#now i remember why i was miserable every single year we went its like the worst aprts of all my life mixed in together | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

7r0773r · 1 year

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Devotions: The Selected Poems by Mary Oliver

STORAGE

When I moved from one house to another there were many things I had no room for. What does one do? I rented a storage space. And filled it. Years passed. Occasionally I went there and looked in, but nothing happened, not a single twinge of the heart. As I grew older the things I cared about grew fewer, but were more important. So one day I undid the lock and called the trash man. He took everything. I felt like the little donkey when his burden is finally lifted. Things! Burn them, burn them! Make a beautiful fire! More room in your heart for love, for the trees! For the birds who own nothing—the reason they can fly.

***

BLUEBERRIES

I'm living in a warm place now, where you can purchase fresh blueberries all year long. Labor free. From various countries in South America. They're as sweet as any, and compared with the berries I used to pick in the fields outside of Provincetown, they're enormous. But berries are berries. They don't speak any language I can't understand. Neither do I find ticks or small spiders crawling among them. So, generally speaking, I'm very satisfied.

There are limits, however. What they don't have is the field. The field they belonged to and through the years I began to feel I belonged to. Well, there's life, and then there's later. Maybe it's myself that I miss. The field, and the sparrow singing at the edge of the woods. And the doe that one morning came upon me unaware, all tense and gorgeous. She stamped her hoof as you would to any intruder: Then gave me a long look, as if to say, Okay, you stay in your patch, I'lI stay in mine. Which is what we did. Try packing that up, South America.

***

BENJAMIN, WHO CAME FROM WHO KNOWS WHERE

What shall I do? When I pick up the broom he leaves the room. When I fuss with kindling he runs for the yard. Then he's back, and we hug for a long time. In his low-to-the-ground chest I can hear his heart slowing down. Then I rub his shoulders and kiss his feet and fondle his long hound ears. Benny, I say, don't worry. I also know the way the old life haunts the new.

***

I GO DOWN TO THE SHORE

I go down to the shore in the morning and depending on the hour the waves are rolling in or moving out, and I say, oh, I am miserable, what shall— what should I do? And the sea says in its lovely voice: Excuse me, I have work to do.

***

COYOTE IN THE DARK, COYOTES REMEMBERED

The darkest thing met me in the dark. It was only a face and a brace of teeth that held no words, though I felt a salty breath sighing in my direction. Once, in an autumn that is long gone, I was down on my knees in the cranberry bog and heard, in that lonely place, two voices coming down the hill, and I was thrilled to be granted this secret, that the coyotes, walking together can talk together, for I thought, what else could it be? And even though what emerged were two young women, two-legged for sure and not at all aware of me, their nimble, young women tongues telling and answering, and though I knew I had believed something probably not true, yet it was wonderful to have believed it. And it has stayed with me as a present once given is forever given. Easy and happy they sounded, those two maidens of the wilderness from which we have— who knows to what furious, pitiful extent— banished ourselves.

***

NIGHT HERONS

Some herons were fishing in the robes of the night

at a low hour of the water's body, and the fish, I suppose, were full

of fish happiness in those transparent inches even as, over and over, the beaks jacked down

and the narrow bodies were lifted with every quick sally,

and that was the end of them as far as we know— though, what do we know except that death

is so everywhere and so entire— pummeling and felling, or sometimes, like this, appearing

through such a thin door— one stab, and you're through! And what then? Why, then it was almost morning,

and one by one the birds opened their wings and flew.

***

THE ORCHARD

I have dreamed of accomplishment. I have fed

ambition. I have traded nights of sleep

for a length of work. Lo, and I have discovered how soft bloom

turns to green fruit which turns to sweet fruit. Lo, and I have discovered

all winds blow cold at last, and the leaves,

so pretty, so many, vanish in the great, black

packet of time, in the great, black packet of ambition,

and the ripeness of the apple is its downfall.

***

PRAYING

It doesn't have to be the blue iris, it could be weeds in a vacant lot, or a few small stones; just ay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try to make them elaborate, this isn't a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which another voice may speak.

***

HONEY LOCUST

Who can tell how lovely in June is the honey locust tree, or why a tree should be so sweet and live in this world? Each white blossom on a dangle of white flowers holds one green seed— a new life. Also each blossom on a dangle of flowers holds a flask of fragrance called Heaven, which is never sealed. The bees circle the tree and dive into it. They are crazy with gratitude. They are working like farmers. They are as happy as saints. After a while the flowers begin to wilt and drop down into the grass. Welcome shines in the grass.

Every year I gather handfuls of blossoms and eat of their mealiness; the honey melts in my mouth, the seeds make me strong, both when they are crisp and ripe, and even at the end when their petals have turned dull yellow.

So it is if the heart has devoted itself to love, there is not a single inch of emptiness. Gladness gleams all the way to the grave.

***

NORTH COUNTRY

In the north country now it is spring and there is a certain celebration. The thrush has come home. He is shy and likes the evening best, also the hour just before morning; in that blue and gritty light he climbs to his branch, or smoothly sails there. It is okay to know only one song if it is this one. Hear it rise and fall; the very elements of your soul shiver nicely. What would spring be without it? Mostly frogs. But don't worry, he

arrives, year after year, humble and obedient and gorgeous. You listen and you know you could live a better life than you do, be softer, kinder. And maybe this year you will be able to do it. Hear how his voice rises and falls. There is no way to be sufficiently grateful for the gifts we are given, no way to speak the Lord's name often enough, though we do try, and

especially now, as that dappled breast breathes in the pines and heaven's windows in the north country, now spring has come, are opened wide.

***

FLARE

Welcome to the silly, comforting poem.

It is not the sunrise, which is a red rinse, which is flaring all over the eastern sky;

it is not the rain falling out of the purse of God;

it is not the blue helmet of the sky afterward,

or the trees, or the beetle burrowing into the earth;

it is not the mockingbird who, in his own cadence, will go on sizzling and clapping from the branches of the catalpa that are thick with blossoms, that are billowing and shining, that are shaking in the wind.

You still recall, sometimes, the old barn on your great-grandfather's farm, a place you visited once, and went into, all alone, while the grownups sat and talked in the house.

It was empty, or almost. Wisps of hay covered the floor, and some wasps sang at the windows, and maybe there was a strange fluttering bird high above, disturbed, hoo-ing a little and staring down from a messy ledge with wild, binocular eyes.

Mostly, though, it smelled of milk, and the patience of animals, the give-offs of the body were still in the air, a vague ammonia, not unpleasant.

Mostly, though, it was restful and secret, the roof high up and arched, the boards unpainted and plain.

You could have stayed there forever, a small child in a corner, on the last raft of hay, dazzled by so much space that seemed empty, but wasn't.

Then—you still remember—you felt the rap of hunger—it was noon—and you turned from that twilight dream and hurried back to the house, where the table was set, where an uncle patted you on the shoulder for welcome, and there was your place at the table.

Nothing lasts. There is a graveyard where everything I am talking about is, now.

I stood there once, on the green grass, scattering flowers.

Nothing is so delicate or so finely hinged as the wings of the green moth against the lantern against its heat against the beak of the crow in the early morning.

Yet the moth has trim, and feistiness, and not a drop of self-pity.

Not in this world.

My mother was the blue wisteria, my mother was the mossy stream out behind the house, my mother, alas, alas, did not always love her life, heavier than iron it was as she carried it in her arms, from room to room, oh, unforgettable!

I bury her in a box in the earth and turn away. My father was a demon of frustrated dreams, was a breaker of trust, was a poor, thin boy with bad luck. He followed God, there being no one else he could talk to; he swaggered before God, there being no one else who would listen. Listen, this was his life. I bury it in the earth. I sweep the closets. I leave the house.

I mention them now, I will not mention them again.

It is not lack of love nor lack of sorrow. But the iron thing they carried, I will not carry.

I give them—one, two, three, four—the kiss of courtesy, of sweet thanks, of anger, of good luck in the deep earth. May they sleep well. May they soften.

But I will not give them the kiss of complicity. I will not give them the responsibility for my life.

Did you know that the ant has a tongue with which to gather in all that it can of sweetness?

Did you know that?

The poem is not the world. It isn't even the first page of the world.

But the poem wants to flower, like a flower. It knows that much.

It wants to open itself, like the door of a little temple, so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed, and less yourself than part of everything.

The voice of the child crying out of the mouth of the grown woman is a misery and a disappointment. The voice of the child howling out of the tall, bearded, muscular man is a misery, and a terror.

10.

Therefore, tell me: what will engage you? What will open the dark fields of your mind, like a lover at first touching?

11.

Anyway, there was no barn. No child in the barn.

No uncle no table no kitchen.

Only a long lovely field full of bobolinks.

12.

When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider the orderliness of the world. Notice something you have never noticed before,

like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.

Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain, shaking the water-sparks from its wings.

Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no. Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also, like the diligent leaves.

A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world and the responsibilities of your life.

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away. Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.

In the glare of your mind, be modest. And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.

Live with the beetle, and the wind.

This is the dark bread of the poem. This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem.

***

GOLDENROD

On roadsides, in fall fields, in rumpy bunches, saffron and orange and pale gold,

in little towers, soft as mash, sneeze-bringers and seed-bearers, full of bees and yellow beads and perfect flowerlets

and orange butterflies. I don't suppose much notice comes of it, except for honey, and how it heartens the heart with its

blank blaze. I don't suppose anything loves it except, perhaps, the rocky voids filled by its dumb dazzle.

For myself, I was just passing by, when the wind flared and the blossoms rustled, and the glittering pandemonium

leaned on me. I was just minding my own business when I found myself on their straw hillsides, citron and butter-colored,

and was happy, and why not? Are not the difficult labors of our lives full of dark hours? And what has consciousness come to anyway, so far,

that is better than these light-filled bodies? All day on their airy backbones they toss in the wind,

they bend as though it was natural and godly to bend, they rise in a stiff sweetness, in the pure peace of giving one's gold away.

***

WHEN DEATH COMES

When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox,

when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

***

THE SUMMER DAY

Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean— the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down— who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don't know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

***

THE SWIMMING LESSON

Feeling the icy kick, the endless waves Reaching around my life, I moved my arms And coughed, and in the end saw land.

Somebody, I suppose, Remembering the medieval maxim, Had tossed me in, Had wanted me to learn to swim,

Not knowing that none of us, who ever came back From that long lonely fall and frenzied rising, Ever learned anything at all About swimming, but only How to put off, one by one, Dreams and pity, love and grace,— How to survive in any place.

#mary oliver #book quotes

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luckycauldron · 2 years

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I'm keeping this here. What for? I don't know... but I know that I want to look back into this on a happy note. One day.

I want to remember that most of the times, things in life won't work a certain way I expect it to be - and it's fine. It is. It completely is.

I just let out a sigh as I'm writing this haha.

I mean, who am I kidding? Life has been... how do I put this into words, hm? Bitter... sweet? Mindboggling? It feels like I got punched multiple times in the most hurtful ways, but every. single. time. I kind of... managed to survive? I couldn't dodge though, so I'm left with some real ugly bruises. But they're fading, so it's fine, except for the new ones I just got HAHA.

Ok enough with the metaphor.

Now on to the real talk. This would be the first time I'm voicing out what I'm about to.

And there goes another sigh.

Back on August last year, I broke up with my longtime boyfriend - 5 years and 8 months went down the drain. It was a mutual agreement, I initiated though. The guy was a coward, so I did what I had to do. I always knew it was coming, we were like spoiled milk, what do you expect? He made me wait, maybe too taken aback with my advance. I remember one time during my suffocating wait, I was praying and silently crying in the upstairs room, holding back a scream because everyone was asleep and I ended up with the most terrible stomach cramps I've had in my entire 27 years of living. That made me stop crying abruptly, and the next thing I knew I was clutching on to the nearest table tops because I thought I was gonna die from the pain. Very dramatic. Even my cats were judging from afar. 'Ugh, when will this end', 'Make it stop', 'What an embarrassment' were evident on their evil little faces.

So then the breakup happened. It was sad, but I was mostly relieved that the spoiled milk had finally find a home - yes, the garbage dump, duh! We also had this stupid thing where we say "Let's be friends. I have a feeling we'd make the best of friends even we're no longer lovers" as a closing statement. Total cuckoo move. Can't believe Vicky was right.

To be honest it was hilarious watching myself going through my first breakup. Definitely a journey not to be missed out. I'm not gonna go into details but let me paint you a picture through the songs I associated during this 'self-discovery' phase.

Phase 1: Astrid S - It's Ok If You Forget Me

Phase 2: Taylor Swift - Tolerate It & Champange Problem

Phase 3: Billie Eilish - Happier Than Ever

Phase 4: Cokelat - Karma

Phase 5: Tulus - Hati Hati di Jalan

Yeah, I basically went through the infamous 5 stages of grief without me realizing it.

Fast forward to October. I am ashamed to admit this, but deep down I kind of expected him to wish me Happy Birthday. But of course, he didn't. Fucking asshole. Let's be friends, my ass.

Then, came December. If this was a movie, it must be the crazy sister of Denis Villeneuve's Enemy - for its next level of mindfuckery. It actually left me saying 'what the fuck?' even today, because what in the actual fuck is happening, really? I blinked and what... he got married now?

He fucking did.

Now, this was the moment where it finally came down to me that; this is it - The Grand Finale. I've had billions of scenarios I always play in my head; what's gonna happen that now we're on our own. It did occurred to me that cases like this would happen but I calculated and the chances are slim, because I was confident that I'll have it first. I'll be happy first. I'll meet someone first. And he'll live a miserable life knowing I am the best he's had. Oh, I know I am. Still, what a dick. Good luck, though.

Lesson learned: please improve on your calculation skill, it is highly unreliable. /look self in disgust/

Just around the same time when the breakup was about to happen, I was offered an opportunity in my current job for an overseas relocation. The timing was just too perfect. I couldn't say no. No, why would I say no?! This has been a lifetime dream of mine. You see, the whole year I was struggling to find the time to prep for my scholarship permits and docs with Schoters which I subscribed to but never had the time for - now I didn't have to reach so high, because this time it's handed to me on a silver platter. For once, life finally gave me what I want.

So, I agreed instantly. I didn't even have to think.

Two weeks ago, I was informed that my IPA has been issued and I should be able to fly there by early Feb. What an opener for a new year, right?! Until today happened... they told me that overseas assignment will be hold until further notice. Apparently, the project I'm handling is causing quite a loss to the Company so they want to cut costs and might opt for offshore assignment instead.

I am at loss of words.

Lesson learned: i've spent 5 minutes just thinking about this, and i still can't come up with anything good. I'll see and come back to this on end Feb. Fingers crossed everything's settled by then.

Yep, that's all I want to say.

Before I end this entry, I want to put here these very cute pictures of me and my 10+ years girl friends, as reminder that nothing is or will be too bleak with them around.

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jumbledofthoughts · 2 years

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I'm keeping this here. What for? I don't know... but I know that I want to look back into this on a happy note. One day.

I want to remember that most of the times, things in life won't work a certain way I expect it to be - and it's fine. It is. It completely is. Trust me.

I just let out a sigh as I'm writing this haha.

I mean, who am I kidding? Life has been... how do I put this into words, huh? Bitter... sweet? Mindboggling? It feels like I got punched multiple times in the most hurtful ways, but every. single. time. I kind of... managed to survive? I couldn't dodge though, so I'm left with some real ugly bruises. But they're fading, so it's fine, except for the new ones I just got HAHA.

Ok enough with the metaphor.

Now on to the real talk. This would be the first time I'm voicing out what I'm about to.

Yep, there goes another sigh.

Phase 1: Astrid S - It's Ok If You Forget Me

Phase 2: Taylor Swift - Tolerate It & Champange Problem

Phase 3: Billie Eilish - Happier Than Ever

Phase 4: Cokelat - Karma

Phase 5: Tulus - Hati Hati di Jalan

Yeah, I basically went through the infamous 5 stages of grief without me realizing it.

Fast forward to October. I am ashamed to admit this, but deep down I kind of expected him to wish me Happy Birthday. But of course, he didn't. Fucking asshole. Let's be friends, my ass.

He fucking did.

Lesson learned: please improve on your calculation skill. It is highly unreliable. /look self in disgust/

So, I agreed instantly. I didn't even have to think.

I am at loss of words.

Lesson learned: i've spent 5 minutes just thinking about this, and i still can't come up with anything good. I'll see and come back to this on end Feb.

Yep, that's all I want to say.

Before I end this, I want to put here these very cute pictures of me and my 10+ years girl friends, as reminder that nothing is or will be too bleak with them around.

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quillvine · 2 years

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I posted 246 times in 2022

53 posts created (22%)

193 posts reblogged (78%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@quillvine

@blueeyesatnight

@youvebeenlivingfictional

@kittensmctavish

@brandyllyn

I tagged 139 of my posts in 2022

Only 43% of my posts had no tags

#quill is not in the house (queued) - 45 posts

#quill fic recs - 41 posts

#quill writes - 14 posts

#goncharov - 11 posts

#we love blue in this house - 10 posts

#we love brandy in this house - 5 posts

#timezone reblog - 4 posts

#eurovision - 4 posts

#we love tali in this house - 3 posts

#we love qvo in this house - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 107 characters

#the owner of possibly the most beatiful hands in cinema history. you like walking down hallways and talking

My Top Posts in 2022:

Thank you so so so much for 600!!!

Today I just hit 600 followers and let me just say I am so grateful for every single one of you.

The facts that I hit 600 is mind-boggling. I hit 500 of February of last year, it hasn’t even been and a whole year since I hit my last milestone and now I’ve hit another one??!? I cannot comprehend that, you guys are literally the best.

I also basically went on an unplanned, unannounced hiatus. Before posting “Can You Feel My Love?” the last thing I wrote and posted was for my 2020 Halloween celebration and those were basically little blurbs.

“Falling For You” was my last actual fic and it went up in September of 2020 it’s been more than a year since I wrote something of substance. The gap in activity was due to some big life events that happened to me in late 2020 and 2021 and I was so so scared that I had hit my peak as a writer all the way back then before all of my life stuff happened.

I was sacred to get back into writing because I put so much pressure on myself to make my gap in content to justifiable and worth it. I felt that if I didn’t come back with 10K word fic that was just so beautiful and wonderful that my break wouldn’t have been ‘okay’ in the eyes of all of you guys.

But as I posted again you all proved me wrong. The response to “Can You Feel My Love?” has been so positive and it’s done a lot to soothe my writing anxiety. Quite frankly, after seeing your responses I feel a little silly for feeling the way I felt at all.

What I’m trying to say, if my long long ramblings are too much for you to comprehend, is thank you. I basically sat on my ass and cried and posted zero fics for more than a year and you guys still showed me so much love in the form of like, reblogs, asks, and being amazing friends.

I am so grateful for every single one of you and I have no idea how I will ever be able to repay you for all the love and joy every single one of you have brought to my life.

xoxo, quill

3 notes - Posted January 3, 2022

not me remembering the 7 (8 if u count the bonus) angsty hotch storyline that i planed wayyyy back in july

4 notes - Posted April 28, 2022

tell me something good. i’ve a had a rough day today

5 notes - Posted June 1, 2022

WHY WAS EVERYONE IN TOPGUN MAVERICK HOT

8 notes - Posted July 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

my lover is the sea

aaron hotchner x reader

a/n: so this is the first of what will (hopefully) be many installments of call of the ocean. i already have a second part knocking around in the ole google doc and i’m really excited to share everything with yall! please let me know if you spot any errors because full disclaimer this fic was started more than a year ago and has been very slowly pieced together with little bits of tape

masterlist | call of the ocean master list (coming soon)

It is the peak of summer when you first meet him. The sun feels impossibly hot for this time of year and it makes for an incredibly miserable trip to the market.

You normally wouldn’t even go into town when the sun is blazing its fury on the earth, but you have it on good authority that the cargo ship that just docked has a little something special for you.

When you get to the town center it is already filled with rowdy sailors elated to be on dry land, making the already crowded market even more cramped and your thin patience even thinner. But, if you weren’t jostled and elbowed to high hell and if the sun hadn’t made your skin sickly hot, you would be rather endeared by their eagerness.

Even though your days at sea are long behind you, you remember what it felt like a hot meal at a tavern for the first time in ages. You remember what it was like to have salt in your hair and what it was like to see deep blue everywhere you looked.

The thought of the ocean tugs at a familiar feeling in your chest, one that you should have buried down a long time ago.

You were never good at letting things go.

Shaking off your thoughts you finally start to push your way through the crowd and to your destination, a little stall right in the center of the market, yet tucked away protected by the hustle and bustle of the crowd.

A cheerful call catches your attention, it’s the stall’s owner, one Miss. Penelope Garcia. She motions you over with a wave of her hand, excitement clear on her face.

“Come, come! It came and just as you requested, and it looks beautiful,” her voice cuts through the crowd loud and clear and you push even harder through the crowded market to make your way to her.

It seems that Penelope’s excitement is too great for her to simply stand still and wait for you to make your way to her market stall and she meets you halfway moving through the crowd with an “excuse me, excuse me! Coming though, please sir move, I have to- ”

Her words are cut off with an ecstatic squeal when she finally reaches you and immediately takes your hand to pull you through the throngs of people. Navigating the crowd with the same ease as she did before she deposits you, safe and sound, in front of her market stall.

“Oh my darling it is so nice to see you again!”

“It’s nice to see you too Penny,” you tell her as she reaches for a little paper wrapped package.

“Here it is, all nice and snug just as you requested,” she says pushing your package to you, “I hope you don’t mind, I had a little peak. I just couldn’t help myself.”

You give her a warm smile and assure Penelope that it’s okay, her curiosity will always be her downfall.

Your fingers shake slightly as you move to unwrap the package. Whether it’s out of excitement or fear you don’t know, but the drumming in your chest only intensifies when you finally tear through the paper wrapping to reveal a thick book, worn with age.

The Morrowson’s Compendium of Earthly Creatures, the beautiful leather bound cover reads. Flipping through its worn pages you see that it’s inside is littered with colorful illustrations.

“Thank you Penny,” the words come out breathless, your voice soft with awe, “it’s exactly what I was looking for.”

She gives you a blindingly cheerful grin, “anything for you my lovely.”

The two of you say your goodbyes and you begin to make your way through the market to your next destination. As excited as you are to go home and turn through the gilded pages of your new book you still have some shopping to do.

Your mind is always on the book though, thoughts never drifting away from its worn cover and colorful illustrations as you look over vegetables for blemishes and examine cuts of meat.

Lost in your thoughts you end up running into a fair amount of people which in turn causes many angry exclamations to be thrown your way. You just mutter your apologies and scurry past them, desperate to finish up and go home.

As you finish up at the bakery and start to finally head back home you run into yet another person.

Only this time you’re not able to get away with a halfhearted mumbled apology. Your things spill to the ground, rolling every which way and you have to scurry to pick them up lest they get snatched up by an unsavory passerby.

It isn’t until you have brushed all the dirt off your clothes that you think to even check to make sure you have all your things. Your first instinct is to reach for the book that should be tucked snugly away into your basket-

See the full post

22 notes - Posted October 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

looking at her is kind of bittersweet. i wish i spent more time on here you know?

I still stand by My lover is the sea though, like read it pls if you haven't yet. I'm very very proud of her

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 3 years

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Coffee Shop Kisses

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Request: something soft with Yelena from @bright-molina

Summary: After moving back to her small Ohio hometown, the reader bumps into an old friend at her favorite coffee shop.

Warnings: none ?

A/N: Happy incredibly belated Birthday Bianca!!! Sorry this took so long for me to write but I really hope you like it!! This fic has everything: the gays, some light pinning, and chai lattes !

Masterlist

___

You couldn’t believe you were back in your small Ohio hometown. When you moved away after high school it was never your intention to come back but clearly, fate didn’t have the same plans as you drove through your childhood neighborhood.

It was nostalgic, driving through the familiar streets despite the changes in the neighborhood since your childhood. While the houses had mostly remained the same, you knew many of their occupants had changed. The Browns no longer lived in the house two doors down from yours, having retired to Florida not long after their children had moved out, and many other family’s you’d known growing up had followed suit. Others had downsized to smaller houses in other parts of the city, no longer needing the extra space. Now the neighborhood was filled with new families, young parents taking advantage of the location to raise their children.

Still, the atmosphere was largely the same, and if you let yourself you could almost imagine that the kids playing in the front yards and the street or biking through the neighborhood, calling out to friends as they passed, were the kids you’d grown up with.

It was strange, being back home. It felt stranger still to call it “home.”

It didn’t take long for you to fall back into a routine, despite the lingering nostalgia. You woke up every morning with just enough time to get ready and drive downtown to work, if you were lucky you’d end up with a few extra minutes to stop into your favorite coffee shop from your teenage years, which was conveniently located a couple doors down from your office. It was simple, sure, but it worked for you.

On the weekends you always made a point to walk to that downtown coffee shop with a book or some other activity, preferring the ambiance and the subtle noise of the building and its other patrons over the still silence of your house. Plus they had amazing drinks so you really couldn’t lose.

Normally you enjoyed taking in the hustle and bustle of the small town around you as people completed their weekly errands, but that day you were lost in your head as you walked along the sidewalk. It wasn’t as if you were thinking about anything in particular (when reflecting back later you’d merely blame it on having had a long week at work), but rather than enjoy the people watching as you normally would, you let them all pass you by without a single glance, all the way down the street and into the line at your coffee shop. You ordered your usual without much fanfare, still having the presence of mind to drop your change into the tip jar on the counter. It wasn’t until you had gotten your drink that you were thrust out of your thoughts, quite literally.

You had only just turned around from the counter, about to start scanning the cafe for a seat when you were knocked to the ground, your drink spilling in your hands.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” Disoriented and still in a haze, the thick Russian accent of the woman who had spoken caught your attention.

A hand reached down into your line of sight and you took it gratefully, managing to keep the pitiful drops of unspilled chai latte in your cup as you were pulled to your feet.

