#maybe meet your friends or maybe bask in solitude or maybe do both - you have a week after all!!

[rainc0at]

FEBRUARY IS NEARLY OVER GUYS!! HOLD THIS LAST WEEK IN YOUR HANDS AND MAKE IT MAGIC!!! READ!!! DANCE!!! SING!!! SURROUND YOURSELF WITH BEAUTIFUL THINGS - SUCH AS: LAUGHTER (EVEN IF IT'S YOUR OWN) AND ART AND GOOD FOOD!! INJECT SO MUCH LOVE AND BEAUTY INTO THIS FINAL WEEK!! WE WILL NEVER GET IT BACK!! MAKE IT BEAUTIFUL!!

[castlebyersafterdark]

raaah vinny I'm still thinking about that part of your drinking hc post where mike has a little group of more local friends, and the detail that he's the more subdued one but gets chatty once he loosens up makes me so giddy 🥹 we can see elements of that already when he's with the party

I also enjoy the idea that of course they have some circles of friends that are their own and not mutual! So on that note - do you think those friends have met will or seen pics? Is mike able to be out to them? Or they just know all about him in general because of course mike is gushing about him any chance he gets. I wonder if they ever had a night in drinking and mike hosted it so they got to see will's gorgeous self all cozy padding around his home, or if will ever does go say hi at the bar one time. so many thoughts, sorry I'm having hc's of your hc now 🙈

Yessss HCs of HCs is the joy of fandom, inspiration flowing. I really love and need to bask in the idea of Mike having a little group of new friends in his post-Hawkins, adult life. Because he's the type who could easily slip into solitude, or cling to just their partner, but I don't want that for him. Gotta envision a Mike with a support group and a friend group with the Party now split to different cities, etc. Still in touch, but it's different now. I like Mike because he's not easy to shove into a this-or-that, not everyone is so easily "introverted or extroverted" and he's a fun one to think about it. Comfortable, he's so charismatic!! Are these college friends, work friends? Maybe both. I like to envisioned he got an entry level kinda shit job at some publishing company right outta college, maybe a pal from school also got hired there, too, and they form a little group with some guys.

This got out of hand, the rest of this lengthy ramble under the cut:

Nerdy go-getter writer types, vastly differing personalities but it's a squad. Young twenty somethings in the city. Will has his art friends, Mike has this group. Mutual friends in common, too, but it's super healthy to also maintain your own things. I think they do eventually meet Will though, as time goes on. The college buddy already knows about Will, but with the new group? Mike's gotta test the waters, subtly discover vibes. Saying partner is still such a flag. It's the 90s but it's still only the 90s. He really likes these guys. I like to think in some way the college buddy makes some gay-positive comment at one point, which makes Mike's blood run cold at first, initial panic over the group's reaction, he meets his friend's eyes first out of fear but appreciation for taking the initiative and burden. But it's fine. Nothing makes it seem like the others are unsafe. Mike eventually jokes when one of the guys is trying to pick up girls at a bar, confirming he's spoken for. References his partner. Boyfriend is one of his favorite words but it's a terrifying word. But the implication is made, the groundwork laid.

Drinking one night, they're all a little lit up, laughing and venting about work. Hanging at the pool table, beer bottles filling the high top nearby. Mike on some ramble, slipping into waxing poetic about Will this, Will that. "Who's Will?" "His partner. Will's the best. Oh." His college buddy wants to sink into the floor, he fucked up, he fucked up big time. Mike breezes by with a dreamy "Yeah, Will's the best, the other day yap yap yap..." and all is fine, it's a natural addition to the conversation. Floodgates opened. The weight has left his shoulders. When they hang out and one of the guys talks about his girl, Mike adds an anecdote about his boy. Mike talks about Will's art expo, Mike mentions some movie he and Will saw together, Mike invites the guys over to watch some sports thing at his place one Saturday night. He could care less about the game, what sport is it again?

But he and Will have a really nice TV they splurged on for video gaming, and everyone gathers at their apartment for the first time instead of elbowing into drunks at the shitty sports bar they typically prefer. At home, totally comfortable. Mike initially the tiniest bit hesitant, but Will was so excited to finally meet Mike's friends. He'd been invited out to their drinking nights a few times, but Will hadn't yet taken Mike up on the offer, not wanting to intrude despite Mike insisting he'd want him there. That's Mike's thing. It's ok. But this is their apartment, their home. Will's having fun playing bartender, he mixes a mean drink, impresses one of the guys when he goes shot for shot with him at one point. Mike giggling and bright and beaming at the scene as Will makes tossing back liquor look graceful rather than sloppy like his pal. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand with a wink towards Mike, such a weak man when it comes to the sort of expression Will is sending him. Something exciting happens in the game. The group's raucous attention turns back to the screen. Will feigns interest but Mike's draped over him, hugging him from behind with his chin on Will's shoulder as Will braces to watch with palms gripping the couch, also pretending to care about sports.

They're both a little unsteady on their feet. Secure with each other even just feet away from the display of macho jubilation in the living room, funny to them because these guys are also all just such nerds too for the most part - young and hungry writers vying for a promotion or a big break, trying to make it in the industry, in the city, searching for connections and love and companionship all the same. Geeking out over the gaming systems neatly organized under the TV console, eager to dig into that once the football game is over. Including Will in conversation all the while and Mike really, really likes his friends.

Mike leads Will over to the big plush armchair diagonal in the living room, pushed up against the wall. It's so unhesitant and natural to fall into the chair like they often do, Mike half up on the armrest while Will curls up next to him, head tucked up under Mike's neck while Mike's got one arm loose around his waist, the other hand brandishing a beer. He's gesturing wildly with his hand as he rambles on about something in the game that he does not fucking understand while the other guys banter back. Will steadies his arm when the beer threatens to spill over them both. They're all laughing. One of the guys bemoans missing his girlfriend, says maybe he'll bring her next game since she kinda digs football, too, and their TV at home is garbage and she hates going to the bar. Will tells him to definitely bring her, tells everyone they should bring their partners if they have someone, they'll make it a whole thing in a few weeks for the Superbowl. His voice stutters on partner, despite the fact that he's currently sitting in a man's lap, unable to hide or deny. It's still an adjustment when unfamiliar eyes and ears are on him, after all this time. But, he has to be brave. He likes being brave when he can.

Everyone's down for the plan. He looks up at Mike, wincing a little, hoping he didn't overstep. He gets one of Mike's stunning, soft smiles that abates his worry. Mike hugs him closer, kisses the top of Will's soft brown hair that's tickling his nose. He's so damn happy. Both of them are. ❤️

[cafedanslanuit]

Hey, can I request a mysme matchup, please💕? Only if you want to and have the time, of course. I'm Bisexual, use she/her pronouns, and am INFP-T. I'm into various types of art (performing, fine, literature, liberal, etc.) but mostly focus on writing and I'm reserved until you get to know me. Once I've placed my trust in you, I can be very friendly and loud—I've also been told I'm very motherly and am often labeled as the mom friend. I try my best to be as fair and objective as possible, (1/3)

and do what I can to be supportive. I also, sometimes, get a bit protective of the people I care about. As I've never actually dated anyone before, or even been on a date, I'd say I'll probably be a bit shy in the relationship. I'm affectionate, but it takes a while to really show well? I get nervous a lot about whether I'm doing something right, or if it's okay to do this because I wasn't sure if I read the signals right, etc. But I am the type to crave attention and touch. (2/3) I love cuddling and just basking in each others' presence, and might feel a little insecure if I don't get any attention for a long period of time. An ideal date would probably be in a garden, or park, or at the beach, or somewhere with nice scenery and some solitude during a starry night. Doesn't matter what we're doing—eating, just laying on the ground to watch the stars, chatting. Sorry if this is too long, I tried to make it as short as I could!! (3/3)

it's okay! it's better when I have a good look at the personality ✨

I match you with Jaehee Kang!

Zen always makes fun of the fact you used to give each other the side-eye when you first joined the RFA and now you're the owners of your own cafe and the cutest couple he's ever seen.

Jaehee... she really needs a mom friend. Please make sure she has enough rest and proper lunch. You'd think now she doesn't. work at C&R is better but sometimes she gets so caught up with doing the books and running her business she may forget about her health.

She also loves your insights. Your opinion is very valuable for her, so expect a lot of questions and her asking for advice. She loves how you're really centred and can keep an objective mind.

When she was still working with Jumin, you ended up telling him off more times than you could remember when he asked Jaehee to work after hours.

You're both experiencing your first time at dating, so she'll be more than happy to take it slow.

It takes time for you two to actually start dating. She's also wondering if she's misinterpreting your signs and thinking maybe you just see her as a friend.

So it was actually Zen who got you together. He told both of you he had a friend that had seen you waiting for him during Zen's rehearsals and wanted the chance to meet and talk. He said they would be waiting in Zen's dressing room after Friday's rehearsals and that they would wear a golden scarf so you were sure who they were.

It was a great surprise when, as you were waiting for your mystery fan, Jaehee entered through the door wearing a golden scarf.

She was told the same, only you had insisted they wear something in golden to make sure it was really them.

Zen The Matchmaker™

Jaehee enjoys quiet and calm dates. Honestly, I think her language of love is quality time, so as long as you're by her side, she'll be delighted to do anything you want to.

She learnt to express her emotions better thanks to you, and you wouldn't believe the woman who fell asleep during a movie night with her head on your shoulder and her arm over your stomach was the same one you met a year ago.

"Do you ever think what you have happened if I had never downloaded that app?" you wondered as you looked at the night sky, filled with stars.

Jaehee and you had driven to the beach that Saturday night. You had put a blanket on the sand and had been lying for the last hour holding hands, talking to each other, both your eyes fixed in the stars above you.

"I'd probably still be Assistant Kang," she reasons with a small chuckle.

"You don't think you would have eventually left C&R?" you asked, turning your head to her direction. She did the same, a small smile on her lips.

"You were the one that gave me courage. If I'm living this life with you, something my wildest fantasies wouldn't even come close, it's because of you," she sheepishly admitted, a pink tint rising to her cheeks.

You squeezed her hand and grinned brightly at her.

"You made my life so much better as well," you assured her. After looking at each other for a moment, you both went back to looking at the stars and basking in the beautiful moment you were experiencing together.

[areiton]

the duty of love

a little post-endgame sambucky because I had feels. 

READ ON AO3 

~*~ 

Here's what Captain Goddamn America didn't tell you--

It's heavy.  

Vibranium is the strongest metal on earth, and it’s light. You picked it up, once, the shield, handed it to Cap as you took your place at his back, and he tossed it on his back, an extension of his own arm, you thought then.

It was light. Impossibly so. It confused you, then.

It confuses you now.

Because it’s yours, and it isn’t fluid, it isn’t an extension of your own arm, doesn’t respond to you the way it always did to him. It feels unfamiliar and unweildy and you think--maybe that’s just the way things are.

Maybe he was wrong, to chose you.

~*~

You think Steve Rogers had three great loves in his life.

Bucky Barnes was his first great love, the north star that guided every decision he ever made, the steady bedrock to his life.

Peggy Carter was his tragic second love, a woman caught in a war that saw him, that trusted him and helped him. You wonder sometimes, what would have happened, if he hadn’t put the plane down in the ice--if Buck hadn’t fallen from that train. If they all went home--which would he have chosen?

Or would it have been the shield? His third love, the one that shaped the man he became,  that taught him to love beyond the small confines of a Brooklyn boy pulled into a war too big for him.

You wonder, watching the sun rise and glint and shatter on the shield--you wonder if you could ever love it like that.

You wonder if you want to.

~*~

You put on the wings, stood at Steve’s side, and you figured out real damn quick being an Avenger meant everyone had an opinion. First it was just your mailman, dropping your USPS packages and a critique of the way you handled the Doombots in Central Park. Your barista flirting and giggling and telling you you were a hero. Your neice bragging about you to her class, cops hasseling you because if there was something they hated more than superheroes doing their jobs, it was a black superhero doing their job. Then it’s the new media talking about you and your military record, about your discharge and Riley’s death, it’s your boss--letting you go because you carried too much baggage--and it’s not as easy to shrug it off.

That was easier, than this.

Than the weight of it all. You wonder, sometimes, how Steve did it. How he held his head up when everyone was throwing stones and telling him it was wrong.

You smile at Fox News, you give sound bites to CNN, you ignore the endless blogs and pundits and when you’re exhausted and can’t do any more, when everything is never enough--you go home.

~*~

Bucky found the house.

It’s a small thing in the country, isolated but cozy, close enough for you to fly in without trouble. It’s out of the way enough that no one has pieced together where the new Captain America hangs up his wings at night. You know they will--but you savor the solitude while you can.

And Bucky has made it a home. It’s reassuring, stepping inside, the scent of fresh baked bread and savory stew heavy in the air, one of Buck’s cats bounding up and twisting around your ankles. Books are piled in stacks on every table and near the couch, and music hums low and soothing through the air as you makes your way to the kitchen.

Marvin Gaye. Bucky has been listening to him more often, lately.

You stand in the doorway for a long time, silently watching Bucky doing the dishes and murmuring to Bitch.

“He isn’t supposed to be on the counters,” you grumble, and Bucky flicks a smile at you over his shoulder. You don’t move, don’t do anything but stare back, steady and bland, because you don’t want him to see how much that smile means to you.

His expression twists a little, worry shading his eyes and scoops Bitch up with damp hands, passes her to you and you sigh, snuggle into her dark fur. “Bad day, sweetheart?” he asks and you close your eyes and nod. He makes a wordless noise and leads you to the couch, nudges Asshole and Princess aside so you are flanked by cats and brings you dinner and you think--

The world can go to hell, can hate and judge and find you wanting.

You will keep this.

~*~

Steve Rogers had three great love stories.

You only had one.

And you watched him die, unable to stop it, unable to help him.

Riley wasn’t your north star. He was your world, everything good and bad and mundane. You loved him in that way so few people get--completely, a friend, brother, lover. He was your partner, your shield in war, the arms that held you safe when your nightmares woke you screaming, the grin coaxing you to laugh, the asshole who left wet towels on the floor, and the warm weight in your bed.

He was everything.

And then he was gone, and it wasn’t like a bomb going off in your life, so much as an implosion, a black hole that dragged everything in until you were sure Riley’s death would kill you both.

~*~

You have new nightmares, after you come back.

The old ones too--the Winter Soldier ripping you from the sky, Riley’s scream cutting off with a sickening thud, Rhodes plunging from the sky, the saltwater choking you on the Raft.

But there are new ones.

Nightmares of endless mist and your body dissolving into nothing, dreams of Bucky’s voice, panicked and hurt and forever out of reach, and Riley screaming your name overlaying his until you were sure who was calling you, only that you had to answer.

You dream of Russian words chanted in a cold cadance, and soft gray eyes cold and lifeless and metal hands around your throat.

You dream of a house on fire and Bucky frozen and falling under the crushing weight of a shield you aren’t sure you want.

You dream and you dream and you dream and wake yourself from the nightmares and always--Bucky is there.

He curls next to you on the couch, and Princess digs her claws into your thigh and his soothing Russian lullaby soothes you into a dreamless sleep.

~*~

Bucky doesn’t fight. Some days, when you come in and strip out of your gear--you see the familiar old longing in his eyes, the itch for the fight battling with how tired he is.

You always feel guilty for that.

Because he is here, and you think--it would be easier for him to be at peace if he were anywhere else.

Living with Captain America, he will never truly rest.

You think about it, and sometimes, it sits on the tip of your tongue. The offer to let him go, to reassure him you’ll be ok, on your own.

You always swallow them back. You are too selfish to voice them.

He wouldn’t listen or believe you, even if you did.

~*~

This is a truth you know--when you come home, Bucky will be waiting.

You slip in, and you are bloody and tired, too tired to bother with the Compound and the debrief. Carol had given you a concerned look, like she wanted you to stay and you stepped away from that concern because Bucky was waiting.

He is.

He’s sitting on the couch, a book forgotten in his lap and he stills when he sees you.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you say.

He makes a low, furious sound, stalking across the living room and into your space, but for all of his rage, his hands are gentle, fingers barely there brushes as he traces the bruises, the still bleeding cut on your lip and forehead.

“Ribs?” he asks, a low murmur and you nod, lean into him as his arm comes around your waist and it’s not what you want, his touch is gentle and caring but it’s not laced with love and tenderness the way you want.

