short end of the stick if it was that obvious that Jake wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain at all. 

“Yeah... well...” You trail off, twisting your hands in front of you until someone calls you name at the end of the hallway.

Bradley looks at you, his gaze a little too knowing, before you both wave goodbye and you take off toward the sound of your supervisor’s voice. 

Running into Bradley is one thing, he’s nice and doesn’t make you want to poke your eyeballs out, getting to the end of the hallway to see Jake standing in front of your professor with an easy-going smile on his face is another. Fantastic.

“Mr. Seresin here was just telling me that the two of you have been hard at work,” Jake bounces his shoulders just a little behind your professor’s back, as if rubbing it in how much he’d obviously been talking himself up in the few seconds before, “I have high expectations for the two of you.”

You resist the urge to call him a dumbass in front of the man who’s probably going to single handedly get you into MIT, and school your features into something a little more school-appropriate. You are not going to let him screw this, especially this, up for you. 

“Of course, Professor Simmons, we’re certainly putting our all into it.” Jake mock gags behind the professor’s back for a split second before he turns around, and then he’s the picture of academic excellence.

Simmons wanders off in the way he usually does, leaving just you and Jake standing in the hallway. Distantly, you know that you’re technically on the clock, but you’re well-liked enough that you can get away with a little time theft. No one’s had any complaints on time sheet day so far.

Jake rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, smile ever present. For a moment, he looks a bit unsure of himself, but the expression is gone even quicker than it came.

“What are you doing in the labs, Jake. Don’t you have some other poor girl to harass?” You cross your arms and stare expectantly at him– you’d rather spend your stolen time reading the New Yorker on your phone and not dealing with Jake Seresin.

“Was just dropping by to chat with Simmons, you know how it is. Office hours, etcetera, etcetera.” He’s at ease once again, his gaze trained fully on you.

“Why did you say etc like that?”

“Did you just say ‘e-t-c’?”

For a moment there’s complete and entire silence, the type that happens right before exams are handed out. Then, Jake starts howling with laughter, completely doubled over. You watch in horror, listening to his voice echo around the sterile hallways and probably right into every professor’s office. 

Once he’s done completely humiliating you, he stands up and wipes at his eyes, “Sorry, you just—you were lecturing me the other day about ‘histrionics’ and you’ve never heard etcetera said aloud have you?”

You bristle, teeth gritted, “I’ll have you know, you can say it either way.” He doesn’t need to know, but you haven’t heard it aloud.

“Oh, I was also looking for you.” His abrupt change of subject makes you nervous. 

You and Jake have admittedly been spending a lot of time together. After your first few hours at the library, Jake’s been making a habit of being around you. Like, a lot.

First, he’s always sitting next to you in your shared classes. You’re only taking four, and sharing three of those is just a lot of Jake-time. He mostly leaves you alone, thankfully, but he’s taken to poking you to get your attention for his random thoughts, turning his computer your direction to show you a funny meme someone sent him, and occasionally reaching over to doodle on your notes. He also always uses your shared seat rest.

You don’t know why you let him do it. But, if you were brutally honest, it’s kind of nice having him around. Despite all your petty disagreements, Jake’s a bright personality, and it makes your stomach flip in a funny way when he spots you across the quad and waves wildly to get your attention, or when he buys you lunch before your library sessions. You do keep bickering about nearly everything though.

That’s the second thing. Now, after your two classes together on Mondays and Wednesdays, the two of you will go to the library and study til the wee hours of the morning. On more than one occasion, he’s bought you coffee to sustain your hours of staring at complex equations and trying to apply to grad schools. 

(“What grad school are you applying to now?” 

“Nunya.”

“Okay, unless the top fifteen rankings have been updated since the last time I checked there is no grad school that—“

“Nunya business.”

“Very funny. Real mature. You’re really childish y’know that.”

“I’m childish? Remind me which one of us spent eighty five dollars at a candy store last week after taking forty five minutes to decide.”

“There’s a lot of options!”)

You two don’t make a lot of conversation but it’s getting easier to talk to him like he’s a normal person, like he’s anyone else. You still keep your cards close to your chest, though, unready to let him in fully and still not entirely trusting him. 

Once, you’d shared a bit about how much pressure you felt to get into a top graduate program, to ensure that your parents were taken care of as an only child. Jake had been surprisingly empathetic, and had shared some about his home life, which you suspected wasn’t as idyllic as he made it seem, but it had made you smile. 

“Youngest, with four sisters, I was a little doll,” He’d laughed. He never talked about his parents, really.

It had been an odd moment of peace between the two of you until he had teased you for the way you read out an equation as you were checking your work, and then it was back to trading barbs.

The third thing is that he hadn’t invited you to a party til this week, about four into the semester. Before he had, it hung over your head like an anvil–ominous, always present, and not exactly forthcoming on when it was planning on crushing you like a bug. 

He’d been too nice about it, assuring you that whatever you wore would be fine (“Just think... slutty?” “Don’t be sexist, Jake.” “What! That’s what the sorority girls say.” “Well, are you a sorority girl?” “I can be if you want me to be, sweets.” “You have issues.”). He’d also said he’d keep an eye out on you but that his frat brothers were all great people, and besides, Bradley would be around. You don’t really want to share how it makes you feel that Bradley had asked you if you really were attending.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re coming on Friday.” His smile softens into something more genuine than his usual wild grin. “Was worried I might’ve scared you off.”

You huff, “I’m not scared.”

The way he looks at you in that moment makes you want to shove him so he’ll stop staring at you, a combination of pity and something else you’re afraid to identify, “No, not at all.”

Then, his demeanor changes back into something that’s a bit more familiar to you as he tucks his hands into his pockets and turns to leave, “Besides, if you don’t come, we’re doing our entiiiire project on Naval mechanics. Bye!”

He’s gone before you can yell at him.

-

This isn’t who you are–outfits strewn all over the floor of your room, music blaring from your phone where it’s charging in the corner, a layer of nervous sweat starting to coat your forehead and palms. Nothing fits right or in a way that doesn’t make you want to lose your mind. 

For a moment, you wish that you were a sorority girl, surrounded by women who know all the cultural rules of what you’re about to walk into. It’s not in a “I’m not like other girls” way, but more in a “my parties consist of wine and boardgames”. You are excited, but you also just feel stupid. 

You jump about half a foot in the air when your music cuts off all of a sudden and is replaced by the someone singing “save a horse, ride a cowboy” at far too many decibels. Scrambling, you grab your phone from the far side of your bed and see that it’s Jake trying to FaceTime.

“When did you change your ringtone?” Is the first thing you say when you pick up, endlessly irritated. “Your voice is terrible, by the way.”

Jake just laughs, “Oh, it absolutely is not. And you left your phone unlocked when you went to the bathroom two weeks ago, it was the only logical course of action. How have you not noticed til now?”

“I keep my phone on silent like a normal person.” You try to angle the camera so he can’t see the fact that you’re only in a sports bra and that you are absolutely not dressed despite the fact that you need to leave relatively soon.

“Again with this normal person thing, sweets,” He looks like he’s walking through the frat house as you hear people in the background, and you have half a mind to ask if Bradley’s around but decide against it. Something tells you Jake would be, well, weird about it. “You have got to be the least normal person I know, and that’s saying something.”

The absolutely unimpressed look on your face makes him laugh, and you almost hang up until you remember that he could potentially be helpful with your predicament. He wasn’t helpful last time but maybe this time he will be. He at least knows more about what girls are supposed to wear to this stuff.

“Jake...” You start, unsure of how to even ask. 

‘Oh hey Jake, how am I supposed to dress slutty for the frat party you cajoled me into going to because this is really out of my comfort zone and I’m this close to just telling you we can do your stupid Naval aircraft idea so that I don’t have to deal with this’ is a decidedly bad start.

