#❛ let’s go down the drain with the falling rain. ❜ — ask memes.

[jimmypeakes]

tag dump !!

[blossomkoushi]

it’s what you feel, when you love someone.

summary: tsukishima kei spends his life discovering love. and the heartache that comes with it.

warnings: reader is a bit of an ass, but so is tsukishima one time, childhood friends AU, unrequited love, heartache, heartbreak, general angst things like that. gender neutral reader, referred to as “stinky” in texts. truly all hurt and no comfort in this one.

word count: 2.1k

A/N: i haven’t written angst in forever, so please let me know if this was okay or what i could improve on! i absolutely love angst and i want to get better at writing it, so any and all feedback is appreciated. fic is based off this prompt, thank you for requesting!

The sun shines through Tsukishima’s window. 7:30am. Rolling over in his bed and sighing, he reaches for his phone. The text messages you’d sent after he’d gone to bed sit at the top of the screen. A small smile grows on his face.

[from: stinky, sent at 1:43am] >> kei-kei, did you know that fish cough? Isn’t that so weird? >> like how does that even work >> wait I found a youtube video, look! >> *stinky sent a link* >> …doesn’t really look like coughing, does it? It’s more like a yawn >> kei-kei are you sleeping? >> laaaame >> sleeping is dumb

The nickname makes his heart flutter, just for a moment. It’d always had that effect on him, the blush creeping up on his face until he trained himself to keep it down.

[to: stinky, 7:34am] >> why were you sending me texts about fish at 1:40 in the morning >> stupid

Tsukishima pauses for a moment, hesitating before sending another text.

[to: stinky, 7:36am] >> are you still coming by practice later?

Getting out of bed, he starts getting ready for his morning class and practice. A part of him is grateful that you decided to go to the same university as him, being able to see you nearly every day made his life brighter. Not that he’d ever tell you that.

He’s out the door and walking to class when you text him back.

[from: stinky, 8:27am] >> obviously, I need to go see how ‘Taro is doing >> could you steal his shirt so I can see his abs during practice? >> *image attached*

Some kind of horny meme that Tsukishima never bothered to pay attention to, the kinds you always send when talking about his teammate, Kyoutani.

[from: stinky, 8:29am] >> oh, and you’ll be there too, ig

There it is.

He knows it’s a joke. He knows that he’s your best friend and you’re only joking. But the sinking in his chest and the knot tightening in his stomach is refusing to listen to his reasoning.

Swallowing down any anxious and sad feelings, he shakes his head and starts typing away at his phone.

[to: stinky, 8:30am] >> great. I’ll see you after class

Another message of seemingly random emojis pop up on his screen and he pockets his phone, taking a seat in the classroom and bringing out his notebook. He can feel himself zoning out before the professor even starts speaking.

-

Love is a strange word to Tsukishima Kei. It’s something his mom, and occasionally brother, say to him. Something on instinct, as if a promise would be broken if the words weren’t uttered.

Tsukishima had been 5 years old when he asked his mom about it. At the time he only repeated it back to her, an echo of her declaration, unaware of what he was promising her.

“it’s a feeling, Kei. Love is what you feel when you care for someone deeply. And so, you tell them.”

“do you have to say it?”

His mom stops for a moment, pondering before brushing his hair back and shaking her head. “no, you don’t have to say it. But you should at least show it to the people you love.”

Tsukishima continued telling his mom that he loves her up until elementary school. He still loves her after that, but his priorities shifted.

-

Tsukishima had been 8 years old when he realizes that he loves you.

The feeling grew stronger every day, your smile brightening his day and your laughter making his heart flutter in a strange way.

“Kei-Kei! Look, I found a snail! There’s more over there, come on!” your excited voice made his heart swell in his chest. Your small hand gripped his, tugging him through the mud and puddles on the yard, giggling happily despite the rain pouring down.

He starts drawing you pictures of snails. Small doodles placed on your desk before recess. He points them out after it’s rained, pulling you along to bend down and watch them slowly drag along the road on the way home from school.

You get interested in frogs, cats, worms, bees, even ants for a while. Tsukishima joined your obsessions, indulging you with drawings, books and pictures. One time he collected worms in a bucket on his walk home, handing them to you when he arrived at your house, knowing that you were ill and hoping the wigglies, as you called them, would make you happier. The smile you gave him burned into his mind, and he wanted to see it again and again until the end of time.

He loves you, even his young mind can grasp that. He hopes that you can tell.

-

Tsukishima is 12 years old when he realizes that he’s in love with you.

Valentine’s day was never something he’d pay attention to. It seemed silly to him, a whole day just to talk about love? Stupid. Love is something you feel, so you say it or show it and that’s that, why spend a whole day talking about it?

That is, until you run up to him the day before, excitement flashing in your eyes.

“Kei-Kei, do you know what day it is tomorrow?” your hands gripped his arms, nearly shaking him. The familiar blush grows on his face and he shakes his head, hoping you don’t notice how his skin is turning pinker by the second. “it’s valentine’s day! I heard some of the older boys talking in the hallway about what they’re doing for their girlfriends and it seems so cute! Like, oh, one is going to take his girlfriend out roller skating, isn’t that so romantic? And this other boy was saying that-“

Tsukishima tunes your voice out, focusing his attention to your lips moving. Your hands are still gripping his arms and a part of him wishes that you’d never let go, feeling his skin burning under his clothes. You’re standing so close; he could lean his head forward just a bit and his lips could be on yours. If he just-

“-Oh! And I heard some girls talking before gym that the boys in our class were going to confess to their crushes tomorrow! Do you think anyone will confess to me? I hope so” your words snap him back to reality. His eyes go slightly wide, looking into yours. Confess? You wanted one of the stupid boys in your class to confess?

A twinge of discomfort stabs in his stomach, his body filling with sudden annoyance. “no way” he scoffs.

He’s never regretted anything more in his life.

The excitement drains from your eyes and your hands fall from his arms. Before he can think, your chin quivers and you nod silently, turning around and running away.

The discomfort in his stomach only grows, changing and chafing along with an ache in his chest, all annoyance drained from his body in an instance.

He draws a picture of a snail and dinosaur, writing your names over them. Underneath he scribbles an apology. A quick “I’m sorry”, and he places it in your mailbox on his way home.

The next day, he sees you on the yard of the school, standing excitedly in front of a boy and throwing your arms around him.

-

Tsukishima is 13 years old when he realizes that you don’t love him back. Not in the way he wants.

Though, to be honest, he knew from the moment he saw you with the boy from your class walk home together from school, hand in hand.

You’re both in junior high and all you seem to want to talk about is your stupid boyfriend. It’s a different boy, not the same one he saw you with that previous February. This one is taller, not as tall as Tsukishima, but you say that height isn’t something you look for in a boyfriend. He can’t help but to feel the jealousy and sadness seep in at that.

“he’s older, you know. He’s turning 15 in a few weeks and he says that I can meet his family at his birthday party.” You’re seated on Tsukishima’s bed while he’s at the desk, trying to tune you out and do his homework. He hopes you’ll stop talking about him and do the same. You don’t. “oh, and I know you’ve never had a girlfriend, so you won’t know this, but he’s such a good kisser. Like, you can definitely tell that he’s got some experience compared to my ex. Isn’t that so weird? Me? Having an ex?”

Tsukishima doesn’t like this. You’re changing, trying to be older than you actually are to impress this older boy that he’s never even met. Not that he wants to. He’s gotten used to the dull ache of his heart breaking over and over again, the steady and constant reminder that you won’t ever see him the way that he sees you. He’s mastered the art of seeming okay, masking his feelings and pushing them deep down where no living soul will ever see them. But if he had to see you with this… boyfriend… he’s not sure that he’d recover.

So instead, he shuts up. He stays quiet and lets you babble on about all the little things that this boy does for you, letting the ache in his chest grow and grow. It’s better than the alternative, telling you how he feels. No, that’s not an option. He can’t risk losing you.

-

Tsukishima Kei is an idiot. He knows this for a fact after having to watch you pine after endless boys and men all the way up until university. Boyfriends that come and go, the make out sessions that he gets graphic descriptions of and a constant damp shoulder from holding you after your heart gets broken.

He pretends to laugh along when you joke about him being single for so long, his heart squeezing painfully at the reminder that his long-time crush has eyes for every man except him.

-

He only comes back from his heart-break haze when he steps into the gym after class. Only he wishes that he hadn’t.

Calling out a greeting, he sees you standing alone with Kyoutani. Except he’s not sure if it counts as standing, it’s more of a pinning to the wall. Kyoutani’s body caging you in, your back pressed to the wall with your hands around his neck. Even from a distance, he can see your usual excited smile, happy to have gotten attention from the boy you’d been pining after.

“sorry.” Tsukishima can only mutter, quickly turning around and walking out the gym again. He can hear your muffled voice, probably reassuring Kyoutani that it’s okay. He wishes that he’d walked faster, so he would’ve missed the unmistakable sounds of kissing and your soft sighs.

Tsukishima hasn’t let himself cry over you in years. He forces himself to go numb, push away any and all bad feelings until his breathing gets steady and he can look you in the eye again.

But this time, he can’t stop it. He’s fallen to the floor as soon as the bathroom door locks behind him. It’s disgusting, sitting on the floor with his hands pressed to his eyes, trying to force the tears back inside. His classes clink onto the floor, skidding away from him as his body shakes.

Tears stream down his face and drips down his shirt, turning the fabric into a blotchy mess, matching his flushed face and the snot running from his nose. His sobs echo off the walls, arms hugging his knees while the image of your body pressed against his teammate flashes behind his eyes every time he blinks.

He hasn’t cried over you in years. So, when it all hits him, it hits hard.

He misses practice completely, spending his time laying on the filthy floor in the bathroom and clutching his chest, trying to bring the broken pieces back together. He finally stands after what feels like an eternity. Picking up his glasses from the floor, he puts them on and watches himself in the mirror. Face flushed pink, eyes bloodshot and snot running from his nose, he thinks about what his mother said when he was a kid.

“love is what you feel when you care for someone deeply.”

A bitter laugh fills the room, his own hard eyes meeting him in the mirror.

His mother was wrong. Love isn’t what you feel when you care for someone deeply. All you feel is pain. The dull twisting of a knife in your chest as you watch the one you love fall for someone else, over and over again until you accept that their soft and loving eyes will never meet yours. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself when you’re standing in the bathroom of the gym where you saw said person fall in love with someone new. That you’ve accepted it.

[starman-john-tracy]

24??🙂

24.  “C'mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” [from this ask meme]

“Urgh, sorry.” John is in the process of trying to wipe mud from off his tongue. It’s in his ears, his eyes, up his nose, his spaceboots. His International Rescue uniform is coated head to toe in a thick layer of slick brown, with smears of it across his skin and thoroughly saturated in his hair, too sludgy and wet from the pelting rain to have had any chance to dry. He’s long since stopped shivering.

“You’re gonna catch a cold.” Virgil accuses, proffering a big hand to help pull his brother up onto Two’s platform so that they can get inside into the warm. “Bet you’re exhausted.”

“Mmmm.” Is about as eloquent as John gets, leaning heavily on Virgil’s supportive arm. It really has been a long night. The sky just wouldn’t stop battering them with freezing rain and the Comms in John’s helmet, untested in the field for quite some time had been fritzing badly enough that he’d had to leave it behind. The last one of them to arrive back at Two, John’s spent hours up to his knees, his chest in places, well out of his comfort zone, pulling survivors out of the awful landslip. Hours of grasping cold limp hands and trying to pry their owners from the sucking, slushy mud before he can no longer find a pulse.

John, less accustomed to field work than his brother’s, had had to be ordered back in by Scott once they’d long passed the threshold for finding anyone still alive. Recovery is in the hands of the local ground teams now. There’s no one left for International Rescue to rescue.

John’s slightly atrophied limbs are burning with exertion, and he’s torn between the desperate need for a shower and the strong urge to just collapse right now onto one of the long benches in Two’s hold and fall asleep.

“Let’s get you clean, first, ok?” Virgil’s noticed him drooping and his eyebrows are doing that pinched, concerned thing they do when he’s worried. For all that Virgil’s glad that Alan’s up doing a shift on Five, and that their youngest brother didn’t have to be exposed to all the horror out there, he’s not exactly thrilled that John was here instead.

He can’t deny that they needed him though. It’s hard grueling work and John’s been truly exceptional today, every inch the hard-working, determined life-saving Field Operative they all strive to be.

“Hot shower.” Doctor Virgil orders, all but dragging the spaceman, white faced under all that mud, into the cubicle and slapping the controls for the heavy-duty faucet when he fails to do so. He holds John up, mildly surprised to chance to actually be anywhere near him, even as rivers of mud sluice from his skin and suit and hair, splattering the walls and swirling down the drain, taking the cloying, heavy scent of earth with it. Virgil finds himself gradually taking more and more of his brother’s weight as John slides into a semi-conscious haze of exhaustion.

“You’re alright,” Virgil promises, his arms tight around his brother, whose over-used muscles have decided they’d like to spasm, leaving John breathless and weak as a kitten, his head lolled onto Virgil’s shoulder as he works on washing the mud from his hair for him. “There we go, that’s better right?” He’d hoped  that talking to him would keep him awake, but it doesn’t seem to have worked as John’s knees crumple suddenly and Virgil takes the decision from him, sweeping his brother up into his arms. John’s protest comes out as nothing much more than a mellow groan and the shower switches over to its haystack dryer setting, blasting the pair of them with hot air, fluffing the astronaut’s hair up in soft ginger clouds.

Virgil resists the urge to chuckle.

“Right, that makes it bedtime.” He decrees, glad he inherited the muscle in the family as he heaves John out of the shower and over to the beds in the small medical room in Two’s belly, gently laying him down and covering him with thick blankets. “Sleep well Johnno,” Virgil can’t resist a quick ruffle of his sibling’s hair, if anyone asks, he was checking it was dry, “You know,” He adds quietly, ever so soft on his sleeping brother, “Dad would have been incredibly proud of the work you did today. We all are.”

[scintillating-galaxias]

👉👈driftrod and #12 for the writing prompt thing, perhaps?