But as you let him pull you gentle into the bathroom, let him clean your wounds and bind your ribs and wash the blood from your hands--you think this is enough.

If this is all he can ever give you, it is enough.

~*~

You wondered, at first, why he chose you.

Bucky Barnes was his best friend, his great love, his north star.

And he gave you the shield.

But as you carry it.

As you struggle under the weight of it, the expectation that comes with it, the responsibilities of it--you understand.

He would never give this to Bucky.

He loved Bucky too much.

You hate him, sometimes, for that--but you understand it too.

You love Bucky too much to give it to him, too.

~*~

Steve Rogers had three great loves.

You--you don’t.

You loved Riley, will love him always, you think. A love written in your bones, so deep and indelible you couldn’t scrub it out if you wanted to.

And you love Bucky.

Quiet and grumpy and beautiful and steady--he has become the whole of your world, and when you pick up the shield, you wonder if it’s for the world, or for one man and his three cats and the peace your blood buys.

~*~

The world picks you apart.

You fight, limp away, sway under the weight of a duty you never wanted, never asked for, don’t know how to shoulder.

And gray eyes steady you, strong hands--metal and flesh--hold you up, warm arms pull you close when nightmares chase you in the dark.

You wonder if he stays, because of the shield or because of you, but you never ask.

The world picks you apart, pries at the hairline fractures the weight of the shield splinter to the surface--and Bucky holds you together.

~*~

You find him on the porch, barefoot and sleep warm, sit close and he leans his head against your shoulder, long hair tickling your bare skin, and the sun rises, and you bask in it, in this stolen moment of peace and quiet.

“Are you happy?” he asks, and you nod against his hair.

“With you, I am.”

He shivers, a little, and you almost pull away, but his hand slips around your waist, holds you still.

“Are you happy carrying the shield?”

You pause, and eyes as pale as the pre-dawn sky meet yours.

“I’m happy you don’t have to,” you say, too honest, too tired to lie. Your breath catches, and Bucky’s smile--

His smile is blinding and beautiful, and you taste nothing but joy on his lips when he kisses you.

[tastefullynefarious]

Torment never looked so goddamn fine

Chapter 3 / 10 - Kansas - Carry On Wayward Son 

Words:  3,387

Warnings: Stuff!, you can kinda see what to expect from the moodboard lol, SMUT!, emotions i think?, probably typos.

I was going for something, not sure how well it translated from my head but hope ya’ll enjoy! 

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°

Masquerading as a man with a reason

My charade is the event of the season

And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don't know

On a stormy sea of moving emotion

Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean

I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say

Carry on my wayward son

For there'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more

Billy had no idea if she'd still be there, but he didn't know where else to go, didn't have where else to go. In hindsight, it hadn't been his initial choice. He tried the quarry first but it was buzzing with horny teens basking in the late afternoon sun. He even went to stumble into the forest hoping for some alone and quiet, but he almost bumped into the chief of police, a trail a yellow flags in his wake. Billy didn't know if he had the energy to explain his bloody face nor to find out what was the cop doing. So he just hopped back into his car and drove aimlessly for a while, warm blood seeping from above his right eye. Passing by Motel 6 had been nothing more than pure coincidence. Sandy had been a good fuck, a great one even, but she was not his friend and definitely not his savior.

Despite his little rant, as soon as he saw the sign he turned the steering wheel and entered the parking lot almost mechanically. He passed the rooms on the ground floor, 01 to 10, in a daze. Would she still be there? Would she even open the door if she was? He went up the metal stairs and counted the doors, 11, 12 and finally 13, the world slightly spinning, or maybe it was just his pounding head wound. She was still a stranger despite their little midnight encounter a few days prior, she owed him nothing. If she was behind that door, she would send him away. He was not her problem, not her responsibility. Not a charity case.

The door flung open before he beat down this pride enough to knock.

"Well shit. Come on in." It was all she said as she stepped aside and he didn't question her sanity for letting him follow. Even in his state, blinking briskly to keep the blood out of his eye, it was hard not to notice she was only wearing an almost sheer bathrobe, her lean legs in full view.

She guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, gathering the notes and pages scattered on the mattress with some urgency before coming back with a first aid kit and began checking on his bleeding temple. Her cool fingers were already doing wonders for his headache. He relaxed into her touch, hands moving his head to find better angles with a steadiness and dexterity that only came from experience. His eyes never left her, the question of what was her story resurfacing like an undertone in the storm of thoughts that was raging in his mind.

"It's not that bad, head cuts just tend to bleed a lot." It was strange, the way all his wounds seemed to hurt less when she was the one treating them, her hands not particularly light as she whipped the blood away. And stranger still that she seemed to be able to find all the sore spots that weren't even visible, pressing her fingers to his side to see if his ribs were cracked. She even poked at his knee, an old surfing accident that didn't usually bother him, but a weak spot that his father sometimes exploited, knowingly or not. "Nothing's broken, but you should really watch yourself for a while. Stay off that leg as much as possible."

"Doesn't hurt much..." It was more of an afterthought. He knew the pain of broken bones well and that was not it. But she gave him a half smile, her eyes averting from his fast. His hands balled into fists at his side, anger running hot beneath his skin. He hated it, the pity, the walking on eggshells around him like he was one step away from breaking. He loathed himself even more because it was very close to the truth. But Sandy didn't seem to notice his fury, or chose to ignore it completely, picking up his left hand instead. Her brows furrowed as she examined the fast forming bruises on his knuckles, his fingers loosening at the unexpected touch.

"You should take a shower first. Then I'll bandage this up." He opened his mouth, but she was faster. "No complains, Billy! Get in that shower."

"You just want me naked." She faked an overly dramatic gasp, hand brought to her gaping mouth and wide doe-like eyes, but she was already moving backwards towards the door Billy assumed was the bathroom.

"Even if you discovered my wicked plan to get in your pants, you're not getting out of this, mister." There was a deafening silence left behind her as she disappeared from view and it rubbed Billy wrong. He shouldn't have come! Why did he? His usual routine would have been to seek an abandoned place where he could lick his wounds in solitude. So what brought him to this stranger's room? Sure, a part of him had been certain that he would only find an empty space, no traced left behind the mystery Florida girl named Sandy. But she had been still in town, still at the cheap motel, so what was he still doing there, sitting on her bed, waiting for her to dress his wounds for him? The damage was not even that bad this time around, the pain having mostly subsided already. He was left… numb, an endless black void inside of him screaming to be filled with something, anything, else.

Billy got up from the bed faster than he intended to, stumbling on the short distance to the bathroom. She was slightly bent over to reach the faucets, adjusting the water temperature. "Fucking finally. Get it."

Sandy sauntered towards the spot just past the doorway where he seemed to have caught roots. His eyes were dark, face set in all hard lines and jaw clenching. Paired with all the bruises and overall scuffed up appearance, he looked dangerous, the bad boy mothers warned their daughters about, the hungry wolf stalking the pen. The corners of her lips curled in a playful smirk, hands already tugging at his shirt. She pulled it over his head, her powers alerting her of the strain in his shoulders so she turned his dial lower. It was a risk, too much and he would start noticing something was off. Billy had other things on his mind though. One swift pull on the cord that held together the thin robe covering her and it was pooling at her feet, only a pair of lacy panties underneath. The snarl that came out of his sinful mouth was all kinds of cruel, his shoulders straightening as he inched even closer into her personal space.

"Were you already expecting company, doll?" She batted her eyelashes, eyes all big and feigning innocence.

"I was hoping you'd come around-" It seemed to be the correct answer, his mouth on hers barely letting her finish the last word. He pushed her backwards towards the shower and she made fast work of his jeans and boxers. In turn, he ripped the fragile lace than hung on her left hip letting the panties slide down her other leg just as they reached the shower.

The water was steaming, leaving their skin red and raw. Sandy turned their pain down another notch, breaking the kiss to wipe the blood from her nose, but masking it by quickly starting to nip and kiss down his throat. He let his head fall backwards as she went lower and lower, nails digging in his sides. A small groan escaped his lips and she thought he was enjoying it, but was surprised when he pulled her up and pushed her against the tiles rather forcefully, both her wrists caught in a vice like grip above her head.

On any other given day Billy would have more than welcomed her to wrap those lips around his cock, but he was desperate for something else. He lifted one of her legs, a jolt passing through his wrecked arm, but he ignored it, the pain already fading under the boiling water. He was inside her in one swift motion, her back a perfect arch and head pushed back against the hard wall. They settled in a frenzied rhythm, bodies slamming into one another with a ferocity that could almost be mistaken for passion. She moaned loudly and his eyes were drawn to her face, eyes half closed and lips parted. And blood flowing from her nose, still evident even under the heavy stream. She must have caught on his worried expression, his pace slowing down.

"Shit! Don't you dare stop now, Billy!" She rolled her hips with force and he followed suit, his thrusts becoming long and deep rather than fast. He let go of her wrists and wiped the blood off, her arms snaking around his neck instantly. She kissed him as soon as his thumb brushed away from her face, biting his lower lip and sucking on his tongue, teeth clashing as they rushed towards their releases. His now freed hand found her waist and pulled her even closer, fingers imprinting five dotted bruises on her skin. He wrapped her leg around, freeing his hand to tease her clit and she let out something between a moan and a scream as they both came, seconds apart. She rolled her head forward, resting it gently against his. The gesture was far from new yet somehow still foreign and he took a sharp inhale, the steam filling the minuscule motel bathroom making it particularly difficult. He checked her face for any signs of distress, but her eyes were closed and there was no more blood.

"You okay?"

"Better than." She lifted her eyes to meet his, but started coughing almost immediately. "But we should really get out of here before our skin melts off or we suffocate."

She untangled herself from him and turned off the water, the absence of both her body and the hot pour making him shiver despite the temperature still high in the small fogged up space. He followed her into the room, his eyes settling on her back. In better lighting he could finally see the long gashes marring her skin and they looked like anything but accidents. His hand shot up to trace one, but a baggy shirt was covering her before he could. She picked up the first aid again and sat on the edge of the bed, one leg underneath her. The burn-mark on her leg ran all the way from her the middle of her upper thigh to her waist line where he'd felt it.

"Sit." She patted the spot besides her, the tone of her voice sparking a little defiance in him. No one told him what to do! But he sat down nevertheless, towel wrapped around his waist. She was only helping him after all. She'd done nothing but help, taking his mind off of his father, off the aches in his beaten up body. He stared at her concentrated expression as she applied some cream on his shoulder, delicate fingers massaging it into his skin. When she moved to bandage his hand, he snapped at her a little, eyes averting from her when he thought she hadn't deserved it.

"Are you not even going to ask?!"

"Are you going to be honest if I do?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"Well, that is refreshingly sincere." She continued her little ministrations unaffected by the exchange, while Billy was having a small breakdown on the inside, thoughts forming in his head only halfway through before another idea took their place, all mixed with images of his mother donning identical bandages and bruises to his own. Sandy's voice silenced the madness, cutting through it like a beam of light in the dead of night. "It's not hard to guess though. You already established your father is an ass, I just didn't realize how much of one."

Sandy let her hand fall on his chest and trail all the way down to where she knew the ribs were injured. She read his cuts and bruises like braille, each ache on his body mapped in her head and telling a story. Her powers allowed her to see the big picture better, distinguish between what was new and old. Her voice came out a little shaky as her eyes finally shot back to find his blues. "It happens often, too."

"It was my fault."

"I sincerely hope you don't mean that." When he gave no response, she caught his face between both her hands, thumbs pushing away some of the wet strands of hair. "There is nothing you could have done to deserve this from your dad. Any of it." He would have looked almost cute, a lost little puppy, if his eyes weren't so tired and sad. She could see in them that he didn't believe a single word she had uttered.

Billy stared back at the young woman, a range of emotions washing through him. It started with a seeping anger: who did this girl think she was? She knew nothing about him. It went on to a polar opposite calm curiosity: what had she been through? She looked like she'd seen some shit. It did a back-flip to annoyance: she was acting all high and mighty, but she was running away from her problems just as much as he was, she admitted it that night at the quarry.

Finally, Billy decided he wasn't up to reliving the 'fight' with his father, the memory still just a few hours old. There was no need for her to know how he disrespected Susan, reminding her that she'd never compare to his mom, and the unfortunate matter of Neil hearing him say it. In truth, he had no quarrel with Susan. She was the one who convinced his father to eventually let him buy the Camaro and not just take his hard earned money, arguing it would be useful to have another car. He just- he couldn't think clearly when she was trying so hard to replace her. There was also nothing heroic or dignifying about his torn knuckles, the wall he'd punched repeatedly in frustration the clear winner of the altercation.

Sandy's hands finally slipped away from his cheeks, accepting that he was not going to open up, and rested on her lap. He found his eyes drawn again to that little scar in the corner of her upper lip.

"What about you? Done anything to deserve that?" He gestured to his own lip, resisting the instinct to feel it with thumb. He was expecting some kind of sob story, but her face lit up with laughter.

"Never run around with scissors, that shit is real." He lifted an eyebrow, her words making close to no sense. Had she injured herself? Was she that big of a klutz? She just shrugged in turn. "What can I say, I was a bit of a mess a few years back. A walking danger zone." He wanted to ask more about that particular time of her life, but she shook her head dismissively before he ever got the chance. So he moved on to the next scar.

"And that?" He traced his fingers this time along a long gash peeking out of her short sleeve. It wasn't too obvious, barely a faint line a few shades lighter than her skin.

"Hmmm, got it in a bar fight."

"Bar fight?"

"Yeah. Believe it or not, some men are offended by my personality." There was an implied 'unlike you' at the end of her sentence, her eyes burning into his. Or so he liked to believe. "You should have seen the other guy though." The corners of his lips curled into a proud smirk. He could almost picture her, spunky and wild, breaking a bottle over some douchebag's head, taking no shit from anybody. He reached for her thigh, brushing his fingertips from the normal, soft skin to the rougher, scorched patch. It was almost three of his hands spawns wide, red and angry. He couldn't even begin to imagine how it would feel, the flesh sizzling and shriveling up.

"Must have hurt like a bitch." She shrugged again and he couldn't quite make it if it was bravado or she genuinely was over it.

"I don't really remember. Feels like it was a lifetime ago." She touched the mark herself, her eyes following his to it but not really looking. Her fingers brushed against his and he caught her hand without thinking. Which brought him in an odd stance, caught between wanting to pull her in and realizing he should push her away. The latter won by a landslide.

"I should go." It was getting late and there was no more reason to stay, she had served her purpose. He'd already spent more time with the chick than he usually did after a round of sex and he didn't want her to get any ideas. He went straight to the bathroom to gather his clothes, still damp from the steam and water they splashed around. It mattered little, the need to bolt out the door rising by the second.

Sandy didn't know what she'd done to offend him so, but it was not like she had been expecting him to stay over. From her experience with people in general, limited as it was, she thought she had a pretty clear picture of Billy's type. It was, in retrospect, not so different from her own. They both had walls put up, thick and high and mighty impenetrable. She was proud to be getting better at opening up and accepting her past as a lesson learned, but she had the advantage of breaking free of her torment. Billy stilled seemed to live it on a daily basis.

She was rummaging through some leftover pizza boxes when he came out of the bathroom looking confident and stone cold, ever the charming devil, but he wasn't fooling her. He went straight to the door to get his leather boots and Sandy took the opportunity to feel his sore points again, making sure she could keep the pain levels lower for him even from a distance. It was going to be a bit of a struggle to keep that up long term, but it was something she could at least try. When he nodded at her and opened the door, she crossed her arms.

"Billy!" He turned towards her, one foot already out the door, eyes wild with an emotion she couldn't quite place. She worded her next sentence carefully, not wanting to sound neither needy nor indifferent. "My offer still stands, you know? Come over anytime."

"Already miss me, doll?"

"You read me like an open book. Can I hide nothing from you?" She couldn't resist rolling her eyes. He was such a duffus. A drop dead gorgeous one, completed with the emotional fucked up baggage. He chuckled at her deadpan expression, the sound pure and honest. She'd succeed in not scaring him off. Probably.

"See you around, Sandy."

"See ya, Billy."

She watched him go from the doorway, followed him while he crossed the parking lot and started his car, her eyes narrowing when he drove off into the setting sun. He was still on the back of her mind when she was arranging the files on the lab and ever present in her thoughts as she brushed her teeth before bed. She was convinced she had Billy all figured out, but he was not the problem. She wasn't sure what her next move was with the whole Upside Down situation, or where to start looking for El and the other MKUltra kids. She didn't even know for how long she'd be in Hawkins. Only one thing was beginning to be certain though, the idea forming and cementing itself deep into her brain.