“Let me buy you a new drink,” she offered though you barely heard her.

Now that you were back on your feet you got a better look at the woman who had bumped into you. She was of average height and had her blonde hair pulled into a double ponytail. You didn’t know any Russians but you could’ve sworn you’d met before.

“Do I know you?” You blurted out before you could think and the other woman blinked at you in surprise, brows lifting slightly.

“Perhaps,” she shrugged, “I used to live around here when I was younger.”

You narrowed your eyes at that, certain you would’ve remembered growing up alongside a Russian family, everyone you remembered was as American as they come. It was a small town in Ohio, after all.

“So did I,” you spoke slowly, still trying to ponder it out in your head. “Over on Brown.”

Her eyes narrowed at that, now scrutinizing you as well.

“I grew up on State Street.”

That’s when it clicked for you. You remembered them; family of four, two daughters. Natasha used to ride her bike down your street all the time which meant the woman in front of you must be…

“Yelena?”

“You remember me?”

“Yeah, holy shit! Your sister rode her bike through my mom’s flowers one time by accident, pissed her off for the whole summer. Plus, we went to preschool together.”

“Wait, Y/N Y/L/N?”

“In the flesh,” you replied, spreading your arms out dramatically.

Yelena took that as an invitation to really study you then, eyes flitting up and down as she fully took you in.

“You grew up quite nicely,” she spoke, tone appreciative and you found yourself blushing.

“I- I could say the same thing about you,” you stumbled over your words, feeling flustered. “I don’t remember you being Russian.”

You mentally cursed yourself for once again blurting something out before you could even think about it.

Yelena laughed at that and you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling at the sound. She had a cute laugh. It was fitting.

“Yes, well, my ‘family' and I were actually part of a Russian spy organization, sent to infiltrate a nearby SHIELD facility for some information, so,” she shrugged and you laughed at first, assuming she was joking before you realized she wasn’t laughing along.

“Wait, seriously?”

“Why would I lie?”

You fumbled around with your words at that, unable to come up with a proper response but feeling as though you needed to say something anyway.

“How about I buy you a drink and you tell me about it?” You finally settled on saying and Yelena’s brows lifted again in surprise.

“Sure, but I’m buying the drinks. I owe you for spilling your first one.”

You nodded in agreement, somehow having forgotten all about your spilled drink in the excitement of reconnecting with an old friend. An old friend who was very attractive, if you were being fully honest with yourself.

With new drinks ordered and retrieved, the two of you made your way to a small table by the front window of the cafe. True to your agreement, Yelena explained to you that her “family” when she’d lived in Ohio wasn’t actually her family at all, the entire thing fabricated for their mission, and that after their success she continued to work for the organization before finally getting out as an adult. She skimmed on a lot of the details but you got the sense that the entire ordeal was traumatic for her so you didn’t press. Though, you were quite amazed that the woman across from you (and the tiny blonde girl you’d played dolls with as a kid) was a former spy and assassin. In comparison, your own life story was much less exciting, though you guessed it also held much less trauma as well. Still, Yelena asked and she listened intently as you explained how you’d wound up back in your hometown all these years later.

After that, the conversation seemed to flow seamlessly from one topic to another, and it was so nice to talk to a friend and catch up that you didn’t even realize how much time had passed until you went to take a sip from your long-forgotten chai and found it ice cold. You checked your phone and were surprised to see that nearly two hours had passed and while you were planning on spending much longer at the cafe anyway, it still caught you off guard.

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I keeping you from something?” Yelena asked, having noticed you checking the time.

“No!” You rushed to reassure her before flushing slightly at the knee-jerk reaction. “No, I just hadn’t realized how much time has passed. It’s been really nice to see you.”

“It’s been nice to see you too, perhaps we can do this again sometime?”

“I’d like that a lot.” You tried to fight the heat that you felt rushing to your cheeks once more. You weren’t sure if she meant it the same way you did.

“Me too,” she replied softly, ducking her head so that her face was out of view. “I actually do have to get going but maybe we can meet here again next week?”

“Absolutely!” You nodded, trying not to seem too eager and failing miserably. “It’s a date.”

Once again the words slipped out on their own accord and you were left scrambling to do damage control.

“I- I mean like, y’know-”

“A date is good,” Yelena cut you off with a smirk, though you could’ve sworn you could see your own nerves reflected in her eyes.

“A date then,” you agreed, flashing a nervous smile.

“Goodbye, Y/N.” She stood from her chair with a smile, pausing on her way to the door to press a quick peck to your cheek, and then she was gone.

You sat there, still as a statue, for quite some time afterward, your fingertips lightly grazing over where Yelena’s lips had been moments before. You really loved this coffee shop.

#yelena belova #yelena x reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova fic #black widow #mcu #mcu fic #black widow movie #erin takes requests #bianca my love #erin writes

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eartht137 · 3 years

Text

FOR THE BETTER

Hello and greetings to anyone that gets to read this. It is my first story. I wanted to try and see how this was received before continuing so please feel free to let me know how you like it. Please be easy on me it is my first one I am new to this, but I hope you like it. Its a bit slow right now but I swear the chapters will get going as we go along on this ride together. Okay *curvies* love ya! Enjoy!

Dark Clark Kent x (Black)!Plus Size Reader

SUMMARY: (I suck at them but here goes) After working miserable unfulfilling jobs, you decide to go back to school to pursue your dream in writing. You get the very handsome, very smart Mr. Kent as your English/Literature Professor. You've always stayed to yourself preferring to have your alone time and focus on your writing. Mr. Kent comes in to shake that way of thinking up and its all with your best interest at heart (well his best interest at heart){Cheesy, am I right?}

"For the weekend's assignment. Something very simple, almost high school level. Don't complicate it." Mr. Kent said dragging his feet to tell you all what the stupid assignment was.

"Get to the point." You thought out loud as you rested your head in your hand. He glared at you for moment before continuing. You felt your face flush, because-'no way he heard me' you thought.

"I want you all to write me a paper on...one thing you like about yourself and why." He rushed out. "I want you all to be as genuine as possible, if you're going to be journalists you have to capture your audience. If you can sell yourself, then you can sell a story. If you're a snooze fest......I honestly don't know what to tell you" He chuckled

Everyone groaned because why???

"Due next Monday on the dot. NO EXCEPTIONS!" He belted. "If you don't have your paper on Monday, you will stand up and give a 5 minute speech on said topic."

'What kind of teenage topic is this?' You thought.

"Don't give me lip guys, you signed up for this. I didn't make you do anything." He said pointing at all of you. "No complaining. Monday! Class dismissed." He announced causing everyone to scatter. You were just about out the door when he stopped you.

"Y/n, can you stay back for bit?"

"Yeah sure." You immediately got nervous. You weren't used to being singled out, you always managed to stay below the radar. You'd figured out ways to stay out of sight out of mind after always being criticized by your family, so getting asked to stay back wasn't a normal thing. You braced yourself for the "you can do better speech" and hoped it wouldn't take too long. You watched as the room emptied and he gathered his stuff.

"Come on, lets step into my office." He said leading the way with his hands full. "Have a seat." he said motioning to the chair in front of his desk. you sat feeling butterflies in the pit of your stomach. Literally everyone would've given anything to be where you were. Mr. Kent was almost mythical. You didn't know a day where you didn't think 'DAMN that man know he fine!' And you knew he knew it.

"Bet you think I'm gonna talk about your grades." he chuckled. "While I do require your improvement,"

'Require?' you thought hoping your face didn't covey your attitude.

"I wanted to talk about something else."

"O-kay?"

"I've notice, you're very um...to yourself, is everything-"

'Oh there it is.'

"Mr. Kent, please don't analyze me. I am a whole different breed of human. I don't do people."

"I'm sorry?" he asked tilting his head.

"I just value my alone time. You can't have that with people."

"You can still have space with other people in your life." he said shaking his head at you.

"I didn't say space, I said alone time, and that's not the same. That's still with people. Like, no." you said crossing you arms.

He stared at your for a second, the he began to laugh, and rub his eyes. "You really are something."

"Mm-hmm its true."

"I'm just saying its healthy to get out and socialize every once and awhile, not all the time, I mean-don't you get lonely sometimes?

"No, not really. I mean don't give me wrong I'm human. I get the urge to hang out, then I do, then I remember why I didn't want to do it in the first place." you said realizing you were almost ranting. He eyed you as if he didn't believe you.

"I tell you what, I know you say you're fine, but for my sanity, can we be friends? You know just someone to check on you, make sure you're okay? If-if you hate it by the end of the week then I'll let it go."

"Mr. Kent, no offense, but why do you care? I mean, you have your own life, I'm sure you got a nice family you should be there for, so like....I'm gonna need a it all to make sense."

"Its mean, don't get me wrong I enjoy solitude too, and its not because I don't like people," he chuckled, "but I know what its like to sometimes need someone I could just talk to when I really needed it most and not having it. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Its funny because it would always lead me home."

"Well that's the difference between you and me, there is no going back." you sighed. You contemplated it 'It couldn't hurt could it?' "Okay."

"Okay?"

"We can be friends." you resigned.

"Great!" he said clapping his hands together.

"Only til the end of the week." You said standing stretching. "So we good? Can I go?"

"Actually, what are you doing tonight? I mean, my ma is cooking dinner and-"

"Okay anything food related, I'm down." You cut him off.

"Good, well I'll pick you up at 6?"

"Yeah sure." You said trying to get away.

"Uh, Y/n?"

"Yes?" You asked sweetly.

"I'm going to need your address." He said knowing you knew he needed it.

You gave you your information and booked it out of there. You immediately went home and took a nap. The whole ordeal was a bit draining for you.

It was your phones constant vibrating that woke you out of a deep sleep. You let it ring a few more times before picking it up.

"What?" You groaned into the phone.

"Y/n are ready? I'm like 15 minutes away." Mr. Kent asked.

"Ready for what?"

"Food?"

"Food? Food! Oh shit!" You said jumping up remembering dinner plans. "I'll be ready when you get here." You said quickly hanging up and rushing to get ready. By the time you felt you looked decent enough, he called and told he was there. When you walked out to meet him, you saw his girlfriend was with him and you put on a small smile. 'Of course he has a girlfriend, why wouldn't he. Still a bummer though, oh well.' you thought to yourself as you walked toward them.

"Y/n this is Lois, Lois this is Y/n. Lois is one of the top editors at the Daily Planet." He bragged, and you immediately got nervous. You'd read her work and you'd give to be as good, even better at writing.

"It really is nice to meet you, Clark speaks very highly of you and your writing." she said smiling.

"Really? I mean writing is my passion, I'm aspiring to get at least in the door. I'm not an editor or professor, but I think I'm okay." You said realizing you were babbling on because of your anxiety.

"Be confident in your work. It shows when you really mean what you're writing about. It also shows when you're doubting yourself." She said smiling at you. You immediately liked her and hoped to get to know her for advice sometime. You all got in and they fell into easy chatter along the way. Every now and again they'd touch on a topic you'd find interesting or be excited about, and you'd really get into it, smiling and being expressive. You'd catch Clark staring at you, a bit shocked at how much you had to say after months of being so quiet, and you'd retreat like a turtle back into your shell. You tried to not enjoy being around them, but every now and again, you liked talking to people on your level. Every now and again, you'd get lost in the breeze of the night air. You'd look out and get lost looking at the stars and the moon out of the open window of the moving car. You get so lost you forgot the other two people in the car and you'd miss the glances Clark took at you through the rearview mirror. When you all arrived at his moms farm you practically gawked at all the land around. You driven by open field and corn fields, you'd never actually gotten to see it up close.

As you all got out, his mom stepped out and waved at you.

"Well, looks like we got extra family tonight." she said smiling. You immediately felt a bit awkward. "Oh dear don't be shy, any friend of Clark is family." She said pulling you into a big hug.

"Thank you for having me Mrs. Kent." You said smiling.

"No go on now you just call me Martha." she said smiling and leading you inside. "You two come along, you know the routine." She said waving Lois and Clark inside. Dinner was great, you even found yourself laughing out loud. It exhilarated you and scared you to have such a good time around other people. You almost, ALMOST, didn't want the night to end, but you missed your bed. As if reading your mind, Clark announced it was time to leave.

"Looks like someone is ready for bed." He chuckled.

"Yep, I miss my solitude." You said stretching. Clark shook his head at you.

"What?" You asked innocently.

You said your final farewells and got in the car heading home. The ride home was peaceful, there was a calm silence between you three and you smiled watching the love exchanges between the two. You could see how much he loved her and you could understand why, Lois was beautiful woman. Your mind jumped from reasons you weren't in a relationship, to the assignment Clark had given you for the weekend. One thing you like about yourself? That topic was always hard for you and you couldn't even begin to find the words to start. Over the years you'd tried hard to accept yourself, love yourself, and be who you were unapologetically, but the moment you got to the threshold of truly giving yourself a chance, all of the criticism, judgment, and years of being invalidated filled you with fear and dread and you'd go back to your shell and do what you did best. Stay in your own bubble. Tears stung your eyes as you tried to stomp down the voices of doubt and resentment, 'It's okay, I'm good, I do what I have to and I'm happy with it. I'm at peace.' you thought to yourself over and over.

"You okay?" Clarks deep voice full of concerned pulled you from your thoughts and you shook you head to bring yourself back to reality.

"Yeah, just trying to stay awake." you said avoiding his gaze. The ride continued in silence and you couldn't help but drift off. One moment you were letting the ride soothe you to sleep and the next you heard a voice cooing you to sleep.

"Shh shh shh it's okay" Clark whispered. You couldn't help but cover your eyes. You were in Clark's arms as he carried you to the apartment.

"Woah," you said trying to get out of his arms. He gently placed you on your feet like a flower.

"Hey, its okay, calm down." He said gently rubbing your arms.

"S-sorry, I've just never-"

"Had anyone carry you before." He said finishing your sentence. You shifted feeling a bit awkward.

"Well, thanks for dinner. Thanks Lois!" You waved at her before going to your door. "Goodnight." you said one last time as you got inside. During the weekend you were extremely restless and was finding it hard to concentrate long enough to work on your assignment. Even when you sat waiting for words to form in your mind you eventually got busy doing something different. The night before class, you had an idea pop in your head, and you decided to go for it. You just hoped it would all make sense, it was the only think your mind focused on.

#dark clark kent #x black reader #plus size reader #smut fic

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marjansmarwani · 3 years

Text

somehow we’ll be okay

9.3k || ao3

Gabriel and Owen process their guilt, the 126 comes together in the face of (another) tragedy, and Carlos and TK find comfort in each other. ---- A 2x12 coda, in 3 parts

This took me an entire week to write and I'm not even sure what it is anymore but here it is.

---------------

The shrill ringing of a phone shattered the silence of the Reyes home.

They had just been settling down for the night when the call came and Gabriel muttered a curse under his breath as he rolled over in bed to grab the offending phone from the nightstand. He frowned when he saw the contact info on the screen.

“Owen?” he said in greeting, “Is everything okay? It’s a little late for a social call.”

“Gabriel!” The fire captain's voice was tense and distant. It sounded as if he was driving, and fast. “Have you talked to Carlos at all tonight?”

“No,” he responded, sitting up in bed, nerves suddenly on edge, “Why?”

“I don’t think Raymond was done. Do you remember what he said? ‘I’ll take what matters the most from you. At first I thought he meant the 126, but I think there was more; and I think he was talking to both of us.”

It only took a moment for Owen Strand’s frantic words to process and when they did Gabriel felt a cold chill was over him. “The boys,” he said quietly, fearfully, and he felt his wife shift beside him, sitting up and facing him with a concerned expression.

“I think so,” Owen confirmed grimly. “I’m on my way there now but TK’s not answering. It keeps going to voicemail.”

“I’ll try Carlos,” he said, desperately hoping there was some other explanation for them not answering, anything but the worst fear Owen had just painted for him. He went to hang up, but he hesitated. “Owen…” he said instead, not sure what exactly it was he wanted to say.

“I’ll call you as soon as I know anything,” the other man promised and despite everything, Gabriel took comfort in knowing that he and Andrea weren’t alone in this fear. He thanked him again before ending the call and switching to his recent calls list.

“What’s going on?” Andrea asked him, eyes roving his face for any clues. He didn’t answer right away as he tapped his son’s name and held the phone up to his ear, praying to hear his voice answer. Instead all he got was the mechanical ringing before his voicemail picked up.

He lowered the phone and met his wife’s eyes.

“Owen thinks that the arsonist isn’t done with revenge yet. He thinks that he had a more personal goal in mind; something that would affect both of us.”

He knew he didn’t have to spell it out for her - Andrea had always been smarter than him, after all - and when she placed a hand over her mouth he grimaced, reaching over and squeezing her arm gently as he tried calling Carlos again. It was the same as the first time, so was the next. He could feel the fear and desperation growing within him, but he didn’t know what else he could do. Their son’s home was nearly 20 minutes away from their house - he’d never make it in time to make any difference. He could only hope that Owen would get there in time; that his actions wouldn’t cause him to lose what was most precious to him.

He stood abruptly from the bed, pacing the floor of the bedroom as he dialed again. Again he got the voicemail and it took every single ounce of his self-control to not hurl his phone across the room in frustration. He took a shuddering breath and sank onto the bed, running a weary and shaking hand across his face.

He felt the bed shift as Andrea moved closer to him, “Talk to me, corazón,” she murmured, a hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“He’s not answering,” he told her dully, “and neither is TK.” He sighed again and leaned forward, putting his head in his hands.

“That doesn’t mean we have to assume the worst,” she reminded him gently, “not yet.”

He nodded dully and reached up to cover the hand on his shoulder with his own. They waited in silence on their bed; joined together by their hands and their fear as they waited for Gabriel’s phone to ring. The moments passed like sand through a clogged hourglass; each one lasting for its own small eternity as they all piled upon each other.

Finally, his phone rang.

He snatched it up from where it was resting on his knees but paused over the screen before answering. He needed to know - they both did - but this could very well be the moment that changed their life forever. With a glance at his wife who gave his shoulder another comforting, supportive squeeze, he answered, putting it on speaker.

“Owen?” he asked in a shaky voice, “What happened? Are they okay?”

“We’re okay, dad.”

Nothing else could have made him feel the rush of joy and relief that hearing his son’s voice through the phone did in that moment. He sagged in relief, turning to Andrea to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. He gave her a watery smile before he turned his attention back to the phone in his hand.

“The house is gone,” Carlos continued; voice low, rough, and a little shaky, “but we’re safe.”

“That’s all that matters right now, mijo,” he told him. “Everything else we can handle in time.”

On the other end of the phone he heard Carlos make a noise of agreement that was cut short by a cough. He frowned and shared a glance with Andrea to see his concern reflected in her expression.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be in a hospital?” he asked.

“The paramedics checked us out, dad. And then TK’s captain, when they were done. We’re fine, really.”

“Are you sure? Because…”

“We’re fine, dad,” Carlos repeated; his voice soft, but firm.

Gabriel took a breath, steadying himself. “Okay. Your mom and I are on the way, we’ll be there as soon as you can.”

“Yes, sir, see you soon.”

The almost professional tone in his son’s voice hurt. He knew that it was likely a shield; a way to keep himself together in the aftermath, but he needed him to know. He had come so close - too close - to losing him, he needed him to know. “I love you, son,” he said, voice tight as he said the words he didn’t say enough.

“Love you, too.”

With those words Carlos ended the call and Gabriel felt as if all the energy had just been sapped from his body and he sank down onto the bed once again. He heaved a deep breath and rubbed at his eyes. He could feel his wife looking at him, so he voiced the thought that has been ricocheting through his mind since the moment Owen had called: “This is my fault,” he admitted quietly. “I could have cost us our son, or could have caused him to lose someone he loves.”

“That’s not on you, Gabriel.”

“Yes it is - of course, it is,” he argued. “He did this to get back at me, to make me suffer. It’s completely on me.”

“Did you want to hurt Carlitos? Or TK?”

Gabriel looked up sharply, meeting his wife’s gaze with wide eyes, “Of course not!”

“Then that’s not on you. Yes, someone awful did this to hurt you; but that doesn’t mean you did it. I’m not saying I agree with what you and Owen did,” she reminded him in case he did not recall the rather heated discussion they had had earlier in the kitchen about keeping secrets and not considering the possible collateral, “but you didn’t start the fire. Someone terrible did it of their own free will and that’s on them, not you.”

Her gaze was steady as she spoke to him and her words firm: she believed what she was saying and there was not a doubt in her mind. He wished he could say the same.

But if there was one thing he knew about her after over 30 years of marriage it was that there was no arguing with her once she made up her mind. So he simply nodded and offered a weak smile. They sat in silence for another few moments before she stood up, walking up to him and placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Get dressed,” she told him gently, “let’s go see our son.”

He nodded and rose on shaky legs, sighing as he turned to his dresser. His emotions were still swirling inside of him; turbulent and unrestrained. He couldn’t believe they had come so close to losing their son and until he saw him with his own eyes a part of him would insist on believing they had. So he threw on the first shirt and pants he found, discarding the pajamas he had been wearing on the bed without a second thought. The small details could be handled later; all that mattered right now was getting to Carlos.

They were in his truck a few minutes later and the half-hour drive to Owen Strand’s house was spent mostly in silence as they each worked their way through the night's events. When they arrived Andrea barely waited for him to put the truck in park before she was opening her door and climbing out and striding towards the house. He followed quickly behind and the front door swung open as they approached, revealing a tall man Gabriel had never seen before.

“You must be Carlos’s folks,” he said with a nod, “they’re in here.” He stepped aside without a word and Gabriel offered him a nod of thanks, but couldn’t find the words as he stepped through the doorway and got his first sight of his son: sitting at the counter, miserable and soot-covered with his hands clutched around a mug of tea as his eyes tracked something across the room.

Gabriel followed his gaze to see TK - equally filthy and absently pacing as he spoke on the phone.

“I’m fine Mom, I promise,” Gabriel could hear him saying even as his eyes traveled back across the room to Carlos. “We both are.”

He offered Carlos a small, reassuring smile before he turned away, continuing to speak to his mother in low tones. Carlos hadn’t even noticed their presence yet, too focused on his boyfriend to catch much else, but when Andrea stepped closer and murmured his name he turned to face her quickly, eyes widening at the sight of them.

“Mom,” he said quietly, “dad.”

And then Andrea had her arms around him and he all but crumpled into her embrace, shaking as he let out a sob. Andrea whispered reassurances and Gabriel stepped closer, not wanting to intrude. But the moment he got close enough his wife released Carlos from her embrace and as he straightened he made eye contact with Gabriel.

“Dad,” he began, but Gabriel didn’t give him a chance to speak. He simply stepped closer and pulled his son into a hug, clutching him tightly.

“I was so scared, Carlitos,” he admitted, “and I am so, so sorry this happened.”

“It’s not your fault dad,” Carlos muttered and Gabriel shook his head. He was about to argue the point further when another voice interrupted.

“He’s right, Mr. Reyes,” TK said, joining them in the kitchen having finished his phone call. “It’s not your fault - or my dad’s. It’s just something that happened. It’s shitty, yeah,” he admitted, “but it wasn’t anyone’s fault. You couldn’t have known.”

Any more discussion was halted by Andrea stepping forward to pull TK into a hug as well.

“Who is or isn’t to blame doesn’t matter,” she said firmly as she hugged TK as tight as she had Carlos a few moments before, “what matters is that you are both safe.”

“You’re right,” TK agreed from her embrace, his eyes finding Carlos, “that is what matters.”

There was more to his words, as if he was trying to convey a message that only Carlos would understand. Whatever it was, Carlos seemed to understand as his body - still in Gabriel’s embrace - lost some of its tension. A comfortable silence settled over the four of them, the low tones of the other man on the phone in the corner the only sound.

Footsteps from the stairs soon interrupted that silence and a moment later, Owen Strand turned the corner.

He smiled weakly at Gabriel and Andrea before he turned his attention back to the boys, “I put some stuff in the guest room at the end of the hall: some extra clothes and towels. I’m sure you’re going to want to get cleaned up, feel free to use whatever you find in the bathroom.”

TK nodded as Andrea released him, “Thanks dad,” he said gratefully, stepping towards Carlos. He approached and Gabriel let him go as TK held out a hand.

“Come on babe,” he said softly, “let’s go get cleaned up.”

Carlos nodded and took the offered hand, allowing his boyfriend to lead him down the hall towards the stairs. As they walked by the other man ended his phone call and called out to them.

“The others know now,” he said, “and they’re on their way, just so you know.”

TK smiled fondly and nodded, “Thanks, Judd.”

Then he and Carlos disappeared up the stairs.

Andrea looked at Owen, “The others?” she asked.

“The rest of the 126,” Judd explained as he joined them at the counter. “I was about to call them anyways but they saw it on the news first so…”

“They want to come and see that they’re okay for themselves,” Owen concluded with a nod and a small smile, “They’re good like that.”

His smile faded though as he looked at Gabriel and Andrea.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I should have realized it faster. It was right in front of me and I almost missed it. Even as it stands I was almost too late.”

“You’re no more to blame than I am,” Gabriel told him, “I had the same information and didn’t even think of the possibility until you called me. But really we should be thanking you for saving them. From what it sounds like if you had been a minute later or if they had to wait for a fire company...”

He trailed off, the awful possibility settling over him. They had come so close to losing the one thing that was most precious and it was only thanks to either sheer luck or a miracle that they hadn’t.

Owen nodded, but his expression didn’t change. They were silent for a moment before he spoke again, “I still can’t help but feel like this is my fault. If I hadn’t gotten involved maybe none of this would have happened - especially not this.”

Gabriel went to reassure him, to tell the other man that he was wrong, but he stopped. He knew that Owen wouldn’t believe him, because he didn’t. This was their fault; regardless of whether or not their children blamed them. If they hadn’t gotten involved they wouldn’t have had a target on their backs and they would still have their home.

“It takes two to make a team-up,” he said instead, nodding when Owen met his eyes. He saw understanding in his gaze; the knowledge that this was a guilt they were going to have to live with, but that they could shoulder the burden together - and make sure nothing like this ever happened again.

