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evertriedsoywithyourpopcorn · 3 years ago

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5 Reasons Roman Is Infuriating (And Why I DO NOT have a crush on him)

(Logince with a bit of denying and pining) Read on AO3

My first fic, based on my Logince drawing (If someone ever wants to make anything based on my art, feel free to ask. Making content is hard and people fleshing out concepts is always fun.) Word count: 3641

Tw: Cursing, Food mention, Balloon popping, Remus being his authentic self

Character’s: Remus, Virgil, Janus, Logan, Roman (At the end), Patton (Mainly implied)

~~~

He had everything ready.

"Ahem."

Three heads turn to look at him.

"Logan, I really don't understand why you're doing this. You know I'm literally the Lord of the Lies, right? I can tell when you're lying."

"Falsehood. I am here specifically to prove to you three, the ones that have doubted me the most, what I think of Roman, so that you'll stop teasing me about emotions that aren't even there." Logan says, standing in front of a long classroom table. Virgil, Janus and Remus sit there, each maintaining their own postures and looking at him with disbelieving expressions.

"Logan, we can see your heart boner from here. You really think you can convince us with a slideshow presentation?" Remus picks his teeth, seemingly bored of the idea.

"That's exactly what I'm doing- What? Why would my heart have a boner? It doesn't have the proper parts to do that-" Logan looks lost, clutching the presentation button in his hand.

"It's an expression, Pocket Protector. It means you've got feelings for him." Virgil sighs.

Logan squints at him. "Of course I have feelings for him." Logan looks behind him, to the SmartBoard behind him. The board turns on, displaying the presentation title. "And those feelings are feelings of irritation. My name is Logan Sanders, and welcome to my Ted Talk."

There is a collective sigh from the others.

Logan takes a pointer stick (the one with the little hand on one side) from a holder on the wall, and points at the words on the screen. "This is 5 reasons why Roman is infuriating. And unlike your cognitive distortions may suggest, I DO NOT have a crush on him." He gestures with the stick where the same thing is written. "So, let's begin."

~~~

1. He likes to insist that he's the most handsome side, despite us all looking like Thomas.

It's ridiculous. All of their traits are reminiscent of Thomas's.

There are some mild changes they go through when they aren't summoned, but they are just slight shifts. For example, Janus and Remus both have different long hairstyles, and they all have a bit of a hair color change. Their features do shift too, emulating ones Thomas has seen over his lifetime that he'd associate with their personalities.

However, in person and in the mindscape, Roman really thinks 'he's the sh*t' (Virgil taught him that expression). He flaunts his beauty over everyone else's, strutting like the prettiest peacock in the flock. Sure, he's good looking, but the same level of good looking as all the other sides.

"You're all so handsome. But not as handsome as me." Logan recalls him saying in an episode.

He tries to use it to one-up the other's, even though they all know they look the same. He also enjoys flaunting his ego, attempting to emulate a lifestyle of the rich and famous when he feels like it.

It's rather ridiculous.

"You think he's good-looking?" Remus coos.

Logan glares, and changes the slide of the presentation.

2. He fights everyone all the time. (Except for Patton)

It seems that Roman has made the most rivals out of everyone.

He's rivals with his brother, he's got a rivalry with Janus but with more betrayal behind it, he's got his past rivalry with Virgil, even though now they're the closest friends, and despite making up several times, Logan is also his rival. Patton seems to be fine, despite their post-wedding event. Logan believes Roman is too worried of defending what he believes in against the literal embodiment of Thomas's morality.

"So, you two have tried making up, but have you considered... Making out???" Remus pitches, his smile all teeth.

Logan sputters a bit. "Puh- Wha- I don't think that would work."

Logan has in fact not thought of making out with Roman, thank you very much. Not even when they're so close, passionately arguing about who-knows-what in the spur of the moment, where it would be so easy to move just a little bit closer and connect his lips to the soft pink ones of the prince.

He has not thought about making out with Roman, because he does not have a crush on him. Period. End of story.

The two of them argue a lot. Whether it's how Thomas should spend his day, to the Chicken or the Egg dilemma (Logan knows he's right, by the way, Roman just won't see that the egg came first), to the ideal temperature for a heating pillow, to the best Crofter's flavor. They can range from productive, to stupid, and by the end of it they may just be fighting about nothing at all.

They jab at each other, come up with clever arguments, and although they're technically fighting, it sometimes feels more like a duel.

"Or a mating ritual." Virgil says under his breath.

"These points don't sound very negative." Janus adds, twirling some of his hair with his finger.

"It is negative. We fight a lot. He fights people a lot. Every issue seems to be a battle to him that he can outmatch, despite being better suited as a civil discussion." Logan stands taller, trying to defend his point.

"Well, that makes sense. I understand this point now. Go on." Janus waves his gloved hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Alright." Logan clicks his presenter button, and the slide changes.

3. He's loud. Super loud. All the time.

From singing to dancing to bantering, there never does seem to be a dull moment when Roman is around. Some may call it nice, but Logan would say that's a very polite description. It certainly isn't nice when Logan's trying to get work done, or watch a movie, or enjoy a peaceful breakfast, or most of the time really.

Logan has stopped working outside when he's trying to be productive because Roman will, without fail, come in singing, and then start a little fight with Logan that distracts him from his work and renders him unproductive for a long time because all he can think about is Roman.

"Hm... Wonder why that is." Janus interrupts, rolling his eyes.

"Well, you don't need to wonder. I said it was because of our fighting." Logan nervously adjusts his already immaculately placed glasses, resuming his point to his slide presentation.

It's odd, because sometimes even without leaving his room, he can still hear the sounds of Roman's voice in his head. He theorizes the absence of all that noise is making him subconsciously fill it in ( even though his mind also provides him with clear images of Roman's smile).

He can't escape the noise on movie nights. Roman will sing along to any song, scream at the most poorly-timed jumpscares, and no matter what, criticize the movie. Logan does participate in that last step from time to time.

During dinners, it depends. Sometimes, Roman will come in and do his thing, sometimes he'll make a dramatic entrance, grab a plate and then go off to work on something, and sometimes he won't show up at all, off on a quest in the imagination. Those particular meals are peaceful. Sometimes they feel empty, but so far, no one else has complained. Especially considering with Remus' and Janus' seats added to the table, dinner can be a wild event.

Sometimes, when Logan gets lonely, he'll bring his work outside. Every time, he can guarantee that Roman will be there eventually. He provides a healthy distraction, and he always feels much lighter after a bantering session.

But most of the time, he just can't stand it. How can one be so flamboyant for so many hours of the day? Logan had theorized it had something to do with overcompensation, his need for validation and attention, but then thought it was strange theorizing about his friends and went back to work.

Overall, not the worst trait, but it being applied to every scenario adds to the fact that he is infuriating.

"Hold on, can we circle back to the part where you said you thought of him smiling-" Virgil begins, only to be interrupted by Logan pointing his pointer at him.

"No, we will not. Next point."

4. He makes up stupid nicknames.

And he makes a lot of them. Even during serious talks, you'd think he had forgotten your name and was too scared to ask, so he supplies an abundance of back-ups to make you feel special. And they are quite varied, though all slightly jabbing. There are play-on-words, references thrown about... It would have impressed Logan, had all of his designated nicknames not revolved around him being a nerd.

"Hey Microsoft Turd."

"I need your help, Egghead."

"Listen here, Erlenmeyer Trash-"

"Calculator Watch."

"Oh Book Geeeerm~"

"Sure thing Specs."

Logan actually didn't mind specs, but his point still stands. All insulting, clever, but still stupid nicknames. Sometimes, he wonders if Roman keeps a book of them around. Somewhere in his room, filled with all the names he'll unleash onto his unsuspecting companions. Logan may have tried to come up with a list of his own in retaliation, but he couldn't think of anything Roman would think was clever. He spent almost a full night on it, hair a mess, glasses askew, head resting on his desk as he tried to come up with something at least remotely good enough. It interrupted his perfect circadian rhythm. Never again.

Except for the next night, where he tried the exact same stunt again, but that doesn't matter.

What does, is that all of those factors cause aggravation. He always feels weird when Roman gives him a nickname, varying from annoyance to a strange tingling.

"Are you saying he should stop?" Virgil interrupts, frustrated. "This point is going nowhere."

"I-" He's not sure. Although some of the insults are quite jabbing, Logan does want to support Roman's creative process. Not to mention, the nickname ‘specs’ oddly does hold a place in his heart.

"OoOoOoohhh, I have an idea!" Remus cackles. Although Logan is hesitant, he gestures to continue. "Okay, so pinky swear I won't try anything on you, but just close your eyes, and imagine how this nickname would make you feel if Roman said it."

Logan apprehensively closes his eyes, and Remus does nothing but lean slightly forward in his seat, and puts on his best Roman impression. Which is pretty good, considering they're twin brothers.

"How are you today, my love?"

Immediately, Logan flushes bright red from head to toe, covering his face in his hands and squirms. Remus's cackling intensifies by a tenfold, and the other two are poorly failing to contain their laughter.

"That's- That's- That's... N-not a nickname. Th-That's a p-pet name."

"Awww, but you're blushiiiing!" Remus squeals in amusement.

"Falsehood. N-no." Logan says, not enough bite in it to hold value. "We are going to move on now. That just... caught me off guard." He says, adjusting his tie several times, trying to compose himself. "The point is, his nicknames are stupid, and I don't like them- No, don't look at me like that Remus even that one- so it adds to his infuriating nature." Logan grabs the presentation button and clicks it aggressively to the next slide.

"And now, for my concluding point."

5. He is incredibly and willingly dumb.

Sometimes Logan thinks he wouldn't be surprised by the illogical things Roman would say. And then he gets proven incredibly wrong.

"Much like your... 'illogical feelings', mayhaps?" Janus drawls.

Shush, Logan is talking.

Granted, both Creativity twins have proven to be rather illogical, as they are embodiments of creativity, a force that knows only slight bounds to logic. Only with a defying mind can people push boundaries in the advancement of society. That doesn't mean however that those defying minds need to be intelligent.

"I believe Virgil specifically had called Roman a.." He takes out his special cards, flipping through them. " 'A Himbo'. Judging from his past and present behaviors and from the definition itself, it is safe to assume that yes, he is in fact a Himbo."

One instance he can remember is during a picnic in the imagination. It was Patton's birthday, and Roman wanted to do something special, so he set up a picnic for them all to attend. Logan doesn't enjoy visiting the imagination as much, as when he's there, things become more realistic and that makes him feel like a burden. Regardless, it was for Patton's birthday, and so he decided it would be polite to come along.

Everyone was guided by a trail of flowers to an opening in the forest, where a giant picnic blanket was laid out, pillows thrown around, and a large picnic basket stood in the center. There were many balloons of pastel pink and blue tied around, and the birds were chirping in a joint melody. It sounds almost like Happy Birthday.

Logan, as he approaches, hopes that his influence won't cause ants to emerge, because although that would be realistic, it would also be quite the nuisance.

He and the other's are just dressed in their usual attire, but as Roman emerges from the trees, he is wearing a shiny red party hat to go along with his prince outfit.

Roman immediately goes to serenading Patton and placing a party hat on top of his head, light blue with a little pompom on the top. He ushers him to sit on one of the largest pillows, and then goes around giving everyone else party hats. Logan stills when Roman gets to him last, a dark blue party hat with little stars in his hand.

"Do I have to wear that?" He asks. Although, sure, it does look nice, he doesn't want to seem ridiculous.

"Come on, you're in good company. Please? For Patton?" Roman bats his eyelashes at Logan, who sighs and lets him put the party hat onto his head.

Roman runs off to the birthday boy, and they all sit down. The time passes peacefully, songs being sung and Roman releasing a horde of puppies to the joy of the guests. By the time the food is out, everything seems to be going well, until they're all eating, and Roman pulls out an orange. As he's about to peel it, Logan speaks up.

"Roman, I would advise against that." Which may sound ridiculous to most people, but Logan is an expert on many logical things. ( Orange peels have a flammable liquid in them called limonene, and as both it and a balloon, made of latex, are non-polar, the liquid can dissolve the balloon, thus causing it to explode.)

"Against what?" Roman asks, but he does stop his attempt.

Logan adjusts his glasses, ready to explain. "Eating an orange near a balloon. As I cause the imagination to become more logical, doing so will most likely cause-"

"Oh puh-lease! I'm sure whatever wacky science things you're going to say don't actually work here! I mean, there is plenty of influence to go arou-" Roman, the spiteful side he is, gets even closer to the balloon, starting to peel it. Lo-and-behold, he can't finish his denying before the balloon right beside him explodes with a loud POP. The sound sends him jumping back in fear, screeching to the nine hells, and then falling backwards onto another balloon, scaring him again. Several sides laughed out loud at his pain, while Patton watched him, worried. Logan smiled internally at the karma, before getting up and making sure he was okay.

Roman did spend the rest of the party in a sulky mood, but the party was still a huge success. They had some good food, and while Logan made Patton a flower crown, he fed him forfulls of cake. It was a nice bonding moment. When everyone separated to return to the mindscape, Roman waved them all off from the imagination door. Logan turns back to look at him, but Roman makes no move to follow them all out.

"You're not coming back yet?" Logan asks, adjusting his glasses.

Roman sighs. "No, not yet. I'm afraid this dashing prince has a little bit of cleaning to do. And perhaps an adventure. You never know." He leans on the doorframe, smiling.

"Well, that is correct. I in fact do not know what you'll be doing." Logan nods to himself. "Do you need any help cleaning? I doubt I'll be much help with the adventure, but I do have hands." He gestures to his hands.

Roman looks quite surprised. "Oh, thanks for the offer, specs. I think I've got it all covered though."

Logan offers a hesitant smile. "Alright then. Let me know if that changes."

Roman quickly smiles back, a faint pink dusting his cheeks, and turns back into the imagination and shutting the door. Logan stands there for a moment, but not sure why. It's clear that Roman was not feeling all that great from the balloon moment. Even Logan, terrible at deciphering emotions, can tell that much. Perhaps he needs to let off some steam.

He just can't understand Roman most of the time. They do have so many similarities, being too proud for their own good, but it's almost like they're in two separate worlds. Logan, the learner he is, wishes he could explore Roman's own. Understand it. Understand him, and his way of thinking. Even though Roman is mostly dumb, he does make good points, and Logan tries to prioritize his input, as it's usually what Thomas is hoping and dreaming for as well.

~~~

The last slide shines back at them all. A concluding statement that makes the three watching sides snicker a little bit.

"And I believe he just doesn't understand how much we all think he's great. I swear, he's just so dense! It's so aggravating! How can he not tell that he's worth everything? Why doesn't he understand that we all care for him? That I care for him? He's wonderful, for god's sake! And that I don't mean to hurt him with my critiques. I want him to thrive! I-"

Everything stops. Logan takes a moment of silence. The three sides look at him, each with different degrees of anticipation. One looks pretty much ready to pounce out of his seat.

"...Oh."

And all at once, everything gets strung back into motion. Confetti literally falls from the ceiling as Remus jumps for joy, circling a very mortified looking Logan. Janus, the tired soul, rolls his eyes and lets out a slow, long clap. Virgil just rests his head in his arms.

"I can't believe this. You sit us all down for a presentation you probably double-checked and proofread, like a nerd, and only NOW you realize you were wrong all along? Why didn't you say anything, snake-face?" Virgil complains, sitting up just to glare at him.

"Wo-ow, it isn't as if I was saying that this whole time? No, it couldn't be." Janus deadpans, sarcasm spilling from his mouth like an old, worn, broken dam.

Logan doesn't move from his stand-still spot beside the projector, but Remus manages to bounce in circles around him, cooing. "Lo-lo's got a cruuuush! A crushy crush! A crushed crust of a crush! A crevice cracking ‘cause of the crushed crust-" He was going to continue, throwing expired banana peels around to substitute rose petals, until the sound of the door opening catches everyone's attention.

"Hey losers, Patton wanted to know if you-" Lo and behold, Roman walks in, regal as ever, smiling until he takes in the sight before him. The boring classroom look, contrasted by the amount of confetti that stopped falling as soon as he walked in. Janus and Virgil, wide-eyed and looking at him, completely still. Remus, caught mid dance, frozen in place with a smile. Logan, looking at him in the way one may look milliseconds after being caught stealing government secrets. Roman's eyes flicker to each of them, before settling on the projector.

"Roman. I-I can explain-" Logan starts, but Roman is already reading the words on the screen.

"... 'In short, he saddles me with unnecessary... feelings'? 'Unease, and uncertainty'? Who... Oh my god! Logan!" Roman looks at him, smiling in disbelief and amazement. "I know what this meanssss!" Filled with giddy delight, he sidesteps the table.

Logan gulps as Roman approaches, turning beet red as Roman takes his hands in his two own. "Y-Yes?" He practically squeaks as Roman looks him right in the eyes.

"Yes! Ohhh, this is so exciting!" The three bystanders watch, once again in anticipation, as Roman swings their interlocked hands.

"Yes?" Logan offers a small, tentative smile.

"You have a crush on someoooone! Oh Logan, you should've told me!" Roman smiles, completely oblivious to the internal facepalm of several present members.

"I-I'm sorry..." Logan looks down, slightly disappointed but still too flustered to say anything.

"God save the dense." Janus mutters, inspecting his gloves fingers.

"Don't be sorry! Come, we must make plans! I shall be your matchmaker! This is going to be perfeeeect!" Roman, sings, dancing out of the room and dragging Logan along by their still intertwined hands. The other sides watch them go.

After a moment of processing, Virgil sighs. "Well, I thought that was going to be resolved. Turns out they're both as dense as... dense people." He can't seem to think of any other similes.

"Welp, I'm just happy that they're one step closer to getting. it. on. romantically." Remus punctuates every word with some rather immature hand gestures. “And that they stop dancing around each other.”

"Who do you think Roman thinks Logan has a crush on?" Virgil asks, cogs turning in his brain.

Janus lounges backwards. "Well, let's see... Soooo many options. Either he thinks it's someone outside of Thomas's head, or the simple answer..."

Remus and Virgil both look at him, both with looks of realization.

"Patton."

~~~

#logince #logince fic #logan sanders #ts logan #remus sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #ts roman #implied patton sanders #tw food #oliver writes #i also snuck an ace attorney reference #i was going to wait but i'm just very excited to post this #5 Reasons fic

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snowboiwinwin · 4 years ago

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The Boyz as my University Professors

Disclaimer: Some of my professors are evil bitches; none of the boys are truly evil and I am in no way implying they are or trying to make them look bad! I love the boys and I just thought it would be a fun thing to post :D

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

Sangyeon:

the one professor that absolutely loves the topic of his class

super wholesome and smiley throughout the 90 minutes class time

getting super close to the camera (actually to the mic) because he is worried students won’t hear him well enough

always asking questions and encouraging students to interact

not offended when something isn’t clear and therefore students don’t know the answer

reading EVERY. SINGLE. MESSAGE written in the chat (sometimes students have mic problems or don’t wanna speak)

making everyone feel valid and appreciated

being super calm and relaxed

barely doing breakout-rooms cause he knows no one likes them

ending class always a little earlier cause “I know how stressful your life can get.”

just the cutest prof out there

Jacob:

another sweet guy

never holds class at its normal timeframe

just uploads all the files students will need (although attendance is supposed to be mandatory)

“you guys are all grown-ups, I trust you to decide yourself when it is the best time for YOU to study.”

constantly uses smileys and is therefore super popular with students

doesn’t teach many classes, cause which good prof does that? ugh

gets right back at students when they email him their concerns

and no, you don’t get half-assed answers

you get a very detailed answer, which is rare in university life

THANKS STUDENTS FOR SENDING HIM THEIR HOMEWORK!!!!

“Dear [name of stundet], thank you very much! 😊”

offers students to call him by his first name

“I’ll call you by your first name too if that’s okay... creates a more comfortable atmosphere!”

the best <3

Younghoon:

he is a savage professor

his look is hella scary and students fear taking his classes

but he is actually the coolest and most laid back dude ever

the first time class is held, he comes in, stone cold expression and literally throws his bag on the desk - everyone is hella scared

then he says, in the scariest voice ever, “We can have fun here in class, no problem, but i AM YOUR PROFESSOR. NOT YOUR FRIEND. Remember that.”

*everyone scared to death*

“Welcome to class everybody! My name is Mr. Kim and I am very looking forward to teach this class in our summer term! Feel free to ask any question that might come up and don’t hesitate to reach out to me whenever!”

no need to be scared, he is a sweetheart

strict and has high expectations, but won’t overdo it with homework or assignments

constantly jokes around but then switches back to being serious

he creates a nice atmosphere where students want to learn something and do it voluntarily

cares for his students and appreciates their hard work - especially during the pandemic

“I know this is not easy for any of us but I am so amazed by your guys’ work this semester. It was an absolute pleasure teaching you. I hope to see you guys again, but not in this class. Please don’t fail.”

I love him

Hyunjae:

omg, he is an absolute legend

class starts and he is doing his introduction part

the class i about british literature

“Welcome to this literature class, you are in for a long ride!”

so far so good right?

“Let me just say, British Literature is an ABSOLUTE shit show!”

when I tell you, I almost died hearing that (no offense to anyone, pls don’t take my profs words to heart... he lives for british literature 🥺)

he definitely has his students hooked with this one sentence

“the teacher that taught this class before me... what was he even talking about! I mean, british literature is so much more than what he made it out to be!”

basically starts ranting

teaches with so much passion

can’t forget the jokes here and there

also uses smileys which students seriously love (at least I do)

wants students to be informal with him as well

“moving on to this next topic... a little disclaimer before we start: I will go batshit crazy with this topic because I LOVE IT. So please tell me to shut up when I exceed the 10 minutes mark. Thank you!”

A savage legend that everyone loves

sadly only teaches a handful of classes as well

Juyeon:

super laid back and chill

does never check attendance and just trusts his students

usually talks most of the time and doesn’t ask too many questions

is super happy when students contribute though

but he isn’t one to force them

“I know your day has probably been really long, so it’s okay. I’m not taking this personal.”

his class is not based on theory but more on experiences he made

shares funny stories, mistakes he made and what he learnt from them

always gives the smallest and easiest homework ever

“please just share your experiences with these types of situations in our forum”

and he does not want to grade students based on an exam

“I have a better idea. In order to understand a certain topic, I want you to write a portfolio about it. It should be detailed but I won’t give you a number of words. Do what feels right and surprise me! Be creative, nothing will be worth a failing grade as long as you put in some effort.”

does split classrooms

one half is in the main room with him, the others are in breakout rooms, working on a certain topic

super chill and just not as hard as some other classes

but students definitely learn from him!

Kevin:

oh boy, students either gonna hate or love him

he is very kind and nice but he is STRICT

take his class serious and work or you will fail

although he has very high expectations, he will make sure students will be prepared for all the essays, assignments and presentations he throws at at them

no half-assed instructions, you will get the full program (as every student should!)

you have to write an argumentative essay but have no idea how to do that?

Professor Moon (students are allowed to call him Kevin) will explain an argumentativ essay in detail, will show examples and will tell you exactly what to put in it

having trouble finding sources?

Kevin will help you, just let him know!

Also a very empathetic teacher

something happened and you can’t attend class? Absolutely no problem

whenever something serious happens (for us it was a shooting), Kevin will cancel class and spare his students cause their well-being is more important

he doesn’t throw out A’s and B’s easily but when you do get such a grade in one of his classes... dude, you did a really good job

so as I said, he is either your fav or least fav professor... choose your side!