“Sweets...” He croons back at you over the phone as he sets you down on a bathroom counter. 

It’s then that you realize that he’s been shirtless this entire time, and is still very much shirtless. Look, you may have a deep dislike for Jake Seresin as a person, but you’re not blind. You have eyes. And your eyes are telling you that Jake is absolutely so fucking fine that you have sort of forgotten your question. 

He’s absentmindedly applying shaving cream to his face and bustling around the bathroom while opening drawers and humming to himself. You remain silent. 

You just sort of stare at him for a few seconds before he raises an eyebrow at you. It’s then that you realize you’re holding your phone at an atrocious angle and you’re supposed to be asking him how to dress for this and showing him the insides of your nostrils is definitely not going to be doing you any favors.

“Sweets, did you have something you were going to say or are you just going to spend the next thirty minutes checking me out?” Jake says it so nonchalantly it almost makes you hang up, but you’re caught off guard by how something as simple as watching him shave on FaceTime can feel so endearing and domestic.

“Very funny. I was going to tell you you have something sticking out of your nose but I guess I won’t now.” You huff, hoping it’ll distract him from the last two minutes of silence.

At the very least, it works. Jake frantically tries to figure out what’s danging from his nose while you try and regroup. 

“I need your help picking an outfit.” It’s dramatic, but it feels like a weight off your chest to say it, “I just– Well, it’s just that nothing looks good and I hate this.”

Jake sets his razor down and leans close to his phone so you can see only his face and nothing else, “Lemme see what’cha got, sweets.”

The next twenty minutes are, somehow, not entirely excruciatingly painful. Jake immediately vetoes every single one of your business casual outfits (“You are not wearing slacks to a frat party, sweets, be serious.”) but he’s nice about it. When you dive deep into your closet to pull out a box of items you haven’t thought about since you bought them freshman year, you really start to reconsider how much you don’t want to work on Naval mechanics. 

“Okay, you can’t be mean, I bought these freshman year in a moment of weakness.” You can feel how hot your face is and you barely manage to get through the sentence without stammering or hanging up on him.

You lay out the tops on your bedding–Jake had already approved of a pair of jeans you hardly ever wore. These pieces are much more party-oriented than anything else you regularly wear, and you remember how for a weekend freshman year you’d felt so alienated, so weird, that you’d spent almost three-hundred dollars on going out tops. You’d returned most of them but the ones in front of you you’d kept in secret hope maybe you’d get to wear them. 

“You are a liar.” Jake’s voice comes softly from your phone and you frown.

“I literally just asked you to not be mean. You can’t even not be mean when—” 

“Sweets, any guy here would pass away at the sight of you in any of these,” He says and you make sure the camera isn’t on you so you can contort your face into a silent scream, “Talkin’ about, ‘I have nothing to wear’.”

“Drama queen.” It’s all you can say, but the thought of him passing away at the sight of you? That might be more appealing than you’d like to admit.

-

God, it’s so fucking loud in here. You managed to arrive fashionably late, as Jake advised. Now, you’re just sort of standing by the doorway, unsure of where to go or who to talk to. 

Then, all of a sudden, Jake appears next to you, all bright eyes and white teeth as he bobs along to the music. He grabs your arm and pulls you into an excessively tight hug, one that smooshes your face into his chest and traps your arms at your sides. You try not to breathe in too hard, but you can’t really avoid smelling him (like a fucking weirdo). You’re only slightly disappointed to note that Jake smells really good. 

“Sweets! I thought you’d bailed!” He exclaims, letting you go only slightly so he can take a look at your face. “When did you get here?”

“Um, like ten minutes ago?” You try and push out of his arms but he’s got a strong grip on you–glancing to the side you see that he’s grasped his elbows so you’re completely stuck.

“Only one hour and fifty minutes left to go!”

And with that, you’re being hauled off by one arm through the frat house. You stumble on your feet but manage to catch yourself on Jake when you trip over a beer can someone just threw on the ground. He turns around with a glint in his eye.

“Sweets, if you wanted to cuddle, you should’ve just said so!” His tone is gleeful, but he steadies you gently anyway.

“Just get me a drink, Jake.” 

He doesn’t let you go but this time his grip is gentler and he walks at a human pace instead of trying to make record time. After turning a few corners, you finally arrive in the kitchen.

You have to admit, you’re sort of jealous. Your apartment isn’t tiny by any means, but you’d love to have a kitchen this sprawling, with its huge windows, what looks like a state of the art fridge, and granite countertops the sheer square footage of which could make you drool. You feel a rush of disappointment at how dirty it is in here, but you squash it remembering that this is a frat house. Clean is nowhere near part of these men’s vocabulary. 

Jake makes you a drink that seems to be some odd combination of liquors and juices (he avoids the jungle juice thankfully, almost turning green when you ask him if you should try some–“Not unless you want to spend all of tomorrow throwing up.”). When he hands it to you, he looks at you expectantly, like a child who just gave their parent a crayon drawing.

“Well? What do you think?” You grimace on instinct when the liquid hits your tongue, but you realize it’s actually not that bad. 

You tell him as much. Maybe you’re already starting to get drunk because it’s the only explanation for the way you think the look on his face could persuade you to drink three hundred cups of this if it means having him smile at you like that again. You keep drinking to avoid spilling your guts, figuratively.

Jake makes himself a cup while yammering on about planning the party, how he took shots with his frat brothers before you got here, and how he has a brunch planned Sunday with a few of his frat brothers. It’s all a bit too close, too intimate to be honest. Even with everyone around you, even with the way he almost has to yell so you can hear, it feels like it’s just the two of you. It makes you want to flee, but you force yourself to stay put in an effort to at least try.

And it’s not actually terrible. You keep sipping on the drink Jake made you, and try to engage with him. 

He’s in the middle of telling you a story about him and Bradley from freshman year when one of his frat brothers walks up to the two of you with a wicked grin on his face. 

“Now who is this, Jake?” He’s terribly handsome, but something about the way he’s looking at you sets you on edge. 

“Javy, meet sweets.” Jake gestures at you with his perfectly iconic red solo cup.

You roll your eyes at the introduction, “That’s not my name.”

But Javy doesn’t let you correct the record, instead his entire face lights up. He looks like a kid on Christmas as he wraps an arm around Jake’s shoulders and looks between the two of you, a gleeful expression spreading over his face. 

“You are famous in this frat, I hope you know that.”

You prepare yourself for a snide remark about your attitude in class, about your reputation, but instead Javy leans in close, so close that you can see how perfect his skin is (what the hell?), and he whispers conspiratorially, “Jake here never shuts up about you.”

The whisper clearly isn’t meant to keep much secret and Jake obvious hears him because he shoves Javy off him and starts waving his hands at him to shoo him off. When he turns back around, he’s blushing and you don’t think it’s from the alcohol or the heat. 

“Talking shit?” You cross your arms and raise an eyebrow expectantly, not knowing what you’d do with any other explanations. 

“Something like that. Want more to drink?” 

He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, and he clearly doesn’t want you to remember this conversation either, because his next pour is overly generous. After that, he drags you out of the kitchen to ‘socialize’. He keeps you next to him, occasionally slinging an arm around your shoulders or even just leaning on you. 

Much to your dismay, Jake doesn’t let you wallflower, to disappear as you stand next to him–suddenly you’re being introduced to everyone in the frat. You grouse about being forced to remember a thousand different white men’s names and Jake’s laugh rises even above the din of the music and the chatter. You’re loath to admit it aloud, but it’s sort of nice, being included, being in on jokes and spoken to like you might have something funny or interesting to say.

Part of you wants to bring up what Javy said, because almost every guy that Jake introduces as being part of his frat smiles in the exact same way that Javy had. Like a cat who got the cream. But the alcohol is making your tongue heavy and you worry what might be said if you start down that path.