#12: I’m here, it’s going to be alright. | (ask meme)

i actually had a little drabble that had a very similar line in it, so i used that :,) i hope that’s alright! thanks for sending this!! and my apologies if the format breaks, i am not quite sure how to answer asks like this eheh - At the end of a typical week on the Lost Light, Rodimus could be found at Swerve’s catching up with the crewmates he couldn’t find time to speak with while balancing his duties as captain. But he hadn’t shown up tonight. However, Drift didn’t chase mechs down just because they strayed a little bit from routine. There was usually a solid reason behind Rodimus’ absences at social gatherings. A few conversations with some of the regulars quickly got him his answer.

“I dunno,” Tailgate shrugged, kicking his pedes slightly. “But now that I think about it, he’s been a little weird all week. He yelled at me for using my board in the hallway, which okay, I know I’m not supposed to, but it was weird ’cause he’s always the one to let me off the hook. Maybe I just caught him in a bad mood?”

“He took a rain check on my new gun!” Brainstorm exclaimed, scandalized. “It’s practically a flamethrower! I figured he’d be practically trying to steal it from the lab by now.”

“I wonder if he’s sick?” Rewind thoughtfully tilted his drink around, watching the engex crest and fall. “I tried to get his attention the other day to grab a quick interview after that hullabaloo with the glass planet and the lava pit, but he didn’t hear me even though I was basically shouting at him.”

Drift left Swerve’s after that and went straight to Rodimus’ hab suite. All of it was beginning to add up to something that, while uncommon, Drift was unfortunately not unfamiliar with. 

He gently knocked on the door of the hab suite. “Rodimus? Are you in here?”

Nothing. A few minutes ticked by with Drift pondering what he should do next.

.:Hey. I’m outside your hab suite. Can I come in?:.

The ping came back another moment later. .:yes:.

.:Okay. I’m coming inside now.:.

Drift entered the passcode, wincing as light spilled into the room. He quickly stepped inside, doing his best to block the light as he moved until the doors automatically slid shut behind him with a gentle hiss, and the hab suite sank back into darkness. He waited to allow his optics to adjust before taking a few more hesitant steps into the room. His pede landed on something that flexed slightly beneath his weight—a datapad, one of many from a pile on Rodimus’ desk. He stooped to scoop it off the ground and carefully put it back in its place. As Drift’s optics adjusted more to the dimness, he could just barely make out the outline of Rodimus’ spoiler jutting up from a mound of fabric. He sighed, relieved.

.:I let myself in. Can I sit with you?:.

The spoiler swayed slightly in recognition. .:yes:.

.:please:.

Drift picked his way across the room and gently sat down on the edge of Rodimus’ berth. Then, he lowered a servo to approximately where he thought Rodimus’ helm was and lightly began to tap the berth. No pattern, no message—merely an aimless hello, I’m next to you, just letting you know. Rodimus likely had turned his optics, audials, and EM field entirely off, hence the lack of response when Drift first entered the room. This was the way Drift had learned to get his attention without startling him. He went on tapping for a few more seconds, then stopped. About a minute passed in stillness. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep. Sensory overcharge usually left Rodimus pretty drained. 

But then, a yellow servo snaked its way out from the blankets and loosely draped over Drift’s own servo. Drift waited a moment before he turned it over and squeezed slightly. After a beat, Rodimus squeezed back. 

Carefully, Drift wound his fingers between Rodimus’ and began to tap out a question.

You okay?

Yeah/A minute/Sorry.

Okay/No sorry/Take your time.

They sat there like that for a long while, hands entwined in shared silence. Drift allowed his vent cycles to match with Rodimus’—slow, almost painfully long, as though he was trying to draw air all the way into his spark chamber. This must have been a bad one. Drift did not say that aloud. Why should he? Rodimus would know better than anyone that it hadn’t been a small overcharge. So he merely shuttered his optics shut and waited until he felt a tug on his wrist.

Lay with me?

Yes/How?

In response, Rodimus finally sat up. His optics lacked all of their usual fire, dimmed down so low they barely looked lit. A certain weariness clung to his frame like the blanket on his back. 

Drift smiled gently and tapped, Hello. Rodimus weakly smiled back. Then, he reached out and pulled down on Drift’s arm. He went easily as Rodimus laid him on his side, allowing him to arrange the nest of blankets and their limbs as he so wished. It took a few attempts. Rodimus would go still for a moment, grunt unhappily, and go about rearranging them for a couple more minutes. At one point, he accidentally elbowed Drift in the face. He blurted, “Sorry,” aloud, but Drift merely shook his helm and waited for him to finish.

When Rodimus eventually settled, their final position wound up with their legs ended up hopelessly entangled with each other. Drift’s left arm was draped over Rodimus’ side, while the other became his new pillow. Rodimus had pressed himself close up against Drift’s chest, one arm curled next to his helm, and the other somewhere beneath Drift. It was, all in all, quite pleasant. Cozy, even.

Rodimus fumbled for Drift’s servo. Thank you.

Though he knew Rodimus couldn’t feel it, Drift allowed his field to pulse with relieved satisfaction. Of course, for you, anytime, anything. He didn’t say any of that. He simply squeezed Rodimus’ servo one last time. You can rest now/I’m here/It’s going to be alright/Rest.

Rodimus nestled his helm into Drift’s chest plate, chassis heaving with a single long, content sigh. Drift smiled and shut off his optics as he brushed a kiss across Rodimus’ helm. No, he hadn’t said much. But he knew Rodimus understood anyway.

[cncoh-damn]

Late Night Calls

Summary: As much as you love talking to the guys, late night calls with them isn’t always the best thing, especially when timezones are in the way.

Word count: 4,993

Tags: @richukisbb @quierick @mamacamacho @erickspretend1 @whymyeyeslikethat @zaddydejesus @zabdielsdimples @cncownerxcr7 @streamdecero @cncoxpmxvibes @marveloucnco

Wanna join the taglist? 

Ah, tests. No matter how good you were at school, there would never come a time when you’d look back on them with a smile. Of course, with this being the last year you’d have to take them (at least, until you decide to go to college), you just can’t afford to flunk a single one. Despite several protests from both your own squad and the boys, you promptly locked yourself in your room with nothing but several cans of Red Bull and one too many snacks that definitely didn’t count as dinner. Of course, you couldn’t really ignore the repeated knocking on your door (courtesy of Elodie, the twins, and Alex) nor could you ignore the buzzing of your phone, no doubt caused by the guys trying to convince you to take a break and actually eat something that didn’t come from a vending machine, so with a sigh, you get off your bed and unlock the door.

Unbeknownst to you, Alex stopped banging on the door roughly half an hour ago, and she’d been put on update duty; sending pictures and telling Zabdiel–who would then tell the others–how things were going on their end. Zabdiel did the same, although he still sent you messages every half hour or so. By the end of your five-hour study session, you swear there would be little grooves on your door from where one of the girls’ bracelets or rings hit. Checking your phone for the notifications, you’re mildly impressed to see the number of messages and missed calls you got, most of them from Erick and Chris. Probably something about your unhealthy habits, but really, you’re not about to listen to them; those two were sometimes worse than you after all.

And that’s how, ninety minutes later, you went back to your room after a somewhat excruciating–but delicious–dinner. As she came from a family that put a premium on academic achievement, Alex was the most sympathetic to your wanting to spend the rest of the night studying, though she was quick to tell you to not “study until you pass out” again. Slipping on a stolen hoodie (probably Christopher’s judging by how it wasn’t too baggy on you), you put on your studying playlist and get lost in your textbooks, a feat more difficult than it would seem.

The hours pass in a blur of flash cards, ink smudges, notes scrawled messily in the margins of a page, and several breaks for you to pop the knuckles of your hand when it feels like it’s about to cramp up from writing so much. By the time you finish, it’s already nearing eleven in the evening, and judging by the lack of noise from beyond your door, the others were already asleep or out. (E/c) eyes glance over the mess on your desk, papers and books and pens strewn around your laptop. You then glance over to the vanity-turned-extra-desk-space in front of your bed, brows furrowing at the mess. Not really the most ideal set-up, especially when everything you needed had to be within arm’s reach, but you could fix it later on. Or once your tests are over, something that seems more likely than the former.

Stretching your limbs, you let out a yawn before your eyes fall upon your phone, a notification light blinking to alert you of, well, unseen notifications. Placing your thumb over the home button for it to acknowledge your fingerprint, you rub your eyes with the other hand as your phone unlocks to show everything you’ve missed.

Thirty missed WhatsApp calls from the guys.

Several puns from Erick telling you to stay hydrated and take care of yourself.

Memes from both Chris and Erick that are related to the subjects you currently had.

Khan Academy videos from Zabdiel and Joel.

And finally, a group selfie from Richard, with all of them looking like kicked puppies. You have no idea who came up with the caption, but you were sure the dorks were trying to guilt you into studying and looking after your health. As much as you wanted to deny it, the fact that they all cared enough to spam your phone with messages telling you to take care of yourself warmed your heart. Needless to say, that picture gets saved to your gallery, where you’ll keep it to look at every time you needed a reminder to look after yourself it’ll stagnate and probably end up buried under the copious amount of memes and videos you save from your chats with the guys.

Noticing that your phone’s about to die–you both love and hate them for spamming it, because that meant your battery got drained quicker than it normally did–, you snag one of the many phone chargers on your bedside table, plugging it into the socket behind your table lamp and leaving it there. Next, you stretch some more before you pad over to your bathroom, fully intent on taking a shower before falling asleep. Hey, you might even get the chance to try out that new body wash you and Joel got from Lush the last time you hung out with him.

You step out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, shea butter-scented steam wafting into your room. Mental note to self, (Y/N): thank Joelito next time you see him, because shea butter smells so good. Plus it felt great on your skin, a bonus that usually came with the skincare products you bought. Yes, where most people bought skincare stuff for the sake of making their skin better, you buy the stuff because it smells good. After you wring out the excess water with a towel, you plonk down on the stool in front of the bathroom counter, a hairbrush in one hand and the hair dryer in another. Five minutes is all it takes for your hair to be just a little damp, and you set the dryer down to brush your hair until it’s no longer wet. Once that’s done, you brush your teeth and rush through the five step skin regime that Iana and Joel set up for you. Yeesh.

By the time your head hits the pillow, you don’t bother with anything aside from getting the blanket over your head as sleep claims you. Too bad you’re not getting the uninterrupted eight hours of sleep you wanted.

CYOA: Pick Your Boy

Christopher Velez:

maybe it wasn’t a good idea for you to set one of the most iconic songs in your music library as his ringtone

but really, Sk8r Boi was the song for him

YES IT’S BC HE’S AN ACTUAL SKATER

plus it was the first song you two ever jammed out to, so it’s got a special spot in your friendship

ANYWAY

as much as you love Avril Lavigne, you weren’t fond of waking up to the guitar riff you always played when you got your hands on an electric guitar

honestly you were tempted to let it go to voicemail because DAMN IT BRYANT, YOU WERE SLEEPY

but you figured that Chris wouldn’t call you at fuck knows what time in the morning if there wasn’t a reason

so you pick up, pulling the micro-USB connector from your phone’s charging port before pressing it into your ear, half your face smooshed into your pillow

“Nena!”

now normally the hyper ball known as Christopher Velez wouldn’t annoy you by simply saying one word, but… you were tired

so you grunt before speaking. 

“Hola, Chris.”

bear in mind you were rudely awakened by his ringtone playing, so you’re not in the best mood rn

but he deadass doesn’t pick up on it

so he’s babbling on and on, switching between Spanish and English way too quickly for your still-sleepy mind to comprehend

just as you’re about to yawn, he stops mid-sentence

“(Y/N)? Cuál es tu color favorito?”

you actually yawn while he’s asking, and it takes a second or so for you to realize he asked for your favorite color

“Uhh (f/c),” you say, yawning right after.

he doesn’t say much to you after, and you’re about to let the background noise from his end lull you to sleep

HA SIKE

just as you close your eyes, he makes this triumphant little noise that wakes you up again

and really, you don’t want to rain on his parade (even if he’s keeping you from your precious sleep), so you pull the phone away to let a tiny groan out

(Y/N) wants sleep

pero Christopher, el loco, just had to call you. smh

once you press the phone back to your ear, you barely just get the tail end of what he was saying

and really, you missed the guys (and Chris’ crazy laugh, but shh), but you needed sleep

so you yawn again before interrupting him

“Dude, I miss you and all, pero estoy cansado, chico.”

on one hand, he feels bad. but on the other, your sleepy voice is hella cute so… he has no regrets.

maybe a little guilt bc he knows you needed sleep to help with your test

so he’s all like “Ah, lo siento conejito. Go back to sleep, si? Just call me after your test!”

too bad you fell asleep in the middle of his apology lmao

he was waiting for a verbal response, but then he heard a snore

headass wanted to record it for blackmail purposes but nah

so he just hung up

gracias mucho, Christopher

(Y/N)’s circadian rhythm salutes you

also you called him as soon as school let out so you could tell him you did decent on the test

when you got it back, you sent him a picture. perfect score, hell yes.

lowkey you had to beg him not to post it on his IG. it’d be awkward af, plus it’d fuel some rumors that really wouldn’t be good for anyone

Richard Camacho:

okay, so you really had to set a punk rock song for this somewhat emo lil bish’s ringtone

but rn, you’re regretting it

no, Ronnie Radke, (Y/N) (L/N) doesn’t know why good girls go for bad guys now please shut it

it really suited Richuki tbh, what with him definitely pulling off the bad boy daddy dom look, but goddamnit it was loud

also Good Girls Bad Guys was the first Falling In Reverse song he ever listened to (courtesy of your emo phase that didn’t quite end, just turned lowkey) and he liked it

2012 (Y/N) is thrilled that 2018 (Y/N) has a friend who’s willing to listen to punk rock with her, even if said friend is a bit of a flirt

so he calls you around 4 am your time

you’re still a lil grumpy, but since you were in NREM 1, you woke up pretty easily

doesn’t mean you’re happy about it though

adios eight hours of uninterrupted sleep

but you figure this would happen sooner or later, especially since you and the guys have this sibling-like dynamic now

you pick up ofc, bc you’re already awake and you really don’t like sending any of your friends to voicemail

and he’s just surprised you picked up

there’s a little tremor in his voice and it makes you worry because you’ve never known his voice to not be even because of anything other than anger

or so you thought

now that he sounds upset, you’re a little more awake than before

“Que pasa?”

you usually switch between Spanish and English when talking to them, and it stays that way no matter how sleepy you are

there’s silence on his end for a while, and while it does make you worry more, it makes you a lot sleepier

you swear you’re about to fall asleep before he speaks up again

“No es nada. Just go back to sleep, okay?”

as tempted as you are to do just that, you’re not about to. bitchass had the guts to call you before dawn and make you worry before saying it was nothing? nuh-uh

you love sleep, but you love your friends (and your hobbies) more

“Don’t give me that bullshit Camacho.”

using his last name? he screwed up, and Richard knows it

he’s kinda quiet on the other end though, and you! don’t! like! it!