---------

“Is it just me or does this place feel different?” Nancy asked as she surveyed the once familiar bar.

“Does anything feel the same?” Marjan asked wearily from beside her, taking a sip of her water as she joined the paramedic in glancing around the room.

“That’s because nothing is,” Paul reminded them, “and because it’s been a weird few weeks.”

Marjan scoffed at that, “Weeks? It’s been a weird day. Our captain got arrested for arson, our fire station was blown up by said arsonist, and then it turns out that was in retaliation for the sting operation our captain secretly put together with our friend’s Texas Ranger dad and included his staged arrest. What part of that is not completely fucking bizarre?”

Paul titled his drink towards her in acknowledgment while Nancy shook her head. Mateo took a sip from his beer. “I’m just glad TK and I managed to get the house cleaned up before shift today so Cap didn’t have to come home to that,” he declared.

“Speaking of which,” Nancy said, “has anyone heard from my partner? Or his better half?”

Marjan shook her head, “He said he was heading home once we got the all-clear to leave. And given the discussion that he and Cap had before he left, I have a feeling he and Carlos have a lot of talking to do.”

“They’re going to need some time,” Paul agreed, “after everything.”

“I still can’t believe it was all a setup,” Mateo mused with a shake of his head, “I mean I knew Cap was innocent, I just had no idea he was in on a conspiracy.”

“I just can’t believe they didn’t at least tell TK and Carlos. I mean…” Nancy trailed off, but they all knew what was left unsaid and they had all heard the scene at the firehouse.

“I guess they did what they thought they had to do,” Marjan reasoned with a shrug.

“Doesn’t make it right though,” Paul reminded her darkly.

“No, it does not,” she agreed, looking back down at her glass.

There was silence then as they all let their thoughts wander, all processing the day. It’s only by chance that Majan looked up and happened to glance towards the bar. The hand absently stirring her water with her straw froze and her sharp intake of breath caught Nancy’s notice.

“Marj?” she asked, looking over to the woman sitting beside her. “What’s up?”

Marjan didn’t seem to be able to form words because she settled for gesturing vaguely to the bar, and they all followed her gaze to the tv playing idly in the corner. The news was on and there was footage of a structure burning brightly as crews battled the flames. The sight of a burning building would have been familiar to the assembled group regardless, but this particular building was familiar for an entirely different reason.

Nancy paled and the grin abruptly slid off Mateo’s face, leaving a look of horror in its wake. Paul cursed and pulled out his phone, swiping it open and tapping on TK’s name. It went right to voicemail and they all watched tensely as he scrolled further down the list to Carlos’s name before repeating the process with the same result. The three firefighters exchanged dark, scared looks. The scene on the tv was grim and they all knew first hand that with flames like that, time was key. There was a very small window to escape before escape became impossible, and they all hoped their friends had managed to find that window because the alternative was too awful to think about.

Nancy hadn’t said a word and Marjan turned to her only to see her trembling and clutching her glass too tight.

“Nance?” she asked gently, only to get a vigorous shake of her head in response.

“No,” the paramedic said softly, but firmly. “No. I can’t lose another partner. Not...not again. Not so soon.”

Marjan glanced at the others briefly to see her own pain reflected on their faces. Then she turned to Nancy, placing a comforting hand on her arm, “Hey,” she reminded her bracingly, “we don’t know anything yet. And TK knows what to do in a fire, he would have done his best to get them out as quickly as possible. Don’t count them out yet.”

She gave the other woman a smile that was shakily returned. She turned back to the other two, hoping they had a solution or an idea of what to do next but any conversation was interrupted by the sound of Paul’s phone ringing.

He answered it the moment the caller id flashed onto the screen, picking it up before the first few notes of his ringtone died out.

“Judd,” he asked quickly, “we just saw the news, do you…”

He trailed off as their acting captain spoke on the other end of the line, listening intently. After a minute, he relaxed.

“Thanks, man,” he murmured, “we needed to know. Yeah, we’re all together right now.” He listened for another minute before he nodded, “Yeah, we’ll head over there shortly. Thanks, man, really.”

With that, he hung up the phone and the other three stared at him expectantly.

“Do not make me turn to violence Strickland,” Nancy told him after a few more moments of silence, “because I will.”

“They’re okay,” he told them and the resolution to the tension that had been pressing on them rippled across their table.

“Alhamdulillah,” Marjan muttered softly and Nancy’s entire body seemed to sag as she leaned forward, placing her head into her hands with a shuddering breath.

“Do they know what happened?” Mateo asked, and Paul nodded grimly.

“Arson,” he replied, “retaliation from Raymond; revenge against both the men who arrested him.”

“Ranger Reyes and Cap,” Marjan provided softly, shaking her head. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Paul agreed, “it’s a whole mess. And the house is a total loss. But,” he reminded them all after another few moments of silent contemplation around the table, “they’re okay. Judd said they're all at Cap’s house now, and I told him we would head over there.”

He looked around the table to see if there were any objections but as he expected, there were none. He nodded and took another sip from his beer before setting the still half-full glass down on the table and standing up. The others followed suit and they migrated to Marjan’s car in silent agreement that there was no need to take 4 separate cars and a shared desire to get there as quickly as possible.

They drove in silence and when they arrived, Mateo led the way in through the front door. They followed him into the kitchen, looking around at the small gathered crowd at the counter. Owen stood up and offered them a smile, “hey guys.”

“Hey Cap,” Mateo said while Paul added: “Good to see you not arrested.”

Owen laughed weakly before gesturing towards the others at the counter, “These are Carlos’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Reyes.” They nodded at the tired-looking couple who smiled back as Owen concluded his introductions of the new arrivals to the Reyes.

They all stepped further into the kitchen at Owen’s insistence before Marjan asked the question that was on everyone’s mind: “Where are they? Are they really okay?”

“They are,” Owen confirmed, Judd nodding his agreement beside him, “but shaken, understandably. They’re upstairs now, trying to get cleaned up.”

“It could take a while,” Judd said lowly and the others nodded in understanding - they were all too familiar with the struggle of trying to scrub the remnants of a fire from your skin but that was from a stranger’s fire; someone else’s tragedy. None of them could imagine what it must be like to have the reminder of your home being destroyed clinging to your skin.

“Man, I can’t believe this,” Mateo said with a shake of his head and it was clear that was a sentiment shared by the rest of the group.

“Is there anything we can do?” Marjan asked, looking from Owen to the Reyes. “I want to help, I just don’t know how we can.”

Owen shrugged helplessly, “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Give them time, I suppose. Be there for them. They’re going to have to start over and that’s not going to be easy.”

There was a heavy silence over the group as they all considered the task before their loved ones. It seemed insurmountable; too much to take on.

“But they have each other,” Andrea reminded the group, “and all of us. It doesn’t make it better, but it does make it easier.”

There were small smiles and nods of agreement at that and before long they fell into comfortable chatter while they waited. The conversation wasn’t uncomfortable, but none of their hearts were in it. All of their collective focus was on the pair currently upstairs and despite repeated reassurances that they were fine, none of the newly arrived group would truly be able to believe it until they saw them with their own eyes.

Nancy in particular seemed agitated, shifting on her feet and glancing up the stairs every now and then. Marjan could almost feel the anxious energy rolling off of the other woman from where she stood beside her. She knew that they were all worried, but she also knew that Nancy was still healing from the loss of Tim. It had hit them all, but none more than her; rightfully so. The thought now that she could lose her new partner - the one she had finally let into her heart - was clearly affecting her, manifesting itself into an anxiety that would likely not fade until she was able to see TK herself.

Marjan held out a hand anyways, finding Nancy’s under the lip of the counter and squeezing it. She met her surprised look with a soft smile that widened when Nancy relaxed, some of the tension leaving her body at the touch and the knowledge that her burden was shared.

Hand still clasped with Nancy’s beneath the counter and away from curious eyes, Marjan turned her attention to where Paul was talking through the case with Ranger Reyes and their Captain. Given everything she had heard she had expected more enthusiasm in the retelling of their sleight of hand to trick the arsonist into walking into their trap. But they were subdued as they talked, almost regretful in hindsight. Given everything, she supposed that was more than fair. She just hadn’t been sure they would feel the same way.

There was nothing like almost losing the people you cared for most in a disaster of your own making to deflate an ego, she supposed.

She met Paul’s eyes briefly and his expression told her that he had thoughts that she would likely hear later. She tried to tune into the conversation, willing herself to focus on what was happening right before her, but she couldn’t seem to pull her attention away from the stairs and her friends somewhere on the other side of them. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe Judd’s reassurance that they were fine, but she had been a firefighter for a long time. She had seen the footage of the flames and the skeleton left behind in the aftermath of their fire on the news and she knew that there was a wide gulf between fine and okay.

And until she saw them she had no idea where in that gulf they were treading, or how well they were keeping their heads above water.

It’s still another few minutes until they hear footsteps on the stairs. All conversation dies in an instant and all gazes turn to the stairs to see them descending: hand in hand and miraculously in one piece.

She’s the first to get over the surprise, dropping Nancy’s hand in favor of closing the distance between them and pulling TK into a gentle hug. He returns it and she allows herself a moment to absorb the fact that he is safe and whole before she moves on - both needing the same assurances from Carlos and knowing that Nancy is at her heels and needs this just as much as she does.

Carlos’s smile is so dim when he looks at her that she squeezes him extra tight. He seems to melt just a bit in her arms and she feels a pang for her friends. Though they are both whole and mostly unscathed it was clear they were not okay. But that is something that would come, she supposed, with time. She couldn’t help but shake her head, voicing what everyone else was thinking: “I can’t believe this happened.”

“I guess there’s no saying what a revenge-motivated arsonist will do,” TK said with a shrug. There was silence after as no one seemed to know how to respond to that until Paul, who had been studying them, spoke.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t be in a hospital?” he asked them in a skeptical voice, “You don’t sound good and you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Thanks, Paul,” TK said with a roll of his eye but his words only further served to confirm that his voice was still raspy from smoke. “And we were checked on scene: both by the 129’s team and Captain Vega. We’re fine, really.”

“Maybe we should sit down though,” Nancy suggested, studying her partner and Carlos with a critical eye.

TK shook his head at her but didn’t fight the migration as the group moved to the living room and they settled on the sofa together, just as they had at the intervention all those weeks ago. In some ways this was earlier similar: the group gathered in the Strand living room, the somber mood in the air. But it was TK and Carlos at the center now; both whole and unhurt, but so far from okay.

They fell into easy conversation as they sat, falling into their usual patterns and habits like breathing. But Marjan made sure to watch them as they all spoke and she saw the way they clung to each other, even if it wasn’t physical. They were far from alone but it seemed that to each of them the other was the only one in the room that mattered. She couldn’t blame them for that and it didn’t surprise her.

But a glance around the space revealed just how many people were in their corner and just how much love and support was ready for them to grasp onto whenever they wanted and whenever they were ready. She hoped that it was soon because she didn’t like the thought of them shouldering such a burden alone - even if they did have each other.

She supposed they would come to see that and that they would take the hands that were offered to keep them from falling. All in good time.

------------

They ascended the stairs in silence, hand in hand, neither of them speaking until the door to the bathroom was shut securely behind them. In the security and privacy of the enclosed and private space, TK stepped closer to Carlos, reaching out a hand to frame his face and gently run his thumb across his cheek.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

Carlos shrugged non-committedly, “Okay, I guess. I just really want to get clean.”

“If there’s one benefit of my dad’s obsession with skincare, it’s that there are plenty of soaps to help with that,” TK told him with a grin. Carlos gave him a smile in response, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it by the way it didn’t reach his eyes; Carlos’s smiles always reached his eyes. TK let his own grin fade and let his hand fall from Carlos’s face down to his shoulder.

“Why don’t you get undressed,” he suggested gently, “I’ll go grab whatever my dad left in the bedroom for us.”

He gave his boyfriend’s shoulder a light squeeze before stepping away. He was about to move to the door when Carlos’s hand reached out and grabbed him. He turned back to the other man, to see his surprise mirrored on his face.

“I…” Carlos began but trailed off as if he couldn’t quite find the words he wanted to say. TK had a feeling he understood though.

“I’ll be right back,” he assured Carlos, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

Carlos held his gaze for a moment before nodding, letting his hand drop as TK stepped away again, heading once more for the bathroom door. He opened it softly, slipping out into the hallway and closing it behind him. He crossed to the guest room and barely even stopped to glance at the items left on the bed. He simply gathered them all - a haphazard bundle of towels and clothes in his arms - before turning on his heel and heading back to the bathroom and Carlos. He knocked once, lightly tapping on the door before he opened it to reveal Carlos. He had removed his shirt in the time TK had been gone but now he was simply staring at his bare chest and arms in the mirror, his gaze tracing the lines of soot winding across his body. TK set down his bundle and stepped closer, his own reflection appearing besides Carlos’s as he met his eyes in the mirror.

“I always find it’s the smell that’s the worst,” he murmured. “That’s the part that always got to me.”

“It feels heavy,” Carlos said dully. “Like it’s clinging to my skin and it’s always going to be there.”

“We can fix that,” TK promised him.

He gently pulled Carlos away from the mirror, helping him to remove the rest of his clothes before he turned on the shower. Then he removed his own clothes, tossing their smoke-filled and singed clothes into a heap next to the bathroom door to be dealt with later. He reached a hand back into the shower to check the temperature and when he was satisfied he reached for Carlos’s hand, guiding him into the shower and the stream of warm water.

He grabbed one of the soaps off the ledge and squeezed some into his hand before beginning to rub it against Carlos’s body.

“It may take a few tries,” he told him, “but we’ll get it all off.”

He scrubbed at his skin gently, making circular repetitive motions up his arms and across his chest. Carlos watched him quietly, allowing him complete control as he washed away the remnants of the night. TK could see his eyes tracking the soot as it faded into the water and traveled down to the drain.

“And just like that, there goes what’s left of our home,” he said darkly.

TK froze, looking sharply up at Carlos and meeting his eyes.

“Hey,” he reminded him, voice firm, “as long as we have each other, we still have a home.”

Carlos’s expression turned to one of surprise before he wilted, leaning closer to TK. TK abandoned his scrubbing in favor of wrapping his arms around the other man and allowing the warm water to wash over their intertwined bodies.

“My home is you, Carlos, it has been for a while,” he said, his words loud and clear in the confines of the shower and their embrace. “Nothing can change that. As long as we have each other, we’re going to be okay.”

His words settled around them like the water droplets bouncing off their skin and Carlos nodded. TK tightened his embrace, clutching his boyfriend tighter for another moment before he pressed a kiss onto the top of his shoulder blade and stepped away; not straying further than the hand still on his shoulder would allow. He studied Carlos, taking in the glint of his warm brown eyes and the slump of his shoulders.

“Are you okay to finish?” he asked softly, receiving a nod in return. He grabbed the soap again and resumed scrubbing them both, methodically removing the reminders from their skin.

Carlos was quiet as he worked but TK had the sense he was studying him, almost as if he was trying to solve a riddle.

“How are you so okay?” he finally asked. “We almost died an hour ago and you’re fine. How?”

TK slowed in his motions as he considered, trying to find the right way to explain. He settled on a shrug: “I don’t know if I am okay. I don’t think it’s really hit me yet. Besides,” he added as he moved his hands up to Carlos’s hair, “I’ve been trapped in fire hundreds of times. It’s scary but after a while, you get used to it.”

He paused to get more soap and to find the right words. He needed to explain, but he wasn’t sure how. He didn’t want Carlos to feel any less for his reaction, for his fear.

“I remember my first time in a house fire,” he said eventually as he squeezed the last of a bottle of shampoo into his palm. “I was maybe a week out of the academy and though you go through training and simulations, nothing can quite prepare you for the real thing. It was a bad one, too: an old house in Bushwick that went up like a tinderbox. I made it through fine, but I was probably shaking for at least an hour after. And that was with training and gear in a stranger’s home. That wasn’t my home, and I wasn’t trapped with the person I loved; worried I could lose them. You’re allowed to feel whatever you’re feeling, Carlos; however you are feeling it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Logically I know that,” Carlos agreed. “But…”

“But knowing it is different from actually feeling it,” TK suggested, receiving a nod in return. He smiled sadly at the other man, placing his hands on his shoulders.

“Sometimes I wonder if your shoulders hurt from trying to carry the weight of the world on them,” he told Carlos softly. “And that’s who you are, I get that. You always want to look out for others; always want to make sure everyone else is safe and happy. It’s why you became a cop and it’s a big part of what makes you who you are. It’s one of the things I love about you.” He paused to smile, running his hands across Carlos’s broad chest: newly clean and red from the scrubbing before he continued.

“But sometimes you need to feel things too, Carlos. Sometimes you have to lean on someone else. And I know I might not always do such a good job of reminding you, but I can be that someone you lean on when you need it. I want to be. We’re a team, right? And that means we take care of each other. So whatever you are feeling now, you are not alone. I’m here for you - every step of the way. And if I need it later, when this whole mess finally processes, I know you’ll be there for me too.”

“We lean on each other,” Carlos agreed softly, and TK smiled at him again, reaching behind him to shut off the water.

“Always,” he promised him, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips before he exited the shower, “no matter what.”

They dried and dressed silently, pulling on borrowed clothes that felt almost foreign against their freshly washed skin. TK spared a glance at their discarded clothes, still in a heap by the door. He debated throwing them out, but he couldn’t bear the thought. They were the only thing they still had that was theirs, after all. He gently picked them up and placed them in the hamper, making a mental note to try to wash them tomorrow, to see if they could be salvaged. Then, task completed, he looked back to Carlos.

“You ready?” he asked. Carlos took a deep breath and nodded, offering him a smile that still didn’t reach his eyes, but it was closer.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

TK nodded, but hesitated at the door.

“If it’s too much, if you need to step away,” he began, “tell me. I’ll find an excuse. And even if I can’t everyone will understand.”

Carlos nodded and reached for TK’s hand, winding their fingers together.

“I’ll be fine,” he promised. “Just, stay with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured Carlos, squeezing his hand gently and holding his gaze for another moment before they headed downstairs to where their friends and family were waiting for them.

The sound of chatter drifted up the stairs as they approached, but it died as they reached the bottom of the stairs and when they entered the kitchen, all eyes turned to them. The familiar gazes were filled with sympathy and relief, and TK forced a smile; holding Carlos’s hand a little tighter.

“Hey guys,” he said and his words seemed to be the catalyst needed to break the spell. Marjan is the first to approach, pulling first him and then Carlos into a gentle hug. Nancy is right behind her, squeezing TK tightly and holding on for a few moments longer.

“You really need to stop with this almost dying every other week bullshit,” she muttered into his shoulder, “I need my partner.”

He chuckled softly, returning the hug, “I’ll try my best, Nance,” he promised.

“Good,” she told him, pulling away and blinking away the tears that were slowly filling her eyes, “Because breaking in a new one is a lot of work. I don’t have that in me again this year.”

He gave her a smile as he pulled away, pulling Carlos into a hug and lingering there as well, murmuring something to him in low tones. He was pulled away from their moment by Paul appearing before him, wrapping him into a hug. The other man didn’t say anything, but he looked at TK for a long moment as he pulled away, his analytical gaze taking him in. TK offered him a half-smile, and Paul nodded before stepping closer to Carlos. The next hug was full of forceful enthusiasm and TK smiled fondly as he found his footing again after Mateo nearly bowled him over.

Once they had all gotten their hugs in his team stood back, taking them in. Marjan was the first to speak, voice low in disbelief, “I can’t believe this happened.”

TK looked past them to where his dad sat watching them. Their eyes met and TK knew that they were both thinking the same thing: this could have been avoided. He had meant it earlier when he said it wasn’t his dad or Gabriel’s fault. Neither of them had started the fire and he knew that. He didn’t blame them for the fire.

But there were other offenses and other hurts they had caused when they had charged into a situation with no regard for how it might affect anyone else. He didn’t feel up to broaching that subject just yet, he knew he would have to. He suspected Carlos would have some feelings on it as well, once the shock had worn off a bit. For now, they could dance around it and he could let his dad’s silent remorse be enough.

“I guess there’s no saying what a revenge-motivated arsonist will do,” he said eventually, pulling his focus back to the group before them.

No one seemed to know what to say to that, and he couldn’t say that he blamed them. Instead, he tried for a smile as he took Carlos’s hand in his own again. He could feel Paul studying them both and parried his questions about hospital visits. They were fine - or at least as fine as they could be.

The suggestion to move to the couch was a welcome one however and he tugged lightly at Carlos’s hand, guiding him to one of the couches. He let Carlos sit before he settled in beside him, pressing against his side to both provide and receive the reassurance that they were both there. The conversation ebbed and flowed around them and while TK interjected from time to time he mostly let it all wash over him. He and Carlow were both here; they were both safe. Their friends and families were with them and whatever would come they would face, just like he had told Carlos earlier.

Now if he could only get himself to believe it.

The conversation is light and not too hard to follow (purposefully so, he’s sure, and he appreciates it) and soon they are joined by their parents and Judd as they migrate from the kitchen. Judd comes up behind them and places a warm hand on TK’s shoulder.

“I’ve gotta get home to Grace,” he tells them. “She sends her love, and probably some food tomorrow too, if I know my wife. But hey,” he paused to squeeze TK’s shoulder, looking between him and Carlos as he spoke, “you let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything at all, just ask.”

TK and Carlos both nodded. TK was about to thank his friend, but Carlos beat him to it, “Thank you Judd,” he said earnestly. “For the offer and for earlier. I…” he trailed off, looking at TK before clearing his throat and trying again, “I don’t know how to ever thank you for that.”

“And you don’t need to,” Judd said firmly. “Not only is it my job, but it’s what you do for family and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’d rather I never have to though, so let’s all try to avoid fires in our off hours from here on out, yeah?”

The last bit was directed at the room at large and pulled a few chuckles from the others, but when Judd looked back down at them his expression was soft and his smile sincere. He put his other hand on Carlos’s shoulder and gave them each a comforting squeeze before he moved his hands, giving the rest of the group a wave before he headed out the door.

“We should probably be heading out soon too,” Andrea said regretfully. “It’s getting late and you boys are going to need sleep after everything and I’m sure Owen doesn’t need a houseful.”

“On the contrary,” Owen countered immediately, “I love a houseful. And it just so happens that I have an extra guest room, if you’d rather stay.”

Carlos’s parents didn’t respond right away and TK watched as his dad’s expression softened before he spoke again, “I’m sure you want to stay close, because I know I do. There’s no reason you should have to leave just because we ended up at my house. You are more than welcome to stay, really. That applies to all of you, really,” he added in a heartier tone. “Obviously not Mateo because he already lives here but you all are welcome too, always.”

“As tempting as that is and as much as I appreciate it, really, I’m pretty sure you’re out of guest rooms cap, and my place isn’t that far,” Marjan responded, and Paul and Nancy nodded.

“What Marj said, Captain Strand,” Nancy said awkwardly with a nervous smile.

“Likewise,” he said. “I do really appreciate it though, and you can bet I will be over here tomorrow to check in on you two.” At Marjan and Nancy’s pointed looks he sighed, “ We will be back tomorrow.”

Owen first glanced at TK and Carlos and upon their nods, he smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he confirmed, smiling at the group.

They all rose then, extending their goodbyes, reminding them of the standing offer. Anything you need was repeated over and over again but TK knew that they meant it. There was no false sincerity or empty words here - not with these people, not for them. Eventually, the three of them headed out into the night and Mateo headed off to his room leaving TK and Carlos alone with their parents.

There was silence in the wake of Mateo’s door closing, for a beat. Then Andrea Reyes, who had been studying the boys as the others made their exit looked first to her husband and then to Owen.

“If you really don’t mind…” she began, but Owen cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“I don’t mind,” he assured her. “In fact, it would make me feel better.”

There was something unspoken that passed through their parents, confirmed with a smile from Carlos’s mother and a nod from his father. But his focus - whatever portion of it that wasn’t honed in on Carlos and the presence of him beside him - was soon interrupted by a yawn that caused all eyes to turn to him. He could feel his face turning red as he stammered.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude but…”

“But it has been a long day, and you boys have been through a lot,” Andrea finished gently. “You should go to bed, you need rest. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Carlos shifted beside him and TK could see him gearing up to argue, whether about his parents staying or the fact that they were fine, but his dad cut him off.

“Listen to your mother, Carlitos,” he said gently, “you know as well as I do she’s always right.”

Carlos still looked like he wanted to argue, but TK placed a hand on his knee drawing his attention back to him and he smiled. Carlos held his gaze for a few minutes before he relaxed and nodded before standing and offering TK a hand. TK took it with a smile, allowing his boyfriend to pull him off the couch. No sooner was he on his feet than Andrea Reyes was before them, offering them each a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

“Go get some rest,” she told them softly, “we can start to figure everything out in the morning.”

TK glanced over at their dads who both wore sad but sincere smiles. He studied them all; their newly meshed families that had blended so well trying to place this in his head with everything else. He couldn’t but he knew that he would, in time.

For now, he allowed himself to be led to the stairs by Carlos and with one last wave to their collective parents, they disappeared up them; shutting themselves into the privacy of their temporary bedroom. The sight of the bed was enticing and TK flopped onto it, suddenly aware of how quickly all the energy had left his body now that there was no more goal to push towards. He heard a small chuckle and the sensation of the bed dipping beside him as Carlos sank onto his side far more gracefully and once he was sure he had settled he rolled so he was facing the other man.

“So,” he began, “our parents are having a slumber party.”

Carlos chuckled and TK grinned at him before the mood turned more somber again.

“This is all kind of surreal,” Carlos admitted after a moment. “Not only did our house burn down but I’m now spending the night at my boyfriend’s dad’s house with my parents staying in the other guest room. It’s just a lot to take in. Especially…”

Carlos trailed off and TK shifted so he had a better view of his face. “Especially what, Carlos?” he prompted softly, running a gentle hand down his arm, watching as he tried to get his thoughts in order.

