#yearncy

[cate-geo]

Heist!Mark: We are not staying in prison just because of a handsome man

YN: …

Heist!Mark: …/I/ am not staying in prison just because of a handsome man

YN: Well that’s your business

[the-moon-pal]

idk if this quite counts as a 'yearning yancy' prompt, But Consider: yancy who realized that he may not have held your hand much during your time in the prison (assuming you chose to leave) and because of this, likes to imagine how your hands would fit in his, how soft/rough they'd feel, how touched/untouched by time and life they are; just yearning to hold your hands in his and make you feel safe because 'he's got youse now, no need to worry none' - mythbits

I feel like it fits really well so- here comes the Yearncy wjHSHSJ

Look at this fool

@mythbits

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

March Visitation - Yearncy

For all the Yearncy lovers on this visitation day.

Word count: 791

-

Do you want to know the one secret Yancy will never tell you?

You loving him is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

It’s true! Sure, he adores the life he has in prison (especially compared to life before this), but everything meshed together into one big routine. If there weren’t classes he could attend, or a small variety in meals, he wouldn’t know what day it is. Then you came along, and the entire world made sense. He’s excited to be in love and experience the magic it brings.

The way you smile and look at him with adoration in your eyes. What is it you see in him that he can’t see in himself?  You call him handsome, despite the tattoos others would deem “unsightly” or “unprofessional”; despite the faint scars that litter his body from years of scraps and fights. The rare time your visitation allows you to reach out, your touch is always so gentle and so unexpected. One time, you reached out to place the palm of your hand against his cheek. You didn’t expect to see his expression relax as he pressed against your hand. How long had it been since he had received such casual affection? He would normally flinch in anticipation when you tried to reach out, but this was a moment you would cherish.

But what you don’t know is that when the lights were turned off and the cells were locked for the night, Yancy sat on the edge of the bunk, one hand trying to recreate that gentle gesture you had extended to him. His eyes were closed as he pretended, if only for a moment, that you were there again.

Sometimes, during rec time, he’ll sit to the side, worn refill pad on his lap as he tries to complete tasks for a class. This is nothing but a ploy. What might look like him attempting to focus on his work, it’s actually him daydreaming about seeing you again. What if you two could just spend some time outside? Would he dare overcome his own insecurities and take your hand in his? Would he brave the fear of rejection and kiss your cheek? 

What if he wasn’t in prison? What if he could be the man you truly deserved, one who loved you dearly and could provide you with anything you wanted? Until then, he would have to start bettering himself, starting now.

--

The day before this month’s visitation, he is hunched over that familiar notepad while cooped up in his cell for rec time. The page has notes, alright, but they’re ideas on what he could call you. Shithole Hank mentioned on the side that pet names are a sweet thing to use when talking to the love of your life. But Yancy didn’t want to use “my love” or “honey” or “dear”. He wanted to use something special. “Sunshine”? “Milkshake”? No, that was childish, and quickly scribbled out. It’s hard to think of ideas when everything around you is barren, and slowly hitting his head against the wall with a quiet ‘thunking’ rhythm doesn’t spark inspiration. However… You aren’t of the prison. You live out there, in the world outside that he has abandoned. He climbs onto the table to try and see what he could see from the small window.

As though perfectly timed, a small bird lands on the ledge. It has a royal blue plumage with a red chin and a forked tail. It hops along the ledge, stopping only when it notices the prisoner gazing at it. He’s ready for it to take off in fear, but it doesn’t. Instead, its body turns to face him, while its head tilts left and right. It’s examining him as much as he is trying to figure it out.

“Youse ain’t scared of me?” Yancy murmurs as though there is no glass between them. The bird adjusts its wing in response. Strange. “Heh… Youse remind me of someone real special. Is this some sorta sign, huh? Youse some sorta special something-or-other?” There’s a brief pause before he chuckles and shakes his head. “I gotta be desperate if I’m talkin’ to a bird. Wait…” His eyes shoot back to the bird as he speaks again. “If youse is ‘sposed ta remind me of them, then prove it. Right now.” As he prepares to watch it fly off…

It begins to sing.

“Oh shit, youse really are ‘sposed ta be them.” In his excitement, he nearly falls off the table in his dash to find someone who might know what the bird is.

---

When you see him tomorrow, you might see a slightly nervous expression as he tries something new: “My Swallow.”

What do you think?