“Yashel? Richuki? C'mon man, what’s wrong?”

blame it on the fact that it’s like 4 am, that’s the only reason you’re being a softie rn

“It’s nothing. Sorry for waking you.” And then headass fucking hangs up

much to your chagrin

THE AUDACITY

he calls you before the asscrack of dawn, makes you worry, then decides that it’s nothing before hanging up on you? R U D E 

like, screw the fact that you only had four or so hours of sleep, something was up with Richard and you’re determined to find out what

so, against your better judgement, you call him

he picks up bc headass didn’t set a different ringtone for you even if you’re friends hmph

“What happened?” literally no hesitation or beating around the bush here; if something was wrong, then you sure as hell wanted to know about it, especially since he called you

“It’s nothing (Y/N). You have a test tomorrow, just go sleep.” and then he hangs up on you AGAIN

by this point you’re cranky and mildly insulted, so you plug your phone back in to charge before you go back to sleep

you didn’t wake up in the best mood that day, ngl

lil bit snappy, kinda sassier than usual

basically your mood was like Joel’s every time he was on Twitter

the bad mood followed you all the way through your test, and it was pretty obvious from how tightly you were holding onto your pen

after school, though, you call him again and hope he doesn’t hang up on you

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong now?”

“Am I a good dad?”

oof this was not something you were prepared for

“The hell are you talking about? You’re a better dad than most are, man.”

as it turns out, he misses Aaliyah and worries that he’s not doing the best he can as a father

and you’re like “???” because the fact that he and Yocelyn are co-parenting means that he’s doing his best

especially given that he’s away on tours and doing promo stuff a lot

and he’s slowly spiraling into this really dark space and you! refuse! to! let! it! happen!

“Dude, listen to me. Yes you’re not around as much as you want to, and yes you may miss some parts of her life, but look at it this way: you’re making an effort to be part of her life, and that’s way more than I can say for most of the guys who accidentally knock up their girlfriend. So chill, okay?”

soft hours have been extended all bc Richuki doubted himself :((

by the end of the call, he’s feeling a lot better

“Gracias, nena.”

“De nada, dude. Next time though? Don’t call me sounding all upset and shit and then hang up.”

he laughed at that, but then apologized, so you’re not annoyed at him anymore

lowkey you’re considering changing his ringtone but… nah

Zabdiel de Jesus

if there was anyone of the guys you thought would know not to call you when you’re supposed to be asleep, it’d be Zabdiel

but nOPE

he called you probably thirty minutes after you fell asleep

and even if Britney Spears is a guilty pleasure, you don’t want to wake up to Womanizer blaring from your phone

sorry Elodie

but it’s blaring and you’re rudely awakened and now you’re sleepily squinting/glaring at the stupid thing as if it would make it stop. it doesn’t.

so now you’re picking it up because damn it, what the fuck could Zabdiel want?

you yawn as you accept the call, laying on your side so you don’t have to hold the phone to your ear

“Que?”

you didn’t expect to hear loud ass bass and what was probably a party on the other end

but you did

and now you’re trying to keep yourself from cussing at him. you two weren’t that close yet, and no way were you going to risk offending someone because they called you at lord knows what time in the morning.

so you take a page out of his book and take several breaths to calm yourself before repeating the question

“Cometí un error,” he groans, and you’re so tempted to just yeet your phone away because fucking hell, he’s drunk! or somewhat intoxicated.

either way, you are not in the right state of mind to speak to a drunk person

“¿Qué hiciste?“ It’s a struggle to not let the annoyance in your voice show, but you barely even manage to hide it. Thankfully, he’s too drunk to notice.

“I screwed up, (Y/N).” The way he says it is almost too pathetic and you sigh.

“Si, you said that. What happened?” There’s mumbling on his end and all you could make out is a name: Gwen. it takes a while before you piece it together, and you facepalm once the puzzle pieces slot together.

he was upset about his ex

his ex that, according to rumors, he cheated on

and then, for some reason, he figured you were the best person to talk to? okay, not the best person, but one of the first people he should call. 

you were not equipped for this. nuh-uh.

“Zabdi, that was a whole year ago. Hell, maybe even more.” Really, you wanted to ask why the fuck he was thinking about this now

it’s been a Y E A R

“I really liked her,” he continues slurring into the phone, and you muffle a groan with your hand. did befriending an entire boyband mean that you had to listen to them talk about their exes even if it’s been a year? even if they were probably the cause behind the breakup in the first place?

can you resign from being their friend now? (you say this despite knowing you wouldn’t go through with it. you love the dorks too much)

“Zab, you can’t do anything about it now.” You’re trying to be a nice and comforting voice of reason, you really are, but damn it the bass is too loud and you still have a test later in the day

you don’t know what’s happening on his end, but you think you hear something that sounds suspiciously like a sob

cue another eye roll

“Escúchame, Zabdiel. It’s in the past, si? Nothing you can do about it other than learn from your mistake and no lo hagas de nuevo. Lo tengo?”

there’s a bit of scuffling on the other end, and your brows furrow. the hell was happening?

you get an answer when Clara’s voice comes through, and you blink. huh, guess they were bringing him back to the hotel. or his room, who knows.

“Lo siento (Y/N), the rest of the guys thought he went off with a girl,” she explains, and you muffle a yawn.

“It’s okay, Clara. Just–”yawn, “Make sure he doesn’t puke or something. G’night.”

you hang up before she does, plugging your phone back in before you finally conk out again

during dinner that evening, you ask the girls how to deal with a friend who’s an emotional drunk, just so you’re prepared for the next time he calls you when intoxicated.

after that, you send him a few feel-good texts. mostly stuff that siblings would send each other, so you’re really living up to the familial nature your friendship has begun to take on

Joel Pimentel:

just so we’re clear, the only reason you call Joel more than any of the other guys is because he rarely checks his messages, groupchats or otherwise

that said, you’re surprised when, instead of the first of your alarms, The A Team plays from your phone

it’s weird that he’s the one calling you and not the other way around, but you shrug it off

at least he’s calling around the time of your first alarm

“What,” you deadpan into the phone

“When the fuck were you going to tell me you were at the Infinity War premiere.”

whatever it is you were expecting to hear, this ain’t it folks

“Uhh… never?”

and cue a cranky Joelito ranting about you getting to be there and not telling him so he could’ve tried to get tickets 

to which you needed to cut him off

“Bitch, my parents got tickets. Besides, my godfather invited us.”

“Who’s your godfather?”

and cue the silence

“I’m not allowed to say.”

“W H O .”

it goes from this to you deflecting the topic until you decide to bring up your test.

he knows you’re trying to change the topic, but he’s going along with it. he’s been there before.

you start spewing out random facts, both to keep his mind from going back to anything Marvel-related and so you can see how much you remembered from last night’s study session

for the most part, it works.

Joel’s listening to you talk about facts, and every now and then he’d interject with a question, to which you quickly launch into an explanation that spawns even more questions from him

and so you two talk through the next two alarms you set, with you explaining concepts that would probably (hopefully please please please) show up on the test later

“You think I’m going to pass?”

“Hey, if I understood that because you managed to explain it to me, I’m pretty sure you have nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah, unless it doesn’t show up on the test.”

“… Don’t jinx yourself.”

you two hang up around the same time, and you’re in a considerably good mood considering he called you to ask how you managed to be at the Infinity War premiere

also it’s shocking how you two didn’t sass each other much during it

come to think of it, what time was it there when he called?

meh, you’ll figure out later. right now, you have to get ready for school, and that uniform tie isn’t going to tie itself.

#privateschoollife

ANYWAY, you get to school and shit, breeze through most of your classes until last period

DUN DUN DUN

test time

you’re shaking with nerves bc the teacher for this one is notorious for giving college-level tests to his AP classes

and even if he’s been your teacher for the past three years, you’re still terrified of failing any of his tests

but one look at the questions had you breathing a sigh of relief.

those were the things you explained to Joelito! you were going to pass!

ngl, you nyoom through the multiple choice questions and double check your math for the ones that need calculations

once school lets out for the day, you find a nice, secluded area near the botanical garden (again, private school feels) so you could call Joel and tell him you’ve got a good chance of passing the test

but when he picks up he sounds groggy af

oh, how the tables have turned

but you’re sympathetic bc he needs to look pretty; his face is one of his main selling points after all

“Hi, sorry I woke you, but I think I’m definitely gonna pass. Thanks for a while ago, bye, love you dude! Get some more sleep!”

how you managed to say that in one breath, no one has any idea.

meanwhile Joel’s just staring at his phone in confusion before realizing you thanked him for helping you recall what you studied

you two didn’t acknowledge the “love you” that got dropped in that quick, minute-long call and you never will

later that night, he calls you again because he saw another picture of you at a Marvel premiere

and this time, you two sass each other until you fall asleep

sass buddies til the end of the line

unlike Steve and Bucky BC THE END OF THE LINE WAS APPARENTLY A CHANCE TO TIME TRAVEL

anyway

it’s back to your regular, sassy program with (Y/N) and Joel. except for when tests come along, especially midterms and finals.

you two have late night calls just for him to help you study

Erick Brian Colon:

after a bit of shifting around in your bed so you can comfortably nestle in your blankets, you finally drift off to sleep, dreaming of getting an Academy Award in the future

as you were about to accept said award, the dream gets shattered when the fucking Guachineo begins to play

along with the shattering of that dream (because damn it, it’s been a near constant goal since you were a kid) comes a rude awakening not even thirty minutes after you fell asleep

as much as you loved Erick (PLATONICALLY), you were going to throttle him, pretty eyes or not

at least, that was the plan until you hear his voice

who knew someone could sound so shaken up over the phone?

okay that was rude and insensitive af but you weren’t expecting this

he literally sounded like he was about to cry, and damn it, this was the baby! this was little bebito Erick on the phone sounding like he’s about to cry and you’re not going to hang up on him.

to be fair, you wouldn’t hang up on any of your friends, but least of all Erick.

so in the sleepy voice you swore never to let anyone but the rest of your squad hear, you yawn out a “Que pasa?”

he’s practically sniffling, and even if he doesn’t quite want you to hear him cry, you’re one of the first people he thought to call, especially since the guys were out at the club 

“Extraño a mi familia,” he admits, voice shaking and you just want to wrap the guy in a blanket and cuddle him.

sure you don’t really get homesick much since you don’t live far from your parents, but it’s a wholly different thing for Erick

for one thing, he has a tight bond with his family. for another, he was what, 14 or 15 when CNCO was formed. it was probably the first time he was away from them for a long period of time, and sometimes, it didn’t get easier to bear with the passage of time

“No llora, bebito.” You’re trying to comfort him and all but you’re not exactly the best person to go to when you need emotional support. Hell, you can barely support yourself emotionally.

which brings you to the question: why me

and why when you had a quiz the next day

but this was Erick. not only was he your fellow group baby, but he was little bebito as well

you’re not about to let him be upset like this, not when you could do something about it

one problem though: you have no idea what to do about it. nice.

thankfully, he keeps talking.

as it turns out, it’s not just homesickness he’s dealing with

it’s also the pressure he puts on himself to be as good as the rest of the guys are

to be as charming as Chris, as good of a dancer as Richard, as intellectual as Joel and Zabdiel

and suddenly, you get where he’s coming from. mostly

it’s like an inferiority complex, but also, not really

as the youngest, you two had the most to prove

you two had the most expectations ahead of you

so it’s natural that you’ll end up pressuring yourselves to meet and exceed those expectations

now you know what to do, BUT you don’t know what to say

“It’s okay to feel like that, bebito,” you start, sitting up and pulling your knees to your chest. “Pero you need to remember that you don’t have to be like them. Dejaste de competir con otros when you guys won La Banda. Now, the only competition you need to worry about is yourself, si?”

you really want to baby him, especially with how soft and watery his voice sounds over the phone, but you know he’s not going to like it

as the youngest, you two end up being babied by those who know you as a member of your respective groups

and it gets annoying after some time because you just want to be treated like an adult

so you’re not going to baby him completely

you kind of stick to a soft voice the whole time you two talk

and when you feel a yawn coming on, you muffle it with your hand bc you don’t want him to feel bad

it takes a while before you ask how he’s feeling

but when he says that he’s feeling better, you immediately feel relieved

not just bc this meant you’ll be able to sleep soon, but bc it meant he wasn’t as upset anymore

a crying and upset friend always made your heart sad, but a crying and upset Erick? you were half-tempted to book a flight to wherever they were and give him a hug, exam be damned

“Gracias mucho, nena.”

“You promise you’re okay now?”

“Si. Good night, (Y/N).”

Yawn. “Good night, bebito.”

so you go back to sleep, then wake up when your alarms go off

the school day passes by in a blur, but you’re hurrying to go home bc you wanted to check in on him via FaceTime

so you do, but he doesn’t pick up

instead you just leave him a message in his voicemail

hopefully he listens to it bc as his fellow group baby, he needed to know that you were gonna be there for him when he can’t share stuff with the other guys

literally though, he’s the only one to always bring out your soft side.

but at least you love the dork.