Chanhee:

he is a bitch (not really, but he gives the impression)

at first, he is that nice, bubbly professor

super friendly and kind

and his classes are absolutely okay! no biggie

or so they THOUGHT

his exams and progress tests or whatever ARE HELL

he makes it seem as everything is so easy and not overwhelming at all

BUT nothing is easy and everything is overwhelming

50 pages for a damn progress test two weeks into the semester!

the grading is so strict, you need at least 65% to pass! (maybe I am a baby but 65% is a lot for a passing grade hahaha)

but he confuses students

he is so kind and soft spoken

constantly smiling and in a good mood

but the exams????

are you sure you were the one creating them Mr Choi?

and yes, he is one of those professors that wants to be addressed by his last name (nothing wrong with that)

as I said, he confuses students

they don’t know what to think of him

at the end of the day he isn’t a bad guy

just not the type of professor the students would want in every single class for the rest of their lives

Changmin:

changmin is not your ordinary professor

because he is a big fan of team-teaching

so all his classes are taught by him and his dear colleague Haknyeon!

YAAAAY

I love this duo already

he is the part of the duo that is EXTREMELY motivated

he is is so hyper and so ready for teaching

his classes are always fun but also slightly overwhelming?

juts imagine having too much caffeine in your body

that is changmin being able to teach something he loves

that’s just the passion jumping out of him

he is constantly talking and laughing and throwing jokes left and right

he is having a good time!

super understanding and empathetic

and although everything seems fun and games

you will definitely learn from him!

he has this natural and authentic way of teaching in his body

it comes... naturally and it all makes sense somehow

although the class is packed with inside jokes and changmin teasing haknyeon

haknyeon doesn’t even have time nor the chance to speak

this is changmin’s time to shine!

they love and hate each other

but the students definitely love this iconic duo

Haknyeon:

as I mentioned; haknyeon and changmin are a team

it wasn’t really something haknyeon wanted but... how could you possibly say no to baby changmin? 🥺

so yes, changmin’s cute face got him into this situation

he doesn’t even have to prepare anything for class - his lovely colleague does the talking anyways

he usually lays back and relax

he frowns into the cam cause he tries to intimidate students

but they know he is a soft guy anyways

while changmin is talking, he is chatting to students in the chat

as I mentioned earlier, not everyone wants to unmute themselves and therefore posts in the chat

so he is having chats with students, often not even related to the topic

“Please excuse me, I will be absent for a few minutes - mommy duties” -student

“Don’t worry Miss! I know exactly what you mean... children.” -haknyeon

whenever he tries to get a word in, he has to talk VERY LOUDLY

he literally has to talk over changmin

but changmin doesn’t mind, he just smiles, nods and listens

changmin is super proud whenever haknyeon speaks

and haknyeon thinks that’s very sweet

but that thought passes as soon as changmin makes a joke about him

at the end of the day, they love each other at least to a certain extent and students adore them

Sunwoo:

he is not an ordinary professor either

class time? virtual meetings?

nope, not with sunwoo

again, in the classes the boyz teach, attendance is mandatory

mandatory? sunwoo has never heard of her

he doesn’t require students to attend meetings and homework is also something he does not expect from them

he uploads powerpoint-presentations with videos and audio of him explaining everything in the presentation

but the boy is clumsy

and he is not good with anything technical

so him dropping his glass and spilling his water all over his lap?

well, students will see this in the video

“... and it’s important to- YAAAAH OH NO....”

*awkward silence*

“I spilled my water... if you haven’t seen.”

*more awkward silence*

“Give me a minute”

*the video continues and sunwoo is nowhere in sight*

after ten minutes of an empty chair, sunwoo returns and continues as if nothing has happened

sometimes his kids walk in and dab in the camera without him noticing

“and then - Hey! I am at WORK.”

he loves it though

and he posts these “fail” videos on purpose

“I want to show you, that it is okay to not be perfect and to not be in control of everything! Stuff like that happens, especially with us being in home-office! And don’t worry, if your mom walks in or whatever, in my classroom no one gets judged! This is life and now that we have to do everything from home, the unexpected is unavoidable!”

Another students’ favorite

Eric:

I would love to imagine him as this savage prof I have in mind... but no <3

he is a sweet guy

also super obsessed with the class he is teaching

he is LIVING for it

usually experiences technical problems right before class starts

“oopsie daisy, sorry guys... might take a few minutes *giggles*”

and no, it’s not a creepy giggle but a really cute one, I swear!

constantly has a pen in his hand and clicks it absentmindedly while teaching

students constantly hear the clicking sound... or when the pen falls to the ground.... which happens every five minutes

he constantly forgets to mute himself whenever he wants students to work by themselves and all they hear is him chugging down his water or whatever drink he has prepared

also sends out super sweet emails

but due to him being a young dude, he wants students to call him by his last name

he also calls students by their last name but he does use smileys to lighten the professional mood that comes with honorifics

overall a very motivated but extremely kind-hearted dude

#the boyz #scenarios #kpop #imagines #reactions #headcanon #the boyz as #eric sohn #jacob bae #kevin moon #ju haknyeon #younghoon #hyunjae #juyeon #sunwoo #sangyeo #chanhee #changmin

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heyitssmiller · 4 years ago

Text

Chop It Like It’s Hot

Chapter 10: You’re Shrimp-ly Amazing

This is it! We’ve officially reached the end of this story! Thank you so much to everyone who’s read and kept up with this - I really hope you enjoyed all the cooking and pining and fluff. @lumosinlove Thank you for letting me run away with your characters and go completely overboard! You’ve created such wonderful characters that I can’t help but want to write about <3

Tag List: @peanut-in-the-goal @whataboutmyfries @raxelle-nite-in-gale @heyoitslysso @spookydiyharrypotterbat

Masterlist for Chop It Like It’s Hot

Leo stopped in front of Logan and Finn’s apartment door and fished his keys out of his pocket, flipping through them until he found the key to their door - he had a key now.

He had barely opened the door before he was tackled by both of his boys.

“Peanut butter.” Finn said happily, face buried in Leo’s chest.

Logan looked up at him with bright, happy eyes that were crinkling at the corners. “God, we missed you.”

Leo smiled excitedly and let them lead him inside the apartment. “Missed you - mmph.” He stopped talking as Logan surged up and kissed him, cradling his jaw in a calloused hand. Leo felt the tension leave his shoulders and kissed back, hands on Logan’s waist and sneaking underneath his sweatshirt. When he finally had the air to breathe, he finished his sentence. “Missed you too.”

“Stop being a Leo hog.” Finn grumbled good-naturedly, stepping in to give Leo a long, lingering kiss that left him speechless.

“Welcome ho – I mean, welcome back.” Finn said. “We made dinner. And before you make that face, it’s a recipe from Celeste. We even called her while cooking to make sure we were doing everything right.”

I love you two.

Leo didn’t say it out loud – none of them had. But hopefully soon. Instead he said, “Sounds perfect. What’s for dinner?”

“Hey, y’all, and welcome back to Cajun Cooking! A lot of people have requested that I do this recipe, so today we’re making shrimp etouffee. This is a Louisiana classic and there are a lot of different recipes out there but this is my mama’s recipe, so it’s very authentic. You can also use crawfish in this recipe, but mama always used shrimp because she knew a shrimp fisherman and could get a better deal.” Leo smiled at the camera set up in the kitchen, then looked over to his boys.

“Today we’ve got some familiar faces here to be my sous chefs for the day and help me out. If you watched the last season of Worst Cooks, then you’ll definitely recognize them.”

Logan and Finn stepped into view. Logan waved awkwardly while Finn gave the camera a mock salute. “Sup.”

“So first, we’ve got to start with preparing our fresh shrimp.” Leo said, holding up a shrimp that hadn’t been deconstructed yet. Finn made a disgusted face at it. “Start by grabbing your shrimp and just take the head off. You should feel where the head ends and the rest of the shrimp begins, so just grab there and pull.”

Logan and Finn shared a look of mild horror. Leo, like always, was unfazed.

“Next, hold where the legs are and peel back on the outer shell until you’re left with the soft shrimp meat on the inside. The legs should come off at the same time, too. Now be sure to save those shells! We’re going to use it for the shrimp stock later on. Make sure you pull the tail off, too.” He looked over at the other two. “Sound good?”

“Um…”

“It’s not so bad. I’ll do it with you.” Leo slowly showed them how to do it again, then motioned for them to get started.

“These look so gross.” Finn said, hesitantly holding a shrimp by the tail. Logan smirked and grabbed a shrimp before slowly bringing it closer to Finn’s face, those beady little eyes staring into his soul. Finn shrieked and scrambled backwards while Logan and Leo laughed.

They all got started on preparing the shrimp. Leo still did over half of the work, but he got to watch the other two grimace and flinch as they worked, which was pretty entertaining.

“While they’re finishing up, I’m going to show you a quick and easy way to devein shrimp.” Leo said, grabbing a de-shelled shrimp. “Start by making a slit along the middle of the back with a small knife and pull the dark vein out. Most people just rinse the shrimp under cold water to clean them, but sometimes this isn’t enough to completely clean the shrimp. In Japanese cooking, they actually clean shrimp with potato starch. The potato starch absorbs the smell and dirty particles from shrimp really well, so that’s what I usually do. Just grab some potato starch and rub it all over the shrimp and then rinse it all off. See how dirty the starch gets as you scrub the shrimp? That’s some clean shrimp right there.”

Leo looked over at his boys, smiling softly as they meticulously deveined shrimp. “How are we doing, sous chefs?”

“No one told me that shrimp shells can be sharp.” Logan said, sending him a playful glare. “Also, these are really gross.”

“But it’s going to taste so good.” Leo cajoled with puppy dog eyes that were proven to consistently work on Finn and Logan. Logan sighed, lips twitching as he fought a smile while Finn just melted.

They all got back to work deveining and cleaning shrimp until they were all done.

“Next we’re going to make our shrimp stock. If you guys could chop half of an onion, celery, and two garlic cloves, that would be great.”

Logan grabbed the vegetables while Finn grabbed two knives.

“And please don’t cut yourselves.” Leo hastily added with a grimace. “I taught you knife-handling, please tell me you haven’t forgotten it.”

Logan leaned up and kissed his cheek. “You worry too much, baby.” Then his eyes widened and he glanced at the camera guiltily. “Shit. We can edit that out, if you want.”

Leo didn’t even have to think about it. He reached over and tangled his fingers with Logan’s. “I’m fine with it if you are.” He glanced over at Finn, who had stopped chopping his onion and was looking at them with teary eyes. “Finn?”

“One of these days,” He said with a laugh, “I’m gonna make the onions cry.”

The other two laughed with him, shuffling over to hug him. Logan reached up and wiped away the tears. “You’re ridiculous.”

Finn shrugged. “Yeah. But I’m happy.”

“So are we.” Leo said, unable to contain his smile. “Ready to get back to cooking?”

***

They had invited people over to eat all the shrimp etouffee at Logan and Finn’s apartment after they were done recording. So sure enough, at six o’clock on the dot, there was a loud knock on the door.

“Come on in!” Logan called as Leo added more Tabasco to the pot and Finn watched as people piled into their apartment.

This. This was what he wanted for the rest of his life. His boys next to him and his friends in the living room talking loudly over each other.

This was home.

Dumo, Celeste, and the kids were the last to enter. Dumo made a beeline to the team to try and break up the bickering that had started up while the kids immediately swarmed Logan, clamoring for attention.

Celeste smiled apologetically. “Well, this is chaotic.”

“It’s nice.” Leo said, quickly sampling his dish. “Much better than an empty apartment.”

She hummed sympathetically, resting her arms on the kitchen counter separating them. “I remember that. Having hockey player partners who travel all the time is tough, isn’t it? And to be long distance, too.” She whistled lowly. “Have you considered moving?”

Leo looked over at Logan listening patiently to the kids and Finn washing dishes at the sink and couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. Yeah I have.” He laughed in disbelief. “Is that crazy? We haven’t even known each other for a year.”

She shrugged. “Are you happy?” At Leo’s nod, she continued, “Then who cares if it’s early by society’s standards? I, for one, know those two would be over the moon if you moved in. They pout when you’re gone.”

He laughed fondly. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”

“Oh! I’ve been meaning to ask you this for weeks now and it just keeps slipping my mind. Could you share your jambalaya recipe? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since you made it.”

“Well…” Leo winced. “It’s actually a family recipe. We don’t want everyone to get their hands on it, you know?”

“I mean, we’ll be practically family soon enough.” Celeste teased. Leo smiled so broadly that those dimples could’ve been seen from space.

“Give me your chocolate cake recipe and it’s a deal.”

Celeste laughed loudly and looked over to Logan, who was shuffling over with Katie clinging tightly to him. “I like this one.”

“Yeah,” Logan agreed. “He’s a keeper.”

“Yo, are we ready to eat yet?” Pots shouted from the living room. “Kasey gets grumpy when he’s hungry.”

“Do not.” Kasey grumbled.

“We’re ready.” Leo called. “Hope you boys like some spice.”

“Even if you think you do, brace yourselves.” Finn added. “Leo’s got a heavy hand with the Tabasco.”

“Because it tastes good on everything.”

Logan squinted at him. “Does it, though?”

“Do you want me to prove it?”

“No.”

***

They arrived at the rink early, still blinking sleep out of their eyes and yawning and leaning into each other for warmth.

“You ready to skate?” Finn asked, leading the way to the equipment room.

“Sure. I’m probably a little rusty, though. I haven’t skated since high school.”

Logan closed the door behind them, giving Leo a curious look. “Why’d you quit?”

Leo sighed. “I was a gay kid in the south. Hockey’s not known for being very accepting even when you live in more tolerant places. But in Louisiana…” He shrugged and grabbed a pair of skates in his size. “It wasn’t worth it, no matter how much I loved to play.” Looking at their sad expressions, he hurried to continue, “But it’s fine. I don’t regret it. I found where I was supposed to be, and I love what I’m doing. And I wouldn’t have met y’all if I hadn’t gone to culinary school.”

“It’s still not fair.”

“No,” Leo agreed, moving to stand in front of Logan. “But now kids in the same situation have you two and Cap to look up to. And that makes a world of difference. Now, are we going to skate or not?”

Logan and Finn lead him to the locker room, where they grabbed their own skates, and then down the tunnel to the ice. They all laced up their skates and glided out onto the ice.

“See? Not too rusty.” Logan said, leaning forward to look at Leo on the other side of Finn. “I’m sure you’ll do fine at family skate.”

“Thanks for inviting me, by the way.” Leo said, quickly adding, “It’s just… I know we haven’t been together all that long, but y’all mean so much to me, so being able to get to know your friends and family is –”

He trailed off as Finn skated in close and kissed him oh-so-gently before leaning back and running his hand tenderly through the gray tuft of hair at his forehead.

“I love you, Peanut.”

Leo sucked in a breath and stared at him.

“We love you.” Logan amended, joining their little huddle.

Leo smiled softly, his heart feeling like it was overflowing. He grabbed both of their hands in his. “I love you, too. God, I love you so much, you have no idea. I’m so glad you two got signed up for that show.”

“Dumo and Celeste, the accidental matchmakers.”

Finn grinned. “We should bake them a cake.”

“We can do that.” Leo agreed. “We’ve got nothing but time.”

And with that exciting new prospect they continued their skate across the ice, hand in hand.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #o'knutzy #chop it like it's hot

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panharmonium · 4 years ago

Note

I would like to add Gwaine to the list of friends Merlin had. Especially in the 3/4 seasons he really was ride or die for Merlin, they shared intimate details with each other, they truly trusted each other. There were instances where the show alluded that Gwaine knows about Merlin's magic and is fine with it.

hi there! i’m assuming this is in response to the post i reblogged about will and lancelot being merlin’s only “real” friends?

i’m actually happy to write about this, now that the question has been posed - it’s been a while since i wrote anything long about gwaine!

fair warning in advance: i don’t personally classify gwaine the same way i do will and lancelot, and that’s what this piece will cover in more detail, but these are just my own thoughts, and it is totally cool for everybody else to have different opinions. my take is my take, but it does not have to be everyone’s take - if people wanna scroll past because this isn’t their vibe, i don’t mind in the slightest. :)

so, without further ado - i LOVE gwaine, and i have written extensively about how amazing his relationship with merlin is (some examples here, here, here, and here, if anybody’s looking). he is the most likely of all merlin’s living friends to ditch arthur in the name of addressing merlin’s needs, which is super important, and he also has a much healthier friendship with merlin than arthur does (in my own personal opinion, of course, which nobody is obligated to share). he definitely does go ride or die for merlin in S3/S4, i agree.

but my own thoughts on this particular point are still the same as they were in that original post. i tend to hide my clarifications/explanations in the tags, so they might have flown by, but i’ll just copy/paste the relevant bit here for ease of access, as some background for the rest of this post.

re: will and lancelot were merlin’s only ‘real’ friends:

#what this does not mean: merlin has no other friends! merlin doesn't have meaningful and important relationships with other people! #what it does mean: #every single one of merlin's other relationships is undergirded by the sickening knowledge that those friendships are conditional #every single one of his other relationships is accompanied by the constant undercurrent of 'they would hate me if they knew' #merlin knows his friends 'care' about him #except they don't really; because it's not truly him they're caring about #they care deeply - about someone merlin made up #about a facade. #in the most basic sense #those relationships aren't Real #the love merlin feels for the people in them is real #but you cannot truly be 'friends' with somebody who doesn't even know who you are #you cannot be loved without being known #you certainly cannot be loved without being safe

obviously i suppose a person’s thoughts on this would be different if they headcanoned that gwaine knew about merlin’s magic, and that’s fine. i personally do not believe canon indicates or supports that, but i’m not out to convince people to abandon their own fanon interpretations of things; i’m happy just hanging out in my own space talking about my thoughts. me writing meta is the virtual equivalent of me talking to myself in my room - if other people have different conversations with themselves, that’s fine :) i don’t mind if other folks organize their thoughts about things differently.

in accordance with that - everybody please feel free to continue on with your own interpretations, and ignore mine if mine do not appeal to you! if people are interested about how i organize my ideas on this, though, they are essentially as follows:

1) a cage fighter, a class traitor, and a fake sorcerer walk into a tavern

ok, to start with - here’s a graph.

(...who tf starts a meta post with ‘here’s a graph’ lol i just drew a venn diagram for the first time since like...middle school...i LOVE fandom, man, this is RIDICULOUS)

anyway

this is a very rough interpretation of how i think about gwaine, lancelot, and will:

to address some of these elements individually:

lancelot and will give merlin something that gwaine can’t - safety, authenticity, the comfort of being known and seen for real, a respite from constantly qualifying every friendship with ‘they would hate me if they knew’

lancelot and gwaine, likewise, give merlin something merlin wouldn’t be as likely to get from will (if will were still alive, i mean) - an understanding of merlin’s devotion to the Crown, a supportive ally in the fight to promote arthur’s reign and keep arthur/camelot safe

will and gwaine, for their part, are more likely to tell arthur to go fuck himself, if it’s important for helping merlin, and that’s a different kind of support that merlin also really needs.

and will, on his own, gives merlin something that neither lancelot NOR gwaine can provide, which is a friend who isn’t connected to or even particularly interested in arthur pendragon (merlin has nobody in his life like this, not after will dies) - somebody who knew and cared about merlin before merlin had any proximity to arthur, before this whole ’destiny’ issue reared its merciless head.

everybody in merlin’s life matters to him and gives him something important. gwaine is STUPIDLY important to merlin. the love there is real. but in canon, because gwaine is not in the know, gwaine is still one of the people from whom merlin feels compelled to hide himself. gwaine is right up there alongside gwen, arthur, elyan, percival, etc - every other person who merlin loves, who merlin nonetheless constantly, back-of-his-mind fears, ‘they would reject me if they knew.’

the above is part of why i personally have never been too interested in ‘so-and-so knows about merlin’s magic’ canon-imaginings. there’s absolutely nothing wrong with them, and i’m sure people must have tons of fun with them - and in an AU context maybe i would have fun with them too - but as hopeful interpretations of actual canon, they don’t appeal to me. merlin’s near-total isolation and desperate, constantly-frustrated desire for real, honest love is an inalienable aspect of his character for me, one i can’t separate from who he is and why he does the things he does and why he eventually ends up in the place where we find him towards the end of the show.

2) i just want someone to see me for who i am

i have seen a bit of sentiment out there along the lines of ‘merlin should have told (x person) about their magic’ or ‘(x person) obviously doesn’t have a problem with sorcerers,’ but i guess i personally don’t think it’s as clear as all that, and i think me saying it is would be doing merlin a disservice.

merlin’s desire to be seen/known/accepted is literally the most base urge he has. if he truly thought he could tell somebody safely, he would.

i think merlin knows the people in his orbit well enough to know how they feel about sorcery, at least in a general sense. and even if they aren’t bloodthirsty bigots like uther, they aren’t exactly welcoming magic with open arms, either. at the most basic, elementary level, merlin understands something that we don’t like to think about: none of his friends ever challenge arthur on the sorcery ban or express any dissatisfaction with the political status quo, and, even absent outright bigotry, this fact speaks loudly enough in and of itself. merlin’s friends might not be out clamoring for sorcerers’ blood, but they aren’t criticizing a society that criminalizes sorcery, either, and they are never shown to have a problem with the way things are, even though the way things are is wrong.

The Way Things Are is, in fact, unjust. it’s oppressive. and allowing that state of affairs to continue, unquestioned and unchallenged, when you have access to the king’s ear and aren’t personally in danger of being persecuted, indicates that you’re okay with the injustice. that you’re comfortable with the oppression. that you don’t see a problem with the status quo, and that you're unbothered enough by it to let it be.

it doesn’t matter that merlin’s friends have never straight-up said ‘boy, magic sure is evil’ onscreen. they never say that camelot’s policies are wrong, and that delivers a clear enough message on its own.

3) it is not a crime to fight for your freedom

to bring this back to gwaine specifically, since that was originally the focus of this ask -

for me, for all that i adore gwaine, and for all that i think he was, for the most part, an INCREDIBLY sound, healthy relationship for merlin, the truth is that gwaine is as much a part of this problem as everyone else. does that mean i personally think gwaine would have summarily dumped merlin if he’d found out merlin had magic? no. but i don’t think it’s as uncomplicated as maybe we wish it might be, and i think merlin has every right to be as uncertain of gwaine on this issue as he does of everyone else.

for one thing, like i said before, even gwaine, who used to have fewer qualms than any of the knights about pushing back on arthur’s BS, has never said a word about camelot’s injustices, or ever acknowledged that the laws of the land are unjust to begin with.

for another, there are specific moments that kind of make you wonder.

5.05 (’the disir’) is a good example of this - when gwaine finds osgar in the woods, the two of them have this exchange:

you are a sorcerer, a heretic, and a murderer.

the rhetoric of this sentence frames all three of these things as equivalent entities - criminal ones.

to pick this apart more carefully:

a) sorcerer

it’s worth noting here that we’re never told osgar has done anything worse than evading arrest for the crime of being a known sorcerer. when leon mentions him in the council meeting, the conversation consists solely of the following:

“as you know, a few days ago our garrison in the forest of breckfire intercepted the man who goes by the name of osgar.”

“the sorcerer.”

“the same. they were trying to apprehend him when he used his powers to escape.”

and…that’s it. osgar’s crime, as far as we know, was simply being a sorcerer (and then, after that, attempting to escape an unjust arrest, thereby killing a knight in the process). there’s no mention of any other activities that would have warranted his arrest in the first place, other than the possession of magic.

but magic, even on its own, IS a crime in camelot - and gwaine levels the accusation at osgar as such.

b) heretic

that’s a hell of a word to throw around, if you think sorcery is chill.