Then, you hear your name distantly, and you whip around to see Bradley making his way through the crowd waving wildly. Nearly missing elbowing some poor sorority girl in the head, he pushes past people. His face is flushed from drinking and the heat, and he’s got his phone pressed to his ear. Why he’s attempting to take a phone call in this type of environment, you’re really not sure.

When he gets to the both of you, he at least has the sense to hang up before he separates you from Jake when he sweeps you up into a bear hug that lifts your feet off the ground and crushes you to him. He seems so happy to see you, and you smile bashfully as you hug him back. 

Once your feet are back on the ground and Bradley’s released you, you notice how Jake has stiffened slightly beside you. He and Bradley engage in some long, complicated handshake that ends with jazz hands and eventually Bradley sweeps away in just the same way he came over. No words are exchanged, and Jake relaxes when Bradley’s out of sight.

“You’re being weird,” You accuse, leaning into Jake so you can get closer to his ear to be heard over the noise, “Well, you’re always weird, but you were being weird towards Bradley.”

“Was not.” Jake says haughtily, pouting lightly like a child. 

“You’re literally pouting right now.” You’re too tipsy to deal with him acting like you just took away his toy truck, and you poke his arm to emphasize your point. 

Jake immediately schools his expression before taking you by the arm and pulling you outside. His broad form clears the way for you and you do your best not to trip on any more beer cans. You two aren’t alone by any means, but here the sound has space to dissipate. There’s beer pong tables, a bonfire going (which, frankly, seems very unsafe), and people milling about. 

“Do you like Bradley?” The two of you are now standing off to the side of the sprawling deck behind the frat house, illuminated by a series of string lights that only seem slightly out of place for a frat house and Jake’s staring at you intently.

You shrug, “I mean, what’s not to like? It’s Bradley, I think we’re friends.” 

This is so awkward and you hate it with every fiber of your being.

He wrings his hands just a bit, and it strikes you that there’s a chance that he’s actually upset. It’s not the kind of annoyed that he always seems to take on when you two are going at it, it’s more genuine, like whatever he’s imagining might be enough to get him really worked up. He opens his mouth but then shuts it.

“Jake. What is wrong with me liking Bradley.” This is so ridiculous–standing in the backyard and trying to get Jake to talk about whatever issues he has or doesn’t with Bradley is probably almost as close to the opposite of socializing as just staying home would have been.

“You don’t like like him, though, right?” 

You roll your eyes and snap at him, “Jake, what is this, middle school?” He’s not calling you sweets, and when you notice, it bothers you just a tad more than you’d like to admit, “No, I like Bradley because he doesn’t yell at me when I correct his projections and he makes a mean chocolate chip cookie. He’s a friend.”

Everything about his demeanor changes in the oddest way when you say that, he peps up and it’s like the Jake that was pouty (jealous?) was never there, and he takes you by the hand, “Great! That’s solved then, let’s go play beer pong.”

You try to ignore the way you get emotional whiplash as he drags you over to the people standing around a folding table.

But you can’t help it. As Jake tries to teach you how to play beer pong you end up ruminating on whatever the hell that just was. Why would it bother Jake if you did “like like” Bradley? The two of you, you and Jake, could barely be classified as friends. Besides, as frat brothers, there’s no way both Jake and Bradley haven’t gotten around or even been with the same girl. No shame for anyone involved, but what’s his fucking deal? (And, Bradley’s a cutie, so what?) 

Eventually, you give up trying to figure out what Jake’s issue is as the two of you start losing at beer pong, and badly, given just how inebriated you are. Jake keeps trying to shout instructions every time you go to throw the ping pong ball and it keeps messing you up, so eventually you shove at him. He barely moves as he starts laughing at your anger.

“Jake! Stop messing me up!” You can feel how bad your coordination is from the alcohol as you stumble a bit as you lean your weight into him. “You’re making us lose!”

He can barely breathe through how hard he’s laughing at how far off your last shot had been, but he still steadies the both of you and wraps his arms around you, “Sweets you’re just too easy to mess up, oh my god. Are you even looking at the cups?”

You just hit his chest once as you start taking in the way that you’re pressed up against each other. He doesn’t let go of you. Instead, he just sort of lets you step back enough to have full control of your arms and continues standing at your side with his arms around your waist. Then, he starts leaning down to breathe instructions in your ear.

Normally you would find it in yourself complain about how gross having his breath in your ear is, but in that moment, already past tipsy and just enjoying the warmth of his body and skin against yours, all you can do is shiver. You fuck up your next shot worse than the last one. You hope it’s dark enough to cover how flustered you are as the patio lights glimmer weakly in the distance.

It takes your remaining sober thoughts to refocus on beer pong instead of how hard it hits you that you want Jake. 

It’s honestly the most fun you’ve had in a long, long, time and you lose yourself in it. Jake at your side, his arms wrapped around you, laughing loudly as you lose to team after team. He barely removes himself to make his shots. When he laughs it shakes your whole body. Every time he takes a step, he knocks your legs together so you move with him. 

You’ve continued drinking so you’re only getting progressively drunker and it only makes you focus on him more. You lose track of time completely and wholly.

Every time you turn to look at him or talk to him, Jake’s already looking at you. He keeps looking at your lips. In that moment, your rivalry, the project, and really, the entire world falls away. You have nothing to think about but how warm he is, how good he smells, and how you want to keep this moment in a jar so you can come back to it later. 

You think he might kiss you.

The moment breaks when you feel Jake’s phone start buzzing against your leg and he finally lets you go. In an instant, he takes a step back from you and his arms are gone. You didn’t realize just how much his body heat was keeping you warm in the cool evening air til he removes himself from you completely. You miss it immediately.

He steps off to the side, face completely impassive but frozen in a smile as he reads a text, and he starts typing furiously. The smile slides off your face as you think of all the girls in his phone who are probably waiting for his drunk “you up?” texts and you take a step back, putting more space between the two of you. Someone more important than you must want his attention.

“I, uh, I’ve got to go, sorry, sweets.” Jake says, but you don’t feel the apology as much as you do the rejection. It stings in the way a harsh winter wind burns at your cheeks, pricking your skin and raising the blood to your face.

Somewhere in your mind, you remember considering hooking up with someone tonight. That’s what people do, right? Get drunk, sleep with a stranger, then stumble home in last night’s outfit in the morning. And maybe somewhere along the way, maybe between drinks three and four, you’d thought about what it might be like to kiss Jake. At some point when you’d watched his eyes linger on your lips, you thought that was it.

You take a few steps back, trying to feel sober again, but swaying slightly without Jake to hold you, “Right.”

His face falls as he takes a step toward you, but the magic of the night is gone. There isn’t anyone standing on the opposite of the folding table anymore. The backyard is somehow too quiet despite the loudness coming from the house. Jake doesn’t reach for you when he sees the expression on your face. 

“I’ll uh, venmo you for the Uber.” His face betrays nothing but the cool indifference you remember from freshman year–are you really back to where you started after everything tonight?

Him offering to pay for you only makes you remember that you hate him–flirting with you all night then ditching you to go hook up with someone he actually likes. Classic Jake Seresin, everybody. 

-

You don’t care that he slept with someone else after how close the two of you were. You are deciding not to care. It does not bother you because you and Jake aren’t even friends, you are sworn enemies and the only reason you’re even going to these parties is so that you can ensure the project isn’t a flaming mess. 

You’re repeating these mantras to yourself from the moment you wake up, while you go to classes, while you avoid making eye contact with or speaking to Jake for fear he’ll know. You say it to yourself as you sit silently across from him in the library, headphones firmly over your ears so you don’t have to hear him ask if you want coffee. 