“I’ve never doubted my parents love me,” he said after some time, “not for a moment. And I know now that they don’t have a problem with me being gay and they are supportive of that, and us. I even know how much they like you,” he added with a smile, pulling TK’s hand closer and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

TK grinned at him but knew that there was more he wasn’t saying. “But?” he prompted.

“But the thought that they are here, that both of our families are together? I’m just having a hard time processing that, I think. It’s a lot very quickly.”

TK nodded, “That’s understandable, babe. So much has changed recently and you’re allowed to struggle with that, I will never judge you for that. But it’s a good thing, right? Our families getting along?”

“It is,” Carlos assured him quickly. “Though,” he added dryly, “I’m not sure how much of our dads scheming we can be reasonably expected to survive.”

TK groaned and tucked his head into Carlos’s shoulder, “Don’t remind me. I’d like to think they learned their lesson…”

“But it is hard to say with them,” Carlos agreed. “Which is why I think we need to talk to them about it, soon.”

TK pulled back from Carlos and placed his head back on his own pillow with a sigh, “You’re right,” he agreed, “I’ve been thinking the same thing. I just couldn’t handle it tonight.”

“Me neither,” Carlos confirmed with a nod. “But I suppose they’ll both be here tomorrow, we can try then.”

TK hummed in agreement before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. It wasn’t even that he was ready to sleep yet. There was just so much in his head and he didn’t know where to put it all. There was noise coming from every corner of his mind and he couldn’t seem to drown any of it out.

“Ty?” Carlos’s asked, his gentle voice cutting through the dark and silent room, “How are you doing?”

TK took a moment to think, to try to organize the mess in his mind. There was really no concrete answer to give, but he turned again so he was facing Carlos before he did his best to answer.

“I’m upset,” TK said after some consideration. It took some time to find the right words for everything he was feeling. “And annoyed at our dads and still so scared at what could have been. I’m overwhelmed with everything we have to do now, with the idea of having to start over. But mostly,” he added, knowing that what came next was the strongest truth of all, “I’m worried about you.”

Carlos furrowed his brow, “Why?”

“Because it was your home, Carlos.” He shook his head as Carlos opened his mouth to argue, “I know it was our home, but it was your home first. You’re allowed to be upset about that Carlos.”

Carlos was quiet for a moment, absentmindedly running a hand down TK’s arm as he considered, “You’re right,” he said eventually. “It’s hard. That condo was the first place I could really be myself, the place where I started to build my life. The place where we started to build our life. And I’m upset about it - it hurts to think about. But then I think about what could have been and...I really didn’t think we were going to make it out of there, TK.”

His voice grew thicker and tears filled his eyes once again but TK reached across the space between them to gently brush them away.

“But we did,” he reminded him firmly. “We did and we’re okay. We may not have a home anymore, but we have each other.”

“Which means we will always have a home,” Carlos agreed, echoing his words from earlier. “And I know it’s not ideal, but now we get to start something new together. It’s going to be scary and hard and it’s not going to happen quickly, but we’ll make it work. We have family and friends to help us, and we have each other.”

And as they lay there in a spare bed at TK’s father’s house; friends and family alike waiting in the wings to offer them love and support and the man he loved more than anything else in the world whole and safe right beside him, TK knew what Carlos said was true. He moved closer to the other man, readjusting so his arms were wrapped around his torso and his head rested on his chest; the steady beating of his heart a steady companion to help and hold off the fears hovering so close by. It was a reminder too; that they had both made it out and that he wasn’t alone. That he never would be.

There were so many uncertainties and unanswered questions but there was one thing TK Strand knew for sure: as long as they had each other, they would be okay.

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ithinkthereforeidread · 3 years

Text

the collected poems of todd anderson

christmas day of 1959.

ao3 link here

He knew this day would come. He’s been dreading it, sure, he’d never really enjoyed Christmas much beforehand, his multiple unopened desk sets epitomised such. At his house, fires weren’t warm, hugs were stiff and silence was punctured by the sounds of laughing children in the house next door. It’d always been this way for the Anderson family. Todd grew to accept it.

But this year was supposed to be different.

He was supposed to spend his Christmas at Welton, with all the Dead Poets.

Usually, the boys would go home to their families for Christmas, but through the efforts of Neil he assembled a complex string of falsities about a gargantuan Latin group project that all the Dead Poets needed to finish.

“Serious business, I care about my education father, why else would have you sent me here?” said Neil over the phone, holding his index finger to his mouth to silence Todd from his chuckling, although all Todd really saw was the wide grin that hid behind it, and the way Neil’s eyes crinkled up all the way, a complete oxymoronic action when Neil was usually on the phone to his father. Todd stifles back laughter and Neil smacks him lightly, only causing him to laugh more.

“Well, that was quicker AND easier than I expected...” Neil states after placing the phone back on it’s cradle and ending the call. “But hey!” Neil squeaks, “We’re all spending Christmas together! The biggest concern was just getting my father to agree, everyone else’s parents seemed fine with it.”

Todd and Neil start to walk, side by side, Neil bumps him playfully. “I’m so glad you told me, Todd.” Neil turns his head and looks towards the shorter boy. “My Christmases at home aren’t that great either, I’ve always wanted to spend them here, but I could never work up the courage to ask my father, ask Charlie, in our first year he almost called up my father himself. It was hilarious, he had to look up at the phone, he was so short.”

“You and Charlie have been friends for ages then?” Todd queries “Oh yeah, we met in our last year of preparatory school, he was a pretty mischievous kid, obviously not much has changed.” Neil laughs, “he was just always so confident and sure of himself… I always wanted to be like that, nothing ever got to him.”

“Has that changed?” Todd’s questions were always short and straight to the point. Startling upfrontness in the most unexpected of moments. It was something Todd was known for.

“Not really… I mean, I try to get him to open up… he just isn’t an emotions type of person, I think?” Neil scratches the back of his head. “During our 9th year he went through something really big and not great, but he didn’t tell me a single word about it. To this day I have no idea wahat happened. I tried asking but it didn’t lead anywhere… all I know is some kid had been expelled but it didn’t look like him and Charlie fought or anything because they spent so much time together ....” Neil trails off.

“You know people stare at us sometimes.” Todd blankly states, an unconscious switch being flicked immediately. “When we’re walking to classes, when we go into our dorm, when we exchange smiles in classes… They bump their friends with their shoulders and snicker under their breaths… Have you noticed that Neil?”

Neil’s walking pace slows slightly, “Uh… no, I-uh I didn’t… Do they think we’re-“ “-Maybe.” Todd interrupts before Neil can say The Word. “Bu-but we aren’t, I mean, you were talking about that girl from-“ “-Yeah! Ginny, from the play, wow, I mean, she’s just great.” “Yeah, I’m sure she is.”

God.

This got awkward.

Nice one Todd.

Did it again.

Ink splatters dried on the paper he cradled so delicately, he stares at the contents once more.

“what wouldn't i give to love myself as feverishly as I love you? what is the opposite of amnesia? that is what you are. sometimes i cant find my way around my memories. i have to take detours… i think you were the best one.

little fragments of joy pepper my vacancy i didn't know that i should want to be hopeful or that being hopeful meant giving up some intrinsic part of me.

last night i had a dream that we were breathing underwater flying high in the sky, arms outstretched, laughing, smiling, hugging, bodies pressed onto one another. it didn’t last long. piece by wretched, fragile piece i throw out every hated qualm of thee your impenetrable stare fixed onto me

i have hoped for love that is beyond you being caught by me or me trying to slip through the cracks. they read me, you, us, with their glacial eyes and think they know but they don't

and it seems neither do we.”

“Wow, Todd. This is so… different. But good! It’s just, I’ve never seen anything like this in our English class, in the poems we’ve studied… I just… wow.” Neil looks up at Todd, eyes so soft, Neil knows how big of a deal this is to Todd. He doesn’t just share his work with anyone.

“I-I’m glad you liked it.” Todd smiles, it’s almost as if he’s had to completely remove himself from himself in order to let Neil observe and compliment this part of him, he takes the page out of Neil’s hands and places it in his book. “What-er, who was it about?” Neil gingerly queries. “I- uh, well.” Todd’s heating up now, he should’ve expected Neil to ask him this question. Dammit. Why was he so stupid for letting him read it. “Well, I-I don’t think you necessarily have to go through something to write a-about it, it-it’s fiction for a reason.”

Neil’s lips downturn slightly, “I guess, but everything that we produce in art- whether that be acting, or poetry writing, painting- whatever… it… subconsciously shows something that you might not necessarily want to show or see, right? Like how Keating got us the other day to choose a poem we liked and recite it… It tells you so much about a person. When Charlie was reading his poem… wasn't all you could think about was how bleak it was?” Neil continues, “The academically and poetically rigorous selection made by Cameron or Knox’s complete devotion and enamoration with the simplest emotion of the human being, love? We hide these parts of ourselves, maybe we view them as flaws and faults of our cognitive machine, but art reveals them all.” Neil delivered a love poem to the class himself. He takes a big breath and lets the words he just spoke sit in the air of their dorm for a while.

“Into the meadows dawn..” Todd clicks his fingers, a vague ritual to jog his memory. “flashes my faun.” Todd recites “O Hunter, snare me his shadow… O Nightingale catch me his strain. Else moonstruck with music and madness, I track him in vain” all they’re doing is staring at each other.

“You- you remembered my poem?” Neil questions. “Yeah- I went to the library after you said it- wanted to see if there was more… Oscar Wilde…” “Yeah.” “I notice them staring now that you mentioned it.” Neil breaks the trajectory of the conversation, “God, they’re all so stupid, it’s as if Judy Garland and President Eisenhower just strutted into the school, arms interlocked!” Todd chuckles. Then more silence.

“Has anything changed, Neil?” “What do you mean?” “Between us. What this is. Our comradely bond, as Keating puts it.” Todd chuckles, “ Our co-dependence, attachment at the hip.”

More silence��

“I-I think…” Neil finally states, “that it was never anything it wasn’t already… perhaps we ignored it, suppressed the feeling… but… it was always there.”