“heretic” isn’t a mild accusation. "heretic” has vitriolic severity behind it. people are accused of heresy when they’re perceived to be in brazen defiance of what is (in the eyes of the accuser) unquestionably right and correct. “heretic” is like…it’s like blasphemer. the connotation is not just that something is bad, but that it’s sinful.

for gwaine, either osgar’s association with sorcery and/or his defiance of camelot’s army makes him a heretic. and that’s not something a person who is down with sorcery or supportive of a magic-user’s struggle for freedom would say.

c) murderer

if gwaine were cool with sorcery, we would expect him to understand that a sorcerer who resisted arrest for the crime of being a sorcerer isn’t a murderer.

it’s like kara said in 5.11 - it is not a crime to fight for the right to be who you are.

camelot has been killing sorcerers for decades. osgar mortally wounded a soldier (not an innocent civilian, i might note) who was trying to imprison him. he was resisting the armed forces of an oppressive state. that’s not murder.

somebody who understands that camelot is an oppressive regime wouldn’t think of this as murder. they would understand that it is not a crime to protect your own life when the state has literally been trying to exterminate your people for years. and even if osgar had been engaged in rebellious activities against the state (which as far as we know is not the case - nothing like this is ever referenced!), they would understand that people with magic have long been overdue for a righteous uprising.

but gwaine is a little more like arthur, in this moment - he sees the “wrong” that osgar has done (in the form of sir ranulf’s death) without seeing the thousands upon thousands of wrongs that camelot visited upon the magical community first.

4) you can’t go armed into a sacred place

the rest of this episode is similar. gwaine pays just as little heed to merlin’s warnings as the rest of the knights, when merlin admonishes them that the disir’s cave is sacred. gwaine doesn’t relinquish his sword or take special care upon entering the cave. in fact, he is the one who outright interrupts the disir while they’re speaking - as they’re telling arthur a series of hard truths, that he’s persecuted magic-users, “even unto slaughter;” that he’s desecrated their space: “you come here, to the most sacred of the sacred, to the very heart of the Old Religion, with weapons drawn - trampling hallowed relics - treating our sacred space like you do your kingdom - with arrogance - with conceit - with insolence - ”

and gwaine cuts them off, pushing to the front of the group and shouting at them “enough! you speak of the king!” and that’s when the fight starts, when mordred gets stabbed.

someone who was fully accepting of magic, or who knew anything about it at all, would not have behaved this way. they would not have bristled at hearing how arthur’s regime unfairly persecutes the magical community. they would have known that it was true.

5) i just want to be myself

the above is just one example, but it’s a clear enough one to illustrate what i mean. gwaine IS an amazing friend to merlin. he does treat merlin well. and merlin loves him to death. but gwaine is NOT totally chill with magic. i’m not saying he actively hates it, but he is not, from what merlin has witnessed, entirely safe. merlin loves him, but he can’t be himself around him.

and i do think that pains merlin terribly. all these people who he loves so much, and every time he’s with them there’s always that whisper: ‘this is a charade. all the love in my life is a lie. they only like me because they don’t know me. if they knew who i really was, this would be over.’

and we wonder why he never tells anyone. we tell him he ‘should’ have told gwaine, gwen, morgana, arthur, like it would have been easy, or even possible, for him to ever consider putting himself in a position where he could lose what precarious, partially make-believe connections he has.

merlin, in the later seasons, when he worries about his magic being exposed, isn’t afraid of being executed. he’s afraid of becoming even more alone than he is now. and he has good reason to feel that way - even people who appear to put him first aren’t fully on board with the thing that makes him who he is. and merlin knows this. he’s seen it. none of his friends are out fighting for people like him at court. some of his friends shake their heads and assure arthur “you are a good and just king” when arthur expresses concern that maybe the disir are right, maybe he has indeed transgressed. some of merlin’s friends used to buck the system in defense of the powerless, but now they defend the regime even when the accusations levelled against it by an oppressed population are true.

merlin knows that revealing himself is a kind of risk that could very plausibly end with him utterly disowned. every single friendship he has is subject to this justified fear, this bitter knowledge. merlin has every reason to doubt the soundness of his relationships.

and, circling back to the thing that started all these musings - the only friends who never made him feel that way were will and lancelot.

that’s all i mean when i say that will and lancelot were merlin’s only “real” friends. i wish there were a better word to use than that, because i really don’t mean it like…as if merlin’s relationships with other people weren’t…valid, or important, or based on true love and care. they were. but there’s just not a better way to express that will and lancelot were the only people who ever even knew who they were friends with, who saw merlin for exactly who he was and said “i love you still.” they were the only ones whose friendship was something merlin didn’t have to be afraid of losing solely for existing.

i always think of morgana’s line in 2.11 - ‘i don’t want to be brave. i just want to be myself. i don’t want to be alone anymore.’

around everyone else, merlin has to be brave. he has to keep up the pretense, which means even when he’s surrounded by friends, he’s completely isolated.

with will and lancelot, though, he could be himself. with will and lancelot, he wasn’t alone.

6) post-script

i really appreciate being given the opportunity to muse to myself about this in more detail - i actually needed to think through some things regarding gwaine anyway, for writing purposes, and this was actually really helpful in organizing my brain. so thanks, anon, for the prompt!

i know my answer probably runs counter to your own interpretation of things, but as i said, this is just my own personal outlook. i typed it up because the message got me thinking, and because i know i have a couple of friends who might find it interesting, but my thoughts apply only to me, and i do not mind at all if folks think about these things differently! nobody is obligated to agree with anything i write, or give it any further thought, or even read it at all - we’re all going to engage with this story in different ways, so if anybody finds that this isn’t their cup of tea, please feel free to scroll on by, and keep having fun with this show in whatever way makes you happiest! :)

#tumblr is doing something weird and not letting me use read-more's in posts that are replies to an ask #i was able to screenshot the last ask i replied to and just turn the whole thing into a text post with a read-more #because i knew the sender would see it anyway #but i'm not sure an anon will see this without getting the notification #sorry this is a #long post #i will play with it more and see if i can get the cut to actually show up #=/#the once and future slowburn #you're the only friend i've got #meta #replies #the bravest and most noble of them all #no kings no masters

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clareguilty · 4 years ago

Text

Sharing a Stolen Name

Read it here on AO3! Arthur Morgan/Reader Rating: Explicit | No Warnings Word Count: ~5500 Thank you to @verai-marcel for looking over this for me <3

You stroll into Rhodes head high and eyes wary. You've never been this far south before, but you need to speak with Hosea, and his letter said Lemoyne was the place to find him.

Fear races down your spine as the door to the sheriff’s office bursts open. You've been here for less than five minutes, and you really can’t afford any trouble.

A greasy sonovabitch comes racing down the street towards you, chased by a few harried lawmen. Just as the fugitive gets closer, you swipe a kick at his ankles and he goes flying into the red dirt.

An outlaw for sure. Not that you’re any better. The man curses you and tries to scramble to his feet, but you knock him back to the dirt.

"Thank you for that, miss," the sheriff pants when he catches up, ordering for his deputies to round up the man. "And who might you be?"

"Callahan," you give him the first fake name you've got. This sheriff looks like a fool but you have no doubt he can read a wanted poster.

"Callahan? You got siblings?" The sheriff asks, a wave of recognition crossing his features.

"No, sir," you answer quickly.

"Huh. We got another Callahan back in the office right this moment. He's working with some fine gentlemen around here. Figured y'all might be kin."

Another Callahan? Might be no one. You had borrowed the name, and this Callahan may very well be authentic, but you can't keep from asking.

"Arthur?"

"Yeah, that's him."

"Arthur's here? In the sheriff's office?" Is he in trouble? It didn't sound like it. Why would Arthur be hanging around lawmen?

You follow the sheriff, fear and worry stirring in your chest. Every worst case scenario plays out all at once in your head.

The sheriff pushes open the door and you're surprised to see Arthur leaning back in a chair, lazily smoking a cigarette. Even stranger is the silver badge on his chest.

"Arthur!" You run to his side, unable to contain your relief. He’s safe. He’s… deputized?

"Well, would you look at that. Mr. and Missus Callahan," the sheriff teases.

Arthur hesitates a moment, surprise and confusion crossing his face. He hasn’t seen you in months, yet here you are, sharing his stolen name. You throw your arms around his neck, whispering to him. “Looks like we’re married this time, Mr. Callahan.”

He plays along, rubbing circles into your back and leaning into the embrace. “Darling,” he says loud enough for the other men to hear. “I’m glad you made it.”

“I missed you,” you place a hand on his cheek. You mean the words, and you hope Arthur can see that even through the act.

“How touching,” one of the other deputies drawls. “Didn’t know you was married,” he raises his eyebrows at Arthur.

“She’s been working in the city these past months,” Arthur lies easily. “I ain’t seen her since she left last winter.” His hand wraps around your middle, settling on your hips. “Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to give my wife a proper welcome.” He begins to usher you to the door, and you flush bright red as the sheriff and the deputy whistle and howl their congratulations.

Arthur helps you onto his horse and slips into the saddle behind you, riding quickly out of town. You whistle for your own horse to follow behind you. A peal of laughter escapes you, ringing out across the meadows. “Thanks for being so quick back there, cowboy. Saved our skins.”

“You weren’t bad yourself, Mrs. Callahan.” He chuckles. “May need to find yourself a new name, though, unless you wanna stay tied to me?”

You roll your eyes. “Did you see that sheriff? He was eating the whole thing up. Everyone’s a sucker for love.”

“If I see them again, I just know I’m gonna hear more about my lovely little wife.”

You’re glad Arthur can’t see your face. You’re positively pink. Lovely. Arthur called you lovely. Even if he was just teasing.

This was your problem. When you had first joined the gang, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from falling for Arthur. He’s kind, handsome, strong. You had tumbled head over heels before you had even realized, and by then it was too late. Arthur was in love with Mary. He was going to propose.

No matter what you did, your feelings hadn’t subsided, but you knew there was no use in torturing yourself. With Hosea’s blessing, you had gone off on your own, only returning to the gang every few weeks. It was easier that way. You could ignore your feelings and throw yourself into your work, whatever that may look like. But you knew you always had a home to go back to.

So you lived that way for years. Staying away from the gang longer and longer each time. It hurt, every time you returned and every time you left. Arthur was still your friend, but things had to be this way.

Yet now Arthur was calling you lovely. Arthur had held you. The danger had passed and you could only think about how you wished the embrace was real.

“What brings you around?” he asks.

“Needed to talk with Hosea. I was doing some honest work for a family near strawberry, but there’s a lot of money in that town, and I think he could work his magic on the rich folk.” The town attracted wealthy northerners like flies to honey. Hosea loved nothing more than stupid rich people who wouldn’t know what hit them.

“Honest work? What sort?”

“There was a widowed gentleman who needed help. He has two young kids and no one to care for them. He paid well, and the house was nice. I grew rather fond of the children. I may go back for a few months if he’ll take me. I could see myself having some kind of life there.”

Arthur makes an indignant sound. “You were some kind of nursemaid?”

“More of a governess,” you correct him quickly. “I’m smart. And I know my way around polite society. I’m more than just an outlaw or a farmhand.” Arthur’s comment had gotten under your skin. You were respected in that house. Mr. Rochester was kind, and he treated you as an equal.

“You are,” Arthur says. “But is that really what you want? To live in another man’s house and care for kids that ain’t even yours?”

“What choice do I have, Arthur?” you snap. “I don’t have a house of my own. I don’t have kids of my own. I was married today for all of ten minutes and the whole thing was a lie. People like us don’t get a happy ending. You said so yourself.”

He’s silent the rest of the ride to camp, and you’re thankful for it.

Your return is joyful, despite your argument with Arthur. Mary-Beth is enamoured with your life at Mr. Rochester’s home, and she keeps you up well into the night with questions.

“He paid for your clothes?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Anything I wanted,” you grin. “I just marked it in the catalogue and gave him my measurements.”

“And you had your own room?”

“And I could use the washroom whenever I wanted.”

“What about the children? Were they terrible?”

“Oh at first, yes.” You laugh and shake your head. “But they weren’t expecting me to fight them back. They were much more interested in their lessons when I promised them stories of the great van der Linde gang.”

Mary-Beth’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t?”

“I sure did. All about Arthur Callahan and company.”

Mary-Beth watches you carefully. You can tell she knows. You’ve never been able to get over your feelings for Arthur. No matter how long you spend away from the gang.

“What about the man of the house? Was he kind?” she asks.

“Oh very,” you nod. “He’s a gentle soul. He wants to do right by his children, but he knows he can’t care for them by himself. He misses his wife every day. He’s very interesting. Funny, charming. He didn't ask too many questions about where I came from although I’m sure he knew it was nothing but trouble.”

Mary-Beth thinks for a long moment. “Do you think he could fall in love with you?”

The question makes you start in your seat. “Why would he do a thing like that?”

“You’re living in his house. Caring for his children. It seems like the perfect ending.” She wears a wistful expression.

“I- I couldn’t, Mary-Beth. You know that.”

She nods. You love Arthur. As much as you wish you didn’t. There is no one else for you.

“Pardon the interruption-” Both of you jump and turn. Hosea has snuck up on you. “Dear, you know we care for you, but I worry about you. All this time and you still can’t let go of something that’s clearly hurting you. I think Miss Gaskill is right. You deserve a happy ending, one that doesn’t involve lawmen hot on your heels.”

You know where Hosea is going with this. The thought makes your heart twinge.

“You understand, don’t you? If you have a chance to make a life for yourself, one that is better than this, you should take it.”

“But Hosea-” you start.

“Don’t ‘but Hosea’ me,” he shakes his head. “It’s time for you to make the hard choice. You’ve lived far too long without doing anything, and it’s time to brace yourself for the pain.”

Tears well in your eyes. Mary-Beth takes your hand. You can tell she’s glaring at Hosea. “She’ll make her own choice in her own time.”

Hosea’s hand squeezes your shoulder. “I hate to see you suffer.” And he’s gone.

The next day, you can’t forget Hosea’s words. You find him in the afternoon, reading a book in the shade. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you sit next to him; he’s waiting for you to speak.

“You’re right.” You hate to say it, as if Hosea needs to be reminded. He doesn’t say anything, so you continue.

“I’ve been holding on to Arthur for too long. All these years I’ve been stuck waiting for something to change. I need to move on and do what’s best for myself.”

Hosea is watching you. “And what does that look like right now?”

You focus on a knot in the wood of the table. “I’m going to tell him how I feel — not right now, but when I’m ready to leave again. I need that closure at least. He needs to know why I’m leaving, and I need to know once and for all that he doesn’t love me. Then I’ll return to Mr. Rochester and ask if I can continue working for him.”

Hosea places his hand over yours. “You’re very brave and very strong.”

You shake your head. “I’m a coward, always have been and always will be.”

A few moments pass. “If I leave, I’m not coming back.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Hosea doesn’t even blink.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“It’s not time for goodbyes yet.”

Knowing that this will be your last time with the gang fills your days with a strange melancholy. Every conversation feels more important. Every night feels more like a dream. It’s not hard for those close to you to realize something is wrong.

“Is everything okay?” Arthur asks. The last person you can bear to see. But he’s still one of your closest friends.

“Everything’s fine Arthur.” You’re still upset with him from a few days before.

“I’m here if you need me,” is all he says.

Dutch, either oblivious or uncaring of your strife, asks for your help on a burglary.

“I’m so glad you’ve come back to us. There’s a small plantation that is in need of your skills.” He claps you on the shoulder and leads you to a map. “Arthur can ride out with you, keep a lookout while you’re inside.”

Your stomach drops. Of course.

“I don’t need a lookout, Dutch. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“Nonsense,” he waves his hand, “You’ll leave at sunset.”

Sunset comes far too quickly. You’re brushing down your horse when you hear Arthur approach. “You ready?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you saddle up and start riding before Arthur even has a chance to catch up.

He catches up to you easily, falling in beside you and riding silently for a few minutes. You try to convince yourself that everything would be fine. It was just one job.

Arthur looks on the verge of saying something for several minutes before he actually speaks. “I never, uh, apologized -- for what I said a few days ago. I spoke out of line and I shouldn’t have. You’re doing right by yourself, and if you’re happy, then I can’t say nothing against it.”

His apology floors you. You had known Arthur to own up to his mistakes -- one of the many reasons you loved him -- but you had never seen him lay himself so bare before you. It was more of an apology than you deserved.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you finally manage. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you anyways. I just need to do what is best for myself. I’ll be on my way again soon.”

Arthur looks about ready to ask you something, but thinks the better of it. The question must have eaten away at him though, because he caves eventually. “Why do you spend so much time away from the gang?” He shakes his head as soon as the words leave his mouth. “Stupid question. I just -- you always seem half in half out. Not like Trelawny is either, it’s like there’s something keeping you.”

He was right. He saw right through you but somehow missed the mark. Did he not know that he was the reason you never truly left? That he was the reason you couldn’t bear to stay?

“It’s something I need to get over myself,” you answer. It was cryptic and vague, but you couldn’t tell him now. You weren’t ready yet. After the job, maybe? You could leave first thing tomorrow and ride back to Strawberry.

Arthur pulls up close and reaches for you. “I’m here, you know. If you need me. I can help. Lord knows you’ve been there for me all these years.”

You pull away, unable to even respond. His words are like a douse of ice cold water, like desert sand rubbing you raw.

The plantation is a moderate size, wealthy enough but not so much as to be crawling with guards. You and Arthur ditch the horses at the fence line, creeping up to the big house without any trouble.

One of the windows at the back of the house pushes open, and you tug your boots off and hand them to Arthur. “Hold on to these, I don’t want to be too loud in the house.”

He takes the boots and dutifully lifts you so you can climb through the window.

As unassuming as the property was, the inside speaks of wealth. Gilded, polished, velvet. You’ll make out of this with plenty of cash.

Watches, jewelry, pins, and pens. You fill your satchel and your pockets before you even make it to the stairs. There are some stacks of bills in the downstairs office that you shove into your shirt, but no safe or strongbox. There has to be one somewhere.

At the top of the stairs you’re faced with several closed doors. Low light flickers from beneath one, and you hear snoring from behind another. At the end of the hall, you find a room that looks to be cold and quiet. Picking the lock, you slip inside, lighting a match to see around the room.

It’s dark, a study of some sort with shelves along the walls and a heavy wooden desk. Your match burns down and you move over to the window, sliding the curtains aside and lifting the pane. Once you’re sure no one was about, you let out a long low whistle, easily mistaken for a dove.

But doves weren’t out this time of night.

Arthur hears the signal and rounds the house a moment later with your boots in tow. You wave to him before gesturing back inside. You just need to check this last room.

The strongbox is in the bottom of a wardrobe under some thick winter coats. You shove as many valuables as you can into your pockets and even your trousers. Arthur can take some of it off your hands when you get outside. Even with the window open, it’s very dark in the study, and you fumble blindly through the desk drawers for anything else.

You’re on your way to the door, ready to creep back down the stairs, when your socked foot catches on an end table. You’re able to suppress your cry of pain, but you can’t stop the loud crash as the table topples over and everything on it scatters to the floor.

“Shit,” you hiss, hopping back to the window.

Arthur must have heard the commotion as well because he’s looking up at you with an exasperated expression.

You hear a door down the hall slam followed by the sound of footsteps. Good thing you relocked the door behind you at least, buying you another half second hopefully.

Redrawing the curtains, you climb through the open window, hanging from the sill as your feet dangle uselessly an entire story off the ground.

The door to the study opens.

“Push off and jump,” Arthur hisses. “I’ll catch you.”

“What?” you ask, but do as he says anyways. It’s a half second drop before you land against something broad and grouchy. Definitely Arthur.

You’re both sprawled on the ground, but he drags you to your feet, shoving your boots at you. “We gotta run.”

“No shit,” you take off towards the fields, hoping the sugar cane will give you enough cover. Arthur, surprisingly, lets you tug your boots on once you’re shrouded in the tall plants. Both of you listen for sounds from the house.

“Take these,” you start pulling stolen items from your clothes and pushing them into Arthur’s arms.

“I thought you felt lumpier,” he says as he shoves everything into his satchel. You glare at him.

The two of you steal through the sugar cane at a snail’s pace, wary of anyone that may be looking for the burglar.

“What did they do to deserve Dutch’s attention?” you asked. There was definitely money in the house, but Dutch usually had motivations beyond just that.

“Look around you,” Arthur shakes a stalk. “Who do you think works these fields?”

“Ah,” It dawns on you, “Well paid white folk.” There’s no missing the sarcasm in your voice.

“Exactly,” Arthur grabs your hand and pulls you along. “One of the ‘workers’ gave Dutch the tip, in exchange, we’re splitting the take.”

“Sounds fair,” you try to keep pace with Arthur, but your foot catches on the sugar canes and you tumble forward.

Arthur turns to catch you, only to be flattened for a second time that night. You’re sprawled on top of him, cursing up a storm.

He shifts beneath you, and you realize his hands are pinned between your chests. “A lot less lumpy, now.” His grin is crooked, and his eyes shine. You huff and scramble to your feet. “Sorry,” he says as he dusts himself off.

“Let’s just get to the horses.”

Arthur picks through your findings as you ride back towards camp. “Damn,” he whistles, “I hope you make as good a governess as you do a burglar.”

His words hurt. You still aren’t ready to face that yet, but now may be as good a time as any.

“I’m leaving again,” you say. Your throat already feels tight and you know you won’t make it through this without crying.

“So soon? You’ve hardly been back a week!” Arthur looks almost angry with you.

“This time, I’m leaving for good. I talked with Hosea already; he says I should do what’s going to be best for me.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, but his brows pinch together. You can’t understand what he’s feeling.

“Arthur,” your voice breaks. You can’t speak for several moments as you try to lessen your tears.

“I don’t get it.” He cuts in, “If leaving is going to hurt you like this, then why go at all? You’ve never liked it out there. You always hate leaving — I know you do.”

“Arthur,” you find your voice again, “You’re one of my dearest friends. All these years, you’ve stood by me. I made the foolish mistake of falling in love with you, and I’ve been too much of a coward to let you go. But I can’t lose any more years to loving you. I have to start a new life some time. I’m going back to Mr. Rochester. I’m going to live an honest life and teach two beautiful children, and maybe one day I’ll love someone the same way I love you. I’m sorry for burdening you with this, but I can’t leave until I know I’ve ended things here.”

The silence is suffocating. You feel like you’re drowning and you can only hope the current will wash you ashore.

“You love me?” Arthur looks dumbfounded. “You’ve left all these years because you love me?”

You don’t say anything. You’ve said enough. All that matters now is getting out of camp as fast as possible. You don’t even care about the money you’ve stolen. You’ll be gone by daybreak.

“You’re a fool. A damn fool.” His voice is raw.

It’s the last thing you want from him. Pity, mockery. You know how stupid you are, he doesn’t need to rub it in. Spurring your horse forward, you race back to camp, ignoring Arthur calling after you.

You make it back to camp. It’s late in the evening and only a few people are still awake, one of whom is Dutch, eagerly awaiting your return. He catches your expression and instantly reaches for you. “Is everything alright, dear? Where is Arthur? Is he safe?”

“Arthur is just fine,” you snap. He’s probably not far behind you, which means you only have a few minutes to leave before he gets back.

You begin dumping your spoils on the ground before Dutch, who is desperately trying to determine the source of your anguish.

“I’m leaving,” you tell him firmly. “I’ll pen a letter to Hosea as soon as I can.”