He brings you one anyway.

It’s clear that you are utterly failing to convince yourself, because all you can think about is how close he was, how the heat radiated off his body, how he smelled, and how his eyes flitted down to your lips ever so often. You feel like you want to crawl out of your own skin with the realization that you want Jake to want you. You’ve sort of always wanted his attention, it’s just that up until now it’s almost entirely been in the form of your little rivalry.

You find yourself scoffing as a thought comes to the forefront of your mind, It’s like in those romance novels. That shit does not happen to people like you.

The shame and desire washing through you reaches its peak when you find yourself biting into your fist with your hand between your legs a week after the party. All you can think about is how he’d smelled, how close he’d been to you, and the way his hands felt around your waist. You finish with a whine tearing itself from your chest and a deep sort of mortification coursing through your veins.

You can’t avoid him forever though, the work must go on. 

The thought of attraction goes as quickly as it comes when you find yourself sitting across from him at his and Bradley’s kitchen table again, the two of you bickering about a piece of analysis.

“Why do you refuse to listen to me, even the slightest bit, sweets? I’m literally second in our class, I can’t be an absolute idiot.” Jake looks at the ceiling as if some supernatural being will give him the strength to deal with you, and sighs heavily.

You clench your fists, “I’m not refusing to listen to you, Jake, I’m just telling you that you’re wrong.” You don’t remind him you’re first in the class.

Bradley walks in the kitchen, phone held casually in front of his face, a bag of chips grasped in his other hand. He stops to observe the two of you still arguing, now going on about a quiz question you two had disagreed on first semester sophomore year. He could be surprised that you and Jake have found something else to argue about, but then again Jake told him the two of you spent almost three straight hours arguing your first time together at the library. He’s also been witness to countless pointless fights about god knows what since the beginning of the semester.

“Can you two just fuck already, good god.” 

The room goes so quiet the only thing you can hear in your ears is your own heartbeat. Jake looks similarly mortified, cheeks turning red as he tucks his head to the side in clear embarrassment. The tips of his ears are bright red. 

Bradley, unaware of the absolute nuclear bomb that he just dropped, tucks his chips into the pantry, and leaves as the FaceTime call sound starts trilling from his phone. 

Neither you or Jake move. All you can think about is how you felt in that moment last Friday, Jake pressed up against you, his breath heavy in your ear, and his body solid and warm against you. You think about the way want had coursed through your veins when you’d been alone. But he doesn’t want you. His current reaction is evidence enough.

Jake’s the one to break the silence by muttering something under his breath. 

“What?” 

“I said, he’s one to talk.” He clears his throat and avoids eye contact.

You can’t take this, so you try to laugh a bit, but it sounds fake and tinny in your ears, “And I don’t know what he’s talking about. In case everyone’s lost their minds and forgotten, I do not like you, Jake Seresin.”

He laughs lightly in response and says, “People don’t use contractions when they’re lying.”

And you don’t really know what to say to that. Because you don’t really know if there is anything to say. So you decide not to say anything to that, at all.

“You still owe me twenty five dollars for the Uber.”

“Twenty five—“ Jake sputters, “Twenty five American dollars? Where the hell did you have him take you? Downtown and back!? You live twelve minutes from the house!”

“I tipped well.”

Jake mutters something about tipping culture being out of control but you still feel the way your phone buzzes so hard it rattles some pens strewn across the table.

-

When the second invite comes, you decide preemptively that you’re not going to drink. Your deal with Jake was about attending and staying for two hours, it said absolutely nothing about drinking or generally partaking in party activities. You don’t want a repeat of last time–you want the arousal that spikes your bloodstream every time you see his face to disappear as quickly as it came.

You’re avoiding Jake in the frat house by ducking into doorways and keeping an eye out for a blonde head of hair the best you can. At one point, Bradley spots you and sends a confused look your way, clearly scanning for Jake. He doesn’t do anything about it, you guess, because Jake doesn’t come running within the next ten minutes. 

Keeping yourself pressed to the wall where the music isn’t so loud but you also can’t hear the way people are very obviously doing drugs in the bathroom, you count down the minutes til you can leave. 

About five minutes before, you decide to sneak a peek in the kitchen one last time. Maybe you can rob these assholes of some Oreos or something as divine punishment–revenge of the nerds, or whatever.

When you get to the kitchen, you realize you’ve found Jake. His back is to you, and he seems to be holding court. Surrounding him is a group of frat brothers most of whom you don’t remember, with the exception of Javy, who’s leaning his elbows on the countertop and listening about as intently as a drunk person can. 

“She’s fucking stuck up man, I don’t know how you do it. I don’t think being that obnoxious is a requirement to be top of the class.” One of the frat brothers that usually surrounds Jake scoffs. 

You feel all the blood drain from your face and you suddenly feel like being sick. Backing away from the doorway to the kitchen you almost trip over your feet at the speed you’re trying to get away from the conversation, from Jake, from the frat house. 

There it is–there’s your out. Your ick, if you will. Jake, standing in his perfect kitchen, surrounded by a bunch of barely matured fraternity bros, talking shit about you. It’s not that the feelings of hatred weren’t technically mutual, but the extent to which you complain about Jake is usually limited to surface level shit. 

If you had stuck around for just a moment longer, you would’ve heard the way that he defended you over a chorus of agreement from around him, “C’mon man, it’s not like that. Don’t say shit like that about her. She’s under a lot of pressure and you’re kind of a dick in class anyway.”

But you don’t stick around. Instead, you push your way through the mass of bodies, accidentally stumble through a smoke circle, and you still seem so far away from the exit. You pass by Bradley again, and this time he’s with the girl that he insists is just a friend, but they seem too cozy for that in the moment. You don’t stop to say hi. 

When you finally get outside, your chest is heaving and you think you might be sick, alcohol aside. 

This is exactly why you focus on academics. They gave back as good as they got, never betrayed you, never let their friends talk shit about you. Academics never called you “stuck up”, stopping short of biting out the insult “bitch”. God you’re so stupid. 

You should’ve never let him get close, you should’ve stuck to the project and just finished it without ever learning more about Jake beyond the bare minimum. No evenings spent crowded around a countertop covered in textbooks and notes, Bradley humming in the background as he cooked something delicious. No letting Jake buy you coffee or cafeteria food. 

This is exactly what you deserve for letting him in.

----------

tagging: @roosterbruiser @joaquinwhorres @sometimesanalice @seresinsweetie @bobfloyds @theharddeck @jupitercomet @dempy @gigisimsonmars @sunsetsimpsblog @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @kajjaka @clancycucumber230 @desert-fern @bibitches-r-us @cruelmissdior @chaoticassidy @blue-aconite

[fizzyapplecandy]

The Nerd in the Washroom

Ateez Seonghwa x Female Reader imagine

Genre: neighbours to lovers, classmates to lovers, slight fluff, smut, oral (f & m), lovely Seonghwa has a crush

Word count: 3k (Not proofread, editing on the way)

Ever since you've moved to Korea to study at university, you've been curious about your neighbour Seonghwa. You know him as the nerdy guy on campus who has a Lego Star Wars themed backpack, big glasses, and a new fluffy sweater for every day of the week.

Others might find him boring, but you found him intriguing. You couldn't help but think there was something more to him than his nerdy looks.

You were certainly proven right while bumping into him in the laundry room of your complex - chest muscles on display, and an obvious huge bulge in his grey sweatpants.

.

.

.

"Oh my God, here he goes again. I wonder if you can catch his nerdiness in the air?"

"I think you're being a tad dramatic Jiun."

She scoffed and continued to snicker with the boys behind her. Their target - Park Seonghwa.

