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excelsi-or · 4 years ago

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just a little sweeter (pt.9)

Heeelllooooooooo, friends~ It’s been ages since I’ve had a chance to post on here. I hope you’re all well and being safe. For those of you who also went back to school, I hope it hasn’t been horrible. And if it has been, God, I know the feeling. I’ve had to rearrange my schedule and reevaluate some things so that I have more time for writing. Not just this story, but the two big personal projects that I’ve been working on for most of the year.

BIPOC rec (because hell yeah we’re still doing this): A couple that I found who do workout videos (I’ve been slacking on the exercising because I hate home workouts with a passion), MrandMrsMuscle. Check them out on YT. I’m currently doing their 30 day workout challenge, just to ease me back into consistency. Anyway, byyyyyyeeeee. (and good luck to my American readers. This election has been a rollercoaster of a ride to follow.)

w.c. 1.7k (fluuuuuff, I just wanted to write them interacting more. lol they touch a lot, but my love language is physical touch and those are just my favourite moments)

pt.1; pt.2; pt.3; pt.4; pt.5; pt.6; pt.7; pt.8

“So, it’s getting pretty serious,” Seungcheol comments.

Eunha shows Jihoon a picture that she’s working on. Jihoon kisses the side of her head. “I’m sure she’ll love it. I’ll let her know you’re making it so she can be excited about it.”

Eunha smiles up at him and he takes the opportunity to kiss her forehead. He straightens and addresses Seungcheol’s statement. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? It’s been a few months. You bring this woman with you when you go and do things with Eunha on your day off. How is that not serious? Your daughter spends time with her instead of at your parents’ when we go away for a few days.”

“That’s just a convenience thing.”

“Bumzu hyung lives in the area,” Seungcheol points out. “And he has definitely spent more time with Eunha than she has.”

“He’s not as good with Eunha as she is,” Jihoon answers. He slips back into his shoes. “Hyung, I don’t want to set my expectations too high. A few months really isn’t that long.”

“It’s long for you,” Jeonghan comments. He’d been sitting in the kitchen having a snack. “We can’t deny that fact.”

“Okay, yes, fine,” he groans. “Since Yeri, this is long.” He buries his hands into his pockets.

“You like her,” Seungcheol states.

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

“Love?”

He feels his cheeks warming. The word has been floating around in his mind for a while. He hasn’t had the guts or the heart to mention it.

Jeonghan chuckles and meets Seungcheol’s gaze. “Wow. No wonder his love songs have gotten so good.”

Jihoon turns to the door before the boys can get into the brunt of the teasing. “Can you please just call me when you put Eunha to bed?”

Seungcheol huffs.

“I can bring her downstairs to Seungkwan if you’re going to be like this.”

Seungcheol sighs, following Jihoon to the door. “Yes, yes. I’ll call you.”

“Minghao said he’d be home later. So, if you can’t handle her, he said to pass her off.”

“Jeonghan and I can take care of Eunha for an evening,” Seungcheol insists. He gives Jihoon a nudge out the door. “Go. And be in love.”

Jihoon can’t be angry at them. Instead, he rolls his eyes once more and heads to her place.

He meets her in front of her apartment, and she has a wide smile ready for him. She’s bundled up in her winter coat, the collar covering nearly half her face. She bumps him lightly with her hip, hands buried deep in her pockets, and then loops her arm through Jihoon’s.

“What’s our plan this evening?” Her voice comes out muffled and Jihoon finds it oddly adorable.

He tips his head. “Well, I was thinking.”

“Good start.”

He snorts. “Shut up.” He starts over. “I was thinking about what you said last week.”

“Vague and mysterious,” she cuts in.

Jihoon pauses before continuing. “You didn’t get a chance to chew out a bad customer today, did you?”

She tips her head up to look at him. “Shit, you can tell?”

Jihoon throws his head back with a laugh. “You like a snarky remark, but not this many.”

She touches her head against his arm in endearment. “You just steal my heart more and more, Lee Jihoon.”

He ignores the flip in his stomach. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sighing, she shrugs. “This guy was just chewing out my girls when I was about to leave for the day. I had to ask him to leave the establishment.” She frowns. “I haven’t had to do that before.”

Jihoon feels a protective switch flip on despite the fact that she’s clearly okay and is an adult woman who can handle herself. “Did he lash out?”

“He told me I didn’t have the authority, but a few guys helped out. I told the girls to call me if he came back.” Her hand goes to her pocket. “I can’t stop checking to see if my phone is on sound.”

Jihoon glances down at her. All he can see is the top of her head. Her gaze is to the ground, unaware that he thinks she’s one of his favourite people he’s met in a while. And he’s met a lot of people in his short 24 years of living.

“But enough about my work, I’m here to spend the evening with you.” Jihoon looks away, anticipating her eyes to look up at him. “What did you have planned? Something about something I said last week?”

“Yes.” Jihoon pauses. “Pottery class,” he meets her eyes, “are you down?”

Her eyes widen and a smile blooms across her face. “Oh my god, you’d come to an art class with me?”

“You said you would love to see how artistic I actually am. I told you I’m not. You said something about pottery. And I heard it’s fun.”

Jihoon laughs when she starts to wiggle excitedly next to him. Despite both their thick coats, he can feel her happiness emanating off her. They wait at the bus stop, talking about anything and everything.

Jihoon has picked her up in a company car before, but she hadn’t liked the idea of someone waiting on them. She’ll do it if Eunha is with them, since her suggestion of using public transit almost made him throw up. But he’s willing to do it on dates if it keeps her this happy.

Jihoon pulls a mask from his pocket and hooks it around both ears. She tugs him after her onto the bus and he taps his card at the card reader. They stand near the door, holding the same bar. She grins up at him.

“What?” he whispers.

She stands on her tip toes and whispers back, “I’m so excited.”

Jihoon snorts. “Good.” He pecks her forehead through his mask.

They continue the ride in silence since the bus is quiet. When they get off at their stop, they gravitate towards each other and her arm automatically loops through his. She looks both ways.

“Where to?”

Jihoon leads her left and reads the names of the storefronts. He knows it’s between a café and a bookstore. Another reason why he’d chosen this specific pottery store for their lesson.

“This is us.”

She’s basically skipping towards the door. The bell trills overhead as they enter, a warmth passing over them from the heat of the space. Jihoon goes to the counter, taking off his mask on the way, while she admires all the pottery on display. The air smells like clay and peppermint.

“We have a lesson booked.”

“Lee Jihoon?” the woman at the desk asks, her eyes on the computer. “Ah, the teacher said he was expecting you. Come this way.”

“Yah,” Jihoon hisses.

She’s at his side in an instant. Her hand reaches for his and he leads her to the backroom. One of his teachers from a Going Seventeen episode stands before them. Jihoon had recalled that the man dabbled in pottery and he was familiar to Jihoon. He still kept the man’s painting of him on display.

“Hi, ssaem.” Jihoon bows and the teacher bows in response. “This is my…”

She looks to him expectantly, letting him fill the blank.

“Girlfriend,” he says, turning back to the teacher. “She’s the one who’s excited about pottery.”

The man bows to her and she bows in response. “Come in. Take your coats off; it’s going to get really warm in here.”

They get a private lesson. The two of them are sat at their own pottery wheels with the teacher correcting their form and giving them pointers. They each make three pieces. One vase, a bowl, and a figurine each. Hers are significantly better, but Jihoon chalks it up to her artistic hands. They laugh, joking with the teacher. She peppers him with questions between all the banter.

Their pieces will be put in the kiln once they dry a bit more and Jihoon will receive a text when they’re ready to be painted.

“That was the best date I’ve ever been on,” she says as they walk out of the store.

“Well that’s a bold statement.”

“I’ve been wanting to do that forever and it was so much fun to do it with you,” she sings.

Jihoon guides her into the bookstore next door without saying anything. Her eyes dart towards the books as they walk up and down the aisles. She picks books off the shelves and reads the synopses while they chat.

When Seungcheol calls because Eunha’s about to go to bed, she and Eunha talk about different books. By the time they all say goodbye, she has a stack of three children’s novels that they’re going to read together. She goes to the counter to pay and Jihoon beats her to the card reader.

“Jihoon,” she sighs, a smile on her face.

Jihoon shakes his head, tucking his wallet away. “This is still a date.” He’d kiss her if the employee wasn’t watching them. “I haven’t taken you home yet.”

She laughs and takes the brown bag offered to her. As they wander out of the shop, she thanks him.

He kisses the side of her head. “Now come on. You need to read me those books before you read them to my daughter.”

Her gaze lifts to meet his, an eyebrow raised in question.

“She talks about the characters from the stories you read and I can’t talk about them with her, because I’ve never read the books.” He leads her into the café. “So, what would you like, jagi?”

Both her eyebrows raise at the nickname, but she seems pleased. “Mint tea.”

“Go sit.” He nudges her towards the tables while he heads to the counter. “I’ll bring it to you.”

She yanks him back and whispers in his ear, “Best date ever.” Then she pecks him on the cheek before finding a table by the window.

She misses the deep blush that spreads across his face.

#woozi #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #lee jihoon scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #Svt #Seventeen

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kirstinmaldonado · 5 years ago

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Chapter One 2.0

Hi there!

2020 really hit the fan, eh? We went from romanticizing about having “Roaring 20’s”-themed shenanigans to…feeling like we’re in the 2.0 of our era!

“I just wanted to wear the fun dresses, nothing more!!”

Oy vey…I attribute that incredibly basic thought to my love for themed parties, not an insensitive privilege or lack of awareness. At least I hope! It’s so important to be aware right now, it HAS been in everything that’s going on in the world, but especially with this virus.

I hope you guys are staying as sane as possible. As SAFE as possible for you and those around you!

I have re-started this blog so many times within the last year and EVERY time I would get this anxious feeling in my stomach about how well it would do or how it would be received. I looked back on my old chapters and thought wow, can I even be that inspiring anymore?

Now given our current situation, I feel the need to at least try. To put myself out there without insecurities! In all honestly, this can and SHOULD be much bigger than just me.

I want to create a safe space where we can inspire and motivate. Achieve and dream. Cry and fight. Be the best versions of ourselves and hey, sometimes the worst when we all have our off days.

With the current climate, I think it’s important.

It feels nice to talk to someone.

It feels nice to connect.

I think we can all help each other through this by sharing safety tips, stories, dreams for 2020 we can STILL make happen, and just overall being a part of that special community of honesty and love that you guys helped build back in the day! I am so, so thankful for you all. While we may have to physically distance ourselves, that doesn’t mean we are alone.

We won’t let this virus knock us down! If anything, I think it has been incredibly eye-opening. I think it’s allowing us time spent where we would have been too busy otherwise. To paint. To cook. To clean out the closet under the stairs aka the dust bunnies of 2016. To blog <3

You guys. It’s CRAZY that my last blog post was the beginning of 2017, given that I feel it was such a huge part of my life!

2017 was such a huge year for me in truly every aspect. It was incredibly chaotic, very high and very low. The worst of times, the best of times, a la Dickens fashion. You know I love to feel poetic.

Now it’s taken me some time to get back on my feet, even time since the original idea to re-start the blog, but even though I am all evened out and rejuvenated with life I tempted my past.

I visited my shadow. Cue somber music.

The shadow, although initially four years my junior, left me surprised with how incredibly articulate her thoughts were, as if she had stabbed into herself and let her heart, her soul, bleed in to words on paper, crying out, teaching, fighting for life and happiness and regrettably at times ridden with denial and hypocrisy. Maybe she wrote to remind herself what to do. Maybe she already knew and chose not to follow it or was uncertain.

Hey. Maybe she was just terrified of what she was actually thinking.

Maybe she was settling with her feelings because so much of her life had been heavy with poor examples and disappointment that she craved something to hold onto. She’d turn her rose colored glasses to any ounce of sunshine and try to cast it to memory. She didn’t know how to resolve the conflicts in her life so she’d brush it off and bury it away. She’d be silent. Why not be happy with the happinesses she was given, even if they came with faults? Why would she deserve anything more than what she had?

I was truly impressed by my full blog compilation, my poetic diss to myself, in a way. And truly…I hope in four MORE years I’ll still be impressed by Kirstie 2.0, and 3.0 and so on.

It made me tear up. To know where I was in life through those rollercoaster years but how well I was expressing myself on my blog. My safe place. My place where I felt I could truly be me.

Thank you for being there for me.

I’ve missed it. Life threw me for a loop for a while! I’ve loved every second of my adventure since then. From kirstinTM to Broadway and living in NYC to tour to Christmas to new pup additions (shoutout to the Floofster) and getting to explore the world with old friends and new. I’ve gotten healthier, stronger, hopefully wiser!!

I got to spend time getting to know me. And how my friends and family play such special parts in my life.

So pardon the absence, but now I’m back! I’ve missed connecting with you all!

I promise we will find ways to keep our heads high toward the future. We thought 2020 would be our year…and even though it in a million ways hasn’t been what we anticipated (when is any year, though?!) it does not mean that we have to roll over, quarantine-belly up, and submit to failure!

My hope is that we can inspire each other to be safe, great, healthy, and most of all happy. I’ll be sharing what is on my mind, what activities I’ve been up to (inside my house of course), maybe some recipes here and there if I’m feeling crafty!? Let’s find ways to positively occupy our time while simultaneously doing something that fuels our minds and passions!

I’ve seen a quote floating around that I wanted to leave you with. The words spoke to my heart and the situation in a very Princess Mononoke way. Love you all so much and stay safe out there!!! Till next week!

“And the people stayed home.

And read books and listened, and rested and exercised,

and made art and played games,

and learned new ways of being and were still.

And listened more deeply.

Some meditated, some prayed, some danced.

Some met their shadows.

And the people began to think differently.

And the people healed.

And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless and heartless ways the earth began to heal.

And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again,

they grieved their losses, and made new choices,

and dreamed new images,

and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully,

as they had been healed.”

Written by Kitty O’Meara, inspired perhaps by an Italian poem by Irene Vella (whose immuno-depressed husband has been ill during this period of Coronavirus)

#blog 2.0

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bigheartedsky · 5 years ago

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Closure

Pairings: ex-boyfriend!Namjoon x Reader; platonic best friend!Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst to Fluff; one shot

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: none

Summary: It’s been a few years since your messy breakup with Namjoon when an invitation arrives at the doorstep of your and your best friends apartment. Namjoon is getting married to his new Girlfriend and wants Hoseok to come, but is that really all he wants?

a/n: here is a little treat to everyone out there because...... IT’S MY BIRTHDAY dun dun duuuuuuuun! And I thought: “Why not give everyone else a little gift too?” So, here you go! Have fun reading this slightly emotional little one. And a big BIG thanks to the beautiful and talented @yeontanismypresident who beta read it for you all to enjoy without any mistakes.

Masterlist

“Y/N?”

You jolted out of your thoughts looking up from the invitation your best friend had just given you. He looked at you apologetically.

“Are you okay?”, Hoseok asked with compassionate eyes. It took you a moment before you finally folded the invitation back up and smiled at him placing it on the table you two were sitting at.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I just thought… You and Namjoon-“

“Hoseok that was years ago. I’m over it. Really.” you could feel his worried eyes while you took a sip from your now almost cold coffee.

Liar, you thought, Over it my ass.

With every little bit of strength in your body you tried to hold back your tears, smiling at Hoseok like your heart wasn’t breaking into thousand pieces right this moment. He put his hand onto yours looking at you as if his eyes could see right through that fake smile. You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“Should we get out of here?” he asked, and you just nodded knowing that you couldn’t speak. Trading the café for your shared apartment, Hoseok immediately got out the only thing you needed that moment.

“Here you go.” he said, handing you your favourite drink with a smile on his lips. You took it gratefully and sipped on it lost in your thoughts. You didn’t like drinking too much but sometimes even you accepted a drink or two especially if Hoseok made them. He worked as a bartender at a nightclub currently and he was really talented in it. Mixing drinks became his new passion ever since he started working there. Placing down the drink, you could feel his eyes staring into you.

“You know- ah no forget it”, you started but waved it off right after. Hoseok immediately sat on the couch beside you facing your direction and putting one hand on the backrest. He looked at you intently.

“No. No. No, I won’t. Now you gotta tell me.”