Dutch follows after you as you head to gather your things.

“Come, now,” he says. “You’ve only been back for a few days. At least rest some. You can leave once you’ve slept and eaten.”

You shake him off. “I’m going, Dutch.”

He doesn’t say anything more, just stands by as you pack your things and grab supplies from Pearson’s wagon. You approach him just before you mount up, unsure. “Thank you, Dutch. For being there for me.”

He looks at you, eyes seeing something you couldn’t even find in yourself. “You’ll be back.”

It’s not threatening, not angry or even sad. It’s something he knows.

Well, he’s wrong.

“Goodbye,” you squeeze his hand and turn back to your horse.

The poor beast is tired, but you push as hard as you can towards the heartlands. You’ve got to get as far away as you can before sunrise.

Except the crack of a pistol makes you and your horse start, and you search wildly for the source of the shot.

Three men on horseback appear from the brush. You were so caught up in your frustration you didn’t even see them.

“Stop,” the leader of the three demands.

You reign your horse in, already reaching for your pistol.

A lantern is raised. “Hey, aren’t you Missus Callahan?”

You squint in the low light and recognize the Rhodes Sheriff. “Yessir,” your voice is still shaky. You pray this isn’t your end.

“What are you doing out? Don’t you know there’s outlaws about ma’am?”

You shake your head. “I… I didn’t know.”

“Ma’am, are you feeling alright? You certainly don’t look too well.” It’s the deputy. The sheriff shoots him a harsh look.

“I’m fine, just needed some air is all,” you need to make your lie believable. “Arthur and I, we got into a fight.”

The lawmen have never looked more useless. They’re clearly out of their element trying to console an upset wife.

“Well,” the Sheriff smoothes his mustache, “what do you say we ride back into town. You can have a drink and a few hours to yourself, and we’ll see where we go from there.”

“Oh, no I-” You need to be gone. You can’t go back. “You must have important business. I couldn’t trouble y’all.”

“Nonsense,” the sheriff waves his hand. “It’s too late and too dangerous for a pretty young thing like you to be riding by yourself.”

If you protested any more, you would only rouse suspicion, so you give in and follow the three men back to town.

A long drink of whiskey later and you find yourself slumped asleep in the comfiest chair in the Sheriff’s office.

“Mr. Callahan,” a voice greets, “Just who we’re looking for!”

You blink awake, pushing up the brim of your hat up. Arthur looked terrible. You wondered if he had slept at all.

“Heard you had a bit of a lover’s quarrel last night, found your other half out in Scarlett Meadows near moonset.”

Arthur sees you and staggers forward. You’re surprised when he throws his arms around you, crushing you in close to him. “I thought you’d gone,” his voice was shot.

“I tried,” you tentatively return Arthur’s embrace.

“C’mon,” he tugs you towards the door, “Don’t worry. We’ll get everything sorted out.”

You didn’t trust him.

“Thank you,” Arthur extends a hand to the sheriff. “I appreciate you looking out for her.”

Against your better judgement, you follow Arthur. He leads you to a pasture by the lake, sliding out of the saddle and rolling out his bedroll. “If I sleep, will you still be here when I wake up?”

You eye him, but don’t say anything.

“Look, neither of us has slept in far too long. Get a few hours of rest and I promise we can sort everything out. I’m tired.”

You were tired too, so you rolled out your own bedroll. A few hours of sleep.

“You’re still here?” Arthur looks surprised.

You shrug. “Thought about leaving.” But Arthur had looked so peaceful in his sleep. Your weakness had kept you from abandoning him.

“I’m glad you didn’t. I can’t stop you if you want to go, but I can’t let you leave just yet.” He stretches, watching you as though you were startled prey.

“Don’t make me regret staying.”

Arthur chuckles. “I can’t promise that. But I need to get something off my chest.”

You glance at him, curious. What could Arthur have to say to you?

“Last night, you said you’re always leaving because you love me. That for some reason you can’t stay because of that. But you never told me. Why?”

It hurts. You fight down the pain in your chest and set your jaw. “I cared too much for you -- for everyone -- to ever truly leave. But I couldn’t bear to stay when I spent every day dreaming of something I couldn’t have. That’s why Hosea let me leave. I wanted things to work out for you. I wanted you to be happy with Mary. But the gang is my family.”

Arthur takes a slow breath. “All these years? You’ve been running away from me all these years because…” His brows pinch together as he struggles to find the words.

“I just…” you hold back tears. “I couldn’t bear to lose you. I have to let go sometime. I can have a life out in West Elizabeth. But I’ll miss you, Arthur.”

“You can’t leave.” He says the words and immediately grimaces. “I mean — you can, I just — I want you to do what is best for you… because I love you.”

Everything stops. The words nearly don’t register.

“How long?”

“What?” He looks bewildered.

“How long have you loved me?”

“A while,” he sighs. “Year or so? Since Vegas at least.”

You can’t believe it. “That long? And you never said anything?”

“Neither did you,” he counters.

“You were going to propose!” you hiss.

“She turned me down,” he looks to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” you place a hand on his shoulder. “You have to understand why I couldn’t stay.”

“I do.” Arthur looks up at you with sorrow in his eyes. “I think you can make a life for yourself with this… Manchester?”

“You think I’m going back to Mr. Rochester?” You blink, incredulous.

Arthur rubs his jaw. His eyes shine. “Seemed pretty set on it.”

His foolishness makes your heart hurt. “Arthur, I’d stay here — if you’d have me.”

He pulls you into his arms, crushing you to his chest. “I think we can take some time to figure it out. What do you say?”

“I say we’ve taken enough time, wouldn’t you?”

Dutch smirks when you ride back into camp with Arthur and collapse together in his tent. The whole day is spent whispering to each other, refusing to be apart for more than a few minutes. Arthur shows you pages in his journal when he had written about his feelings for you, and you talk about the many times you fell in love with him again and again.

Night falls, and Arthur pulls you into his arms before you can even think about leaving to sleep somewhere else. “I’ve got a lot of years to make up for. You’d best be ready for me to never let you go again.”

You rest against his chest, finally able to have the closeness you have dreamed of for years. The life you had wanted, together with Arthur.

You wake long before the sun rises, still nestled against Arthur. He’s awake as well, tracing shapes into your skin absentmindedly.

“You alright?” you ask.

“I’m perfect.”

You giggle -- actually giggle -- and press your lips to the exposed skin of Arthur’s chest. His breath hitches. You glance up in surprise.

“Darling,” he turns you to face him, gaze intense, “Can I make love to you?”

Your heart is going to beat out of your chest, and you’re sure you feel like hot coals the way your blood heats up. A shaky nod.

Arthur kisses you with so much heat and passion, gripping you tightly, trying desperately to memorize the feel of you against him. His lips trail over your jaw, down your neck. He rips open the front of your blouse and muffles your squeal of surprise with his palm. “Just let me take care of you,” his voice is low, breathy.

You’re heaving and shaking at his ferocity. It’s overwhelming, but you want this as much as he does. He drags your trousers down, lifting you easily and moving your hips to where he wants them. You’re surprised when he continues his trail of kisses from the crook of your knee up your thigh. “Arthur,” you gasp, “what are you-”

His tongue touches your heat and you gasp. He’s determined, a kind of fire and will that makes men cower before him. Instead, you’re crying and shaking as he drags his tongue over your clit and slips a finger inside of you. His other hand holds you so tightly, you may very well have bruises.

You come over his lips, quicker than ever in your life. And while you’re still dazed and reeling, his hand is on your cheek. You meet his eyes and see that the fire hasn’t subsided. “Can I take you, Darling? Please?”

You lean up to kiss him, one arm wrapped around his neck and the other reaching for his hard cock.

He slams into you to the hilt, muffling your screams with his lips. “Thank you,” he whispers against your skin. “I love you.”

You try to respond in kind, but he’s fucking you hard and fast. The roughness would scare you coming from anyone else, but this is Arthur. He’s holding you so closely, eyes fluttering and lips parted. You cling to him as well, years of pain and longing washing away as your fingers skim across his bare skin.

His cock fills you like nothing ever before. His hands are rough but gentle against your skin. You could stay like this forever.

You come again, vision going white as you drag your nails down Arthur’s back and feel only a little remorse. He follows shortly after, spilling over your stomach before collapsing on top of you, knocking the wind out of you.

“Arthur,” you wheeze. “I love you, but I can’t breathe.”

He rolls to the side, dragging you in close and nuzzling into your hair. “We can wash up in a few minutes. I just need to hold you.”

You press a kiss to his lips, soft and gentle, one of thousands more to come.

#look #this isnt my best work #but i just want it gone #i tried my best #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan/reader #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #smut #lemons #my rdr2 fic #arthur callahan #fake marriage

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marleahsblogs · 3 years ago

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✨ Internet Safety ✨

For our generation today, the internet is probably the safest place to be in. People can be whoever they want, express whatever they want, and enjoy themselves however they want. I must admit, I would also say that I couldn’t live without the internet. Internet is just the solution to every problem, right? Now, we can even earn money in the comfort of our rooms with the help of the internet. Should we spend hours travelling just to buy stuff? Nah, we got the internet! With just several clicks we can already make an order and just wait on our couch to receive it. Oh no, COVID-19 ruled the world! No worries, we are backed up by the internet. Online classes, online transactions, online dating. You name it. The internet is there for us, or is it? Is it our safe haven?

We have put so much trust in the internet, but we didn’t know it can also be our biggest predator. Online transactions were fun until you got scammed and lost all your money. Online dating them feel loved until the person they were talking to is a catfish. Streaming online made him famous and rich, until his account got hacked. And there are still millions of stories out there that should awake us from believing that the internet is the safest thing in the world.

Below are some possible dangers you could encounter online.

1. Cyberbullying

I’m sure many of you have heard of this. But even though we are fully aware of it, it is still one of the major problems until now. As we casually scroll in our social media feeds, it is already normal for us to see people making fun of or “bashing” other people. It became so prevalent that we could call it a normal thing. According to UNICEF (2019), one in three young people has said that they have been a victim of cyberbullying and that it affected almost half of the Filipino children aged 13-17. We need to know that even a single word like “tanga” or “bobo” we see in our social media platforms and online gaming worlds could affect or traumatize us greatly.

2. Data Being Stolen

Some people nowadays are getting better at doing this. They can steal your money from your accounts, apply for a loan or credit card using your name, or sell your information to an online criminal as well. The hidden website is packed with criminals who purchase and sell stolen personal data. If your data is stolen, you can experience spam attacks. But most of these data thefts try to steal sensitive information, such as your credit card or personal information to commit identity theft.

3. Exposure to Inappropriate Material

Another risk especially for children and teenagers are exposure to inappropriate materials that are sexual, hateful, or violent. The chance and probability for children to look at anything inappropriate rely on how much they do online as they get more active online at a younger age. Whether it's a free-time graphic pop-up commercial, children's cartoon characters in adult circumstances or a self-harm forum, an innocent search might expose these children to contents that make them feel puzzled and angry. Some of the inappropriate content includes pornographic material, content containing swearing, sites that encourage racism, violence, terrorism, or even suicide, sexism sites, or gambling sites, and so on.

Based on my own experiences, here are some tips I would like to share to you to look after your privacy and secure your internet safety:

1. Keep your software up-to-date

Not only will you get a better program experience, but you will also be able to iron out your security issues. But the reason why you must keep it updated is that hackers are fast enough to become aware of certain software’s vulnerabilities, thus could harm your computer system and personal data. If you avoid doing these updates, you are bound to face persistent bugs, data loss, malware infection, and of course security issues.

2. Update your passwords

Why do we need to constantly change our passwords? So that we can reduce the risk of other people having access to our accounts, thus corrupt our personal data. Using strong passwords is necessary for us to prove our identity in our accounts, websites, or our computer itself (Wright, 2021). My tip in creating passwords is random characters with a symbol, number, and at least one capital letter. The reason for this is that using weak passwords, such as patterns of letters and numbers, or simply your name and some important date you know can cause hackers to guess and open your account, hence impersonate you to commit fraud and other crimes.

3. Use two-factor authorization

Familiar with this term? Yes, a two-factor authorization (2FA) is an extra step to keep your accounts more secure and avoid getting hacked by others. One of the most common 2FA methods is one-time codes sent through SMS or email, authenticator apps such as Google Authenticator, and security keys such as U2F tokens (Drozhzhin, 2018). This one for me is the best 2FA authorization because only your private key will confirm your login. If someone will try to log in to your account with the wrong security key, they will not be granted access to your account. So, there you go. A series of two-factor authorizations that will secure your accounts the best way possible. You’re welcome!

4. Be careful what you click on

Have you heard of phishers? They are attackers that send a fraudulent message designed to trick and victimize us into revealing sensitive information to them. As scary as it sounds, we need to be aware of what we click on to avoid experiencing this. Phishing is usually done in an email when they get your email address from somewhere. These phishers try to create a fake website to trick you into typing in your personal information. It’s much easier for them to hack our accounts this way. To avoid this, you can check the URL’s legitimacy by using the Google Transparency Report or simply avoid suspicious emails which require your personal information. Think before you click!

5. Back-up your data

Data back-up and recovery has many advantages. Some of these are protecting and saving your data, provides ease of management, ensures accurate information of your data, quick access to data, scalability, and such (Becker, 2021). There are many other ways to back up your data, but here’s a simple way to manually back up your data in your phone is to open your phone’s settings app, tap system and click backup or search backup in your settings app, then tap back-up now. It’s that simple.

6. Set up notifications for your most important bank accounts

As online bank account holders, it is our responsibility to making sure our accounts are protected. Online accounts are one of the easy targets of hackers to whisk away our money with just a couple of keystrokes. To safeguard our online banking, we may choose an industrial-standard security bank or credit union that utilizes text or e-mail warnings avoids the use of public Wi-Fi access and periodically changes your password.

7. Protect your personal information

This might be difficult for those who like to express themselves on social media, but we must protect our personal identity to avoid any sort of online threats. To protect our identity, we must limit the amount of personal information we share or provide. We shouldn't share or provide this information online: exact home address, your place and schedules of classes or work, birthday, cellphone number, and most importantly our passwords or account information. Another tip is to write down in a small notebook all your passwords and keep them safe in a secure place away from your computer.

8. Use parental controls and stay present

With the pandemic going on right now, parents should be extra careful of what their children see and hear about themselves and who they encounter on the internet. To protect your children from internet risks, talk to them frequently, utilize tools to safeguard them and watch out for their work. Monitor the time of your child, especially the younger ones, about when and how long they stay online. Keep your computer at a central location in your house, where it's easy to watch what your children do and look at online. You may configure them for mobile devices to forget Wi-Fi passcodes for your kids not to go online without knowledge. Review privacy and location settings, parental control and use secure browsers, apps, search engines and YouTube search settings. Lastly, limit camera and video to prevent your children from accidentally taking photos or videos of themselves or others.

The internet does not usually hurt us unless we react to suspect material and websites. The first reason you don't know what you're doing is because of internet damage. Secondly, you may react or click on links such as appealing advertisements, infected software and communications when you have other forces. To ensure internet safety, just remember those tips above and these three things: secure your network, be responsible, and make the internet child-safe.

References:

Becker, D. (2021). 6 Advantages of Data Backup and Recovery. IT Central Station. Retrieved from https://www.itcentralstation.com/articles/6-advantages-of-data-backup-and-recovery

Drozhzhin, A. (2018). SMS-based two-factor authentication is not safe — consider these alternative 2FA methods instead. Kaspersky Daily. Retrieved from https://www.kaspersky.com/blog/2fa-practical-guide/24219/

Wright, J. (2021). Why Is it Important to Change Your Password? Small Business Chron. Retrieved from https://smallbusiness.chron.com/

Online bullying remains prevalent in the Philippines, other countries (2019). Unicef Philippines. Retrieved from https://www.unicef.org/philippines/press-releases/online-bullying-remains-prevalent-philippines-other-countries

25 Best Internet Safety Tips for Every Situation (2021). The Neeva Team. Retrieved from https://neeva.com/learn/25-best-internet-safety-tips-for-every-situation

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jeogiyall · 4 years ago

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𝐈𝐧 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐢𝐝𝐞; 𝒏.𝒚𝒕

⚓︎ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷𝟺𝚔 (𝚒𝚔 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚜)

⚓︎ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾; 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖾𝗋! 𝖺𝗎, 𝗒𝗎𝗍𝖺 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

⚓︎ᴀᴅᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ: 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗒! 𝗒𝗎𝗍𝖺, 𝗋𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗄𝗂𝖽! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗂! 𝖺𝗎, 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇𝗇𝗒, 𝖮𝖢 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝖾, 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍 :) || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗏𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗍, 𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗍𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀.

⚓︎ ᴀ/ɴ: 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖺 𝖻𝖾 5𝗄 𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅. 𝗂'𝗆 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾!! 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖼𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗁𝖺𝗁𝖺 <3 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂'𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗋𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁 + 𝖺𝗋𝗂'𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌. 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗑𝗈𝗑𝗈! -𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

The first thing you do upon entering ‘Yuta and Johnny’s Surf Shack’ is wipe dried tears from your cheeks. It wasn’t that you weren’t beyond ecstatic to be spending a summer in Oahu, Hawai'i, you really were! It was just terrible to be there with your family, terrible to be anywhere with your family. Seriously, you had been on the island for a week and the closest you’d come to having fun was watching your dad golf. Your mother had called you selfish upon your complaint, so you grabbed your bike from the front lawn and left with nowhere to go.

It had been an hour of pedaling with salty tears falling down your cheeks before there was a sign of people actually living here. Before you stumbled upon the small complex of stores it was just ‘Discount Golf Cart Tours!’ and ‘Authentic Oahu Dining!’ but something about this place felt real. Maybe it was the sound of water sloshing on the stilts that supported each building, or the smell of mango wafting out of the fresh grocers, or perhaps the man selling pineapples in front of the surf shack who had fallen asleep face first on his booth, but something about this felt genuine. It also didn’t hurt that you had been wanting to try out surfing. You parked your bike next to the pineapple stand, taking extra precaution to not wake him, and entered the surf store.

The first thing you noticed was that your cheeks were still wet (hence the wiping,) followed by the smell of sunscreen and cedar wood. It felt like stepping through a portal, one that transported you to a place without overbearing mothers or artificial golf courses. You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, entirely missing the tan boy perched on the storefront counter.

The boy in question was prepared to spill out the usual speech, ‘Welcome to Yuta and Johnny’s surf shack, I’m Yuta and am here to help with any of your needs. Are you interested in renting or purchasing today,’ but something about you made his voice stop working. He blames it on the way your head tilted back, like you were soaking in rays of sunshine, then inhaled deeply as if to take it all in. It seemed personal, fragile. Like it’d be criminal to impose. He doesn’t even consider speaking until you catch him.

“Um... Are you interested in a rental?” His voice was low and gravelly, laced with an accent. You laughed awkwardly, entire body going pink.

“That obvious, huh?” You felt like an idiot standing there in pinstripe pajama shorts and a tacky button up that’s a few (read: three) sizes too big. Clothes weren’t exactly on your ‘escape the mother’ agenda.

“Oh, no!” His eyes go wide as he takes in your outfit, “I mean now that you mention it yes, but that wasn’t what I meant at first. Sorry.” You almost see his cheeks turn red.

“It’s okay, I look ridiculous.” He chuckles a little bit, a low and warm sound. You think that he has a nice smile, “I’m actually just browsing today, but I’ll let you know if I need help.” You watch his hair bounce as he nods, it’s light purple and so long that it tickles the tip of his chin.

You doddle around the store for thirty minutes, pretending to look at surf equipment that you have no idea how to use. You almost ask the boy what’s what, but something clenching at your throat prevents you from speaking. In the end you buy a bottle of SPF thirty and a pineapple from the man out front (it feels like you should, seeing as he didn’t kick your bike off of his booth.) The ride home is tranquil and quiet, like a scene out of a movie.

“I want to try surfing.” You lament aimlessly while hugging a pillow. It’s been a week since your excursion to the surf shack, and it’s been on your mind ever since. The surfing, and also maybe the boy working.

“Why?” Maddie Prescot, your neighbor, best friend, and (conveniently) father's largest business partner's daughter, asks while plopping onto your bed, “It’s so scary looking! Like what if you fall off or something, there’s no one else out there with you!” You roll your eyes playfully at the worried expression spreading on her face.

“That’s like the whole point, y’know our dads can’t talk to us if we’re in the middle of the ocean.” The words come out casual, almost as if they weigh nothing. When you see Maddie’s face her eyes are wide and her jaw is dropped.

“I take it back, sign me up right now.”

(While you two laugh together you think about the first time you met Maddie, the summer spent in Europe. It was when your fathers had just started working together, and terribly miserable. Seriously, two fourteen year old girls forced to sit in stuffy dresses and eat small portions at restaurants where you had to speak softly. She had approached you after the first dinner right as your stomach grumbled lowly.

“Are you still hungry?” You nodded reluctantly, “Me too, let’s get food delivered back to our houses.”

“Oh, um, I don’t-”

“Dad! (y/n)’s sleeping over!” She called across the narrow, Italian street. It was a summertime friendship, yet in a way it meant so much more. Maddie was the first person that understood any part of your life, and despite the fact that during the school year she was an entire country away it always felt like you could talk to her. Even if it was about something dumb, she was always there. )

“Are we getting uber food after dinner?”

“Always!” She answers, smiling in a way that looks familiar, “I do have to go get ready though, see you tonight!” She exits the room in a flurry, leaving behind the scent of strawberry shampoo and a grin on your face.

“Oh my gosh Maddie-”

“Shush, you’re gonna wake up my parents!” Maddie chided, loading a glass plate with a pink bar of soap on it into the microwave. Your brain was certainly tired, but not tired enough to think this was a good idea.

“You’re trying to make something explode, but yes my convincing you to not explode things is gonna wake up your dad who’s two floors away!” She smiles brightly at your words while pressing the on button.

“I’m glad that we’re on the same page!” You groan, feeling gray hairs popping out of your scalp just from the sight of her.

“I swear being friends with you is like being a babysitter.”

"Hiding from the rain?” The boy at the counter asks. You immediately notice that it’s the same boy that was manning the counter the last time that you ran away to ‘Yuta and Johnny’s Surf Shack,’ except now his skin is even tanner. You inhale deeply while cringing at the wet clothes on your skin.

“If I was, I definitely failed, don’t you think?” You tease, motioning to the soaked hair on top of your head. He laughs, a sound that nearly warms up your wet limbs, and nods.

“Pretty miserably, let me get you a towel.” You’re about to tell him ‘No, don’t even worry about it! I’m fine!’ but a shiver runs down your body, and you want nothing more than to be warm.

“Please.” He giggles at the slight crack in your voice, you think that it’s the first time you’ve ever heard a boy giggle. It suits him, “So are you Yuta or Johnny?” You ask while the boy rummages beneath the counter.

“Guess.”

“Umm, Johnny?” When he resurfaces with a pink fuzzy towel in hand he’s wearing a hurt expression, like you just told him that you don’t like his hair. Not that you would ever say that. Much like giggles and wide smiles, long lilac hair suits him.

“How dare you?” Despite your best efforts you laugh, walking over to take the towel where he offers.

“Sorry, Yuta.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” You take the towel from his hands, still biting back laughter, “I’m just kidding. Sorry, I tend to do that too much, what can I help you with?”

“You’re not joking too much, and I’m not sure. Surfing, I guess.” His eyebrows furrow as he watches you wrap the towel around your body like a blanket.

“You guess?”

“Yea...” Your voice is tiny, confused. It makes something inside of him turn pink.