She had to pay Neil a visit before she skipped town.

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

I now have a Tag list, OMG, so precious  (*≧ω≦*)

Let me know if you want to be added (or if I’m doing this wrong O_O)

@letsloveimagines ; @nightcraver

[jinris]

pink in the night, pt. 2

(ao3) - part one cw: underaged drinking

it’s like a summer shower with every drop of rain singing “i love you, i love you, i love you! 

---

“Friends don’t kiss their friends,” Keith finally says. His voice is nearly a whisper, lost in the sickening sea of overpowering dance beats, and yet Allura hears it as clear as day.

She can’t bear the look in Keith’s eyes, hardened and utterly expressionless. It’s her least favorite look. Keith pretends he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeves, but his eyes change like the seasons with every emotion. Knowing Keith better than anyone else, Allura has memorized them all. Now, shielding himself from impending heartbreak, he stares at her like a stranger.

“We’re just…we were just fooling around,” she answers, but it feels like someone else’s words. Allura anxiously tugs at her jacket sleeves, and she hopelessly searches for any hint of affirmation in Keith’s eyes. Her chest feels so heavy, and her voice falters when she speaks.

“…Right?”

If she could just…

Allura reaches for his arm, needing to know and needing him, but Keith pushes her hand away and she flinches.

He’s never done that before, and she can’t understand why.

“I don’t want to fool around with you.”

Keith’s words rip the air from her throat, flow through her veins like fire. Allura’s eyes widen.

“I…this was a mistake,” she says, voice quivering. “Even better, it never happened.”

“Allura, don’t,” Keith exasperates.

Allura shakes her head and closes her eyes, refusing to look at him any longer.

“Take me home.”

For a long time, Keith says nothing. He studies the dark, perfect blush of Allura’s cheeks, the way she avoids his gaze right now, and he comes to some tacit understanding. He frowns, berating his own frustration and impatience. Keith wants so badly to be infuriated with her, to forcibly kiss her until she sees it his way, to forgive and agree with her, to maybe finally move on. Every option fiercely contests within him, but one thing remains vividly clear. And so, he sighs.

“Okay.”

---

Scattered stars shine faintly in the cloudless sky despite the unnatural line of flickering streetlights. Keith and Allura follow familiar sidewalks back to the street they’ve both lived on since she was four and he was five. Eyeing her left, Allura sorely notices the tiny fraction of greater distance that Keith has put between them.

The walk home is unnervingly silent until they reach the front steps of Allura’s house.

Taking a deep breath, Allura turns around to Keith one last time before she heads in. A few seconds pass as she builds up courage.

“See you Monday?”

Keith musters a small smile, and Allura’s heart drops to her stomach.

“Good night, Allura.”

---

“Of course I don’t like him. I don’t like it when you’re with him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? He’s my best friend, Lotor.”

-

“You’ve been weird ever since Christmas. Something happened, didn’t it? I knew you should have come with me to the party instead of your family thing.”

“Nothing happened that night.”

-

“I’m tired of this, Allura. It’s either him or me.”

 She’s gotten used to the quiet walks home from school. For mid-January, the sun is unapologetic, and the weather a little too warm. These days, when she’s not attending student government meetings, Allura practices with the school varsity dance team. By the time she finally leaves campus, the sky is already dim, having already decided what color palette it wants to be that evening. Today, it’s elected on cotton candy pink and periwinkle blue.

Allura pulls out her phone and takes a picture of the pastel sky that hardly does the real thing justice. She sighs softly, stuffs her phone back in her jacket pocket and adjusts the textbooks in her arm.

She doesn’t mind the solitude in walking home alone. In fact, she prefers it to the high-energy, dramatic commotion favored by a good number of her high school peers. With Lotor, and his friends by proxy, out of her life, Allura feels a sincere peace she hasn’t felt in months.

Looking forward into the horizon, Allura realizes she’s arrived at the park near her house and sees in the distance a familiar figure resting against the slide.

Grinning, Allura fixes her jacket and looks both ways before crossing the street. She tries to maintain the element of surprise, treading lightly on playground gravel as she approaches the slide.

“Hi, stranger,” Allura greets shyly, peering over curiously.

The edge of Keith’s lips curl into a small smile before he peeks out from one eye to confirm his suspicions. Arms extended behind his head and acting as a pillow, Keith takes in her presence and closes his eye again once he memorizes Allura’s rosy, wind-chilled cheeks and adorably tousled hair.

“What are you doing here?” asks Keith, half-seriously. “I thought we were picking up the decorations for Hunk’s birthday tomorrow.”

“Oh, I was in the area,” Allura replies playfully, setting down her backpack and crouching down to Keith’s level. “I just came from school.”

“Lotor drop you off?”

The smile on her face disappears.

Oh, right.

Allura inhales sharply.

She hadn’t told him yet.

Chest tightening, moderate panic starts to sink down into her stomach. Allura anxiously chews her lip, running through all the possible scenarios that could only follow Keith’s question.

“Um, no. I, uh, broke up with him.”

For every long, agonizing second that Keith is silent, Allura berates herself for not telling him sooner. Who waits this long to tell their best friend that they’d broken up with someone? She stares at him intently, holding her breath for his response.

“When?” he asks quietly. He doesn’t look at her.

“Two weeks ago,” Allura answers nervously.

“Oh.”

Quiet again. Allura wants to hide behind her hair, or run away or something.

“Sorry things didn’t work out,” Keith adds.

Allura teeters uneasily against the edge of the slide, choosing to focus on Keith’s unbuttoned red flannel and plain white shirt underneath.

“It’s fine. We just didn’t agree on some things, in the end. I’m not upset,” she explains, her eyes flickering to Keith’s face.

He doesn’t say anything, but Allura watches the covert rise and fall of his chest as he takes a deeper breath than usual. Then, Keith opens his eyes and turns his head toward her.

“How was dance practice?”

Allura exhales in immense relief, grateful that Keith had decided to change the subject. She hadn’t been ready to explain the often inevitable follow-up interrogation as to why they had broken up, and she certainly hadn’t wanted to tell Keith about the ultimatum Lotor had given her. In fact, while she’d told Romelle and her other friends, she had conveniently forgotten to reveal the real reason why she and Lotor had broken up.

She gives him a tired smile.

“Exhausting. Nationals are coming up so we’ve been running through our routines pretty hard.”

“Think you’ll place?”

“We have to believe that, don’t we?” Allura shrugs.

Keith nods languidly in agreement, turning back to face the sky and setting sun. Because he surely won’t notice her, Allura takes the time to admire the relaxed expression on his face. Keith has always preferred the outdoors, and basking under the light of the fading sun, he seems to belong inside a portrait of earthly nature, an exquisite product of the stars. Most importantly, he is her best friend and she’s made the right choice. Desiring his attention, Allura gives in to the urge to grab onto Keith’s flannel shirt and acts upon it without a second thought.

Just as she expects, Keith promptly glances down at her hand, and then to the rest of her.

“What are you thinking about?” Allura asks.

“What I want to eat for dinner.”

Allura presents an unamused look at his absurdly mundane answer. Keith sits up on the slide, finding her hand and keeping it pressed against his waist.

“My mom has a staff meeting tonight and Dad’s on a double-day shift. It’s just me so I don’t feel like cooking,” he explains.

“Well then,” Allura begins, eyes now glimmering with excitement, “Would your feelings change if you had to cook for two?”

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“My parents are going out on a date,” she clarifies, “So I’m home alone all night. I was just going to order pizza, but if you’re cooking…”

“Are you seriously inviting yourself over for free food?” Keith quickly interrupts.

Allura pouts a little too innocently for Keith to easily disregard and he sighs, unfortunately aware that he’s never unable to deny her when she presents herself in such a way. He grasps her hand a little tighter.

“Fine,” he says, to Allura’s genuine delight. “But it’s just going to be leftover ramen.”

“I love your dad’s homemade ramen though! I want extra chashu with mine,” she grins.

“No green onions?”

Allura nods eagerly, and Keith can’t help but chuckle. He releases Allura’s hand, but she doesn’t care to let go.

“You’re helping with the dishes though.”

“Of course.”

Keith plants his hand firmly on top of her head and stands up. He bends down and snatches Allura’s backpack, swinging it over his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s go,” he says, and Allura gladly springs back up to her feet. They walk down the winding, concrete path, back to the street, in the direction of Keith’s house.

“Oh, and can we go out for milkshakes after? My treat.”

“Who’s going to drive?” Keith asks rhetorically.

Allura giggles, skipping a step sideways and hugging his arm tightly.

“You.”

Keith rolls his eyes but quietly leans into her touch.

“Didn’t even need to ask.”

---

“You fell asleep on me last night,” Allura grumbles as she slams the passenger door to Keith’s old, red pickup truck. “Hold this.”

Keith takes the lavender coffee mug from Allura’s waiting hand. As soon as her hand is free, Allura dumps her textbooks in the space between them and quickly fastens her seatbelt. Sighing dramatically, Allura closes her eyes and slumps into her seat.

“I tried to stay awake but who studies until two in the morning?” Keith explains, staring at Allura’s frazzled appearance with deep amusement. With the mug still in his hand, he steals a sip from coffee but immediately makes a face.

“Gross. Hazelnut.”

“It’s always hazelnut. Give it back,” Allura pouts, anxiously extending her hand out for her much-needed caffeine. Keith carefully sets it back in her hand. “I have six tests today. My teachers are conspiring against me.”

Allura brings the lid opening to her lips and drinks a long sip of hot, creamy hazelnut coffee as Keith pulls out of her driveway and starts their way to school. After a moment, Allura rubs her eyes and forces them open, intently fixating on the gloomy sky in front of them. Keith glances over, catching her in the act, and frowns.

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

Allura sighs and tiredly pulls at the jacket sleeve falling off her shoulder.

“I don’t know, two hours maybe. I was still awake at four, I think.”

“I wish you’d slept more.”

“I know, so do I,” Allura replies wistfully. “I was just so worried and lost track of time. I’ll make it up tonight, I promise.”

Keith chuckles.

“I don’t think it works like that.”

“I know that too. Junior year is the worst.”

Allura huffs and grabs her AP physics textbook from the pile, finding her page marker and opening the book to the chapter where she’d left off for one final review.

“You’ll do fine,” says Keith. He turns to her and smiles encouragingly when Allura looks up. Her shoulders relax. She takes a deep breath and responds with a small smile of her own.

“Thanks. Now stop bothering me.”

For the rest of the day, Allura’s mind focuses obsessively on passing her tests. After Keith parks his car in the student parking lot, they stop by their lockers – Keith’s first so he can pick up his economics textbook, and then Allura’s, where their friends like to congregate before first period. Braving the cold February weather as they stand in front of her locker, Allura, Hunk, and Pidge discuss and exchange notes for the test, while Keith, Romelle, and Lance socialize unobtrusively. A moment later, Pidge ducks out of the group, phone in hand, stating some important business related to Matt and Nyma that Allura doesn’t care to question, preferring her flashcards on the rudimentary theories of magnetism and optics.

Allura flips incessantly through the pages of her physics textbook, ignoring the nearby commotion surrounding Matt’s loud declaration, his showy red and pink poster, and Nyma’s blushing delight. Absorbed in theorems and equations, it takes a moment for Allura to realize that the first bell has rung.

“Time to face the music,” Hunk groans, snapping his textbook shut.

Allura sighs solemnly and shuffles through her notes one last time. She glances over her wrist and gasps.

“Oh no, I forgot! Keith, could you –”

She spins around and sticks her arm out, and Keith dutifully tugs her lucky scrunchie off her wrist. He steps behind her and quickly collects her silver hair, combing his fingers through loose tangles. In her periphery, Allura can’t help but notice and think that Lance and Romelle are staring at her as Lance whispers into Romelle’s ear. She inhales sharply, trying to recite physics equations in her mind. Finally, Keith ties her hair up into a tight ponytail, and Allura suddenly turns around to face him.

“Thanks,” she says a little breathlessly.

Keith grins and gently squeezes her arm.

“It helps you concentrate. Relax, Allura. You already know everything.”

Allura smiles shyly and nods in agreement.

“I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Definitely.”

A hard slap meets the back of her shoulder, and Allura looks to her side and finds Lance staring not at her, but straight at Keith, who abruptly looks away.

“So, Allura, Pidge, and Hunk have a test to take. We’ve got classes to get to,” Lance announces loudly. “Let’s hustle, folks.”

“Good luck, you guys,” says Romelle.

Lance abrasively throws his arms around Keith and Romelle’s shoulders, pushing them forward and dragging them along. Allowing a distracting moment for herself, Allura grins as Keith shoves Lance away before she starts following Hunk and Pidge into their classroom.

As always, Allura settles into her desk and easily finishes the test, turning it in five minutes before the bell. With each consecutive class and test, Allura feels a weight lift from her shoulders. Having taken four tests in a row, she trudges to the art room for lunch, where she inadvertently claims Keith’s lap for a quick nap on Ms. Montgomery’s couch. Despite the riddled anxiety and hazy sleep deprivation, Allura manages to keep herself motivated until the end of sixth period, after she places her literary analysis in the plastic tray on her teacher’s desk.

The dismissal bell sounds, and Allura lets her body give in to exhaustion at last. Haphazardly, she packs her things and walks out of her classroom in a daze. When she somehow makes it back to her locker across campus, Keith is already there waiting for her. Without a word, Allura rushes over and collapses into his surprised arms.

“I survived,” she murmurs into his chest.

“You survived,” Keith laughs, closing his arms around her.

“I’m so ready for the weekend.”

“It’s only Thursday.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Keith’s body is like a furnace impervious to the sharp, chilly air around them, and Allura hugs him tighter.

“What do you want to do now?”

“Go home. Sleep.”

“Guess the answer’s no then,” Keith replies, his voice directed elsewhere. Allura looks up curiously and follows his gaze. Realizing that their friends had been standing around the entire time, Allura feels a flush spread across her cheeks.

“Aw, sure you don’t want to come to Sal’s with us, Allura?” Hunk asks. “Well, most of us. Me, Shay, and Romelle. Lance and Pidge are trying to scam the movie theater so they can see Star Wars again on one ticket.”

“No, we’re not!” Lance contends. “Pidge and I are simply taking advantage of tonight’s couple discount. We are a couple, after all. A couple of friends.”

Pidge groans.

“In other words, scamming. Why didn’t you just ask out that girl from yearbook?”

“She rejected him,” Pidge snickers.

“Oh, poor Lance,” Allura teases, throwing herself into the conversation.

“Wait, Pidge, tell us what happened!” Romelle exclaims.

“No, Pidge! Don’t tell them! And besides, Hunk, why aren’t you and Shay doing anything?”

“We’re going out this weekend. Her parents don’t want her staying out late on a school night.”

“Fine, whatever. So if Keith and Allura are going home, then the three of you can just ride in the back and I’ll drop you off.”

“Sounds good.”

“Maybe we can meet up later,” Allura suggests.

“Sure, just text any one of us,” Romelle smiles.

Allura waves as her friends say their goodbyes and depart for the parking lot. Sighing comfortably once it becomes quiet again, Allura unexpectedly feels a hand in her hair. She looks up as Keith pulls her scrunchie, allowing her hair to fall and cascade down her back. For a while, Allura gratefully lets him run his fingers through her hair.

“You could’ve gone with them,” she eventually says. “I could’ve just walked home.”

“Allura, you look like you’re right about to pass out. I’d rather make sure you don’t fall asleep out on some sidewalk.”

“Thanks, because I feel like I might.”

It starts to rain on the ride back to Allura’s house. Perfectly tranquil, classic rock music plays softly on the radio in Keith’s car. Allura gently leans against the window, and the relaxing ambiance nearly lulls her asleep. She only realizes that they’ve pulled into her driveway when Keith lightly shakes her arm, convincing her to open her eyes and face him.

“Stay, please. I’m just going to take a short nap.”

The slight, affirming smile on Keith’s face is the only answer Allura needs.

Her body meets her queen-sized bed face first, and Allura hastily shoves her phone and keys onto her nightstand. The inviting warmth calls to her, and she gladly buries herself deep under the thick, pink and white covers. Trailing behind, Keith sets Allura’s backpack and textbooks near her desk. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it neatly over the scarf and worn, pale blue T-shirt on the back of Allura’s chair. Disregarding the general mess of the room, Keith walks over and settles down next to Allura on the other side of the bed.