“Well….” you thought about how to say it when all the anger you were holding back rushed to the surface making you stand up and walk back and forth in the living room.

“How can he suddenly get married? I don’t understand it! Just last week he was texting me telling me he was thinking about me and I didn’t even answer him knowing very well that he was seeing someone else! And now he suddenly has the audacity to invite MY best friend to his wedding?? Are you kidding me?!” you rambled on barely letting any time to breathe.

“Wait wait wait. He texted you and you didn’t answer?” Hoseok looked at you shocked.

“Yea. I just don’t know what to answer him. Hold on.” taking out your phone, you gave it to Hoseok after looking up the text again. You still knew exactly what it said.

[Hey Y/N, there’s been a lot going on recently and I don’t know, but my mind keeps going back to us. How we ended things. I really need to talk to you. Please call me if you get this.]

You looked at him expectantly, but he stayed completely silent chewing up his lower lip. He was clearly holding back something, which just made you even angrier.

“Hoseok.” he flinched at your slightly warning voice, looking at you like a puppy that knows it messed up badly. “What do you know?” you looked at him with eyes that said lie and you’re dead.

“I made him write that.” he admitted quietly.

“You WHAT?!”

“Y/N, please! He was feeling miserable and he really wants to talk to you, resolve some things and just- gosh I felt sorry for him!” he defended himself immediately.

Resolve things? Don’t tell me he’s still beating himself up about that?

Staring at the floor for a moment you came to a decision, determination rising in you. Before he could say anything else you suddenly spoke.

“I’m gonna be your date to the wedding. I’m gonna show up and-“

“And what, Y/N?” Hoseok immediately stood up and looked at you seriously. “I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Why? Are you worried I’ll make a scene?” you were completely confused. Normally your best friend would support you in every decision. It’s his fault for making Namjoon text you, and now you had to fix this before it’s too late.

“No. I don’t want you to get hurt! Can’t we just both not go and watch some romance movies instead? Let’s just watch other people do stupid stuff instead.” he looked at you - eyes full of worry. You thought about what he said for a moment and instinctively just answered:

“What kind of boring life would that be if I just watch others do the ‘stupid stuff��? Please go with me to the wedding. I won’t get hurt. I promise.” you were almost pleading now. Your best friend looked at you speechless for a moment. He visibly contemplated whether to go with you or not before sighing in defeat.

“Okay. Fine. But I’ll choose our outfits. Can’t let you run around in that strange orange dress you always wear. We need to match.”

Walking away with a smirk he went to get his keys and put on a jacket.

“Did you seriously just make fun of my taste in fashion?” you stood there flabbergasted at your best friends remark.

“You coming or what?” he called out from the front door.

“I’m coming! Geez.”

“Y/N! Get your butt here right now or I’m going without you!” Hoseok called you for the 1000th time now. You looked at yourself one last time.

I guess Hoseok really does have better taste than me…

The burgundy gown he chose for you fit perfectly. It was a first for you to wear something off the shoulder like this, but it really did highlight your collarbones just the way he said it would. You looked way more elegant than you ever did – or ever will if we’re honest. It was perfect for this occasion.

Leaving your room, you went to the front door putting on your heels while walking. You looked up at Hoseok who stood there with an open-mouth.

“What?” you asked, laughing slightly.

“Nothing. I just- Wow, I’m really good. I should be a stylist!” he praised himself, looking at your form. You just laughed at him, hitting his arm when he started to twirl you around.

“Let’s go rock this wedding!”, he grinned at you and pulled you out the door.

The wedding was held at the house of the bride’s parents. House? More like a mansion. Hoseok gave his car keys to the valet parking attendant before holding out his arm for you to loop yours through. You smiled at him rolling your eyes. Seeing the house and all the decorations now made you awfully nervous. Your stomach was feeling like it went on a rollercoaster one time too many. Clinging onto Hoseok's suit jacket while he escorted you inside, you looked around, searching for the one reason you actually came here. Hoseok started greeting his friends with a wave when you finally saw him. You stopped walking, slowly turning towards him. He had seen you too but he didn’t know whether it was really you or not. You felt sick.

“Hey, Hoseok. I’m gonna go search for a bathroom. You can go on ahead to the others. I’ll find you later.” you smiled at him, but he immediately noticed that that smile was fake.

“You sure you’re okay alone? Should I come with you?”

“No, it’s fine. I just need a moment.”

You walked away in a fast pace, almost running towards the end until you felt like you finally were alone. You stood on a small balcony at the end of a corridor on the second floor. Looking to the right, you could see the garden being prepared for the ceremony. Tears stung in your eyes. Your breath was still not calming down.

This is way harder than I thought. Really what was I thinking? What am I even doing her?

You heard hard steps echoing on the floor. Someone was running towards you. Thinking it was your best friend you turned around ready to tell him off.

“Hoseok I really just need- …. Namjoon.”

He was still breathing hard looking fairly agitated.

Did he actually run after me?

Namjoon just looked at you trying to catch his breath. He couldn’t believe that it was actually you standing in front of him. Then he started giving you that smile you always loved so much. You couldn’t help smiling back at him.

“Y/N. It really is you, right? I almost didn’t recognize you. I mean, you look really good. Not that you didn’t look good before but uhm-“ you just started smiling even brighter seeing him struggle with his words.

He hasn’t changed a bit.

“Yea. Hoseok chose the dress and the shoes are my friends…”, you shrugged it off like his words were leaving you cold but that was the complete opposite of what was really happening with you. Your heart felt like it wanted to jump out of its cage inside your chest and just scream everything you were keeping inside at him. You swallowed down the urge to immediately tell him everything and an awkward silence started falling between you.

“So…. Marriage huh?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. … Y/N.. uhm. Perhaps, did you get my message?” he looked at you with serious eyes now. He seemed nervous, but at the same time there was this strange feeling of determination you got from him. His hands were tightly clenched into fists.

“Oh uhm…, yes. I did. I’m sorry for not answering. I was just really taken off-guard…. I guess.” you felt a lump in your throat making it hard to speak. Turning around to avoid looking at him, you placed your hands on the railing.

“There is something I wanted to talk to you about.” he stepped next to you, looking at the trees in front of you. Your grip grew tighter.

I don’t want to hear it.

You gulped down that lump in your throat.

“What is it?”

“That night back then. Where it all ended. I really…. really regret how everything went.” he told you with a shaking voice. You looked at him now surprised. Eyes softening at the sight of him being so incredibly nervous.

“I do, too.” you admitted, smiling sadly. Your heart was beating faster at the sight of relief spreading through his body. It made you finally feel relaxed too.

“Look. I really love Eunji. I’ve never felt like this with anyone before. So, I want to make everything right. But there is just one thing I really need to do before I can go down that aisle.”

He never felt like this before…? Ouch.

Tears stung in your eyes. He could tell just looking at you but you just kept nodding giving him signs to keep going.

“I want to apologize. I broke your heart so many times and still – you always came back to me. I was a complete asshole, and you deserve someone that treats you way better than I ever treated you. I hope you can accept my apology someday.” tears were now in his eyes too. You listened to everything he had to say. Processing it. Accepting it.

You smiled at him, tears slowly streaming down your cheeks. You took a moment preparing yourself to answer him while he waited patiently for your response. Your voice was shaking a little while you finally expressed everything you wanted to tell him since you stepped foot in this building.

“I came here to tell you that everything that happened between us will always stay with us. The good and the bad. And that’s okay. …. I came here to tell you that you shouldn’t feel bad about it anymore. I had my fair share in all this and I forgave you a long time ago. I came here-“ you swallowed again to push down the lump in your throat, looking away, and then back at him.

“..to tell you that you will always be one of my dear friends and a dear memory of mine. I love you. Really. And I think it is time for both of us to finally get our Happy End of this story.”

This time your smile was genuine as he just pulled you in for a hug. It didn’t feel like the hugs he used to give you when you were still together, nor did it feel like the distant ones at the end. This was a new feeling for you both.

It felt like closure.

And just like this the love story of you and Namjoon ended. But instead a new relationship between you started. It was a friendship that would last a lifetime.

Sitting at a table alone, you were proud of yourself. You did exactly what you came here for. But still there was this depressing feeling of an end to it. Similar to the feeling when you finished a book you really loved - satisfied but sad at the same time.

“May I ask for this dance, Miss?” a familiar voice made you awake from the daze you’ve been in. In front of you stood Hoseok, bowing while holding one hand out to you like a wannabe prince. You laughed while taking his hand.

“You may.” you smiled, standing up. He was talking to you while guiding you to the dance floor.

“I might not be able to satisfy you in the love department, but I will be damned if we won’t rock this wedding at last. We’ll dance until we drop!” he grinned at you, starting to twirl you around, dancing with you to the happy song the band was playing in that moment. You couldn’t help but laugh having fun with him.

I guess sometimes you don’t need a big love to have a Happy End. Sometimes a new beginning might be the best end you can have. As long as you have friends that help you through all the bad, how unhappy could it be?

Masterlist

#closure #bts #bigheartedsky #bts x reader #bts x y/n #kim namjoon #jung hoseok #knj #jhs #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #bts imagine #bts scenario

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angstymarshmallow · 6 years ago

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A Family Affair - (thomas hunt x mc)

[A little note: whelp, I’ve been so inconsistent lately but the latest thing I’ve been writing for over a week is more or less ready :D. This takes place within the same universe as Simply Between Us series. It’s kind of like a what next? Here’s some fanfiction for all of my Hunt fans out there!]

[summary: after the last stressful months of their rollercoaster ride, Thomas and Tatum (MC) are ready to take the next step in their relationship. If only his mother felt the same way.]

[words counted: 3419]

She fumbles with the clasp of her dress; her fingers shaking slightly until she feels the coolness of his hands encircling her own. She closes her eyes for a moment, pausing to swallow past the nerves – past the uncertainty that comes along with it. She was going to meet them today. His family.

Unfortunately, there seems to be no end to how nervous she felt.

It still persists as his hands guide hers til the clasp is safely done. His breath touches her neck. “Tatum,” he whispers her name softly into her skin. “You’re over thinking it.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” His lips are unyielding as they trace the base of her neck, and she shivers at the motion. “I know that look very well,” his fingers skim down the length of her dress – only stopping to pause by her waist.

“I am not.” Tatum insists, still keeping her eyes trained on the mirror. From this angle, she can almost picture his smile before she sees it, the way the corner of his eyes crinkle just before – it never fails to give him away.

“You are terrible liar Tatum Everly.” His admonishes. Although, his lips manage to quirk into a smile.

A smile she thinks he wears quite well.

“Maybe,” She admits, biting her bottom lip – watching his mirror image as he bends his head lower. His disheveled hair from their latest tryst the night before, falls across her shoulder. Her stomach quivers in anticipation for his touch. His lips drift further until they’re able to press a soft kiss – a space between her shoulder blades where he gently nips.

It’s one of her favourite spots.

Little jolts of unabashed desire travel up her spine. She surrenders to his touch within seconds, leaning heavily into him as his arms wrap reassuringly around her. She’s almost forgotten their conversation until he prompts her with a familiar, I know you better than that look when he lifts his chin to stare at their mirrored reflections.

“And maybe, you’re far too perceptive for your own good Thomas Hunt,” she says decisively. She turns in his arms, dropping a fond kiss to his nose. Keeping her attention solely on him, she lowers her gaze slightly towards the slight bruises she left on his skin from last night. The sight of them makes her cheeks burn. “But can you blame me?” She shifts her gaze past his ear, trying not to look exactly at him. “I’m not the best liar – but what else am I supposed to say? Meeting your sister is huge.”

More than huge – meeting his sister means the next step in getting to know him better; getting to know the parts of himself no one else does. He’s spoken fondly about Rachel on numerous occasions and Tatum knows if she was to have any place in the Hunt family, winning his sister’s approval was a necessity for making that happen.

Still, it feels slightly unfortunate now that the day was finally here - the idea has suddenly filled her with a sense of dread. Just thinking about meeting the younger Hunt makes Tatum want to disappear. Especially if she’s anything like her brother.

Thomas’ wry chuckle drags Tatum’s attention back to the present. His dark eyes shine with half-amusement as he cups her cheeks, compelling her to look at him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.” His tone is unusually gentle as his thumb caresses her cheek.

“Easy for you to say,” she snorts. “My parents love you.”

Truthfully, in their brief trip to Iowa – her parents had been completely smitten by Thomas Hunt. It was actually a little frustrating to watch her mother fuss over him. But he was charming to a fault; helping her around the house and bonding with her father over their love of cinema. He was never out of his element.

“And Rachel will love you,” Thomas’ reply is insistent. “She’s meeting us early because she can’t wait to meet you.”

He doesn’t mention his parents, which Tatum thinks is a deliberateness done on his part. Still, it’s something they will have to discuss when the time comes, but she knows better than to poke at something that was purposely undisclosed. At least, right now.

His tone is sufficiently serious though as Tatum peers up at him. He really means it. But there’s no denying a sense of ineptitude when it comes to their backgrounds. It can’t be helped. Even now, she sometimes draws comparisons that makes her think she may never quite fit in with his family. Although they share some similarities; their love of film and literature can only bridge so many gaps between them.

She forces a smile. She wants to believe him, but every second she spends thinking about his imposing younger sister; tall and headstrong in every sense of the word – is another second she thinks she won’t quite measure up. She’d done a bit of her own research and a part of Tatum still can’t believe she’s even meeting her tonight.

As if sensing her thoughts, Thomas whirls her around to face the mirror. “Look at you.” His fingers tilt her chin up until she she’s able to stare meekly at herself.

“You’re beautiful. Strong. Passionate. Determined. Smart.” He places a soft kiss by her shoulder, his hands skimming again to trace her ample cleavage. “Not to mention irresistible.”

“Mmm,” she inclines her head, giving him better access to graze her skin with his teeth. When he says things like that, she’s putty in his hands. “You’re only saying that because you want to seduce me tonight.” A low hum of pleasure leaves her throat as he nips into her skin.

Thomas smiles. “I think I’ve already accomplished that.” He pulls back enough to drop his hands to hers’ and lifts it to his lips; the engagement ring he’d given her two months ago twinkling as though for emphasis under the current streak of sunlight.

Laughing, she smiles at his grand gesture before he lets go. “True enough I suppose, but why settle for just one? I like that you seduce me nearly every night.” Looping her arms around his neck, she steps closer.

“I aim to please Miss Everly.” He doesn’t break eye contact and something tightens in her gut at the tender way he looks at her; longingly like he never wants to let go.

Maybe he doesn’t want to let go. It has been awhile since they’ve had this much time to themselves; almost nearly every night this week she’s had to count her lucky stars that he came to bed with her. Sometimes their schedules are too tangled and doesn’t allow the amount of time she desires to spend in his arms, instead of someplace else.

“I love you.” Thomas says it quietly, softly – almost a whisper as both his hands grip her waist a little tighter.

“I love you too.” She responds almost instantly, beaming at him until he leans close enough to capture her lips. She can feel every bit of how much he loves her in return. It is in every kiss, in the air around them as their breaths mingle. It is in every moment they spend huddled together, pressed intimately with only each other for company.

“Tatum,” Thomas says her name in nothing short of wonder and happiness.

“I know,” Tatum murmurs between kisses, “if only we had more time.” Still, she can’t let go. Instead her fingers tangle inside his hair as he presses closer. His hands run tantalizingly slow patterns across her naked back, and she shivers in delight. Reluctantly, she somehow finds the willpower to pull away first; laughing at the rare sight of Thomas’ face – flushed as it was until he clears his throat and gazes elsewhere.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Or is that truly a blush?” Tatum teases, leaning into him. “Maybe I’ve finally seduced you too.” After the year they’ve been together, it’s at least one thing she knows for certain. The rest of her remark dies within her throat as he tugs her flush against him. She swallows hard at the sudden intensity in his stare.

“Seduction doesn’t even come close.” He tucks a finger under her chin. “Truth be told, I’ve been completely enamored by you Tatum. Almost, since the very beginning.”

Her stomach flips. It isn’t fair when he says things like that. It isn’t fair at all. She tries to swat his shoulder playfully, but he captures her wrist at the last possible second, and without breaking eye contact, he kisses it.

“Careful Thomas,” Tatum warns, “you’re going to make me melt. And I’ve just gotten my makeup right.”