“And you’ve been on the island for how long?” Your response barely sounds like words, but he somehow manages to gather ‘three and a half weeks’ from your sullen mumbles, “Yea, we’re done guessing, come back next Wednesday. One work for you?” It feels like your head is literally made of rocks as you nod, “Okay. You’re learning to surf.” If it weren’t for the fact that they weren’t rolling around on the floor, you would’ve thought your eyes had popped out.

“Oh, thank you. How much?” He looks at you like you’ve grown a second head, “Like... How much should I pay you?”

“Don’t be goofy, that’s why we have Johnny. To be goofy.”

“Seriously, I can’t not pay you.”

“(y/n,) I want to do this.” His eyes are trained on you, they feel heavy.

“How do you know my name?”

“Back of your bike.” The fact that he already has the answer to everything makes your cheeks heat up. You don’t know if it’s in a crush way or in the job interview kind of way. Judging by his strong arms and honey skin you think that it’s crush kind.

“That’s kind of weird... Really weird.” You move to leave, but turn around one last time. He’s smiling at your back, and you know in that instant that he’s going to ruin your life “I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

His smile follows you out the door and to the pineapple booth, then all the way home.

Your mom questions why you always come home with an enormous pineapple. You fib through your teeth and tell her that you pick them off the side of the street. She doesn’t really buy it, you don’t either. It’s clear that she’s about to push harder, but then your father walks through the front door of the rental home and suddenly everything is about him. For the first time in your life you don’t really mind it. There’s something nice about having the surf shack (and Yuta) all to yourself.

“You’re going to fall off, that’s just how it works. Everyone falls.” Yuta reasons while staring at your panicked frame. Everything was going great with the lesson, right up until you saw Johnny (co-owner of the store, and resident gentle giant) get entirely wiped out on a huge wave. Now you’re sitting on the lavender colored surfboard (that you definitely didn’t choose because it matches Yuta’s hair. Definitely not) with trembling arms, “Besides, when you fall it won’t hurt as bad as when Johnny does it.”

“Why?” It’s genuinely obnoxious how high your voice shoots up.

“Because you’re not seven feet tall. You really don’t even need to worry about it right now, not like you’re catching any waves today anyways.” You cringe, the blue rash guard you got from their surf shack suddenly feeling too tight (you tried to buy it, but each time you moved to give Yuta the cash he would squeeze his eyes shut and pretend like you weren’t there,) “Seriously, just enjoy being out here.” He reaches out to grab your arm before realizing that his board is definitely too far away. He laughs, and you can’t help but join in. He has that effect on people.

When you two eventually paddle back to shore the sun is getting ready to set, casting a golden haze over everything. You think that the boy standing in front of you looks beautiful. It’s the first time a boy has ever been that to you.

“Thank you for my first ever surf lesson. It was really fun, but I sadly have to get going now.” Wet hair is tickling your chin, and you’re dreading explaining this to your parents.

“Alright, same time next week?” Your heart catches on the hook of his words, slowly unraveling into a useless ball of yarn.

“Yea.” The word feels like it weighs five thousand pounds. It gets heavier with every step you take towards your baby blue bike, parked up against the shabby pineapple stand.

“(Y/N!)” Yuta shouts, still standing on the white sand of the beach. For the first time all day you notice that he’s not the only person there.

“What?” You call back, voice uncharacteristically loud. Yuta also has that effect on people, pulling out the daring parts that shout across crowded beaches and lie to their parents.

“Can I get you dinner next time?” A smile erupts on his face as if it’s volcanic, there’s one on yours too. You think to yourself that his smile could fix everything bad inside of you.

“I’d love that!”

You wear his smile to sleep that night.

Four days after your first surf lesson your muscles are still sore. It’s not a normal kind of sore either, one where you can take an advil and get over it, of course it’s not. It’s the kind of sore that makes your muscles spasm at the most inopportune times ever. In example: right now, standing in front of Maddie’s entire family while sipping red wine that you weren’t supposed to have. The fact that your dress was white cotton didn’t help to ease your nerves.

“Are you okay?” Maddies oldest brother, Warner, asks you. You try to nod, then quickly give up after remembering where your pain was.

“Yea.” You exhaled, rolling your head backwards, “I’m just sore, it’s a pressure thing I guess.” He chuckles, low and crunchy. It makes your stomach churn, but not the same way that Yuta’s does.

“Can I ask you something?” Yuta asks while shaking water from his hair. You two were waiting for grubhub to arrive at the surf store with post surf lesson dinner. Yuta had taken to putting on dry clothes while you sat shivering on the counter, wrapped up in a fluffy towel.

“Depends.” There’s a small smile playing on your lips, immediately pulling a giggle from the tanned boy. You want to bottle up the sound and keep it tucked underneath your pillow.

“Why do you... Hold back so much?” You look at him as if you don’t know what he’s talking about. You do, obviously, you’ve been holding back for as long as you can remember, but it’s almost embarrassing that he’s noticed it “Don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean. Like... Like how whenever I make a joke you try to not laugh, why don’t you laugh? Not just that, but... That.” A part of you wants to not tell him, wants to keep Yuta and everything nasty inside of you completely separate. There’s a bigger part of you that gives into his dripping honey smile and blanket laugh.

“My parents sent me to a boarding school that’s really... Strict, I guess? I don’t know, it’s competitive and no one is friends with anyone. You’re literally my second friend ever, we are friends right?”

“Yes.”

“Wow, imagine if you had said no.” You pull wet hair off the back of your neck, suddenly feeling very dizzy, “Anyways, yes. My parents, like... They are also super strict. I’m always too loud, or too goofy, or too serious, or just... Just too much. Too much.” You mean to keep talking, but your voice gives out as tears stream down your face. Yuta doesn’t notice for a second, but as soon as he does you have strong arms wrapping around your shoulders.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry!” He coos while squeezing you tight. If you weren’t bawling into his chest you would think about how this is the first real hug you’ve gotten in months, “Oh gosh! You’re gonna get sunscreen in your eyes, here! Use my shirt!” He’s shoving his shirt into your face, and if you weren’t crying out basically every frustration that you’ve ever had, it would be kind of funny. You wipe the tears out of your eyes, then the sunscreen from your forehead, and then you just hold the fabric.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” You sob, clenching onto his (once) dry shirt, “It’s the first time I’ve ever talked about it, a-and I ruined your shirt, and I’m so sorry!”

“S’okay. You’re okay.” He makes the words feel true, holding you in a way that no one ever has. It’s a clingy kind of hold, one that doesn’t let up until his phone dings. He keeps an arm slung around your shoulder while reading the lit screen, “Food is here, why don’t you go put on some dry clothes?” You rub the sticky tears from your cheeks while shaking your head lightly.

“I didn’t bring any, my parents would’ve asked where I was going and then I’d have to-” He brings up one hand to cover your mouth while the other one fishes under the counter. You think this is the nicest way that anyone has told you to shut up.

“Borrow mine.”

The shirt falls to your mid-thigh, so you don’t even bother with his shorts. (With how tiny that boy's waist is, the shorts probably wouldn’t fit anyways.) He spends dinner cracking jokes just to make you laugh and staring at your profile when he thinks you’re not looking.

“Okay,” You manage through dad joke induced laughter, “I really do have to get going now. Sun’s starting to set, and I don’t have a helmet light.”

“I’d pay to see that.” He helps you gather up your trash and walks you to the door, which is only two seconds away from where you were previously, “I’m gonna say something, and I hope I don’t make you cry again, so I’m telling you that I’m gonna say something.” You smile, playfully rolling your eyes. It’s ridiculous to you how easy it all feels.

“It wasn’t your fault I cried, it’s just because-”

“Okay talking now!” Laughter floats in the space between your bodies as he smiles shyly, “I think you’re really sweet. Like, the way that you buy a pineapple from Mr. Kahale every time you leave, or how you still try to buy stuff from me, or... The way that you laugh at all my jokes? Even the ones that really aren’t funny, you still laugh. I think that makes you sweet, and you’re also funny, and sarcastic, and hardworking... And not too much. Never too much.”

The words scratch into the back of your eyelids, and you read them in between every blink.

“Hey Johnny!” You chirp upon entering the surf shack. It’s half past noon, but you doubted that anyone would send you packing for showing up too early.

“(y/n,) hi! Come on in, can I get you a cup of coffee?” The tall boy asks, already turning around to prepare the mug. Honestly? You had already made a cup early in the morning and two cups would definitely make you jittery, but Johnny was so eager that you let him go ahead.

“Sure, go ahead. No sugar and four creams, please.” You assume your usual position on the checkout counter while Johnny plugs in the Keurig machine. Words float out of his mouth and around the room, never quite hitting your ears. It’s not that he’s boring, just that something feels off, “Hey, where’s Yuta?” The boy rolls his eyes exasperatedly, knowing fully well that you didn’t hear a single thing that he said.

“He’ll be here soon. Didn’t come in this morning since it’s his day off and all; here’s your coffee!” Johnny sees something on your face, written in furrowed eyebrows and down turned lips, “Don’t worry, he’s still coming in for your lessons!” You take the cup, head swimming with tan skin and hair that’s a little too long.

“I didn’t know it was his day off.” Johnny smiles brightly, exhaling a laugh.

“Wednesdays have always been his off days, well until recently. He comes in to teach you but that’s it.” Your cheeks turn bright pink, spreading quickly down your neck, “You know, he told me that- Yuta! Welcome home!” Something rises in your chest at Johnny's unspoken words, only to crest when you see the boy in question's beautiful smile (the one that reaches everything around him and paints it into something pretty.)

“Hi (y/n)! Happy to see you!” And that’s when it crashes in a big mess of soft smiles and snotty confessions. You want to tell him that he’s the second person that’s ever listened to you, that he’s the only boy that’s ever made you smile. You want to tell him that pieces of him live in your head, coming up in the moments where everything is too hard to handle.

The only words that manage to squeeze out of your throat are, “You too, ready to start?”

If his bright laugh was any indicator, then he certainly got the message.

“Sweetie, why is your face sunburned?” Your mother asks while dumping eggs on your plate. The burn across your nose was from staying out just a little too long with Yuta, but obviously she could never know about that. Instead you shrug, pretending like you didn’t even know it was there.

“Don’t know, sun’s bright I guess.” Her eyes narrow, and you know from eighteen years of stretching the truth that she doesn’t buy it. A groan (partnered with dread) rises in your throat at the idea of trying to dig your way out of this, just like you had to last week when she asked about your wet hair. This whole lying thing used to be so easy, something that just rolled off your tongue, but upon realizing that people can make you smile and that life can be enjoyed you always get terrible cottonmouth whenever you need to lie. A small part of you knows that it’s because you don’t want to lie about being happy, that you want someone to tell everything to, but a bigger part wants to stay in the dark.

“You lie like a cheap carpet.” She teases, voice twinging with a southern accent that she never had. It almost makes you want to tell her, then you think back to your last summer roller derby practice. When you had scraped your knee open. Your mom had been shocked after seeing the blood that stretched from the bottom of your thigh to the middle of your calf, but that was all replaced when you told her where it was from. Within twenty minutes you learned every synonym for ‘irresponsible’ that there was

(”I do everything around this house and this is how you repay me?! By getting injured, and oh I don’t know lying?!” You had cringed at her harsh words, right leg still aching with pain.

“I’m sorry!” You sobbed out, praying that the high ceilings of your kitchen would crash down on your head.

“I’m sure you are, God (y/n) do you even know what it’s like to run a household?! I am exhausted, and you’re running around and hurting yourself?!”

“Well maybe you wouldn’t have to ‘run the household’ if your stupid fucking husband would ever come home and raise his child! And maybe I wouldn’t feel the need to keep things from you if you didn’t react like this!” Tears trickled down your mother's cheeks, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. You had been crying first, anyways.

“To your room.” Her jaw was clenched so tight that even water wouldn’t be able to slip through it, “Now!”

You had run up the stairs and into your room as fast as possible, then proceeded to slam the door and hurl your skates into a bookshelf. Needless to say, you never got to go back to derby.)

“I’m not lying, mom.” You breathe out, shoveling the last bit of scrambled eggs into your mouth, “I’m going over to Maddie’s, see you at the dinner party tonight!” Her gaze follows you out the door, sitting on your shoulders and swallowing you like a denim jacket.

You checked the time on your phone for the fourth time in the past ten minutes, only to groan upon realizing that not even a minute had passed since the last time you checked. Maddie had been getting the food for around fifteen minutes, and while the grubhub delivery boy was probably tripping over his tongue at the flirting that was definitely going on, your stomach was starting to grumble. It’s starting to sound violent

“Hungry?” A gravelly voice asks from behind you, causing hair to prick up on the nape of your neck before realizing that it’s just Warner.

“You shouldn’t scare people like that! Especially when they’re sitting on the ledge of a balcony!” It feels like your mother crawls out of your mouth, so you close it harshly and swallow before even considering speaking again, “And yes, extremely. Maddie’s supposed to come back up with the food, but she’s been gone for fifteen minutes.”

“Yea,” He chuckles while sliding onto the balcony railing, it makes you think of Yuta’s soft giggles, “she’s flirting with the delivery boy.” A heavy breath runs down your cheeks while eyes roll into the back of your head.

“How did I know?” When he laughs a hand brushes on your thigh, then stays there. Your cheeks turn red, but it’s more of an embarrassed blush. Not the innocent sunrise blush that Yuta paints your body with. You stare at his hand, begging for it to move. It never does, “(y/n,-)”

“I have t-to go. I have to go check on Maddie.” The way your body stumbles over the railing and through the French glass doors is embarrassing, but you don’t care. You’d trip over a million banana peels if it got rid of Warners expectant gaze.

It follows you down the hallway, through one living room, and into a stairwell, only leaving when Maddie bumps into you with a loud ‘oomf!’

“Hey honey, where are you going?” Her voice is so sweet, like the way someone would talk to a puppy. With anyone else it’d be patronizing, but with Maddie it feels like home.

“Warner like... touched my thigh, but it wasn’t a big deal. Just made me uncomfy.” She smiles sympathetically, knowing fully well that this wasn’t her brother's first time leaving a girl feeling like this.

“He’s an asshole.” The blunt words look funny coming out of your friend's soft face, so you laugh.

“Yea.”

“Let’s eat, I’m starved.” You think to yourself that you’ll never find a person like her, before nodding and falling in line behind her.

The first time that you manage to catch a real wave, not the baby ones that Yuta made you ‘ride’ right by the shore, you feel so free that you could cry. The wave is at least six feet tall, but in your head it feels much taller. Like something that could swallow you whole, but also something that you told not to. And something that listened.

You don’t even know what to do with all of the energy coursing in your veins, so you do nothing. Just let it fester while riding the wave, exactly the way that Yuta taught you. With feet planted strongly in the center of the board, everything smelling like salt water, and a huge smile spreading across your face. Although you don’t see him, Yuta is cheering from the sand, which is exactly where you go once the wave breaks.

You start to run to the boy, adrenaline still writhing in your body, but the running stops as soon as you pummel face first into the shin deep water. Perhaps running with something attached to your ankle isn’t the smartest move, but you’re too high to care. It’s all you can do to not burst out laughing at yourself.

“Are you okay?!” Yuta asks as his arms materialize beneath you. His eyes are slightly worried, causing a ridiculous contrast to your wild ones.

“Never better, did you see that?!” He barely has you out the water before you’re bouncing around again.

“What, you cleaning the ocean floor with your face or-”

“Don’t be a butt!” You tease while flicking his temple, “Did you see it?!”

“Of course I did! I was cheering and everyth-” Your lips are on his. You’re standing in the water of a Hawaii beach, and kissing Nakamoto Yuta. You’re (y/n,) who just rode a six foot tall wave, and you are kissing Nakamoto Yuta. You are kissing him, and he tastes like sun drenched honey. There’s nothing that could make this feel real, not even if someone came up and pinched you.

Even as his tongue swipes over your lower lip, even as his hand comes up to cradle your jaw, even as your hands tangle in the ends of his long hair. Nothing could convince you that this isn’t a dream. Maybe it’s the way that Yuta kisses like he needs it to survive, or how he’s listening to you despite the fact that no words have been exchanged, or maybe even how the waves are crashing you endlessly closer to him. Everything about his mouth on yours is far too good to be true.

“Was that okay?” You exhale, hot breath fanning against the boys cheeks, “I mean like, that I kissed you?” Everything feels hazy as your eyes focus in on his giddy smile. You think to yourself that his smile rivals every sunset that you’ve ever seen.

“Yes.” He responds, chest heaving, “Yea, it’s okay.” He rests his forehead against yours as a wave brushes the hems of your rash guards.

“Did you really see?” Something in your voice sparkles, it makes Yuta’s heart stop.

“I see everything that you do. The sharp inhales, the way your head tilts back when you enjoy something, the way you smile when Johnny offers you coffee. I’m starting to think that the only reason I have eyes is to look at you.” The words ricochet around your head, leaving your eyes watery and heart heavy.

“Yuta?” You ask before swallowing hard. There’s a hand tangled in his lilac hair, the other cradling the back of his neck. He thinks to himself that he could die like this and still be happy, “I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Okay.” He answers. The word feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and also like you could lift it with your pinky..

There were three times in your life where you felt peace. The first time was a week spent in Spain with your boarding school, everyone stayed together in a hotel with a huge open air courtyard. You had spent each day out there amongst the plants, doing nothing except for school readings and breathing in the fresh air.

The second time was your first sleepover with Maddie. She had ordered Chinese and rented some Italian film that you can’t remember the name of anymore. She was the first person to listen to you about anything, and even though it was over something as simple as beef or chicken lo mein and what movie to watch, it felt nice. You remember falling asleep that night feeling like your heart was full.

And the third time was now, sitting on your board past where the waves break with Yuta. You’re about to paddle back to shore, but for now the boy is just basking in golden sun and splashing water at you.

“Stop!” You cry out, holding up one hand uselessly, “If I fall off you’re coming with me!” He smirks playfully, splashing the water even harder.

“Good, then maybe I can kiss you.” Something in your heart clenches at his childlike smile, and you almost understand the want to be pushed into the ocean just so you can kiss his honey lips.

“Come on, let’s head in.” As the two of you roll in with the evening tide, you can’t help but think that no one will ever make you happy the way that he does.

Despite growing closer with both shop owners, entering the surf shack still manages to transport you to a new planet. It’s like there’s nothing in the world that can brace you for the smell of bananas and fresh cut wood, or the sight of Johnny beaming from behind the counter while Yutas legs dangle from his perch. It’s nothing special, but in a way it is. At least to you.

“(y/n!)” They both cheer, Yuta sliding quickly off the counter while Johnny starts up the keurig.

“Four creams?” Johnny asks as Yuta presses a loud kiss to your tanned cheek. The taller boy pulls a face of disgust, so you giggle and push the sweet boy away.

“Yea, please!” Yuta is still trying to kiss your face, his tan arms wrapping around any part of you that he can reach, “Yes, hi Yuta, I’m excited to see you too! Now, stop being gross.” You and Johnny both chuckle while Yuta pouts, pressing one last kiss to your temple.

“I like being gross.” He grumbles, returning back to his spot on the counter. You follow close behind and ruffle a hand in his lilac hair.

“We know.”

“No matter how hard he tries, he will never be as gross as keurig coffee.” Johnny states, head shaking solemnly. Yuta busts out laughing and pushes his friend's shoulder.

“I like keurig coffee!” You protest, causing Johnny to chuckle while Yuta continues to giggle. You accept the mug from Johnny when he hands it to you, and everything feels so regular that it hurts.

It’s another breakfast spent shoveling runny eggs into your mouth in hopes to leave before your parents bring up any taboo topics, except this time something is off. Your father is actually here, for starters, then add that to the part where him and your mother are staring at you as if they’re waiting for an answer and you end up with a churning feeling in your gut. Your mother's eyebrows haven’t relaxed since you sliced up the pineapple.

“Sweetie, have you ever considered dating?” The words are so unexpected that you choke, a hand flying to your glass of water.

“Excuse me?” You wheeze, cheeks flushing bright pink. She’s going to ask about Yuta, you just know she’s going to ask about him. It was the love bite that gave it away, the one in the hollow of your throat. You knew he shouldn’t have done it, but there were no real thoughts in that moment. Just his lips and your skin.

“Oh, you know, just going out to dinner. Seeing a movie, you know plenty of nice boys right?” The words are swimming through your head, pushing hard into the back of your eyes.

“I don’t think I understand-” Your response is choked, your throat clenching around each syllable that comes out.

“Like um... Cameron, the boy you did that group project with? Or Donny, the one who ran for class President?” You nod slowly, waiting for the final blow, “Or Warner! Why don’t you date Warner?”

“Warner?” You don’t have to play dumb anymore, you actually have no idea what she’s talking about. Aside from the relief that no one knows about Yuta, confusion washes over you.

“Yea!” She chimes, hands clapping together, “He’s so sweet and smart, and I think he’s kinda handsome, right?” All you can think of is the way his eyes peeled you apart in the worst way possible, like you owed him something. Like it didn’t matter that you didn’t want his hands anywhere near you.

“Um, yea. Warner’s sweet.” The words taste like bile coming up your throat, “I have to go now, see you guys later.” You run out of the house like your heels are on fire, and the only way to put them out is to get as far away from their expectant stares as quickly as possible.

“Yuta, come on! I told you, no more love bites!” You groan, pulling him away by the hair.

“But I know you like them so much!” He pouts, moonlight cascading through the shop windows and across his tanned face. Tonight had been a dinner party night, which meant that right now you should be at Maddie’s house. Except for the fact that she had a secret date with the grub hub delivery boy.

(“I’m so sorry, please don’t tell anyone!” She had pleaded, eyes growing wide and watery. You always thought it was ridiculous how she could make herself cry on command. No one person should have that much power.

“So long as you don’t tell anyone that I’m sneaking out too.” Her eyes (now entirely void of tears) widened, one hand reaching out to push your shoulder while you giggled shyly.

“Who are you and what have you done with (y/n?!)”

“... Nothing?”)

“I do, but I think my mom saw…” His pout expands into a smile while your cheeks turn bright pink. A giggle slips past his lips as he rests your foreheads together.

“Really?” The boy whispers, as if you’re not the only other person in the room.

“Yes!” You laugh back, “Stop laughing at me!” The words just make him laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, it’s just funny!” Your eyebrows furrow as you stick your tongue out at him, making him smile even brighter, “Come on, don’t be mad at me! Honey, don’t be mad at m- mmph!” The words (and teasing) stop as soon as your lips collide, swallowed by something hot and needy. You think to yourself that his lips taste like honey, then that you’d give anything to kiss him for forever.

“Yuta,” You breathe out, trying to get the boys attention. It doesn’t work, his lips stay on yours, “Yuta!”

“Yea?” He asks, pulling back so little that his lips brush yours upon moving.

“I love you.” The smile on his face is worth a thousand dollars. You want to kiss it, so you do.

The action is slow and fueled with passion, him whispering ‘I love you too’ against you any chance that he can get.

A long time ago you decided that the only good thing about dinner parties was the fact that you got to get ready for them. Last week you wore your favorite blue dress, the one with ruffles on the sleeves, and a petite golden chain (which ended up on the checkout counter of your boyfriends store. You’re ninety percent sure that he took it home.) Yuta had nearly lost his mind when you stumbled into the store looking like that, with high heels dangling from your fingertips.

This week was something slightly different, seeing as it was something that your mother insisted on. A form fitting white dress with detailed embroidery around the waist. You found it to be repulsive, but it matched your favorite pearls so you let her go ahead and take it to the dry cleaners.