“For me, at least.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

~~~

The wind pierced Todd’s skin in tiny microscopic ways, embedding itself under the protection of his coat and completely evading the rest of his physical form, though perhaps the wind wasn’t the cause of the spine-curdling ache he felt, but simply an additional symptom.

Bells rang, green and red Christmas themed paraphernalia adorned the streets he’d previously been driving through, staring out the window at lights and snow that trickled onto an already naturally bleached layer of the ground. His footprints leave indents and obtain a slippery consistency to the outer sole and toe cap. He treads more carefully.

His hands clutch the leather cover of the journal he is hiding underneath his jacket, minimising any further damage that may soon come its way, finally, through minutes of soul-searching and carefully treading through stones and flowers, he makes his way to Neil.

He looks at him with a certain sense of fragility, his stone head protruding from the ground and covered in snow. Todd wipes some away to see the carvings made into him. His full name. Aged 17. Dutiful son of Tom and Susan Perry.

The newness of it all sends a pang to Todd’s stomach as he looks at the other stones weathered with age and the constant bombardment of the elements. That’ll be Neil one day. Flowers not fresh and carvings unreadable. Forgotten to the world and all its inhabitants, rotting in satin lining and cherry oak wood. Todd stifles back a sob and covers his mouth, forcing himself to get it together for just this moment.

“Merry Christmas Neil.” Todd whispers, the words can barely come out. “You-you’re not here physically but you’re here with me, and Charlie, and-and all the other Dead Poets.” he continues, “though- though Charlie isn’t here technically either. He left. Had to. He’s not graduating, at least he’s not at Welton” Todd looks down, brushes his emerging tears away with his shoulder

“I just wanted to come here and give you your gift, I’ve had it in the making for a while now, you’ve seen some of it already. I wish I could’ve given it to you earlier… if I had known this would happen.” he pulls out the journal, and opens it up.

“Here, I’ll read you some.” Todd, though already cold and miserable, situates himself next to Neil’s cold headstone and leans his head on it, opening the journal's contents to its first page.

“Dear Neil,” Todd’s starts, but adds an offside, “It’s dated on the 7th of a while back, my-my birthday.”

“I hope this book finds you well,” Todd’s breath hitches, “especially considering that I’m probably too anxious to deliver it to you. What you’ll see here is what we spoke about the night we first kissed. About freeing ourselves from any subconscious fear or dichotomous dread of both working with and against the grain or being liked or disliked. The people I look up to the most are inspirationally unpopular. So, here’s a suite of poems by yours truly. Hopefully you’ll find your own meaning and reverence in the words my brain has conjured up, words mostly pertaining to you. Every inch of your being alive has me transfixed and enamoured, and I’m truly gobsmacked on the good deed I must’ve committed to have deserved having you in my life.” Todd’s face is red and stuffy from the cold and his breathing is short and punctured.

“You’re sleeping right near me at this moment, and as a sweaty toothed madman once said. We were together. I forgot the rest. Consider this journal a detachable limb of my own self, something you can always carry around and know that I am with you, always. You can suck the life force, the bone marrow out of the words I have written in here and I would applaud and encourage you to do so. Without you, I have no idea where I’d be right now. I owe you so much Neil, you’ve taught me that sometimes the world can be good. That a person’s smile can brighten an entire room. A performance perfectly acted can be a person’s ultimate achievement and their triumph. You are the word phenomenal incarnate Neil, I hope my words do you some sort of justice.

You deserve the world, Neil. I’m brainstorming ways to give it to you.

With love, Todd.”

——————————————————————————

i hope you guys enjoyed!! its fucking brutal honestly but needed some angst and tragedy in my fictional life to reflect my own.

just a preface that some of the poem todd read's is borrowed from pete wentz old emo livejournal posts because i need to somehow tie my two big interests together and MAN does that man write some gay ass shit. hope your heart doesnt hurt too much <3

creds to @neilscrown on tiktok for posting the headcanon "Todd definitely bought Neil a Christmas present and he never got the chance to give it to him so he would sit in his once shared room and stare at it" it tore my HEART OUT and inspired this rambling

#dead poets society #dead poets #dead poets honour #dead poets fanfiction #anderperry #anderperry fanfic #todd anderson #neil perry #todd and neil

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kingstylesdaily · 4 years

Text

Playtime With Harry Styles

via vogue.com

THE MEN’S BATHING POND in London’s Hampstead Heath at daybreak on a gloomy September morning seemed such an unlikely locale for my first meeting with Harry Styles, music’s legendarily charm-heavy style czar, that I wondered perhaps if something had been lost in translation.

But then there is Styles, cheerily gung ho, hidden behind a festive yellow bandana mask and a sweatshirt of his own design, surprisingly printed with three portraits of his intellectual pinup, the author Alain de Botton. “I love his writing,” says Styles. “I just think he’s brilliant. I saw him give a talk about the keys to happiness, and how one of the keys is living among friends, and how real friendship stems from being vulnerable with someone.”

In turn, de Botton’s 2016 novel The Course of Love taught Styles that “when it comes to relationships, you just expect yourself to be good at it…[but] being in a real relationship with someone is a skill,” one that Styles himself has often had to hone in the unforgiving klieg light of public attention, and in the company of such high-profile paramours as Taylor Swift and—well, Styles is too much of a gentleman to name names.

That sweatshirt and the Columbia Records tracksuit bottoms are removed in the quaint wooden open-air changing room, with its Swallows and Amazons vibe. A handful of intrepid fellow patrons in various states of undress are blissfully unaware of the 26-year-old supernova in their midst, although I must admit I’m finding it rather difficult to take my eyes off him, try as I might. Styles has been on a six-day juice cleanse in readiness for Vogue’s photographer Tyler Mitchell. He practices Pilates (“I’ve got very tight hamstrings—trying to get those open”) and meditates twice a day. “It has changed my life,” he avers, “but it’s so subtle. It’s helped me just be more present. I feel like I’m able to enjoy the things that are happening right in front of me, even if it’s food or it’s coffee or it’s being with a friend—or a swim in a really cold pond!” Styles also feels that his meditation practices have helped him through the tumult of 2020: “Meditation just brings a stillness that has been really beneficial, I think, for my mental health.”

Styles has been a pescatarian for three years, inspired by the vegan food that several members of his current band prepared on tour. “My body definitely feels better for it,” he says. His shapely torso is prettily inscribed with the tattoos of a Victorian sailor—a rose, a galleon, a mermaid, an anchor, and a palm tree among them, and, straddling his clavicle, the dates 1967 and 1957 (the respective birth years of his mother and father). Frankly, I rather wish I’d packed a beach muumuu.

We take the piratical gangplank that juts into the water and dive in. Let me tell you, this is not the Aegean. The glacial water is a cloudy phlegm green beneath the surface, and clammy reeds slap one’s ankles. Styles, who admits he will try any fad, has recently had a couple of cryotherapy sessions and is evidently less susceptible to the cold. By the time we have swum a full circuit, however, body temperatures have adjusted, and the ice, you might say, has been broken. Duly invigorated, we are ready to face the day. Styles has thoughtfully brought a canister of coffee and some bottles of water in his backpack, and we sit at either end of a park bench for a socially distanced chat.

It seems that he has had a productive year. At the onset of lockdown, Styles found himself in his second home, in the canyons of Los Angeles. After a few days on his own, however, he moved in with a pod of three friends (and subsequently with two band members, Mitch Rowland and Sarah Jones). They “would put names in a hat and plan the week out,” Styles explains. “If you were Monday, you would choose the movie, dinner, and the activity for that day. I like to make soups, and there was a big array of movies; we went all over the board,” from Goodfellas to Clueless. The experience, says Styles, “has been a really good lesson in what makes me happy now. It’s such a good example of living in the moment. I honestly just like being around my friends,” he adds. “That’s been my biggest takeaway. Just being on my own the whole time, I would have been miserable.”

Styles is big on friendship groups and considers his former and legendarily hysteria-inducing boy band, One Direction, to have been one of them. “I think the typical thing is to come out of a band like that and almost feel like you have to apologize for being in it,” says Styles. “But I loved my time in it. It was all new to me, and I was trying to learn as much as I could. I wanted to soak it in…. I think that’s probably why I like traveling now—soaking stuff up.” In a post-COVID future, he is contemplating a temporary move to Tokyo, explaining that “there’s a respect and a stillness, a quietness that I really loved every time I’ve been there.”

In 1D, Styles was making music whenever he could. “After a show you’d go in a hotel room and put down some vocals,” he recalls. As a result, his first solo album, 2017’s Harry Styles, “was when I really fell in love with being in the studio,” he says. “I loved it as much as touring.” Today he favors isolating with his core group of collaborators, “our little bubble”—Rowland, Kid Harpoon (né Tom Hull), and Tyler Johnson. “A safe space,” as he describes it.

In the music he has been working on in 2020, Styles wants to capture the experimental spirit that informed his second album, last year’s Fine Line. With his debut album, “I was very much finding out what my sound was as a solo artist,” he says. “I can see all the places where it almost felt like I was bowling with the bumpers up. I think with the second album I let go of the fear of getting it wrong and…it was really joyous and really free. I think with music it’s so important to evolve—and that extends to clothes and videos and all that stuff. That’s why you look back at David Bowie with Ziggy Stardust or the Beatles and their different eras—that fearlessness is super inspiring.”

The seismic changes of 2020—including the Black Lives Matter uprising around racial justice—has also provided Styles with an opportunity for personal growth. “I think it’s a time for opening up and learning and listening,” he says. “I’ve been trying to read and educate myself so that in 20 years I’m still doing the right things and taking the right steps. I believe in karma, and I think it’s just a time right now where we could use a little more kindness and empathy and patience with people, be a little more prepared to listen and grow.”

Meanwhile, Styles’s euphoric single “Watermelon Sugar” became something of an escapist anthem for this dystopian summer of 2020. The video, featuring Styles (dressed in ’70s-flavored Gucci and Bode) cavorting with a pack of beach-babe girls and boys, was shot in January, before lockdown rules came into play. By the time it was ready to be released in May, a poignant epigraph had been added: “This video is dedicated to touching.”

Styles is looking forward to touring again, when “it’s safe for everyone,” because, as he notes, “being up against people is part of the whole thing. You can’t really re-create it in any way.” But it hasn’t always been so. Early in his career, Styles was so stricken with stage fright that he regularly threw up preperformance. “I just always thought I was going to mess up or something,” he remembers. “But I’ve felt really lucky to have a group of incredibly generous fans. They’re generous emotionally—and when they come to the show, they give so much that it creates this atmosphere that I’ve always found so loving and accepting.”

THIS SUMMER, when it was safe enough to travel, Styles returned to his London home, which is where he suggests we head now, setting off in his modish Primrose Yellow ’73 Jaguar that smells of gasoline and leatherette. “Me and my dad have always bonded over cars,” Styles explains. “I never thought I’d be someone who just went out for a leisurely drive, purely for enjoyment.” On sleepless jet-lagged nights he’ll drive through London’s quiet streets, seeing neighborhoods in a new way. “I find it quite relaxing,” he says.

Over the summer Styles took a road trip with his artist friend Tomo Campbell through France and Italy, setting off at four in the morning and spending the night in Geneva, where they jumped in the lake “to wake ourselves up.” (I see a pattern emerging.) At the end of the trip Styles drove home alone, accompanied by an upbeat playlist that included “Aretha Franklin, Parliament, and a lot of Stevie Wonder. It was really fun for me,” he says. “I don’t travel like that a lot. I’m usually in such a rush, but there was a stillness to it. I love the feeling of nobody knowing where I am, that kind of escape...and freedom.”

GROWING UP in a village in the North of England, Styles thought of London as a world apart: “It truly felt like a different country.” At a wide-eyed 16, he came down to the teeming metropolis after his mother entered him on the U.K. talent-search show The X Factor. “I went to the audition to find out if I could sing,” Styles recalls, “or if my mum was just being nice to me.” Styles was eliminated but subsequently brought back with other contestants—Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, and Zayn Malik—to form a boy band that was named (on Styles’s suggestion) One Direction. The wily X Factor creator and judge, Simon Cowell, soon signed them to his label Syco Records, and the rest is history: 1D’s first four albums, supported by four world tours from 2011 to 2015, debuted at number one on the U.S. Billboard charts, and the band has sold 70 million records to date. At 18, Styles bought the London house he now calls home. “I was going to do two weeks’ work to it,” he remembers, “but when I came back there was no second floor,” so he moved in with adult friends who lived nearby till the renovation was complete. “Eighteen months,” he deadpans. “I’ve always seen that period as pretty pivotal for me, as there’s that moment at the party where it’s getting late, and half of the people would go upstairs to do drugs, and the other people go home. I was like, ‘I don’t really know this friend’s wife, so I’m not going to get all messy and then go home.’ I had to behave a bit, at a time where everything else about my life felt I didn’t have to behave really. I’ve been lucky to always feel I have this family unit somewhere.”

When Styles’s London renovation was finally done, “I went in for the first time and I cried,” he recalls. “Because I just felt like I had somewhere. L.A. feels like holiday, but this feels like home.”

Behind its pink door, Styles’s house has all the trappings of rock stardom—there’s a man cave filled with guitars, a Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks poster (a moving-in gift from his decorator), a Stevie Nicks album cover. Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” was one of the first songs he knew the words to—“My parents were big fans”—and he and Nicks have formed something of a mutual-admiration society. At the beginning of lockdown, Nicks tweeted to her fans that she was taking inspiration from Fine Line: “Way to go, H,” she wrote. “It is your Rumours.” “She’s always there for you,” said Styles when he inducted Nicks into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2019. “She knows what you need—advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl; she’s got you covered.”

Styles makes us some tea in the light-filled kitchen and then wanders into the convivial living room, where he strikes an insouciant pose on the chesterfield sofa, upholstered in a turquoise velvet that perhaps not entirely coincidentally sets off his eyes. Styles admits that his lockdown lewk was “sweatpants, constantly,” and he is relishing the opportunity to dress up again. He doesn’t have to wait long: The following day, under the eaves of a Victorian mansion in Notting Hill, I arrive in the middle of fittings for Vogue’s shoot and discover Styles in his Y-fronts, patiently waiting to try on looks for fashion editor Camilla Nickerson and photographer Tyler Mitchell. Styles’s personal stylist, Harry Lambert, wearing a pearl necklace and his nails colored in various shades of green varnish, à la Sally Bowles, is providing helpful backup (Britain’s Rule of Six hasn’t yet been imposed).

Styles, who has thoughtfully brought me a copy of de Botton’s 2006 book The Architecture of Happiness, is instinctively and almost quaintly polite, in an old-fashioned, holding-open-doors and not-mentioning-lovers-by-name sort of way. He is astounded to discover that the Atlanta-born Mitchell has yet to experience a traditional British Sunday roast dinner. Assuring him that “it’s basically like Thanksgiving every Sunday,” Styles gives Mitchell the details of his favorite London restaurants in which to enjoy one. “It’s a good thing to be nice,” Mitchell tells me after a morning in Styles’s company.

MITCHELL has Lionel Wendt’s languorously homoerotic 1930s portraits of young Sri Lankan men on his mood board. Nickerson is thinking of Irving Penn’s legendary fall 1950 Paris haute couture collections sitting, where he photographed midcentury supermodels, including his wife, Lisa Fonssagrives, in high-style Dior and Balenciaga creations. Styles is up for all of it, and so, it would seem, is the menswear landscape of 2020: Jonathan Anderson has produced a trapeze coat anchored with a chunky gold martingale; John Galliano at Maison Margiela has fashioned a khaki trench with a portrait neckline in layers of colored tulle; and Harris Reed—a Saint Martins fashion student sleuthed by Lambert who ended up making some looks for Styles’s last tour—has spent a week making a broad-shouldered Smoking jacket with high-waisted, wide-leg pants that have become a Styles signature since he posed for Tim Walker for the cover of Fine Line wearing a Gucci pair—a silhouette that was repeated in the tour wardrobe. (“I liked the idea of having that uniform,” says Styles.) Reed’s version is worn with a hoopskirt draped in festoons of hot-pink satin that somehow suggests Deborah Kerr asking Yul Brynner’s King of Siam, “Shall we dance?”

Styles introduces me to the writer and eyewear designer Gemma Styles, “my sister from the same womb,” he says. She is also here for the fitting: The siblings plan to surprise their mother with the double portrait on these pages.

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

“My mum loved to dress us up,” she remembers. “I always hated it, and Harry was always quite into it. She did some really elaborate papier-mâché outfits: She made a giant mug and then painted an atlas on it, and that was Harry being ‘The World Cup.’ Harry also had a little dalmatian-dog outfit,” she adds, “a hand-me-down from our closest family friends. He would just spend an inordinate amount of time wearing that outfit. But then Mum dressed me up as Cruella de Vil. She was always looking for any opportunity!”

“As a kid I definitely liked fancy dress,” Styles says. There were school plays, the first of which cast him as Barney, a church mouse. “I was really young, and I wore tights for that,” he recalls. “I remember it was crazy to me that I was wearing a pair of tights. And that was maybe where it all kicked off!”

Acting has also remained a fundamental form of expression for Styles. His sister recalls that even on the eve of his life-changing X Factor audition, Styles could sing in public only in an assumed voice. “He used to do quite a good sort of Elvis warble,” she remembers. During the rehearsals in the family home, “he would sing in the bathroom because if it was him singing as himself, he just couldn’t have anyone looking at him! I love his voice now,” she adds. “I’m so glad that he makes music that I actually enjoy listening to.”

Styles’s role-playing continued soon after 1D went on permanent hiatus in 2016, and he was cast in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, beating out dozens of professional actors for the role. “The good part was my character was a young soldier who didn’t really know what he was doing,” says Styles modestly. “The scale of the movie was so big that I was a tiny piece of the puzzle. It was definitely humbling. I just loved being outside of my comfort zone.”

His performance caught the eye of Olivia Wilde, who remembers that it “blew me away—the openness and commitment.” In turn, Styles loved Wilde’s directorial debut, Booksmart, and is “very honored” that she cast him in a leading role for her second feature, a thriller titled Don’t Worry Darling, which went into production this fall. Styles will play the husband to Florence Pugh in what Styles describes as “a 1950s utopia in the California desert.”

Wilde’s movie is costumed by Academy Award nominee Arianne Phillips. “She and I did a little victory dance when we heard that we officially had Harry in the film,” notes Wilde, “because we knew that he has a real appreciation for fashion and style. And this movie is incredibly stylistic. It’s very heightened and opulent, and I’m really grateful that he is so enthusiastic about that element of the process—some actors just don’t care.”

“I like playing dress-up in general,” Styles concurs, in a masterpiece of understatement: This is the man, after all, who cohosted the Met’s 2019 “Notes on Camp” gala attired in a nipple-freeing black organza blouse with a lace jabot, and pants so high-waisted that they cupped his pectorals. The ensemble, accessorized with the pearl-drop earring of a dandified Elizabethan courtier, was created for Styles by Gucci’s Alessandro Michele, whom he befriended in 2014. Styles, who has subsequently personified the brand as the face of the Gucci fragrance, finds Michele “fearless with his work and his imagination. It’s really inspiring to be around someone who works like that.”

The two first met in London over a cappuccino. “It was just a kind of PR appointment,” says Michele, “but something magical happened, and Harry is now a friend. He has the aura of an English rock-and-roll star—like a young Greek god with the attitude of James Dean and a little bit of Mick Jagger—but no one is sweeter. He is the image of a new era, of the way that a man can look.”

Styles credits his style transformation—from Jack Wills tracksuit-clad boy-band heartthrob to nonpareil fashionisto—to his meeting the droll young stylist Harry Lambert seven years ago. They hit it off at once and have conspired ever since, enjoying a playfully campy rapport and calling each other Sue and Susan as they parse the niceties of the scarlet lace Gucci man-bra that Michele has made for Vogue’s shoot, for instance, or a pair of Bode pants hand-painted with biographical images (Styles sent Emily Adams Bode images of his family, and a photograph he had found of David Hockney and Joni Mitchell. “The idea of those two being friends, to me, was really beautiful,” Styles explains).

“He just has fun with clothing, and that’s kind of where I’ve got it from,” says Styles of Lambert. “He doesn’t take it too seriously, which means I don’t take it too seriously.” The process has been evolutionary. At his first meeting with Lambert, the stylist proposed “a pair of flares, and I was like, ‘Flares? That’s fucking crazy,’ ” Styles remembers. Now he declares that “you can never be overdressed. There’s no such thing. The people that I looked up to in music—Prince and David Bowie and Elvis and Freddie Mercury and Elton John—they’re such showmen. As a kid it was completely mind-blowing. Now I’ll put on something that feels really flamboyant, and I don’t feel crazy wearing it. I think if you get something that you feel amazing in, it’s like a superhero outfit. Clothes are there to have fun with and experiment with and play with. What’s really exciting is that all of these lines are just kind of crumbling away. When you take away ‘There’s clothes for men and there’s clothes for women,’ once you remove any barriers, obviously you open up the arena in which you can play. I’ll go in shops sometimes, and I just find myself looking at the women’s clothes thinking they’re amazing. It’s like anything—anytime you’re putting barriers up in your own life, you’re just limiting yourself. There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never really thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something.”

“He’s up for it,” confirms Lambert, who earlier this year, for instance, found a JW Anderson cardigan with the look of a Rubik’s Cube (“on sale at matches.com!”). Styles wore it, accessorized with his own pearl necklace, for a Today rehearsal in February and it went viral: His fans were soon knitting their own versions and posting the results on TikTok. Jonathan Anderson declared himself “so impressed and incredibly humbled by this trend” that he nimbly made the pattern available (complete with a YouTube tutorial) so that Styles’s fans could copy it for free. Meanwhile, London’s storied Victoria & Albert Museum has requested Styles’s original: an emblematic document of how people got creative during the COVID era. “It’s going to be in their permanent collection,” says Lambert exultantly. “Is that not sick? Is that not the most epic thing?”

“To me, he’s very modern,” says Wilde of Styles, “and I hope that this brand of confidence as a male that Harry has—truly devoid of any traces of toxic masculinity—is indicative of his generation and therefore the future of the world. I think he is in many ways championing that, spearheading that. It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence.”

“He’s really in touch with his feminine side because it’s something natural,” notes Michele. “And he’s a big inspiration to a younger generation—about how you can be in a totally free playground when you feel comfortable. I think that he’s a revolutionary.”

STYLES’S confidence is on full display the day after the fitting, which finds us all on the beautiful Sussex dales. Over the summit of the hill, with its trees blown horizontal by the fierce winds, lies the English Channel. Even though it’s a two-hour drive from London, the fresh-faced Styles, who went to bed at 9 p.m., has arrived on set early: He is famously early for everything. The team is installed in a traditional flint-stone barn. The giant doors have been replaced by glass and frame a bucolic view of distant grazing sheep. “Look at that field!” says Styles. “How lucky are we? This is our office! Smell the roses!” Lambert starts to sing “Kumbaya, my Lord.”

Hairdresser Malcolm Edwards is setting Styles’s hair in a Victory roll with silver clips, and until it is combed out he resembles Kathryn Grayson with stubble. His fingers are freighted with rings, and “he has a new army of mini purses,” says Lambert, gesturing to an accessory table heaving with examples including a mini sky-blue Gucci Diana bag discreetly monogrammed HS. Michele has also made Styles a dress for the shoot that Tissot might have liked to paint—acres of ice-blue ruffles, black Valenciennes lace, and suivez-moi, jeune homme ribbons. Erelong, Styles is gamely racing up a hill in it, dodging sheep scat, thistles, and shards of chalk, and striking a pose for Mitchell that manages to make ruffles a compelling new masculine proposition, just as Mr. Fish’s frothy white cotton dress—equal parts Romantic poet and Greek presidential guard—did for Mick Jagger when he wore it for The Rolling Stones’ free performance in Hyde Park in 1969, or as the suburban-mom floral housedress did for Kurt Cobain as he defined the iconoclastic grunge aesthetic. Styles is mischievously singing ABBA’s “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” to himself when Mitchell calls him outside to jump up and down on a trampoline in a Comme des Garçons buttoned wool kilt. “How did it look?” asks his sister when he comes in from the cold. “Divine,” says her brother in playful Lambert-speak.

As the wide sky is washed in pink, orange, and gray, like a Turner sunset, and Mitchell calls it a successful day, Styles is playing “Cherry” from Fine Line on his Fender acoustic on the hilltop. “He does his own stunts,” says his sister, laughing. The impromptu set is greeted with applause. “Thank you, Antwerp!” says Styles playfully, bowing to the crowd. “Thank you, fashion!”

378 notes · View notes

violet-knox · 4 years

Note

Hi! Could you write about Adult!Snape being jealous about Adult!Reader? Maybe it could include Lupin as well ?💓

Rags To Riches

Pairing: Snape x Potioneer!Reader

Summary: Severus makes his way to the annual award ceremony held by the Society of Portioneers and is once again disappointed with the speeches. Storming out of the venue, he makes his way to the bar where he’s approached by a familiar face.

Warnings: A bit of hate towards werewolves (from Severus)

Word Count: 9708

A/N: To be honest anon, I wasn’t entirely sure what you meant by “being jealous about”. I took it as Severus being jealous of reader, I hope that’s alright. If that wasn’t what you were asking for, I’m sorry, I hope you can enjoy it either way. This story started off with one idea which morphed into something completely different. I truly meant to include Lupin but instead of a feature, he gets more of a mention in this piece. I hope the general theme of the ask still stuck though. It was a lot of fun to write, I really enjoyed coming up with a different scenery outside Hogwarts. I actually enjoyed it so much that I may in the future do a part 2 but who knows. I have so much on my plate, if I do write a part 2, it probably won’t be anytime soon 😅

Clutching the invitation in his hand, he looked down at the address written in bright cursive gold then back up at the building before him. The outside of the building was built with pristine white bricks, the windows lined in the same shade of gold that lay on the invitation. He no doubt expected the inside to be just as pretentious, well suited for the event he was to attend tonight which was one of the many reasons why he never went. Taking a step closer, he slowly inched his way to the door where a doorman awaited, checking the invitations of every guest with a wave of his wand. He wasn’t as nearly accomplished as those who’d come to the Society of Potioneers’ Annual Award Ceremony, and even now, dressed in his best attire, he felt like a fraud, like the ugly duckling walking into the pond with his painted feathers looking to join his family.

Handing the man his invitation, he watched as he wove his wand over it, a puff of silver smoke steaming off the parchment, spelling out his name right before his eyes. It was always about the looks, the way the society was perceived to others that mattered. Even after all his hard work, everything he’d done to join and be accepted into the community, he kept hoping something good would come of it, that he’d one day be appreciated for all his potion alteration, perhaps even be granted the privilege of establishing a communal wide potion’s standards for all Wizarding schools. But those dreams of a hopeful boy had died long ago, and he’d naturally distanced himself from the society, watching from afar as those he’d established friendships with climbed above him with no interest in helping him push his career forward.

“Down the hall to your left, you’ll find the venue, to your right will be the bar and at the end there is the registry office if you shall need anything this evening. Enjoy the ceremony sir,” said the man as he handed Severus back his invitation, now turned into a ceremony program. Opening it, he saw the first few words bolding, almost screaming at him to make his way to the venue to find a seat and await the opening remarks. Fifteen minutes of opening remarks, then an hour and a half of speaking of the organization's foundation followed by forty-five minutes of introductions and then another three hours of torment and agony until the part of the event he’d shown up for.

There it was, the name of the potioneer he’d admired for a few years now: (Y/N) (Y/L/N). He’d read all your books, owned several copies, even taught from them and assigned them as extra reading material for those in his classes who had a knack for the art of potion making. Your ideology was quite phenomenal, your process much more advanced than those of the peers you sat alongside now. Of course, it wasn’t without its faults, after all, no one was perfect and if he’d ever gotten the chance, he would simply adore sitting with you to discuss improvements on some of the more extravagant potions you’d written about. But who was he to have such a privilege; a nobody Potion’s Master, forever doomed to teach the pinheads of Hogwarts.

Looking down at the pamphlet in his hand, he watched the timer in the corner slowly decrease, nine miserable minutes until the socializing was over, and until then, he’d do his best to avoid the few familiar faces he knew wouldn’t care to speak with him. He made his way to the end of the last row and took a seat, placing the program on his lap with his eyes on the timer, wondering if it was only counting down as slowly as it was because it could sense his pain and anticipation. It was this moment, the loneliness he felt as his eyes scanned the room that he began to regret showing up at all, knowing he wasn’t exactly a connection many wanted to make especially considering his status as an ex-Death Eater with rumours of the Dark Lord’s return swarming through the Wizarding World.

Five minutes remaining. He sighed the nail of his thumb scratched at the fabric of his cuff. Never did he ever imagine himself wearing this suit when Lucius had gifted it to him as a way to celebrate his position at Dumbledore’s side all those years ago. It was tighter than he’d remembered, thicker and heavier, but just as uncomfortable. It didn’t feel right the first time he’d put it on, and it didn’t feel any better now, even after the alterations he’d made to lessen the glamour smudged all over it. It was Lucius’ style, very much his style with bright lining along the robes, a silver touch on the suit itself, the ascot it came with just as dashing, but it wasn’t something Severus could ever wear. He’d spent so much of his life wearing nothing but second-hand clothing, worn out shirts, trousers he’d grown out of years ago, he wasn’t worthy to wear items so luxurious, even if the event called for it.

“Attention everyone, if you would all find your seats.” Severus straightened his back as he looked up to the stage to find his old Potion’s Professor addressing the room with that same cunning smile he’d always worn when he was a student. Others around him all shuffled around, Slughorn happily standing there waiting for the commotion to settle. The man had looked better, Severus never imagining him letting himself go as much as he did with how important appealing to others had been for him. He, of course, wasn’t surprised to find him hosting an event such as this, someone who’d made nothing of his own potion’s career, still striving to be recognized in the world would end up as the host of a prestigious event. He could only hope that wasn’t his future standing on stage as the man’s successor as Hogwarts Potions Master.

Slughorn began the event with his head held high, Severus pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes glued shut as the headache that always came with Slughorn’s lectures settled in. He wondered if half these people were past students of Slughorn’s as he was, if they’d even allow this man to talk as much as he was now. He’d never met a single person who’d enjoyed one of his classes, not even those who were a part of his idiotic club.