The sound of his rich velvety laugh makes her smile as he releases her. “Point taken.” He releases her with a squeeze. “I suppose we should make sure we’re at least presentable before Rachel gets here.”

“Or….”

The sunlight from the window catches the streaks of platinum inside Tatum’s hair at just the right angle as she shakes her head. Her careful expression drops as her lips itch to smile.

Stepping forward, she’s close enough for Thomas to spot the sudden mischievous glint inside her eyes. “Or…?”

“Or, you spend the last couple moments we have alone– showing me how much you love me.” She links her arms around his neck, smiling as his hands have already began wandering down her thighs.

Her fingers sneak around his collar before he’s able to protest. Mostly, he doesn’t want to object anyway. It thrills him when she takes the lead. There’s something undeniably sexy the way she practically purrs his name when she wants something. “Thomas.”

“I could persuade you to stay,” she leans forward until her breath brushes by his ear. “Just right here, with me.” She ignores the abrupt change in her heartbeat as she drifts her lips across his jaw and finally at his neck. Tatum knows she’s playing a dangerous game – but she doesn’t want to stop.

He does something to her, inexplicable – there isn’t enough words to explain. However, what she does know is how much she wants him – especially when he looks at her the way he’s looking at her now. As if she’s the only thing in the world that matters and all of sudden she wants nothing more than to be back in bed again, buried under sheets and skin against skin.

She kisses him first, hears his soft groan of pleasure until his arms snag her waist and pulls her flush against him again. This time kissing him isn’t to explore, it’s more intense than that – like a fevered dream that she can’t get away from. She buries her fingers into his hair as he picks her up, and lets out a surprised gasp when her back lightly touches the cool sheets of their bed. “I guess that’s a yes then.” She doesn’t know how she manages to keep composure, especially when the rest of her body feels scorched by his touch.

Peering down at her, Thomas smirks before he began undoing his cuff-links. “Has it ever been a no?” His tailored shirt goes next, thrown with wild abandon before he scoops her up again inside his arms. His lips find the smoothness of her shoulder where he presses a trail of kisses hot enough for Tatum to shiver. “I swear, I can never get enough of you.” He mutters the word thickly, as his hands deftly began unzipping her dress.

She hums a soft noise of pleasure in her throat. “Thomas I –”

A sound loud enough to interrupt them suddenly blasts from Thomas’ phone. They both flinch and take a moment to stare at one another before hastily untangling themselves. Tatum tries to stifle her pout as Thomas reaches for his phone.

“Yes.” He answers tersely, not bothering to hide his annoyance or even check caller I.D.

She hears the impatience in his voice as speaks, not that she can blame him – she’s impatient too and already her hands are by his hips itching to touch him. Without giving it a second thought, she kneels in front of him and greedily sinks her fingers beyond the waistband of his slacks.

She hears his soft in-take of breath as her fingers caresses his tip, but then a soft curse as his entire body goes rigid.

“Yes, of course mother.” A pause.

Her hand freezes and she reels back in alarm. Oh no.

“Of course, we’ll meet you downstairs.” There’s another pause as Thomas nods his head, not meeting Tatum’s horrified stare. Another minutes passes and his eyes are no longer unfocused when they look at her. After saying his goodbyes, he helps Tatum to her feet.

“Please don’t tell me –” she stops short, helping him to find his shirt before she manages to catch his eye.

“Yes.” He says without hesitation. His brow creases before his face disappears underneath his shirt. “She’s waiting downstairs in the parlor.” He sighs. “I had forgotten she had a key.”

Cheeks heating, Tatum covers her face and barely manages to stifle the urge to scream. “Oh my god, do you think….do you think she heard us?”

Thomas looks disgruntled himself. He presses his lips into a thin line and drags fingers through his hair. “I won’t lie to you – probably. You aren’t particularly quiet.” He replies with a small smirk. It immediately dissipates a moment later as his eyes skim their room. “But…knowing her, she won’t bring it up.”

“I’m sorry – is that supposed to make me feel any better?” She’s meeting his mother.

She’s meeting his mother.

And the last thing she wants his mother to think is that she’s some kind of…harlet. Yet, she’s getting the sinking feeling that she’s already made a poor impression. “Besides, I thought your sister was supposed to meet us.” She protests as soon as she’s able to find her voice again.

“She’s apparently had an engagement she can’t get out of and mother was already in the country when she asked.” He’s fishing for his blazer as he speaks, tucking it smoothly in while Tatum still struggles to find composure. “Hey.” His hands are on her shoulder, reassuringly squeezing them. “Look at me.”

Slowly, she lifts her eyes to stare up at him.

“It’s fine.” His voice is firm, commanding. Then his features soften as he shifts a hand to her chin and tilts it up. “Think about it this way, it isn’t the most compromising position we’ve ever been in,” he reasons then pauses as to squint. “Although it comes pretty close.”

Her eyebrows quirk up in frustration, “still not making me feel any better.”

“Does this help?” He bends to press a soft kiss to her forehead and her shoulders relaxes almost immediately.

“No.” She sighs. “A little.” But what if she doesn’t like me? What if she thinks I’m not good enough for you? These questions still plague her as she forces a smile. Her mind is harder to convince. Changing the subject, she steps back. “Shall we?”

He frowns for a moment before offering his arm. “We shall.”

Mrs. Hunt looks almost as every bit intimidating as Tatum imagines she would have.

There’s an air of authority to her as they meet her in parlor. She raises her slender chin up high at the sound of their footsteps.

Right away Tatum knows she has impeccable taste. She may be wearing dark slacks but they’re expensive by the look of them and her pair of pearls only seem to echo her air of importance. She doesn’t smile right away as she turns to notice them.

Tatum catches her breath in surprise.

She doesn’t look like she’s had two children. Tatum thinks she’s somehow managed to find the fountain of youth. Surely, they shared trademarks – nearly flawless complexions from porcelain skins with no blemishes to the naked eye. She’s nearly as tall as he is too, and towers a good foot over Tatum as they exchange pleasantries. Her eyes are the worst part. They are dark and cutting – nearly sharp enough to break glass as they flicker smoothly towards where Tatum’s is standing.

There isn’t a wrinkle nor a hair out of place as she tucks her arms behind her. She is every bit of poise and grace that Tatum imagines his mother to be – down to the glacial look she administers and accompanies with a clear of her throat.

Tatum stands a little straighter, despite desperately struggling with the sudden urge to wither up and die underneath her heavy scrutiny.

“Keeping your mother waiting is not a good look for you Thomas.”

“Mother.” Thomas greets warmly. He takes her comment in stride as they walk further into the room. “My apologies, I had no idea you were coming. It’s good to see you.”

“Didn’t we teach you to always be prepared Thomas?” Mrs. Hunt replies coolly. Her eyes finally leave Tatum long enough to lose its sharpness.

Tatum lets out a small sigh of relief.

Mrs. Hunt smiles at her son, and just like that – the edges in her features soften and the air around them doesn’t feel as thick with tension anymore. “Likewise, thank goodness my fight was ready in time.”

“One would hope so, otherwise – what point would there be in owning your own jet?” He says drily, earning a soft laugh in response.

She pats his shoulder affectionately, cheeks still holding the last of her smile. “It’s certainly not just because.” Then her gaze solidifies itself. “It’s a good thing my meeting didn’t last very long.”

“I take it everything is well? The last time we spoke, you sounded a bit stressed.”

“Yes. It took a turn for the better when I went to meet my investors in person. One can never be too certain of their circumstances until they’re able to find a practical solution.” Her dark eyes flit over and lock eyes with Tatum’s. “Now, I assume there’s a reason –”

“Oh!” Thomas seems to realize at the same time as she does. “Forgive me, where are my manners?” He rests an arm reassuringly around Tatum after she takes a timid step forward. “Mother this is Tatum Everly, my fiancée.”

Even the way he says fiancée causes a swift burst of pleasure through Tatum and she can scarcely hide her smile as she lifts her chin and meet’s the shrewd woman’s gaze. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hunt.” She eagerly reaches for his mother’s outstretched hand. She’s a little surprised at how tight of a grip she has.

“I see.” Her tone is nearly clipped. She drops her hand within seconds. “So, this is why you never visit anymore.” Her lips press into a thin line.

“I –” Tatum tries to find her voice, but comes up short and flinches.

“Mother,” Thomas looks exasperated then he lets out a sigh at her reproachful look in return. “I have also been very busy with work, and circumstances present haven’t been able to leave much room for anything else.”

“I sincerely doubt that is the case.” She makes a point of glancing at Tatum and then towards the flight of stairs.

Thomas cheeks are as flushed as Tatum’s feels and it is in that moment that she wants nothing more than for the floor to suddenly open up and swallow her whole. Anything else would have been more preferable than the scathing look Mrs. Hunt is currently giving her.

Before either of them can protest, Thomas’ mother tosses her hair over her shoulder and stalks towards the entrance. “Now I think I was promised dinner.”

“There’s still so much time. Our reservation isn’t for another hour.” Tatum whispers to Thomas, peeking up at him just in time to notice the slight crease in his brow.

“It doesn’t hurt to be early Miss Everly. You should do well to remember that.”

She flinches at the sound of her disapproval. There is no missing it. She hadn’t even realized the woman had heard her. “Oh my god – does your mother have super-powered hearing?” She’s close enough to superstitiously say in his ear.

“No, I’m just a mother.” Came the response down the hall. “And mothers have a way of finding out everything.”

The way she emphasizes the word places Tatum ill at ease and she glances up at Thomas in a wild panic. “Everything?” She mouths the words at him. Well, so much for making a good first impression.

tags: @cora-nova, @mfackenthal @emomoustache

#playchoices fanfiction #thomas hunt fanfiction #thomas hunt x mc #thomas hunt x mc fanfic #thomas hunt x tatum everly #hi hello #darkness my old friend #red carpet fanfiction #rcd #rcd fanfic #i miss them #i can't went for rcd to come back #to give them their happy after #but till then -#this will have to do :D #long post #an angstymarshmallow writes

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whatatime30 · 6 years ago

Text

Torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness

This is the “sequel” to my fic Green Eyes (https://archiveofourown.org/works/15799641), though they are standalone, hence my publishing them independently. Thanks to @renecdote and @themerrywriter for helping me title it. I’d been stuck on the title for like the past week and a half now.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309219

Summary: A tortured artist this poor, green-eyed boy was.

WC: 6311

Info on it

Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning

Major Character Death

Category:

Gen

Fandoms:

Batman - All Media Types

Son of Batman (2014)

Robin: Son of Batman (Comics)

Batman (Comics)

Relationships:

Damian Wayne & Everyone

Damian Wayne & Bruce Wayne

Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson

Damian Wayne & Tim Drake

Damian Wayne & Jason Todd

Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne

Alfred Pennyworth & Damian Wayne

Talia al Ghul & Damian Wayne

Ra's al Ghul & Damian Wayne

Characters:

Damian Wayne

Bruce Wayne

Dick Grayson

Tim Drake

Jason Todd

Alfred Pennyworth

Cassandra Cain

Alfred the Cat (DCU)

Ra's al Ghul

Additional Tags:

MCD is Talia

Mother-Son Relationship

Father-Son Relationship

Brotherly Angst

Damian Wayne Feels

Damian Wayne-centric

Damian Wayne is Robin

Damian Wayne Needs a Hug

Bat Family

Bat Brothers

Batfamily Feels

Insecurity

Angst

Hurt

Art

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Damian Wayne is an Artist

He likes art a lot

Painting

Green Eyes

Blue Eyes

Eyes

Loneliness

Language: English

Blue.

Damian blinked at himself in the mirror. Everything looked the same.

Except that his eyes were now blue. The same shade of blue his father and brother’s wore.

He smiled.

Damian knew he’d have to take them off before leaving his bathroom. They could never know (would never know). But he was so happy to look normal, feel normal, feel like he was a part of something.

He hated his acid green eyes. He only shared them with Ra’s. He wanted to share something with his paternal side. Now, he could (only when he was in the bathroom, of course, but anything was better than nothing).

He waited another minute before taking the contacts out. He blinked a few times, his face drooping slightly at the sight of his actual eye color. He sighed, leaving the bathroom.

[Keep reading under the cut, or go on AO3]

…

“Robin, focus,” Bruce whispered into the comm.

“I am focused,” Damian said back, equally quiet.

“No you’re not.”

“I don’t believe this is the setting. Do you?”

“On my count.”

Damian prepared himself.

Bruce counted down.

Then the fell to the floor.

Damian never did well thinking in action. He’d learned from his formative years that fighting was more brute force and instinct than planning and calculating. Sure, he could do it, but it never served him any better than just jumping in.

He suspected that this was the reason he and his father never worked well together. The family constantly said he was too rash, too fast to act, that he needed to wait. He wished they’d stop.

It was just rubbing in the fact that he was too different to belong.

He wished his mother were still alive. He used to belong at her side.

(“My Alexander.”)

…

Maya’s eyes were green. Damian’s kind of green too. He liked them.

He had more in common with Maya than his father’s family. Maya was most his family (she and Goliath).

“When you called…” Maya trailed off as she gave him a hug. “It’s been too long.”

Damian rolled his eyes (they didn’t talk enough).

“I missed you.”

“And I you.” His voice was half a grumble.

“How’s Mr. Batman?” The sarcasm was obvious. She was heavy handed in that manner, something he didn’t share but admired.

“They’re children.”

“The lot of them? Man, kids these days, am I right ?”

He felt the corners of his mouth curve upwards.

“Where’re we going?”

Damian hadn’t thought of a place. They could wander. “Out.”

“Look, I get you like this brooding thing and being all ‘Son of Batman-y,’ but tell me where you want to go, or we’re going to Bat Burgers.”

“Batburgers it is.”

Maya’s eyes were green.

…

“You got the eyes wrong.”

Damian turned to his father. He hadn’t even heard the man come in. He didn’t like to paint around anyone. It made his stomach do loops like those rollercoasters Dick took him to for his birthday last year.

“What do you mean?” Damian asked.

“Selina’s eyes are blue.”

“No, they’re not. They’re green.”

The man grunted. “You sure?”

Damian was mostly sure. He hadn’t thought of them any other way.

They fact that Selina’s eyes were green bothered him enough. It’d be a small mercy for God to make them blue. After all, his mother had brown ones. If he couldn’t share eyes with her, he’d rather not share them with his father’s lover either.

“They’re prettier blue.”

Damian couldn’t help but grimace.

After a shrug, his father left.

Damian smudged the eye, ruining the painting.

But what did it matter if it wasn’t pretty anymore?

…

Damian found photography was enjoyable.

He didn’t need as many materials.

He could do it anywhere.

It didn’t require as much time as painting, but the attention to detail was of the same caliber.

So, he took lots of pictures.

When he was in the mood, Damian would climb to the tops of Wayne Tower or some other desolate rooftop to capture pictures.

His current venture?

Eyes.

People had all different colors.

He found himself printing out pictures of them all, arranging them by levels of beauty and depth.

Ra’s always said a man’s eyes were his soul.

What did that mean of this woman? Her eyes were a placid blue like a duck pond in a children’s cartoon. Was she calm? At peace? Her dress didn’t suggest such. She’d worn a tight-fitting business suit and heels that clicked. If one had seen her eyebrows, they’d see the steeliness behind those calm blue ponds.

“What the…”

Damian sighed. Of course Jason would be the one to interrupt his studies. It seemed the man had been coming around the manner more as of late. He’d come to Damian and ask after his father.

“What’s this about, squirt?”

“Art project,” Damian answers curtly.

“For school?”

“No.”

“Then what for?”

“Recreational purposes.” If Jason was entitled to his Shakespeare, wasn’t Damian to his art?

“Why’re all the blue-eyed ones over there and the others in another pile. Something against blue-eyed people?”

“Something against aryans, Anti-Führer?”

“Father is in his study. Now leave me be, Todd.”

“No, I’m intrigued now.” Jason took a seat by Damian, brushing against the younger’s leg. “So, what’re we doing?”

Damian sighed. “Nothing.” He threw the placid blue pond to his right, starting a pile of its own.

“Are these randos from the street?”

“I suppose you could call them that.”

“Pretty good quality.”

“I-- thank you.”