“Sweetie, I’m coming upstairs with your dress in ten minutes!” She hollers up the stairs. You clamp the pearls quickly, then throw your electric blue rash guard into the closet.

“Okay!” You respond, opening up the makeup drawer of your desk.

She enters the room quietly and hangs the dress on your closet door. You were hoping it would get less ugly the more you looked at, but it was turning out to be quite the opposite. It really just looked like a bad ice skating costume.

“It’s sad to think that we’ll be leaving in two weeks, isn’t it?” You hum in agreement while taking a brush to your eyelid. This talk is barely something that phases you anymore, seeing as you’ve already discussed everything with Yuta. Leave for two months, take your gap year on Oahu, and then apply to all of the local universities that you can, “We have to go back to the real world, with all of the responsibilities.” The way she’s talking feels rehearsed, as if she’s been waiting to say this to you for a long time.

“... Yea?” Her smile is so sweet that you barely believe it’s hers.

“But you don’t have many of those right now, do you? Nothing but enjoying your gap year and-”

“Mom, can you just tell me whatever you’re trying to say?” You snap, the brush clattering out of your hand and onto the glass top of the vanity. She slides down onto your unmade bed, hands making fists in the fabric of her skirt while she swallows heavily.

“You’re not going to like it very much.” It feels like your tongue is made of cotton again.

“Tell me. Please.” Her lower lip quivers, causing your stomach to clench even tighter.

“Do you remember when we spent the summer in Europe with the Prescot’s?” You nod slowly, remembering your very first encounter with Maddie, “And your father spent the entire time negotiating with Mr. Prescot?” You nod again, vividly remembering all of the lonely nights spent pretending to be asleep while your father stumbled home drunk off of wine.

“Yea, but he decided to go along with it because dad offered him a huge share of the income.” She looks at you as if you didn’t finish the sentence, “Right?”

“Right... Mostly right.” You inhale deeply, hoping for a breath of fresh air. You don’t get it, the entire room smells like a thunderstorm, “They also reached an agreement regarding you.”

“W-what?” She reaches out to hold your hands, you’re so confused that you let her.

“Your father and Mr. Prescot agreed that when you turn eighteen, and Warner twenty, that you two would become e-engaged to be-” The realization settles in right as your pearls begin to tighten. She keeps talking, saying things like ‘legal,’ and ‘sweet boy,’ but you feel nothing. Nothing other than your pearls tightening, suffocating you slowly but surely. They tighten like a vice, and you’re sure that you’ll never breathe again.

“W-when?” Your words are small and pathetic, one hand reaching up to grasp the dainty necklace.

“We’re announcing it tonight, I-I’m... I’m gonna leave you alone to process.” She squeezes your hands one last time, then leaves, “And please do a little bit of makeup, there’s going to be photographs. We don’t want to see your splotchy skin, do we?” With that she’s gone, door shut tightly and room silent.

Something pounds heavily against your skull, turning everything blurry. The only thought you can register is that you have to vomit, now. It takes everything in you to stumble towards the en suite, but once you get there your body knows exactly what to do.

There’s cold tile on your exposed knees as you empty the contents of your stomach into the ivory toilet. You vomit for nearly forty minutes, pulling at the suffocating pearls the whole time. The strand almost snaps, you barely even care.

Your head feels empty, like you puked out every thought and anxiety until you were just a shell of a person. A shell of a person who was engaged to Warner Prescot, and not Nakamoto Yuta.

The dinner party feels more like a trip to the aquarium, but you’re the fish. You and Warner sit at the head of the table, his hand taking home on the small of your back (he wiggles his fingers far too much, which sends the worst kind of shivers down your spine,) and everyone is staring. It makes you wonder how many people knew about this before you did.

When Warner stands to announce the engagement you almost vomit again. Maddie looks at you, her eyes screaming “I’m so sorry.” You ask her to help, to get you out of here. She looks away. It feels like there’s no air left to breathe, you think that even if there was you wouldn’t inhale. You want to suffocate, you want to stop existing. You want the carpeted floor of this high scale restaurant to swallow you whole.

Most of all, you want Yuta.

It’s half past eleven when you barge through the doors of the surf store, and Yuta’s leaning against the counter. There’s lilac hair falling in his eyes, painting the picture of not having a care in the world.

“(y/n!)” He beams, heart clenching tightly, “You look beautiful baby- baby? What’s wrong?” You don’t know what it was, maybe the stress of everything. Maybe the taste of vomit that was stuck in your throat, despite brushing your teeth ten times. Maybe the feeling of Maddie’s sad eyes telling you that there was nothing she could do to help, but you start bawling.

They’re ugly, wet sobs that shake you from your toes to your shoulders. You’re on the floor, hands gripping your hair so hard that it hurts. Yuta’s rushing over to you, and you can’t even bring yourself to look at his face.

“What do you need me to do?” He asks, voice soft and warm and painfully comforting.

“Hold me.” You whimper, suddenly afraid that if you say anything else your voice will give out and you’ll be nothing but a sobbing mess. A sobbing mess who’s engaged.

So Yuta holds you, and holds you, and holds you. It’s a loving touch, one that wants nothing for him. A touch that gives endlessly, with warm skin and heaving chests. His fingertips brush your shoulder while his lips kiss the shell of your ear.

“What’s wrong?” He whispers, causing your heart to clench violently. You grab his face, hoping that if you kiss him he’ll stop asking questions. He doesn’t go for it, “Sweetie stop, tell me what’s wrong.” You don’t want to tell him, you’d rather plunge yourself face first into the ocean than tell him. Something about telling Yuta makes this real.

“It’s nothing,” He knows that your eyes are too sad to be telling the truth, “I just love you.” You sob out, collapsing once again onto his shoulder. His hand strokes your hair while your back shakes.

“I know, I love you too.” You wonder if this last time that you’ll feel like those words are true, “I love you too.”

Ever since the start of your engagement (a week and a half) you’ve been running out of the house as early as possible, not even bothering with the under cooked eggs. The days find you in different places, usually at the surf shack or trying to catch some waves, but never home. And never with Warner.

Today you’re on the checkout counter, slicing up pineapple with a knife that you probably shouldn’t have and passing it to your friends. Yuta is tending to a customer, a poor sunburned guy well into his thirties who’s trying to buy a board, while Johnny smiles and taps away on his phone. It’s not the usual smile, goofy and carefree, now he’s beaming like he has to outshine the sun. He almost does.

“What’s got you so happy today?” You ask, passing him a paper plate with perfect cubes of pineapple. That was one of the best things about Mr. Kahale’s booth (other than the fact that you’re still allowed to park there,) you’ve become a pro at cutting up the fruit. Yuta always asks you to cut his into stars.

“Nothing.” He answers, giddy smile threatening to crack his face. He knows that you don’t buy it.

“People don’t smile like that over nothing, Johnny.” There’s a nervous laugh, then he pops a cube into his mouth.

“Well, I do.” You roll your eyes so hard that it almost hurts, then return to cutting up the pineapple.

“He’s texting his girlfriend.” Yuta interjects, pressing a kiss to your temple while thumbing through a stack of cash. You were so busy trying to pull an answer out of Johnny that you didn’t even notice him closing the sale.

“Girlfriend?!” You gasp, laughing at the way his cheeks turn pink, “Tell me more!”

“Her name is Maddie.” Your stomach drops as Johnny bites out his answer, but it’s probably nothing. There are thousands of girls named Maddie, right?

“Just wait until you hear how they met!” Yes! How they met! Maddie’s going out with the grubhub delivery boy, Johnny works here.

“How did you meet?” Your voice tries to give you away, so you continue to cut up the pineapple. Maybe if you focus on this they won’t pick up on your uneven breathing.

“Well I was doing a late night delivery, for grubhub?” Oh no, “I guess I never mentioned that I do that. Anyways, it’s like half past midnight and I pull up to this huge house, like seriously the biggest house I’ve ever been to, and this girl opens the door. We talked for like twenty minutes before she took her food, but just as she was about to go inside I grabbed the bag and wrote my number on it.” Okay, so that’s definitely Maddie. Johnny is definitely dating Maddie, but this isn’t the end of the world. They know Maddie, but that doesn’t mean that they know about you. They probably don’t even know that she has a friend who happens to be engaged to her brother.

“And she has this friend, Johnny what’s her name?” Oh no, oh no, oh no. You can feel Yutas eyes boring into your skull.

“I don’t think she’s said, but (y/n) this story is just... Insane, really.” Maybe she just told him about the time that you tried to backflip into her pool when you were nine and nearly broke your neck. That’s probably all that it is, “She’s engaged to Maddie’s brother! It’s some ridiculous arranged marriage plot with their parents companies, it’s like a tv show!” There is no air left in the room, and you briefly think that you’re going to pass out. He keeps talking but you can’t hear. You don’t know if you want to hear, for some reason hearing Johnny talk about how insane it is reminds you that it’s terribly insane.

“Shit!” You cry out as your knife slips away from the fruit and then across the skin of your thumb. There’s blood, but you barely even feel it over the lump in your throat. Johnny’s getting you a napkin, Yuta’s cradling your hand. It feels like you're going to pass out, you think if you don’t leave then you’re going to fall onto the floor and pass out, “I have to go outside.” Yuta’s mouth moves, but there are no words. No words as you stumble out the door and down to the beach, or as you gasp for air and collapse onto the hot sand.

You sit there for at least twenty minutes, cradling your bleeding thumb and watching the waves retreat, before Yuta materializes next to you. He’s holding a band aid while wearing a concerned expression.

“Let me see your hand.” Suddenly he’s holding your hand, wrapping up the cut and then pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm. It makes your heart feel watery, or your eyes. You’ve kind of lost track at this point, “Will you please tell me what’s wrong? You show up to the shack at midnight and just start bawling, which is fine! I don’t mind, but you’ve been off ever since then. It’s like, the only time I’ve ever felt helpless, I don’t know how to help because I have absolutely no idea what’s wrong, a-and-”

“I’m Maddies friend.” He’s about to laugh, but then he sees your tear streaked cheeks. You don’t even know when you started crying, “I’m Maddies friend, a-and I have to marry her brother, who I hate! And my parents didn’t even tell me until the night they announced it to all of the business partners, how fucked up is that?!” There’s something breaking in your chest, Yuta thinks he feels it too, “I mean, how fucked up is all of this?!”

“You’re engaged?” The words make you laugh, which is probably inappropriate. It is inappropriate, but you can’t even make yourself care.

“Yes, and I hate him. And I love you.” His hands are buried in his lilac hair, it reminds you of the first time that you kissed.

“Can’t you say no?” You want to say yes, say that you can leave everything behind and be nothing but his. Be nothing but yours, but there’s something clamping down on your tongue. He watches as your jaw tightens and a fresh set of tears fall down your cheeks, “Okay, I get it.” And then he’s leaving, and you know nothing other than the fact that you want him to stay.

“Yuta!” It sounds like you’re begging, in a way you are.

“I have to go!” You sit on the beach sobbing for hours, or minutes. Everything around you turns gray, and you think that this is just the perfect start to the rest of your life.

Maddie is lying on her bed and speaking into her phone when you find her. Her eyebrows are furrowed, eyes full of crystal tears that won’t fall. You can only assume that she’s talking to Johnny.

“Yea she’s here, I have to go. See you tomorrow, bye bye.” The words were quiet, her voice trembling, “He’s telling Yuta that you’re with me.”

“Oh.” The sound is pathetic; all broken, and watery, and tired. You want to cry again, but there are no tears left. Just a hollow feeling returning to your chest.

“(y/n,) I’m so sorry. I was sorry before,” There’s a heavy silence, one that expects you to say something. Or do something, but you can’t. There’s no energy left anywhere in your body, it’s a miracle that you’re still standing, “but this is just... I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The words come out of your mouth, but you can’t feel your mouth move. You can’t feel anything other than Maddie’s sad eyes.

“No, it’s not. Come sit down.” She pats her white comforter, your legs carry you there, “Have you told anyone?”

“No.” The word tastes sour on your tongue.

“Do you want to tell me about him?” Her hand is in between your shoulder blades, offering a comfortable weight. You think of how hard it’s been to keep this all from Maddie, of how many times you considered spilling everything.

“Yes.” Your entire body relaxes with a sigh, Maddie smiles at the feeling.

“Tell me everything.”

You tell her about his smile that outshines every star in the sky, about his beautifully sun kissed skin. You tell her about the way he pushes Johnny’s shoulder whenever the taller boy made a bad joke, and the time that you two paddled past the waves and he splashed water at you. She giggles, then asks to see a picture. You immediately know the perfect one.

(”(y/n,) pose with me!” Yuta cheered, voice growing closer. You turned, board still in hand, to be greeted with the sight of Yuta running at you while holding your phone.

“Wait, I’m not ready!” Before you could protest anymore there was a wet kiss on your cheek and the clicking sound of your camera ”You’re too much.”

“Yea, but you love me anyways.” He had pecked your lips, then the tip of your nose, then your forehead. It made something happy bubble in your stomach.

“I do, I love you so much.”)

“We had just finished surfing, that’s why we look like... That.” Your phone glares at you, flaunting yours and Yuta’s tanned skin. There’s two pictures where he’s not kissing you, just staring with lovesick eyes. It makes your heartbeat stutter.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n.)”

“Yea,” you sigh, “me too.”

It’s not exactly clear how your bike ride turned into you sitting in front of ‘Yuta and Johnny’s Surf Shack.’ It’s not like you were trying to come here, you just wanted to see the island one last time before leaving tomorrow, that’s all. But you ended up here, with a heaving chest and a dry mouth.

Something carries you off your blue bike, then parks it against Mr. Kahale’s pineapple stand, then makes you walk through the front door. The smell of bananas and fresh wood hits you like a memory, taking you to a time where everything is normal. Briefly, you catch a glimpse of life without Warner or your parents; Yuta perched on the counter and exchanging embarrassing anecdotes with Maddie, who’s working the register. She laughs, then casts her eyes to where you and Johnny are selling a customer on surf gear, and everything is perfect.

“(y/n?)” Johnny asks from his spot behind the counter, “What are you doing here?” His eyes are kind, soft even. You want to thank him for not kicking you out.

“I um... I don’t know? I-I just,” A sigh escapes your lips, ringing out loudly in the empty store, “is Yuta here?”

“No, it’s Wednesday so...” It feels like he snapped a rubber band against your forehead, “He misses you, you know?”

“Really?” You think it’s pathetic how small your voice sounds.

“Yea, like... A lot, he’s always holding that necklace that you left behind that one time. And looking at pictures, and watching rom-coms, then getting sad and eating all of the fudge pops in the fridge. I’ve had to buy about three new boxes in the last week.” He laughs quietly, in a squeezy and forced kind of way.

“Oh.” You want to cry. You want to cry, and scream, and throw things. But there’s nothing left in you except for the heavy silence permeating the room, and the act of accepting sad glances.

“I’m sorry.” You’ve heard the words so many times that they don’t sound real anymore, “I know that you leave tomorrow, so um... Is there anything that you want me to say to him?”

“Um... I guess just that,” You want to say: I only have a heart so that I can love you, echoing his words from your first kiss, “never mind. Don’t tell him anything, I don’t want to make this any harder.” He wants to tell you that he’s never seen someone love another person more than Yuta loves you, but he doesn’t want to make this any harder.

“(y/n,) I’m-”

“Really sorry?” He cheeks go pink at your correct assumption, and he nods, “It’s okay, just let me rent a board for the day?”

“Alright, but don’t expect for me to let you pay.” He tosses a pen at your face, eliciting a giggle from your mouth. It’s the first time that you’ve laughed all week.

“C’mon, I haven’t paid for a single thing here!”

“And you never will!” He’s about to add, Yuta would kick me out if I made you pay.

“Alright, alright. Let me go get the board.”

When you finally get to surfing, the waves are relentless. A small part of you wants to climb off the board and let them whip you around until you feel something again. The other part of you rides any wave that you can catch, and it feels so damn good to have something listening to you again. So good to do something just because you want to.

There’s salt water mixing with tears and sweat, and sun setting on your skin. You think about how perfectly Yutas lips fit with yours, then about how soft his bleached hair felt between your fingers.

“Maddie, why are you making us go this way?” It’s been thirty minutes of Maddie instructing your cab driver to turn down various back roads that don’t even lead to the airport, “Seriously, your flight is forty minutes before mine! You’re gonna be late.” She tries to wave the words away, then grips onto the front seat.

“Yea and then take this right. Yes, the one down that dirt road, thank you!” Now this is just getting ridiculous! You’re about to say something before she’s plopping back into the seat with wild eyes, “I’m not leaving.”

“What?!” Your scream startles the driver, causing him to slam on the breaks. Which may or may not slam your face into the headrest of the passenger's seat, “Sorry sir! Sorry!” He grumbles in response, you make a mental note to tip him extra.

“I’m not leaving! I talked it over with Johnny last night and then told my parents and put down the payment for an apartment! Then they cut off my card; sir?! It’ll be the next right, thank you!”

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” She grabs you by the shoulders, then squishes your cheeks lightly.

“Honestly? Not exactly, but at the same time I’ve never felt so free. I don’t owe them anything anymore, and like... Like, I scheduled an appointment to get my septum pierced just because my parents would never let me. I can do stuff like that now!” You want to ask how she can even afford it, then realize how awfully rude that is.

“I-I’m... I’m really happy for you.” Her eyes roll so far back in her head that you think she’s going to pass out.

“I’m asking you to come with me! And don’t argue with me on it, you know that you don’t want this! Marrying Warner, being a trophy wife? That’s not you, (y/n!)” She’s right, of course, but you don’t want her to be.

“Maddie, I can’t-”

“Why not?” The words are exasperated, almost angry, “Your parents are like, really mean to you. And it’s not like you owe this to them, if anything they owe this to you! They owe you one thing that’ll make you happy!” She’s pleading with you, forced tears taking home in her eyes. You just want everything to be done.

“But I don’t-”

“All of your favorite clothes are in your suitcase! You won’t need any cold clothes for a while, and you had a plan already anyways, right? With Yuta?” And there it is, the real reason that you can’t say yes. There’s the clenching of your heart, then your eyes falling to the dirty floor of the cab.

“I don’t know if Yuta still wants me. I mean, I really messed him up. Johnny said he’s watching rom-coms.” A shiver shoots up your spine at the thought of Yuta holding your necklace and staring with sad eyes. You don’t even think that you would take yourself back.

“Don’t. Be. Stupid.” She punctuates each word with a slap to the side of your head. You were going to complain, but then she’s spewing out more instructions to the cab driver and you can’t even remember how to breathe, “Of course Yuta still wants you! I saw those pictures, he looks at you like... Like...”

“Like it’s the only reason that he has eyes?” Her face lights up, now filled with hope instead of fake tears.

“Yes! We’re going to be at the airport in three minutes, so that you can either tell your parents that you’re leaving with me or make the biggest mistake of your life-”

“Maddie!” Her hands fly up defensively, and you’re not sure if you want to hug her or hit her.

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“It doesn’t mean that you should say it.” The words are mumbled, and you both know it’s so that you can avoid answering the question. She sighs heavily, then moves her hands to hold yours.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but please consider it? Pretty please, I don’t want you to live the rest of your life knowing what could have been!” She’s begging, the words slipping freely from her mouth as if they’re memorized. Meanwhile, you have the worst case of cottonmouth known to man.

“I-I...” There’s no air left as the cab skids to a halt in front of the airport, “I just don’t know, I’m sorry.”

You move out of the car, then to the trunk, then through the doors. Your parents are waiting by the small coffee shop, Warner sitting next to them and laughing. His head tilts backwards as the sound rings through the busy airport, and you realize how wrong all of this is.You shouldn’t be listening to loud, staged laughter! It should be Yuta’s soft giggles, the ones that you’ve never heard before this summer. The ones that dance through your dreams and paint everything bright pink.

And maybe it’s not just about Yuta. Maybe it’s also about having a life that you live just for you, and not for your parents. Or for Warner,or business partners, or anyone. A life for you, filled with things that you love. Maybe if you run you’ll make it outside before Maddie pulls away.

“Shit!” So it looks like piggybacking off of her taxi was no longer an option. But that’s fine, you can get your own. The airport is basically crawling with them, it shouldn’t be too hard to get one, “Taxi!” A yellow cab pulls up in front of you, the driver looking terribly annoyed.

“We’re not in New York, you know? Hop in.”

“Yes sir, so sorry, thank you, thank you!” The top half of your body is arranging your luggage in the seat, while your mother stares at the bottom half.

“(y/n?)” She asks, voice hushed yet stern, “What in the world are you doing?”

“Oh, mom! I-I’m just...” About a million lies run through your head. ‘I left something at the house,’ or ‘This was my cab, just dropped something in the back!’ One’s about to slip past your lips, but you choke. Maybe it’s time to start telling the truth, “I’m not leaving with you.” You’re facing her now, trying to read her expression. It’s actually kind of hard, until her eyes shoot harshly into the back of her skull.

“Yes you are, now get out of the car!” She grabs your wrist, but you yank it back.

“No, I’m not leaving! I’m staying and moving in with Maddie, and not getting married. At least not now, or to Warner! I don’t like him, and you don’t even care!” There’s pressure building in your rib cage, it feels like it’s about to crash and drown everything else out. Her mouth opens to speak, but just the thought of her voice makes you want to scream, “Don’t speak! Don’t say anything, there’s nothing you could say to mess me up anymore than you already have, so just stop!” You’re yelling. So loudly that it almost hurts.

“No, you stop! You owe this to your father, how can you be so selfish?” It doesn’t register that she actually said that. That anyone would actually say that.

“I owe him?!” She’s gripping your wrist again, trying to drag your body out of the cab and to where the man in question waits by the entrance.

“Yes! He’s provided you with a home, food, and private schooling for eighteen years! This is the least you can do to pay him back!” The pressure in your ribs finally crashes, and you see nothing but hot red.

“I owe him nothing! All the things you just named are basic things I need to survive. I owe him for not letting me starve?! That is ridiculous! If anything he owes me for all of the summers I wasted at dinner parties, or the months where I begged him to teach me how to ride a bike, or the spring break where I came home and said that the boys at school were bullying me and he was too busy on the phone to even hear me! Or for, I don’t know, not raising me?” There are tears welling in her eyes. You notice for the first time in a while that they’re the same as yours.

“Stop. Get out of the cab, you’re coming with us.”

“Give me one good reason why I should.” She stammers for a solid minute before you grab the cab door, ready to slam it in her face and drive far far away, “That’s what I thought, goodbye mom. Call me if you want.”

It takes four days of settling into the apartment before you can bring yourself to go see Yuta. Maddie and Johnny had harassed you for the last two, claiming that the boys moping was just getting harder to deal with.

(”Seriously (y/n,) please tell him that you’re here! I can’t take another rom-com!” Johnny had whined while dumping coffee grounds into your french press. Well, his old french press that he gave to you as a housewarming gift.

“I’m going to! I just need more time, that’s all.” You’re not lying, there’s still a lot to process. Your parents cut off your credit card basically as soon as their flight landed, which meant that your net worth was about fifty dollars. It was an adjustment to say the least.

“We get it, take your time!” Maddie interjected, taking a soft hand to your tensed shoulder while the other played with her new septum ring, “But maybe tell him before Friday?” You’re eyes widen while Johnny laughs into his mug, and you think about slapping Maddies hand away. You don’t, obviously, but you definitely think about it.

“How does giving me a time frame go along with waiting until I’m ready?!” You’re definitely whining, but it barely even matters. At least Johnny is laughing.