Time could not have passed any slower as one by one people he’d never met or heard of spoke on stage, clapping and laughter occasionally filling the room as he simply sat there with his thumb under his chin and two fingers pressed against his temple, looking like he had a wand to his head. His eyes focussed more on the program before him, waiting one by one as items disappeared until finally the time came for your presentation and award acceptance.

“Now, for the moment many of you have surely been waiting for; awarding Potioneer of the Year. Wizards and Witches, the publisher of the improved Wolfsbane’s potion, Professor (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” The room roared with applause, Severus clapping alongside them for the first time tonight as his eyes searched for you. Severus pushed himself forward, straightened as much as he could as he watched you walk on stage. You looked so strong, your attire casual yet stunning. He felt his heartbeat rage against his chest as his eyes widened. You were much more attractive in person, much more enticing than he’d ever imagined you’d be. He felt like an insect standing before a God, sitting so close to you he could read the expression on your face, yet he felt like you were from completely different worlds.

“Thank you, it’s an honour and a privilege to accept this award on behalf of those with whom I worked alongside these past few years.” You went on to thank your entire staff list one by one, many around him displaying their distaste for the long list, but he admired you for it all the more. “It’s troubling times like these that we must remember to make alliances of those around us, to help those who suffer from lycanthropy and do what we can to help them during the full moon. It is a great pleasure to see you all come here today to take part in the next steps of a brighter future. I hope with all the brilliant minds in this room that one day we may cure those who are being stripped of their rights as Wizards and Witches.”

Severus had to admit that he was never one to care for such topics, his own experience with werewolves rather scaring his ability to sympathize. Lupin was such a careless beast, putting his need of acceptance above the safety of those around him. He’d tried so hard to put the past behind him, to give Lupin the benefit of the doubt when he took the position Severus was rightfully owed. But once again, he’d proven himself unable to put others before himself even with his help. All those countless hours brewing that horrendous potion wasted only for him to end up exactly where he’d found himself all those years ago: at the mercy of the beast.

Your presentation however was rather enticing, the delicacy of detail you’d put in your research of some of the rarest ingredients he’d ever heard, the intricate way you’d calculated your measurements. But most of all, he was absolutely in love with your experimentation process and only wished he had the privilege to merely exist in the same space to watch you perform each trial, to hear you speak of your observations and conclusions, the way each failure helped you learn for the next until you finally found the correct footing. He was absolutely astounded by your work, unable to help himself from scribbling down as many notes as he could on the notebook he’d brought, completely ignoring the underappreciation in the room as the others simply waited for your presentation to end. Fools, all of them. They were absolute fools to take your genius mind for granted.

“That concludes my findings. Now, no doubt many of you have questions, but before we move onto the brief Q&A portion, I’d like to take this moment to thank someone very special, someone who’s own experiences inspired me to pursue the remaking of the wolfsbane potion: Remus Lupin.” Severus’ eyes shot up from his notebook, his quill leaving a rather visible line through his notes as his hand slipped from the name he heard spoken out of your mouth. He watched as you smiled and gestured to a man sitting in the front row beside the empty seat you’d risen from to give the presentation he’d just spent an hour hanging on every word for. Applause slowly turned to ringing as he was deafened by the thought of you working with Lupin.

He looked down at his notebook, his endless sea of questions as rage and hatred filled his mind. This weekend was supposed to be about him, about his interests, his hopes to rejoin civilization through the Society of Potioneers, to possibly, very possibly exchange two words with you and that mut had spent years speaking with you? Working alongside you? It was bad enough Dumbledore had hired the man after everything that had happened, after knowing the trauma he’d been through as a child, but this was an entirely different type of mockery. Merlin was testing him, pushing him to insanity, punishing him for his past choices, it was the only explanation.

Closing his notebook rather harshly, he swiftly jumped to his feet and made his way out of the room, suddenly aware of the lack of oxygen a packed room like this offered. He let the doors close silently behind him as he stopped to lean back on the wall, trying to take in a deep breath. He closed his eyes and let his hair fall over his face, the memories of the Whomping Willow flooding back to him all at once. He could feel his muscles tensing as he froze in a state of shock and panic, both times he’d felt helpless and both times he’d failed to defend against the beast.

“Sir, are you alright?” Slowly, he opened his eyes to see one of the staff members of the hotel staring at him with concern.

“I’m fine,” Severus said coldly as he pushed himself passed the man and walked straight to the other side where he’d been told the bar was located. Bursting through the doors, he stopped to find himself in the most luxurious bar he’d ever seen. The space was quite generous, twice as large as the venue hosting the Award Ceremony. Bottles upon bottles lay displayed behind the bar that seemed to stretch out forever, glasses all hanging above as crystal clear as the air itself. Walking up to the bar, he hesitated to take a seat, the chairs alone likely worth more than his annual salary. Placing his book on the counter, he sat on the edge of his chair and ordered a firewhiskey. Double.

“Two Galleons,” said the bartender as he slid the drink over to Severus with a coaster beneath it. Severus stared at the bartender like he’d just spoken a language he was unfamiliar with. It was no wonder Dumbledore said he’d only pay for his stay at the Leaky Cauldron, but at least the Headmaster had given him some spending money so it was his Sickle he was wasting and not his own. Handing over his coins, he picked up the drink and slowly began to swirl its contents around the thick glass. He took a small sip and winced at the strength of the liquid, the burning sensation it left in his mouth as it trailed down his throat and into his stomach. The aftertaste was quite strong, rather pleasant and he could see why it cost as much as it did.

Placing the glass back on the coaster, he stared at the menacing notebook before him. He’d nearly filled up half of it with notes on your books, each word written with the hopes that you’d one day read them, each sentence written with the image of you in his mind. His fingertips grazed the cover of the notebook, almost afraid to touch it after the discovery he’d made this evening. But slowly, ever so slowly, the notebook was brought closer and closer to him, dragged along the marble countertop until it stood there before him, taunting him with thoughts of potential and revelation. He dreadfully opened up the notebook and slowly began to flip through its pages, finding it rather comforting to read through the notes he made when reading your books, until he finally found himself turning to the fresh notes he’d taken not moments ago.

His admiration slowly turned toxic as a familiar emotion took root in his core. He hated that you were better than him, more successful than him. He absolutely resented the fact you’d lifted up someone who didn’t deserve it. He would have made a much better coworker, he would have offered insight Lupin could never dream of having, the beast who’d taken so much from him already had to come after the one thing Severus had always excelled at, just like those who’d used him during his days as a student.

“My my, and here I was worried you’d left because you found my presentation boring.” Severus’ head spun around to the side to find you standing before him, smiling down at his notebook. With a hasty hand, he slammed the book shut for the second time that day, staring back at you with wide eyes.

“May I?” You’d gestured at the seat next to him, but he couldn’t find his voice to speak or even nod his head. He was utterly stunned, much like during his interaction with the beast, your friend, your coworker, the parasite in your life. He was angry at you, a complete stranger, his rage misguided, yet he couldn’t help but feel some sort of animosity towards you. He deserved better than the life he’d gotten, better than the forgotten Potion’s Master who was of no use to anyone but the school’s matron and the few students who possessed enough talent to pursue the career he should have had, the career you now possessed. His malice towards you grew as he thought of the respect you had, the respect he’d chased for so long, exchanged his soul for and all you’d done to earn it was write a few books and work with a monster.

“Dragon Barrel Brandy please. And a refill for this gentleman,” you said to the bartender, gesturing to the nearly empty glass sitting beside the notebook you’d give anything to take another peek inside.

You’d never felt so stunned before, so taken back by the sudden exit of one of your audience members during your Q&A. The man had walked so graciously out those doors, like he was part of the shadows that engulfed him as his hair swished behind him, his robes flowing, extenuating his slim yet luscious figure. You’d been so distracted, you had to ask the woman to repeat her question, you yourself barely able to give a feasible answer as your mind swarmed with questions about the man who’d just walked out of those doors. Had you done something wrong? Said something to offend him? Was he called away or did he simply find your presentation uninspired? Whatever the reason, you found yourself unable to sit in that room any longer, needing to excuse yourself and hope the man was still around and willing to chat. Well, at least he was indeed still around, and you were sure with a bit of light conversation and a few more drinks, he’d be willing to chat considering the extensive and thought out notes he’d taken.

“May I ask your name?” you inquired as you sat back in your chair, head tilted as you examined his posture. He wasn’t anything like the people you’d met at these sorts of events, in fact, you were sure you’d never seen him before. You would have easily remembered such a mysterious man, dressed in a rather interesting attire. The robes he wore looked vintage, something one of those snobby rich young graduates looking for easy connections to make would wear, but he looked nothing of the sort. He sat here alone, he sat in the venue in the back corner alone. He had yet to speak to you, his eyes focussed on the notebook in front of him, dismissing the rest of the world. He was a complete mystery, one you very much wanted to solve.

Severus could feel your eyes on him, your eyes, staring at him, waiting for him to introduce himself. His mind had gone completely blank, overwhelmed with annoyance and admiration, jealousy and wonder. Clearing his throat, he mumbled his name through gritted teeth, his voice a tone deeper than usual. “Severus Snape.”

“Really?” Your shock escaped you before you could formulate a single thought. It was rather odd you’d found the Severus Snape at an event like this, let alone taking notes on your presentation, talking to you now.

“You’ve heard of me?” he asked, rather taken back himself, his head spinning to look at you, his eyes wide with amazement. No one had ever recognized his name outside the walls of the school, not even the Dark Lord’s followers who heard whispers of the Death Eater who’d come to their master with the forsaken prophecy. He wasn’t sure how to react to your recognition of him beyond pure curiosity and could only imagine what dark rumours had passed within the pretentious group of potioneers.

“Hogwarts youngest Potion’s Master, how could I have not. In fact, I’ve even worked with some of your past students. You must be remarkably talented to be hired so young, to have left such an impressive mark on your students,” you said with what he assumed was excitement in your voice. Or perhaps he’d mistaken it for sarcasm, something he found rather common amongst those you hung around with. But your emotions were true, your eyes filled with the same wonder he’d held for you all those years. “Remus tells me he worked at Hogwarts for a short while before someone let slip his condition.”

And back you went to mentioning the name of the beast, the very thing that had driven him away from you. He whipped his gaze back to the bar, to the book in front of him as he reached to take a sip of his drink, cringing at your words. He could hardly believe his luck, his foolishness for believing there was a chance he’d have a peaceful, well deserved weekend off, away from his past, his future, the dreadful truth of his present.

“He let it slip himself when he neglected to fulfill the simple task of drinking the potion I spent hours brewing,” he mumbled under his breath, the little respect he still had for you keeping him from losing it completely.

“And that warrants him to lose his job?” You tried to hold yourself back as his insinuations boiled your blood. It was assumption like that, negative attitudes like his that you’d dedicated your career to fighting against. You were saddened to hear the resentful tone he took when speaking of Remus, rather hoping this conversation could turn into an opportunity to work with him.

“If it endangers the students, yes,” he said bluntly, looking back at you with cold eyes before he took another sip of his drink. Your expression hardened, a frown appearing on your lips as you thought of all the hardships Remus had gone through, how he spoke so highly of Hogwarts Headmaster, someone you thought picked his staff well, though clearly his judgment fell short on some people.

“We’ve all made mistakes. One incident shouldn’t define a person like that,” you tried to argue, doing your best to make your opinion clear in the hopes he’d indulge you in a civil discussion on the topic. Many thought potions was your weapon of choice when it came to the rights of those cursed with lycanthropy, but you found words were much more effective. Words and discussion had created enough allies for you to come as far as you did in just a few short years and you hoped they wouldn’t fail you now, craving to work with Severus.

“It wasn’t just one incident. Remus has a rather nasty habit of turning the other way on his responsibilities. He never should have been hired in the first place.” Severus mumbled the last sentence, looking away as he took another sip of his drink, finding comfort in the harsh taste that trickled down his throat against the bitter words he spoke to the one person these past few years he’d looked up to, found comfort in. Never meet your heroes; a saying he’d never known to be more true than this moment.

“That’s a rather harsh judgment to make for the short period of time you worked with him.” You did your best to keep your tone neutral, to encourage him to speak his mind and converse with you. The worst type of people you’d ever spoke to were those whose heads were so thick, your words bounced right off of them. It seemed, however, that despite your attempt to keep things civil, you’d struck a nerve with the comment you made, the nasty look he gave you now indicating perhaps you were wrong to make the assumption he’d met Remus during his time as a professor. You watched him chug the remainder of his drink and worried that he’d do something regretful tonight realizing you had no idea how much he’d had to drink before you showed up.

“You wouldn’t understand. No one ever does,” he mumbled, setting down his glass on the coaster and pushing it away slowly. Two drinks was quite enough, especially if he wanted to remain sober enough to apparate back to the Leaky Cauldron tonight.

“Try me,” you said softly, catching his eye once more as you saw his harsh exterior begin to melt away. Severus looked at you in shock, rather surprised you hadn’t already thrown your barely touched drink in his face and stormed off from what he’d already said, let alone encouraging him to keep going. He squinted as he looked into your eyes, trying to figure you out, find any sense of logic in the sea of mixed emotions he felt towards you. You seemed rather genuine, and that was a trait he’d admired in your writing, but oh how blind you were, how you seemed to negate any possibility that he was right.

“Remus and I went to school together as students,” Severus began, deciding to take a leap of faith, indulging you in your interest to converse with him. “He was a prefect who neglected his duties at the amusement of his friends. Friends who thought luring a student to meet his... other half was worth a laugh.”

Severus had never spoken about the day he found out about Lupin’s secret before, Dumbledore’s word always haunting him, telling him to keep it to himself. But he had to admit, it felt good to let out his vexation, even if he wasn’t being completely honest. He wondered however, what you would think of Lupin had you been enrolled in Hogwarts with him, had you been in his place that night, near the brink of death, all for a joke. Would you despise Lupin as he did? Or would you continue to defend him?

In truth, he didn’t blame Lupin for that night. No, the blame fell upon those he called ‘friends’, those he’d trusted with his secret only to turn around and use his affliction to their advantage. Lupin’s fault was his own unwillingness to punish them for their actions, to let them parlance around the school like they owned it. It was his fault it had gone as far as it did, his fault for continuing to defend them afterwards without consideration for what may have happened that night.

Looking at you now, the blank expression you wore, he wasn’t sure how you’d react. It wasn’t often people could elude their emotions from him, but you were different, he could tell you were conflicted in thought. You’d fallen completely silent, something that had never happened before as you got the hint he was that student in his story, which would have meant Severus likely almost lost his life at Remus’ hand twice in his life. It was hard for you not to be biased. You’d known Lupin for years now and could hardly imagine him turning a blind eye to something like that, but you also had to admit, it wasn’t fair to Severus to be put in such a situation either.

“Listen, Severus, I understand how traumatizing an experience like that could be, but that’s all the more reason we must find a way to help the Wizards and Witches who’ve been cursed with such a horrible infliction,” you said sympathetically, your defensiveness melted away, replaced with a soft understanding tone. You respected his experience, his trauma, even if no one else understood, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t recover from that time, that Remus had to remain the villain in his eyes.

“Come with me, and perhaps we can clear this up with Remus,” you said, gesturing back to the venue, offering to moderate their reunion and help him confront his past. You wanted to help him heal, to help him see the other side of Remus, but it was clear he wasn’t ready to take such a step, rejecting your offer almost as quickly as you’d given it.

“No!” His words nearly jumping down your throat as he spoke, his eyes widened with a sudden burst of fear. He looked at you in a panic and saw the surprise you wore on your face, feeling guilty for rejecting so hastily. “I do not wish to speak with him.”

Your mouth gaped open, words lost on you as you saw the sadness in his eyes, the resentment and hatred he held. He’d been holding back all this time, trying to hide his pain, something you could tell he was rather used to. Your eyes scanned him as he hung his head low, analysing him, the sadness he carried over his shoulders. The evening hadn’t gone as he’d hoped, he was disappointed in the Award Ceremony and you’d misjudged the reason for his previous display of rebellion. “Is he the reason why you ran out on my presentation?”

Severus said nothing, staring at his empty glass as he brought his notebook closer to the edge of the counter, shielded by his arms placed on either side. He wanted so badly to go back to that moment where he was unaware of Lupin’s presence, his tainted hand in your research and simply enjoy your presentation. He hadn’t felt that sense of peace listening to you speak in such a long while, every horrendous thing in his life forgotten. He was a fourteen-year-old boy again, avidly taking notes in class on a subject he loved, a subject he excelled at. It was a feeling he missed, a feeling he was sure he’d never get the privilege of experiencing again.

“Your presentation was not what I walked away from,” he stated plainly, ending the conversation with his stiff, conclusive tone. You looked away out of respect for his choice. You hadn’t come here to defend the actions of a teenager, you’d accepted that award tonight in exchange for the opportunity to present your ideas and findings to a group of experts in your field in the hopes you’d inspire at least one of them to join your mission and you weren’t about to give up on that. Severus was a rather enticing person, carrying a fresh perspective that you could use. It also helped that you felt quite intrigued by him, wanting to know him better.

“I see. Well, perhaps we could discuss your thoughts on my presentation instead then,” you said, a smile pulling on your lips as you gestured towards the notebook he so carefully protected. You’d give anything to read it, get inside the mind of Severus Snape. “Over dinner? If you’d like.”

Severus froze, wondering if he’d heard you right. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to look back at you, tilting his head in wonder of the inviting look you gave him, the soft smile that hoped for a ‘yes’, the eyes that wanted to continue your conversation. He’d never seen anyone look at him with such interest before, let alone someone he himself admired. “You’d like to have dinner? With me?”

“If you’ll allow it,” you mused, your thoughts lost in your inability to accept anything but a yes to your invitation.

“What about them,” Severus gestured to the venue, rather confused as to your intentions. He wasn’t as well connected as everyone else in that room, he didn’t have the resources or money to offer you aid in your research. You had nothing to gain from dinner with him, an evening with him alone certainly not worth his scribbles. “What about Lupin?”

“I think you and I could have much more interesting conversations.” You could almost laugh at the insinuating that you were attached to the hip with Remus. He was your friend, a coworker and nothing more, surely Severus could see that. No, with him, it was much more than about making a friend or conversing about progressing your research. You felt drawn to Severus, your own presence clearly affecting him just the same, else he likely would have shunned you as he did the rest of Lupin’s friends, as he intended to do when he walked out on your presentation.

Severus narrowed his eyes at you, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. Was he meant to enjoy the privilege of your company after all? Had there been a reason for him feeling drawn to you, to your books all those years ago beyond curiosity? He couldn’t tell whether your invitation was strictly professional or if you’d hoped to gain a personal favour as well. But he had to admit, he was rather intrigued. No longer did he feel irritated with your social connections, nor did he praise you for your accomplishment. He saw something else, something new behind those eyes of yours; a spark of lust, a flame of passion, an interest he’d never seen anyone take with him before.

“What do you say?” you asked softly as you stood from your seat and took a step towards him. You smiled and offered him your hand, feeling rather confident he’d take it. You barely knew the man, but from what you’ve seen, what you’ve heard about him, he wasn’t one to hesitate, especially with those he loathed. In fact, you could tell from the moment you sat next to him he was just as intrigued as you were, that he held something more than admiration for you otherwise he would have made a scene and left when you brought up Remus.

He looked down at your hand and straightened his back, his grip on his notebook tightening as he hesitantly stood from his own seat and reached out to meet his coarse palm with yours. Your smile grew as you clasped your hand shut, leading him out the door without a moment to waste. You sped up your pace as you passed the venue, chatter to be heard on the other side of the door and took a sharp turn down the corridor towards the registry office of the building. The last thing you needed was for one of those vultures to find you and snatch you away from a peaceful dinner.

“Where are we going?” Severus’ commanded your attention as you continued walking down the hall, holding him tightly as he walked beside you, feeling rather awkward at the situation he’d found himself agreeing to. He could feel his heart beating faster, his hand ever so slightly trying to release itself from your grip, yet a small part of him hoped Lupin would walk out those doors behind him and see you with him.

“My room,” you said casually. Severus’ eyes widened, his confusion amplified as you stopped and took out your wand, waving it before a blank wall. An elevator appeared before you, its doors opening before you dragged him inside.

“What? But I thought-”

“Relax,” you cut him off, rather amused at how suggestive your comment had come out, how he shivered at the thought this was more than a dinner between two strangers, though you hoped after tonight, that title would be swapped out for something much warmer. “It’s not like that. You’ll see when we get there.”

Severus stayed quite as you let go of his hand, your warmth already seeping away as the cold returned to his palm. He looked down at his hand, pressing his thumb to his palm as he held it like he’d just been released of the most agonising shackles. It felt oddly empty, like they were forever meant to stay locked with yours, only to wither in pain when they weren’t. Looking down at your hand, he saw you ever so slightly rubbing your own fingers against your palm as you held a loose fist, your eyes fixed on the passing increasing number above the elevator until finally movement ceased and the doors swung open.

You nearly leapt out of the elevator, leaving Severus behind as excitement took you over. You couldn’t remember the last time you sat down with someone to have a simple chat, to socialise and enjoy life. These past few months had especially been quite the burden as the Society’s pressure in your presentation and award acceptance weighed you down. You had to submit in the end of course, only agreeing to attend their pompous event for the opportunity to pick the brains of those who would attend, but when you were up there, you could tell none of them truly cared for your research. None of them had any interest in the progression of Potions, the amount of potential it carried. They were simply there as investors, which of course came in handy, especially when you wished to hire as much talent as you could, but that wasn’t what you needed now, not after all those long hours working day after day, month after month. You needed a breath of fresh air, and for you, that was Severus.

Finally, you reached your destination, and with a wave of your wand, the door clicked open, Severus watching you step inside before following. He was astounded by what he saw as you closed the door behind him, like a two-story suite had been crammed into your hotel room. The windows stood tall, like the ones at Hogwarts, sunshine flooding in to illuminate everything in sight. A reasonably sized round glass table stood on the other side of the room beside the staircase, two doors standing behind it. Before him sat a large sectional couch, facing the fireplace and a rectangular shaped coffee table.

You walked around Severus as he admired the luxury you were lucky enough to bargain for when agreeing to attend the event tonight. You had no issue taking advantage of the privileges you’d been granted, knowing how much your attendance meant to them and their social standing to the rest of the Wizarding Community. You sighed in glee as you finally felt like you could relax, removing your outer robes and any unnecessary trinkets you’d put on for the sake of appearance.

“I hope you don’t mind,” you said as you removed your watch, placing it on the coffee table and grabbing the menu. Severus watched you as you walked over to the dining table, looking back to see him slowly removing his own outer robes, revealing the black vest and white button up he wore beneath it. “I’m more of a casual wearer myself.”

Severus nodded at your remark, feeling rather relieved he could finally let go of the pompous attire he wore, removing the cufflinks that had been bothering him all day. He rolled up his sleeves as he took a seat across from you, placing the cufflinks on the glass table.

“Order anything you like and make it for two,” you told him as you handed him the menu, eyeing the cufflinks he’d placed in front of him. He arched a brow at you as he stared at the prices on the menu, wondering if you were insinuating you’d pay for him as if he couldn’t afford it himself.

“The Society is paying for it,” you explained, leaning forward. Severus nodded in understanding, unsure of what to say. He could hardly believe he was sitting here in front of you, about to have dinner in the complete privacy of such a luxurious suite. He felt butterflies in his stomach as your words of being a casual wearer rung in his ears. Was this meant to be taken as a casual dinner then?

“How do I order?” he asked, never having the opportunity to stay at a hotel like this.

“Ah, just tap the tip of your wand over the name of the dish you’d like,” you explained, pressing your lips together in wonder. As he ordered, you picked up one of the cufflinks before him, the metal scratching against the glass of the tabletop. You were itching to figure out why a man who so obviously did not live in a life of luxury wore such glamorous clothing, attended an event where he didn’t fit in.

“You don’t strike me as a man who’d wear bold emerald cufflinks,” you said as you examined the cufflink, Severus placing the menu down as he watched you. Your eyes met and you immediately paused, his threatening glare rather terrifying. Placing the cufflink back, you retreated your hands to your side of the table and sat back in your chair. “Sorry. I was just wondering why you’ve come to an event you’re not comfortable with.”

“I didn’t know Lupin would be here,” he said as if it wasn’t obvious enough already.

“That’s not what I meant.” You shifted in your seat, not wanting to ruin the evening with a topic you knew he likely wouldn’t want to discuss. Your curiosity however overtook your better judgment, treading carefully in search of an opportunity to get to know him. “It’s just- you and I, we’re not like them, and you, your scene clearly doesn’t include high class hotels and 500 Galleon suits.”

Severus narrowed his eyes at you, placing his elbows on the armrest of the chair as he folded his hands in front of his lips. He leaned back in his chair, studying you like he did back at the bar, wondering what you were thinking. There was no denying the fact he wanted to make a good impression on you. For so long he’d yearned to be where you were, to be recognized as you had been and gaining your respect would mean everything to him.

“And why not?” he asked plainly, looking to find even a sliver of your perspective of him, to know what it was you were seeking from him and what you considered acceptable.

“You paid attention during my presentation, you weren’t just there to see me accept an award. More than that, you took notes, you have a clear interest in the subject of Potions rather than the status a Potioneer might have. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” you said with absolute sincerity, smiling softly as you encouraged him to open up if only enough to show you who he truly was. You were so tired of the fakery, the networking efforts made by those who showed up today, so imagine your surprise to find someone as pure as him, someone you could have a real conversation with.

“I simply appreciate true talent and the pristine amount of detail put into researching the progression of Potions,” he stated without so much as wavering in his tone. You were inclined to believe him of course, but you still couldn’t help but ponder over the possibility there was more to him than admiration for your work. At least you’d managed to get some form of truth out of him as he seemed to relax a bit.

“You flatter me.” Your smile grew mischievously, like you’d just captured a secret message hidden beneath his words only meant for you to keep as your own. “Can I assume you attended tonight for my lecture?”

Severus’ eyes widened the slightest bit before he looked away, adjusting his position in his chair as he cleared his throat. A giggle slipped from your throat as you watched him sit in the awkwardness of your question when your food suddenly appeared before you. Severus sighed in relief as he reached for the napkin, placing it over his lap before picking up his cutlery to dive right in. He could still feel the heat in his face from your insinuation and though your assumption had been correct, he would lay before the Bellatrix’s blade before admitting it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you said as you motioned to begin your meal as well. You kept your eyes on him as you placed your napkin over your lap, watching his lips twitch into a subtle smile for the first time that evening. You felt butterflies flourish in your stomach as you gazed on his expression, emotions you were sure he’d been used to suppressing emerging for your eyes and your eyes alone. He looked rather handsome when he smiled, his lips softening up the sharpness of his features.

Looking down at the dish waiting to be consumed, you couldn’t help but notice his choice was rather reserved, tasteful as all things on the menu were, but casual like he was playing it safe, needing to feel connected to what he knew rather than risk ordering something he’d never heard of before. But lucky for him, you weren’t too picky in your food choices, enjoying your meal as you continued to make small talk with Severus, the atmosphere lightening as the sun slowly set on your evening together. Time passed around you as you both captured this moment for yourselves, stopping the clocks in the bubble of your hotel room and lengthening your dinner as much as possible. But slowly your dishes were cleared and as you set down your cutlery after taking your last bite, you watched your dishes vanish. Time was up, yet you didn’t want to let go.

“Thank you for this,” Severus said as he wiped his mouth clean, vanishing his napkin when he was done with it. “I have to admit, this was not how I imagined the evening.”

His eyes were soft, his expression much happier than the one he wore when you first approached him. You gawked at him, unaware of the dreamy look you were giving him now. You had no idea why he’d come tonight, though you had your suspicions, but you were glad he did. He was a delight to talk to once he’d gotten comfortable around you, his lightened attitude amplifying the subtle beauty he held.

“And what were you expecting?” you asked curiously, hoping to get the confession you wanted out of him, to confirm your suspicions and perhaps open a door to a potential future with him.

“I suppose I’d only hoped to enjoy your presentation.” He spoke slowly, like he’d carefully picked out every word before speaking them. He felt his heart raging in discomfort, concerned for the thin ice he was walking across, trying to reach the happiness he saw on the other side.

“Nothing more?” You encouraged him, your voice echoing from beyond the ice, your smile inviting like you knew exactly what he had to say to safely cross over to you. He cleared his throat and looked away for a moment as he felt the heat rise to his face, his cheeks blushing a light shade of pink as he licked his lips, swallowing hard at the thought lingering in the forefront of his mind.