Allura readily turns toward him, crossing her leg over his, and Keith quietly extends his arm out, letting Allura edge in and rest against him. Keith carefully wraps his arm around her, hugging her tightly and earning himself the impression of a pleasant smile against the side of his chest. Sliding her hand across Keith’s waist, Allura responds by holding him close, never intending to let go. For as long as Allura can remember, Keith has always let her sleep like this, and after years of sharing beds for sleepovers and camping trips, Allura can no longer imagine any other way she prefers to fall asleep.

“Wake me up in an hour,” Allura mutters, her lips tightly pressed against Keith’s sweatshirt.

“One hour,” Keith echoes.

He leans over the edge of the bed and pulls out a class-assigned novel from his backpack, opens to where he had left off. Rain patters against the white-framed windows, and perhaps Allura should feel disappointed rather than utterly content, today of all days, that she’s so tired, stuck indoors, and without a significant other. She breathes in the faint scents of Keith’s weathered book, of mint and citrus, and the lavender of her clean bed sheets. Once she closes her eyes, the soothing, languid strokes of Keith’s hand running down her back are the last thing Allura feels as she drifts into dreams.

She wakes to the muted sounds of her parents walking downstairs and the clanking of their garage as it closes moments later. The dead silence makes falling back asleep hard to resist, but Allura wearily opens her eyes anyway, only to see evening darkness from the window. She furrows her eyebrows and squints, realizing that Keith clearly hadn’t kept track of the time.

Emerging slightly out from the covers, Allura looks up and finds Keith fast asleep, his book left open and facing down on his chest. At some point while she had been asleep, Keith had wrapped his other arm around her, and now secured warmly in his embrace, Allura attempts to slowly remove the book and successfully places it aside. She almost doesn’t want to wake him up, preferring to go back to sleep herself, but she nevertheless stretches her neck and inches her body as far up as she can.

“Keith, wake up,” she manages to whisper into his ear. She shakes his shoulder when he doesn’t seem to react.

The shaking appears to work, much to Allura’s relief, and Keith stirs, inhaling deeply. His hand lethargically slides up to the back of Allura’s neck, and his face dives into her hair.

“Five more minutes, Lu,” he mutters.

“No way. Keith, you fell asleep. You were supposed to wake me!”

Keith’s eyes snap open and he pulls back to meet Allura’s annoyed glare. Allura pouts to emphasize her displeasure.

“Sorry. The book was really boring.”

“Now it’s dark out so everyone probably already went home.”

 “What should we do?”

Allura sighs, pondering the question as she absentmindedly picks up the drawstring on Keith’s crimson red hooded sweatshirt.

“…Do you have any plans later?” she asks, staring at the drawstring as she daintily twists it around her finger.

“No, why would I?”

“Oh. I thought you’d want to hang out with your other friends tonight…” She trails off, and then pauses for a moment. “I figured I should share you sometimes.”

Keith laughs and reassuringly places his hand on her waist.

“I decide who I spend my time with and when. Not you. Do you want to order takeout?”

Finally looking up from the drawstring, Allura smiles and nods enthusiastically.

“I want Italian. And later, can we rewatch –”

“Don’t say it.”

“– Pride and Prejudice?”

“…Again?”

“Please? I really want to,” Allura begs, batting her eyes in hopes of persuading him.

“You can already recite every line of that movie by heart.”

“So? If I’m going to be lonely and single indefinitely, at least let me indulge in watching my favorite movie ever.”

Keith rolls his eyes.

“You’re not going to be lonely and single forever, Allura. It hasn’t even been two months since you broke up with Lotor.”

“Please, Keith?” Allura asks again. “You’re the only one who’s ever nice enough to watch it with me.” She runs her hand up Keith’s neck and gently presses her thumb against the corner of his lips, having recently discovered this trick and knowing this time that she’ll convince him with it. Keith’s grip on her waist tightens and he frowns.

“Okay, fine, we’ll watch it,” he grumbles.

“You’re the best!”

Keith collapses against the pillow, releasing Allura from his hold as she excitedly climbs over him to grab her phone. He exhales deeply, smiles with uncertainty when Allura turns around and comes back to sit next to him.

“You should just admit you like the movie too,” Allura teases, glancing over Keith’s troubled expression.

“Right. That’s never happening.”

“Oh, but coming to terms with liking something really gives you peace of mind. It’s a lot better than that tense look you have right now. There’s no shame in loving Jane Austen.”

Keith’s eyes widen as Allura leans in and assertively rests her head on his shoulder. Staring down at her screen, Allura swiftly pulls up the food delivery app on her phone.

“Now tell me what you want so I can order it.”

---

In the darkness, the only source of light, flickering as the scene changes, comes from the large television screen in front of them. Delicate British accents speak in low volume, never obstructed by the occasional hum of central heating surging through the air vents close by. Curled up on the couch, Allura stacks a small bowl of pretzels on her knee. They share Allura’s childhood fuzzy blanket, and despite his earlier protests, Keith watches the movie intently.

“I love you. Most ardently,” Allura whispers, her cheek lazily pressed against Keith’s arm. “Please do me the honor of accepting my hand.”

She giggles softly and looks up, anticipating Keith’s reaction, only to see him already gazing down at her.

“I love you most ardently. Isn’t that romantic?”

Waiting expectantly for Keith’s answer, Allura brings a pretzel stick to her lips and snaps it in half with her teeth. Instead, Keith sighs and raises his arm. Following his lead, Allura scoots in closer and lets him drape his arm around her shoulders.

“You always ask that.”

Allura responds with a cheeky grin.

“It’s because I think it’s really romantic.”

“Huh.”

“I wish someone would tell me that. Pretzel?”

Keith raises his eyebrow just as Allura holds up a pretzel stick to his face, letting go when Keith casually leans forward and accepts it with his mouth.

“You want someone to quote Darcy?”

“Well, no, not exactly. Just that they love me, I guess. No one’s told me that before other than my parents.”

Keith stares at her with a strange expression that Allura can’t quite read.

“Lotor never said it?”

“Nope.”

“…Did you ever say it to him?”

Allura shakes her head.

“It never got to that point, I think.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. There was a lot that I liked about him, but I don’t think I ever loved him.” She sets aside the snack bowl and snakes her arm across Keith’s stomach. Clinging onto him wistfully, she hides her face in his chest. “So it’s fine.”

Sensing Allura’s shifting, dejected mood, Keith swiftly surrenders his attention to the movie he’s been forced to see too many times. His hand leaves the armrest and starts gently carding through Allura’s hair. Allura exhales softly and turns her attention back to the screen. When the scene changes again, she pulls their blanket up past her shoulders.

“I could say it, you know,” Keith says quietly. He pauses his hand and his fingers settle in Allura’s hair.

Allura twists her neck and gazes up at him. Illuminated by the light, her deep blue eyes seem to glow.

“Hm?”

“I wouldn’t be your parents either.”

Allura smiles softly.

“Of course not. But you’re my best friend. I already know you love me.”

For a second, Keith’s eyes seem to fixate on the part of her face below her eyes. Allura watches Keith swallow and just barely bite his lower lip, triggering within her an inexplicable wave of self-consciousness. Eventually, Keith laughs, though almost as if he had been holding his breath.

“It’s not the same, is it?”

“Exactly.”

She beams at him, pleasantly surprised by his sudden offer. Diverting her focus back to the screen, she uncurls her legs and lies down along the couch, using Keith’s lap as a headrest. She grabs another pretzel stick from the snack bowl. More important to her right now is the romantic drama unfolding in front of her eyes.

---

“What the hell, Keith?!” Lance shouts loudly over the music and fervent party chatter, when Keith perfectly tosses his plastic ball into the last remaining red cup on Lance’s side of the table. Meanwhile, at least ten cups remain on the other side.

“Drink up, Lance,” Keith smirks, as James cackles and throws his arm around him in celebration.

Allura grins from where she lounges on the couch behind Keith and James. Watching Keith and Lance compete is always entertaining, even if she’s admittedly biased for one over the other. She brings the edge of her cup to her mouth and finishes her drink, licking the last of cool lime and tequila from her lips. Even in her scarlet halter top and denim shorts, the room feels hot and stuffy.

Lance gripes with his loss as he angrily snatches the cup and drains it of its content. He slams the empty cup down on the table.

“Best two out of three!” he declares. “And this time, Acxa’s on your team! She kept missing on purpose!”

“Hey! That’s not true,” Acxa contests, walking over to Keith as she and James agreeably switch sides.

She shares a sly, knowing look with Keith and Allura quickly averts her gaze and chews on her cup.

“Lance, you’re just delaying the inevitable,” Allura abruptly calls out.

Keith turns around at the sound of her voice and grins at her. He appears to glance her over, and Allura sits up, biting her lip and offering a gratified smile when their eyes meet.

“Oh, shut up, Allura, you always take his side,” Lance snaps back.

Allura laughs, conceding to the accusation. She’s about to get up for another drink when she feels a hand touch her shoulder. Reluctantly, she tears her eyes away from the game and turns to see who it is.

“Allura! Let me do your hair!” Romelle exclaims, coming around the back of the couch and bouncing down into the seat next to her.

“Sure!” Allura happily agrees. “Here.”

Extending her arm behind her head, she pulls out her light blue scrunchie and lets her long, silver hair fall freely down her back. She draws her legs up and crosses them, then angles herself parallel to the couch. Romelle’s fingers excitedly begin to comb through her loose locks.

“I love your hair, Allura. It’s always so nice and soft,” Romelle sighs in admiration. She sections Allura’s hair into three parts, preparing to braid.

Allura looks behind her shoulder and smiles.

“You always make my hair look really pretty, Romelle.”

With cresent-shaped eyes, Romelle gleefully accepts the compliment. Turning back toward the armrest, Allura catches the sight of Acxa grabbing Keith’s wrist and pulling him off to the side. Her growing curiousity is entirely unintentional, and Allura observes them from the corner of her eye as they privately strategize their gameplay.

Once the second match starts, Acxa aims for left cups while Keith aims right. They work well as a team, gaining an early lead against Lance and James, and Allura silently attests the accomplishment to their undeniable compatibility. She tries to recall the history of their friendship. Though Acxa has only been a student at their school for a little over a year, she had easily found her place within Keith’s clique of friends at school as one of the few seniors on the fine arts track. Acxa and Keith especially had been fast friends and almost immediately started collaborating on projects for classes and around campus. For a while last year, Allura would always see her name in Keith’s sparse text messages.

Acxa misses her third toss, and despite her rather empty protests, Keith pulls up his sleeves and drinks the shot for her. Acxa, in her oversized graphic tee and ripped jeans, looks so effortlessly cool when she signals her gratitude and places her hand on Keith’s shoulder. She carries confidence in her posture, but out of everyone in the crowded room, Allura is probably the only one who notices her faintly pink-tinted cheeks. Keith surely doesn’t, engaging instead in defiant trashtalk with Lance.

Allura takes a deep breath. They actually look good together.

And suddenly, she feels so much less significant. There’s an exclusive part of Keith’s world that she isn’t a part of, and in a way, she’s glad for it. In that part of his world, there are people like Acxa who understand all the artistic jargon that Allura never could, appreciate the goodness of Keith’s heart that she’s taken for granted, and provide what a best friend like her can’t.

Allura narrows her eyes, starting to feel the effects of her earlier drink, and decides to take a break from watching the game. She pulls her legs up to her chest and rests her chin on her knees.

“Oops, I messed up. Sorry, starting over,” Romelle giggles and apologizes from behind.

“It’s fine.”

Allura lifts her head when Hunk and Pidge emerge from the nearby hallway moments later, searching for Lance and Romelle.

“There you guys are! It’s almost my curfew, we gotta go!” Hunk chides, clearly sober and the designated driver for the night.

“Five minutes, Hunk! We’re right about to make a comeback!”

Hunk studies the number of cups on the table and frowns.

“Nope, nuh-uh, that’ll take too long. We need ten minutes to get home, and we have exactly that. I’m not getting grounded just for some lame beer pong game.”

“Aw man.”

Lance hands the table tennis ball over to James. He stares directly at Keith as he puts on his jacket.

“This doesn’t mean I forfeit!”

“Yeah, it does.”

When a frustrated Lance passes by the couch, Romelle pouts and lets go of Allura’s half-braided hair.

“I was almost done. But oh well. I’ll see you on Monday, Allura.”

She stands up and leans in for a hug, which Allura reciprocates.

Once they leave, excitement for the game dies down. Acxa backs out to even out the players, carrying her drink over and taking the seat Romelle had just occupied. Now much more evenly matched, Keith and James resume the game, eager to finish and move on.

In her buzzing indecision, Allura misses the chance to start conversation with Acxa, who she still doesn’t know very well despite sharing a mutual close friend. Luckily, Acxa doesn’t seem to mind the silence, opting instead to closely watch the game. Without a purpose, Allura yawns and checks her phone. She eventually realizes that the game is over when Keith saunters over to her with a smug grin on his face.

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the side of the couch.

Allura slides her phone back in her pocket and turns to him. Ignoring the coarse graze of polyester fabric against the side of her chest as her shirt rides up, she throws her arms around his waist and effectively anchors herself to him. Unlike the room temperature, Keith’s natural warmth is always comfortable.

“Hi. Finally. I’m bored.”

“Not even a congratulations?”

Allura scoffs and reaches up to fix the front of his perpetually disheveled hair. Keith lowers his head, hesitant as he gazes down at her.

“I’m not stroking your ego just because you happen to have unnaturally gifted hand-eye coordination. You don’t even like playing that game.”

She draws her hand back, redirecting it to his lap once his hair is as neat as she can make it.

“Fair point.”

“Can I have that?” she asks, peering at the glass of alcohol in his hand.

“I’ll let you have this, but I’m also getting you water.”

“Ugh, okay.”

He runs an affectionate hand down her arm and lets her take his glass before stalking off to the kitchen.

“You and Keith are really close.”

Allura blinks and connects the source of the statement back to Acxa, exhibiting an oddly concerned look in her eyes.

“We’ve known each other for a long time. He’s my best friend,” Allura responds slowly.

Straightening her back and crossing her legs, Allura eyes the glass in her hand and decides to quickly finish the roughly two shots worth of liquor still left. She winces and coughs after the sharp taste of vodka burns down her throat, then sets the glass aside. Considering that the glass had been full, and that it hadn’t been his first, Allura wonders how it’s even possible Keith hasn’t blacked out yet.

“I know we haven’t talked much, but since you’re close with him, can I ask you something?”

Eager to finally have the opportunity to bond with Acxa, Allura smiles and nods.

“Of course.”

“Who does he like?”

Allura’s eyes widen. Her arms drop to her lap.

“Who does he like?” Allura repeats, trying to make sure she’s heard the question right. It’s hard to focus.

“I’ve tried to ask him before but he wouldn’t tell me.”

Allura blinks furiously, racking her mind with increasing pressure for an answer. Of all the questions Acxa could have asked her, she hadn’t expected this one. Allura is sure she’s asked Keith about it too. If she thinks back, the most recent time she’d asked would have been at the Christmas party, but Allura realizes with sudden clarity that he’d evaded her question by pulling the ribbon from her hair. Who did he like?

“I don’t…I don’t know,” she admits.

Acxa sighs and slumps back against the couch, stealing a glance at Allura before looking down at her drink.

“Sorry, Keith and I somehow never talk about that kind of stuff.”

“It’s fine. I just wish I knew who I was up against. I have some idea, though.”

Deep down, Allura’s known this all along, and she loves being right, so she has no idea why it still feels like all the air in the room has been sucked out. She stares at Acxa, so brave and flustered and beautiful, in disbelief.

“…You like Keith?”

“It’s stupid, right? I bet you know all the terrible things he’s ever done. But I really like him.”

Acxa’s face is red after admitting her crush, and Allura can’t fault her. Keith is talented, rebellious, attractive, and really really nice. He stays up late with friends to help them pull all-nighters, climbs up their rooms when they’re grounded and bored. Allura would even easily confess that she’s thought about Keith’s brilliant indigo eyes more than once. Of course Acxa likes him.

“Oh. Totally.” Allura replies, missing a beat. She doesn’t sound like herself.