[fight-surrender]

The One About the Hermit Crabs

I haven’t really posted anything original lately. Life took a big dump on me back in January & I’m just starting to crawl out of the rubble. I’m not sure where I’d be without the kind and generous support of my friends @vkelleyart @argylefetish & @carryonsimoncarryonbaz. You guys were a rainbow spark of light in a pretty dark time. The rest of you: fic writers, artists, meme posters, rebloggers and the like. You helped too. Opportunities to focus on something besides drowning. 

Anyway. Enough about that. 

Here’s a lil’ uni AU Snowbaz fic that I wrote. It was inspired by a prompt from @carryonsimoncarryonbaz. Her prompt brought back memories of my 90′s dorm room, and my 2000′s hermit crab phase. The fic and some bonus material are beneath the cut ;) 

The One About the Hermit Crabs

Word Count: 1315

Summary: It was a routine room inspection. Typically, I just look around for contraband. A quick scan for illegal cooking devices, alcohol stashes and the like. “This room is a shit show, Snow. Are you hiding a body in here?" Simon and Baz are suitemates in their uni dorm. Just to notch up the tension a bit, Baz is also the RA and he's got a job to do.What will Simon do to convince Baz to let him keep his illegal but beloved pets?

Read on AO3 

Baz:

It was a routine room inspection. Typically, I just look around for contraband. A quick scan for illegal cooking devices, alcohol stashes and the like. Simon’s room is a deplorable disaster as usual. The only clean area is a path on the floor from the bed, to the bathroom, to the wardrobe, to the door. Every other horizontal surface in this room is strewn with clothes, paper and books. The walls are a nonsensical hodgepodge of band posters, concert flyers, newspaper comics, and photos. He lives like an animal.

Simon is splayed across his bed, pencil behind his ear, eating salt and vinegar crisps (Are those mine? WTF?). He glances up from his physics book, “To what do I owe this honor Mr. Baz?”

I’m pretty sure he’s being sincere with the “Mr. Baz” shit. Not a trace of snark or sarcasm. I’m his age for snake’s sake, I just happen to the RA of this god-forsaken shithole dorm. It’s not like I’m the queen.

“This room is a shit show, Snow. Are you hiding a body in here?”

Did Simon’s eyes just widen a little?

In the ensuing silence, there’s a pop, like a pebble thrown at glass.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask, scanning the room.

Simon sits up in his bed, eyes definitely wide. “What was what?” He stammers.

Well, this just got interesting.

I hear a brief crunching sound, like gravel shifting.

The color drains from Simons face, turning his skin a lighter shade of tawny, his moles lonely sentinels in stark contrast to the surrounding skin. It’s lovely, really, like tiny archipelagos in a sunset sea.

Focus, Baz.

I shoot Simon my finest glare, “What. The fuck. Are you hiding, Snow?”

Now that I think about it, does this room smell fishy? I had initially attributed the scent to masculine funk, but this has a marine edge to it. Fishy and gamey.

Snow has jumped to his feet and is in my face now. Well, technically three inches below my face, but somehow his presence seems to inhabit the space. He just fills it with sheer will, and I want to melt.

My heart races as I take a deep breath, I fucking hate conflict in general. Conflict with Simon is particularly difficult because it’s simultaneously edged with, well, an overwhelming desire to knock him down and snog the living daylights out of him.

“Don’t you need a warrant to search this room?” Simon exclaims.

I exhale. Slowly. I growl (probably a little louder than necessary) “No, you imbecile. This is uni, not the real world. I’m the RA here, and I get to do what I wish.” I stretch to my full height and glower down at Simon for full threatening effect. Truth be told, I just want to run away and let him be, but I have a job to do.

I reluctantly turn my back to Snow and search for the source of the noise.

“Can we just talk about this, Baz?” Simon changes tack, imploring now.

I ignore him and eye a particularly large pile of clothes on the dresser.

He grabs my shoulder as I make my way to the pile.

“Baz, STOP.”

I whirl on him, my shoulder on fire where he touched it. Fuck this. “The university has a strict no animals in the dorm rooms policy. It is my responsibility to enforce such policy, so back the fuck off and let me do my job.”

I sweep aside the pile of clothes to reveal an aquarium, over half filled with dirt, with a glass lid. The surface of the dirt consists of a lovingly arranged warren of sticks and plants, a wide, shallow bowl of clean water and a bowl of what looks like dead shrimp and egg shells.

“Dammit Snow, what is this, a terrarium?”

Simon’s cheeks redden. He looks at his feet.

“It’s a crabitat.” He replies.

“A what?”

Simon shoves his hands into his pockets, looks up at the popcorn ceiling, and takes a breath.

“Crabitat. For Calvin and Hobbes.” He exhales.

“Are you even speaking English?” I ask

He looks at me now. His eyes are blue. The color of a clear spring sky after a week of rain. A brilliant blue that I want to dive into, get lost in. Fuck. Are those tears?

“Calvin and Hobbes are my pet hermit crabs. I’ve had them for months, and I love them. They’re actually really cool, and for fucks sake Baz, can you please get your head out of your ass and just pretend you never saw this?”

I think he’s actually about to cry. He looks adorable right now. Full stop.

I cock my eyebrow. “What’s in it for me?” (What am I even doing right now? I’m resorting to bribery. What’s next? A life of crime?)

Simon brightens. “I’ll help you with your calculus homework. I see you working on it all the time in the library. You don’t seem to enjoy it.”

“Nobody enjoys calculus, you dolt.”

“I do.”

I curve my lips up and down and scrunch my eyebrows at him incredulously. “There’s something wrong with you.”

I allow myself to think, yes! Fuck yes! Teach me math. In your bed. Or mine (fewer crumbs). All night, until we fall asleep together and I wake up in your arms and smooth the ruffled curls off your forehead. Then you kiss me with your moles and your morning breath and call me darling. We skip class and snog all day, until our lips are sore. Rinse and repeat.

I do not allow myself to think about Simon noticing me at the library. Intuiting that I absolutely abhor calculus and anything having to do with math. Hours spent, trying to make sense of it all. What did he notice? Why did he notice?

“I know.” Simon interrupts my reverie. He smiles. “I love math. It just makes sense. It’s constant and predictable.” He looks away, “Unlike pretty much everything else in my life.”

I’m not sure what he’s talking about. He’s the golden child, here on a full academic scholarship. Internet famous for pulling a bunch of kids out of a fire at a care home years ago. He’s charming, devastatingly handsome, kind, and everybody loves him. Including me (in case you haven’t figured that out yet).

Fuck, what’s that look? He seems…sad? Thoughtful? This conversation is quickly leaning towards relational. The last thing I need is to talk about his feelings.

Time to change the subject.

“Aren’t crabs insects? You can’t love an insect, Snow. Get rid of them.”

Simon lowers his eyebrows, “They’re arthropods. They’re funny and cute, and I do love them, so you can fuck right off.”

Then he takes my hands. Why is he taking my hands? I should punch him. (I won’t punch him. I won’t hurt him.)

He’s looking into my eyes again. I can’t escape his piercing, devastating gaze. I lean away. Can he see my pulse racing? I’ll do anything for him. Anything.

“Baz. You’re right, they’re just glorified bugs. They’re not causing any trouble.” His voice is like butter and honey, “Nobody will notice them.” He actually smirks at me, “It’s not like they’re going to shit on the rug or chew up the furniture.”

“It’s against the rules.” I respond. Weakly.

“Please, Baz.”

Puppy dog eyes.

Fuck.

“Fine. Keep your disgusting creatures, but you will help me with my calculus homework.”

“Deal,” Simon proclaims.

He’s still holding my hands. Has he forgotten that he’s holding my hands? Has he forgotten what it means to hold hands?  He smells like bacon and intensity and looks like something I want to lick. Everywhere. I’m going to let him keep his ridiculous comic strip hermit crabs and he’s going to tutor me in math.

Crawley, what have I gotten myself into?

Bonus content: 

A photo of my actual dorm room in the 90′s, the inspiration for Simon’s:

[brooklynislandgirl]

OTP ask meme - Beth + Jayden

This One || -

I. Who slowly eases into the pool while complaining about the temperature of the water and who takes a full-force no regrets flying cannonball into the water:

“Do. Not.”“Gonna.”For someone so small, Beth has a way of tucking all of her limbs tight. Manages to turn herself into a ball that hits the water like a depth charge. Water that comes exploding upward as she sinks down, while Jay is still acclimating to it.It’s a mystery to her, really, as she shrinks back and shields her eyes from the chlorinated rain spilling over her in sheets. How someone so small can make such big waves.II. Who can easily comfort the other when they’re sick and who sprays everything down with Lysol and wears an antimicrobial mask and pats the former with a broom to comfort them when they get sick:

Jay hates her, a little bit, but not really. Beth is never sick. Not in all the years that they have been friends, sisters in everything save blood and name. She gets worn down, she suffers from depression but Beth doesn’t cough or burn with thousand degree temperatures.  She doesn’t have rivers of snot clogging up her sinuses or draining down the back of her throat. And it’s not just because her primary sphere is life. No, it’s something else entirely, something Jay has never quite been able to put her finger on. 

At this moment though, if she could rise from her tomb of blankets and pillows, she’d wrap her hands around the little Verbena’s neck and cheerfully throttle her. She’s humming as she’s pouring Jay orange juice, and arranging the three horse-sized pills for Jay to take. Dancing around the kitchen like its Christmas morning.Jay does not want to admit that maybe it does make her feel a little bit better. Even if Beth won’t use her magick to cure her.III. Who’s the amazing cook and who almost burns the house down trying to microwave a pop tart:

Jay takes a bite of Beth’s cupcake. It takes all of her effort and energy not to spit it back up when the other girl’s face is anxious and hopeful at the same time, like a dog who thinks you’re going to share your perfectly rare prime rib with it.It’s disgusting. It’s dry and salty and she’s not even sure what the flavour is supposed to be. It becomes gritty between her teeth as she takes a little longer trying to decide if she’s brave enough to swallow or if she has to spit it out. She throws Beth a shaka before putting her hand in front of her mouth.“Sweetie, can you go down stairs and grab the soy milk from the walk in? I wanna make us lattes to go with these.”Still hopeful, Beth flits to the stairs and takes them two at a time. Something Jay doesn’t have a lot of, so she acts quickly. A tug of matter here and there and magick soon makes the cupcakes at least…edible. She can see why Andy insists on cooking. His sister might have accidentally poisoned him by now.

IV. Who immediately goes for the can of Raid when they see a bug and who picks it up like “no wait don’t kill it I wanna keep it”:

”Oh, don’t. Not the eyes, kiddo.” Even if Beth is two months older than Jay, the latter has more worldly experience and a more cynical outlook. And she’s trying to not look directly at Beth who is in fact cradling her hands around a house-spider. She is giving Jay the big horrified Bambi eyes, her lower lip trembling.”But he jus’ one ikki spidah. No harm, jus’ wan live indoors!”

Any minute now she’s going to tell Jay he has a wife and kids and…”His name is Trevor an’ he wan go be accountant when he grow up.”Yep. And there she goes. Jay sighs and puts the broom back in its place. “Well, put Trevor outside and let’s him take his chances.” She tries not to shudder in revulsion.V. Who likes to lean over railings to get a better view and who freaks out and tries to pull the former back away from the rail screaming about how they might fall:”Ya gonna die, Stitch!””There’s a perfectly good rail! Come over. Look at this view.”Jay can see Beth looks positively green. There’s actual sweat on her face, her eyes are squeezed shut, and one hand plastered to the wall, she stretches out toward Jay’s belt, intent on pulling her back away from the edge. Jay had know Beth didn’t like heights and so was surprised when she said she wanted to visit the Crown of the Statue. Lady Liberty was now getting treated to the Hawai’ian’s acrophobia and now, apparently, claustrophobia.“Okay, Lilo. Okay. We’ll go back down, and everything will be fine.”

VI. Who acts like they’re brave and fearless but actually gets terrified 15 minutes into a horror movie and who is usually the huge scaredy cat but isn’t fazed at all by most horror movies:

Jay is peaking through her fingers, watching the blood, hearing the screaming and the gore is just too realistic. They both know it in different ways. Beth doesn’t seem to mind though, chasing the thick layer of cheese intent on getting away from her as she bites down on another piece of pizza.Of course Beth would choose a foreign film about cannibalism. If Jay didn’t know her so well, she’d be worried that Beth was slipping toward some kind of horrific infernalism, complete with a pact contracted between her and some dark demon or inexplicable thing that should not be.The truth is maybe a little more terrible. The fact that her daily job consists of awful accidents, loss of life, gruesome body horror….that this is actually a break from her reality. So…Jay sucks it up and watches the movie.Next week its her turn, and Beth is GOING to watch Vertigo, the old Hitchcock film. 

VII. Who constantly criticizes the latter’s wardrobe and who dresses even more outrageously to further annoy the former:

There is an unspoken agreement that takes place between them. Once the weekend hits, or what passes for a weekend at any rate, there are no pants. Only super fuzzy pyjamas, socks and slippers optional. Yoga pants get a pass but anything else is right out. Tee-shirts stolen out of Andy’s dresser. Bras are optional, at least for Beth, because Jay prefers the sports-kind for moral support if nothing else.Two whole days the world of business suits and scrubs ceases to exist. As does eating healthy and sleep patterns become as nebulous as the weather. They need the rest, they need the comfort, they need the time to unwind. And no one dares make fun of the other.

It isn’t really much in the grand scheme of things, but even these small acts of rebellion have a restorative property. As do the words, shouted in unison:“Nakey time! BING!”VIII. Who likes total darkness when they sleep and who needs a night light:

Beth has always been terrified of the dark. And while Jay may not completely understand what causes the night terrors that wake her best friend out of deepest sleep, or worse, the paralysis that overcomes her until she’s petrified as though by a basilisk's stare, the matter is...these things happen. More frequently when Andy’s out of town. More frequently when the winter comes and the light in the world, even New York, seems to slip away in the blink of an eye.So she makes sure the nightlight in Beth’s room always has a good bulb and a battery back up just in case the power in the building fails.Just as Beth always keeps a sleep mask handy for when Jay spends the night, and keeps light-blocking curtains on the windows of Andy’s room. Light and dark coexisting in the apartment and in the women who each have their own needs.And neither dare make fun of the other, or let anyone else do it, either.