Jason chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

Over the years, Damian had learned that Jason wasn’t as insufferable as he first thought the Red Hood to be. Depending on the activity, he was even the best possible company (if Dick wasn’t available, of course). They had similar histories, a common friend and foe. It made sense.

“Ever finish that portrait of Selina for her birthday?”

“I drew her cats instead.”

“Why? It was looking pretty nice.”

“I lost interest.”

“That sucks.” Jason flitted through a stack of photos he’d collected.

Damian shrugged.

“Dick been around lately?”

“Not since the Sunday before last.”

“Has he called?”

“Are you looking for him?” Damian asked.

“No… just wondering.’

“Why?”

“I dunno, kid. Can’t I wonder?” Jason made eye contact, a grin forming on his lips.

Damian couldn’t help but smile back (even if the sheer blueness of Jason’s eyes made his tongue dry up and shrivel like that of the silent soldiers of the pit).

…

He wore them again.

Damian found himself locking the bathroom door and putting the contacts in daily now.

He liked things better this way.

He wanted to gouge his slimy emeralds out. Glass water droplets would make for a better existence.

Blue was art, after all. The pretty kind.

…

Dick gazed sadly upon his youngest brother.

Damian was paler, duller (the rest of his health being intact was mercy enough).

Did no one notice? The His kid was spending a drizzling afternoon sketching ponds.

No less alert though. He saw Damian eyeing him from the garden, most likely waiting for Dick to leave the car before accepting their usual embrace. Dick sighed as he left the car.

Damian hurriedly left his spot on a jagged rock by the duck pond that’d been around since Bruce had been a boy.

“Hey, D,” he said easily, hugging the boy.

“Grayson.”

“What’re you up to?”

“Drawing.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I suppose.”

Dick punctuated the hug with a peck on Damian’s cheek.

The boy blushed. “How long will you be here?”

“All weekend. B needs me for something.”

Damian nodded.

“Is that paint or blood?”

“Hm?”

“Your hand.”

There was a red stream down Damian’s palm.

“Shouldn’t be touching sharp rocks, kiddo.”

“Better perspective.”

“Uh-huh.” Dick dragged Damian inside to clean the wound up.

(his kid)

…

Dick came back.

Damian liked Dick.

Dick was his first relationship in Gotham. The thing that tethered him here when his father died. Had Dick not kept him here, he would’ve went back to the League (which didn’t seem like a bad idea often), but now he was stuck here.

Stuck in Gotham with a family that was nothing like him and only half loved him (except for Dick, of course). He was Dick’s son in all but name.

Dick came back, helped Damian clean off his hand when he cut it on the rock. He hadn’t meant to cut it though. Firstly, because it hurt. Secondly, because red hadn’t been pretty in years.

…

“My eyes work fine,” Damian whispered.

Dick didn’t know what even brought on the statement. Maybe it was Bruce claiming Damian didn’t see the gunmen on patrol earlier, which in Bruce’s defense, had earned Damian a bullet wound in the left arm. “What’d you mean?”

Damian’s eyes were trained on the soft light that was the television screen, but the glass lid over them signed tears threatening to spill over. “I saw them, but the risk…if that boy’s idiot father hadn’t-- who brings children to drug deals anyway? No parent of any value. I saw them…” He trailed off, and a tear fell.

It was probably the meds. Alfred had given Damian pain meds and a sedative. The boy was merely tired. He was fine, nothing to worry about.

“S’okay, D.” Dick wrapped an arm around the boy, pulling him close. “He just gets scared. You know what happened to Jay…” And you.

Damian let out a small whine and pulled away.

Dick shushed him. “You did well, kiddo. I promise.”

Soft, emerald green’s glanced at Dick for a second before being obscured from view by the boy’s lids. Damian sniffled. “I see fine.” Hot tears wet Dick’s shirt.

“I know.” Dick rubbed circles into Damian’s back. “Bruce does too. He was just upset, okay?”

Damian sniffled again.

“Go to sleep. You’re tired.”

“M’not a baby, Richard.” Damian’s voice was muffled as he nuzzled Dick’s shoulder.

“I know.”

Damian’s breathing evened out a few minutes later, soft snores coming from the boy.

He was tired. That was all.

…

The prettiest thing he’d seen in his life.

Damian’d found an eye in his photography ventures. He just knew painting it would make it prettier (and it had).

Blueberry blue with azure hints. A beautiful, clean ocean of paint.

“The wall?” an incredulous voice asked from behind him.

Damian turned to see Tim. “Problem, Drake?”

“Why the wall?”

“It’s gorgeous, is it not?” Damian admired the picture.

“But… the wall? Alfred’s not--”

“It’s my room to do with what I wish. Father said so.”

“I think he meant you could get curtains, not deface a whole wall.”

Damian clenched his paintbrush. Hadn’t Dick said that if one had nothing kind to say, nothing should be said at all? Surely Tim Drake, a supposed cultured individual would know the rule. “That’s not kind, Drake.” He hadn’t meant to make his voice soft.

The expression in the teen’s face changed as fast as a bullet in a chamber, from eased indifference to a smirk. “I was joking.”

“It wasn’t funny.”

“Sorry.”

Damian nodded, sniffing as he looked back to continue detailing his art.

Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

…

Music was an art as well.

Damian’d explored it as much as any boy forced to learn the classics had. After all, there was nothing visual about music. He couldn’t see it. He couldn’t touch it, so why would it interest him?

There was one person, though, that liked music.

Cassandra Cain was a particular enthusiast.

Whenever she came over, she’d always drag Damian over to the music room. They’d duet on the ivory piano keys or speak in morse code on the drums. Music was a language for her the way drawing and painting was for him.

He wouldn’t dare take it away.

“What’s with the eye?” Cass asked, inspecting the back wall of Damian’s art room. “Is it wet?”

“No.”

She brought her thin fingertips across it, smile resting on her face. “Pretty.”

“Thank you.”

…

A rose by any other name supposedly smelled just as sweet.

Damian wasn’t sure that he believed that.

…

“Hafid.”

“Talia.” Damian ducked a slap from his mother. He smiled.

She did as well. “Your absence has been noted.” I missed you.

“As has yours.” I missed you too.

“I was on business,” she defended.

“Of course.”

“Would you credit me… an embrace?” I love you.

“I suppose.” The feeling is mutual.

They hugged. It was a real one. The kind they only did every few years.

“You’re taller,” she noted.

“I am,” he agreed.

They parted.

Her hand tugged his chin (why was it still so smooth?), and their eyes met. Hers were like lukewarm cups of coffee. “Grayson emailed me your marks in school. Ra’s was pleased.”

Damian nodded.

She sighed, releasing him. “Where is your father? I must speak to him.” There she went, screaming ‘Habibi’ down the hall.

Then he woke, as he always did: Gasping for air, face wet with tears, shirt soaked in sweat, alone.

…

Damian gifted Jason a blue hoodie for his birthday. It suited the young man much better.

Though the family mostly made a joke of it, he stood by his decision, happy it brought a smile at least.

“Did you hear about the Blue Hood?” Dick asked, checking the grapples from his corner.

Tim grinned from behind his laptop, still typing away. “The Blue Hood?”

“Yeah.”

“What about him?”

“Dastardly, I hear. Right, D?” Dick glanced at Damian.

Damian rolled his eyes, not dignifying the answer with a response.

“Just dastardly. Saw him helping some lady across the street with her groceries.”

“That’s Damian.”

“What?”

“I have feed of him helping some old lady.”

“Show me.”

Damian looked up from his book now. “You’re stalking me now?”

“Yeah, I was scared you’d spray paint a wall blue.”

Dick chuckled while Tim came over to show Dick.

Damian rolled his eyes once again. Those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault.

…

He wondered if he should save Tim.

Damian watched a bloodied and drugged Red Robin from the rafters of a warehouse.

The Joker hummed from the side.

Damian didn't like the Joker, but did he dislike Drake more?

With a swish, the Joker was on the floor, blood pooling around him.

Damian sighed as he helped up Tim. “Red, you with me?”

Tim didn’t answer.

He pressed his comm. “Batman, I have Red Robin. We’re in the Diamond District.”

“You didn’t think to call before leaving? We were looking for you.” There was a tinge of worry in his father’s tone.

“I apologize. Heading back now.”

“I’ll come pick you up.”

“I have the--”

“Is the Joker incapacitated?”

“Yes, but I--”

“Wait there.”

Damian humphed but sat down, pulling Tim to his side.

Tim giggled. “Gonna paint him blue?”

If fratricide were an option…

…

Damian didn’t like Tim.

He didn’t hate Tim, but Tim was his least favorite brother and sibling.

He seemed to only say things to upset Damian, and Daman never knew a response to upset Tim back.

“He paints everything blue, Bruce,” Tim said with a slur, leaning tiredly against their father as Alfred sewed up wounds.

“He can paint whatever color he wants,” his father said with a smirk.

“Blue’s boring.”

“Why?”

“It’s a sad color. Everything that is blue is sad. When someone’s sad, they’re blue. Tears are blue on TV. Water’s blue.”

“Mmhm.”

“My mom’s eyes were blue too.” Tim sniffled. “She had a blue clutch that matched ‘em-- were your mom’s eyes blue?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Damian?”

“At the computer.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Probably listening to you talk.”

Tim hummed quietly.

“Damian,” his father called, amusement evident in his voice.

Damian slunk over to his (hypothetical) family. “Father,” he said with clear displeasure.

Tim yanked Damian closer, nearly knocking Alfred out in the process. “Sit down.”

Damian obeyed.

Tim delivered a wet kiss on Damian’s nose. “I love you.”

Damian scrunched his nose. Maybe he didn’t totally dislike Tim.

…

“Damian, I have to go out. Can Tim stay with you?” Bruce asked. Alfred had enough to worry about without putting the teen into his schedule.

“I’ll be painting.” Damian was in the process of playing in his breakfast, which had become some sort of a pastime in the mornings.

“He won’t bother you.”

Dick had told Bruce that Damian’s art room was one no one should enter without permission. Even Alfred left the maintenance of the room to the boy. Most of the family, rather than purchasing entrance, hovered in the doorway whenever they wanted to speak to him or see the newest artwork.

Tim, Bruce knew, had never been inside the room. He wasn't’ sure if it was Tim’s choice or Damian’s though.

Damian pushed his plate forward. “I suppose.” His chair scraped the floor as he stood. Damian approached a resting Tim on the other side of the table. He tapped him once. “Come, Drake.”

Tim cracked an eye open. “Hm?”

“Come.” Damian took him by the hand and led him out of the room.

Bruce sighed. His kids.

…

It was hard to paint with a lump in one’s lap, so Damian took to drawing.

Why he had to spend his day off school with Tim Drake was beyond him, but he did his best to make the most of it, as Dick would’ve told him to do such.

“Why do you make everything blue?” Tim asked quietly, staring out the window.

“I don’t,” Damian answered.

“You do.”

“I’m drawing a flower right now. Is it’s stem not green?”

“It’s a cornflower.”

“I don’t make everything blue.”

“Are you blue?”

“No.” What kind of question was that? Damian’s skin was tan like his mother’s.

“I mean in the metaphorical sense.”

“Elaborate,” Damian demanded.

“Sad.”

“No, I’m not sad.”

…

Some nights, Damian had heard, were made for torture, or reflection, or the savoring of loneliness.

He spent many of his nights doing all three, though it was hard to do the latter when his father insisted upon reading in his art room. A tortured artist this poor, green-eyed boy was.

He knew this as he painted an eye-- his eye.

A family portrait was in order with Alfred’s birthday coming up. His father requested a small portrait, something he could frame and wrap for the butler from the whole family.

He liked most of the picture. Dick’s icy blues and Jason’s white streak. It all went together beautifully (ignoring one factor).

Damian payed attention to every detail, sans the blemishes. It was necessary. The picture had to be perfect.

He heard footsteps behind him. Then Duke was at his side. “Hey,” the teen said, his warm breath on Damian’s neck.

“Thomas, what do you require?”

“I just came to see it.”

“Did you?” Damian asked absentmindedly.

“Yeah, and I came to see if you want to join me and Tim for a Star Wars marathon. We ordered a pizza.”

“No.” Damian finished the red curtain behind the family with a blot. “Thank you for offering.” He struggled with common social phrasings still. He never learned them when he was younger. It was harder than people made it out to be. A second language he wasn’t quite used to.

“He’s coming,” his father said from his chair.

“I’m not hungry,” Damian argued.

“You haven’t eaten since lunch. Patrol’s soon.”

“Pennyworth's absence does not mean I’m not capable of finding my own nourishment.”

“Go.”

Damian humphed but set the painting down.

“It’s done?” his father asked.

“A few finishing details,” Damian said.

With a nod and a grunt, his father returned to his book,

Duke smiled. “Bye, B.”

“Duke.”

Then they were gone.

…

Tim wasn’t sure about Damian.

Well, he knew the kid was a certified sociopath, but he could tell Damian tried. Tried to fight his instincts, his raising. And the kid did a good job most of the time.

He did wonder about what Damian did with his free time.

Damian went to school. Then Damian disappeared until dinner. Then he disappeared until patrol. Then he was dead to the world until breakfast the next day.

He never saw Damian on weekends though. Alfred would note the absence to Bruce, but the man never did anything about it. Alfred would probably have to knock Bruce in the head to make him get it.

He supposedly ate, considering Damian retained his muscle and wasn’t getting skinnier. It didn’t seem like Damian slept. The bags under his eyes had bags. They were omnipresent, became accepted as Damian’s appearance a few months ago.

Of course, one could usually find him in the art room, except when the door was closed (Alfred would open it whenever he came by).

He didn’t want to say anything. Only God knew how Damian would take it.

Even now, Damian sat dejectedly in the corner of the sofa, staring at the curtained window with his head propped up on his arm. He looked half asleep.

“How’s school?” Tim asked, feeling more like parent than a brother (but someone had to be).

“Fine,” Damian answered.

“Do you like the movie?” Duke tried.

“No.”

Tim wrapped an arm around Damian. To his surprise, the boy didn’t pull away.

…

You are your mother's child, but you won’t learn. No one can protect you. Not your aunt. Not your mother. Not your father...Your world holds but one truth, boy...You continue to exist at my sufferance.

An echo.

Cold, tight chains released themselves from his side, clinking to the floor. His arms and legs could finally breathe. Pain radiated from everywhere. He kept his eyes closed. Damian took a breath from the floor before trying to stand. His legs were noodles. He swayed until a gloved hand steadied him.

“Damian.” His father’s gloved hand apparently.

“Batman,” he scratched.

“Don’t talk.” He lifted Damian into his arms.

Damian allowed his head to fall, chilled kevlar kissing his cheek. His nose became aware of the intermingling aromas of burnt flesh and blood confluenced with sweat.

The jostling was kept to a minimum in transporting him to the Batwing.

Damian heard shuffling as the plane took off.

He woke up to hushed voices, felt hands pulling at his blood-stained clothing and bandaging him before everything darkened to a haze once again.

…

“Touch me and die,” Damian said quietly, not in the mood for interruptions (he’d had enough in the past two days) and willing to stop them even if it meant paining his nose. He again on his way to perfecting a portrait, one of Alfred this time. His ribs pained him as he bent over the small canvas. The pain like a small searing, reaching throughout his middle. He couldn’t do detail without gazing closely though.

“How’d you know I was there?” Jason asked, coming from behind Damian with a tray.

“You’re an imbecile.”

“I brought you lunch.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “No, thank you. Leave me now.”

Jason’s silence filled the room for a solid minute. “Doing okay? Heard your Grandpappy knocked you around.”

Damian couldn’t help but smile. “Not before he coughed blood.”

A chuckle. “Good for you, kid,” Jason said. “Whatcha painting?”

“Nothing you need to pay any mind.”

“The cat, huh?” He took a seat on the floor beside Damian. “Should you be bent over like that? Has to hurt.”

“I am fine.”

“Wanna go to Batburgers?”

“No.”

“The library?”

“No.”

“Outside.”

“No.” He was fine where he was.

“Babybird told me--”

“Must you use asinine nicknames everytime you speak? It’s a childish endeavor you’re much too old and educated to pursue, don’t you think?”

“Ouch.”

It was quiet once again.