“I mean, he is terrible,” Acxa continues. She lifts her head, warily meeting Allura’s detached stare. “We made out once.”

Something inside her chest lurches, and it makes Allura feel terrible. Keith never should have given her his drink – vodka apparently doesn’t sit well with her – and she can’t believe he still hasn’t come back with her water yet. She hugs her arms, hoping they’d help still her wildly racing heart. When she tries to speak, she can’t manage anything more than a whisper.

“You and Keith…”

Acxa sheepishly bites her lip and nods.

“Last October. After I kissed him first. But then he apologized and asked if we could stay friends. That jerk.”

“Did he say why?”

“He said he was still trying to get over someone.”

---

Allura anxiously taps her fingers against the lunch table, taking turns between glancing at her phone and the large cafeteria doors. Her food rests idle, growing cold, in her plastic tray, while Hunk does a poor job feigning ignorance of Allura’s obvious restlessness from across the table as he eats large spoonfuls of parmesan mashed potatoes.

“Allura? You okay?” Hunk asks carefully.

Allura blinks, tearing her eyes away from the cafeteria entrance, and smiles blankly at her concerned-sounding friend.

“I’m fine, Hunk,” she responds, picking up her fork and poking into her bowl of rubbery mac and cheese.

“Waiting for someone?”

Allura’s eyes widen.

“Why – why would you think that?” Allura stutters, turning pink.

“Wild guess.”

“Well, I’m not,” she counters defensively, sending Hunk an irritated look.

“Where’s Keith anyway? Don’t you two usually come together since you’re both in the E building for fourth period?” Hunk inquires.

“Oh, um...I didn’t – I didn’t see him,” Allura says quietly, quickly looking down and taking a bite out of her mac and cheese.

She hasn’t told anyone what had happened at the party yet, and she’s not ready to admit that she hasn’t seen Keith at all since then. The old, red pick-up truck that Keith drives to school had been gone from the driveway when she had left for school this morning. When she had waited, as had become the norm, to meet Keith outside her classroom after fourth period earlier, he had never shown.

“He’s in the art room,” a bright voice explains from behind Allura’s back, causing her to jump. Carrying her lunch tray, Romelle crosses her leg over the bench and takes her seat next to Allura.

Looking down at her lunch even harder, Allura finds the crusty, burnt edges of her mac and cheese particularly unappetizing today.

“I saw him on the way to my locker. He said something about a meeting for all the seniors. Allura, you look like your lunch killed your father and you’re about to avenge his death,” Romelle remarks, casually resting her head on her hand and grinning as she studies Allura’s hard expression with amused fascination.

Slowly, Allura looks up and turns to Romelle.

“Haha, do I?” laughs Allura humorlessly. “I guess I’m just worried about my calculus test tomorrow.”

“Didn’t you say it was on Wednesday?” Romelle asks pointedly.

“Oh, right. Wednesday,” Allura corrects herself, taking another stab into her cheese-drenched bowl.

“Allura, is something wrong?” Romelle frowns.

Allura’s eyes darken and avert Romelle’s concerned gaze.

“I don’t know why people keep asking me that.”

Unsettled by her best friend’s unusually moody response, Romelle narrows her eyes. She shoots a questioning glance at Hunk, who simply shrugs. Unsatisfied by Hunk’s answer, Romelle stands up, grabbing Allura’s arm and causing Allura to drop her spork in surprise.

“You’re coming with me, Allura. Hunk, stay here and watch our stuff,” Romelle directs.

“Uh, sure,” Hunk answers, accepting the task but not quite understanding the situation.

“Where are we going?” Allura asks as Romelle pulls her away from the lunch table, down the walkway toward the cafeteria exit.

Romelle looks back at Allura, and picks up her pace, taking them out of the cafeteria and into the empty hallway. She stops in front of a row of lockers and spins around to meet Allura face-to-face, dropping Allura’s arm. Allura dreads the conversation she knows she’s about to have. While she might have been able to avoid telling the others, Allura should have known that Romelle would have approached her sooner or later.

“I thought something was up when I asked Keith where you were and he completely ignored me. And now, you’re acting like this,” Romelle explains in a low voice. “Did something happen between you two?”

Allura winces at the accusation. Crossing her arms, she locks her eyes on the obnoxiously glittery senior prom poster from the corner of her eye. Allura takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I kissed Keith.”

“You what?!” Romelle shrieks, turning the head of a wide-eyed freshman as she walks by.

Allura frantically presses her hand against Romelle’s mouth.

“Shh! Not so loud!” Allura exclaims, her cheeks flushing darkly.

Romelle peels Allura’s hand off of her mouth, signaling her return to composure.

“You kissed Keith?” Romelle hisses, grabbing Allura’s arm again.

“It was at the party. After you left.”

Romelle starts to grin before she abruptly frowns. Allura raises an eyebrow at Romelle’s polarizing expressions.

“And then what happened?”

“He told me he was in love with me, but I…” Allura trails off, biting her lip. “I told him he was my best friend.”

Frustratingly for Allura, Romelle’s eyebrows furrow in deep contemplation. There’s something she’s missing, something Romelle isn’t telling her.

“Then I said it was a mistake and asked him to take me home,” Allura finishes impatiently. She forces a quick, nervous glance past her shoulder before returning to her perplexed friend standing in front of her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“So you’re not…Oh, Allura,” Romelle sighs.

“What?”

Romelle’s expression turns serious, and she stares at Allura long and hard. Allura feels uncomfortably hot, clutches the hem of her sweater.

Gently, slowly enough to soften the blow, Romelle explains the apparent elephant in the room.

“You know, we all kind of thought that maybe, you and Keith were already dating.”

The revelation stuns Allura entirely. Her jaw drops, her cheeks burn with a sudden flare of heat. She can’t control the jumpy pace of her heart either. Unfolding her arms, Allura gapes at Romelle’s enviously unaffected manner.

“Me and Keith? No way! I – I’m not, we’re not…we’re just friends,” Allura contends, trying to dispute Romelle’s wild claim.

“Are you?”

“Of course! A-and we like different people! Like Lotor. I dated Lotor. Keith has Acxa.”

The last few words leave a bitter taste in her mouth as Allura begrudgingly recollects the fleeting memory of Acxa confiding in Allura her crush on Keith at the party.

“That was so long ago. And Keith doesn’t like Acxa that way.”

“Keith and I are just friends. We hang out a lot because we’re friends. That’s it.”

“Have you seen yourselves these past three months after breaking up with Lotor? Even Lance thought your flirting was too much.”

“We don’t – we haven’t been…”

And suddenly, Allura remembers Lance’s comment so clearly, the way he had groaned with a cup of hot coffee in one hand when he had seen them in the courtyard. She’d been sitting in Keith’s lap, trying to fix his messy, unkempt hair after he’d overslept that morning. Lance had promptly asked them to cool it and proceeded to complain about the early morning before heading to class. His reaction had been so strange to her at the time that she had just shrugged it off.

Allura chews on her lower lip, refusing to rethink every late-night text, every casual arm around her shoulders; she pushes back as she recalls the perfectly innocent cuddles on the art room couch, at home, and the warm touches that she realizes now had perhaps been too easy, too much for the others.

She inhales sharply, having forgotten to breathe under the scrutinizing pressure.

“I’m Keith’s best friend. I’m not in love with him.”

She’s certain. She has to be.

“Have you ever thought that you could be both?”

---

KK

Keith >

 4/23 4:47 PM I didn’t see you at school today I have so much to tell you Imagine this: bubblegum, liquid nitrogen, and Iverson’s eyepatch

 4/24 10:05 AM So bored Get me out of class?

 4/25 1:34 PM Keith?

4/27 8:19 PM Sorry, I’ve been busy Senior project

 Oh, right

Good luck ♥ I miss you. Read 8:22 PM

Today 10:36 PM Can we talk?

---

Allura curls into herself across her bedsheets and stares and stares at the radio silence. Blankly. Waiting. Before she realizes it, the barren string of texts in front of her start to blur, and Allura rips herself away from the lonely brightness of her phone screen. She’s never cried over a dumb boy before and she refuses to start now, but she can’t stop the tears from brimming over and sinking into her pillowcase. She can’t lose her best friend. Not like this.

Pretending it never happened hadn’t worked.

And in all honesty, Allura doesn’t know why she had thought to pretend in the first place, when she can still remember, two weeks later, the magnetic purple gaze and the intoxicating taste of vodka infusing with her cherry pink lipstick. Her breath catches at the memory again, of Keith, the kiss, and how he had ruined their friendship. She bites her lip.

Stupid Keith. This is all his fault.

Her phone suddenly vibrates in her hand. Holding her breath, Allura glances at her lock screen.

Okay

Allura gasps softly, feeling heat rising in her cheeks. She sits up in her bed and hunches over the phone in her hands, letting her long, silver hair fall past her face and graze her lap. Typing anxiously, she sends a response.

Meet me at the park in 5 minutes

Allura reaches for the first jacket she sees, until she realizes it’s the one that Keith never reclaimed after last year’s Christmas party. She had since made it hers, wearing it on weekends when she had stayed in and read magazines, and once – no – twice to dance practice. Allura hesitates and draws her hand back. Then she grabs it, puts it on. The sleeves still fall past her wrists.

Tonight, under the cloudless sky, the moon is round and brilliantly golden, illuminating her path toward the park. When she walks, Allura can make out the deep green leaves of trees, even point out the mesquite tree at the corner that she’d dared Keith to climb when she was seven years old. He had climbed as high as his weight on thin branches would allow, and of course, Allura had taken his hand and followed. That adventure had ended with scraped chins and elbows, when Allura had been too scared to climb back down and jumped, shaking, into Keith’s arms on the ground.

From across the street, she sees him leaning against the wall next to the old, metal slide and staring blankly down at the gravel. Under the moonlight, half-obscured by darkness, Keith’s pale skin seems to glow. He’s so beautiful, and Allura understands now the racing of her heart, the shortness of breath she could never explain whenever he had looked at her, smiled at her, accepted her in his arms. Really, truthfully, all this time she had never thought of him as just a friend. Trying in vain to calm her nerves, she gently rubs her flushed cheeks and takes a deep breath.

She steps forward.

“Why are you frowning?”

Allura’s quiet voice startles Keith out of his thoughts. His head shoots up, nearly colliding into hers. She’s bending down and peering up at him curiously. He stares at her with wide eyes. He knows she remembers it too.

Keith quickly stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“I…wasn’t.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

She steps back with a small, teasing smile. She has to tilt her head up to face him properly. Keith looks at her speechlessly.

“You’re also really bad at pretending you’re not avoiding me.”

“Sorry! I wasn’t trying – I didn’t mean to!” Keith blurts out. “I just…I needed time.”

“I know,” Allura replies softly. “I was really annoyed before…but that was just because I missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, calmer this time. “I won’t do it again. Not talking to you has been awful.”

Allura cracks a grin and carefully tucks her hair behind her ear.

“Of course it has. I’m the most interesting thing in your life.”

Keith laughs, pulling his hands out of his pockets. He starts to reach out for her, but stops himself before Allura can react. Instead, he lets his arms fall down either side of him and looks away.

“You are.”

Allura swallows nervously, trying to make sure she says her next words right.

“Keith, about what I said at the party…”

“You were right. It shouldn’t have happened.”

Eyes widening, Allura shakes her head furiously.

“No, I was wrong. Listen, earlier that night, Acxa told me something I didn’t want to hear, and I got really upset. But it wasn’t her fault. It was mine.”

“What?”

Keith immediately straightens, looking concerned.

“And do you remember when Darcy got really aggravated when Lizzie mentions Wickham after he had just confessed to her in the rain? I was like that.”

“Wait, hold on –”

“Let me finish. Basically, I was jealous. Because you kissed Acxa even though you just saw her as a friend and not…and not me.”

“Allura…”

She’s sure she’s blushing hard now because her skin feels like it’s on fire, but she has to explain herself. She needs him to understand. She places her hand across her chest and slowly takes another deep breath.

“What I’m trying to say is, I wanted you to kiss me that night. But I didn’t know it then. So I told you it was a mistake.”

Allura grabs his hand, and it’s cold and bare, chilled by late night April breeze. Keith curiously follows her gaze as her eyes wander down Keith’s face and linger on his lips. His breath catches in his throat when he sees a flash of desire in the color of crystal blue. He brings his other hand to Allura’s face and gently smooths her cheek. He’s more than relieved when Allura leans into his touch. When she looks back up, he does too.

“It wasn’t a mistake.”

“It wasn’t?”

“You’re my best friend in the whole world. I like it when we talk all night long and that you always know how to make me happy. I like it when you hug me and run your fingers through my hair and look at me like I’m important to you. But most of all, I really liked it when we did this.”

She takes a small step forward and lightly presses her lips against his. He tastes like electric mint, home, and cosmic stars. Kissing him is just as wonderful and thrilling as she remembers. Smiling shyly against his lips, Allura pulls back while she can still control herself and lets Keith process everything she’s told him. She wants to remember every second of this. Keith stares at her for a moment, and gradually, a grin emerges on his face.

“Do you remember what I said after?” he asks, smirking now. Allura would be infuriated if she didn’t think it made him look incredibly attractive. So, she plays along and pretends to think.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“I said I was in love with you.”

He lets go of her hand and slides his arm around her waist, pulls her incredibly close. Allura gasps and she thinks she can hear the sound of her heart exercising rapidly inside her chest. She places her hands on his shoulders.

“What about now?”

“I’m still in love with you,” he responds quietly.

Allura could say that he steals her heart with that confession, but she supposes – has an inkling – that maybe it’d always been his. She’ll have to ask him, later, when exactly he had given her his own. What she wants to say next comes to her so easily.

“I love you too. But Keith?”

He looks at her expectantly.

“I have a question.”

Allura runs her hands up and around to the back of Keith’s neck. To further stress her intention, she makes sure he sees her lick her lips, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward. Brushing past her ear, Keith lifts his hand from her cheek and into her hair.

“Ask it.”

“Can I kiss you again already?”

---

and i know i’ve kissed you before, but i didn’t do it right can i try again, try again, try again?

(pink in the night, mitski)

[randombtsprincessa]

Asylum || 4

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Chapter:  01  02  03

Warning in-Chapter: Mentions of Abuse and Violence

I was so late…

It was one of those days when nothing seemed to go right. My alarm buzzed but I slept right through it, my roommate, Jennie banging on the door to wake me up so I could at least do something decent about myself before exiting the house. The hot water just wouldn’t settle at the right temperature so I had to take a nearly ice cold shower and to top it all off, Jennie had run off with the last amount of coffee that was present in the apartment. I had to buy some today.

My hair was up in a messy ponytail and I’d been too much in a rush to stop to grab a coffee from a cafe. So, clutching my binder to my chest, my backpack flying about behind me I raced through the campus.

Of course, as fate would have it, just one corner away from my class, where I could quietly bury myself in the back in the solitude of many students, I had to crash into somebody.

Papers flew everywhere, a large paper coffee cup, now empty rose up high in the air, as it emptied its contents right on top of me. Hot delicious coffee went everywhere; on my head, on my white hoodie, jeans and boots and binder of notes. I groaned, backing up immediately. I suppose I had to be grateful for the small mercies, the coffee hadn’t scalded me at least.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry!”

I ran the bunched up end of my hoodie sleeve over my eyes to glare at the blind idiot.

He was already on the floor, quickly swiping up the scattered pages, his dark head bowed as he shook out some of the soaked pages, even blowing on one desperately.

I got on my knees too, stacking up the rest of the pages, keeping quiet, not trusting myself to open my mouth in case I started hurling insults at the boy.

He stood up first, his blue shirt and black jeans completely clean of any coffee. Why the hell did the universe hate me so much today?

“Here, they’re a little…um…” he was holding out the bundled notes out to me before he frowned at them. They were brown with the coffee, some of the scribbles illegible.

“Destroyed,” I snapped bitterly, making his eyes turn downwards in guilt again.

“I swear, I didn’t mean to run into you like that. I was just walking and I didn’t see you turn the corner…I’m really sorry.” He said again, still holding out the pages.

“Yeah well,” I grabbed the papers, slipping them into the binder. “My day’s done here, might as well go home to avoid any more catastrophes.” I sighed, turning away from him.

My shirt was completely done for. It was uncomfortably wet, sticking to my bra and stomach. I had to get rid of these clothes and I’d take a day long nap. Thankfully, I had my notes backed up on my laptop.