His appearance never bothered me, so I didn't engage in their gossip. Maybe it's because I never shared the same opinion as them. Jiun is my friend, and if it weren't for her I'd be stuck in a corner without friends. That didn't mean I shared all of her opinions.

"Don't you think you've talked about him enough? Jesus, he's just a guy. Besides, I've seen him around my building, he seems pretty normal."

The silence that followed my statement was ice cold. I could practically feel Jiun's stare.

"Y/N, sweetie, are you okay? Do you have a fever? Here, let me check, because what you're talking about is disturbing."

I slapped her hand away as she came for my forehead. Did I mention she could be a bit pushy?

"I'm fine. I just don't get why you would bother to talk about him so much. It kind of gives "middle school" vibes " I grabbed my pen and started taking down some notes. I was done with their nonesense.

"Woah, it seems like somebody has a crush on the nerd. Didn't think you went for that type of guy Y/N."

I scoffed and tuned out their snickering. Me? Having a crush on Seonghwa? No way. I just felt bad about the way they were talking about him. They didn't even know the guy. And hey, he may be a super nerd, and he may carry around a Star Wars backpack, but... Yeah, well that didn't make his case better.

I looked at him, sitting in the front row. He jutted something in his notebook before highlighting it with a pink pen. He seemed satisfied with it, a small smile gracing his features. He looked... Pretty.

Ironically, we lived in the same off-campus building. I've seen him around, wearing his pink sweatshirts, white headphones on his head. He always smelled nice, like a flower field. Made me question what kind of detergent he used. We never spoke, but he always nodded politely when we crossed paths.

Before I got list in my thoughts, the professor came in. Time to face reality.

.

.

.

"I've got to stop piling up laundry."

In my defense, I am a full time university student, with a part time online job. I don't exactly have time for laundry. Not to mention I don't even have a washing machine in my apartment. I would have to go three flights of stairs down to the basment, where our laundry room was located. It was old, a bit run down, but hey, it got the job done.

With a huff, I picked up my basket and made my way down. It was getting hotter as the days went by. We were approaching July, and my usual home wardrobe consisted of pyjama shorts and a white tank top. I left my bra in my bedroom, beacuse I haven't seen anybody use the old washroom besides myself. Occasionally, Seonghwa, but we've never been down there at the same time.

"Jesus, my arms hurt."

I opened the door with my butt, having my hands full. As I Iifted the basket I couldn't see a thing in front of me.

And as I finally put it down, I was in for a surprise.

There, with his eyes wide, pants low on his hips, pecks on full display stood none other that Seonghwa.

My expression became a mirror of his own, eyes wide and mouth open. I made the grave mistake of glancing down. Right at the surprisingly massive buldge in his gray sweats.

Holy shit.

Who knew nerdy boy was like Hercules underneath all of the pink fluff.

Before I could help myself, I gasped.

"Oh my... Sorry. I..."

He grabbed a shirt from his (surprise) pink basket, putting it in front of his chest.

"No! I mean... I'm sorry? I don't know, oh god."

"You're... Wow" What? Come on Y/N, get it together.

"I'm...? Thanks? I guess."

My eyes grew wider, flapping my hands around.

"No, no, no. I didn't mean it like that! Well, kind of, but... Did I? I don't know."

Seonghwa's ears and cheeks turned red and he flicked his own forehead.

"Of course you didn't mean it like that. Sorry, you caught me off guard." He smiled bashfully, looking at the ground now.

"Talk about catching people off guard. Dude, you're ripped."

My amazed expression could not be kept at bay. Boy, oh boy, I could feel myself getting hotter by the second.

" I wouldn't say that, but... Thanks, I guess?" Seonghwa smiled, this time looking at me. Or specificly, my tits.

I guess going without a bra has its benefits.

"Seen something you like?" I teased, putting my hands behind my back, jutting out my chest.

"Well... I... I have to say, I've never seen someone as hot as you, so..."

I hid my surprise behind a smile. Was he trying to flirt with me?

"I think you should come closer to take a better look."

I honestly thought this would be the moment he backed off, but again, he managed to exceed my expectations.

Without a word, he put down the shirt in his hands, walking over slowly. He stopped a foot away from me, his eyes locked onto mine. I had to strain my neck to look up at him. He was tall, and I liked that.

"Now that I'm up close, I can definitely say it. I've never seen someone as hot as you, Y/N."

I took another small step towards him, almost making our chests touch. His breathing was shallow, and I knew he was trying to keep his cool.

"Tell me, Seonghwa... Are the fluffy jumpers and nerdy backpacks only a cover-up? Why are you hiding this delicious body from the world? Hm?"

I slowly placed my index finger on his chest, bringing it down his stomach, only stopping when I heard his sharp inhale. His muscles contracted, and you could count his abs perfectly.

"Well, I... It's easier this way, I suppose. I don't particularly like attention."

I nodded. "Ah... A bit shy, are you? It doesn't seem like it to me. But I could be wrong."

"I am shy. You're just too pretty, and I like pretty things. I guess I also have a bit of a crush on you. It's stupid, I know. You'd never be with someone like me, but it's wishful thinking."

A crush? On me? I guess my dumfounded expression wasn't as well managed, because Seonghwa giggled a bit.

"How on Earth could I have known that? You never even speak to me. And, hey! Give yourself some credit! You're like, super smart, and you're handsome. It's quite ridiculous how good looking you are. Even with that backpack of yours."

"Which one, the Lego or Star Wars?"

I laughed out loud this time, patting him on the chest.

"You're funny. So, what do you want to do to me? I have to say, I am more than open to prove you wrong about your 'wishful thinking' if you want."

I could feel his heartbeat under my palm, and it seemed to pick up with my question. He gulped before opening his mouth, closing it, and opening it again. He seemed at a loss for words.

"I... I never thought I'd get this far, to be honest. But, God... The things I'd do to you...

Before I could tease him again, his lips were on mine.

I don't know if someone has ever kissed me with such passion. His hands were all over me - first my hair, my throat, my arms... He settled them over my hips and pulled me towards him. I couldn't help myself eather. My arms went around his broad shoulders. Our kiss grew urgent, and the hair grew heavier with each sigh of pleasure we left out.

His tongue prodded into my mouth, caressing mine. I don't know who pulled away first, but thank god, because I needed some air. And I needed to do something else.

I looked into his eyes as I dropped to my knees. My head was perfectly aligned with his impressive buldge. He was a bit taken aback, lips red and puffy, eyes wide.

"You don't have to do that, you know. I am perfectly content kissing the shit out of you for, like, forever."

"Seonghwa?" "Yes?" "Shut up and drop your pants."

"Yes ma'am."

With that, he pulled down his sweats, and surprise surprise, there were little starships and baby Yodas printed on his boxers.

"Please, for the love of everything sacred, and my pride, do not say anything about it now."

I pretended to zip my mouth shut, grabbing at his boxers to get them out of my way. I was a woman on a mission.

His cock was as pretty as the rest of him. Big, with a pink tip. I slowly carresed the head, making it pulse in the air. Seonghwa left out a breathy moan, putting his hand on my head. He didn't urge me, he simply slipped my hair though his fingers.

"I've never seen such a pretty cock before. It matches you perfectly."

I gripped him tighter, making him moan a bit louder this time.

"Thanks... I... Oh god."

He couldn't finish his sentence because I took the chance to lick his cock from his balls to his head. My lips wrapped around the pink bulb and I sucked at it like it was a lolly.

His hand soon fisted my hair, pulling a bit tighter every time I lowered my head some more. Soon enough, with a bit of a struggle, I took all of his glory into my mouth. There was droll everywhere, but I didn't care. Neither did he, judging by his moans.

"Oh my... I knew you'd be good at this... Look at you, drolling all over me. I think you can take it a little rougher, am I right?"