Damian leaned further forward, biting his lip as the pain increased. It felt good in it’s own way. He moved to dot a splotch of fur white when Jason punched him in the arm. A long line of white littered with gray marred the picture.

His jaw dropped as he turned to Jason.

The young man merely shrugged. “Sorry,” he said. “But hey… the eyes were all wrong anyway.”

Damian didn’t know why, but that hurt more than the searing pain in his chest and the tears pricking at his eyes. He jumped at Jason with a punch.

Jason grabbed his wrist.

Damian tried with his other one. This time nailing Jason in the cheek. He then kicked Jason in the back of the knee, causing the young man to topple over into a table.

The circus-themed vase Damian’d made in art class the previous week shattered.

“Get out.”

“Kid…”

“Get out! Get out! Get out!” Damian demanded, tears now cascading down his cheeks.

And for once, Jason did.

…

Bruce wondered what had caused his youngest to flee to the coat closet. He’d been about to go out to ‘enjoy nature.’ Alfred was cleaning the computer and he had nowhere to go. He hadn’t expected to find Damian curled up in the corner, face scrunched in what he read to be displeasure, possibly pain. Dried tear streaks were on the boy’s cheeks.

He lifted the boy up carefully. Damian, though technically a teenager, was still so small. Why was he so small? Would he grow up to be as big as Jason or Bruce? By Bruce’s estimations, Damian would inherit his mother’s slender figure as he had her soft skin and devious smirk.

Damian huffed at the jostling, his eyes forming slits to glance at Bruce as he sleepily rested his cheek on the man’s shoulder (beautiful basil eyes). “Todd broke my vase.”

“Did he apologize?” Bruce headed in the direction of the boy’s bedroom. He sat down on the bed, relishing any time he was able to hold his son, as the action was rarely permitted.

Damian humphed. “It was to be gifted to Grayson upon his return this weekend.”

“I’m sure we can find something else to give him.”

“Matched his parents’ costumes.”

“I’ll see what Alfred can do.”

Damian’s eyes closed again.

Bruce took the neon orange pill bottle from Damian’s nightstand and popped a pill out. “Here.”

Damian’s hand slowly found its way to Bruce’s, and the medication was consumed.

Bruce then laid his son on the bed, tucking him in as any good father would.

The boy didn’t protest the impromptu nap (most likely because he’d been napping already), taking another last look at Bruce.

Beautiful basil eyes.

…

“You’re sketching me?” Maya asked Damian, her emerald greens piercing him with amusement.

Damian snorted. “Of course, chica.”

“I’m prettier than over half the things you draw.”

He smiled. “Maybe.”

“Is it done yet?”

“Everything but the eyes.” The eyes were the only white thing left on the page. He sniffed the pleasant aroma of graphite and wax. The searing in his middle had regressed to a dull soreness.

“You always save the eyes for last,” she sighed, grinning. “Why is that?”

“They deserve the most care and attention.”

“Why?”

Damian sighed. “I don’t know.”

…

Tim was walking through the hallways of the manor towards his bedroom when he heard talking in the kitchen. He entered the room to see Damian and Bruce of all people not cooking, but gluing together what looked to be a vase.

Damian’s arms crossed themselves as the boy frowned. He was seated by the stove, wrapped in a blanket. It could be classified as cute, if not for the purple and blue bruise surrounding the boy’s broken nose and Damian’s split lip. “You’re not doing it right. Let me.”

“Alfred would never forgive me if you cut yourself,” Bruce said, hunched over the island with glue and tweezers.

Damian turned to Tim. “Can’t Tim do it then?”

Tim’s brows raised at the use of his actual name.

Damian seemed to catch it too. “I’m sure no one will care if he is cut.”

Tim grinned. “Hey, B.”

“Tim,” Bruce returned.

“What’re you guys--”

“Jason knocked the table over and broke Damian’s vase for Dick.”

“And you’re fixing it?” Tim surmised.

“It’s all wrong,” Damian said before Bruce could respond. “Father, you’re--”

“Like a try, Tim,” Bruce interrupted, stepping back and holding out the materials to the teen, now revealing his own scowl and furrowed brows.

Tim chuckled. “Sure.” Those two were too alike.

…

“Todd broke it, but Drake fixed it,” Damian said quickly.

Dick examined the vase carefully. “It’s beautiful, Lil’ D. Thank you.”

Damian wasn’t sure what to say at that point, his face flushed. He slackened, releasing some tension on the pulling bandages under his shirt. He was proud to say the least. He’d known Dick would love it from the moment the idea sprouted. The moment now was mere proof.

Dick’s eyes glazed over with tears. He blinked them away. “Guess I’m gonna have to start keeping flowers now, huh?”

“I suppose you will.”

…

“I meant to visit you on your birthday but Ra’s…” Damian trailed off as he played with the dew-filled grass. It was early morning. No one was up but him, which made sense considering they’d just arrived back from patrol two hours ago. Damian hadn’t slept either. He couldn’t.

“I…” He sighed. “You are missed.” He missed her. Every single part of her he missed, from her whacks during sparring to her petty threats. “Why won’t he bring you back?” He used to always bring her back. “I wish he’d bring you back.”

Damian wiped warm tears from both his cheeks and sniffled. You are-- and will always be-- an assassin at heart, my lovely boy. Your mother's child. “My mother’s child.” The boy’s voice was a rasp, filled with anguish.

A sad smile. “Even in death, you haunt me. A ghoul you truly are, Mother.”

There is no Hell. No Heaven. Only what we make for ourselves.

…

Blue came in seven distinct shades, each with its own name: azure, prussian, cobalt, cerulean, sapphire, indigo, and lapis. Damian loved them all.

Yet, none of them could be found in Ra’s’ compound. The buildings were tan. The shades were lined with mahogany. The uniforms were charcoal. The katanas were silver. Nothing was blue except the sky above him.

Damian liked it that way.

…

Gone. He was just gone. No notes no trace.

Damian disappeared like smoke in the air.

Where had he gone, Dick wondered.

…

“You came back?” Maya asked. “Then what was the point in leaving?”

“It’s better here,” Damian said, voice a trained low volume he’d learned when he was younger and never forgotten. He stretched his hand to test the pain, having cut it earlier when sparring with Ra’s earlier. It was worse if anything, and looked infected, but he was ignoring it for the time being.

“How?”

“My father… he-- It just is. The rules are clear. Easier to follow.”

“My father wasn’t the easiest guy either.” She took a seat on his rug and crossed her legs. “He made us ghosts.”

“And I’m not one?” He could tell she was searching him, sifting through what she knew, what she surmised, conjuring an answer that was appropriate, correct.

“You want to be?” she asked, her voice cracking.

Tears fighting their way out behind his eyes made them burn. It’s better than the torture being someone puts me through , he wanted to say, but he didn’t. He said, “Yes,” for that was all that mattered to the question.

A small wet stream ran down her right cheek. A glass film over emerald jewels. She leaned forward, wrapping her lean arms around him.

He knew the embrace was meant to be some form of solace, but it did nothing for him. He wanted to ask her to release him, to let him feel the pain, to let him fade into the black and through the wall like any good ghost could. Why wouldn’t she let him?

She stayed until he was nearly asleep.

He used her lap as a pillow, eyes having long given way to the heaviness.

She hugged him once more before laying him on the rug. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t a soft cotton either.

He let out a small whine of complaint, mumbled her name.

“Right here, but I have to go,” she whispered. Maya pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He allowed her last words to escape him as he drifted off.

…

“Where is he, Ra’s?” Bruce growled.

“I assume you’ve scoured my compound for him then?” Ra’s smiled. Damian swore that was the face of the Devil sans the cherry skin and raisin horns.

“He’s my son.”

“He is his mother’s as well, Detective.”

“She’s dead.”

“I’m well aware.”

Damian watched the scene from above in a blindspot even the Batman wasn’t aware of. He came back to Ra’s for two reasons. One, it was easier than living in Gotham. Two, Ra’s would burn Gotham if he didn’t.

And he knew Gotham was his father’s true love and mistress. The thing that let the broken boy with wet cheeks who became a man whose had dried out. The motivation to live, he even guessed. He’d rather be under Ra’s than take that away, than be the cause of the fall of the Bat and his cohorts. He’d rather die than do that.

So, he came back, enjoyed the blue-less world of the League of Assassins, visited his mother’s quarters occasionally. He minded it the first day, and he still missed a stray Gothamite or four, but other than that, he was fine.

He was trained to be fine, after all. How could he not be what he was created to be? It made no sense, so he didn’t let it happen.

The pain was duller here anyway,

And dulled pain was the best kind.

…

There was one part of being with his grandfather again that Damian didn’t like.

He hated having to slash throats and impale hearts.

It wasn’t that he now found murdering abhorrent either. It was the voice Dick Grayson implanted in him at the age of ten that told him it was wrong. Everytime he even came close to ending a life the voice rang in his head. It hurt.

This was why Ra’s sent Damian to kill a whole family. The psychology behind it was infallible. It would prove that he wasn’t soft, that he’d earned his place long ago and hadn’t given it up on his departure, which was why Ra’s called in the comm for him to stop before the action. The man wasn’t as cold as he advertised himself to be. He wanted loyalty more than blood any day.

So, having proven such and still possessing free hours, Damian slunk across the street of a nearby diner. He hadn’t come to eat but to watch. He loved to watch people still. That want had not waned. He’d even smuggled a camera on the off-chance he would see something truly photogenic.

Contrary to his intruder coming from behind, he did feel the footsteps. He hadn’t stopped feeling the things behind him since the day his uncle was shot in the head. A memory he held quite close to the day he first met his father.

“Red Robin,” Damian said.

“Dames. What’re you doing here?” Tim asked, crouching beside Damian.

“I’m sure you’re intelligent enough to figure it out. I don’t take you for as much as an imbecile as you advertise yourself to be.”

A snort. “B came for you.”

Damian made a noncommittal noise. It seemed Tim Drake would always interrupt his art.

“You could call.”

Damian plopped himself on the ledge and extricated a bagged sandwich from a pocket he should’ve been keeping a pistol in (still couldn’t break that habit).

“Ziplock?”

“The League isn’t that old.” Damian pulled his face mask down and set the camera beside himself.

Tim did the same. “Didn’t take you for one to eat on a profiling.”

“I’m not going to hurt them.” Damian sighed, watching his smoky breath dissipate. “Any of them,” he added. An assassin’s past times weren’t limited to killing, after all. Even Ra’s liked books and reading. He took another bite of his sandwich, sweet honey ham and American cheese.

“Okay.” Tim didn’t sound like he believed Damian, but he didn’t care about Tim’s thoughts of him anymore.

“What do you want?”

“Took me awhile to get a lead on you.”

“If you count Maya as a lead.”

“She told me ‘cause she cares.”

“I hold nothing against her.”

“Nightwing misses you,” Tim said.

Damian inserted himself into a scene before him. A young woman with blue eyes and blonde hair in a waitress uniform sat across from a young man and baby with the exact same features. A family, he figured. Both women were hunched over the table while the baby-- a girl-- babbled to herself and stuck a fist in her mouth. An interesting sight. He wondered if his parents could’ve ever created a seen like that had his father known of him when he was a baby. It was a pretty thought.

“--mian.” Tim laid a hand on Damian’s shoulder.

He turned to meet the gorgeous blue eyes that were Tim’s.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Damian repacked his sandwich and stood. “I have to get back.”

“You’re not due ‘till four. It’s two thirty.”

“I have to go.”

Tim took his wrist. “One day he’s gonna actually make you do it, you know.”

Damian blinked. “What?”

“Kill somebody. Maybe a family. Maybe a couple. Maybe a person. But he will.”

“I live with myself just fine.”

The whites of Tim’s domino squinted before returning to their previous state. “Don’t die. Maybe send a text once a while, so we know you’re still succeeding in that venture. And call Dick ‘cause you know how he blames himself.” Even when it’s not his fault, Tim didn’t say. Because that would also imply it was Damian’s.

Damian nodded.

Tim released him.

The robin flew away, and the ghost became translucent once again.

#fanfic #batman #robin #batman fanfic #damian wayne #bruce wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #jason todd #eyes #green eyes #blue eyes #angst #hurt #open ending #heidiwritesstories #harangue with heidi

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aliapohno · 6 years ago

Note

♒ Thoughts on the fandom you're currently rping in?

FF14 is a hell of a rollercoaster ride. It has its ups, it has its down, and by god I feel like there’s so many loop-de-loops that my head spins sometimes and I feel like I wanna throw up once the ride has come to a halt.

That is, to say, that 14, whilst being pretty chill and fun? Is one of the saltiest and drama seeking/drama producing fandoms and communities I have been a part of. (And I have partook in a lot of fandoms.) It feels like there’s some sort of drama or discourse going on every week or month.

However, I love this fandom and the people I have met and had a chance to talk to/befriend because of this game. Without it? I wouldn’t be where I am today. I’d probably still be dating assholes that just use and abuse, I wouldn’t have the strength or confidence I do now - or the backbone that I’ve acquired -, and I feel as thought I’d be dead at this point in my life without the friends and support that I’ve made because of this game and this fandom in general.

So, while FF14 has a lot of bullshit under its belt? I love it, and my friends and loved ones.

the salty af munday meme

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gutterballgt · 7 years ago

Text

Ask meme

From the prompt list earlier, @susan-25 asked for the ER/A&E AU meet-up. As always, her wish is my command!

"This is all your fault."

Raleigh, pained and having no interest in hiding that fact, adjusted the ice pack on his face. It was too cold to press directly against his swollen eye, but it felt both achy and wonderful on the surrounding socket. And his likely broken nose. Which had thankfully stopped bleeding but probably needed to be set.

"You're the one who didn't strap in right."

"Oi, fuck that!" The large, mouthy Australian -- the cause of all his current sorrows -- adjusted his own ice pack to more adequately attend the goose egg growing on the back of his stupid ginger head. "The ride attendant checked the harness before we took off. Not my fault the fucking thing released going into the loop."

For one terrifying, tunnel-vision moment on the ill-fated rollercoaster ride, Raleigh had envisioned the worst case scenario: the gape-mouthed stranger seated in front of him missing him entirely and free-falling the fifty or so feet all the way to the ground, likely careening off the brutally skeletal support struts as he went. He would have died. Of that, Raleigh had no doubt.

Instead, that shock of red hair came straight for Raleigh's face and slammed home, and in his confusion and fear, he'd locked his arms around the huge body slamming into him and held on for dear life, praying his own harness didn't slip free as easily as the stranger's had.

That Yancy's wouldn't. Because Yancy was behind him where Raleigh couldn't reach.

Thankfully, the loop had been near the end of the ride, and between Raleigh's death grip -- arms and legs; he was taking no chances -- and the stranger's punishing grasp on the outsides of Raleigh's thighs as he held on for dear life while they were briefly upside down, they somehow made it without said stranger falling to an untimely death from a shoddy theme park rollercoaster in the middle of nowhere.

Unfortunately, the second the ride stopped and the danger had passed, the stranger started talking.

"My old man'll sort 'em out, though. I could've fucking died. They'll be paying for the rest of my university, the fucking lot of 'em."

Or, more accurately, bitching. Yancy had found it hilarious at first, but a ten-minute ambulance ride filled with nothing but angry Australian curses and threats changed his mind enough that he'd volunteered -- volunteered! -- to wait out in the overflowing E.R. lobby, just to get away from it. Yancy Becket, who always got his flu shot and hesitated to touch public bathroom doorknobs because people didn't wash their goddamn hands, volunteered to sit arm and arm with snot-nosed toddlers and coughing teens and groaning, babbling elderly folk and people who were bleeding but not hemorrhaging and, thus, could wait.

Just to not have to listen to this guy bitch anymore.

Impressive, really.

If Raleigh's head didn't feel as if his eye socket was broken to match his nose -- which it might well be; they still hadn't been taken back for x-rays yet -- he might better appreciate it. As it was, he really wished the guy would just shut up already. They'd been sitting on their respective hospital gurneys for damn near an hour already, mostly enclosed by stupid E.R. curtains that did nothing to mute the noisy bustle of an over-packed emergency ward, and Raleigh really just wanted his face to stop hurting.

And then... it happened.

"What's your name, then?"