“Hey,” I turned to see the coffee guy catch up with me. “You can’t walk home like that. I live nearby. Borrow one of my shirts and I’ll give you a ride home.”

I blinked before examining him closely. He was cute, admittedly, dark hair parted neatly for the school day, small studs glittering in both earlobes.

“You’re not trying to hit on me, are you?” I asked finally.

His eyes widened before wildly shaking his head. “No, no! I just…I feel guilty for wrecking your day.”

“You didn’t wreck it. It was horrible since sun up.”

“Oh…so um…do you want that shirt and ride?”

I stared at him, watching as his eyes trailed pointedly to where I was cringing away from the wet fabric. His doe eyes were sincere, I decided finally.

“Fine, lead the way,” I said.

His face lit up immediately and I felt a pang. Damn was he cute, I thought. His lips parted to reveal and neat line of big teeth, turning up into a bunny smile. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“I’m Jungkook.”

“I’m Y/N.”

 The sunlight was warm on my skin, slipping into my pores, soaking into the cool uniform.

My legs were out of the hard plaster casts now, and even though they still felt sore and unused and I had to carry around the clutch, it felt nice to be able to feel the flannel of my trousers or the cool of the water on my skin now.

The nurses had agreed that I needed to start being able to walk now, and that the ability of moving about by myself might be able to help me heal somehow. I didn’t understand the thought process but I wasn’t complaining.

The only new thing was that for the first time I was alone outside. Usually Yoongi and the other boys would be with me but this time around I had been let out by myself. It felt nice, peaceful even, the grass feeling soft under my palms.

Not for the first time, I wondered how it would’ve felt if Jungkook was here with me, his bunny smile and eyes which glimmered in child like excitement sometimes beside me as he chattered on about a new dance he’d learned or a new song he’d covered.

I smiled softly in remembrance, feeling a soft tug grow in my tummy; a sign of an impending attack of memory which was quelled by the new environment and medicines that fought with my body to make me cope.

I leant back, letting my weight lean on my open palms and closed my eyes as I methodically curled and uncurled my fists in the cool grass, a way of maintaining control over my body. According to Dr. Sihyuk, the slow motion of my hands made my mind focus on the stretch and lax of muscles, distracting it from impending episodes. I had taken it on reluctantly at first but soon found that it helped keep the painful memories at bay, making me concentrate on the now and present.

 As I basked in the mild winter heat, I felt a shadow loom over me, blocking out the sunlight. I opened my eyes to see Namjoon standing over me, smiling softly. The sunlight behind him made it look like he was glowing and I smiled back.

“May I join you?” he asked lightly and I nodded, patting the ground beside me to indicate he could take a seat. As usual, he had a book in his hand as he folded his tall frame neatly beside me.

“You finally freed your legs?” he asked, laughing.

“Oh yeah, they feel much freed, but I will be properly freed when these go away.” I sighed, nodding my head towards the crutches lying next to me.

“Ah,” he smiled again before opening the book and immersing himself in it.

I kept mum for a few minutes before turning to study my companion. His blond hair was parted now, bangs falling into the tell tale dark eyes. His lips were pursed, eyebrows scrunched as he concentrated on the book when I noticed it.

“Where are your glasses?” I asked.

He looked up surprised at my sudden question, or maybe he was just shocked I’d noticed. He just looked at me for a few seconds before looking down. I was surprised to see his cheeks turn red slightly.

“I left them up in my room. I’m wearing contacts.” He said in a low voice.

“Oh,” I mumbled.

“I don’t like the lenses so much, they make my eyes burn a little but the glasses…” he trailed off and I looked at him, waiting. “I guess they make me look kind of like a nerd.” He said.

“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.

“What’s wrong with being a nerd?” he asked in turn.

“Yeah, you like reading and you’re smart. I’m not saying only that makes you a nerd but wearing glasses is a matter of necessity not a sign of how smart you are.” I shrugged, looking back to the front as he stared at me for a few minutes before chuckling lightly.

“Thank you, I needed that I guess.” He said.

“Mhm,” I relented.

He closed the book and crossed his legs, turning more towards me. “So, what do you want to talk about?” he asked. I blinked at him. “Talk…about what?” I asked.

“Anything; the nurses aren’t going to take you back any time soon. We have a lot of time to spare. We can talk about anything. Music, Books, Shows, Hobbies, you name it, we can talk about it. We might as well get to know each other if we’re going to be here, right?” He said. I sat up straight, staring blankly at the boy in front of me.

Namjoon’s eyes were wide, his thick lips parted slightly in a small grin as he waited for me to answer him. With the white clothes and blond hair, he looked like small child.

It reminded me of Jungkook, even if the two men looked nothing alike.

 Talk we did.

Namjoon was vociferous. He wanted to know everything that had happened in my life from the time I was able to walk to how I ended up here.

He listed his favorite books and music, most of them hip hop and while I wasn’t completely versed in the genre, I found I recognized some of the names from the TV and radio and most of his books were in line with mine too so we eased into discussing literature until he asked about the accident.

My jaw snapped shut, my eyes flew down and my cheeks paled.

Namjoon stared at the drastic change in my body and lowered his own head. “That bad…? I’m sorry, I’m too curious. I shouldn’t have asked. I didn’t mean to trigger you.” He said.

“No, no,” I said immediately, catching the bashful pout on his face, his plush lips jutting forwards as he blinked.

“Don’t worry about it. The accident isn’t the trigger…it’s…it’s…my best friend.” I said softly.

He looked up at that. “Is she ok?” he asked.

“He…he’s gone, actually.” I said in a quiet voice.

There was a drawn out silence after that as he kept staring at the grass.

“You blame yourself.” He said. It wasn’t a question. He knew it. He was just telling me he knew.

I didn’t answer as the nurse finally came to take me away inside. I didn’t look at Namjoon again, too ashamed to meet his eyes. He knew now what I was. He knew about the blood on my hands.

 It was on the way to my room when I heard it.

The rooms for girls were along one side of the wall while the other side belonged to the boys. Besides me, there were only two more girls in the facility, none of whom talked to me.

As I’d been crossing over to my hall, the sounds of low, childish sniffles caught my ear. I stopped immediately, recognizing the deep sobs.

I shifted my weight to my other crutch as I moved closer to Taehyung’s door, knocking on it. “Tae, are you ok?” I asked. The door opened with a light creak and I peeked inside.

Taehyung was curled up on his bed, blankets wrapped tightly around him as he cried into his pillow. His hair was sticking to his face, the green bangs soaked in tears. He looked up blearily as I entered the room. I knew there were rules about these kinds of things but I didn’t care.

He whimpered as I hobbled over to sit on the bed, as he sat up, scooting over to wrap his arms around my neck, burying his face into the crook of my neck, his sobs intensifying.

I wrapped my own arms around him, shushing him.

“What’s wrong, Tae?” I asked.

“The…The courts…they’re not letting me out.” He said.

“Wait…what?” I asked, unaware of his problems.

He wiped his nose on his sleeve as he pulled back, face still streaked. “You don’t know why I’m here, do you?” he asked. I shook my head.

He bunched his sleeves in his lap, looking down. “I stabbed my step father…with a bottle.” He said.

My breath caught in my throat. That’s when I realized; his posture was akin to mine. Eyes downcast, face bloodless, body slumped in shame…shame of our actions.

“Tae…”

“He beat my mother. I wasn’t…a very good son, I guess. I couldn’t take care of her so she had to marry him. I didn’t like staying around him, I knew there was something wrong but I never thought he was abusive. When I found out…I was bitter. I beat him back but he never backed down. The day they caught me…he just wouldn’t stop. He was going after her and I…I had to do something. There was so much blood. When they took me away, my mother plead self defense and the neighbors helped so they shifted me here. He’s alive…I don’t know what he’d doing. My mom doesn’t talk about him…”

He paused to sniff.

“They’ve been trying to get me out of here for months now. The lawyers are sucking up all my father’s money and they just aren’t getting anywhere. The last visit they told me, we lost. I’m going to have to finish my term here. I have to stay here for a whole year.”

He broke down again, hands reaching up to cup his face.

“I – I want to – go home.” He choked as I sat there, staring into space.

I felt an indescribable emotion rising somewhere in the pit of my stomach, stronger that sympathy and milder than pity. I moved closer to the crying boy and brought him down to rest his head on my lap where he cried harder for a few more minutes before passing out, soft whimpers escaping his lips instead of snore.

I stroked his hair, wondering how blinded I had been to anything other than my own problems…

[furashuban]

Vexation

i’m finally continuing my lapidot convenience store au

Link to AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12048483/chapters/29757732

Chapter 2

12:35AM

The sound of a petite bell chimed as the entrance of the store opens. Somebody was coming in. And thankfully, it was someone that Peridot and Lapis knew. The first customer of the night was a kid who looked around 10 or 14 years old. A description of him as perceived by everyone who knew him especially Pearl, Peridot and Lapis would be optimistic, lyrical, and overall expressive. But mainly, he was the best friend of Lapis and Peridot, as well as Peridot’s little brother figure.

The child patron walks in with a yellow star imprinted on his pink shirt as well as wearing a thick peach jacket. “Hey guys!” the young-looking customer calls gleefully as soon as he walks in. “How are my two favorite buds and evening co-workers doing?”

Lapis glimpses out of an aisle to see him. “Oh. Hey, Steven.” Lapis replies contented. “We’re doing fine I guess.”

Steven halts and turns his sight to the counter. He sees Peridot, drained and resting her head and arms on the countertop. She seemed to have passed out irresponsibly during work hours, despite how there was a half-drank cup of coffee by her hand which was obviously consumed by her.

“Morning, Peridot.” Steven says. The short girl whirrs and raises her head slightly.

“Oh, uh, good morning to you too, Steven…” she yawns and runs her hand through her hair. She struggles to fix her posture while sitting up or keep a stern face. “…How can I help you…?”

Steven chuckles to her rest deficiency as he assumes that one of his best friends wasn’t being focused at all to her time management like always. “Its fine, Peridot, you can go back to your nap. I’m just here to see if there are any more Cookie Cats tonight.”

Lapis finally walks out of the aisle and ambles by the counter near Peri. “Why don’t you get some by that big donut place?” she asks.

“Well, the Big Donut always closes after 8pm. And this is the only store I know that still sells cookie cats.” Steven replies. “And besides, you guys are here. It’s always nice to see how both of you are doing.” “Aww.” The two girls grin.

Lapis guises to her left, athwart the room where a petite freezer filled with ice cream sandwich packets were placed on another counter. “Luckily, I found and restocked a fresh batch of them a few minutes ago. Just don’t try to take the whole freezer.” She says.

Steven chuckles and goes to take a dozen of his favorite cold snacks. Probably 3 or 5 to count. He carries them to Peridot’s counter and dribs them lightly on top, and she proceeds to grab the price checker to estimate the price. Normal retail stuff was happening basically.

“That’ll be 5 dollars, Steven.” Peridot says. The star shirted customer follows and pays up. “Also, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you always up this late? Shouldn’t it be a school night for you?” she also inquires him.

The payment is put in the register before Steven could think on how to answer that question. “Hmm…Well, I don’t go to school since my dad and Pearl say I could get bullied. So I’m homeschooled by them sometimes. Dad teaches me about weird dad stuff and Pearl teaches things like history and table manners.” Steven says. “But I am going to enroll in the school that my friend Connie goes to so we could study together. OH WAIT–––Is Pearl here? I should probably tell her that.”

One of them would happily call Pearl outside her office just for Steven to meet, but they guess they would rather not confront their manager again after recognizing her frustration. Pearl would probably castoff what they have to say and be ordered to go back to work before even stepping out of her small workspace.

“Uh…She hasn’t arrived here yet.” Lapis recoils. “Sorry Steven.”

Peridot puts the heaps of cookie cats into a light-green plastic bag, generally used in the store and hands it over to Steven. “Here ya go. And have a good night.”

“You know, Peridot, I don’t think you should be up this late either.” Steven says flippantly as he grabs his bag and receipt . “You look…tired.”

The petite employee rubs her eyes and slouches forward. “I look great.” Her hair is skirmished by her chortling partner.

Steven then paces to the exit door reaches it to open it widely. But before he leaves, he gapes back at the counter and glances at his two best friends just to say an elated “Goodbye you guys!” Lapis and Peridot wave grinning and also express a farewell. “See you again Steven!”

The acquitted kid ambles out and a bell chimes again as the exit closes. The store was back to stillness and solitude despite the fact there were two employees to keep that happening for themselves.

“So…what now?” Lapis asks.

1:15AM

Well, as expected at this point, the store was more dead silent than outside, more empty than outside and extremely lethargic so to speak. Peridot had been standing and, or sitting by the counter while staring at the glass entrance and trying to wait for ANYBODY to come in. As for Lapis, she basically seemed like she was loitering inside the store. With a setting like this, they didn’t need much of a break time since they were barely working at all. Peridot sighs heavily and rests her arms and chin on the counter yet again. All the energy left to keep her active by the cashier was wasted. Lapis sees the sluggish behavior of her partner and goes to walk behind the board. She leans towards the petite employee and parcels herself gently on top of Peridot, incasing her waist around her arms and practically begins to bask on her.

They both groan slothful and warm. “Why does time have to run slowly on us Lapis…?” Peridot complains. “It could be worse…” Lapis denotes.

Suddenly, the sound of a tiny bell rings for a second time. The two girls gasp and get up gradually to go back to their positions. Peridot standing up now and Lapis sited near a metal shelf. A completely random customer had shown up to either boost the mood of customer service or makes their jobs harder than it looks. But this particular customer looked a bit intriguing and pretty absurd, and Lapis and Peridot gave a clear expression saying ‘what the hell?’ and 'who the hell?’ It was a cumbersome man with blonde and much coiled hair, wearing a grey camouflage getup and a pair of binoculars around his neck. As he walked in, he appeared to be crouching and turning his head slowly as if he was being watchful from nonexistent entities inside the store. Even his eyes were squinting hard and his fingers were twitching. This person must have some sort of illness.

“…May I help you…?” Peridot asks nervously.

Suddenly, the customer glances to the cashier and gives a frightening direct stare at Peridot, immediately scaring her to some extent. “he isn’t going to mug me, is he…?” The customer speaks at last. “Hmm…Why yes.” He stands normally and adjusts his glasses. “I guess you can help by answering this question…Are you aware of ‘Rock People’ hiding and lurking in our social order and attacking our city?” he says stormed. Absurd enough already.

“Uhh. What…?” Lapis asks muddled.

“Well you see, I run a blog called ‘Keep Beach City Weird’ where I talk about all the weird stuff happening in my town of ‘Beach City’. I also made a web-exclusive documentary called "Rising Tides, Crashing skies” and I boldly explained the existence of Rock People as well as putting real recorded clips of them attacking our town.“

Lapis and Peridot have actually seen that documentary before. Steven showed it to them a few months ago when he last visited and they had to give their opinions on it until the end. And well…it was confusing, poorly edited, pathetically produced, and overall cringy. And most of the 'real recorded clips’ was too hard to view anyway due to dark lighting and a shaky camera. They were surprised yet assured that Steven was the only one who ever viewed it and actually left a positive review. Apparently, the customer they were faced with was Ronaldo Fryman, a fanatical blogger and surprisingly bigger, more obnoxious dork than Peridot. And judging from his behavior in his documentary and now, they were going to have a hell of a time trying to satisfy this guy’s needs.

Ronaldo continued to talk. "I’ve been tracking their whereabouts for the past month and I found that one of their possible hiding spots is in this very location.” he says. “I suppose this is just an ordinary convenience store located in a deserted plaza. But rock people have been known to terraform, or in this case ‘shapeshift’ themselves and everything they touch…”

“Is that so…” Peridot replies sarcastically.

The fervent chatter mouth suddenly hushes and gapes at Peridot unnervingly again. Only this time, he quickly grasses up to the cashier and smacks the counter with his palms. He hums, inspecting the petite employee’s appearance with his eyes. It was enough to make Peridot clearly terrified and Lapis triggered.

“How do I know you aren’t one of them now? Rock people are known to shapeshift. And if you are one of them, you’re doing a terrible job at it…” he says. “No human could possibly have that kind of outrageous hair and be this absurdly short…” he couriers his inspection to Peridot rudely.

“Hey!”

Even though their customer has only been in the store for less than 30 seconds, Lapis wanted him to get out of here quickly since nothing he has said sounded remotely fascinating to her nor Peridot.