“I’m sorry! But if you wait forever then you’ll never do it, I know you!” You’re about to say that she’s right, but then her mouth opens again, “And he keeps asking if we can have dinner together...”

“I have to rush my reunion for your dinner party?” There was a meek ‘yes,’ then you rolling your eyes, “I love you. And hate you, but love you.” She smiled brightly and wrapped her arms around your shoulders.

“I love you too!” She pressed a kiss to your temple, Johnny may or may not have made a joke about being jealous. You remember thinking to yourself that there was only one thing in the world that would make this perfect.)

From where you stand now, it doesn’t look like Yuta’s moping at all. He’s surfing with a wide grin and whooping excitedly, you always thought it was so cute how he does that. It’s like he’s an endearing little kid, the kind that you want to give dessert to.

He finishes the wave off triumphantly, then pulls in with the tide. He looks calm. Calm and happy, until his eyes settle on you. At first he thinks you’re just any other tourist, but then your arms are waving as you wade into the cold water.

“(y/n?)” He shouts, eyebrows furrowing harshly, “What are you doing?” The whole ‘following Yuta into the ocean’ thing wasn’t exactly part of your plan, you didn’t even bring a swimsuit.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working in the store?” You respond as the water starts to soak the hem of your shorts. Yuta’s not sure if he should smile or cry, but either way he’s paddling towards you. He’s paddling towards you and you’re here.

“Aren’t you supposed to be gone?” His voice sounds strained, and you can’t wait until he’s close enough for you to explain everything, but in the meantime your mouth hangs open as he jumps off his board “Why are you still here?”

“I left them! My family, a-and fiance, I left them, I live here now! I live here, with Maddie we have an apartment and I left! Forever, I’m free a-and here!” Words are spilling out of your mouth like you can’t help it, and in a way you can’t “I’m here and yours, I’m here and mine!”

“S-so you’re not engaged anymore?” Everything feels frantic, like you have to say the right things as quickly as possible, which is ironic seeing as how before getting here you were sure that you wouldn’t even be able to speak to him. But it’s not like that. It’s more like you can’t breathe and the only thing that will give you air again is explaining all of this to the beautiful boy in front of you.

“No! I mean yes! I mean- shit! I mean that I don’t have a fiance anymore!” He’s smiling hopefully, something warm and beautiful blossoming your bodies.

“And you live here? Like, permanently?” You nod your head so fast that something sloshes between your ears.

“Yes! I live about fifteen minutes from the shack and ten minutes from you, not that I just know where your house is! You never told me that, so why would I know that?! Not like Johnny’s been at my apartment everyday for the past four days-” Then his lips are on yours, and they’re just as you remembered. Soft, hungry, and drenched in honey. He bites your lip softly, eliciting a quiet moan as your fingers tangle in the boy's hair. It’s a little bit shorter than last time, but you still like it nonetheless. You like everything about him, he could’ve grown an eleventh toe since your last meeting and you’d still like him.

“Why did you wait so long?” He grumbles before pressing a kiss to your jaw. You’re not exactly sure how you’re supposed to answer while he’s doing that, but it’s probably worth a shot.

“I-I was scared.” His face shoots up to look you in the eyes, wearing furrowed brows and quirked lips. All you can think of is kissing him again.

“Why were you scared?” The words make your cheeks flush terribly pink.

“Because! I thought that I like... Broke your heart! I thought you’d never want to see me again!” He pushes the side of your face softly, then presses kisses all over your skin. You think that you’ve drowned and gone to heaven.

“Of course I was heartbroken, because I missed you! All I could think of was how badly I wanted you back, sitting on the counter at the store. I never hated you!” He smiles widely, and you realize that it’s the same one from the first day in the surf shack. It’s warm, and inviting, and it heals something inside of you. Not everything, but definitely something, and you think that you want to kiss it off his face. So you do.

He wants to kiss you back like it’s what he needs to survive. So he does.

It’s a Wednesday, which usually means surfing with Yuta until you’re both sore everywhere. They’re your favorite days, but this one is painted a little differently. You’re standing on the shore with Johnny and Yuta while Maddie fumbles over waves. She’s fallen off three times (which is about where you would’ve drawn the line and come to shore,) but she’s determined. Before going out she said, ‘I am not coming in until I ride a wave. Guys, guys stop laughing!’ and she’s really sticking to it. It’s been almost an hour, you want her to catch one just so that you can go out.

“You’ve got this Maddie!” There’s almost a zero percent chance that she can hear you, but you feel guilty for not being able to help her back up after the fourth fall, “She’s going to have so many bruises.” Johnny suppresses a laugh, because even if the sweet girl can’t hear your cheering she will be able to pick up on Johnny teasing her. It’s like a radar.

“Says you! Remember that giant one on your butt that poked through your shorts?” You instinctively rub the spot where it was, cringing at the memory of not being able to sit anywhere for a week. You want to scold Johnny for bringing it up, but then Yuta pinches the skin on your hip and your brain stops working.

“I remember that bruise,” He mumbles into your hair, pressing a kiss quickly onto your scalp before reverting his eyes to Maddie, “made everything so damn difficult!” Johnny gags as you slap your boyfriend, who’s giggling in the chaos that he created. He tends to do that.

“Stop. Being. Gross.” You punctuate each word with a flick to his temple. He giggles and grabs your wrist, pressing a gentle kiss onto the skin of your palm. Then he flicks you back, to which you screech loudly, “Yuta! Stop it, oh my gosh!”

“What? Am I too gross? Personally I think-”

“Guys, look!” Johnny’s voice pulls you back to reality, but it’s okay. Reality has warm sand, and crystal blue waters, and your best friend in the world successfully riding her first wave. Before you can even process it Johnny is cheering like he’s her number one fan (he is. You know that he is,) “That’s my baby! That’s my freaking baby!”

“Go Maddie!” Even from far away, you can tell that she’s smiling. You’re smiling, Yuta is smiling, Johnny is more than smiling. Johnny is grinning like it’s going to split his face in half. Everyone cheers as she breaks the wave left, Yuta doing nothing more than letting out an incoherent whoops as Johnny runs out into the water. You briefly think that they’re doing what you and Yuta did after-

“Isn’t that exactly what we did after your first wave?” A laugh bubbles out of your throat while you wrap an arm around his dainty waist. His skin feels warm under your hand, you think that you want to live in that feeling for forever.

“I was just thinking that! And yes, yes it is.” Your words bring up a flood of memories; kissing underneath a setting sun, ‘I love you’s whispered into hot skin, and this beautiful feeling in your chest. A feeling that feels like everything is becoming right. You sink your head onto the boys shoulder, eyes trained on the crashing waves, “That was a good day.”

“The best one yet.” He turns so that you’re facing each other, and you know it’s because he’s going to kiss you. He always does this, then smiles with one side of his mouth, then pulls you in by the waist, then kisses you like he means it. It’s your routine, but one that you don’t think you’ll ever be tired of.

His hands skirt across your jaw, then yours in his hair. He’s never gotten used to how that feels, and you’ve never gotten used to the way he turns into putty under your hands. Maybe there are some things about Yuta that you’re not supposed to get used to, like the way that he giggles like a school girl whenever something is funny. His hand pushes your hair back, then cradles your neck and pulls you impossibly closer. It feels like everything is perfect.

“Come on nasties! We’re surfing!” Maddie splashes water at the two of you, pretending like she and Johnny weren’t doing the exact same thing less than two minutes ago. You were wrong before, now everything is perfect.

“Alright, alright, Yuta will you pass me my board?” He smirks while turning to pass the purple surfboard.

“The one that you chose because it matches my hair?” Maddie snorts at your boyfriend's quip as your cheeks go bright pink.

“Johnny, you promised not to tell!” You screech while chasing the tall boy into oncoming waves. Your respective partners tail behind, giggles slipping past their shouts of protest.

You think that nothing in the world could be more perfect than this, and you’re right.

#nakamoto yuta #yuta x reader #yuta fluff #yuta imagines #writekpop #admin r #im reposting bc the last one didnt show up in tags grr #if this doesnt show up idk what im gonna do :((#lemme know if u can see it pwease and enjoy!

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tawakkull · 3 years ago

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ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 29

Rida (Resignation)

Rida (resignation) means showing no rancor or rebellion against misfortune, and accepting all manifestations of Destiny without complaint and even better peacefully. In other words, one should welcome all things and events, even those normally associated with distress and terror. Another beautiful definition of resignation is having or showing pleased acceptance of God’s treatment whether it seems agreeable or disagreeable to us. Even though believers must adopt resignation of their free will at the beginning of the spiritual journey, in reality it is a direct gift of God to those whom He loves. For this reason, unlike patience, neither God Almighty nor the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings, commanded it; they only recommended it. Although there is a narration attributed to the Prophet Let him who does not endure misfortunes and show resignation to Divine decrees find another Lord for himself the scholars of Traditions did not accept it as an authentic Prophetic Tradition.

Some saints have considered resignation a higher station than reliance and surrender, while others have regarded it, like other states, as a Divine gift or radiance that sometimes appears and then disappears. Still others, like Imam Qushayri, have seen it as connected with or dependent upon the servant’s free will in the beginning, and as a state or condition of the heart in the end. The Tradition: One who is pleased with God as the Lord and Islam as the religion and Muhammad as the Prophet has tasted the delight of belief suggests that a person must exercise his or her free will to obtain resignation in the beginning, although it is a Divine gift in the end.

Being pleased with God’s Divinity means loving and paying due respect to Him, turning to Him in worship and for help, and expecting everything only from Him. Being pleased with His Lordship signifies that we welcome His decrees for us, raise no objection to any misfortune befalling us (no matter how severe), confide in Him only concerning His treatment of us, and are pleased with whatever He does. Being pleased with the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings, denotes unconditional surrender to him, preferring his guidance and directions over our personal views, and using all of our faculties to understand not to criticize his actions and words and the Revelations he transmitted. As for being pleased with Islam, it requires, as declared in: He who seeks a religion other than Islam, it will not be accepted from him (3:85) accepting Islam as the ideal set of maxims and norms, and practicing them in one’s individual, familial, and social life.

In some circumstances, such a degree of resignation may cause one to feel or be left alone even when in a community. However, those who have acquired God’s nearness and follow the way of the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings, do not feel such estrangement, and those who have a deep familiarity with God do not feel lonely. Rather, they feel God as nearer to themselves and overflow with greater love of and familiarity with Him when they are alone and pray to Him, saying: O God, cause me to remain alone more frequently and do not leave me to the unfairness of the things that will cause me to fall distant from You. Make me feel Your ever-present company with me.

As mentioned earlier, resignation is a Divine gift that can be acquired only by an individual’s conscious decision to exercise free will at the beginning of the journey. One can attain the rank of resignation through depth of belief, solemnity in religious actions, and profound consciousness of worshipping God as if seeing Him. To be favored with the rank of resignation, one also must transcend the ranks of reliance, surrender, and commitment. Since it is extremely difficult to attain the rank of resignation by free will, God Almighty did not order it; He only advised it and highly praised those who attained it.

If one sets out on the journey to attain the rank of resignation at the end, he or she must be solemn in his or her relations with the Lord; gratefully accept all bestowed (and unsought) Divine gifts as His blessings; remain silent about any deprivation; fulfill all religious obligations even in times of distress, loneliness, and hardship; and pray in the presence of God Almighty as if entering a bridal chamber. The most essential foundation of resignation is a continuous feeling of His company in one’s consciousness and experience, discovering Him afresh at every moment in one’s heart.

Fear and hope relate to one’s worldly life, for they render impossible all feelings of despair and security against God’s punishment while in this world. They have no relevance to the Hereafter, except for the reward they cause to be bestowed in the Hereafter. By contrast, being pleased with God and loving Him continue eternally, and resignation to His judgment and being pleased with Him is a source of spiritual peace and happiness in both worlds.

This does not mean that those who have obtained resignation and God’s pleasure or approval are free of anxiety, hardship, and suffering, for there remain many annoying and displeasing things along their way. However, champions of resignation regard them as pure mercies, for resignation or God’s pleasure changes the “poison” they drink into “elixir,” and the troubles they encounter cause them to fall even deeper in love with the Beloved.

The way of resignation, although difficult to follow, is safe and direct. It sometimes leads the wayfarer to the summit of human perfection after a single attempt. Just as a believer can reach that summit by strenuous effort in the way of God or by studying the universe (as if it were a book) in order to feel and find God everywhere (although He is contained in neither time nor place), the summit can also be reached through one’s inner suffering and sorrow arising from personal shortcomings and helplessness upon encountering difficulties while searching for a way to progress on the path.

Resignation results in a thrilling joy or a heavenly breeze from God’s being pleased with the believer that is proportional to the depth of one’s fear and hope. It does not come from feeling God’s nearness, worship and devotion, the struggle against sin and the temptations of one’s carnal self and Satan. Rather, it is a spiritual delight merged with hope and expectation, regulated by self-possession, a direct gift from Him, and a breath of mercy associated only with this station of being pleased with God. This station requires the self-regulation of one’s thoughts, considerations, plans, hopes, expectations, feelings, and actions according to God’s Will. Thus, seeing it as a way to experience pleasure and delight in the expectation of acquiring that pleasure and delight shows one’s disrespect of this station, which is based on the purity of one’s intention and sincerity. In reality, this applies to all other states and stations attained through actions of the heart, or which are themselves actions of the heart. One must love and pursue His approval or pleasure for His sake only.

Heroes of the spiritual life have expressed their views about resignation and being pleased with God since the early days of Sufism. According to Dhu al-Nun al-Misri, resignation means preferring God’s wishes over one’s own in advance, accepting His decree without complaint based on the realization that what-ever God wills and does is good, [1] and overflowing with love of Him even while in the grip of misfortune. ‘Ali Zayn al-'Abidin describes resignation as an initiate’s determination not to pursue anything opposed to God’s Will and pleasure.[2] According to Abu 'Uthman, resignation denotes welcoming with the same mood all Divine decrees and disposals, regardless of whether they issue from His Grace or His Majesty or Wrath, and having no conscious preference for one or the other. God’s Messenger referred to this when he said: I ask You for resignation after You have decreed something. [3] Being pleased in advance with God’s decree means being determined to show resignation, while resignation signifies enduring calamity when it occurs.

In short, resignation means that an initiate feels no resentment against or displeasure with whatever issues from God’s Divinity or Lordship. Rather, the initiate welcomes it gladly and is ready to accept or endure his or her fate without complaint. The initiate does not upset the balance of his or her heart. Rather, he or she preserves personal integrity and straightforwardness even when confronted with the most distressing and shocking events, considers God’s predestination recorded in the Supreme Preserved Tablet, and thus feels no regret or sorrow for what happens.

For ordinary people, resignation means not objecting to what God has willed for them. For those with a deeper spiritual knowledge of God, resignation means welcoming their individual destinies. For those who live a life of profound spirituality, resignation means that, without paying attention to their own considerations, they are always attentive to what He wants them to do and how He wants them to be. The verses: O soul at rest, return to your Lord, well pleasing and pleased. Enter among My servants, and enter My Paradise. (89:27-30) encompass all degrees of resignation, and contain responses to the desires of those resigned to the Divine Will and Destiny.

As seen in these same verses, attaining the station of resignation and pleasing God and being pleased with Him depend upon one’s turning to God Almighty. This means complete devotion to, reliance upon, and surrender to Him and committing all affairs to Him. One who has attained this station longs for death and meeting with God, dies with a heart at rest, and is included among the righteous in Paradise.

From another perspective, ordinary people show their resignation by ordering their lives according to God’s commandments in willing submission to His Lordship and administrative authority. This is expressed in the verses: Say: Shall I seek another than God for Lord, when He is Lord of all things? (6:165), and: Say: Shall I choose for a protecting friend other than God, the Originator of the heavens and the earth, Who feeds and Himself is not fed? (6:14) Such a degree of resignation is essential to whoever aspires to true belief in God’s Unity and true love of God. Every believer must consciously submit himself or herself to God’s guidance; associate no partners with Him in belief and in ordering one’s life; love Him alone as the Lord, Deity, and Ruler of humanity and the universe; and love others who are worthy to be loved only in His name and in accordance with the limits He has established.

The second degree of resignation that of those with a certain degree of knowledge of God, is manifested in their welcoming God’s decrees and ordinances without objection. It is also seen in the control they have acquired over their hearts, a control so strong that their hearts do not swerve even for one moment. Such resignation is regarded as the relation between God and those hearts furnished with knowledge of Him.

The third degree of resignation is attained by those purified, saintly scholars who are pleased with what pleases God. One who has been rewarded with such resignation feels no personal anger, joy, or grief. Such a person, no longer feeling, thinking, or desiring for himself or herself, experiences the pleasure of annihilation in the Lord, for only His Will and choices remain.

[1] Al-Qushayri, Al-Risala, 195. [2] Ibid., 195. [3] Al-Nasa'i, “Sahw,” 62; Ibn Hanbal, Musnad, 5:191.

The first degree of resignation, obligatory upon every believer, is the beginning of the way leading to nearness to God, for it is related to free will and a requirement of belief in His Unity. The second degree must be acquired, both because it is the continuation of the first and the basis of the third degree, and because it leads one to consider nearness to God.

The third degree, a Divine gift rather than a station attainable by free will and individual effort, is neither obligatory nor necessary. However, it is commendable to desire it whole-heartedly. This degree encompasses the first two, for aspiring after (full) resignation and living so as to attain it is an essential principle of Islamic life. However, its full attainment is a gift bestowed in return for this aspiration. In other words, the first two degrees relate to God’s Names and Attributes, which can be attained by journeying in their shadow or their guidance, while the third is connected with the reward, enlightenment, or radiance given in return for them.

The verse: Their reward is with their Lord; Gardens of Eden, beneath which rivers flow; where they will dwell forever. God is well pleased with them and they are well pleased with Him. That is for him who fears his Lord reverently (98:8) points to all of these degrees. This same truth was expressed by our master, upon him be peace and blessings, who said: One who is well pleased with God as Lord, with Islam as religion, and with Muhammad, upon him be peace and blessings, as Messenger has tasted the pleasure of faith.

I hope that the following considerations will direct the feelings and thoughts of those who desire to attain resignation, help them to overcome the difficulties encountered on this path, and to control and resist their worldly and carnal impulses.

- Human beings are only role players in the Divine drama played out on the stage of this world. Therefore, they have no right or authority to interfere with the quality or form of their assigned part. Whatever happens to an individual has been predetermined by God, Who considered his or her free will, actions, and thoughts in this world. Only God can change this.

- If one really loves God, whatever comes from Him must be welcomed. It is very difficult to perceive the wisdom and good or God’s purpose in some events. Sometimes what is good for us is hidden in bad happenings: It may be that you dislike a thing although it is good for you, and love a thing although it is bad for you. God knows, but you know not (2:216).

- A Muslim is one who has fully submitted to God. Thus, such an individual cannot be displeased with God’s actions and operations. A believer has a good opinion of everybody else, so how can he or she be suspicious of God? The Qur'an forbids us to suspect other people (48:12); how much worse it would be if we suspected God and His acts! Since all things and events were preordained and created by God, and since whatever He creates is either good in itself or on account of its result, a Muslim should keep his or her heart at rest and always be optimistic.

- If our obligations or responsibilities, as well as the misfortunes and difficulties we endure or seek to overcome, have an essential place in our training and education to prepare us for the eternal life of happiness in the Hereafter, then we should fulfill them or endure them willingly. An individual’s resignation to or being pleased with whatever comes from Him means that He is also pleased with that particular individual. Being displeased with the acts and manifestations of Divine Lordship causes distress, grief, and restlessness, while living as resigned to God’s decrees gives relief and exhilaration, even though one has to suffer great difficulties. In short, the continuous pursuit of resignation is an invitation to Divine succor.

- Resignation to Destiny and the manifestations of God, the Truth, is a very important means of obtaining happiness. The truthful and confirmed one, upon him be peace and blessings, illuminates this: It is fortunate for man to show resignation to what God decrees, while it is unfortunate for him to feel indignation against what God decrees. [4] Being resigned to God’s decrees and operations fills one’s heart with breezes from the Divine Realm, while displeasure with them fills it with whims and suspicions coming from Satan. Those who resign themselves to His decrees make their lives into an “embroidery” of golden threads of thankfulness, while those who are displeased with them grind even their most positive works into nothing between the millstones of ingratitude. Showing such displeasure, an all-to-common attitude on the part of many, is one of Satan’s most effective ways of invading one’s soul.

- A believer may join the inhabitants of the heavens by welcoming God’s treatment, which is an honor bestowed by God. One who is pleased with God is following the right guidance, while one who is not pleased follows nothing more than personal fancies. Resignation to God’s judgments or decrees means preferring His wishes to our own. It hardly needs saying what the opposite attitude implies.

- Resignation is like an orchard whose trees yield the fruits of worship and devotion; sins and offenses are the results of being deprived of it. Resignation prevents personal conflicts with God in the believer’s inner world, and means respecting the principle expressed in the supplication of the Prophet, upon him be peace and blessings: It is pure justice in whatever way You judge about me. The first sin was committed when Satan did not resign himself to what God had decreed for him. [5]

- One can have no greater reward or higher rank than God’s being pleased with him or her, which is only attainable by personal resignation to what He has decreed. This is also the greatest reward that one can receive in Paradise: God has promised the believers, men and women, Gardens beneath which rivers flow, to dwell therein forever, and beautiful mansions in Gardens of Eden. But God’s good pleasure [His being pleased with them] is greater still. That is the supreme triumph (9:72).

- Resignation is based on the most important essential of religion: reliance upon God. Its essential quality can be perceived by means of certainty about God’s existence and Unity. It is embedded in love of God, and causes one to gain eternal happiness. It is rooted in loyalty to God and truthfulness, and denotes actual thankfulness. Resignation is such a magical lift that those who obtain it will reach their destination quickly. Love and sincerity, as well as penitence and contrition, are flowers growing in the climate of resignation. It is useless to search for such virtues or qualities in hearts that are not set on resignation and obtaining God’s pleasure.

- However numerous those rewards given in return for acting and speaking to attain God’s pleasure may be, they can be counted and are therefore limited. The rewards given for such actions as resignation, which is done with the heart, are proportional to the heart’s depth and so cannot be estimated.

As the greatest rank in God’s sight, resignation or God’s pleasure is a final target that has been sought by the greatest members of humanity, from the glory of creation, upon him be peace and blessings, to all other Prophets, saints, and purified scholars who have passed the final test through sincerity, certainty, reliance, surrender, and confidence. They have surmounted many difficulties and obstacles, and bore many unendurable sufferings and pains. The following verses seek to describe the sighs of such people:

The suffering You cause is more pleasing than having fortune, And Your vengeance is lovelier to me than my own soul. I am in love with both His torment and His favor; How strange it is that I am in love with things opposite to each other. By God, if I go from this thorn of affliction to the garden of delight, I will be one who, like a nightingale, always groans or sighs. How strange it is that when a nightingale starts to sing, It sings melodies of both the thorn and the rose.

The following verses of Nasimi are also beautiful:

I am a suffering lover, O dear One, I will not abandon You; Even if You cut through my chest with a dagger, I will not abandon You. Even if they cut me into two from head to foot like Zachariah, Put your saw on my head, O Carpenter, I will not abandon You. Even if they burn me into ashes and blow away my ashes, They will hear my ashes sigh: O Veiler (of sins), I will not abandon You.

The rank or station of resignation, of being pleased with God and obtaining His pleasure includes all other ranks. The melodies sung in it are: Whatever You do to me or however You treat me, it is good.