IX. Who loves kids and who scowls at the mere sight of them:

It doesn’t take Jay long to find Beth. Whenever she’s at the hospital and has even half a minute, she’s down in the NICU. Beth tells her that babies, especially the preemies and the sickly ones need extra love and attention and sometimes their parents don’t have the energy to devote that extra care, what with the stress and paranoia of a sick baby. And some babies in the ward don’t have parents at all.She looks natural in the rocking chair, holding one impossibly tiny bundle against her, uncaring about the various bodily fluids that get leaked and coughed and sneezed right onto her. A finger delicately stroking the tiniest fist that ever existed. Eyes closed, lullaby softly hummed.Jay doesn’t really understand why fate would deprive her friend of her natural motherhood, but she isn’t in charge of that. Makes her wonder what she would be like as a mother, though that’s never been on her radar.

Still, moments like this make Jay think anything is possible.X. Who plays games competitively and sucks at them and who plays games casually and is actually really heckin good:

Mixed drinks and pizza. Music on the stereo. Everyone sitting on the floor or around the table. The teams always seem unfair. Jay doesn’t understand some of the rules that Beth and Riggs seem to come up with as if they exist together on some mental plane no one else is privy to, not even Andy. And what’s really annoying is that she and Andy are the better players. They know the rules, they cooperate. It’s all about fun and blowing off steam. Same can’t be said about the other two. They don’t seem to understand and there’s a very real chance a knife will get pulled and someone will end up with stitches. Especially when Riggs and Andy fight over the last beer and Beth is pulling out spare game tokens from her pocket.Yep, just another Saturday night in New York City.XI. Who can handle spicy foods perfectly and who chugs an entire gallon of milk after accidentally eating one jalapeño:She doesn’t know how Beth can eat lava. Or whatever the hell was in that bowl. It’s green and earthy and full of coconut milk, and still Jay thinks it will burn a hole through all of her internal organs. Which is so not good on many levels. Then there’s this yogurt stuff that you’re supposed to drink that’s like fermented mango or something. The bread... she calls it na’an, is good though, and Jay helps herself to an extra piece or two. Nothing harmful in a little garlic and a lot of butter.“Like totally ono, yeah?”“Sure, Beth.” Jay barely hisses the two words out between a suddenly runny nose and cardiac arrest.“Is sad, though, dat you no can get da real good curry here. Goddah go down by da Eas’ village an’ try da Phaal a’ Brick Lane Curry. So good. So...make ya feel alive.”Or wish you were dead, though Jay doesn’t say that. She steals another piece of na’an jus thinking about it.

~*~

also @morgansmornings who sent this in right after Tabs did.

[monicaexol]

EXO Reactions

~ Live it Out ~

Minseok (Xiumin)

When Minseok had announced about your relationship with him last week, he had mentally prepared himself for the worst. Expecting nothing less than a series of possible insults and questions, he starts his V Live with a some what forced smile and a pounding heart.

Though mid sentence, his eyes flicker down to the comments, and sure enough, each one had your name imprinted on it. Minseok lets out the breath he unconsciously held, his face warm with nerves. Honestly, he couldn’t build the guts to actually read the comments, he had no intention of talking about your relationship... but seeing your name repetitively worried him. Did they hate you?

Minseok sucks in a breath, and allows himself to read one comment, “Y/N unnie is so pretty wahhh.” A smile curls at his lips, his thudding heart calms at the sound of your name. “Congratulations Minseok and Y/N.” He squirms in his seat, a blush replacing his previously fear struck features, perhaps, he shouldn’t need to worry about you. It’s evident that you are well loved by the fans.

Junmyeon (Suho)

“And as I was saying, everyone, the members dearly miss performing for you all too. We promise to be back soon, our comeback is just around the corner!” While ending his sentence, Junmyeon glances down to the comments section. However, instead of being hit with a flood of questions asking for spoilers, he was alternately catching your name in each little white box.

His eyebrows draw together in slight confusion, ‘do they care about my girlfriend more than our comeback?’ Awkwardly, he clears his throat and decides to read a random comment out, “Y/N and Suho would make beautiful babies.” Junmyeon rubs the back of his neck where a blush was creeping up, a small laugh escapes his lips.

He attempts to quickly change subjects by talking about the comeback, “Hey, would you guys like a spoiler?”, though the fans seem not to budge from using your name to draw his attention. Junmyeon lets his lips curl, he wouldn’t have cared if the fans disapproved of you. However it did warm his heart to know they have whole heartedly accepted you.

Yixing (Lay)

It was a lazy Wednesday night when Yixing decided to do a Live stream. A smile brushes onto his face automatically whenever he interacts with his fans, there was always something so magical to know that he could speak his heart to approximately thousands of ears who sat patiently just listening to him.

“Guys lets have a rapid question round okay? I’ll close my eyes and read the first comment I see when I open them? Cool? Okay, let’s do it.” Yixing lets his eyes fall shut, letting himself fall into a few seconds worth of trace where he could practically hear the furious types of thousands of hands. He lets his eyes open, and does as he said he would, “How is Y/N?”

He notices a trend, nearly every comment was only about you. “Everyone, I see you are all curious about my girlfriend more than me...” Yixing jokingly pouts, as if he’s jealous for attention, though he couldn’t quite ignore the warm smile that resurfaced his features each time someone complimented you, “She’s perfect.”

Baekhyun

Baekhyun loved going on V Live, it was one of the few ways he could gain real interactions with his international fans. A smile tugs at his lips when he sees the viewer count rising, it reassured him to know that his fans were willing enough to pause their day to watch this goofy singer talk to them about his. Usually, he would be asked to do aigyo or sing a melody.

However it didn’t take him by much surprise to see your name appear so frequently in the comments section, “Everyone, you keep asking about Y/N. Don’t you want to see my cuteness?” Baekhyun tries to lure his fans by jutting out his bottom lip and quivering it to give that extra pouty effect. Normally it would take the comments section by a storm, but today, the fans were only intrigued to know more about you, “Alright, fine. I’ll tell you what she’s doing.”

Playfully he rolls his eyes and turns over on the bed, “She’s working, even though she should be here in my arms.” For a brief moment, he could feel your warm hand cup his cheek. But that warm feeling suddenly felt like a slap when he realised what he actually just said... “Guys, please pretend you didn’t hear that, or I won’t hear the end of it from both my manager and girlfriend!”

Jongdae (Chen)

Jongdae isn’t the type to seek attention, nor is he the type to ask for approval. When he announced about your relationship with him to his fans, he was looking for neither of those things. All he wanted, was a safe relationship with you. Though before Jongdae began his V Live, a part of him felt slightly intimidated, would they like you?

He honestly didn’t bother about anyone’s opinions about you, but it irked him to know that some people could potentially hurt you with their words, or perhaps even actions if it escalated. Jongdae was used to anti’s hate comments, his fans usually defended him. But how would he react if even his fans disliked you?

His stomach swirled with a bundle of nerves, all kicking in at once when he pressed the ‘Live’ button. Though before Jongdae could even let a word slip his tongue, the comments wildly began to load. He allowed a nervous smile on his lips, but his nervousness turned into fluttering butterflies when he actually read what the fans had been saying, “We love Y/N, she’s so pretty!”

Chanyeol

“EXO-L’s, what shall we do today? Hmm? Should we react to some videos?” Chanyeol always treated his V Lives as if he was just face timing one of the guys, he wanted to feel closer to his fans and what better way than to just be himself? He grabs a drink and twists it open, the fizz slightly trickles onto his hand and he laugh outrageously as if it was the most hilarious thing ever.

Thinking he would find a bunch of laughing emojis, he glances down to the comments section, but was pleasantly surprised to find your name printed with every little bubble. “You’re all wondering about Y/N, right?” A minute later he checks the comments to find a series of questions about you, his eyesbrows slightly raising at just how much the wanted to know.

“Well I’m not gonna tell you!” Opting to be childish, Chanyeol sticks out his tongue and playfully pulls some faces at the screen. After cackling about his actions, he lets a serene smile calm his features and lets out a long dreamy sigh, “Truthfully, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me...”

Kyungsoo (D.O)

It’s not that Kyungsoo is shy when it comes to interacting with his fans, not at all, he just wants to make sure that everyone has a nice time. This is one of the reasons that Kyungsoo and V Live are rarely ever mentioned in the same sentence. However, he decided to take his fans by surprise by starting a live stream of him cooking a recipe that his mother texted him earlier that morning.

“I know you all might be a little surprised at this unannounced V Live, but I thought I’d share a recipe my mum gave me with you, it’s quite healthy and delicious.” Kyungsoo licks his lips, albeit he is a strong performer, the man does become slightly nervous when it comes to just being himself. Before he begins, he checks the comments section and finds himself grinning at the mentionings of your name.

Somehow, Kyungsoo wasn’t worried upon seeing your name so frequently, he was positive the fans had already taken a liking to you. “Will Y/N be cooking too?” Kyungsoo pushes the frame of his glaces back with his index finger, a small blush covers his ears and he unintentionally lets out a chuckle, “Sadly, no. She’s at work right now. But I will surprise her with this meal. Good idea, right?”

Jongin (Kai)

“Guys, you have got to read this. It’s the best!” Jongin waves around a book in his left hand, right hand holding his phone at an angle to capture his face and book in the camera. It was a drizzling Friday night, originally, Jongin had decided to make this V Live a ‘day out’ sort of stream. However the resentful rain had drained that idea and now he sat in his pyjamas, recommending his favourite night time stories.

He places down the book and takes a sip of his hot chocolate, “You know, Minseok Hyung taught me how to make hot chocolate. He told me to use 1/4 of coconut milk and top it with whip cream.” Jongin checks his comments to see what his fans had to say, expecting to see something relating to Minseok, though the warmth of seeing your name was hotter than his drink.

But he almost spits out his drink upon reading one of the comments. After managing not to choke, he begins laughing so loudly that his ears burnt red. Jongin makes a blow fish, trying to force his muscles to relax from laughing so much, “I shouldn’t be answering this, but yes, my girlfriend does taste sweeter than hot chocolate!”

Sehun

“Aeries, I’m pulling a prank on Chanyeol Hyung. I glued the toilet seat down, and he’s desperate to go. Hahaha, lets see what happens!” The sudden notification had taken the fandom by a storm, but the fact that Sehun was actually showing his prank was hilarious. Sehun puts his finger on his lips, signing to tell the fans to stay quiet.

“Sehun-ah! What did you do?!” Sehun bursts out laughing after hearing Chanyeol’s agitated yelling and runs to hide in a studio room, he then glances down at the comments to find many laughing emojis and even memes with Chanyeol’s face, causing him to stir even more with laughter. But after his chuckling dies down, his eyes drift to find your name floating in some comments.

Sehun finds himself unintentionally reading one out loud, “Who is more important, ViVi or Y/N?” He lets the question soak in for a moment, both were very important to him, there’s no way he could actually choose. “ViVi is like my child, and Y/N is the love of my life. I’d pick them both over myself, but I can’t pick one over the other.”

A/N: Thanks for reading and I hope you guys liked this! Lately, I’ve been busy. I’ll try to post more quickly but I can’t make promises! I love you guys tho. Thank you for being patient with me ♥️

[spideycents]

B-Roll // Shawn Mendes - 2: quiet on set

---

TABLE OF CONTENTS

---

The first extras call for The Breakfast Club is posted almost a week after I apply to be a makeup assistant. It's the middle of the night on what is hopefully our second to last day of filming at this camp. The goal is to wrap second team shoots tomorrow night, then we'll be done, but we keep having to pause filming for stupid rain that won't seem to go away.

   During one of the rain breaks, we're at the top of the hill at the onset extras holding under a really large picnic pavilion. Everyone's on their phones or asleep or playing group games to try to stay awake. I'm spacing out and Michael's on twitter when Julie-Anne squeals loudly and shows us the casting call.

   "They're looking for high schoolers!" she says excitedly.

   "Sheet!" Michael sits up quickly and types fervidly on his phone.

   "Are you gonna apply?" Julie-Anne nods at me while she works on her own application.

   I shrug. "Later."

   "Why not now?" Michael questions me like I'm crazy for not jumping to apply instantly. "We've got plenty of time."

   I purse my lips. "I know, but my phone's in my jacket and I don't feel like getting it out right now."

   They both laugh and Julie-Anne says: "Mood!"

   They're quiet for bit while they finish their applications and find other days to apply for. The irony that we only ever get hired as teenagers when we're all in our 20s now. Extra irony that Julie-Anne is the oldest, but she looks younger than both me and Michael. I don't know why, exactly. We assume it's her round cheeks or the freckles, but we're not entirely sure. She claims she found the fountain of youth. I wouldn't be surprised since her whole family looks pretty young. Especially her mom and she's practically the spitting image of her.

"And done," Michael exclaims loudly and drops his phone into his lap. He falls back in his chair, flails his legs out, and let's his head fall back so he's staring at the ceiling, then he lets out a rather obnoxiously loud Dying Puma.

At least 20 heads turn and look in our direction. Julie-Anne and I both giggle wildly, but Michael's head is still tilted back, and his eyes are closed, so he's oblivious to the audience he's gathered.

"I have three left," Julie-Anne grumbles.

   "Bitch." Michael lifts his head and looks at her with super squinty eyes. When his face is as pinched as possible, that's peak judgement. "Gotta get that Verizon."

   She glares at him. He smirks. She sticks her tongue out him. He bends his right arm and twirls his wrist, then opens his hand and juts his chin out slightly. She flips him off. He flips her off too. She looks away. He tilts his head back again.

   It's basically the silent equivalent of an argument that goes:

   "Fine."

   "Fine."

   "Good."

   "Good."

   "Fine!"

   "Fine!"

   Then they both humph loudly and storm off in opposite directions.

   The most Julie-Anne and Michael ever do is stop looking at each other. It's okay anyway, their arguments never mean anything. They can't even jokingly insult each other without feeling bad about it. Michael was just joking once when she was throwing away everyone's trash for them. He told her that while she's at it, she should climb in there too. She actually tilted the trash can and lifted her leg to get in, for the meme, but Michael was already freaking out and apologizing because he felt that that was the meanest thing he's ever said to her. That happened eight months ago and he still brings it up.