With that, he thrusted his hips up, and his cock hit the back of my throat. I gagged, but I wasn't about to give up. I relaxed my muscles and began bobbing up and down, going faster when I felt his first tightening in my hair.

"That's it... What a good girl... Just like that..."

His words only made me speed up, encouraging me to finish him off. It seemed like he had other plans, because I was pushed off his cock and up on my feet in seconds.

"Sorry doll, but I don't want to cum unless it's in you."

He picked me up and sat me on one of the washing machines. It creeked with my weight on it, and we chuckled before sharing another kiss. This time it was slower, more passionate.

"Do you know how pretty you are right now? With your lips all pink and glossy... I could kiss you all day long. I could also keep your mouth on my cock forever... You're too good at it."

I spread my legs to let him get closer. My shorts were soaked, and he could feel it.

"Thanks babe, I was trying to impress you."

"Oh doll, you did a fantastic job. Let me show you what I can do now."

Without another word, he crouched down. His hands went up my legs, caressing them on the way up. His touch was soft, feather like. Until he got to my sleep shorts, and almost ripped them off me.

"Impatient, are we?"

He chuckled. "You have no idea doll."

Seonghwa was a bit surprised with my lack of panties, but he was also glad. One less layer to take care off.

He slowly parted my pussy lips, eyes focused on my wetness.

"Good god... I could look at you all day."

"Seonghwa, please, look at it all you want another time. I'm gonna bust up here."

He let out a laugh, nodding his head.

"I'm gonna hold onto that promise."

I didn't get to reply because he went right in on my clit. His tongue was doing wonders, going up and down, left to right, keeping a steady pace. He sucked on my little nub, watching me carefully.

"You taste so sweet doll. I knew you would. I could stay here forever."

"I won't complain if you do."

He chuckled and went right back at it. I can't remember the last time someone was this devoted to eating me out. Probably never.

His fingers prodded at my entrance, slowly punching one inside. His tongue kept going over my clit, making me shake.

"Keep going baby, I'm so close..."

My words only encouraged him to go faster, more eager. His finger reached my sweet spot, pushing against the gummy walls. I could feel my orgasm coming. It took a sharp suck on my little nub, and I was out.

"Yes! Oh my! Oh Seonghwa..."

My moans soon turned into little cries, the overstimulation making me more sensitive. It seemed like he wasn't going to stop, so I had to push his head away.

He came up and kissed me roughly, grabbing my boobs and squeezing.

"Sorry doll, got a bit lost. You have the sweetest pussy..."

"I think it's time you use those hips now, don't you agree?"

"You are absolutely right. What a smart girl you are."

I giggled and put my legs around his hips, pulling him into me. He understood my intentions, pushing his pants all the way down. He stroked his cock a few times before slowly pushing it in.

We both let out a sigh after he was fully inside.

"My god doll, you're so tight. You suck me right it. I think we were made for this, you know?"

I nodded and put my hands around his neck. Our foreheads touched, and we gazed into each others eyes. I slowly nodded, and he started thrusting into me.

His pace was slow at first, almost as if he was soaking it all in. His hands grabbed my ass, squeezing every time his cock plunged into my pussy.

"Y/N, doll... We have to do this every day, you know? It's the only logical option."

I smiled, kissing him again.

"Yeah, you think so? I have to say...Ah... I agree."

He speed up, moaning loudly while I clenched around him. It was difficult to keep my hands at bay, so I caressed his chest and shoulders. His broad, sexy shoulders. Without much thought, I sank my teeth into his neck, trailing bites down to his shoulder.

Seonghwa gasped, squeezing me even more.

"Do that again doll. Do it harder."

I listened, putting my head on the opposite side, doing the same thing. I was a bit rougher now, leaving deep teeth marks.

"You're mine now, I left my mark." I was only half joking, but it seemed to make him even more eager in his movements.

"I'm yours. I'm yours, however you want me."

I squeezed his cock again, tightening my walls while he pushed them even deeper inside me. I could feel my orgasm approaching again, and I could tell Seonghwa was hanging by a thread.

"I'm close doll, your pussy is just so good... Come on, you've got to cum with me. I need to feel your pussy pulsating around me."

"I'm close, I'm so close. Please, please..."

He put his fingers on my clit, rubbing fast circles, making me clench even more.

"Cum for me Y/N."

With his whispered words, my orgasm crashed through me like a truck. Seonghwa was seconds behind, groaning in pleasure. I could feel his cum painting my walls, milking his cock until he started shaking.

We hugged, our breaths laboured as we got down from our highs. He took a deep breath, running his fingers through my locks.

"That was..."

"Yeah..."

"We should totally..."

"Yeah..."

He chuckled at my lack of articulate responses. I was in no shape to form a sentence.

He slowly pulled out of me, watching as his cum dripped onto the old washing machine.

"We made a mess doll."

"Yeah, well, I don't care honestly. That was just wow. "

Seonghwa grabbed my shorts, pulling them up my legs before helping me get off. My legs were shaking, so I leaned into him. He hugged me close, kissing the top of my head.

"Do you think you'd be up for a date maybe? I mean, only if you want to. If you don't that's okay, I get it. I am a bit of a nerd after all."

"Yes."

"I get it, I am reasona - Yes?"

"Yes, I'll go on a date with you. But only if you let me wear that cute pink sweater of yours."

"You can wear all of my sweaters if you want."

"Well now that wouldn't be practical, would it?"

.

.

.

"Did you see the residential nerd this morning? He's got a new backpack. And guess what? It's pink!"

"Hey isn't that Y/N?"

"What?"

Jiun turned around and locked eyes with me, and my newly acquired boyfriend. Seonghwa took me on a date this weekend, and we bought matching baby pink backpacks. Way to introduce us as a couple, am I right?

I waved at my friends, motioning to the seat next to Seonghwa's, basically telling them I'm moving.

Jiun was a bit stunned, but the smile she gave me was genuine. Seonghwa glanced at me, interlocking our pinkies.

"You don't mind sitting with the nerd now?"

"Not at all big boy, not at all..."

[talesofesther]

you're all I want love to be

Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Tara is still afraid to allow people close, to allow herself to trust again. Until she finds someone who makes it easier.

A/N: The idea for this was also given to me by my dear @iamnicodemus. Hope y'all like it. Tara, I love u. <3

Masterlist

Tara never meant for it to happen.

It was actually the one thing she wanted the least. Catching feelings for someone only opens up more opportunities for her to get hurt.

And yet it happened so easily, so subtly, that she only realized it when the damage was already done.

She found you on her first day at the university. When she was admittedly very lost; backpack hanging from one shoulder, fifteen minutes late for her class, and walking in the opposite direction of it. You were the only person she'd bumped into when going past Blackmore's cafeteria, and after a bit of an internal pep talk, Tara walked up to you.

And if kindness could be a person, it would be you. Instead of just taking her to class, you gave Tara a simple tour of the university, promising to be around if she ever needed anything else.

Tara started noticing you on every corner of the campus after that. She didn't take you up on your offer though, choosing instead to keep her distance. Still, you always had a smile reserved for her at times you'd catch her staring. That didn't change when the rumors about her and Sam started, if anything, you became more approachable than before.

But it was only after an unfortunate incident, that Tara actually started hanging out with you;

October had started four days ago, and with it, the Halloween season. Parties were already being scheduled every other weekend and sometimes on weekdays as well.

Tara was walking towards her class, her head in the clouds while she thought about what costume she would wear if she were to go to one of those parties.

She was usually one to be early for class now that she had her paths memorized, preferring the calmness of the minutes before everyone started rushing to arrive on time.

So she wasn't exactly expecting what happened next.

As Tara rounded a corner, she was surprised to come face to face with two other students; one of them adorning a black hoodie and a cheap Ghostface mask. The 'boo' that left his lips was as childish as it could be, but the abruptness of the encounter got Tara stumbling on her own feet as she took several steps back, eyes wide and her body momentarily entering fight or flight mode.