He blinked with his one good eye and shot the guy -- a kid, really, if he was still in college, but big and broad and salty as fuck for his apparent age -- a surprised look. "Raleigh?"

"Right." It wasn't quite a sneer, but there was definitely a hint of judgment in the big jerk's tone. "Anyway... reckon I ought to thank you, yeah?"

He could not have been more surprised. He wasn't sure he'd been as surprised as when the guy's head slammed into his eye.

"Not everyone would've grabbed on, yeah? Let alone held on through the loop."

Was... was the kid blushing? Jesus, and was that a bonafide smile? Oh, shit on a biscuit and call it a sandwich, but were those dimples??

"So... yeah. Thanks. For saving my life." A shrug that looked about as casual as a seizure. "You're all right, Ray."

Aaaaannnnd there was the salty jerk again.

"The name's Raleigh."

Definitely judging. "If you say so."

Sighing, he adjusted the melting ice pack for the tenth, the twentieth, thirtieth time. "Are you always like this?"

Without missing a beat, the kid shrugged. "Yeah. You?"

He couldn't help it. He snorted. The balls on this brat. Raleigh couldn't tell if he knew exactly how obnoxious he was and didn't care or had no idea how abrasive and snarky he came across.

"What's so funny?"

Oh, God help him if the jerk got started again. So, restraining himself to another, smaller snort, he shook his head. "Nothing. What's your name, kid?"

"Chuck. And don't call me kid."

His one functioning eyebrow rose. "Then don't call me Ray."

Rolling his eyes, the kid squirmed irritably on the gurney. "The fuck is taking so long? I fucking hate American healthcare. Costs a bloody fortune and they aren't even doing anything."

Patriotism wanted him to argue. Pragmatism had him nodding ruefully instead. "I can't even disagree. Healthcare here sucks. They have universal in Australia, right?"

"Yeah, I reckon so. Haven't been there since I was a sprog, though. Haven't kept in touch."

One eyebrow rose again. With that accent...?

Weirdly enough, the kid -- Chuck -- eyed him for a long moment, stiffening. Then, jaw tight, he went on with visible reluctance. "My mum died when I was ten, so Dad moved us to London to stay with an old military chum of his." Weirdly light-colored eyes, not quite blue and not quite green, skittered away. "Haven't been back since."

"Ah." There were so many landmines in all the holes in that story that Raleigh had no intention of stepping into it. "But England has good universal healthcare, right?"

Another awkward, jerky shrug.

Amazing. He'd managed to shut the kid up. He hadn't even had to do anything, really.

Unfortunately, the silence between them now sounded -- and felt -- thunderous.

He tried. He really tried to wait it out, madly hoping a nurse would stop by to make sure neither of them had bled to death or passed out from concussion or even just to take their goddamn temperatures.

This time, it was his shoulders tensing, his jaw clenching as he tried to speak. "My mom died when I was fifteen. Lung cancer."

He felt those light eyes on him, curious but still angry, still ready to take offense. All of a sudden, he wished Yancy had come back with them, after all.

"You know, she smoked all the way up to that last ambulance ride. I was so mad about that." The strained muscle in his neck twitched. "Still am, really. It wouldn't have saved her life to quit by then, but...."

What the ever-loving fuck are you doing, Rals?

It wasn't quite Yancy's voice, but he could definitely picture Yancy's incredulous expression. Telling all of that to a prickly stranger he wasn't even sure he much liked? Talking about stuff neither he nor his brother could talk about to this day without one or the other of them getting choked up and needing to stop?

"There... was an accident. On base."

Gathering all his will, he looked at the kid he'd somehow miraculously caught mid-air. The kid he'd saved.

Chuck looked right back at him, eyes hard and defiant but... pleading, too. Maybe.

"It was an air show. A fluke thing, some kind of wiring malfunction, and the pilot had to bail out. They cleared the entire landing area and everyone took shelter... but we were already on the way to the lot. Missed the alarms. I wanted to go home early, though Mum wanted to stay. Threw one fuck of a fuss, and she gave in."

Oh, sweet mercy, but he had the worst intuition--

"My fault, yeah? We wouldn't have been in the lot when that fucking jet took out the whole center section, but I wanted to go home because it was too loud. Too many people. Too hot. Too boring when they weren't doing tricks up there."

Jesus. Suddenly, he wanted to reach over and hug the poor kid, prickly asshole or no. How the hell did someone live through something like that?

"Dad dug me out from the rubble, but Mum was already gone. She...." Chuck's throat clenched, the Adam's apple bobbing. "She tried to shield me."

He had no fucking clue what to say. What on earth could he say? Ten years old, and the entire rest of his life tainted by something he'd really had no control over. No wonder the big jerk was... well, a big jerk.

Survivor's guilt would do that to you.

"Chuck?"

There was way too much expression in those eyes. Raleigh couldn't even begin to sort through the mess. Didn't even try.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you might be the luckiest son of a bitch I've ever met."

Gobsmacked, the kid rocked back, eyes wide, and stared at him.

Oops.

"I just mean... you survive something like that as a kid, and now your fucking harness lets go at the worst possible time, only for some random guy to snatch you out of the air?" Shrugging helplessly, he smiled a little. "You are one lucky fuck."

The moment stretched out like warm taffy, ready to pull apart at any second, Raleigh's nerves stretching with them until he wondered which would break first -- the silence or his nerve. What the hell had he been thinking? The poor bastard was having maybe the second worst day of his life, and Raleigh tells him he's lucky?

Finally, the big guy scooted off the gurney and stood tall, and... oh, shit. Bright eyes narrowed, and Raleigh was suddenly sure he'd get punched on top of the shellacking he'd already taken. He did not want to get in a fight in an E.R.

Then again, this might be the most practical place for one. And maybe they'd finally get some goddamn medical attention. Or arrested. Either way--

Chuck stopped directly in front of him, looming just at his knees, one hand fisted around the ice pack dangling at his side and the other hand just fisted. This would be very, very bad.

Then... the kid leaned. No, he leaned.

Wide-eyed -- even the swollen eye under the ice pack -- Raleigh leaned away, reaching back to brace himself against the thin gurney mattress. "Chuck? What are you doing?"

Those not-blue-not-green eyes weren't narrow now. No, from a bare blink away, they were half-lidded, not narrow.

"Trying my luck."

What the--

Oh. Oh.

It was a weirdly confident kiss, for all that it was from a stranger who'd looked ready for battle a second before. It wasn't domineering or pushy or arrogant in any way. Just... confident. As if Chuck knew Raleigh wouldn't pull away.

He would, though. Soon.

In a minute.

Because it was a very nice kiss, despite being unexpected. And Chuck's big body put out a very nice warmth as he crowded closer between Raleigh's knees, one hand going to the uninjured side of Raleigh's face to trace a gentle thumb along his jaw.

In fact, if it hadn't been for the ice pack still radiating both ache and chill against his eye and nose, he would've forgotten the situation entirely and full-on made out with this stranger that had literally landed in his lap out of nowhere. For all that he was a mouthy jerk, Chuck was one hell of a kisser.

"Oh, my God, seriously??"

He didn't jerk away, guilty and embarrassed. He did sigh, though, and pull just far enough back to end the kiss and look around Chuck's slightly flushed face to where his brother stood just at the edge of the curtain, radiating disapproval.

"Goddammit, Rals. I can't leave you alone for one second."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Chuck beat him to it. Without pulling away, the kid snorted and shot Yancy a withering glance.

"It's been like an hour, ya wanker, and you can leave us alone any time now. We're busy."

He should probably be offended on Yancy's behalf. But he wasn't. Not even a little bit.

So he smirked instead. "You heard him."

After all, Yancy had done worse. And had just as terrible taste in men as Raleigh.

"Seriously, Rals, this guy is--"

"Mr. Becket? Mr. Hansen? The radiologist is ready for-- oh." And now a nurse was staring at them from Yancy's side, her face losing its professional calm for only a moment before confusion set in. "Wait. I thought you two didn't know each other...?"

Yancy glared as if to underscore this reasonable point. The nurse raised both eyebrows. Chuck stood solid and steady between Raleigh's thighs, refusing to be embarrassed away.

So Raleigh just shrugged.

"What can I say?" Smirking, he reached down and smacked the kid on the ass, earning a surprised grunt and an incredulous look. "He's one helluva catch."

Groaning, Yancy smacked his hand to his forehead. The nurse snickered and tried to hide it.

And Chuck? Chuck just glared.

But he didn't move away.

"I'll get you for that."

Deciding that this had been a pretty damn good day, after all, Raleigh just grinned and went all-in. He waggled his eyebrows. Even though it hurt.

"Looking forward to it."

Best. Day. Ever.

THE END

#ask meme #chaleigh #these guys kill me #I meant to write them some silly fluff #but they always have to get so SERIOUS #sheesh guys #just skip right to the kissing for once will ya??#pacific rim #raleigh becket #chuck hansen #yancy becket

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swimintothesound · 7 years ago

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Swim Into The Sound’s 2017 Un-Awards

Welcome to Swim Into The Sound’s first annual Un-Awards! In this direct (and more negative) companion piece to our Diamond Platters, we take a moment to reflect on some of the worst moments in music over the past year. From bad lyrics to tasteless cover art, this is a quick-hit version of the lowest points that 2017 had to offer.

In a year where we keep thinking “well, at least things can’t get any worse” 2017 always managed to surprise us. From politics and celebrities all the way down to movies and music, this was a year of general-purpose deplorable behavior and reprehensible choices. While there were plenty of good moments over the past 365 days, you will find that none of that light reaches these depths. This post is a place of darkness, a hell devoted solely to the most soul-crushing and life-questioning music of the year.

I’d also like to throw out a disclaimer that I don’t particularly like being pessimistic, especially when it comes to art that people have (presumably) worked hard on. Aside from that, negativity stands in direct opposition to the ideals that this website was founded on in the first place. What I’ve found is that it’s hard to talk about the good without also thinking of the bad, especially for a year like 2017. As I mentioned before, the previous post is the exact inverse of this one, and the next article going up will cover our favorite albums of the year, so if you are searching for affirmation, this is not the place to find it. Just think of this as the lone negative meat in a positivity sandwich.

Truth be told, aside from a few visibly-frothy entries, most of these awards are positive spins on negative experiences: moments that surprised me, music I’m embarrassed to enjoy, or weird synchronicities that I noticed throughout the year. I could have gone out of my way to shit on Katy Perry, The Chainsmokers, Imagine Dragons, or any number of middling radio-ready albums that were released this year, but at a certain point that all just feels redundant and hack. I prefer to be original in my distaste. So without any further adieu, I’m proud to present Swim Into The Sound’s list of the most spine-chillingly-regrettable music of 2017.

Biggest Disappointment

Winner: Queens of the Stone Age - Villains

Being a fan is a mixed blessing. The upside is that you get to enjoy the rollercoaster of hype that is an album rollout and you get the sweet experience of listening to a highly-anticipated album for the first time when it releases. On the flip side, that fandom can easily backfire if your expectations have been built up too high. While I love Queens of the Stone Age, in 2017 I fear that I may be outgrowing them. The group’s 2004 release Songs for the Deaf is literally my favorite album of all time, and there’s no higher praise than that. Each record since then has been good to great until 2013’s ...Like Clockwork which just didn’t sit right with me outside of a select few songs.

This year, the group’s seventh LP represents a new artistic low. Featuring limp “dancy” grooves, irritatingly-clean instruments, and some of the most laughable lyrics I’ve ever heard, the band we see on Villains bears little resemblance the one that I fell in love with years ago. I recognize that wanting a band to stay the same is a shitty thing for a fan to ask, but I just can’t understand, enjoy, or tolerate the direction that the group is headed. I’m a lifelong fan, but that makes these recent records hurt all the more. When you love a band, you devour each release that they put out. Even if the last few records haven’t hit as hard, you stick with them because you want them to be better. The excitement of something new is impossible to stay away from, but now after months of listening, all I want is for Villains to stay away from me.

Runner-up: Portugal. The Man - Woodstock

While I wrote glowingly about Portugal. The Man’s entire discography last month, Woodstock (while not bad) is not an album that I particularly wanted. It’s not the band’s worst, but it’s the most sterile, safe, and poppy album that the group has ever created. Outside of a handful of adrenaline-pumping car-ready songs, Woodstock takes no risks. The album breaks no new ground, asks nothing of its audience, and seems entirely too content to settle. While those qualities are the exact opposite of what I expect from the trailblazing Portlanders, I’ll hold my reservations until I hear what comes next.

Album I Feel Like I Will Adore In A Few Years

Winner: Fleet Foxes - Crack-up

Until earlier this year I never particularly liked Fleet Foxes. In preparation for their 2017 release, I found myself endlessly replaying the group’s self-titled LP alongside Helplessness Blues while doing other things. Somewhere along the line “inoffensive background music” turned into brilliant folk epics, and I finally understood what made the band so unique. However, in a Bon Iver-esque pivot, Fleet Foxes’ third LP Crack-up represents an experimental shift in sounds, and unfortunately, it’s a change that doesn’t sit particularly well with me. There are some awe-inspiring moments scattered throughout this record, but as a whole, it’s not a release that stuck with me in the slightest, let alone one that can hold a candle to the band’s earlier work. I recognize that there’s something special going on in Crack-up, but I feel like it will just take some time for me to properly excavate it, just as I did with the group’s first two records.

Runner-up: Sun Kil Moon - Common As Light and Love Are Red Valleys of Blood

Sun Kil Moon is another artist that I’d never listened to until 2017. After hearing this year’s mouthful of an album Common As Light and Love Are Red Valleys of Blood, I came away pleasantly surprised. Featuring solemn, looping instrumentation and long podcast-like narration by Mark Kozelek, I listened to all two hours and ten minutes in complete fascination. I dipped back into his previous work like Benji and loved it just as much, but for whatever reason, I never ventured back into Valleys after that first listen. Maybe it was the album’s lengthy running time or the idea that the narration would prove too distracting for a casual listen, but Valleys always felt too daunting to dive back into. I feel like one day when I’m a middle-aged dad with a couple of kids I’ll finally have the time to revisit this album and it will speak to me on an entirely new level. The songs and stories here feel like something that I will find solace in when I’m older, but I just don’t have the 2+ hours right now.

WTF Moment of the Year

Winner: Bhad Bhabie

Of all the memes to emerge from 2017, few have been as successful as 14-year-old Danielle Bregoli. She first gained traction in January thanks to a Dr. Phil clip in which Mrs. Bregoli challenged an audience member to “cash her outside.” The teen’s delivery of the phrase caught fire and became a meme/infinitely-renewable social media caption for a hot minute. One of the more perplexing news stories of 2017 (and that’s saying something) was Danielle’s announcement of her music career as “Bhad Bhabi” complete with a deal on Atlantic Records. Preceded by an appearance in a Kodak Black video, this announcement blindsided the music world and spawned a million think pieces. However when Bregoli released her first song in August the unthinkable happened: It wasn’t that bad.

The video for “These Heaux” was the first part of a one-two punch alongside “Hi Bich” that set social media ablaze in September. As everyone collectively remembered the months-old meme from what seemed like a lifetime ago, most people took this as an opportunity to laugh at her once again. Meanwhile, I watched the same videos as everyone, and recognized it as bad music, but found myself embarrassingly enjoying both songs. “Heaux” and “Hi Bich” are both competent and well-produced Rae Sremmurd-esque bangers that, yes, are propped up by production, but still enjoyable. The truth is, they’re musical fast food. It’s not nutritious, healthy, or even filling, but sometimes you just need to bask in the utter trashiness that is Bhad Bhabie.

Runner-up: Lil Pump

Earlier this year I wrote a 3,000-word post in which I attempted to reconcile my newfound love of trap with my extreme dislike of the current crop of SoundCloud rappers. While that write-up was primarily inspired by the reprehensible human being that is xxxtentacion, I now regret lumping Lil Pump into the same category. While his brand of blown-out hyped-up trap is of the same school as xxx, Lil Pump isn’t nearly as bad on a personal or musical level as Onfroy. More surprisingly, I actually found myself liking his breakout single “Gucci Gang” more than I am comfortable admitting. Featuring a worryingly-mindless chorus and the same laundry list of flexes as most trap hits, “Gucci Gang” manages to be an infectious banger that has also propelled Pump to the forefront of both the charts and popular culture.