   "I really hope we all get booked," Julie-Anne mumbles, but she doesn't look up from her phone. "And I hope we get to work with Shawn."

   "SAME!" Michael super exaggerates the word, turning each letter into its own syllable.

   The switch in language when talking about celebrities after you've worked with them, is so apparent to me. Other fans might say they want to see someone, we talk about working with them and mingling like we're co-workers. When, in reality, the most I've ever said to a principle actor was when I told Alexandra Shipp that I liked her shoes and she told me that costumes picked them out, then she walked away.

***

We wrap second team the next day and as we're pulling off the lot as the sun is rising, Michael plays One Last Time from Hamilton and as happy as I am to see the park get smaller and smaller in the rear-view, it's a little bittersweet.

   Michael leaves to go back home later that evening, after first getting a well deserved, and extended nap on my couch.

   It's a struggle, saying goodbye to him. Even if we don't know when we'll see each other next, the universe somehow finds a way to always bring us together every couple weeks. The longest we've been apart since we met was 23 days, and that was within the first few months of our friendship. Sure, we text and call and facetime and Skype and DM on basically every social media platform possible, all day, every day, but the separation anxiety is still so real. I'd say I have a panic attack about losing him and Julie-Anne every other day or so. It's exhausting.

   I still don't know how to tell them about all this shit in my head. They've given me so many opportunities, so many windows, and I keep not taking them. Being open and vulnerable with anyone is terrifying. I still have to work myself up for a few days, sometimes weeks, before I can tell my mom something and I tell her everything.

   "Sorry Dad."

   He's sitting at the breakfast table, painting with watercolors in one of his sketchbooks. He doesn't look up from his work while he speaks. "What are you sorry for, Rosie?"

   I smile slightly at my dad's nickname for me. He's been calling me Rosie or Rosebud since I was little.

   I wring my hands in my lap. It's a nervous tick I picked up from my mom.

   I shrug and drop my head so my chin is tucked into my neck and I'm staring at my hands. "Everything, I guess."

   Dad laughs lightly. "I'm going to need you to be more specific."

I'm not looking at him directly, but I can see him in my peripherals and he's watching me intently, but with kind eyes. Which is how he usually looks at me lately, unless he's mad, but that almost always fades within minutes. He started looking at me with those gentle eyes a few years ago. Whenever it happens, I feel like I'm six years old again, but not in a condescending way. I feel innocent. I feel cared for. I feel protected, safe. He looks at me like that and I feel like I'm home.

   I mean, I literally am home. I've been home for awhile, but that's beside the point.

   Today's different though. Today I don't deserve to feel warm and fuzzy. I deserve to feel small and weak right now, because that's where I am today. I'm 23 years old, I'm not in school, I'm broke, I'm unemployed, and I'm still living with my parents. I feel about as small as anyone could possibly ever feel.

   I scratch red lines into the back of my left hand. "I don't know." I shrug again. I shrug a lot. When you don't know things, shrugging's what you do, and I don't know anything.

   Dad rinses off his brush, then dries it and sets it down on a paper towel on the table beside his laptop. "Lyla," he sits up straighter and turns toward me. "Are you okay?"

   I don't look at him, but I nod. "I'm okay," I say a little louder than the whispers I've been at. "It's just a weird day."

   "Well, you know can talk to me about anything," he's quieter now too. Somehow our big kitchen now feels cramped. Like it's the middle of the night and we're talking softly so we don't disturb anyone.

   "Maybe later." I push my chair back and get up.

   "Can I give you hug?" Dad asks quietly.

I'm glad he doesn't stretch his arms out toward me cause then I feel like I have to hug him or than I look rude.

   "Not right now," I mumble and go up to my room.

   "I love you." His voice echoes up the stairs, filling the hallway. All our doors are closed so it feels like the sound just keeps bouncing back and forth. Even after silence has fallen, I can still hear his voice in my head and my ears ring with regret.

   I lock my door behind me and turn off the lights before climbing onto my bed. I pull my comforter around me and curl up into a ball in the back corner. I have a big bed so seeing all the empty space around me just makes me feel smaller.

   Nothing in particular happened to trigger this sudden onset bout of weirdness, but I guess that's how depression works. Some days are good and others are weird. I don't want to say bad, because they're not really. I just drift through them. I'm probably like this today because I've been non-stop for the past few weeks and now that Michael's gone, I've kind of hit a wall. I just need some introvert time to recharge so I can get all my energy back.

   It's funny to word it in that way.

   Recharging.

   It's like people are batteries and we spend our energy until we're drained so then we have to find a way to get all that energy back. I get my energy back from alone time or caffeine usually, but a good song or a good movie or book also helps, but that's mainly just to make me feel better. Spending time outside or eating a good meal or getting a good night's sleep is also extremely refreshing. But, so is a nice shower or a bath. Honestly, I find energy through lots of things. Even being around my friends or family when we're happy will help. It varies for everyone though, but whatever you have to do it's basically like plugging yourself into a wall until your angry red light turns into a bright, happy green one.

   Speaking of charged.

I unplug my phone and roll over so I'm facing the wall while I unlock it and scroll through my different feeds. I like some random Instagram posts from different celebrities and some wedding photos from someone I knew in college who invited a ton of our friends to their wedding, but didn't say a word about it to me. It's annoying to hear about your friend's engagement through a Facebook post, like everyone else they don't care about.

Yay.

I close Instagram and open Twitter.

My feed has been nothing, but angry political debates since 2016.

I've thrown my two cents into the void, but the only people who follow me are my friends and family and a few random One Direction fans from the good old days in 2012/ People rarely see my posts and I don't want to seek out people and start drama with them or respond to problematic tweets that I see from people I follow. A lot of people get really vicious and evil with their responses and I know I'm not the kind of person who can walk away from that kind of battle unscathed. There's definitely a war raging on the internet and I'll stick to serving as medic rather than a soldier.

I scroll a little farther down Twitter, but there's not a single happy or wholesome thing in sight.

I close Twitter and open Tumblr.

Thank God for memes.

As I'm scrolling, I catch a few South Park posts and DM them to my cousin, Esther, and I spot some Marvel things and share them with Michael, and then Shawn fucking Mendes appears on my dash.

Michael's right. I'm never going to be free of him.

It's a gifset of him lying half-naked on a couch.

It's a nice couch.

I scroll down to find another post about Shawn directly below it and reblogged by the same person too.

This is just one photo, a black and white still on him sitting on a bed. Subject matter aside, I have to admit that's a pretty good shot. The way the light's hitting him, the contrast of the shadows, the general composition...it's just really pleasing to look at.

I heart it and keep scrolling. A few memes and text posts and random quotes on nature photos later and I run into another Shawn post.

Another gifset and this work of art is a collection of moments of Shawn licking his lips.

Lovely.

Leave me alone, Mendes.

I close the app and lock my phone. I push it away and pull my blanket over my head. I lay there in the dark for a little, listening to my breathing and the faint murmur of my dad watching Seth Meyers downstairs.

My phone buzzes once.

An email.

It's probably spam, but I turn over and grab it.

It's from the movie.

I got the job.

I'm going to be working as a makeup assistant on The Breakfast Club remake.

I might have to put makeup on real actors.

I might have to work with Shawn Mendes.

I might have to put makeup on Shawn Mendes.

Oh my god.

—-

It’s cringey, but now it’s public so... *shrugs* Tell me your thoughts in the tags or message me.

[brokemymeme]

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE SENTENCE MEME

The Black Parade

change pronouns and such as needed ( tw death, tw suicide, tw gore, tw blood, tw drugs, tw cancer)

THE END ❝ You can’t save me! ❞ ❝ Save me! Get me the hell out of here! ❞ ❝ Here's my resignation, I'll serve it in drag. ❞ ❝ When I grow up I want to be nothing at all! ❞ ❝ My dear, if you can hear me just walk away. ❞ ❝ Now come one, come all to this tragic affair! ❞ ❝ I'd encourage your smiles, I'll expect you won't cry. ❞ ❝ You might wake up and notice you're someone you're not. ❞ ❝ If you look in the mirror and don't like what you see, you can find out firsthand what it's like to be me. ❞

DEAD! ❝ You never fell in love. ❞ ❝ Did you get what you deserve? ❞ ❝ Wouldn't it be great if we were dead? ❞ ❝ Is that the most the both of you can give? ❞ ❝ Have you heard the news that you're dead? ❞ ❝ If you get to heaven I'll be here waiting, babe. ❞ ❝ If life ain't just a joke then why are we laughing? ❞ ❝ Wouldn't it be grand to take a pistol by the hand? ❞ ❝ If your life won't wait then your heart can't take this. ❞ ❝ So long, cause now you've got maybe just two weeks to live. ❞ ❝ No one ever had much nice to say, I think they never liked you anyway. ❞ ❝ If your heart stops beating, I'll be here wondering did you get what you deserve? ❞

THIS IS HOW I DISAPPEAR ❝ I'm just a ghost. ❞ ❝ I can't hurt you anymore. ❞ ❝ All the good girls go to heaven. ❞ ❝ Can you hear me cry out to you? ❞ ❝ Who walks among the famous living dead. ❞ ❝ Drain all the blood and give the kids a show. ❞ ❝ Now, you wanna see how far down I can sink? ❞ ❝ There's things that I have done you never should ever know. ❞ ❝ Without you is how I disappear and live my life alone forever now. ❞

THE SHARPEST LIVES ❝ A kiss and I will surrender. ❞ ❝ You're in time for the show. ❞ ❝ I've really been on a bender and it shows. ❞ ❝ The sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead. ❞ ❝ If I crash on the couch, can I sleep in my clothes? ❞ ❝ I've spent the night dancing, I'm drunk, I suppose. ❞ ❝ So why don't you blow me a kiss before she goes? ❞ ❝ Drop the dagger and lather the blood on your hands. ❞ ❝ You're the one that I need, I'm the one that you loathe ❞ ❝ Well, it rains and it pours when you're out on your own. ❞ ❝ A light to burn all the empires, so bright the sun is ashamed to rise. ❞ ❝ If it looks like I'm laughing, I'm really just asking to leave this alone. ❞ ❝ Give me a shot to remember and you can take all the pain away from me. ❞ ❝ There's a place in the dark where the animals go, you can take off your skin in the cannibal glow. ❞

WELCOME TO THE BLACK PARADE ❝ I don't care. ❞ ❝ We'll carry on. ❞ ❝ In my heart I can't contain it. ❞ ❝ I'm just a man, I'm not a hero. ❞ ❝ I won't explain or say I'm sorry. ❞ ❝ Give a cheer for all the broken. ❞ ❝ Do or die, you'll never make me. ❞ ❝ Go and try, you'll never break me. ❞ ❝ Your misery and hate will kill us all. ❞ ❝ The world will never take my heart. ❞ ❝ I’m just a boy, who had to sing this song. ❞ ❝ I'm unashamed, I'm gonna show my scars. ❞ ❝ When you're gone, we want you all to know, we'll carry on. ❞ ❝ Though you're broken and defeated, your weary widow marches. ❞ ❝ Though you're dead and gone believe me your memory will carry on. ❞ ❝ Let's shout it loud and clear. Defiant to the end we hear the call to carry on. ❞ ❝ On and on we carry through the fears and disappointed faces of your peers. ❞ ❝ When I was a young boy my father took me into the city to see a marching band. ❞ ❝ One day I'll leave you, a phantom to lead you in the summer, to join the black parade. ❞ ❝ When you grow up would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned? ❞ ❝ Sometimes I get the feeling she's watching over me and other times I feel like I should go. ❞ ❝ Will you defeat them, your demons and all the non-believers, the plans that they have made? ❞

I DON’T LOVE YOU ❝ Better get up while you can. ❞ ❝ Better get out while you can. ❞ ❝ You're still a good-for-nothing. ❞ ❝ I don't love you like I did yesterday. ❞ ❝ So sick and tired of all the needless beating. ❞ ❝ Maybe when you get back I'll be off to find another way. ❞ ❝ Well, when you go don't ever think I'll make you try to stay. ❞ ❝ After all the blood that you still owe another dollar's just another blow. ❞ ❝ When you go would you have the guts to say, "I don't love you like I loved you yesterday"? ❞

HOUSE OF WOLVES ❝ Tell me I'm an angel. ❞ ❝ It's a compliment, I swear. ❞ ❝ We got innocence for days! ❞ ❝ I’ve been a bad motherfucker.  ❞ ❝ I want to hear you sing the praise. ❞ ❝ Well, I think I'm going to burn in hell. ❞ ❝ Tell me I'm a bad, bad, bad, bad man. ❞ ❝ I said ashes to ashes, we all fall down. ❞ ❝ Tell me I'm a bad man, kick me like a stray. ❞ ❝ I'll be granting your permission ‘cause you haven't got a prayer. ❞ ❝ Well, I know a thing about contrition because I got enough to spare. ❞ ❝ As the blood runs down the walls, you’ll see me creepin' up these halls. ❞ ❝ You better run like the devil, ‘cause they're never going to leave you alone. ❞ ❝ I'm going to come sing the praise and let the spirit come on through you. ❞ ❝ You better hide up in the alley ‘cause they're never going to find you a home. ❞

CANCER ❝ Turn away. ❞ ❝ Know that I will never marry. ❞ ❝ Bury me in all my favorite colors. ❞ ❝ The hardest part of this is leaving you. ❞ ❝ Now turn away ‘cause I'm awful just to see. ❞ ❝ But counting down the days to go? It just ain't living. ❞ ❝ Still I will not kiss you, ‘cause the hardest part of this is leaving you. ❞ ❝ I just hope you know that if you say good-bye today, I'd ask you to be true. ❞ ❝ If you could get me a drink of water cause my lips are chapped and faded. ❞