"What's wrong, Carpenter?" The guy in the mask said in a mocking tone, his friend joining in on the laughter, "thought I was your sister?"

Tara's voice was tangled up in her throat, she couldn't remember if she packed her inhaler this morning, or was it her taser that she forgot?

If unkind memories weren't flashing behind her eyes, Tara would have recognized the two idiots in front of her; the boys who came here to do anything but study, taking getting on people's nerves as a hobby.

It was only when the back of their heads was hit — quite forcefully — with a book, that they stopped laughing. The cheap mask fell to the ground with the hit, gaining a crack on its edge.

"Don't you guys have anything better to do?" You came from behind them, tucking the book back in your backpack, "fuck off before I tell the director what you've been doing out in the parking lot when you think no one's watching."

With a few complaints under their breath, they eventually walked away, allowing Tara to let out the breath she'd been holding.

"Morons," you huffed, tugging on the straps of your backpack before turning around to Tara, your gaze softening immediately, "you okay?"

Her dark eyes found yours. She simply nodded, feeling her lower lip quivering when she tried to speak. She noticed the way your hand twitched to reach out to her but you stopped yourself midway, instead tucking both hands in your pockets.

"I'm sorry about them," you told her with the usual gentleness you never lacked, "they should know better than to do that."

Tara shook her head softly, managing a smile when her heartbeat started to settle, "thank you for… stepping in."

You just shrugged, your smile coming as a copy of hers, and it got Tara wondering if it could hold the same sentiment too.

"Anytime," you told her then, and Tara hardly left your side after it.

It was easy to fall into the routine of having you near and pretending she was just a normal girl with a crush on her friend. Being with you was so easy that it made Tara forget about all the bad, forget about all the reasons why allowing people close became dangerous.

And today? Today should be a good day, it's a day Tara has been looking forward to, a day that took away her sleep for all the good reasons. And it's not like she never stopped to get coffee with you on the way to campus, but today felt different because you had asked her to, as a date.

And Tara had been counting the seconds for it; until Ghostface came back and nearly killed her and Sam at that grocery store, until Mindy said 'never trust the love interest', until her worst nightmares came back again and suddenly nothing was easy anymore.

"Alright guys, as much as I love discussing possible suspects with you," Chad pushed himself off the bench he'd been sitting on, "we've still got classes to go to, come on Ethan." The two boys gathered their things and walked away, Quinn soon following behind.

Tara slumped back in her seat, her hands coming up to cover her eyes. With her sight momentarily gone, it felt like everything else was louder, heavier; she could perfectly hear the rustling of leaves from the trees around, the cacophony of voices from all the other students hanging out outside, and feel the weight of Sam's gaze on her.

"I think someone's looking for you, lovergirl," Mindy said out of nowhere, kicking Tara's sneaker with her own. When Tara glanced up at her friend with a frown, all Mindy did was tilt her head towards the university, where you had just walked out from and were now making your way to them.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," Mindy teased with a sing-song voice and a grin plastered on her lips.

"Noticed what?" Sam sat up straighter, her gaze shifting from Tara to Mindy.

"Tara's girlfr-"

"Nothing," Tara interrupted quickly, getting up so she could land a gentle punch to Mindy's shoulder, "nothing to notice," she said again, pointedly.

"Alright, let's go, Sam," Mindy extended a hand for the older girl, "we'll meet back at the dorm later."

Sam still had a confused frown on her features but she took the hand offered to her anyway, while Mindy leaned closer to Tara so she could whisper; "always knew you had good taste," before both of them walked again.

Tara's cheeks went aflame as she let out a groan, predicting the onslaught of questions she'd get later today. She slowly turned around to meet you in the middle, her soul naturally filling with incessant butterflies.

Had she really been that unsubtle when regarding you?

"Hey," you greeted her a little breathlessly, letting go of your backpack and leaving it on the floor as you took a small extra step closer to Tara, your eyes frantically looking her over, "I was so worried when I saw what happened last night, are you-"

"I'm okay," it was instinct, but Tara didn't know if the words were true. There was something about you that always made her feel more than she wanted to, she suddenly felt like the last pieces of herself she'd been trying to hold together so hard over the last months started crumbling. Tara took hold of your hands, squeezing tightly. She didn't know who she was trying to comfort, you or herself.

You held her back, glancing down as your fingers intertwined with hers. Tara observed the way your lashes kissed the corner of your cheeks; you were all golden softness and spring warmth, presence rivaling the one of a welcoming sun on a cold day. Tara wanted to memorize that, keep it in her heart as if it was the first and last time she'd be seeing you.

It should be easy to forget and pretend, but it suddenly wasn't, because Mindy's words kept ringing inside Tara's head even if she didn't want them to be true. She felt tears steadily collecting on the bottom lid of her eyes.

"But," she closed her eyes at the unsteadiness of her own voice. More than anything, she wanted this, wanted you. But she was stuck. It felt like quicksand, pulling her further down the more she struggled to get out. "about today…"

It's like you knew her better than she knew herself sometimes, maybe for you, it still felt easy. "It's alright, Tara." Your thumb brushed over the scar on top of her hand, "we don't have to go, I understand."

Tara pursed her lips, blinking away her vulnerability. She let go of your hands only to loop her arm around yours and bring your bodies closer together, "walk me to class, though?"

—

"Come on, spill it, what's up between you two?" Mindy leaned back on the kitchen counter beside Tara, "I was joking earlier today, but now I actually think there's something there."

The carrot Tara was cutting ended up with a slice too big, she had to turn it around and cut it one more time in the middle, "I've told you, there's nothing going on," Tara told her friend with a sigh, making sure to cut smaller slices so she could keep her hands busy as long as possible; "she's my friend."

Mindy scoffed, she picked up a spoon from the sink and tasted whatever Chad was cooking up on the stove. A grimace came to her face at the lack of seasoning, "I've heard that before."

"It's not like that," Tara dropped the knife then, unsure what she was frustrated about or what she wanted to convince Mindy of, "how can I get… involved with someone after what happened?" Her voice grew quieter by the end.

Mindy softened at that, she turned to face Tara fully — everyone knew the younger Carpenter was still struggling with what she'd been through, even if she didn't want to admit it. "I know it's not easy, T. But you can't close yourself off for everyone, some people are still worth it," Mindy glanced towards the living room, a soft smile on her lips when Anika's silhouette came into view, "people aren't meant to be islands."

—

There are times when the pain is so big, that it almost doesn't feel like pain anymore. If it comes from a wound, that's usually the time when you'll pass out. If it comes from inside, you start to feel numb.

Sitting at the back of an ambulance as she watches cops walking out with another one of her friends in a dark body bag, Tara thinks she's close to that feeling. Mindy is sitting beside her, she's not moving. Tara doesn't know what to say in moments like these, they feel almost awkward. A morbid kind of awkward.

So when she gets up, cell phone in hand with your number already ringing, she blames it on that; on the pain squeezing her chest almost to the point of unbearable, on the helplessness she feels twirling in her gut.

Tara paced back and forth on the sidewalk, trying to draw out the noise of the sirens as she counted up the seconds until you picked up.

… Two, three, four.

Tara could hear her own heart rate quicken, she closed her eyes, thinking about how her inhaler was still all the way up in the apartment; where there's blood, and-

Please, pick up. Please, pick up.

"Hello?"

A long sigh of relief left Tara's lips as soon as she heard your voice through the phone. As if she hadn't cried enough, she could see tears clouding her sight.

"Tara? What happened, is everything okay?"

"No, it's not," Tara forced out, her voice tight with a sudden rawness. She turned her back to Mindy so the girl wouldn't see her crying, "there was another attack… Anika didn't make it."