“I-I suppose I never thought myself lucky enough to engage in a conversation with you,” he pushed himself to say. His eyes slowly looked up from the table, meeting your gaze in an endlessly nervous state of desire. He carefully watched you, your smile growing as your eyes sparkled, clearly not appalled by his insinuation. He thought back to the speeches, conversations he’d play out in his mind whenever he read one of your books, always one sided, always filled with a need they’d one day come to life and it never seemed more possible that he’d get his wish than now.

“Then would you perhaps indulge me in your thoughts on my presentation?” you inquired, hoping this time, he’d show you what was in his notebook rather than shield them from you. Severus stared at you a moment, like he was very intently considering your request and whether or not he could trust you before nodding. He pushed back his chair and you jumped out of yours in excitement, already making your way over to the couch before he even got a chance to stand. You took a seat and waited for him to retrieve his notebook, feeling like you were about to take a peek into pandora’s box after the way he’d protected it earlier.

Severus cautiously took a seat beside you, notebook in hand. You were far enough away from him that you couldn’t read the writing on the pages as he flipped through it, but close enough that you could smell the lavender in his hair, the smell of fresh ink and parchment on his clothing and a faint smell of varying potion ingredients only a practicing potioneer could have. After carefully flattening the notebook, he handed it to you as if giving you the most delicate of flowers to hold.

Your eyes were wide as you placed it on your lap, your heart thumping in excitement as you scanned over the page filled with cramped notes so neatly written, filling up both pages laid before you. Your eyes travelled to the top of the first page, smiling as you saw today’s date written in the corner with the words ‘Society of Potioneers Award Ceremony. Presentation on Wolfsbane potion by (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’ written beneath. Your fingers hovered over the miniscule writing as you read along the page, flipping to the next, each word enticing you more and more. You had so much to say, so many ideas blooming as you continued through, remembering your own presentation and the correlation between his notes and your words.

“Severus, this is-” you whispered in such a stale tone. He’d been looking at you so intently, watching the expression on your face, checking you’d only flip forward in the notebook and not backwards, he’d completely been taken back by your sudden words. The silence had settled, thickened with such anticipation that even your small whisper had his heart skipping a beat. “You’re brilliant.”

Your words hung in the air, pinned in his mind as he pondered over their meaning, over how genuine they were. He wanted so badly to take your compliment and cherish it forever, but that wall he’d kept up since his teen years rejected it, pushed it away in fear of it causing harm in the future. He’d longed to discuss your research with you and now that he was being given that chance, he felt like he was spoiling it by remaining so silent.

“They’re just thoughts,” he mumbled as he looked down at his notebook.

“But they could be just what we need to propel our research forward,” you told him with excitement, continuing to read until you reached the final page, your fingers trailing along the sudden tough mark trailing to the end of the page, remembering the image of him walking out of the venue. You handed him back his notebook, respecting his privacy and the anxiety you could feel seeping off of him while you were reading his notes, you inched closer to him and faced him. “What would you say to a job opportunity with my research team?”

“I already have a job,” Severus said, almost regretting his own words. He couldn’t believe you’d just offered him a job opportunity, that you wanted to work with him after seeing the chicken scratch he’d scribbled during your presentation.

“Whatever your salary is, I’ll double it,” you insisted firmly. You straightened your back and held yourself up in determination. You’d decided. You had to work with him no matter the cost, he was more than just a talented potioneer as you’d first assumed, his talents wasting away at that school. If he’d only joined the research field years prior, perhaps you would have met sooner, perhaps you would have found a cure to lycanthrope rather than simply search for a temporary treatment.

“That’s generous but I have a commitment to Hogwarts, to the Headmaster.” Severus wanted so badly to say yes, to stay here with you and send Dumbledore his resignation letter without even heading back to Hogwarts tomorrow. He wanted more time with you, to know you more, to talk about your books, to work with you. But alas, the deal he made all those years ago wasn’t one he could afford to break, even if the old Wizard hadn’t kept his end of the bargain.

“Alright, what about the summer. You won’t be working once the school term has ended correct? Consider joining me this summer and if you enjoy it, perhaps I can discuss an arrangement with the Headmaster,” you tried to negotiate with him, making him an offer you were sure he couldn’t make an excuse for. You stared at him, waiting for an answer, but all you saw was an expression full of doubt, need and regret. You were sure he would want to jump at the opportunity as much as you, that he’d enjoyed your dinner enough to want to see more of each other, to work together after you saw the passion in his notes. But still he hesitated. Still he held back.

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he said softly, like he was worried if he spoke any louder, he’d be torn away from this moment. Never had he seen anyone fight for him as much as you did now. Never had he felt his presence actually wanted even when you knew he didn’t have the best history with Lupin, you still pushed to have him work with you. He was so incredibly flustered by the thought, thrown back and as much as he wanted to accept, to throw away his life and start a new one with you, he couldn’t abandon the Potter boy, especially after he’d proven himself in need of a silent shadow guarding these past few years. If he left, he was sure the boy would die within a year, the school falling apart, the war breaking out sooner than expected. His place was at Hogwarts, beside Dumbledore, fate had declared it so.

“Say you’ll at the very least consider it,” you pleaded with him, instinctively taking his hand in yours as you moved closer to him. “And perhaps we can discuss it further next time we have dinner together.”

You offered up your second plan, needing very much to see him again, even if it was for a few casual hours over a meal again. A date perhaps, a proper one where you didn’t have to sneak away from people like children. And as Severus squeezed your hand in return, you thought perhaps there was hope for you after all, that you hadn’t imagined the sudden spark that had ignited over dinner. Looking up, your eyes met his and you saw the softest smile, a twinkle of desire hidden deep within those dark orbs that carried the weight of the world.

“You’re welcome at Hogwarts at any time,” he offered in a whisper. He couldn’t find it in him to reject you completely, how could he after the rejection he’d known all his life. He wanted to keep the door open for you, to possibly pursue something with you if not a romantic or work relationship, then a friendship instead. You’d turned out to be such a breath of fresh air, something he hadn’t realized he needed, but he didn’t want to give it up all for the chance at redemption for his past mistakes. “If you’d just send me an owl in advance, I can make arrangement for you,”

“I’d like that,” you eagerly accepted his promise, making note to begin writing to him the moment you got back home.

“It’s getting rather late. I should make my way before it gets too dark.” Severus broke the moment with such reluctance, he almost wanted to take it back the second the words slipped his tongue. But he didn’t want to be rude and stay longer than he was welcomed, nor could he afford to stay a night in a place like this. He knew it was best to leave now before he got too attached to you that he’d find himself happily running away to the edge of the world if you’d ask it of him.

Your smile faded, your gaze dropping in disappointment and it almost broke his heart. You understood of course, but you didn’t want him to go. You would have gladly let him stay all night long if he wished it, but you knew how odd of an offer that would be, especially after his reluctance to accept your first two. Your hand slipped from his as you both stood, Severus gathering his belongings before making his way to the door. He opened it and took a step outside, turning around to face you.

“Until next time Severus Snape,” you said with one last smile, happy to receive one back. You closed the door before you did something you’d regret and drag him back inside, kidnapping the man for your own benefit and leaned on the door, throwing your head back as you closed your eyes and replayed the night in your mind.

Severus found himself unable to move the second the door closed and it wasn’t until he heard footsteps coming his way that his thoughts finally returned to him. He looked over to the side and saw a very stuned Remus Lupin frozen in his place as he stared at Severus. A smirk made its way to his lips as he finally found the strength to begin making his way out. Passing by Lupin, he held himself up high, sure to keep eye contact as his cloak left a billowing trail behind him. Tonight had truly gone much better than he’d expected, his own jealousy of you and Lupin conquered, a potential relationship brewing and he’d gotten the privilege all those pompous fouls downstairs would give an arm and leg for.

He’d left an impression on you, one he was sure you would not forget and with the cufflinks he’d left waiting for you to find in the middle of the glass table, he was positive he’d hear from you again. Nothing could ruin his current mood, not even the thought of returning to a school with a walking, living curse destined to bring about the end of him because he’d found the one thing he’d spent all these years searching for; a reason to keep going, a purpose beyond redemption, a chance at a normal life.

A/N: Ok I have no idea how this story ended up so long ,but then things happened and stuff... and here we are. I didn’t know how it would end, but I also didn’t want to rush the ending and just force them to end up together so hopefully I did it justice. This probably needs a part two lets be honest 😅

#Severus Snape #Severus x reader #Severus Snape x reader #one shot #Snape x reader #my fanfic #my writing #pro snape #snapedom

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ibijau · 3 years

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Jin Rusong Lives pt12 / On AO3

Nie Huaisang discovers that it's not easy to kiss a pretty man when you have a job to do

When he was very young, a year or so after the death of their father, Nie Huaisang had wondered about his brother being single. Since he’d personally been something of a brat, and none too impressed with the changes that circumstances had forced upon his brother, he had come to the conclusion that Nie Mingjue just wasn’t nice enough for anyone to like him that way.

Nie Huaisang, moved by pity, had promised his brother that he would stay with him all his life, but only if Nie Mingjue never made him attend sabre practice again. His noble sacrifice had been met with indifference, and Nie Mingjue had just sent him to train anyway, proving that he definitely was the hardest, coldest, least lovable person in the world, and deserved to be single.

Some years later, Nie Huaisang had once more wondered why his brother was yet unmarried. At that time, he had been mostly concerned by the fact that made him heir to Qinghe Nie’s leadership, a most horrible realisation to have when he only wished to enjoy his time in Gusu, kiss pretty people, and never learn a single thing in his life.

He had at that time befriended Jiang Cheng, whose views on love and marriage were entirely unlike what Nie Huaisang felt himself. And then, there had also been that list of popular young bachelors. The second proved that Nie Mingjue was desirable, while the first offered the consideration that not everyone longed for a partner. Nie Huaisang had tried to accept his brother the way he accepted his friend, though it annoyed him that he'd have to be the one producing an heir. He’d already started taking notice of Lan Xichen around then, and no girl in the world could have been even half as beautiful.

Later still, after the Sunshot Campaign, Nie Huaisang once again reconsidered his opinion regarding Nie Mingjue’s situation. His brother wasn't quite as cold as he pretended, and it happened sometimes that he would let his gaze linger on a pretty girl, though never long enough to be noticed. Some of those girls would have made fine mistresses for the Unclean Realm, and could have given Nie Mingjue the heir which would ensure Nie Huaisang would never have to be sect leader.

But as Nie Mingjue's temper deteriorated in the years leading to his death, after witnessing the violence with which he lost his life, the same violence their father had shown in his last moments, Nie Huaisang formed a new theory; if Nie Mingjue had never married, it was because he was scared of hurting others.

For a decade, Nie Huaisang satisfied himself with that theory. It went well with the image he had of his brother, noble and self sacrificing. It also helped rekindle his hatred of Jin Guangyao by reminding him that it was his actions that had robbed Nie Mingjue of the loving family he deserved. But the truth, Nie Huaisang was now realising, might have been more simple than that.

It was just so damn complicated to have a sentimental life as a sect leader, and even more so while raising a child.

Little Jin Rusong, bless him, was the sweetest child in the world, polite, obedient, affectionate. Considering how difficult his presence made things, Nie Huaisang felt immense sympathy for his late brother, who'd had to deal with a hellspawn like himself. Nie Mingjue might have thought that his little brother would embarrass him or throw a fit out of jealousy if he tried to flirt with anyone… and Nie Huaisang couldn't deny he would have taken great joy in doing just that.

At least, Jin Rusong meant no harm when he'd cried out just as Nie Huaisang, after a decade of hopelessness, was about to be kissed again by the man he loved. With the rough evening he'd had, the little boy also couldn't be blamed for being worried about falling asleep alone, so that had ended any chance for Nie Huaisang to have more time with Lan Xichen right then.

In the morning, Nie Huaisang had the pleasant surprise of seeing Lan Xichen enter the room at the same time as the servant who brought breakfast. Although they usually dined together these days, to spend breakfast together was entirely new.

"I have been awake for a while," Lan Xichen explained before Nie Huaisang could ask a single question. "Even here I usually follow our rules and…"

He trailed off, a touch of red blooming on his cheeks as he stared a moment at Nie Huaisang, before promptly averting his eyes. Perhaps he remembered that he’d boldly offered to break some of those rules only the night before. Nie Huaisang certainly hadn’t forgotten.

"I was awake and thought I'd come see you," Lan Xichen quickly finished. "I hope you don't mind?"

"I'm always happy to have you in my room," Nie Huaisang retorted, delighted to see the other man's blush deepen. He'd missed flirting. It had been a long while since he'd done that, and he felt rusty, but he was sure Lan Xichen would be forgiving.

The three of them sat down for breakfast. Nie Huaisang, quite innocently, tried to sit next to Lan Xichen rather than Jin Rusong, but the child protested against that, saying he wanted to be sitting close to Lan Xichen. He then proceeded to also monopolise the conversation, clearly delighted to have both of his uncles at his disposal. Both men still attempted to flirt a little, but eventually had to give up and settle for exchanging fond looks over the table.

When breakfast was over, Nie Huaisang helped Jin Rusong get dressed and ready for his day while Lan Xichen watched. They all three went to the classroom, and as they walked Lan Xichen stood a little too close, causing his hand to brush against Nie Huaisang every so often. At least, he did so until Jin Rusong grabbed both their hands, seeming in an excellent mood that morning and determined to enjoy both his uncles at once.

When Jin Rusong had been handed to his teacher, there was a brief moment of awkwardness. Nie Huaisang stood silent near the classroom door, suddenly as nervous as a teenager with a crush. His only comfort was to see Lan Xichen equally anxious.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Lan Xichen suggested. “We could…” he hesitated, pink dusting his face, and finished miserably: “we could walk.”

“I’d love to walk,” Nie Huaisang replied with too much eagerness.

Lan Xichen smiled, looking more shy and uncertain than he’d done the previous night. Nie Huaisang also found it harder to think about renewing their old connection, now that it was light around them. Without darkness to soften the world around them, he could remember every reason he’d given ten years earlier to argue against their little romance, every fear of a political disaster, of blackmail if they were discovered, of losing the last true friend he had. And yet even like that, Nie Huaisang knew he could not resist his feelings, not this time.

He was tired of denying himself the things he wanted, he thought as he reached out to take Lan Xichen’s hand.

And that was when Nie Funyu found them, and scolded Nie Huaisang for forgetting that he’d agreed to see a local magistrate that morning about a series of mysterious disappearances in a nearby town. The magistrate in question had been waiting for a while already, and was quite unhappy about it. Nie Huaisang had no choice but to follow his first disciple, and could not even offer Lan Xichen a chance for a lunch together, as it had already been agreed he would eat with that magistrate.

“Duty comes first,” Lan Xichen said with a thin smile that lacked its usual warmth.

It was a comfort, Nie Huaisang supposed, to know that he wasn’t the only one irritated by this unexpected interruption.

The meeting with that magistrate went well. Once the situation was explained, Nie Huaisang offered different ways to deal with it, so that some important people who appeared involved would not be offended if they were innocent, nor allowed a chance to escape he’d they’d done something nefarious. The magistrate appeared satisfied by the solution offered, as well as by the meal. Sadly, the man was of a curious nature, and hinted very strongly that he would like to be given a tour of the Unclean Realm, admitting he was fascinated with cultivation, though lacking any talent himself.

Nie Huaisang had no choice but to show him around. This, in turn, meant that the amount of work he would normally have done during the afternoon piled up. Even when the magistrate had left, Nie Huaisang found himself busy with correspondence, before having to give some lessons to the juniors, as Nie Funyu occasionally insisted he did, “so the little ones know who you are, zongzhu”.

Then some other business came up, so that by the time Nie Huaisang was finally free to join Lan Xichen and Jin Rusong for dinner, they were almost done eating and he was exhausted. Even if he’d still had the energy to think of flirting, Jin Rusong happened to be in a chatty and joyful mood, demanding to play, and Nie Huaisang had to oblige until both of them were too sleepy to go on. Lan Xichen was very graceful about it, and offered to keep Jin Rusong for the night so that Nie Huaisang had a chance to sleep more deeply.

The offer was immediately taken, and Nie Huaisang stumbled back to his room where he dropped on his bed half dressed, too tired to bother with clothes.

The following day showed promises of more contradictions to Nie Huaisang’s plans. While he would have wanted to finally continue his conversation with Lan Xichen, as soon as he was done with his breakfast, some juniors came to find him to complain about a problem they were having. Someone’s cousin had said something about someone else’s fiancée, who happened to be close friends with the young master of a small sect who now threatened everyone with a duel.

It was only a small dispute, but Nie Huaisang had seen what happened to arguments allowed to fester, so he gave the situation his full attention and wrote right away to some of the people concerned in an attempt to make everyone calm down. But then, since he had gone to his office to write those letters, Nie Funyu found him there and took the chance to make him review some bills that he thought were not quite right.

It was nearly noon when Lan Xichen knocked on the door of Nie Huaisang’s office. He appeared slightly disappointed to find that Nie Huaisang was not alone, which Nie Huaisang thought funny. Nie Funyu did not share his amusement, and his mood turned sour when Lan Xichen asked if he might keep them company. Nie Huaisang promptly agreed, which annoyed his first disciple. It would take a while until Nie Funyu no longer resented Lan Xichen for his former friendship with Jin Guangyao, but he would have to get over it. Nie Huaisang intended to keep Lan Xichen in his life.

He just wished they could have half a shichen to themselves to decide how to make that work.

An impossible wish, it seemed.

Still, at long last, lunch time came to free Nie Huaisang from his work. Not only that, but he knew that Nie Funyu was teaching all afternoon, meaning it would be that much easier to avoid work for a little while.

Lunch was unmemorable. Some elders insisted that Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen eat with them, complaining that their sect leader had neglected them lately. It was not entirely untrue, but Nie Huaisang wished he could have neglected those elders today too. It wasn't even possible to chat with Lan Xichen in such company, though since they were sitting next to each other, their hands accidentally touched frequently.

After they were done eating, Nie Huaisang promptly asked Lan Xichen if he would mind checking something with him in his quarter. Just as quickly, Lan Xichen agreed, and they both walked there a little more quickly than was dignified for two sect leaders, worried about more interruptions.

There were none. Nobody stopped them on their way to Nie Huaisang’s quarters, and they were allowed to finally be alone together again. Nie Huaisang felt like a mischievous teenager trying to escape parental supervision to get naughty with their crush. He found that he quite enjoyed that. He hadn’t felt this young in years.

"I'm glad you're taking your duties more seriously, but surely your sect can function without you sometimes," Lan Xichen said as they closed the door behind them.

His voice warried with such petulance that Nie Huaisang almost laughed.

"Xichen, were you getting impatient maybe?" came the teasing answer.

A slight frown appeared on Lan Xichen's face, before he stepped closer and took Nie Huaisang’s hand.

"Yes, I was."

He said it so simply, as if it were evident. Perhaps it was, after having waited so many years for this. Nie Huaisang was hardly any better. Patience had been his main quality for a while, but now he was tired of waiting.

"Well, we're here now," he said, breathless. "I'm all yours, Lan Huan."

Lan Xichen shivered at the use of that name, a first between them, and squeezed Nie Huaisang’s hand, with a tender smile on his lips.

That smile disappeared when there was a knock on the door and Lan Xichen glared at it. Nie Huaisang felt just as disappointed, but was starting to find some humour in the situation. He almost laughed as he freed his hand from Lan Xichen's.

Nie Mingjue was well avenged for every bit of trouble his brother had caused him.

“Come in,” Nie Huaisang ordered. “Oh. Jin Yixin, is there a problem?”

Jin Yixin came into the room and bowed with cold elegance, while at her side Jin Rusong tried to copy her posture. He looked very serious, the way he always did around Jin Yixin, clearly trying to impress his teacher and prove that he was a worthy student.

“I come to Nie zongzhu to make a request,” she said. “Some of the concepts I’m trying to explain to the young master would profit from outdoor demonstrations. I was hoping you would allow me to take him outside of the Unclean Realm? I’ve tried using the gardens to make my point, but they are too touched by human minds and it does not work.”

The request made Nie Huaisang frown.

It was nothing particularly strange, Nie teachers also took the younger juniors past the walls of the Unclean Realm sometimes, just for a shichen, to show something about… energies? It might have to do with energies. Nie Huaisang hadn’t paid attention as a child, and he still struggled with some of those concepts as an adult. What he understood, though, was that those concepts were important to cultivate in a solid, healthy manner, and he didn’t want to deprive Jin Rusong of a chance to learn well.

“Where would you go? And when?”

“There is a little field behind the Unclean Realm that’s uncultivated, and well within your borders,” Jin Yixin explained. “I was thinking of going there. Perhaps this afternoon? Of course it can wait if you’d rather check the place yourself first.”

“No, I think I see what you mean,” Nie Huaisang replied. “I used to go there sometimes to admire the view of the mountains, and to watch the birds that live around. I suppose there’s no harm…”

He hesitated. The idea of letting Jin Rusong leave the Unclean Realm, however briefly, however well accompanied, was deeply unpleasant. At the same time, a little field trip like that was likely to tire out the child, and if he could be convinced to go to sleep early…

They wouldn’t be going very far, he thought, and Jin Yixin came with the approval of both Jin Rulan and Jiang Wanyin. Nie Funyu, who had seen her train and even got to spar with her once, also vouched for her being a very strong cultivator. She’d taken part in the Sunshot Campaign even. Clearly she was someone who could be trusted with Jin Rusong’s safety.

“Take some of my disciples with you,” Nie Huaisang ordered. “And take some distress signals too. I don’t think Qinghe Nie’s reputation has fallen so low that anyone would dare to cause trouble so close to the Unclean Realm, but let’s take every precaution. SongSong, you will be very good and listen to your teacher, won’t you?”

The little boy enthusiastically promised, and was still grinning when Jin Yixin and him left the room to go find some people who might accompany them.

As soon as the door closed, Lan Xichen pressed Nie Huaisang against the nearest wall and kissed him, unwilling to risk any further delay. After a brief moment of surprise, Nie Huaisang wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist and pulled him closer, melting into the kiss.

It felt nothing like that miserable kiss they’d exchanged on the day of Nie Mingjue’s funeral. Back then it had felt like a farewell between them, while now Nie Huaisang could hope there would be more of this in the future. Lan Xichen’s passion in kissing him, the way their bodies were pressed together, certainly promised more.

They kissed against the wall for a while, impatiently clinging to each other. Then Lan Xichen, always so clever, suggested that there was a sofa right there, which might be more comfortable than to remain standing. Nie Huaisang felt tempted to point out that if comfort was an issue, his bed wasn’t very far either, and it would be even more comfortable. But the sofa was closer, and there was no urgency. They had found each other again at last, and had the rest of their lives to explore all they could want from that.

Although they’d started sitting on the sofa, before too long they were lying on it, Nie Huaisang straddling Lan Xichen, kissing him more slowly now as they allowed their hands to wander, enjoying accidental brushes of skin on skin, but making no effort to discard their layers of clothing. There was no rush, not now that they had each other, and Nie Huaisang thought he could have happily spent the rest of his life like this, nestled on a sofa with the man he loved, lazily kissing him.

Time passed around them without their notice, until a knock on the door forced them to return again to the world around them.

Nie Huaisang’s first thought was that he had to be cursed to never enjoy a single moment of peace. Then, noticing how the shadows had grown longer, he realised with some embarrassment that they’d been together like that for a long while, and it wasn’t so surprising that someone should be needing him for something or other. He tried to get up, only for Lan Xichen to hold him by the hips, keeping him in place. Nie Huaisang almost laughed, and seeing how handsome Lan Xichen was like this, flushed and with his lips so red, he couldn’t resist leaning for one more kiss.

Another knock on the door, insistent enough to make it shake, put an end to that. Nie Huaisang, surprised by such urgency, stood up. Lan Xichen did not stop him again, looking puzzled as well, and followed him when he went to open the door, both of them trying to put order to their appearance.

One of his disciples was on the other side, looking distraught and breathless from running.

“Nie zongzhu, there’s a problem,” he explained, speaking so fast it made him hard to understand. “The men who went with Jin Yixin and Jin xiao-gongzi have returned. They’ve been beaten up, they say they were ambushed and attacked.”

“What?” Nie Huaisang gasped, so shocked he had to support himself against the doorframe. “How…" A thought crossed his mind, and he grabbed the man's collar. "Where's Rusong?”

The man shook his head.

“Zonghzhu, he’s been taken.”

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin rusong #jin rusong lives #has it been nearly 9 months since I updated this fic? maybe. Who are you?? the fanfic police???#I'm procrastinating so hard on the time travel fic lol #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes

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sif-the-tsunami · 4 years

Text

When you fall apart

But this ain’t my mama’s broken heart.

Warnings: Yes, all of them. No smut all angst. and no promise of a happy ending. gallows humor, pregnancy loss, infidelity, self medication, spicy language.

Summary: Sy is a cheating bastard and his wife has had enough.

Pairing: Syverson, now a Colonel and his long suffering wife Josephine. (marriage is great guys, I promise.)

Just over 3,300 words.

This might not have been what you were expecting @oddsnendsfanfics

My mother was a genuine Southern debutante, I grew up with pictures of her on the walls with her gorgeous smile and pretty pearl necklaces. Blonde hair and green eyed, she was the most beautiful little slice of American apple pie. Her daddy was the ‘Old Money’ type, and she was his finest accomplishment, she looked, behaved, spoke perfectly. Never once have I heard that woman raise her voice to a man. Hell, I never heard her pass gas in front of anyone for that matter. She is the picture of privilege, she went from her daddy’s house to her sorority house to her husband’s house. Some how, even though she smokes a pack a day, she still looks like she could pass for being forty instead of almost sixty. The last time we saw each other, my friends told me they didn’t know I had an older sister.

Mama married a gentleman who had the good sense to enlist in the military to help support the lifestyle she demanded he provide for her. He was never around much but he gave her a nice house with a lovely front yard, and two little perfect children. He was another one of the old Southern types, I don’t think he ever outright said “I love you, Josephine,” or “I’m proud of you, girl.” Looking back, I don’t think anyone ever did that for him either, so he probably didn’t know how to tell that to me or my brother Theodore. I’m almost sure that he and Mama loved each other once upon a time. Daddy worked hard, he broke his body serving his country, and when he couldn’t do that anymore he broke his own heart trying to please Mama. She must have been disappointed in how her life turned out. She might have had dreams once, when she was younger. I’m pretty sure the last of them were crushed when Daddy died balls deep in the woman who used to perm my Mama’s hair.

Mama played the grieving widow perfectly, not a single person knew that they had been miserable for years. She has worn black out in public ever since. I think the only thing that has really changed is that she has started day drinking now because she’s lonely. I don’t blame her really. She pushed us really hard to be as perfect outwardly as she is, so it is safe to say that she is really disappointed in your truly.

You might be wondering why this all matters, dear reader. However, I find that it is important for you to know this when I tell you I’m remembering this sitting here in the county sheriff’s office, waiting on my Mama to come pick me up because my probably soon to be ex-husband and I got into screaming match, and I may have drunkenly thrown my bottle of tequila at my probably soon to be ex-husband’s head. The details are a little fuzzy at the moment.

“Josephine Syverson, your mother is here to pick you up.” The Sheriff’s deputy starts in his slow drawl, “Now don’t you go pickin’ no fights with your husband. You’re lucky he ain’t pressing charges. Go sleep it off now, Ma’am. I’m sure you two kids will work it out.”

I wait until he can’t see my face to roll my eyes. And low and behold, there she is, my Mama drove four hours to come and pick me up. She’s in a black vintage driving coat, and her hair is covered by a dark gray satin bonnet. It doesn’t matter that it is half past midnight, she is still the beauty queen she has always been. I drank enough Jose Cuervo tonight that my head is still swimming, but I walk with the grace and dignity she taught me.

“Oh my Lord, Josie, what have you done to yourself?” She asks. “Thank you, officers, I’ll get her back on track.”

We make our way out to the car and Mama unlocks the door for me. I slide in and as soon as my butt hits the leather of her seats, I start crying all over again. She gives me the packet of tissues she keeps in her purse then hands a little make-up bag.

“So, what was is this time, Josie, I swear to Lord Jesus that if he laid a hand on you, your brother and I will bury him in the back yard.” She says turning on her Cadillac. “Get cleaned up, you are coming home with me. Maybe James will be smart enough to figure out where you went.”

“Mama?” Who was this woman? She never talks like this.

“Come on, your mama isn’t as dumb as she looks. Although he evidently is.” She lights up a cigarette and offers me one.

“I quit when we started trying… Even after… well… everything, I didn’t start back up.”

She pats my leg. I unzip the bag to find makeup wipes, mascara, face powder and some brick red lipstick. We might not get along all the time but she is a damn life saver. I have black rivers of my own eyeliner and mascara from earlier today streaking my face. I clean myself up as much as I can and then reapply some make-up. “There, now that you are looking better, tell me what happened...”

“Where do you want me to start? I swear this started after his first deployment.”

“Okay, Josie, start there.”

James Syverson is an Army Ranger, I met him after he finished officers school. Because of the nature of military special forces, they deploy more often than most jobs in the military. I understand that they are under a lot of pressure during these deployments and because he is in a position in leadership I opted to give him as much room as he needed. The other officer’s wives informed me that I needed to recalibrate my expectations of what could happen. They warned me that what happens on deployment shouldn’t be held against him when he gets home. And I didn’t, until a girl barely old enough to visit a bar came up to my door asking for my husband with a hand on her belly. She was just as surprised to see me as I was to see her.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am. I just looked up Syverson in the phone book, and I didn’t know he was married.”

“Is it his?”

“Ma’am?”

“I can see that you are pregnant. Is. It. His?”

“I… I don’t know…” She said quietly.