Most Un-sexy Sex Song

Winner: Alt-J “Hit Me Like That Snare”

In an interview with Q Magazine, Alt-J’s lead singer Joe Newman described “Hit Me Like That Snare” as an “atypically filthy psychedelic grind.” Wow, guys. Wow. If you want to avoid listening to the song, I don’t blame you. All you need to know about this track is that the band rhymes “slithering” with “scissoring” (yes, that kind), and the lead singer describes the song as “spicy.” Whew.

Runner-up: DJ Khaled “Wild Thoughts”

While I thought “Wild Thoughts” was exceedingly-sensual on first listen, the song now has too many things working against it for me to find any titillation here. From Rihanna’s baby talk to memories of dancing hot dogs, I just can’t listen to this song without picturing Santana’s face, or DJ Khaled screaming. The single achieved a level of cultural-pervasiveness so quickly that it became saturated beyond its original artistic vision. God knows I have no problem with DJ Khaled, but this track now contains too many distractions to remain pure. The music video is still unspeakably steamy, but as a whole, “Wild Thoughts” has lost what little sexy luster it initially had.

Am I The Only One Seeing This Shit?

Winner: Rappers Counting

I’ll admit that this category was created with the sole purpose of repurposing already-written articles, but that doesn’t make the observations contained within them any less valid. The first of these two hyper-specific happenings of 2017 can be found in this article where I outline three examples of rappers using numbers as lyrics. Not like clever wordplay involving numbers, but counting upwards sequentially one numeral at a time. It’s a weird thing to have happened multiple times in one year and feels like such a lazy cop-out of songwriting, but at the same time, each artist in the list manages to make it work for one reason or another.

Runner-up: 21 Savage’s Food Lyrics

Another weirdly-specific phenomenon of 2017 is something that I noticed while listening to 21 Savage’s debut Issa Album over the summer. Despite his tough gangster exterior and dark, moody beats, 21 also managed to fit an alarming number of food references into his first retail outing. While not particularly jarring, these references provide a weird contrast to the rest of the Mr. Savage’s “murder music” and end up sticking out like (multiple) sore thumbs throughout the record. It happened just consistently enough that I began laughing every time they poked up, and I felt the cosmic need to compile them somewhere, so I did.

Most Insensitive and Heavy-handed Song about Suicide

Winner: Arcade Fire “Creature Comfort”

On this second single off Arcade Fire’s Everything Now, we hear Win Butler clumsily address the topics of suicide and self-harm. The song’s first verse explains “Some boys hate themselves / Spend their lives resenting their fathers / Some girls hate their bodies / Stand in the mirror and wait for the feedback.” Taken on their own, these lines aren’t particularly offensive, but it’s the second verse where things get truly tactless: “Assisted suicide / She dreams about dying all the time / She told me she came so close / Filled up the bathtub and put on our first record.” I mean, what a pretentious and shitty way to insert yourself into someone else’s misery. It’s such a bizarre form of narcissism and masturbating to your own past, this line truly is one of the grossest sentiments that I’ve heard put to music over the past year.

Runner-up: Brand New “Same Logic / Teeth”

While it’s true that suicide isn’t exactly a groundbreaking topic for an emo band, Brand New somehow manages to stumble over it fantastically one of the few times that they tackle the subject. Surrounded by excellent songs of diverse sounds, styles, and topics, “Same Logic / Teeth” sticks out as Science Fiction’s most significant blunder. With questionable lyrics, bizarre vocal choices, and overwrought sentiments, it’s easy to see why most bands would prefer not write songs about killing yourself because the only time I have ever wanted to end my life is when I’m hearing Jesse Lacey sing about how fish won’t judge me by my faults.

WTF Moment of the Year 2: Weird Boogaloo

Winner: Vulfpeck “Captain Hook”

Venturing back to the “WTF Well” for two more entries, another of 2017’s biggest surprises came at the end of Vulfpeck’s Mr. Finish Line. The band’s third full-length studio album is a stone-cold chiller, but after half an hour of unspeakably funky tracks, “Captain Hook,” the record’s final song threw me (and every other listener) for a massive loop. Teased as a collaboration with Bootsy Collins, most fans expected a brainwave-shifting epic of an album closer, a modern “I’d Rather Be With You” but with even tighter instrumentation. What we got was a goofy comedy track featuring two of Vulfpeck’s members affecting the voices of an infant and an old Jewish man. Bootsy’s contributions are noticeable but minimal, and as a whole, the track is just a fantastically-bizarre experiment. “Captain Hook” is a weird child-like song featuring a trio of the three most disparate voices you could ever imagine, however (now that I know what to expect), I absolutely adore the song. It’s such a weird marriage of voices that, when combined with Vulf’s approach to music, circles back from annoying to endearing. It’s one final cherry of weirdness on top of the funk sundae that is Mr. Finish Line.

Runner-up: Taylor Swift “Look What You Made Me Do”

Preceded by snake imagery and a dark rebranding, “Look What You Made Me Do” marked Taylor Swift’s long-awaited return to the forefront of pop. After 2015’s 1989, numerous turbulent relationships, a public unmasking via Kardashian, and a complicated legal battle, the song represents Swift’s full embrace of the dark side. As the first single released off Reputation, “Look What You Made Me Do” was met with waves of confusion when it dropped this fall. From the Right Said Fred sample to the thinly-veiled jabs at her detractors, nearly everything about this song was poked and prodded through upon it’s August 25th release. There’s a strange schadenfreude to watching the biggest pop star flail to spectacularly, but at the end of the day she’ll still make a million dollars, sold-out rock stadiums, and be more successful than the richest DC supervillain, so as much as I want her to succeed, I guess it’s also okay to laugh. I definitely haven’t “come around” to the song, and I doubt I ever will, but the air of “what the fuck” was palpable the night that this song was released.

Weirdest Flex

Winner: Lil Pump “Gucci Gang”

After a brief intro and meme-ready chorus on “Gucci Gang,” Lil Pump surveys his surroundings and begins to describe them in the song’s sole verse. “My lean cost more than your rent” he boasts, “Your momma still live in a tent” he continues, “Still slangin' dope in the 'jects / Me and my grandma take meds.” These lines are so outlandish and bizarre that I can’t help but love them. First, we get the worrying comparison between the upkeep of his own opiate addiction to monthly rent, then the (uncalled for) implication that the listener’s mother is homeless, and the final cherry on top: the fact that Pump spends quality time popping pills with his grandmother.

It’s actually one of Pump’s numerous references to the elderly on his scant number of released songs, leading me to think that this is either A) a genuine lyric, or B) a worrying cry for help. At least he’s spending some quality time with his elders before they pass. Even if it’s a drug-fueled haze, I hope that both parties treasure their remaining time together.

Runner-up: Drake “Gyalchester”

On one of More Life’s most hard-hitting tracks, “Gyalchester” finds Drake braggadociously displaying his opulence in rapid lyrical flashes. Halfway through the first verse, the song’s beat cuts out just long enough for Drake to exclaim “I don't take naps / Me and the money are way too attached to go and do that.” While the sentiment of money over everything is hardly new for the rap game, using naps as a framing device to explain how fond of currency you are is such a “Drake way” to go about it. At this point, Drake is far beyond the memes of his earlier career, but lines like this one are how he got that reputation in the first place. All this said, I’m not gonna begrudge anyone their beauty sleep or lack thereof, everyone has their own unique schedule... Plus the song bangs, so cornball lyrics are easier to overlook.

Most Abhorrent Cover Art

Winner: The Darkness - Pinewood Smile

I honestly don’t want to write too much because I just want to stop looking at this. The facial hair. The teeth. The nose ring. The Photoshopped band members. I’m sorry I had to subject you guys to this, but this abortion of a cover is too bad to not share.

Runner-up: Maroon 5 - Red Pill Blues

*Adam Levine walks into the studio*

“Hey, have you guys heard of Snapchat?”

Most Undeservedly Shit Upon

Winner: Arcade Fire - Everything Now

For the sake of ending on a somewhat positive note, I’m going to wrap up by talking about two albums that were widely disliked, but I managed to appreciate. First off we have Arcade Fire’s fifth LP Everything Now. While I did just spend a paragraph dunking on the album’s suicide track, I actually thoroughly enjoyed this record. I’ll start this off by saying I have no reverence for this band, I don’t care for their older work, and they’ve always struck me as a painfully average indie group. Perhaps thanks to this lowered expectation, I emerged from my first listen of Everything Now with a smile on my face. It was goofy and cheesy, and about as far from subtle as you can get, but I still enjoyed it for what it was. Since the album is in this “shit upon” category, I guess it goes without saying that I was largely alone in this sentiment.

Maybe people were turned off by the unrelenting social media campaign, or just expected more based on the group’s previous work, but either way, it seemed like indieheads the world over were sick to their stomachs after hearing this record. I personally think the album has a wonderful Abba-esque charm to it. There’s a tremendous melodic through-line with the titular “Everything Now,” there are memorable choruses on “Creature Comfort,” and even a gloriously chunky riff on “Chemistry.”

At the end of the day, I think I enjoy Everything Now for the same reason that I enjoyed M83’s Junk. I went into both albums with low expectations and ended up loving the cheesy throwback vibe that they embraced. I can totally understand why that pivot would turn off long-time fans, but apparently, this sound is right up my alley. It’s not going to be on my end of the year list or anything, all I’m saying is Everything Now is good for what it is. You know what? It’s great for what it is. If fans could take their blinders off, remove their feelings on the album’s lead-up, and take this as a standalone adventure, they would probably enjoy Everything Now for the goofy romp that it is.

Runner-up: Foo Fighters - Concrete and Gold

Even before Concrete and Gold was released, I saw about a half dozen articles about how the Foo Fighters have nowhere else to go and are the embodiment of “New Dad Rock.” While it’s true that the band is unchallenging to listen to and don’t exactly think outside of the box, the criticism is a double-edged sword. Aside from being a thinly-veiled put-down, the dad rock label means that Foo Fighters won’t ever release a “bad” record, but they’re also never going to release another “classic” like Colour and Shape. While I agree the group is in a weird spot career-wise, I resent the idea that they won’t ever release something impactful as Colour and Shape simply because they’re older. Apart from the fact that 2011’s Wasting Light was one of the band’s best, on Concrete and Gold we see a band that’s still incredibly hungry.

Eschewing the conceptual framing devices of their past couple releases, Foo Fighters set out to make a straight-up rock record, and they succeeded. The band still go through their usual motions, oscillating from biting punky tracks to slow moody epics, but as a whole Concrete is a record that’s well-paced, well-produced, and solid from front to back. Just because it’s played on the radio doesn't mean it’s an inherently “okay” album, and just because the band is growing old doesn’t mean they’re settling. Concrete and Gold is concrete proof of that.

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makknays · 7 years ago

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ich werde dich immer lieben. immer.

“ich werde dich immer lieben. immer.” ; “i will always love you. always.”

Liebe; German for love.

1. a strong feeling of affection.

genre: idol!reader, angst

word count: 2036

a/n: Manchmal ist es toll auf Deutsch zu schreiben obwohl ich nicht mehr so gut schreiben kann. Für unsere Yoongi! (trans: sometimes it’s great to write in german even though i can’t write so well anymore. for our yoongi!) Also this scenario is in English but I just wanted to write my prompts in German because it’s an amazing language and I miss speaking it on the daily :( (someone become my go to German speaking anon/friend pls)

“Ich habe nie für ein Moment geglaubt, dass ich dich nicht liebe! Ich werde dich immer lieben und das wird mir sehr weh tun.”

“Nein, ich könnte dich nie verlassen!”

“20170627, My Log. I’ve been in love with the same man for almost four years now; it’s been one hell of a ride. Y’know, they should name a rollercoaster after our relationship, it would be full of loops and high ups and fucking low downs, but that was the beauty of it all. Nothing was perfect. Even now. Today, everything was really starting fall apart. Why? Lemme tell you, even though I’m the only person who’s ever gonna see or hear these but that’s besides the point:

It was around 10 past 8 when I woke up this morning, nothing crazy or out of the ordinary. I had gotten used to waking up much earlier due to the idol lifestyle that I was leading but today was a day off, I was on hiatus, why? Because the boss told us all we need to rest and heal. I personally wanted to continue working, but I’m actually currently banned from the workplace. Anyway, so yeah, I woke up and did my morning routine, y’know, brushed my teeth, washed my face and applied whatever I needed to, no shower though, I’m a night time showerer; then I had my breakfast. A premade acai bowl, my personal favourite. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, my relationship.

So basically, I got a call from Yoongi, who I swear was sleeping over last night but had magically disappeared. He was like “Hey, babe? You up?”, so I told him I was and we had a quite mundane conversation until he’s like “Welp, gotta go, Stella (or whatever her name was) is calling! See ya later!” and I’m not the type to get jealous of him being friends with girls or whatever because frankly it’s his life but that’s not the point. This Stacey had been coming up in our conversations quite regularly and I had never questioned it until recently. He always seemed to make sure she was the number one priority and the only girl who isn’t a girl that has priority over me is Holly, Yoongi is whipped for him! But again, besides the point. Stephanie was kind of taking over Yoongi’s time and life, it was time for annoyed ___ to appear because this had been going on for months, and if you were me, you’d get it.

I was gonna go down to his studio to pay him a little visit but at the last minute decided to not and instead head for my favourite dog cafe, don’t tell Holly I show other dogs affection, he’ll be jealous. But yeah, I visited a couple of my favourite puppies, and saw the newcomers, which were a small group of shiba inus and pomeranians! They were absolutely adorable, again, don’t let Holly know. The puppies and dogs managed to distract my brain from the thought of Tiffany for hours on end until I got an abrupt call on my way to pick some food up at around 3pm. “___? Where are you? Why aren’t you at home?” a worried Yoongi asked me, I told him I was out, running some errands, if you count betraying your boyfriend’s dog as errands. He seemed very, dare I say, uncomfortable and worried about me being gone. “Can you come home quickly?” he asked me, I could hear him tapping his fingers on the railing of the balcony, but I told him I’d make my way over, this time, I was telling the truth and not betraying him like I did with his dog.

So, as soon as I opened the door I saw not only Yoongi but also the Bethany girl he had been talking about. “What’s up?” I asked him, acting very cautious around this girl I didn’t know. “Oh, umm, this is Brittani, (is that what her name was?) you know, the girl I’ve been telling you about?” he awkwardly told me but I greeted her anyway. “I’ve been told so much about you.” she said, she seemed a bit off, now, I’m not calling her dumb but she seemed like she had a couple secrets that she’d rather keep hidden, if you know what I mean, but anyway, I asked why she was here and Yoongi said he wanted to introduce me to her, I didn’t really believe him but I let my worries subside.

Now here I am, talking to this camera about by day, I’m still feeling iffy about this girl and for the first time, am feeling insecure in my relationship but it’ll be fine, right? At least I hope it will, 20170627, ___’s Log. Out.”

I shut the camera off and placed it back onto my bedside table, it wasn’t that I didn’t trust Yoongi but I had become worried. What if his love for me was dying out? They do say that one person will be more in love than the other person, what if that was true and Yoongi’s fire had just burnt out. Whatever the issue, I tried to sleep it off and hope the next day would be somewhat brighter and less daunting.

“20170702. ___’s Log. It’s been about five days since I’ve done a private log and it’s safe to say that I was feeling more down than ever. With nothing to distract me from my thoughts, not even work, because I couldn’t get back to that for another two days, the thoughts in my brain felt the need to take over and pull out many insecurities that I had once overcome in previous relationships.

What if he doesn’t love you anymore? He does, I hope he does.

What if he’s cheating on you with whatsherface? No, he’s not that kind of man, is he?

What if he’s already planning to move on? No, I believe in him, at least I think I do.

The thoughts were physically eating away at my brain cells and I just needed to film this log to let it all out, I guess.