"Oh god, I can't-" Tara could hear you choking on your own voice, "are you okay? Please tell me you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm-" Tears made a steady path down to Tara's chin, some getting caught under the phone pressed tightly to her cheek, "I'm alright."

"Tell me where you are, I can be there in like ten- five minutes."

"No!" Tara said with urgency, "don't come here, please, I don't want you anywhere near this," she gulped back a lump in her throat, "it's too dangerous."

"But what about you?"

"I'll be okay," Tara closed her eyes, wishing the words really were true, "I just-" she hesitated, a confession lingering on her tongue, "I just wanted to hear your voice, is all." She bit onto her lower lip until it drew blood.

"We- we can talk for as long as you need," it was like Tara could hear your smile, "I'm happy to hear your voice too."

—

Ambulance lights and police sirens were clouding your senses as you run up to the commotion. It was quite a sight; your oversized shirt, shorts, and sneakers with mismatched high socks. But you couldn't remember to care because your heart had been at your throat ever since Mindy called.

There were several reporters blocking your view but you squeezed your way through them until you reached the police tape. You've always hated this; the white and red colors of the vehicles that only showed up in tragedies, the panic and grief that lay heavy in the air, the clicks of the cameras from people who saw it as an opportunity — you hated it all, but right now the only one on your mind is Tara.

You ducked to go under the police tape, immediately attracting the attention of one of the cops, "Miss, you can't be here, please go back behind-"

"No, you don't understand," you gripped at the fabric of his jacket when he tried to keep you back, trying to push through, "I know them."

And the cop kept speaking, probably about things you weren't allowed to do and places you shouldn't be. You didn't hear any of it, because you found her. Her blue shirt had more red than blue in it, dried blood was all over the fabric, making you feel a mix between relief and nauseousness; her hair was messy, tangled, and damp in some places; her skin still coated with bits of dirt and blood too; her arm was held up by a makeshift bandage. But she was there, talking to a blonde woman on a stretcher; she was alive.

"Tara," you called quietly as your sight blurred over, and then a little louder, "Tara!"

She looked up, any words she'd been saying dying on her lips when she saw you. For a beat, it seemed as if she was assessing if you were real or not, before she was all but running towards you.

Not caring for consequences, you pushed the cop off of you and met her halfway — lucky for you he apparently noticed you really knew them.

"What are you doing here?" Tara's eyes were glinting under the red and blue lights, there were clear tracks on her cheeks where tears had run down.

"I was-" you tried, stumbling over your words as you took her in, all blood stains and bruises. You raised a hand to push back her fringe, the strands of hair were damp to the touch; from sweat or blood, you didn't want to know. "Mindy called, and scared the shit out of me. I came as fast as I could."

With her lower lip stuck between her teeth, Tara leaned into your touch. Her eyes closed tightly when your thumb traced the outline of her eyebrow.

"Are you okay? I mean of course you're not okay, what am I even-"

You were cut off when Tara threw herself at you. She pulled you close with her free hand, nails almost digging into your skin with the force of it as she buried her head on your shoulder.

Quiet sobs shook her body and you held her back the best you could whilst being mindful of her injuries. One of your hands cradled her head, fingers tangled in her dark hair as you breathed in everything that was her. "Shit, I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

Tara only pushed herself into you more as you spoke. There was a beat, a moment of hesitance from someone who'd had the bitter taste of betrayal more than anyone should. Trust was a gamble, but when you had a place in her heart no one else could ever have, Tara knew you'd never break it. "I'm okay now," she spoke against you; and she believed it.

You only squeezed her tighter, pulling back just enough to land a kiss on her temple. And you allowed your lips to linger, to feel her skin against you and her heartbeat pressed to your own.

Tara melted in your hold, allowing you to support most of her weight. With her cheek pressed to your collarbone, she spoke; "you still owe me a date."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Tara’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us @alexkolax

[deep-space-netwerk]

Y'all, I'm getting emotional.

One of my absolute favorite astronomical bodies is the Crab Nebula, or Messier 1. The Crab Nebula is a "planetary nebula", which means it's the enormous, beautiful corpse of a once-giant star. The star that formed the Crab Nebula went supernova and exploded in 1054, and was so bright at the time of its death that you could see it from Earth during the day - for almost a month. For that month, it was brighter than every single thing in the sky except the moon and the sun. Some of you have probably heard of it, or have at least seen this Hubble picture:

But how many of y'all have zoomed in?

Inside all of those lovely rainbow clouds is the supernova remnant - a neutron star. A neutron star is made of the densest possible material that we know of - any denser, and it'd collapse the rest of the way into a full-fledged black hole. Neutron stars are so unimaginably dense that they're not even made of an element, not really. The star at the center of the Crab Nebula is one, single atomic nucleus 12 miles in diameter, made entirely of close-packed neutrons. One teaspoon would weigh 10 million tons. Imagine taking a passenger jet, condensing it down to the size of a mote of dust, and then filling a spoon with that dust. And it spins too - 30 times a second. That spinning causes huge jets of material to eject from the poles at half the speed of light. The incredibly powerful magnetic field traps any stray particles and accelerates them in circular paths through the nebula. Just LOOK at this shit! See the ghosty shadows of the jets, stretching from the top left corner to the bottom right?

But what's really making me lose it is this Hubble timelapse. The star is making ripples. Its moving. Its been dead for almost a thousand years, but its still putting on its final, spectacular show.

It never ceases to amaze me that the things we call "dead" stars are some of the most dynamic, energetic, and awe-inspiring objects in the universe. Normal stars are downright STAGNANT compared to what these so-called "stellar remnants" get up to. Maybe we shouldn't be thinking of them as dead stars, but as the next phase in a star's life. Just as caterpillars "end" their mundane lives and metamorphose into something new and strange and capable of flight, these stars destroy themselves to leave behind something far more exotic, playing at the edge of the laws of physics in ways we still don't fully understand.

[seat-safety-switch]

When you’re standing on the outside, it may seem bizarre to you that rocket scientists aren’t paid more. They are literally rocket scientists, after all, the only people in the world who are not allowed to say “it’s not rocket science” at work. And yet they are often paid somewhat less than a regular old hard-hatted engineer, involved in expensive (and fragile) projects to construct overpriced pedestrian bridges for overpriced private universities. Why is that?

One reason is that the rocket scientists don’t pose much of a threat to management. There’s more of them than there are jobs available building rockets. If they quit, then the bosses will just hire slightly dumber rocket scientists, and pay them even less. Rockets will still go up, and they’ll go where they want to, because of the well-documented history and best practices of the industry. They can keep coasting on this for a little while, maybe even decades, with a barely-perceptible drop in quality. Maybe it’s already happened. Maybe tomorrow is when we find out what the first part of a rocket that has been quality-faded into oblivion is. Hope you don’t live under the flight path.

There is, of course, another approach, and that’s “being a dirtbag.” I myself have a lot of experience in this particular field, and I think it is one of those multi-skilled disciplines that can expand into rocket science if so required. The aforementioned best practices of this industry have been written down and documented so well, in fact, that just some asshole off the street like myself can check them out of the library (using an assumed name, of course,) read them, and know generally all that humanity has figured out over the last century about making rockets that don’t explode. Then, in the language of Silicon Valley influencers, I can “disrupt” the industry.

Of course, by “disrupt” I really mean grift. If management can’t really tell the difference between good rocket scientists and slightly less good ones, then it stands to reason that they’ll give completely bad ones the benefit of the doubt. I can get billions of dollars of venture capital for my space-flight startup, shoot a few Estes rockets into the ceiling of the cafeteria, and still pocket enough dough to be able to afford a base-model Honda Civic from the 1980s. It’s not brain surgery.