“He is still over there. Do not come here again unless you are requesting a paternity test.” And I slammed the door shut. She did come back for the test results when he came home. Turned out that the baby wasn’t his. Small favors, right?

I never faulted the women who fell in love with him. I knew how special he could make them feel, its how I fell in love with him in the first place. After everything he’s put me through it almost doesn’t matter when it is just the two of us. All I have ever wanted was for it to be just the two of us again, but I don’t know think I can wait for him to retire.

“How many times do you think he’s done it?”

“At least once a deployment. The most recent one saw us at the movies last night. He was holding my hand like nothing had ever happened. When he was coming back from the concession stand, a little redhead stopped him and asked who he was here with. When she saw me, she looked like she saw a ghost. He came back up, handed me my pop, kissed my cheek and wrapped his arm around me. He said ‘I promise you, it is not what it looks like.’ but the bitch and her friend kept looking over their shoulders to peek at us. I saw her texting someone and then his phone vibrated, but he didn’t look at his phone until I wasn’t with him.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” She lit up again. “And you’ve just been sitting on this, the entire time?”

“Yeah, I learned from the best, Mama. I didn’t want to let you down. You taught me to never let them see me cry.”

“Oh, my baby girl...”

The rest of the night at the movies, I kept it to myself, I’ve had enough. The boiling, seething hatred I was feeling for both of them. I hate that they are always younger than me. I hate that it always makes me like I’m not enough. When I woke up this morning had a beer in the shower. I always save the last one for him, so taking the last one was a big “fuck you” to him. He tried to climb in with me until he saw me drinking in the shower.

“Woman, what are you doing?” He asked. Like he wasn’t the one who introduced me to the idea of a shower beer.

“I’m going to keep drinking ‘til my heart stops hurting, Sy. I don’t know what else to do. But whatever it is that we keep doing, I can’t keep it up anymore. Get out.” I have never denied him, no matter what he wanted. And up until this morning, I had been an amazing wife to him. In the fifteen years of marriage, he has only had to do his own laundry when he was away from home. And even then, he probable conned someone into doing it for him. I have lost almost every friend I have made from relocating so often. I have started and stopped working on my Master’s degree more times than I can count. And now here I am, mid-thirties with none of my own goals accomplished to show for all of the work I have done over the years. If I had opened my mouth, even once, about his indiscretions, he never would have made it to Colonel. Not once have I complained.

After I dried my body off, I walked into the kitchen, naked as the day I was born and grabbed my trusty kitchen sheers. I needed a change. He paused the game he was playing long enough to watch me walk past him with my scissors and the bottle of margaritas.

“Jo, it’s nine in the morning. Being a little dramatic, aren’t we? We going to church today?”

“Why, James? You’ve been yelling ‘Oh my god,’ between some whore’s legs fairly regularly, I’m sure he knows you are a big fan.” I walked away before he could reply, locking the door behind me to our bedroom. He pounded on the door a few times but got the hint that I was not in the mood to be talked to when I turned up Chris LeDoux as loud as I could play it. Then I went to go give myself bangs.

When the music fades, the house is silent. No video games, no football, nothing. I continue to drink from my bottle and the world becomes a little more tolerable. Now, I am not a heavy drinker. Sy teases me all the time about how cheap of a date I am.

“Josephine!” He snaps at me in his soldier voice and I drop the margaritas.

“Jesus fuck, Sy, why you gotta scare me like that.”

“Oh, you are the one getting scared, woman, I have never seen you act like this before.”

“That’s because you ain’t here every time one of your indiscretions comes knocking on the door of my house. Never once have I expected sainthood from you, James, I learned better after your first deployment,” he won’t look me in the eye, either he’s ashamed of what he’s been doing or he is going to punch a whole in the wall tonight. “You would have seen this if you had been around after my daddy died. This is your wife, Syverson, she goes a little crazy from time to time.

“You know how hard I tried to come home for that, that is not fair Josephine.”

“I’m sure you did try. I wish you would try a little harder when it comes to picking out these dumb sluts who think that you are just going to run away from home as soon as you come back from the sandbox. I have received notes on my car windshield telling me that you were going to leave me for them. How you loved them and you were just suffering with me. That I’m hateful, and spiteful, and they could treat you so much better then I ever could. What have you been telling these girls, James, for them to think I am some kind of monster? Haven’t I been a good wife to you? What did I do to you to make you hate me this much?”

“I had no idea that they were doing that. I don’t hate you, baby. You have been a better wife than I probably could have ever deserved. Is that what you want to hear? I know I’m a rotten bastard. How long have you been holding this in, Josie?” His face darkens, I can see all the rage boiling up in him too.

“Don’t you call me that name, you son of a bitch.” I spit at him.

“How long?”

“Since Cassandra came up holding her belly, waiting to tell you that she made you a daddy. Too bad it wasn’t the first time, or I actually might have been worried that you’d leave. I hadn’t even stopped bleeding yet before she tried to take you.” I snarled back at him. And he face drops. Twelve years ago, we tried. I was seven months pregnant when I lost our son. Sy’s squad was wiped out after a night of heavy combat. He barely made it out alive himself. I got a phone call about his injuries and I must have made a deal with the devil himself. I would put up with the womanizing, the long distance, the heartache, just please have him come up to me. I would give anything to save him, I had thought. An hour after I got the call that he had woken up and was safely on a ship in the Mediterranean sea, I started to go into early labor.

“Oh, fuck me. That long?” He whispers. He rubs his face, the stubble was getting long, unless he was out in the field, he kept himself within regulations. He reached out to hold me but I shrug off his touch. He walked away from me, thinking that maybe he might let me calm down and we would go back to being a picture perfect couple again. He could just do whatever he wanted and I will grin and bare it.

I cleaned up the mess I made then went back to the bedroom to put on something on me other than shame. We gave each other space until the evening came around. He came in to ask if I had any plans for dinner. Wrong question, buddy. I walked to the kitchen in my tight black yoga pants and a tank top, went to the liquor cabinet, grabbed my favorite bottle of tequila and took three long gulps.

“That’s my plan, worry about yourself.”

“You haven’t had any real food today, you need to eat something.”

“Eat my ass, Colonel.” With that he pins me to the wall, the room spins around me and I start thrashing against him. He’s got probably 100lbs on me and more combative training than I can remember, so as you can well imagine this is going super great for me. I stop long enough to see the tears forming in his eyes. “Was there ever anything special between us, did you keep any part of yourself just for me?”

“Josephine, you are the only woman I have ever loved. I never even implied that I had any feelings towards them. They knew from the beginning it was simply recreational. Jo, you know you are my best friend.”

“Then why do you keep hurting me? Why am I not enough, Sy? Why do they keep getting you at your best, and I have to put all of your broken pieces back together again when you finally do come home.” Remember every time he woke up screaming the names of his fallen friends. When we have to leave BBQ’s early on the 4th of July because the fireworks remind him of mortar shells.

“You are enough. You are more than enough. I couldn’t have made it this far without you. It has never been anything other than stress relief with them.” The first tear rolls down his cheek. “I love you, Pussycat, now please lets get some food in you. Are you going to be good?”

“Haven’t I always been good. Been good, but not good enough.” I whine and slide down the wall once his hands are off of me. Good lord, where the hell is my dignity.

He lets me go gently and leaves to make me a peanut butter sandwich. While his back is turned, I grab the bottle one more time and take another long swig. This is where the rest of my night is very fuzzy until I came to in the back of the squad car.

He evidently tried to take the bottle from me, I threw it at him, it went wide and smashed against the wall. He took me to the ground, just tried to keep me from hurting either of us and I screamed at him every vile thing I could think of until the sheriff showed up. They tried to take him in, seeing that I was a sobbing mess on the floor. I told them I tried to hurt him, so they handcuffed me and took me in. Before they drove off, James brought a sweater and my purse out for me. I watched a couple of nosy housewives standing at the end of their drive ways. I’m pretty sure I flipped them the bird and they looked at me with disgust.

Now I’m sitting here, in Mama’s Cadillac, licking my wounds.

“Why in the name of God have you not told me about any of this?” Mama asks, this is now her sixth cigarette. I think she’s trying not to turn the car around.

“I thought you would have told me to get over myself and save face.” I say as we pull to her house.

“No, baby girl, I wouldn’t have. No one, especially not my daughter, deserves to be treated like that. Ooo I never liked the boy. Your daddy used to say that cowboy was all hat and no cattle. Let’s get some sleep, Princess. We will go get your stuff in the morning.”

I make my way to my childhood bedroom and collapse down on the bed. Before I close my eyes for the night, I finally check my phone. He had been blowing up my text messages.

I realize that I have never apologized to you about my short comings. But I swear to you, I will get out of the army if you want me to. We can move anywhere you want to, we can start over, just the two of us. I’m so sorry I hurt you, I’m sorry that you kept this all from me. I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t love you. These where from six hours ago.

I don’t know when you will get your phone back, I love you. This was from before my mom collected me.

They told me you have been released from custody but didn’t say to who. Who ever picked you up asked them not to tell me. Are you safe?

I love you. Please. Let me know where you are, I’ll come get you. I hope that you are just ignoring me because you are asleep.

I reply to him with a simple Mama picked me up. Get some sleep. We will talk in the morning.

No ‘I love you’ from me tonight although it killed me not to tell him. Tomorrow, I will figure out if what we have can be saved. But that is tomorrow Josie’s problem.

#captain syverson #henry cavill fanfic #my apologies to henry cavill #henry cavill

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kiirokero · 4 years

Text

Zephyr (MYG)

Zephyr: A soft gentle breeze; Comforting wind on a hot summer's day.

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot series.

Masterlist

Pairing: Florist!Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Fluff, mentions of death (not major, don’t worry) Yoongles doesn’t know how to express himself, soft boi hours.

Note: Time for me to pass out. We’re back on schedule hoes. :)

Summary: First, it was flowers for your grandmother. Next, it was flowers for a sick friend. Now, its flowers because the handsome flower shop owner lives in your head rent free.

Word Count: 4.3k

A dense, luscious forest surrounds Bangtan Village. Filled with sturdy oak trees and delicate blooming flowers. As far as the eye can see, it’s nature. Trees stretch to the heavens, touching the sky with their strong appendages. Flowers draping over the petrichor forest floor, gracing those who walk through its lush maze.

It’s magical, really. Some rumour that Bangtan Village is ancient, rivaling the Mayans. Local historians say that the people here were protecting something that lays dormant in the forest. What that relic is? A mystery to most. But town elders always warn against wandering in the woods. Whispers of a magical heart that keeps the town alive roles through the town every year after New Year’s celebrations.

Because nobody knows why every year the village gets a new influx of natural resources

But thanks to this odd phenomenon, Min Yoongi never runs out of flowers. Peonies, sunflowers, hibiscuses. Every kind of flower grows in that forest, regardless if it scientifically should. Everyone collectively dismisses the impossible things that go on beyond those trees. Ignorance is bliss.

So because of the logic defying forest, Min Yoongi always has the best flowers. Which, in turn, means you always know where to find spider lilies.

Any event. Birthdays, weddings, minor celebrations. They always called for flowers. That was your motto. Flowers make everything better. Roses here, daisies there. Nothing can go wrong with flowers. They can make someone smile, ignite love, mourn a loss. Flowers can do anything, and your glad Min Yoongi indulges your thinking.

She loved roses.

Your grandmother was a bit old-fashioned. Not the most tech savvy, would rather do things by hand, and was a sucker for a beautiful red rose. Maybe it was because those were the flowers in her wedding bouquet. Or maybe its because your grandfather always brought her one every single day before he passed. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is your getting her those roses, one last time.

When you first walked into Min’s Flowers, it had a peculiar petrichor smell. Like the shop was in an endless cycle of spring. Solf showers and light rays. It was a comforting calmness that soothed the cracks in your heart. Every which was there was a flower resting in peaceful serenity.

All the flowers seemed to look dreary, or maybe the soft petals were acting as a mirror, reflecting the melancholy of the day. You wouldn’t know. The only thing currently on your mind was red roses. Red roses. You needed to get those red roses.

Walking deeper into the shop, the walls greeted you with blissful silence. Not a sound was made, not a person in sight, shopkeeper or customer. It was just you and the flowers. A cruel thing, really. Alone with beautiful works of art that couldn’t distract your racing mind with words, only looks. But everywhere you looked, memories of your grandmother lingered. You needed words to revive your slowly beating heart.

“Hey, can I help you with anything?” A gruff voice sounded through the hazy, quiet aura of the shop. Turning around, you saw a man with scruffy noir hair. He wasn’t the tallest, but wasn’t short either. He had sharp brown eyes that emanated a hidden warmth encased in cool glass. His skin was as pale as petunias and he wore a desaturated blue apron with flowers peaking out of the pocket.

“I’m looking for red roses...” You somberly informed, unable to keep the emotion out of your voice. His cat-like eyes slightly softened, flashing a look of sympathy for your lost soul. You wondered if he often encountered lost souls here in the shop, using his business as a pit stop in a wayward journey. “I have just what you’re looking for,” He said, gesturing me to follow him.

He led you through the shop in silence, like a drifting ghost. He floated elegantly through his shop, uncaring of the twist and turns that appeared in his way, even if there were few. Soon, he led you to an area full of roses, all different colors. White, blue, yellow. It was a beautiful image.

But he walked passed them, going towards a door in the back. “Where are we going?” You asked, stopping just a bit behind him. “Those roses are pretty, yes, but I think you need something more,” He said, face unchanging from a stoic expression. He opened the door, walking inside to grab something out of the artificially sun lit room.

Reappearing, he held a bouquet full of two dozen bright red roses. The petals undamaged, their color as lush as the day they came out of the Earth. “I’ve been saving these for a special occasion, I think they’d be of use to you now,” The man said, handing you the bouquet, You held them gently, afraid to damage the perfect flowers.

“How are they so perfect?” You marveled, unable to peel your eyes away from the beauty of which you held. “A lot of odd things happen in Bangtan,” Was his answer, nothing more. “Go on, I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” He said, putting a soft hand on your back, guiding you to the entrance you came in from.

“But I have to pay!” You protested, but the man didn’t stop guiding you. “Consider it a gift,” He shrugged. “But I don’t even know your name,” You argued, looking at him incredulously. “It’s Yoongi, what’s yours?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. “Y/n,” You answered. “Well Y/n, it was nice to meet you. Now go on, I hope those roses bring peace,”

You didn’t go back to Min’s Flowers for three months. You decided it would be best to mourn in your own way, by yourself. That didn’t mean your close friends didn’t keep an eye on you though, Jimin and Jeongguk would never let you forget that they were there for you. Whether it was late night junk food runs to Hoseok’s store or messing around with Taehyung at the bakery. They made sure you knew they were there, waiting for you when you were ready to be picked back up and put back together.

Which you were. You picked yourself back up and hammered yourself together. Life didn’t wait for anyone. Seasons still changed, flowers still bloomed, zephyrs still came and went. Maybe the tape you used to patch yourself up was still a bit brittle, maybe the glue you used to fill the cracks in your heart hasn’t quite dried yet, but you were okay.

And Jimin was not. Poor bastard caught a nasty case of the flu and has been miserable ever since. Jeongguk and you have been taking care of him whenever you could, and when he started complaining about missing the outside, flowers seemed like the perfect remedy. “I really like yellow and white chrysanthemums”

Those were Jimin's words when you asked him what his favorite flower was, and by golly were you going to get him the prettiest yellow and white chrysanthemums ever. So that’s how you found yourself back at the shop which aided your once wayward soul.

The shop still had that same comforting petrichor scent. Memories of the pixie like world that the flower shop simulated came back to you as you saw the same flowers in the exact same places as last time. When you first came to the shop, you had a heart leaking with melancholy. Now, you have a heart with scars and a mission to make your friend feel better.

“Oh, you’re back,” A familiar voice said. Turning, you saw the same man as before. He had mint hair now, standing at the counter. “That I am, Yoongi,” You said. You don’t know why the name stuck in your head the way it did, but you couldn’t forget it. Every time you thought about getting some flowers, Yoongi popped into your head.

It surprised Yoongi that you remembered his name. He thought that the interaction between the two of you was significant to him and him only. But hearing your soft utterance of his name made him freeze longer than he should’ve. “I’m surprised you remember me,” He said, cracking the slightest of smiles.

“You’re memorable, I suppose,” You chuckled, taking a few steps deeper into the indoor forest that was Yoongi’s flower shop. “So what brings you here this time?” Yoongi asked, not taking his eyes off of you. “My friend’s sick, so I wanted to get his favorite flower to cheer him up,”

Yoongi nodded, walking around the counter to stand in front of you. “Well, I can guarantee that I have it here. What are we looking for?” He said, voice unchanging from a dull tone. “Yellow and white chrysanthemums,” You said, and Yoongi didn’t need to hear anymore before he was guiding you once more through the shop. The floor was slightly wet, showing that Yoongi had watered the flowers recently.

Quietly, he led you to where he kept the chrysanthemums, gesturing one of his hands to the yellow and white ones. “Go ahead and pick. A dozen flowers are 9,000 won,” Yoongi said, walking away to do his shopkeeper things.

That day you stayed in the shop a bit longer than you expected. You and Yoongi talked for what seemed like forever. Maybe it was minutes, maybe it hours, you wouldn’t know. You didn’t care, Yoongi was like a breath of fresh air. A whispering zephyr during the summer solstice.

So you kept coming back, again and again. Every day after work you made your way to Min’s Flowers, eager to talk to your new florist friend. You would arrange bouquets with him, tell him jokes, watch movies on the tv he had in the back. No matter the day or the weather, you never failed to meet with Yoongi every single day. Sometimes with Jimin and Jeongguk, sometimes alone.

You couldn’t get enough. Yoongi couldn’t get enough, and that scared him.

Min Yoongi was a quiet man. He preferred to stick to himself, hoping to limit the amount of human interaction he had on a daily basis. It’s not that he didn’t like people, per se, but he just rarely got along with others. It was a problem for him since Kindergarten. Being overly blunt with peers or arguing with the teacher.

He just drove people away with his cold aura and “unforgiving” personality. Yes, Yoongi had friends. He had Hoseok, Namjoon, Jin, Taehyung, even Jimin and Jeongguk hung out with him from time to time. But he’s never had that certain type of connection with someone.

Yoongi used to think he was critically apathetic. That no matter how much he wanted to bounce off the walls in celebration when Taehyung met his business goal, he couldn’t. He couldn’t muster up anything other than a “That’s good, I’m happy for you,” And he was! He knew he was, but he didn’t quite express that he was.

It left Yoongi feeling inferior, like he was a bad person. What kind of friend comforts you after a breakup by saying, “Love is dead anyway,”? Min Yoongi, apparently. Yeah, Yoongi had feelings. Things made him sad, mad, happy, annoyed. He wasn’t entirely broken. But those feeling felt like they were dampened, diluted.

“Aren’t you happy? Sad? Mad?” Those were the words Yoongi dreaded, because the answer was always yes. Yes, he was happy that Jin got a girlfriend. Yes, he was sad that Jeongguk couldn’t find the person painting flowers all over Bangtan village. Yes, he was mad Jimin shattered one of his terracotta pots. He just didn’t express it well.

But you never seemed to care.

You took Yoongi’s blunt words at face value. You believed him when he said, “That’s funny,” at one of your embarrassing childhood stories. You didn’t question why he wasn’t crying during “The Notebook” even if the tragic story silently broke his heart. You took his small smile just as seriously as you would a full one. That made Yoongi happy, even if he couldn’t express that to you.

You didn’t treat Yoongi’s lack of expression as a bad thing. You didn’t think he was cold and uncaring, because you knew he was. Actions speak louder than words. When he bandaged your ankle after you slipped in a puddle one day in the shop. When he gave you half of his granola bar after hearing your stomach rumble. Or how he never fails to ask how your day went, even if it sounded rather uncaring to the average person.

Yoongi didn’t know when it happened or how. Yoongi didn’t know why your simple touches turned smouldering to him. Or why your smile was a picture he’d look at forever. He doesn’t know when he started eagerly looking at the clock, waiting for 4pm when you’d undoubtedly would come visit him at the shop. Yoongi didn’t know when it hit him, when his horribly suppressed emotions made him feel something like no other.

Yoongi didn’t know when he fell in love with you, but damn did he fall hard.

“Alright Yoongs, I agree with you on most things, but mint chocolate ice cream is definitely not it.” You argued, poking his carton of green ice cream with your spoon. “Well, coffee-flavored ice cream is weird too,” Yoongi retorted, stuffing a spoon full of ice cream monstrosity into his mouth. You dramatically gasped, “Yoongi! Coffee is totally a valid flavor,” You laid your head on the table inside Yoongi’s back room, putting a hand to your heart, “You wound me,”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, going back to his pint of frozen goodness. “You’re ridiculous,” He said, shaking his head. “Hold on, I speak Yoongi. You just said that I’m funny and you love me,” You teased. Yoongi felt his face slightly flush at your words, but he cleared his throat, changing the topic. “Whatever, wanna arrange a wedding bouquet with me?”

You quickly sat up, stars in your eyes as you ecstatically nodded your head. “Hells yes!” Yoongi hummed, grabbing both pints of ice cream and putting them away in the mini refrigerator he had. “Let’s go then, I already have my work space set up,” He said, walking out the room to which you happily followed him.

“So, a marriage? Is it a big one?” You asked. Yoongi shrugged, sitting down in his work chair to which he already had a spare one set up next to it. “I guess, I mean, how big can things get in Bangtan Village?” He said, picking up roses and cutting off bits of their stems.

“I dunno Yoongs, remember that time you found a huge sunflower in the forest? Bangtan Village may have a small population, but things can get pretty weird here,” You chuckled, joining Yoongi in his somewhat tedious task. “Yes, you are correct. Many things in that forest surprise me.” He said, nonchalantly.

“Really? Are there fairies? White stags? Gremlins?” You asked, turning towards the man contently snipping away at the stems next to you. “You and your fairy tales,” Yoongi sighed, secretly finding your interest in the unexplainable cute.

The two of you worked together in silence, enjoying each other's presence as the artful skills Yoongi had with flowers created beautiful bouquets. But the silent atmosphere was suddenly broken when your phone rang. Fishing it out of your pocket, Jeongguk's face appeared on the screen. You excused yourself and answered the phone outside, leaving Yoongi alone in the room. To him it felt a bit colder now.

A couple minutes later, you peaked your head in the door, gaining Yoongi’s attention with a smile. “Sorry to say this Yoongs, but I have to help Jeongguk with something,” You said. Yoongi felt disappointed, but his face remained unchanging. “Oh... Okay... Do you- Nevermind,” Do you have too? Is what Yoongi wanted to ask. He didn’t want you to go, he wanted you to stay and make pretty flower arrangements with him. But he couldn’t express it.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, don’t miss me too much, okay?” You joked, bidding the gruff florist a farewell. Yoongi tried to. But he really did miss you. Not only that, he felt... Jealous... He found himself wishing he was Jeongguk or wishing that you left your phone on silent so you wouldn’t hear his call.

It was selfish, Yoongi knew that, but that didn’t mean the feeling didn’t go away. He didn’t like this feeling. His emotions may feel weaker than others, but jealously always came on strong. Why did he have to be like this? Why couldn’t he just admit his feelings for you, ask you out on a date, tell you all the things that ran through his head about you?

He needed to do something. What if Jeongguk made a move on you? What if you guys were kissing right now? Or worse, on a date... Yoongi’s heart felt heavy. His heart was heavy and his stomach was queezy.

One good thing came from Yoongi’s less than normal emotional responses. It meant embarrassment and shame were less of a bitch. Still total bitches, but bitches on chill pills. “Alright,” Yoongi told himself, “Operation fuck my emotional response and ask Y/n out on a date is a go,” Yoongi immediately pulled out his phone, dialing his friend Jin.

“Hello!” Jin answered. “Hyung... I need your help with something.” Yoongi said, his voice deadly serious. “What’s up?” Yoongi took a deep breath, wiping his sweaty palms on his apron.

“You have a girlfriend...” Yoongi blurted out

“Yes...?” Jin chuckled

“And you asked her out,”

“That is correct.”

“How did you do that?”

Yoongi heard Jin’s squeaky laugh through the phone. “What?” He asked, confusion clear in his voice. “How d'you ask her out...?” Yoongi asked again. “I told her that I had feelings for her and asked her to go out with me,” Jin answered, most likely shrugging those broad shoulders of his. “How were you able to express your feelings?” Yoongi sighed.

Jin was well aware about Yoongi’s trouble expressing himself in a way that didn’t make kids cry from his scary, brooding face. He had even helped him on a few occasions when he had to apologize and look like he meant it, (Whether he really did or not) But expressing a feeling like a crush or even love, was different for everybody.

“Yoongi, are you trying to ask that Y/n girl out?” Jin inquired, hearing a thing or two about you from when Yoongi dropped hints here and there. “Yes...” Yoongi said, resting his chin on his hand in defeat. “Yoongi, buddy, there’s no “right way” to express your feelings to somebody, you just have to do it in a way that is right for you.” Jin advised.

“But the way I express things isn’t particularly... Nice,” Yoongi said.

“Yoongi, if she likes you too she’ll accept that your just you,” Jin stressed, “And if what you tell me about the way she treats you, I’m sure she’ll understand just how hard and serious it is for you to admit something like this,”

Maybe Jin was right, you’d get that he’s basically head over heels for you, right? You know how he operates. You always treated him like a normal human with normal expressive capabilities. Okay, he’ll do it.

Yoongi can’t do this. What was he thinking? Inviting you over at 9pm to “help him with flowers” was probably the worse idea he’s ever had. You probably think he’s a weirdo. More of a weirdo than he actually is. What is he supposed to do?

Well, it was too late. Because you just came barging through the door with a bag of takeout and that beautiful, blinding smile on your face. “Yoongs!” You exclaimed, placing down the food and giving him a hug. “Another emergency flower order?” You asked, taking out styrofoam containers and disposable chopsticks.

“Um... No. Yes... No,” He said, unusually indecisive. Yoongi sighed, sitting down at the table and taking a huge bite of the food that you handed him. “Yoongs, are you okay?” You asked, brows creased in worry. “I’m fine,” He shrugged, but you knew better.

“Are you sure? You seem a bit off,” You pushed, hoping he would give you the honest answer. “Mhmm. I just- uh... I’m just tired,” He answered, turning his attention back to his food. You frowned, picking your lukewarm dumpings.

You liked to call yourself a Yoongi translator. You knew a lot about his body language and usage of words. “I’m fine.” Usually meant just that. He was fine and meant it. But paired with his odd behavior just moments ago, you knew something was up.

But you also knew that Yoongi wasn’t an expressive person. He didn’t show powerful emotions very often. Yeah, he’s genuinely smiled before and chuckled. However, that was few and far between. Yoongi wasn’t good at expressing himself, and now that fact only worried you more.

“Hey Yoongs, you know the meanings of different flowers right?” You asked, brewing up an idea in your head. “Um, yes. You revealed that embarrassing fact when you snooped through my old books.” He said, raising his eyebrow incredulously. “What are you planning?” He asked.

You said nothing, instead opting to grab Yoongi and drag him out into the store. “Tell me how your feeling, but with the flowers,” You said. Yoongi looked at you like you’ve grown 3 head, “What?” He asked, still sounding iconically unimpressed. “I know something’s bothering you. I know it’s hard for you to express things sometimes, so tell me without words,” You explained, urging Yoongi to do as you say. “You don’t know the meanings though,” He argued. “Wrong. I studied them for a month straight to impress you. It’ll be fine,” You gave him a smile, and he felt his resolve breaking.

Yoongi thought about it for a second. Originally he was planning on just forgetting his entire plan and watching trash tv with you in the back until the sun came up, but this could work. Does he want it to work? Will you understand what he means when he gives you a pink camellia? Will you be weirded out if he presented you with red chrysanthemum?

It was worth a shot.

Yoongi sighed, giving into your admittedly smart idea. This could work. Yoongi ran around the shop, picking out flowers of different kinds and colors, coming back to you with a messy bouquet. “Okay, lets begin. You won’t have to talk or explain, you can just nod your head,” You said. Yoongi nodded, handing you his first flower.

A yellow hyacinth.

“Jealousy? Are you jealous of someone?” You asked,

Yoongi nodded.

A vine of ivy

“...Friendship? A friend? Are you jealous of a friend?”

Another nod.

Gardenia

“Secret love... You have a crush on somebody?” Your heart stung a bit at that one, but you schooled your emotions. This was about Yoongi, not you. “Your jealous of your crush?” You asked, but Yoongi shook his head no. “Your jealous of... your crushes friend...?” You guessed, Yoongi nodded, stoic face still unchanging.

A red columbine.

“Anxious, your crush makes you anxious?” You asked. Yoongi didn’t answer right away, but he lifted his hand and made a “sort of” motion. You racked your brain again for a moment. “Having a crush... makes you nervous?”

Yoongi nodded

“Is it because your bad at expressing yourself?”

Yoongi gave you a ‘duh’ face, holding out another flower.

A yellow carnation

“They rejected you?” Yoongi shook his head, pointing back to the red columbine, “Ohhh, you’re scared that they will reject you.” A nod.

Yoongi had one more flower left, but he didn’t give it to you just yet. He hid it behind his back, away from view, so you opted to cheer him up a bit in hopes that you’ll be able to comfort him enough to express this last thing. “Yoongs, you’re a great dude! Anybody would be lucky to have you! Sure, maybe your not as dramatic as me, but you care in your own way. That’s all that matters,” You said, giving him a smile.

Yoongi looked away from you to the side. He wasn’t usually a nervous person. Why is he so nervous? Why is this the one emotion that’s cripplingly strong? He could do it. He didn’t even have to say anything, just hand you the goddamn flower. He’s psyching himself out. Quickly, he thrusted the flower towards you without thinking.

Chucking, you took it in your hands

A red rose.

I love you.

“Yoongi, you should give this to your crush, not me,” You chuckled, but Yoongi didn’t move, just stared at you with unimpressed eyes. “Yoongs, you don’t mean...” “I love you,” He blurted out, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. “Y-You do?” You asked.

One last nod.

“Sup loser,” You lovingly greeted your grumpy boyfriend, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Yoongi rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around your waist from where he was sat in his work chair, meticulously finishing up his last order of the day. “And you claim you love me when you treat me like that,” He said, voice gruff and scratchy from not using it for a while.

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too,” You chuckled. Yoongi bent down under the table and grabbed a flower, wordlessly handing it to you. “A red camellia?” You asked, taking a whiff of its pleasing aroma. “I’m expressing,” He said, and you nodded, understanding.

Yoongi’s gotten a bit better with expressing himself, but it can still be hard for him. As a solution, he talks to you in flowers when he wants to say something but can’t form the words. “You’re the flame in my heart too Yoongs,” You smiled, kissing the top of his head

Yoongi might not know the exact moment he fell in love with you. All he knew is that it happened swiftly and silently.

Like a zephyr on a warm day.

#yoongi #min yoongi #suga #yoongi x reader #bts #bts fic #bts oneshot #yoongi oneshot #fluff

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