MAMA ❝ We're all full of lies. ❞ ❝ We'll never let you go. ❞ ❝ We're damned after all. ❞ ❝ Mama, we all go to hell. ❞ ❝ You ain't no son of mine. ❞ ❝ We're meant for the flies. ❞ ❝ Mama, we're all gonna die. ❞ ❝ I should've been a better son. ❞ ❝ I could have been a better son. ❞ ❝ You should've raised a baby girl. ❞ ❝ When you go, don't return to me, my love. ❞ ❝ Right now they're building a coffin your size. ❞ ❝ So raise your glass high, for tomorrow we die. ❞ ❝ There's shit that I've done with this fuck of a gun. ❞ ❝ Stop asking me questions, I'd hate to see you cry. ❞ ❝ We all carry on when our brothers in arms are gone. ❞ ❝ For what you've done they're gonna find a place for you. ❞ ❝ If you could coddle the infection they can amputate at once. ❞ ❝ We all go to hell. It's really quite pleasant, except for the smell. ❞ ❝ If you would call me a sweetheart, I'd maybe then sing you a song. ❞ ❝ If you can stay, then I'll show you the way to return from the ashes. ❞

SLEEP ❝ Just sleep. ❞ ❝ Three cheers for tyranny. ❞ ❝ How could you cry for me? ❞ ❝ A drink for the horror that I'm in. ❞ ❝ And I can't...I can't ever wake up. ❞ ❝ Walk away a savior or a madman. ❞ ❝ The hardest part is letting go of your dreams. ❞ ❝ There ain't no way that I'm sorry for what I did. ❞ ❝ There ain't no way that I'm coming back again. ❞ ❝ So shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye, and sleep. ❞ ❝ They're not like tremors, they're worse than tremors. ❞ ❝ How could you cry for me? ‘Cause I don't feel bad about it. ❞ ❝ They're these terrors and it feels as if somebody was gripping my throat. ❞ ❝ The hardest part's the awful things that I've seen. Sometimes I see flames and sometimes I see people that I love dying. ❞

TEENAGERS ❝ The drugs never work. ❞ ❝ You're never gonna fit in much, kid. ❞ ❝ Teenagers scare the living shit out of me. ❞ ❝ Maybe they'll leave you alone, but not me. ❞ ❝ They could care less as long as someone'll bleed. ❞ ❝ They're gonna give you a smirk ‘cause they got methods of keeping you clean. ❞ ❝ Darken your clothes or strike a violent pose, maybe they'll leave you alone, but not me. ❞ ❝ They're gonna clean up your looks with all the lies in the books to make a citizen out of you. ❞ ❝ They're gonna rip up your heads, your aspirations to shreds. Another cog in the murder machine. ❞

DISENCHANTED ❝ You won't feel a thing. ❞ ❝ So go away, just go, run away! ❞ ❝ You never learned a goddamn thing. ❞ ❝ This never meant nothing to you at all. ❞ ❝ You're just a sad song with nothing to say. ❞ ❝ Where did you run to? And where did you hide? ❞ ❝ If I'm so wrong, how can you listen all night long? ❞ ❝ I spent my high school career spit on and shoved to agree. ❞ ❝ As we ran from the cops we laughed so hard it would sting. ❞ ❝ I hate the ending myself but it started with an alright scene. ❞ ❝ If you think that I'm wrong, this never meant nothing to you. ❞ ❝ Bring out the old guillotine, we'll show them what we all mean. ❞ ❝ Will it matter after I'm gone? Because you never learned a goddamn thing. ❞

FAMOUS LAST WORDS ❝ Can I speak? ❞ ❝ Where's your heart? ❞ ❝ I am not afraid to keep on living. ❞ ❝ I am not afraid to walk this world alone. ❞ ❝ A love that's so demanding I get weak. ❞ ❝ A life that's so demanding I get so weak. ❞ ❝ A love that's so demanding I can't speak. ❞ ❝ So many bright lights, they cast a shadow. ❞ ❝ These bright lights have always blinded me. ❞ ❝ Well, is it hard understanding I'm incomplete? ❞ ❝ Nothing you can say can stop me going home. ❞ ❝ I know there's nothing I can say to change that part. ❞ ❝ I see you lying next to me with words I thought I'd never speak. ❞ ❝ Now, I know that I can't make you stay but where's your heart? ❞

BONUS: BLOOD ❝ I’m such an awful fuck. ❞ ❝ Honestly, I'll be here for a while. ❞ ❝ I gave you blood, gallons of the stuff! ❞ ❝ I'm the kind of human wreckage that you love. ❞ ❝ Well, they encourage your complete cooperation. ❞ ❝ Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood. ❞ ❝ Send you roses when they think you need to smile. ❞ ❝ Give them all that they can drink and it will never be enough. ❞ ❝ I gave you all that you can drink and it has never been enough. ❞ ❝ I can't control myself because I don't know how and they love me for it. ❞ ❝ A celebrated man amongst the gurneys, they can fix me proper with a bit of luck. ❞ ❝ The doctors and the nurses they adore me so but it's really quite alarming cause I'm such an awful fuck. ❞

[deciduwhy]

Cask of Imnotspellingthat, Cynthia

The Cask of Amontillado: betrayal, grudge, broken trust. remember the good old days when this one was a meme

so this kind of ties into another longer au fic i’m writing (not THAT long, probably only about 10k at most) and is just here to give cynthia’s pov on the whole mess. whoops.

this turned out far longer than expected.

I remembered that night, as I sat, looking out at Sinnoh’s ocean, how much the League’s waterfall helped calm my nerves. It was inevitable that we’d have to head to Coronet - Not just myself this time, but all the firepower that Sinnoh’s League could provide. I’d heard Flint contacting Volkner earlier, and not long after that, Aaron calling Gardenia. We all knew what kind of fight was coming.

Cyrus Akagi. The person waiting for us at Spear Pillar…At first, I’d thought we could reason with him. I’d thought he wasn’t so far gone that he’d force the League’s hand, but when the darkness had started to swirl around the peak of Mt. Coronet, spreading into the skies across the region, I knew I would be fighting to the death that night. It seemed like even the stars were being devoured by what he had summoned, and all anyone could do was prepare.

What he had done in Celestic Town should have been a telling enough sign.

The sound of footsteps against the grass, which was still wet from earlier rains, had broken me from my trance. I hardly flinched when it happened, but I’d clearly reacted enough for my subordinate to take notice that something was wrong. Then again, I shouldn’t have expected less from Lucian. They were keen, to say the least, keen as a Psychic-type expert had to be. I only smiled at them, bowing as they approached to look out at the ocean ahead before sitting beside me, a thick book in hand. In the distance, even the light from Sunyshore’s lighthouse shone through - A literal beacon of hope, almost as if it told us what would come from Volkner’s involvement.

“Am I interrupting anything?” Lucian asked, adjusting their glasses before looking out towards the lighthouse beam, “If you’d prefer a moment alone, I’m happy to leave you with one.”

“No, not at all,” I replied, “It’s getting lonely up here, actually. I’m more than happy to have you here.”

Nodding, Lucian turned to me.

“I actually came out here to ask for your help,” Lucian admitted, “I’m afraid even I’ve become caught up in everyone’s squabbling.”

Again. It always happened when anything serious befell the League, and this was no exception. I could only imagine it this time. By that point, it had died down, of course - In my mind, I could only see Bertha pacing through her chambers, Flint having retired quietly to his quarters after the last ounce of energy had been drained from him, and Aaron...I could only see Aaron in their chambers, allowing Drapion a chance to go as wild as it could in hopes that it’d calm their nerves.

Even I could feel the dissent between everyone. The tension, whether or not Lucian liked to admit it, was still emanating off them.

I let my attention be drawn to the waterfall once again. It wouldn’t be long, not even an hour, before we departed for Spear Pillar, taking any Gym Leaders willing to fight along, but there we were, fighting while things were still calm.

Whether or not camaraderie would return to the League...Nobody could tell at that point. I needed them, though. My Elite Four...At that point, they were the last four I could turn to. Everyone had been able to tell when I’d returned to the League from Celestic Town, bones aching and a shoulder limp from the fight I’d been in that day.

Nobody knew that it hadn’t been Cyrus who had hit me with such a blow.

Lucian exhaled deeply and opened their book, a place marked very close to the end.

“Out of curiosity,” I asked, “What are you reading?”

Lucian chuckled, closing their eyes in thought. They’d clearly become invested in this book, enough that they could spare a moment, before finishing, to say their piece on it.

“It’s called ‘Coronet Road.’ I assume you’ve heard of one of Unova’s up-and-coming trainers, Shauntal?” Lucian replied, “This was published last year. It’s her first book. I must say, she shows promise as an author.”

Shauntal. The name had been passed around at a recent League conference - Alder had talked about a young Ghost-type expert, twenty years old at most, who had shown immense strength as a trainer. While he hadn’t said anything about taking her in as one of Unova’s Elite Four, everyone in the room could sense that he’d made his final choice.

“Yes, I remember hearing Alder talk about her.” I spoke with a tone just as light as Lucian’s, hoping idle chatter would help to ease the thick tension. “I’d heard she was a trainer, but nothing about her writing career. With the way things are going, it looks like he wants her as one of his Elite.”

Lucian’s entire being seemed to brighten, suddenly.

“If the chance arrives for us to speak, I’d love to meet her,” Lucian continued, “It’s ironic, though. This book is about a woman’s life of seeking Giratina out for her own, unknown purposes. Suddenly, we’ve found ourselves faced with a situation much like this. I can’t help but wonder how she feels about this.”

I let myself fall in that moment, lying down against the damp ground and looking up at the night sky. It hadn’t all gone dark. Sinnoh still had some of its stars left. With my Pokémon by my side, I had no choice but to succeed. For my region...And for those who I could no longer trust and fight alongside.

“...I personally think,” I said, forcing a smile, “She’s already planning the sequel with this happening. If that’s the case, shouldn’t we make sure this world doesn’t disappear on her?”

Lucian let out a soft laugh, standing up and turning back towards the League.

“Indeed, we must.” Suddenly, their voice dropped an octave, taking on a much more stern tone. “...I know what’s been troubling you, Cynthia. Are you certain you’ll be able to fight him?”

I only hummed in agreement.

“If you insist,” Lucian said, their voice laced with melancholy, “I won’t stop you from going ahead. I can’t imagine what that had felt like, though...I’m so sorry this had to end as it has.”

The image formed in my mind, clear as day. My clothes torn above my shoulder and blood staining the wall behind me, splattered against the ancient depiction of our region’s legends. In that moment, three people had stood in front of it, and in a way, we had been those legendary Pokémon.

Mind. The person who stood beside my opponent, awaiting the moment he could leave without another word.

Emotion. The boy I’d watched over dragged to his side with the promise of a new, better world, his massive Empoleon standing with bloodied claws as it waited for its next orders.

And willpower, caught off-guard in that single moment and thrown to the side before their greatest forces could emerge. In the moment Garchomp had emerged and bared her fangs, chasing the two at blinding speeds until they had escaped her pursuit through luck alone, I had thought, through blurred vision and my fade from consciousness, that I could still save him.

I finally stood up, turning to Lucian and shaking my head.

“…Don’t be,” I sighed, “Lucas didn’t know the weight of his actions when he left Celestic with Cyrus.” In the back of my mind, the thought occurred to me that this, coming out of my mouth, at least, was a complete lie. Lucas knew. “He’s my responsibility now.”

[wardati]

0048 - 666

Prompt MEME- 0048 - 666

status: somewhat open

you pick him up from his evening classes at the university. late night rain and slush drown his boots, the coat he wears bleeding dye into the sidewalks is the thin layer of fabric that shields his books from the weather.

he sits in the passenger seat grumbling, laying out wet stacks of paper on his side of the dashboard. they're labeled: crow, deer, fox. you ask him about his day he tells you about root numbers and cs algorithms for the trajectory of thunder the chances are twelve om a million that you would get hit right now.  he says it with such ease that when his lips part again -lightening strikes somewhere too close for comfort. you grip the steering wheel tighter. he says "the speed limit is 45 miles per hour it's best if you stick to it."

numbers. it's all he talks about, it's what made you shed your apathy and contentful silence for his silence only it's filled with, numbers.

at dinner he has one of the books that were soaked in the rain at the table. the corners of the pages turned up cresting over themselves like waves foaming at the mouth. you're almost tempted to count how many times he chews before he swallows.

"twenty-five." he says, dragging you out of your thoughts and seeping himself into it. "you only chew twenty-five times before you swallow. there's something wrong with you." you laugh anyway even though you aren't sure if he's joking or if he's right or if he just read your mind. but you fell for someone who had already fallen for numbers. it's safe and logical and everlasting and you aren't.

(you are dying).

you share a bed sometimes, you kiss his mouth when there isn't a book or a pen in his hands you pick him up from his evening classes, you write stupid songs about him, you're reckless with where you place your keys, your password on your phone is 1 2 fucking 3 , you count stars he counts the lives it would take to fill up a worm hole, he builds worlds with numbers and you don't see them at all.

at night, you dream about the number 25 saged with smoke and it's animated and it's yelling at you, big yellow numbers moving closer. in the dream you close your eyes to shut out the fear. a woman wakes you-crying out your name. her feet are puckered as if she was walking on fire to get here. she looks at you with the same look sunggyu gives you when you solve one of his trivial equations. post x over y minus sans something something something.

she says, "did you know it takes only two soldiers one on the right and another on the left to tear a baby into three pieces?"  she brings your hand on to her swollen belly, you feel it move, squim through cold texture of skin. your palm feels heavy."I won't let them tear him apart. I trust you with him now."  When you look at her face, her teeth have grown out of the mandible, her cheeks gauged in deep protruding holes, her nose into a snout, her skin as if it was plastered over rotting flesh, green fungile and bloody. If hell had a face it would of been this.

you wake up in an agony, cold sweat soaked into the fibers of the mattress, crawling out of bed in broken stagnate moves, staccato in a way, one arm on the floor one leg dragging behind-limp and dead. you don't even make it to the toilet to rid yourself of whatever was building in your gut, moving and rumbling, for a moment you think you thought the liquid traces of the bile had drawn a 2 and 5 on the lament floor. you heave all night long before traces of blood plop into the bowl for so long you don't remember passing out.

you hear beeping in the background once you wake. it's not melodic nor inspiring it's just stagnate flowing in with numbers on a digital screen to you left. this bed you're in feels harder almost like stone. you see a book in his hand, and thanks to your lasik it takes two minutes of adjusting to see he's reading the bible from across the room. hebrews or revelations you forgot the one where he rants the most about. when you first met you never thought of him as religious he tells you it's to understand the world he's saving. and again you aren't.