O God! Guide us to what You will love and be pleased with, and bestow peace and blessings upon our Master and the Master of the Messengers.

[4] Al-Tirmidhi, “Qadar,” 15; Ibn Hanbal, Musnad, 1:168. [5] Ibn Hanbal, Musnad, 1:391, 452.

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lokimostly · 5 years ago

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I’ll Be Home for Christmas

James Conrad x Reader Word Count: 3,050 Warnings: mentions of smut, mild language, fluff overload Summary: Since returning to civilization, you and Conrad have forgotten Christmas for two years in a row. You’re determined not to miss this one.

A/N: This fic contains pre-established characters and references to a two-part series called Rainy Days/Home From War. While this can be read without context, you’re more than welcome to catch up with the series first! You can find the series HERE <3

Our beloved James Conrad is home for the holidays! I’ve always wanted to write a Christmas-themed fic, but never remembered until it was long gone. I’m so glad to have caught it this time around (barely). I love you guys, Happy Holidays, I can’t wait to jump into the next year (and next decade!) with you! <3

The morning was crisp and cold when you opened the passenger-side door of the truck and climbed inside, blowing out clouds of steam with every breath. It was still long before sunrise. The canopy of stars above you were hidden from view by a thick layer of clouds. If you tried, you might be able to make out the silhouettes of mountains against the black sky, but for now the world was still dark and quiet.

You rubbed your hands together to stave away the chill. Even though you were thoroughly bundled – with a pile of blankets at your feet, no less – the below-freezing temperatures seeped through your clothes and made you shiver. Two minutes out of the house, and your teeth were already chattering.

The driver’s-side door opened and then closed. Conrad leaned over to press a quick kiss to your forehead before buckling his seatbelt and turning the key in the ignition. The old truck rumbled to life, and you immediately cranked the A/C knobs as far as they could go. He watched you with an amused smirk as you made quick work of unfolding the blankets and burying yourself in them, tucking them all the way up to your chin and closing your eyes.

“You know, this was your idea,” He pointed out, stretching his arm across your seat as he backed out of the driveway. His accented voice was still low and raspy from sleep, the kind of tone that drove you crazy in all the right ways. But right now, you pressed a finger against his mouth and motioned for silence.

“Shhh. Tired.”

He scoffed lightly, shaking his head with a smile before shifting gears and turning his attention to the road.

It was your first Christmas together – not technically, but it would count as the first. There had been a Christmas while you were still recovering from your injuries. Yet another passed you by during your first year of travel: you were visiting Milan when you realized the fact, laughed about it, and moved on. Neither had been celebrated properly; you bought champagne and toasted, and caught the train to France the next morning, and that was it.

It was too early to settle down. Both you and Conrad shared a mutual restlessness, a sort of wanderlust after everything you’d been through. Traveling during war wasn’t really travel. Conrad’s contract with MONARCH had paid handsomely, and it only took a look between the two of you to understand what you wanted to do.

We’re going home, you and I, Conrad said. Wherever you want to go, I’ll follow.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

There were road trips, flights, train rides. Long walks, corner cafes; bar crawls through the city and sex in motel rooms when you couldn’t keep your hands to yourselves any longer. You could trace the scars on his skin unhurried, run your nails over his taut muscle and tease him to the point of begging beneath you. He had you memorized by now: the way your body arched and quivered, the kind of touch that made you dig into his skin and bring noise complaints down on your heads the next morning. You were fairly certain the hotel where you’d spent your wedding night had the Conrads on their blacklist.

“Home” had turned out to be a person rather than a place, like people so often say. Both of you were perfectly content about that fact; so long as you had each other, what else did you need?

It felt like he never let go of your hand for those two years. Even now, he reached over to stroke your hand resting atop the blankets, reassure himself that you were here.

While you only grew closer over the last two years, the road (finally) wore out. So, little less than a month ago, you found somewhere quiet: close enough to the mountains without leaving the sea behind. You had nothing but the clothes and trinkets in your carry-on bags when you signed the lease and pocketed the copper key.

This Christmas nearly escaped you again-- nearly. You were lying with your head in his lap in front of the fireplace when the thought occurred and you shot up like a bolt of lightning. Conrad jumped, instincts kicking in with a serious expression and his hands outstretched. “What? What is it?”

“We don’t have a tree!”

Conrad gave you a puzzled look, raising his eyebrow. “We don’t have furniture, either,” he pointed out, realizing that this was less of a life-and-death situation and more a minor inconvenience.

“But it’s Christmas on Saturday!”

The corners of his lips twitched with amusement. “I’m aware.”

You stared at him. He didn’t seem to be picking up on the urgency of your current situation, so you gestured around you. “We have a house,” you said slowly, pointing to the bare corners of your living room, illuminated by the firelight.

“We have a house,” he agreed softly.

You nodded. “We need a tree.”

Conrad sighed softly and took your hand, pulling you towards him for a kiss. He set his forehead against yours and smiled when you bumped noses. “We need a tree,” he agreed.

In the name of authenticity, you bought a tree-cutting permit (“tree lots aren’t as much fun,” you reasoned) and planned the day. A drive up to the mountains in the morning, returning with your quarry, and spending the rest of the day in full spirit of the season. Conrad made sure you wrote ‘drink hot chocolate’ on the to-do list. You would never have guessed that he had such a sweet tooth.

Now, you were fast asleep in the passenger seat amidst a pile of blankets and quilts. Conrad glanced at you whenever he could spare it, taking in the sight of you; even in sleep, your hand was outstretched to hold his. The rosy pale of dawn glowed pink on your skin, and his heart swelled so much it was almost painful.

He never thought he could love you more than he already did, but every day you proved him wrong.

It took another hour before the road broke the tree line, and you stirred, coming awake with a yawn and a stretch.

“Good morning,” He drawled teasingly. You laughed in surprise and smacked his chest. “I was tired.”

Conrad smirked, catching your hand mid-hit and pressing a kiss to your fingers. “You should have gone to bed sooner,” he chastised, but his smirk was unmistakable -- and only grew when you gasped in indignation.

“If I remember right, you were keeping me up.”

“Former SAS, darling,” he reminded you. “Four hours of sleep are plenty in my book.”

“Oh, that’s not fair.”

He laughed, taking a turn down an unmarked road and giving you an expression of innocence that was almost convincing. “Are you suggesting I stop doting on my wife?”

It wasn’t a new title by any means, but whenever he said it, your heart leapt. “No,” you admitted, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Don’t ever stop.”

Conrad followed the road until he found a spot to pull over. You pulled off your blankets as he turned the key and got out, walking around to the other side and opening your door. He took you under the arms without question, lifting you down and setting you on the rocky ground before fetching the handsaw and tree tag from the truck bed.

“Your responsibility,” he said seriously, handing you the red tag with comedic reverence. You accepted it with the same solemnity, only breaking into a smile when you pocketed the item and looped your arm through his, starting down the road.

You pushed the tree into the truck bed and shut the tailgate, wiping your hands on your jeans. “We have a tree!” You grinned, unable to hide your excitement.

Conrad laughed and got into the truck. You followed, almost skipping, and pulled yourself inside the truck. You were fixing your seatbelt and preparing to bury yourself under a mountain of blankets when he turned the key, and the engine stuttered.

You paused. Conrad’s brow furrowed and he tried again, forcing the key forward. The engine spluttered, coughed, and refused to start.

“Damn,” he swore, sitting back in his seat for a moment. You unbuckled and slid out of the seat, popping the hood as he came around, leaning against the metal with a pensive expression.

You could feel the frustration vibrating off of him and leaned against his arm. “Hey,” You said gently. “Nothing we can’t fix. Remember the ploat?”

His gaze flickered down to you and he hummed in agreement. “I remember.” He pushed himself off and set his hands on his hips, nodding. “Alright. I think there’s a tool chest under the back seat.” He glanced at you, raising an eyebrow.

You gave him a mock salute. “Sir, yes, sir.”

A few hours later, it was starting to snow.

“Babe, did you know we’re low on oil?” You asked, sliding the stick back into the cylinder and leaning down to peer at Conrad, who was lying on the ground.

“That’s not our current problem,” he grunted, his long legs splayed and muscles flexing as he twisted the wrench against something on the truck’s underside. You hummed, appreciating the view unabashedly-- and smirking when he noticed and scoffed.

“You could help, you know,” he pointed out, grunting when the piece came off. He handed you the fuel filter and you reached down to take it, twisting off the cap. “Oh, yuck.”

Conrad slid out and leaned up on his elbows. “Clogged fuel filter.”

“Didn’t you check all this before buying the truck?” You asked rhetorically, pulling the oil bucket towards you and tapping out the loose debris, digging out the more stubborn clots with your hand for lack of an actual cleaner.

Conrad watched the snowflakes as they landed in your hair like a feathery halo, sticking against your skin before melting. They clung to your eyelashes and made your cheeks flush against the cold. Your lips parted with a huff and you looked up to hand it back to him, pausing. “What? Something on my face?”

He laughed through his nose, shaking his head. “No. Just...” he trailed off, and a faraway look crossed this face-- the kind you were all too familiar with.

You knelt down and cupped his cheek with one hand, stroking your thumb against his skin. “Hey. I’m here,” you reminded him gently. His blue-green eyes flickered and he reached up, pulling you down for a long, sweet kiss. You relished the taste of his lips, inhaled the smell of sandalwood and vanilla cologne. He broke away and closed his eyes closing his eyes.

“I know,” he murmured. “Sometimes you just make me wonder whether or not I’m dreaming.”

“Oh my god, James, way too sappy,” you laughed, pushing against his chest and rolling your eyes. “C’mon, screw this thing back in so I can try the engine again.”

He chuckled at the suspicious shade of red tingeing your cheeks but spared you the dignity of commenting on it and took the filter from your hands, ducking under the truck and picking up the wrench. You fished the keys out of your pocket and got in, leaning out with your hand on the wheel until your husband appeared with the tool chest in hand and gave you the all-clear.

You muttered a quick prayer and turned the keys. The engine sputtered for a moment, wheezing and coughing before something caught and it rumbled to life. You whooped victoriously, sticking your hands up and laughing as Conrad came around. “We did it!”

Conrad wrapped his arms around you in a brief, celebratory hug before you clambered over to your side and pulled your seatbelt on. The snow was coming down thickly now; there was already a sheet of white on the ground, and in the branches of the trees it was beginning to stick. You pulled one of the blankets up and tossed them over Conrad’s shoulders, pressing a kiss against his cheek for good measure before snuggling in and tuning the radio to something familiar: songs from your war days, which seemed so long ago.

He put the truck into gear and turned out onto the road, reaching out to take your hand as you headed back down, towards home -- with your Christmas tree in tow.

By the time you pulled into the driveway, it was dark again. Conrad unloaded the tree while you stacked the grocery bags onto one arm, heading down the snow-covered sidewalk. It was still coming down in droves and inches deep; no doubt you’d be stuck inside tomorrow.

“Where are you going?”

“Getting the mail!” You called. “That’s a thing we have now, remember?”

Conrad made a comment you didn’t catch as you slid up to the mailbox and opened it, retrieving the assortment of letters there before heading inside. You tapped your shoes on the porch before stepping in, letting out a soft sigh at the welcoming, warm atmosphere. Furniture or no furniture, there was a naked Christmas tree in the corner, and that meant home.

“Hot chocolate?” James asked, taking the groceries from you with one hand and helping your coat off with the other.

“Mm. Please.” You sat down on the floor and began unlacing your shoes, glancing at the pile of mail next to you. There was a thick yellow envelope amongst the pile that caught your eye, and you paused in undressing to glance at the return address. “Hey, Mason sent us something!”

“Who?” came Conrad’s voice from the kitchen.

“Weaver! The photographer?”

“Oh,” you heard him laugh. He came back out with two steaming mugs and handed you one, walking over to the fireplace and flipping the switch. “We’re on first-name basis now, I take it.”

“Apparently. That was fast, though,” you mused, walking over and motioning for him to make space for you to sit between his legs. He obliged, wrapping his arms around your waist and setting his chin on your shoulder as you tore it open and pulled out the letter inside.

“Conrad and L/N,” you began, reading it out loud. James hummed and reached for his hot chocolate. “She knows you’re a Conrad now, she was at our wedding.”

You elbowed him gently and straightened the paper, clearing your throat ceremoniously and beginning again. “Amended to, the Conrads,” you said. “Congrats on finally taking a breather for once. Now I can send you the film I’ve held onto for the past two years.”

“Perks of having a mail box, I suppose,” James nodded, inhaling quickly through his teeth when he attempted a sip of his scalding hot chocolate.

“The wedding photos are in a different letter, and will probably get there late. Oh, I forgot she took those,” you murmured, clicking your tongue. “Until then, enjoy these. I always figured something was going on with you two, way back when. P.S.,” you added. “For your eyes alone, as usual. Cheers, Mason Weaver.” You raised an eyebrow and tapped the envelope. “They must be from the LandSat project.”

Conrad hummed in agreement. “May I?” He asked, setting the cup down and reaching around your waist to pull out the pictures. You leaned back against him as he slid them into his palm, filtering through each one slowly.

Technically you, Conrad, and everyone else involved in the mission to Skull Island were under government oath not to talk about what had happened. You had no qualms with that; you wanted to put the whole experience behind you, anyway. But it wasn’t always possible. Rainy days brought aching pain to your left leg, and there wasn’t a month that went by without one of you startling the other awake from a dream that had once been all too real. It was part of the reason for your closeness: you and Conrad were poignantly aware of how close you had come to losing each other.

But according to the photographs, perhaps it wasn’t all that bad.

“Look at that,” he murmured, pointing to a still image of Conrad sitting beside your sleeping figure, aboard the wrecked ship. The lights of the aurora borealis were visible through the window, and evident in the hues of blue and purple that the photo was cast in.

You laughed, tapping the laminate. “You gave me your jacket. I remember.”

“You almost got us killed that night, that’s what I remember.”

You rolled your eyes dismissively and set the photo aside. “Yeah, yeah, moving on.”

The next photo was a bit harder to make out, taken across the flight deck of the Athena. You didn’t recognize the angle, but Conrad made a noise and laughed through his nose. “What?”

“I saw you and jumped out of our helicopter,” he explained. “Ran across the deck and told her to take my seat.”

You made an “O” and nodded. “And startled me half to death. She really didn’t miss anything,” you mused, gazing at the miniature silhouette of both of you in the helicopter, the chopper blades blurry against the frame, with storm clouds brewing behind you.

Conrad took the photograph and set it aside. There were a few others inside the stack--pictures of your group members, candid photos of you and Conrad in your own separate settings. There was an image of you and Slivko made you smile. But more frequently than not, you and Conrad shared the same pensive and worried expressions. Every moment had been a life-or-death experience.

You and Conrad filtered through the deck until you reached the final one: taken on Marlow’s boat-- or ploat, as Slivko had coined it. You and Conrad sitting side-by-side at the stern, set against the lush green mountains with all your bags and gear at your feet. Your hands inches away from touching, the two of you looking upwards and listening intently to Marlow, whose arms were frozen in some descriptive gesture. Only, Conrad wasn’t looking at him: his eyes were fixed on you, gazing at you while you were oblivious, so full of tenderness that it broke your heart.

“You loved me,” you murmured, like you were realizing it for the first time. “Way back then.”

Conrad’s arms tightened around your waist. He nodded, leaning his head against yours. “I was more than a little lovestruck,” he agreed quietly, in a tone that made your heart flutter inside your chest. You nestled further into the comfortable expanse of his chest, reaching up and teasing his hair with your fingers.

“Still lovestruck?” You asked hopefully, smiling when his laugh vibrated against your back.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, looking out through the windows at the falling snow and holding you tight. “For as long as I live and breathe.”

- - -

A/N: Aaah! Thanks for reading. I loved writing it.

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empaths-hsp · 4 years ago

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7 ‘Rules’ for Highly Sensitive People to Protect Their Energy

Anyone is welcome in my world, but there are a few rules, because I’m choosing to no longer be manipulated or shamed for being sensitive.

I am a highly sensitive person, and if I’m being honest, it’s not easy being me. I am not like other people, and sometimes I don’t fit in. I have little patience for shallow conversation, arbitrary rules, loud, disorganized environments, hate, or purposeful unkindness. I can “feel” it when we connect, and I am very aware when we don’t. I am interested in conversations that get to the root of things. I am not interested in listening to what you think I want to hear.

However, I haven’t always been able to express these preferences. I grew up believing I was too sensitive. I formed thick barriers around myself to guard against emotion. Emotion, in my world, could and would be used against me.

Unfortunately, blocking out mad or sad feelings also blocks out happy ones. At that point in my life, I was not a happy person. Trying to fit in and make people like me was exhausting. I was not able to say no, simply because I wanted approval — and I ended up resenting the demands that I allowed others to make on me.

A Life-Changing Realization

Later in life, I learned that I’m a highly sensitive person — and this changed everything for me. To put it simply, everyone has a sensitive side, but roughly 1 in 5 people are more sensitive than others, or what researchers call highly sensitive people (HSPs). HSPs tend to process information very deeply, which can make them quite gifted — but it also means they “burn through” a lot of mental energy. Too much stimulation completely drains them.

(Wondering if that might be you? Here are the signs you are a highly sensitive person.)

Today, I’m working toward living a more authentic life, and that starts with self-care. Despite all the photos brightly splashed around Instagram, “self-care” was a new term for me. I’ve since learned that good self-care isn’t just a bubble bath — it’s also about setting the right boundaries. Anyone is welcome in my world, but there are a few rules. I’m choosing not to be manipulated, guilted, or shamed into doing things that don’t align with my vision for a healthy life.

You know the craziest part? I have way better relationships and a stronger sense of belonging now. So here are seven “rules” I follow that I hope will help you, too.

7 ‘Rules’ for Sensitive People

1. If you’re not nice, you cannot come here.

For HSPs, other human beings are the brightest thing on their mental radar, all on account of their brain wiring. So when someone makes passive-aggressive comments, I notice. I usually don’t acknowledge it, but you better believe I caught it. Likewise, when the conversation veers toward gossip, it can be so easy to get sucked into the negativity, and it always makes me feel awful just for having participated in any way. And, if you talk down to me or make me feel judged for not liking what you like, that’s not okay either.

Sure, I will be gracious to you if we come in contact, but you are not welcome in my home, nor will I attend one of your functions. The energy that emanates from negativity is like poison to HSPs, and it’s dangerous for our mood and outlook to absorb. So I avoid these people at all costs.

2. No takers.

Highly sensitive people are givers by nature. Empathetic and caring, we want to help whenever possible. But there will always be some people who abuse our generosity. These people are called takers, according to psychologist Adam Grant, and they focus only on getting as much as they can from others. Spending too much time with them actually makes me feel physically sick from the exhaustion.

You know the type. These are the ones who always want something, are always complaining, or are always playing the victim. Or the one who always has to one-up you: “Well, if you think that’s bad, you should hear about what happened to me.” These people will suck you dry of your mental and physical energy if you allow them to. If they could, they would have you taking their children to soccer practice and making them dinner while they’re at the spa!

3. Stop the glorification of busy.

We live in a culture that glorifies being busy. If you’re not constantly running around, getting things done, then you’re not productive, maybe even lazy. However, this is not the case, especially for highly sensitive people, who need more downtime than others to recharge. If you’re constantly run down, can’t commit to anything, don’t have time to help out a friend once in a while, or are continuously stressed and frazzled, it’s time to reevaluate. Ask yourself: Are you living life the way you want to, or do you feel as if you’re spinning like a top and barely hanging on for dear life? Do you do things you enjoy, even just occasionally?

I used to think I had to prove my worthiness with a rundown of all my appointments, soccer games, clubs, Society of Martyrs meetings, etc. Now, I am delightfully, unapologetically un-busy. I take time to drink a cup of tea and play with my kids. You want to meet for coffee? Sure, I got time. As a highly sensitive person, I love meaningful conversations over a hot beverage.

And yes, of course, I have a million things to do, but I have prioritized and eliminated the things from my to-do list that don’t fit with my vision for my life — or at least my vision for today. Some days are busy and it can’t be helped. I acknowledge that. I’m not saying you should quit your job and stop feeding your kids! Obviously, some things are mandatory.

But seriously, prioritize. Your worthiness is not attached to your productivity, so don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.

4. ‘No’ is a complete answer.

You don’t need a reason to say “no.” People almost never ask why. If saying no right away feels too uncomfortable, buy yourself some time to answer. For example:

Pushy PTA lady: “Can you make three dozen cupcakes for the bake sale?”

You: “Wow, I’d love to help with the bake sale, but I should check my schedule first. I’ll get back to you.”

This gives you time to give it some thought. Maybe you do want to do it. But if you don’t, it gives you time to come up with an alternative solution, like purchasing cupcakes rather than baking them.

If someone will not take no for an answer, it might be time to sit down and discuss boundaries. I find this happens most often within families. If you fail to lay out boundaries, trust me, you will live in resentment. I know, because I’ve been there. Having an honest conversation can be hard, especially for us highly sensitive people since conflict can be overstimulating for us. But, in the long run, resentment can be much harder on a relationship than an honest conversation.

(If you have trouble saying no, here are some tips.)

5. It’s okay to feel “too much.”

Especially right now, this world can feel so sad, broken, and lonely, and nobody feels that deeper than a highly sensitive person. But as sensitive people, we may bottle up our true feelings because we don’t want others to think we’re “too much” — and this is dangerous. Obviously, there is a time and a place for everything. The important thing is to make space to process your feelings.

If you’re not sure how to do that, start with journaling, which can be especially helpful for HSPs during troubled times. Trust me, feelings that go unacknowledged don’t just disappear. They lay dormant and come out in ways that are almost always negative and destructive. Have you ever snapped at your spouse and thought, where in the world did that come from? Maybe it was because he forgot to bring home that loaf of bread — last week — and you were still holding onto anger. Journaling will help you process your emotions, everything from frustration with your spouse to anxiety about the world at large.

6. Read a little every day.

I know I’m not the only highly sensitive person who drinks in books. I need words like I need food. There were many years when I did not make the time to read. I thought it was selfish.

But reading is the kind of downtime that soothes and informs. It’s a win-win. There’s nothing better than the connectedness that happens when words written decades, or even centuries, ago speak to one’s heart and remind us that we are not alone.

Like what you’re reading? Get our newsletter just for HSPs. One email, every Friday. Subscribe here.

7. Not everything is about you.

Dear sensitive soul, you are different. You process things differently and more fully than others do. You are going to pick up on things that are not meant for you.

I wish someone had told me these words years ago. I used to take things very personally until I realized that the moods and attitudes of others rarely have anything to do with me. This was a lightbulb moment for me because I didn’t realize that most people don’t notice as much as I do. Now that I know, I can put things in perspective and let them go. She may not have answered my text because she’s busy, not because she’s angry at me, I tell myself.

Alternatively, others won’t always pick up on the signals that I put out. I used to think I was being obvious about my needs, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t stating them clearly. Learning how to speak up for my needs was a real turning point for me. And with that came the realization that people are not going to love me in the same way that I love them — in a way that only a highly sensitive person can — but that doesn’t mean their love is less.

HSP, it’s not selfish to care for yourself. It’s not selfish to schedule downtime. When you have rules that protect your energy, you are at your best for the people who need you. You will find yourself more willing and able to be generous without feeling resentful.

Find ways that work for you that get you closer to your vision of the life you want. If people and situations make you uncomfortable, there is a reason for that. Trust those instincts, because they will help you create the life you want.