“I don’t mean to interrupt but…” in actuality, she did. “Are you going to get something and leave or are you just going to mess with us with your nonsense?”

Now Ronaldo switches his gawp to the blue haired girl and paces outwards from the counter. Lapis isn’t intimidated or dreaded by the coiled blonde’s stature, but appearing more like she’s trying to stretch those emotions to him instead.

“Maybe you’re one of them, too…There’s no way someone’s hair can be that shade of blue and poofy at the same time.” he assumes to her. “It seems to me that you rock people are becoming more pathetic when it comes to changing your manes.”

Lapis inhales heavily. “Ever heard of hair dye…?” she thinks. “I don’t think any human either could have hair that looks like curly fries spilling out of a smokescreen hat…”

Insulting employees in a store such as this one right now is certainly an offense to customer responsibilities. But according to the rules, Ronaldo can’t be bleakly kicked out or get arrested unless he became physically offensive. For now, they were just going to have to wait until he actually got something and leave for good.

Apparently phase 1 of his crap was on its way to phase 2. “THIS IS A HUB FOR ROCK PEOPLE!” he exclaims his entitlement suddenly and raises a finger up. “THERE’S NO DENYING IT!”

“Dumbass, this is a convenience store.” Peridot says intentionally arduous. “And please don’t shout or you’ll call our boss out here.”

“And by ‘boss’, you mean your invasion commander.” Lapis takes an exasperating heavy breath once more.

Ronaldo ambles toward a random shelf holding snacks that Lapis replenished an hour ago. He examines it carefully yet poorly, fondling his chin, and alarming Lapis and Peridot as they wonder what he was trying to do or say next.

“I bet this isn’t even a real shelf…” he says. At that moment, he lays his palm on the top of the ledge and grips it somewhat hard. “This is some kind of switch that reveals the true appearance of your LAIR!”

The shelf was forcefully pushed down by the coiled hair nuisance and crashes to the floor. Ronaldo was expecting an alteration of scenery in the store to reveal some kind of wicked den. But instead, he just caused an earsplitting mess, probably some collateral damage, and nearly harming Lapis who was standing in front of the impairment. The senseless act immediately triggered the two employees into anger.

“Oh come on! I just finished filling that up a while ago.” Lapis shouts aggressively. “What the hell is your problem?!” All at once, Peridot rushes out of the cashier and strides to Lapis so she could grasp her arm tightly and initiate trying to protect her. “You need to leave, now!” she says irately.

Ronaldo takes a second to quickly figure out and glance on what he has committed. Bags of chips and other snack assortments were dispersed wretchedly and lots of them crushed underneath the now wrecked shelf. But he doesn’t hesitate to say another word.

“Uh…” tenseness was in his tone while he seemed to be drenched. “I’m sure your lair’s transformation takes a while to do…Any second now…”

Nothing happened.

“Okay maybe that was too big to be the switch.” Ronaldo detects. “…But I think I know another possibility!”

The employees creak and watch him in spleen concern as Ronaldo hastes to the counter and grasps for the novelty glasses stand. And right off the bat, he bashes the stand off the top and sees it strike the ground, making another unwanted mess as glasses were now strewn. “Here goes nothing!”

*SMASH*

Alas, still nothing happened. Ronaldo was groaning oddly on when the so-called transformation of the room might happen. The switch could be anywhere, he believed. The next thing he was most likely to hit was the soda machine inches away. Hence he goes forth. “Of course! This time I–––“

But Lapis finally snaps as her undersized temper was torn open. “Augh. That’s it…!” she exclaims. Peridot’s grip on her arm was loosened quickly and she clenches Ronaldo’s torso before he could even touch the soda machine, pulling him hazardously close and shifting her expression to become fiercer. The two people around her begin to feel frantic.

“Now listen…” Lapis utters. “You’ve only been here for 2 minutes and yet somehow, you’re already an obnoxious pain for me and my girlfriend to do our jobs. And I don’t wake up in the middle of the night just to come here and see this place getting trashed so I could clean it again later…” She points out patently forceful. “Also, whatever ‘rock people’ are, they sure as hell aren’t here and we aren’t them, so you’re just a lunatic. And I suggest you grab something, get the fuck out, and have a good night…” she finishes with a striking tone of rage and her grip on his torso becomes sorer.

Peridot listens to her gruff honesty next to her. She felt her face warming up, consequently realizing she was blushing by some means. She never had to see Lapis so angry before other than a few moments where she was mad at HER, and at this moment now. “Damn, Lazuli.” She thinks.

Lapis’ unswerving glare through Fryman’s glasses made him suddenly frightened and mumbled with fear. He writhed, inaudibly begging her to be let go off. So the blue haired girl lets go and watches the customer take a couple of breaths.

“Okay then…” he utters and then coughs a little. “This is not a rock person hub. Maybe my maps back in my lighthouse was scattered…” Ronaldo then grabs a nearby and furrowed nacho chip bag. “I guess I’ll just take this to go…”

Lapis looks back at her partner and signals her to rush to the counter. “Peridot…” she says mollified. “Yeah, I’m on it.” She replies. Peridot takes the snack out of the customer’s hand and checks it on the counter in seconds. Ronaldo pays for it and then shoves it under his concealment suit.

“Oh yeah, there’s one more thing before I go…” he brings out what appeared to be a pamphlet from his pocket. “Would you like a Ronalphlet? It’s supposed to help you become aware of the dangers that threaten Beach–––“

The petite employee swiftly takes his brochure and looks over it. Her expression becomes stern with familiar irritation, and later she tears the piece of paper into two pieces. Peridot never opened the whole thing to read it nor did she even care to after tonight. Ronaldo’s facial emotion that he gave was mildly dissatisfied, but that’s what the employees have felt for the past 5 minutes or so with him. Irony was showered to some extent, and Ronaldo exited the door with his head facing down and walking hastily.

The two girls watch him go out with relief, closing their eyes and exhaling what felt like near-death. But their attention gaped to the parking lot where they overheard the curly blonde uttering loudly about being an idiot of some sorts. Lapis walks over to the counter once again and felt compulsory to confront her partner.

“Good job ripping his pamphlet.” She accolades. “Do you feel alright?”

“I think I should be the one asking you that, Laz…” Peridot replies tentatively. “…And thanks.”

They glance at the substandard scenery of the convenience store. Lapis grasps Peridot’s shoulder and lightly clutches it while sighing at full volume once again to relieve her stress. Peridot follows by exhaling herself. Their heads were face down and contemplating on the situation. It wasn’t like this was the first time this has happened anyway, but this was the first time it had happened in a while. Like what Lapis said earlier, it could be worse. Apparently this was as worse as it can get. They were in a convenience store that needed more or less cleaning, even though that was done earlier and before.

The blue haired girl glanced blandly at the office door. “You think Pearl heard all this from her office?” Lapis asks.

“She would be outside to see us by now.” Peridot replies. “But look…” she then grasps the hand seizing her shoulder and gapes at Lapis. “you should just sit here for a bit and I will take care of this mess. It doesn’t look too much to clean anyway.” Peridot has a nonexistent radar that turns on whenever her partner is in some sort distress. It’s pretty much turned on all the time, but she knew that Lapis has been the one most forewarned and awake tonight. And she wanted to take her shifts this early.

[mistymins]

torn by clouds | Pt.1

➢ Taehyung x Reader

➢ genre/au: fluff-ish, prince au + modern au

➢ word count: 4871

➢ A/N: honestly so many inspirations. Like wut. From Game of Thrones to the old 80s music video, Take on Me, which is still such a bop. Also inspired by @minnochu‘s wonderful Cursed series which is one of my faves. This is the first to a mini series because yea, I still don’t know what the heck I’m doing and this is a mess lol

The prince evaded yet another potentially devastating blow from the Blood King, he knew his strength is waning but nevertheless, his will remained firm. He tightly grasped the hilt of the Sword of Aesir, sweat beading and flashes of the distinct faces of the people back in Roston giving him a sharp purpose.

“A shame that the young prince will soon be slain by my hands. Lay down your arms and maybe I’ll spare you.”

He stared at him blankly, then uttered a scoff of disbelief as his lips gave way to a smirk. “Heh, you ought to watch who you’re speaking to.” The prince raised a fist to the side, never once removing his gaze from the Blood King whom seemed to be intrigued just as Taehyung is hopeful of what he is scheming.

The heat in his palm began to swell until steam quickly seeped through his fingers, rising and dissipating into the air. Any man would writhe under the pain of a torch under their fingertips but not Taehyung; trained under a Master Sorcerer, he could only feel a tingle of sensation. He slowly uncurled his fingers, a spark generating in the center and a fire began to visibly take shape like the first spark of a campfire that gradually grew in height from it’s host of heated coals; a bright blue flame that soon engulfed the whole of his hand as it expanded into a small inferno.

“I am the Prince of Roston, son of Kyong Song-Jin. Also known as the heir to the throne and light be damned, if I give myself up by someone as hideous as you.”

Setting down the comic, you sighed and reeled back slightly in your chair, absorbing the detail of the event outlined in the pages. Painting a picture of the witty yet hot tempered Prince in your mind as you took a sip of morning coffee. It was laughable, you admit, that the most excitement you’ve received for awhile and the one thing your focus has been mainly fixated on is a fictitious Prince in a fictitious story. Nothing had changed apparently all these years, you were still a reflection of yourself, whom thought more about the welfare of characters than reality itself. To be truthful, it honestly wasn’t all that bad.

It was the incessant blinking of ‘one new message’ and new notices from the school arriving in the mailbox that brought that feeling. If you had a dime for every time anxiety bubbled up again, you would have the ability to buy yourself something really refine.

You just didn’t want to deal with it anymore. You were tired, though still strangely thankful, of the frequent calls from your parents asking how things were and if any more thoughts were given to your future career. You bit your lip softly and slightly fiddled with your hands. The steam wafting from the coffee that sat near the thick novel invited you again for a sip. A resigned sigh followed it.

Its all so mundane… 

 Why couldn’t life be the kind of spectacle that Taehyung had in his stories? You thought of all the things you’d pursue if you lived under their kingdoms. Of going to wide open market places where foreign traders from different sides of the world intermingled; eavesdropping on a mercenary’s so called ‘legendary’ experience during one of his missions; visiting ruins torched by dragons. Even gazing upon the castle dwelling where Taehyung lived—where apparently, the bridge was made out mined gold—would be enough for your naiive eyes. More importantly, meeting the Prince himself, hearing him speak of the timeless adventures of rebellion he had before ultimately settling down with his princely status to travel the world in diplomacy.

But the thought reminded you again, that was fiction and the world you lived in, was reality. There were no Taehyungs, no magic, no fire breathing dragons. Instead, you had college, bills, and a career to think about pursuing for the rest of your life.

With a head full of sudden frustration, you smoothed over your unkempt i-just-rolled-out-of-bed hair and attempted to have a more positive, on the bright side kind of thinking; you were meeting Jisoo today. The nutcase whose personality is in juxtaposition against your own and a bestfriend you didn’t ask for but also didn’t realize you needed. You were reserved, preferably spending your free days at home. She was forceful, assertive, an extroverted spirit that fiercely answered the solitude in you.

Just when you’ve put your head in the clouds, the ringtone emitting from your cell startles you out of your thinking. It was a sure fire way to make your heart drop into the shadows, reading the ID and discovering it was from your boss, presumably asking you to come in for work, dropping plans in substitution for the hours. Of course, every time, you urged yourself to take it. More moolah, you figured.

Taking the call, it was just as you assumed. “Yes, I’m able to do it today. No it’s no hassle at all. ”

You smoothed your polo shirt and the apron imprinted with the logo of the café you worked for; You combed your fingers over the strands of hair that stood in opposition from the ponytail and made sure the makeup had done it’s job; the dark circles no longer visible.

Afternoon began to pour into the windows and the sound of birds and of the accompanying rustle of wind mixed with the mechanical jet of vehicles made you feel that empty feeling again. An emotion that sent your gaze at the familiar photo that hung warmly on the refrigerator door, maybe a reminder of simpler times that made you both sad and happy; your two closest friends, with you cheerfully snug in the middle–beaming smiles as if it told the world that it had conquered it. Life after highschool graduation didn’t prepare you for this, the separation; knowing those two are as far away as gone, living their own lives. 

Then for some odd reason, a flash of Taehyung, the audacious and lightharded man, the fictional man, appeared in your mind with eyes as fiery as the sun.

At this time, the café usually stopped sitting customers but there were always the leftover ones that mingled about and conversed; the ones who arrived just before the signs closed and most likely gave the cooks (who were preoccupied with cleaning up their stations and preparing with the next day) a hard time. The folks who also needed to be reminded that a café needed its sleep time; that was part of your work too.

You weren’t locking up, though. Thank god. There were others for that.

So after a bit of tidying, with wiping the counter tops, sweeping the floor and whatnot, you were relieved to grab your belongings from the locker area, even removing the tie to let your mane loose was a freeing feeling. Ugh I need a haircut. So eager to make your leave, the phone that rang in your pocket almost went unnoticed; if it wasn’t for its steady vibration.

Jisoo, it read.

“what’s up?” you answered.

“hey, so I wanted to see if you wanted to go for a drink with me. You know, since it’s going to be the weekend and all.”

“Thanks but I’m not up for it today. I just kinda wanted to head home tonight.” You rubbed your nape and laughed apologetically.

“Aww ok. Well, head home safe! Hugs and kisses!.”

You hung up the call but kept a steady grip on your phone; It never feels good to turn people down, you’ve always been known as sort of the “yes man” but honestly, you were ready to dig into the rest of that comic book issue while basking in the quiet and quaint place that was home. That prospect certainly put you in eager haste.

It was true, nothing beats a misty, soothing shower to evaporate the day’s worries. The feeling of warmth gently cascading down your back, the droplets pooling and trickling down your hair was both pleasant and .

By the time you tip toed out of the bathtub, steam became your fog as you fumbled your hair dry with a towel–proceeding to make little silly drawings against the misty mirrors. One application of the fruit-scented lotion, a number of tedious skincare prep later, you quickly reached over for the change of clothes that you instinctively, usually, perch on the nearby handle.

“What the-“ you groaned, deeply as your eyes rolled heavily over such realization.

You had forgotten to grab the fresh change of clothes you whipped out for yourself; recalling and assuming that your mind must’ve been preoccupied enough to leave them in place.

So you proceeded to wrap the moist towel around your body, bracing yourself before stepping out of the confines of the warm and comforting sauna that is your bathroom and into the harsh changes of your apartment. Cold…Cold! You shivered as the chill hit your shoulders, hastily tip toeing into your room, not even bothering to turn on the lights as you fumble your hand in the dark wooden drawers of the dresser. Come on!

Clack…

Freezing, petrified like stone for a second, the sound was distinct; the sound of an object colliding against the floor, judging from displacement, you could deduce what it probably was.

But also, there was something else very faint.

Your heart tells you that something was off, but you continued to “search” the drawers of the dresser to feign awareness. It was faint like something your ears could’ve deceived you with, something maybe your mind conjured in the night. But it was no question, you heard a gasp.

There was a metal bar that leaned against the dresser from the side, you knew because you remembered and because you were too paranoid to be defenseless for situations like these. Keeping a weapon for protection was a way of easing your fear of the situations you hear of happening in the night–now it was definitely your haven. Inching ever so carefully, you blindly felt about in the abyss for the cold metal, hearing the acceleration of your heart as intense drumbeats. All that invaded your thoughts were all those days, snuggled under a warm blanket in the dead of night, watching crime documentaries of the unsolved cases that made your hair stand stiff. You were sorely regretting it.

You flip the light switch on nearby and surely enough a brief glimpse of a man, maybe a little bit taller, came into sight, though unable to clearly witness his face, that fact didn’t matter nor so much as concern you as you close yours eyes and initiate a full swing powered by all the strength you could conjure up at the moment.

“Hey, hey, is that anyway to treat your hostage?” his voice crisp.

You stared at him all wide eyed, dismayed to see his fist grasp the bar, putting your attack in a complete halt, more so, he inched his face closer with that taunting expression of his (towards your own that was) full of disbelief. Just what was this nutcase blabbering about?

“Tell me girl, you’re in collusion with the witch aren’t you? Or maybe, you’re the old hag yourself!” he demanded.