I’m gonna take the opportunity to speak to Yoongi, even though I pray he never finds these logs: Yoongi, I’ve been in love with you for almost four years now, in fact, it’s been longer than that. I remember being in love with you, even before I had met you, silly, I know, but I looked up to you in so many ways and fell in love with who I saw on screen. I loved the concept of you and soon was able to love you, the man himself. We’ve been through alot together, we’ve fought maybe one too many times but we’ve gotten through it; you’re my partner in crime, my shoulder to lean on, my everything. But why do I feel like you’re not here anymore? I feel like you’ve become so distant that I don’t know who you are anymore, you’re always talking about that Brianna girl and even though she said you’ve spoken about me, do you speak about me in a good way to her? Do you tell her that you’re madly in love with me? Because that’s how I describe you to my friends and family. Either way, I hope you still love me because I will never stop loving you.

That was nice to get off my chest, I hope things resolve themselves and I can delete these logs before anyone ever sees them, I don’t wanna appear so vulnerable and full of emotion to anyone, it makes me feel so unsafe but anyway, 20170702 ___’s Log. Out.”

Once again, I shut the camera off but this time I transferred the logs I had filmed onto my laptop, so that I could make space for more in the future. Hopefully there wouldn’t be a need for more but I knew that there would be.

I was finally able to get back to work, back to seeing my members everyday, back to a less worrisome life. To many, the idol lifestyle would be nothing but pure stress but it distracts me from my personal life, which was the thing that was actually more stressful for me personally. I enjoyed being an idol, learning new dance routines and nothing could stop me from achieving whatever I wanted to.

“How was your week off?” Jihyun asked me as I stretched in preparation for dance practice. “Stressful, yours?” I asked in response. “The girlfriend got made at me for not telling her I had a one week holiday, she told me we could’ve gone away so I last minute booked flights to Japan.” he chuckled as he sat down opposite me. “So, talk to your leader, what’s stressing you out?” he smiled warmly as the other members started to flood the room. “Yoongi, he’s been distant. Like for a few months actually but I ignored it until now.” “I know how that feels, you gotta push through it, I know you’re a fighter, ___. Just hold your head up high because there is no man in this world that has power over you, except maybe our boss.” he joked, his lightheartedness really aided your mood in improving and soon the 7 of you were immersed in practice.

“What’s this?” Yoongi asked as he pointed at my laptop, I couldn’t quite make out what he was pointing to but as I walked closer to him, who was sitting on the edge of my bed, I saw that it was the logs I had been filming. He looked up at me, there were tears filling his eyes and his posture seemed weak and vulnerable. “Why were you looking at that?” I asked him before answering his question because it was obvious what they were. “I wanted to come over and surprise you with my presence but I got bored waiting and looked around; remember when this was just filled with pictures from our holidays, now look at us.” he scoffed as he placed his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Is this how you really feel? About me and Sophia being friends? About our relationship? About my love for you?” he wasn’t showing it but he was already letting his tears drop, not onto the floor though, only onto his hands.

“I can’t lie and say it’s not because the evidence is right in front of me.” I told him as I placed my bag on the floor beside the door and went over to my bed to retrieve my laptop. I placed it onto my desk and sat beside Yoongi, wrapping my right arm around his shoulders. “I have never, for a moment, believed that I don’t love you. I will always love and that will hurt me a lot. I can’t believe you thought I didn’t love you.” he muttered as he tried to compose himself.

I didn’t show it either but my tears were ready to flow down my cheeks, “You can leave me if you want.” I told him, even though I would never mean it. “No, I could never leave you!” he angrily shouted, getting up from the bed while doing so. “Why? You’re preoccupied with your own career and I have mine, you know, sometimes it’s better to let go.” I said before exiting the stuffy bedroom and making my way onto the balcony. “Why are you so prepared to leave me?” he whispered as he made his way onto the balcony. “I’m not, I just think it could be for the better, for both of us. Maybe, we need to refall for each other.” I told him as I grabbed him by his ice cold hand, that was stained with tears, onto the balcony. “As long as you never stop loving me because I am still so madly in love with you. And Sophia? Sophia wanted to meet you because of how perfect I told her you were.” he chuckled as he placed his hand on my own. “I’m far from perfect and that’s okay.” “Maybe we do need to refall for each other, so that I can remind you that you’re perfect to me.” he sighed as he removed his hand from my own to embrace me from behind, resting his tired head on my tired body.

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j-hankim · 5 years ago

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A Father’s Love

I woke up this morning crying. Rubbing the crust and tears off my eyes, I was grateful to be alive. I was relieved to be back in reality. The clock shows 9:30 and just another Sunday. The date marks June 9th, 2019. It was all a dream and no I never did read Word Up! Magazine.

I suppose I’ve always been a vivid dreamer. Sometimes I wish I had an artist’s soft and controlled touch so I could paint these pictures I see in my dreams but I suppose only words will do for now.

Closing my eyes again takes me back to the apocalyptic world that I dreamt about. Raindrops give kisses to the windows like a jazz percussionist’s soft touch on a snare. The sound is almost hypnotic if you were to listen carefully. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Your feet could bounce to its cadence if you paid close enough attention. Outside the confines of this vehicle however, the outside world is less serene. The sky bleeds with grim, dark clouds. You could almost smell it in the air. You might even be able to taste it if you tried hard enough. “It” being an impending storm and It’s stewing in the background. A tornado spins off in the distance, picking up wind and the water around it, but being who I am, I glanced at the danger, glanced away, and minded it no attention.

The van we’re sitting in isn’t the most comfortable either but it’s serviceable. We as in, my dad and I. It’s probably a good time to mention that my dad and I are one of many passengers on this van. My trance from nature’s percussion breaks as my dad tells me to be careful as if he can feel some impending doom. Per usual, I don't mind it much attention. At that moment, I shake my head and thinking, "So random. He's always such a worry wart..." A lot of my redeeming qualities are from my dad but in this case and comparison, I suppose I'm more of the type to just roll with the punches and take things as they come. Why worry? Everything in this life is up to the Man upstairs anyways. The only certainty is rooted in Christ.

Uncertainty is bounded by anything and everything else.

Where are we going in the first place? Why am I in a van? Our destination is unknown but it feels like a trip we had been planning for a while. The worn, grey cloth seats in the large passenger van welcome crashing waves of nostalgia. It's the same kind of car I've taken countless road trips with my second family, the church. A fond memory of my childhood it is, falling asleep on the shoulders of friends (and childhood crushes. Oops.), belting Chris Tomlin lyrics, and the excitement of traveling with the people near and dear to you.

After a few moments of daydreaming and pensively looking out the window, I snap out of my daze and see that our vehicle approaching a narrow bridge. As we reach its midpoint, I instantly feel a shadow creeping behind me. The temperature drops and there's a chill like a winter's breeze but I know it can't be just wind. This wind is more than just bite. There's no way it’s the twister I saw before but minded no attention to. I’m right but I wish I was wrong.

I look outside and a tidal wave extends past my uppermost view of the back window.

The towering wave beings to casts a shadow over our van and I think, "Is this it?"

My dad shouts “우리 하나. 안돼!” and everything goes black as the tidal wave engulfs our van.

*** For those of you readers that aren’t Korean, he said, “No! My son”, using my Korean name.

Everything turns black and we're submerged. Fight or flight kicks in as I quickly gather my senses, shelve my emotions, and remind myself there’s no time for panic. I immediately look for my backpack and grab the black Avtomat Kalashnikova pocket knife I always carry on my person. With its metal handle, I meet the back of the van’s window with desperation. After a few valiant attempts, the window runs deep with hairline cracks like a spider's web and cold-water rushes as if it’s in a hurry. Such a thin line between Life and Death, both wait for no one.

As the vehicle starts to sink and the water rushes in from above, I abruptly get pushed up from below. Without a question, I climb out and start swimming to the surface. The push for survival feels like an eternity but I begin to see a hazy light off in the distance and above me. Bearing resemblance to an abandoned streetlight on a foggy night’s day, I know it’s the light at the end of the tunnel. These feeble arms grow heavy but I continue swimming upwards, refusing Death’s tempting arms. As I gasp for air above the water and finally pull myself ashore, a vision comes and brings me to my knees. In some way, the truth makes me wish I succumbed to temptation and welcomed Death’s arms. Like a movie flashback, a scene shows our van slowly sinking to the bottom of the water with several other windows broken in.

It’s hard to say what exactly happened in the van (it’s a dream after all…) but in that moment, I knew that my dad broke the other windows for the rescue of others. I knew he was the one behind the aforementioned push from below. I knew he gave his life to save his only son. Only until I met fellow survivors ashore did the reality of his sacrifice hit me. Like a horror move on VCR, the scenes rewinded on loop in my headspace and I broke down. End scene.

It's not like I had some sort of life epiphany on a Sunday, 9:30 in the morning. Rather, the whole experience and the rollercoaster wave of emotions was sobering. Moving. Refreshing.

I cried not only because of the mourning of my father in this dream but because I was moved by a father's love for his child. I know without a doubt that if this situation played out in real life, he would have done the exact same.

I come from a background of immigrant parents that left everything they had in their home country, familiarity and especially comfort. All this for the pursuit of happiness and a better opportunity. In the 1980s, my father fled the streets of Seoul knowing the fast-life led to only two options: death or behind bars. Around the same time, my mother had left her cushy corporate career to pursue her life-long dream to become a fashion designer. Her uncle lived in New York as a pharmacist at the time and said, “Come here and follow your dream. I’ll provide room/board for you.” She ended up studying in New York for a year until she ran out of money and her visa neared its expiration date at the same time. They were introduced by a mutual friend at a Korean immigrant church in the city of Rockville. Church wedding bells would ring only three months later. Their decision to get married was driven by necessity and a lack of choice rather than “love”, a common theme in many immigrant households.

A Greybound bus rumbles down the New Jersey Turnpike as I wrap up this blog post. The timing of it all is a bit poetic, having this dream a week before Father’s Day and finishing it at the conclusion of our weekend trip. This getaway to New York City is significant and sentimental because it’s the first vacation my dad has had in over 30 years. His brother’s shop, a quiet dry cleaner’s in Southeast DC, is currently going through some re-leasing so he’s been decommissioned from his humble duty of cleaning and pressing garments for a few weeks now. His callous hands date back to the 1983. You could tell if you met him. His body and demeanor is inked with hard-work and diligence. The wear and tear of his job approaches 40 years now. We shared an embrace earlier today. We hugged for a moment after packing our things in our cozy hotel room in Korea Town, NYC. I told him Happy Father’s Day. He smiled and told me this weekend is the happiest he’s been in a long time.

If you knew me when I was in my early 20s, you’d know this weekend would’ve been something conceived out of pure fantasy. I think we often get naïve with blinding pride and a lack of knowledge. Our young age usually shows when with a lack of understanding, ignorance in other words. Until a couple year ago, the relationship with my father was very distant and broken due to misunderstanding, largely by me in retrospect. If you’re close to me or life has compelled me to open to you, you might know how God has turned a new leaf within me.

My change of heart wasn’t just a transformation of faith but a newly formed relationship with my dad. A relationship that is now grounded in faith, understanding, and listening.

Back in 2011, University of Maryland quoted 19th-century writer/philosopher Henry David Thoreau and asked its college applicants, “What’s your something?” What’s your purpose in life?

In ignorance fueled by blinded bitterness and angst, I stated that everyone can be a father but not everyone can be a Dad. A long 8 years ago, I wrote how my purpose in life is to become the man my father never was. The father he never was. The husband he never was. I wanted to give my children everything that I didn’t have growing up. I scorned my father and slandered his name. The passion I had but the knowledge I did not.

Since then, I’ve learned that forgiveness is a two-way street. After a rocky first year of college, God stirred something within me and compelled me to live with him in 2012. In that time, my father asked for forgiveness which I begrudgingly accepted. Living with him was hard and that relationship was never fully healed until 2014 or so.

At that time, Corey Matthews was a humble, soft-spoken manager at CarMax. We crossed paths because I worked here part-time while attending school. On a slow weekday night, we ended up candidly shared our life experiences and history. To my surprise, I found out he was also a professing Christian and we shared our testimonies. He would reveal to me that he also had a broken relationship with his father. That relationship never progressed until he asked for forgiveness. Not his father but COREY himself asked for forgiveness. He encouraged me to do the same, ask my father for forgiveness.

What?!?!

Me ask for forgiveness? Why? He’s the one that wronged me. He’s the one that wasn’t around. As I grew into my adolescence and teen years, I was envious of all the other dads I saw around in school and even at church. All those sports I played in high school, where was he?

Who taught me how to ride a bike?

Dribble a basketball?

Throw a baseball? I got onto Varsity HS baseball all by myself as a pitcher.

How about how to go on my first date?

How to drive stick? All ME…

If you’re a 90s baby, you’ll probably think fondly of The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

In season four, there’s an iconic scene from the episode “Papa's Got a Brand New Excuse”.

Will's father, Lou Smith, returns to his son's life after 14 years. Will is very happy about the chance to reconnect with his father, and the two start to plan a cross country trip together. Uncle Phil however, is not happy about the situation, believing that Lou has returned for his own selfish purposes and will most likely disappoint Will again. This proves to be true as Lou tries to leave again without telling anyone, and after building up his relationship with his son, but is caught by Phil. Lou is forced to explain the truth to Will and leaves, leaving Will heartbroken and wondering why his own father doesn't want him.

If you’re reading this, I highly recommend checking out the episode or at least the scene on YouTube.

I even remember I got into a big argument with him in elementary school and I told him, “Why are you talking to me? Do you even know my favorite color? My favorite animal?” He quietly went away after my outburst. I knew what I was asking of him and knew he would be speechless. I was so young and so naïve… At times, little children can be more hurtful than adults.

Corey challenged me to look within myself and ask where I fell short of perfection. All the time, no? Where I fell short as a son. Where I fell short as a sinner. In His 5th commandment, God called His people to honor your father and your mother. Corey challenged me to show grace because He showed us grace first. In 1 John 4:19 it says, we love because He loved us first.

My righteous justification slowly dissolved to humility at that moment because I realized Corey was right. Corey said with confidence that the relationship with my father would NEVER progress and reach full circle unless I ask him for forgiveness. I had sinned against my father in my bitterness, slander, and hatred and I needed to ask for forgiveness to both fathers, earthly and Heavenly. I did indeed ask him for forgiveness and there has been a 180 in our relationship.

Remember that statement I made in 2011? How my “something” in life is to be the man my father never was?

After asking for forgiveness and softening my calloused heart, I quickly realized what my father had done in all those years. Those lost hours in my childhood was due to his selflessness rather than selfishness. He worked 10 to 12 hour days to put food on the table as the owner of a small dry cleaner while my mom came home at 2:00pm like clockwork to pick me up from school. Those experiences I missed out on? He dearly wished to share those with me but being a small business owner didn’t allow him too. The laundry list goes on with what he wished he had done but couldn’t due to circumstance.

The beauty behind the turned leaf is how my something is now to be the man my father is. My purpose in life is to be like the man already was. He was never just a father. He was always my dad…

For those that are reading and have broken relationships with your fathers, I challenge you to look within yourself and see where you have fallen short. Grace and love go a long way and our Creator calls us to forgive. I’m not saying you should try to change 180 degrees overnight. My change was a gradual process that started with a changed mindset. A mindset that stemmed from open-mindedness and humility. I believe that if my calloused heart changed, with some dedication and perspective, yours can change too.

For those that are reading and do not have a father, whether they have been absent or no longer alive, know that you have a Heavenly father that desires to be present in your life. People in this life will always let you down but God never does. He is always present and always there. This God created you in His image and with a purpose for that reason. The Gospel presents a Father that gave his only Son, Jesus, to die for us sinners. Sinners that are undeserving of anything good and deserving of eternal condemnation because of the fall of Man. However, because of His love for his creation and his people and the sacrifice of His son, you are greeted with open arms and an eternal purpose if you believe this to be true. Jesus paid the price through His blood and it as because of His unconditional love for us.

For those that are reading, have a present father, but you’ve been neglecting your Heavenly Father, I challenge you to reconnect with Him. Christianity is the only religion that emphasizes a true relationship with your God. I know I fall short every day and I tell myself I’ll do better. Some days I do and some days I don’t. If you can get into the cycle of self-loathing like I do at times, be reminded that God shows us love and grace so we should do the same for ourselves.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading and I really hope these words speak truth into you. My inbox is always open for a wholesome DM if you’re curious about the Christian faith. This is the Good News and this is the truth if you’ve been searching for answers your whole life with no luck.

Happy Father’s Day.

- Josh

06/16/2019

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