"the bible has about one thousand two hundred pages, it's the same sum as the probable mistakes a doctors and nurses havee made just today on a patients." he says. "please. don't."  you say out loud instead of in your head because this game of numbers, is getting too much even for you.

This silence that you're sure he's soaking up with the calculations are producing the number of times of how long you've been holding your tongue. how many times you've kissed him instead of saying something the two of you know that was growing more challenging than it is effective. the life you've built with numbers. the troubles you've separated in between decimal points, the promises he's calculated the percentiles for. they're just as factual as theoretical algorithms. it's just nice to think they'd come true.

He walks closer, you don't tempt yourself to count. yet the pain ebbs.He kisses your forehead and you ask "what are you doing to me?" He responds simply, "i'm saving the world, and you aren't."

you think you've seen the devil when you can finally go home and the first thing you do is throw away the math books sitting on your nightstand. as you tear each page you realize the words get darker, the ledger gets illegible. you gut the crow, deer and fox. the books where his lifes work, his calculations acted as his own gospel.

you know you see him heaving, he's so angry the column of his neck is bright bruised red. the lamp in your bedroom is thrown across the room so it sits where the light casts shadows across the wallpaper. he leaves with his hair flustered sticking up right and left. when you turn towards the window, you swear you see horns lingering in the shadows.

six months. six month pass before you get a voice mail that you finally listen to, lost in the drafts.  "voice mail number 36 made on..." you hear him breathing, and you want to fucking sing (cry out his name). it's been six months three days six hours and fourteen minutes.

he would be so proud. wouldn't he?

(you've been getting sicker)

on the news you see them talking about the new mathematicians the one that can calculate empathy, the other- the synchronization of time between dimensions, and the list goes on till the news caster says something about a new graduate mathematician, the one who knows when the world will be ending, the one that knows how to calculate pain and even erase it. the one you know that knows how to calculate love and strangle you with it.

it's been a month before you finally have time for yourselves --no when he finally has time for you. you laugh into his neck and ask, "do you need worshiping?" it doesn't matter if he answers, you're on your knees anyway.

his voice is as deep and drained as ever, you can feel something ripping through your stomach aching to be filled when he leans down and kisses you after seven months, three days six hours and (now) twenty-five minutes.

"sunggyu." you say, "sunggyu?" you plead, "what are you doing to me?"you watch him smile, the first smile in a very long time, as he moves your hair from your eyes. "saving you. I'm finally saving you."

he lies as if he had a fork tongue. it falls deep down your throat, suffocating the doubt in your belly. you believe him more than any other savior who promised to ease your pain. he will kill the sickness inside you. maim the holy ghost til the only denominator is him-- by the body, mind and spirit you worship.you kiss him back anyway. you count the seconds he does not part.

[croinagreine]

Where Secrets Break...

There’s archival footage of devastating hurricanes that can hold no justice to the state in which his office exists. Not a single thing immaculately placed, an ocean of shattered glass and splintered wood between him and the door. Hair askew, sleeves rolled up past his elbows showing the wounds sustained in the disaster of tearing things literally apart with his bare hands. But the second the door opens and hollow-socketed bloodshot eyes rise to meet this new intrusion in his madness…the colour drains from his face. What was once ruddy goes paler than freshly bleached sheets as it takes a few seconds for his mind to comprehend the reality before him. She looks like she was run over by a train and dragged in by a pack of wild, restless dogs. Which is unfair to Michaeline who’s trying to open the door and give her the room required to go where she pleases and if Lugh has any guess, it’s straight toward him. And looming like thunderclouds, he rises up from behind his desk by strained muscles and an iron will, knuckles damn near leaving impressions in the glossy mahogany surface. “Get. Out.” His man of nigh going on twenty five years quails at the low rumble of his voice, barely a whisper in the silence of the room, fracturing everything like a gunshot. Michaeline has the good graces not to say anything now but the undercurrent is that there will be a long conversation later.  He isn’t aware if the man replied or gestured because he had eyes for no one and nothing beyond the small bedraggled redhead in front of him.

His strides eat ground and in four of them he’d met her just inside the room. Propriety be damned, arms wrap once around her shoulders, palm shifting into place to cradle the back of her head into it while the other goes around the nebulous space between her ribcage and the small of her back. He doesn’t think about asking her if she wants this closeness, doesn’t think about all the reasons he should have kept his distance. Later he will deny shaking as he holds her uncharacteristically close, reassuring himself that she is safe and she is home. Later he will deny realising just how soft her hair is, despite its appearance, in that moment as he strokes it. Later he will deny that he intentionally brushed her brow with the gentlest of kisses while he murmured nothings and everythings to her, eyes squeezed shut as relief flooded through his system. “Easy now, Miss Buckley.” Miss Buckley? No. “Caitlin.” Another perhaps kiss at her cheek. More promises that she’s safe now. “Caity, what happen t’ ye?” Because when he knows how…. Then he knows who. And how it will end.

Meme: Missing For Days Verse: Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious Ship: Fall Into Your Sunlight

It has been what feels like years since she woke up in that alley way, bruised and bleeding. The haze of how she’d gotten there so thick at first she hadn’t had the will to move. For hours. And she only knew the time had lapsed because when she’d first come to it had been sunny and bright beyond the dark alley, and by the time she’d found her wits to get up the night sky had been well over head. But that seemed ages ago, but the memory had all started to come back between those first painful steps and the last exhausted ones that had seen her standing on the step of Mister Sweeney’s front door. 

And the broken play back repeats itself as Michealine fumbles and stumbles to let her in the door. His questions drowned out by fractured clips of rough hands gripping her jaw so hard she’s sure there’s black imprints left behind. The stench of stale beer and grease making her want to choke all over again. The stinging pain of metal set to skin. Reopening wounds she’d spent so long trying to forget were there. Wounds she can still feel oozing. All the while –He didn’t want you becoming too complacent dearie. He’d remind you himself but sticky thing that your sister’s cunt is and all–grating on her ears like razor blades.

Yet even for all that she doesn’t remember the distance between the front door and Mister Sweeney’s office being so great. Later of course she’ll realize it’s because of how pitifully slow she’s moving. Her speed inundated by the exhaustion. By the stabbing pain in her leg where an angry gash still weeps, and the awkward angle of walking sans a shoe. But regardless she keeps moving down the hall. Almost tripping when Michealine cuts deftly in front of her opening the double doors for her before she can think to attempt it herself and…

She knows its him, just by his bearing. The way he takes up the chair that holds him. But she can’t hold focus on him. Green practically floating away and around the room. And fear cuts through her like a hot blade all over again because–his office is an absolute nightmare. Seems as though a storm of the worst kind had blown through it–the only sensible thing her mind can connect it too of course is Angus hadn’t stopped with just tormenting her. And there’s a wetness that pools in her gaze as her mouth starts to form a word–though its murdered half born when…

                Get.Out.

Everything in her recoils even if her body makes no movement. Gaze dropping away to her feet. Because of course. Of course that would be his response. How else could he possibly have responded to events like this? She’d put his children at risk, though she’d had every reason to believe the monster wouldn’t follow her this far.  Wouldn’t dare risk attacking Her Grace’s family. And there’s a hard swallow that damn hear chokes her as she tries to control the sudden sick that wants to come up and out. Feet beginning so very slow to—

The doors shut behind her and how confused she becomes. Because hadn’t he been talking to her? Why would he speak to Michaeline that way? He’d done nothing wrong. At least nothing that she could think of. And there is a nebulous moment where the movement Mister Sweeney takes…coming right for her doesn’t…register. Doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t set off the hundred alarms that it probably shou–

Arms wrapped around her like bulwarks. A protective cradling shield to the back of her head, while another settles dangerously close to ruined flesh. And for moments she’s as stiff as anyone as tired and beaten down as she is could manage. Brows shifted together so tightly it sets her brain throbbing all the harder. But the longer he holds on despite that, the stronger he he does, the kiss brushed against her brow–the quicker the cautious terror begins to fade. The faster the fight goes out of her, to the point that Mister Sweeney is very possibly the only thing keeping her on her feet.

           Easy now, Miss Buckley…Caitlyn…

Gods she hates when anyone else calls her that. Always had. Until it had come tumbling out of his mouth just now. Washing over her like spring’s first rain. The idea of a kiss that maybe she imagines on her cheek, snapping clean the last of her defenses. And the arms at her side rise slow and trembling.

            Caity, what happen t’ye?

Hands fist into the sides of his shirt, because she can not manage to reach round him. And the sorrow pooled in her eyes breaks. Races down her face in silence rivers, because she’d learned a long time before she’d ever met Lugh–sobbing did no one any good. But that does not stop her from pressing her face into his chest. For holding onto him like her life depends on it. The tremble in her frame rising to shaking that might very well put the tectonic plates to shame. The only two words she can manage fumbled out between breaths against soaked silk.

            “He knows….he knows….”

[backlitsunshine]

so, it could be that these last three days have been the most radically transformative days of my entire life. I don’t even know where to begin. I feel entirely different. it’s crying, crying, crying. I don’t feel good enough at this, I’m not sure why I’m here, I feel like a fake. but I rise above it, and I remember why I’m here. they didn’t choose me by accident, I am just as good as everyone here. we’re sitting in the lecture halls of MIT, blackboards covered in chalk, and we’re shining, shining, shining. guest speakers specifically for us, and they say we’re the brightest with unmatched ambition. and for once, I see it. I find that I can’t take care of myself, my hands shake and shake and I’m counting on my fingers. missed breakfast, missed lunch, too busy to eat dinner. I want to go home, I can’t be trusted to take care of this body I inhabit, my muscles ache and I want to throw up. but it passes too. the girl next door brings me a sandwich for dinner, asks me if I have any plans. we go to target to get food, I make sure to drink water and take my medicine. I make sure I eat, and slowly my muscles grow stronger. I’m discouraged. our ideas aren’t going anywhere, and I feel wildly incompetent. tears sting the back of my eyes and I curse my team, and most importantly myself. then, we’re sitting on the floor in the dorms. the whiteboard is covered in sticky notes and we’re tossing ideas back and forth. we have one, it’s clever, I’m writing a pitch as they talk technical specs. there’s something inherently satisfying about the way an edited first draft looks, crossed out words, lines, and for the first time in ages I finish something. a Brazilian news source publishes a picture of our team. I joke I’m famous, but really, I remember what an incredible opportunity this is. I slip back into depression for a few hours, not understanding why all of a sudden I’m wanting to run, wanting to disappear. everything causes tears to spring to my eyes, I clench my fists and pray that the rain washes me out. it’s so incredibly lonely, but I can’t stand to talk to anyone and I remember that nobody here knows. it’s overwhelming, it’s not what I thought it would be. but then, I get it. the way I look at entrepreneurship is reframed completely, and sure we went into debt during the market simulator but, I get it. and I learn. for the first time, I learn from failing. and before I let despair overtake me, Larissa knocks at my door. let’s go out, she says. and so, we go to target and take a lyft and it’s us and she takes selfies. I snap out of it. over the coming hours, I feel whole again. I remember how badly I wanted to be friends with her, and now she hugs me and tells me she loves me, do I want her to bring me back Thai food? honorary roommates, she texts me in the middle of the night when it’s too hot and neither of us can sleep. the girl down the hall from turkey brings me coffee and Turkish delights. there’s always an invitation on the table, and one of my friends knocks in the middle of the night asking to borrow something. she says I’m the best, and I laugh, of course, it’s no problem at all. I can talk to anyone, do anything. but I fall miserably in love. that crashing possessive kind, that’s consuming, miserable, unearthly. he doesn’t text me first, he doesn’t talk to me, and I can feel what we had draining. all I can do is watch him, and I simmer, cursing him and wondering what I did wrong. maybe, just maybe if I cut him off he’ll come back. but it’s brutal, it burns, I want to cry and I don’t understand. so I prepare to burn myself at the stake. but in reality that’s not how you should go about things. I text him today telling him we should go out and explore Boston this weekend and he says yes. I say, there’s so much we need to see and do. and he says we definitely need to. I mention the two of us going to Harvard and he feels the same. and isn’t that funny? he makes a witty comment in class and everyone laughs and we make eye contact. I send him something right after telling him he’s a legend. and... I realize that nothing was wrong. we really just have been busy, that things haven’t changed. that you have to be a driving, positive force in your own life. because people are mirrors. never forget that. positive and proactive feel so cliche, but it’s true. who would want to hang out with someone who is clingy and possessive, oozing negative energy who keeps pulling back. him talking to other people isn’t a reflection on us. maybe this won’t culminate in a romantic relationship for the time being because god, we’re so busy but we match on some cosmic level and so losing him due to pettiness would be quite stupid. when things get tough, you have to try harder. so, when people ask me about it I say it’s been both awe inspiring and completely demoralizing. some moments feel utterly shattered, like cutting yourself on broken glass. but the most important thing is what I’ve built out of it. and right now, I feel so whole. I have so many great friends back home who I’ve started talking to on a regular basis again. I have so many great friends here. you just keep living, and learning while you’re at it. there’s not many feelings like fifteen people in a dorm crowded around a laptop playing shark tank as someone shares their grapes. when everyone winces at the rambling narrative of the pitch that misses the point. and how everyone yells when something savage happens, everyone crowded around a new laptop to turn it into a meme. everyone here is automatically friends, there’s nothing like the collective hush when the everyone in the lecture hall is on the Facebook group chat and a staff member catches on. how everyone stands up for something they feel is unfair, no matter how much authority they have. and it’s demanding and there’s so many long hours that makes it feel like I’ve been here for weeks. but, I feel different. stronger. like I can overcome anything now. and maybe in a couple days I’ll be crying again but when that happens, I’ll just learn some more. positive, engaging, a better friend, a better speaker, writer, story teller, a better entrepreneur and a better person.