What the heck was he talking about? Whatever the case was, you began a power struggle which itself was proving to be difficult considering the amidst it all, the towel: you could feel it loosening from its tight wounding. “I’m not a witch and I-I don’t know one either! How’d you get into my apartment, you crazy sicko?!” you react back. You kept up with the struggle but it was obvious, the losing side of the battle was you. Unable to persist against his constant demonstration of strength, it was the final straw of prevalence when he abruptly pulled the bar towards him, reeling your body forward to stumble against his and undoing the towel all in the same frame of time.

Perhaps this was the one moment that gave you two a chance to collect your thoughts, ironically with the space between each other a little too close for comfort. With a disheveled towel acting as a disconcerting barrier between bodies. You lifted your head from what you realized was the firmness of his chest, earning yourself a good look at his face once more but in a more detailed fashion. And it finally dawned on you why his face gave you a familiar feeling, you stepped back hastily and grabbed your towel in a helter-skelter fashion, the realization of you almost, entirely, naked on top of a man feeling insignificant despite the fact your cheeks were still tinted.

No way, gotta be a joke. It’s gotta be…!

Maybe it was a crazy thought but it made you feel like a kid who believed too much into her fantasies. 

Dark blue and white apparel…you skimmed him from head to toe. It glinted pronouncedly, the symbol intricately carved in a circular pin that held his silk capes together. “A white hawk?” you unknowingly mutter aloud.

He briefly glances at the pin to which you seem to be mesmerized by, “Supposed to represent the role of ‘Protector of the Realm’; a great strength they say. Well, leave it to my ancestors to create something unoriginal. ”

There was only one person whom that symbol belonged to; the man from the books. He wore an apparel almost identical to Taehyung’s–no it is identical. A hooded cape with the same design, and the way it bunched up on one shoulder like a scarf, reminded you that it was the same one drawn on him in the comics whenever he left his kingdom on another adventure. And the pin, it was right where it should and looked how it should be.  

You emitted a breathy laugh, feeling yourself buy into this reality. But no doubt, he looks too much like him: the hair, the getup, his manner of speaking. It was no question. But still, you shook your head vigorously and slightly furrowed your brows together. Are you crazy? Are you really gonna believe that it’s him? Get it together, he’s not even real. 

 It was restless until you couldn’t stand wondering anymore and blurted, “Just who are you?”

He crossed his arms, “Prince Taehyung of Roston and so on and so forth whatever titles that follow my name.”

A shiver engulfs you, sending out signals to carry out a thousand goosebumps, making your heart skip at the utterance of his name. Taehyung…

“The one and only.” 

A low gasp comes out of you when he answers what you thought was your own conscience; must’ve spoken aloud again. He bows, with one arm in extension and the other nestled on him, hugging his rib cage, not very Prince-like but more as if he was a showman acknowledging his audience at the end of a performance.

In the back of your mind, the skepticism ran, insistent that this was indeed a dream, that you took a tumble, slipped out of the bathtub and bruised your head or something along the lines of that nature. And now you were in some kind of dream sequence, albeit a very life like one. Gulping and hesitant, you placed a flat palm above your chest. “ —, I’m —-. And this is my home.” 

He stood and paced a bit in place. “Strange accent…” he mutters. “Listen, that’s good to know but I would really like to get back to Roston. It’s not really in my plans to be a hostage so if you would kindly tell the witch to–”

All of a sudden, three knocks maybe four echoed from the front door and it put a an interlude to the current conversation. A little bit bothered, you silently questioned who would go knocking at your door so well into the evening especially after having dealt with an “intruder” who, as it turned out, wasn’t exactly your conventional criminal; of all people it was someone you knew—well sort of. Having to juggle the visible facts that you were having a conversation with a fictional character from your comic book; you couldn’t believe it. I need a drink after this.

A muffled voice came from behind the door. “Hey —-. You didn’t think you could avoid me all day, did ya? Come on open up, I got a bottle of champagne and some new movie rentals.”

You quickly recognized the voice. Jisoo.

Instantaneously snatching whatever clothes that was sufficient enough, you speedily dressed and mouthed Taehyung to hide in the bedroom, even if he gave a confused expression and wasn’t quick to comply, you were going to do everything in your ability to get that man out of sight. You pushed him without thought back into the room, flicked the lights off , and left the door only slightly ajar for his own good. “Don’t leave this room!” You loudly whispered to him.

An evening pretty well off into the night and a mysterious man whom no one has any knowledge of, alone with you in your own apartment, to anyone bursting into the scene, it would come off as one of your secret hookups or secret boyfriends. And it wouldn’t even be as bad as it seemed if only people didn’t know your personality to be in polarity with the notion; you didn’t want people blowing this up into a big fuss. What kind of story would you even attempt to conjure up for the misconstrued situation? You rolled your shoulders attempting to calm yourself, repeating ‘she’s not going to see him’ like a mantra before twisting the knob and unlocking the front door.

“What took you so long, Y/N?” usually it didn’t bother you when she let herself in of her own accord but this time was different. It wasn’t exactly a desirable time for her to go snooping around.

She placed the champagne on the coffee table in front of the couch. Knowing exactly where the wineglasses were, she grabbed them from their cupboards before plopping down and sorting quickly through the movies on her lap; reading their titles.

Instead of giving Jisoo your choice, you blankly stared her way, faintly realizing that you had not paid any attention to her question.

“Earth to Y/N, you okay?”

You shook your head and chuckled to obscure your awkward behavior but you knew it wasn’t going to fool anyone, especially Jisoo. You only needed to try and detract her attention into a reason believable enough. “Yeah, it’s just, it wasn’t a good day at work today. I have a massive headache so I think we’re gonna have to put a raincheck on movie night.” You feigned frustration and rubbed the sides of your temples.

She sighed as if she was the one affected, “God, it’s that one coworker again, isn’t it? I told you, you only need to tell me the way he walks home and I’ll scare him for you. Guarantee the dude will think twice about what he’s doing.” 

Jisoo stood, and began to walk to the one place you wished her not to be, intensely hoping that she not take the room on the right of the hallway, where the bedroom lay. But thankfully, as 50% of you assumed, she walks into the left corridor leading to the bathroom; you were able to swallow the nervousness down.

Shut and click.

 A sigh of instant relief leaves you, until gazing up, you spot Taehyung widening the gap of the door, peeking out at first and then gradually sticking his head out in the open.

‘What are you doing?’ you mouthed at him. ‘Get back in there!’

He raised his brows, ‘If I recall, we just met, why should I give heed to what you say?’ he whispered back

Oh the audacity. You would’ve given him a reply to that if only you didn’t notice the faucet from the bathroom becoming inaudible and a click sound of the door following in succession. ‘I swear to god if you don’t–’ you pointed at him as quickly as you settled down the moment Jisoo swings the door open.

“Hey remember that shirt I lent you last week?” Jisoo emerges and you quickly sit back down in your seat, pretending that Taehyung almost being discovered didn’t happen.

“Yeah.”

“Well since I’m here, I might as well take it so you don’t have to go through the hassle.” Your eyes widen as she once more, takes the steps towards your bedroom, pushing the door slightly further agape this time.

“Actually!” you blurt out which successfully stops her. “It’s in the washer right now. So don’t worry about it, I’ll get it to you like tomorrow or something.” You waved your hand dismissively.

She squinted her eyes at you, making you conclude that she must’ve realize that you’re up to no good, but surprisingly, she casually shrugs and makes her way towards you. “Well if you say so. You know, you seem kind of off today, you sure you’re okay.” She asks

Though, your heart skips, you manage to keep a consistently believable act even though underneath, your heart is slightly thumping—to the point of thinking she hears it. “Yeah, I’m good. I just need some sleep.” That’s an honest truth, actually.

Barely a short time elapsed before you were seeing Jisoo out: fine, I guess I’ll hang out with myself tonight were the last words she imprinted on you. Despite that, the way she eyed the bottle of champagne tells you that she wasn’t at all that sad. Her departure alleviated the sudden anxiety that had arisen but the second the door shuts was a cue for Taehyung, bringing back the stress level to your ears.

Just what were you to do with him?

Besides that, taking him seriously proved to be a challenge as he was draped in that over the top medieval garb that looked extremely prize worthy in professional cosplaying. 

He brushed the dust off his shoulders and trousers, “Wasn’t that just lovely.”

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry but I really needed you out of sight.”

“You look like a nice girl, but witches often use nice girls to do the dirty deed, if their not masking themselves as one already. Luring gentlemen like” he gestures at himself. “bet that haggard witch is laughing herself to her deathbed. Transporting me into some foreign land. Well why don’t you tell her to go–.” 

“I told you, I don’t know anything. I don’t know any witches, if they even exist. All I know is that this is my home and you’re in it.” the tone in your voice raised a bit at some point hearing him accuse you of some travesty when in actuality you feel as if your mind had ceased to function trying to wrap its thoughts around what’s happened; you were badly as lost as him.  

He scratched his head, “So, no clue at all.”

Just then, the cogs in his mind turned the inner workings of his thoughts. The throne. The lifeline of his family’s reputation and where was he? Definitely not doing a very ordained job at guarding it; back then, he was easily pardoned for being irresponsible but he believes he would not fare well this time if he broke another vow. But then—he pondered that if he was here then you must also be here for a reason. If fate is real. 

His hazel brown eyes twinkled, the corner of his lids curling up like a smile as firm hands pressed the sides of your shoulder. “You must know the way back!”

Taken aback by his eager and sudden approach, with an expression that filled the world’s hopes, but the best you could give was the way you shook your head apologetically, “Listen, I really, don’t know. I’m just as confused as you.” You admit.

“But then, how did you know who I am? The way you gazed at me, I don’t think– I would’ve recognized you at this point.”

Eyeing the comic, a simple and thinly bound piece of work laying on the table that now held more significance than it did previous. Where his life lay public, where every detail, complex or minor, penned down, drawn, and predetermined before he knew himself. Was this a revelation you wanted to tell him at nearly 10 in the evening? Maybe it can wait another day.

Inevitably, your voice quivered. “I-I’ve read about you.”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together, “huh, I didn’t know the scholars had my name penned down. Didn’t even wait till I was dead. In any case, it doesn’t seem like you know the hag, you look as if you were dragged along into my problem. So! Help me here, what does it take to return to the kingdom’s capital.  A horse? A ship?”

Your eyes suddenly began to take in the sight of him as if the past hour hadn’t happened. It brought this otherworldly feeling and you couldn’t quite believe that it was him, Taehyung in the flesh, alive and real; more significantly, standing in your own living room. How was it even possible to begin with? Magic. Absurd, It was nonsensical that you even conceived such a notion but well—nothing about this situation made sense in the first place. It was like seeing a portrait come to life only those features of his that you knew in the books: the caramel hair, layered to fall just above his ears and precisely to frame his face, befitting the stature of a prince; his eyes that curved in a way that defined coolness but not haughtiness; and lips that seem to know when to smart talk the next egotistical fool. They were more defined, nothing what any artist could create with a pencil.

You must’ve been gawking at him, mouth agape, as the hazy vision of him moving his mouth made you realize that he was trying to converse with you. Uncontrollably, the embarrassment began to settle in your cheeks and you ripped your eyes away. Fine, he was handsome, you get it.

“Look girl, I pay well. Just—show me the way and we’ll forget that we had anything to do with each other.”

It occurred to you that he was far from home; so far that it wasn’t even in the same world or dimension. How were YOU going to break that to him. If he steps out that door, it was no telling how long he’ll fare, sure there weren’t fire breathing dragons or forest monsters but the real world could be just as dangerous.

“I-I’m sure things are confusing for you. But it’s the middle of the night right now, I can’t do anything to help you.”

“Then you wouldn’t have to. I’ve been in worse situations before.” he sidesteps you, headed towards the front door.

“No wait! You don’t understand. You’re far, FAR, away from where you need to be.” You gestured. “I mean you don’t even know. And it’s no use to you if you go out at night.” 

You were itching to take a step back when his boots begin to march forward, hands to his hips, and a cocked head that makes you blink away as you failingly make eye contact. “Are you suggesting I spend the night?” he says

You inhaled deeply, sensing those amber orbs of his looking directly at you. Taehyung then flipped his sight at the front door that lead to the darkness beyond before leaning in a tad bit too close for comfort within your personal bubble, “It looked like an ink blot.” He emitted a wry smile. ”A birthmark is it?”

Crap, he saw?!? A rosy heat quickly ascends to settle on your cheeks upon realizing with that noggin of yours what he meant as you snapped your hand over the side of your stomach, even though knowing it was unnecessary since clothing masked what was underneath, still…when he said that, it felt like your shirt was only a shear veil and it gave you clear evidence, this was Taehyung, alright. Unafraid of talking things up; with merchants, the lords of the kingdom, and of course, the beautiful women who sparked an interest enough to chat with. These were the comics at least.

You were flushed to have received a taste of his personality in its actual form; embarrassed and a little put off.

“your words are definitely something you’re going to regret someday.“ you mumbled.

“Wait, what did you say?” something in his tone suddenly flipped a switch, turning to look at him just as his brow melded into a slight crease, an aura of thoughtfulness like something had suddenly plagued his mind.

“it’s nothing, I was talking to myself. What, why?”

His eyes skimmed the floorboards in emptiness, thinking, then he promptly met your eyes and you could see the moment that he must’ve ascertained something significant for himself. “She said those words to me. The witch.”

[overstalking]

Another Wonderful Submission

Born From Dark Water

Based on the film ‘Song of the Sea’ and this ask: http://overstalking.tumblr.com/post/159215981404/genji-hanzo-and-zenyatta-with-a-selkie-so-how

The practice of self imposed solitude was a form of punishing himself just as much as it was for survival. Living the life of an exile and an assassin, he told himself that it was best not to allow any form of weakness like family or loved ones in his life that could only be exploited by his enemies later on. Anything that once resembled a chance of that, he either cut down or cast aside. Besides, a murderer like Hanzo Shimada had no right to hope for such things.

Once he and his brother Genji had reconciled along with fulfilling their duties at Overwatch, Hanzo fell into old habits despite his insistence to his brother that he had forgiven himself and moved on. That didn’t stop Genji from offering a place to stay in either Switzerland or Nepal should he need it; but being the proud man that he is, and not wanting to make his brother worry, Hanzo reassured him that he was fine and declined his offer every time.

During his travels, Hanzo found himself in a small safehouse on the edge of a small, craggy shore off the coast of Ireland. It was a small, drafty, stone cabin located where strong winds and thunderstorms occurred almost every other day, and isolated from the outside world… it was perfect. There, he found the time to live a quiet reclusive life with no burdens or responsibilities weighing him down and often spent his time meditating. Finding food was easy enough- given his skill with a bow and resourceful nature he sustained himself primarily on the abundant salmon from the nearby river, rabbit and deer in the forest, and a small garden for herbs and vegetables he grew just on the edge of the forest behind the house. The few times he would venture into the nearest town, which was miles away, it was to shop for supplies he otherwise couldn’t gather or create on his own. He only really socialized with the older locals who ran the shops, and that was limited to mainly small talk where he started to pick up Irish Gaelic.

Genji would send packages of small comforts from home on his birthday and around the winter holidays- large boxes of tea, a few bottles of saké, some other small treats and a handwritten letter along with a sparrow feather attached to a photo of him and either Zenyatta or Angela. It warmed Hanzo’s heart to know that his brother was doing well and thinking of him.

The rural countryside was rife with myths and tales of fae folk and other creatures from old times. At first, Hanzo chalked it up to superstitions and stories derived from old tradition much like that of gods and yōkai from his own homeland. He remembered a story his father told him once about the Namahage that would visit their castle and punish lazy or naughty children on New Year’s Eve so that he and his brother would behave. Once they grew older and realized that Namahage were just grown men dressed up in costumes, however, the tale lost its’ effect on them.

Still, he stuck around for the tales that the old shopkeepers would share after they would close their shops and go to the pub before heading home.

“You live in that little shack near the sea, is that right?”

“I do, yes.”

“Ah… so, lookin’ for a selkie bride, is it?”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t tell me ya haven’t heard the tale of the selkie?!”

“I have not.”

“Oh, fer the love of- Moira! Flaherty! Our Japanese friend here doesn’t know what a selkie is!”

“So? Leave him be, James. An’ don’t go fillin’ his head with some old stories!”

“Bah!” scoffed James, as he brushed his hand at them dismissively. The old man moved closer to Hanzo’s side of the table and leaned in, almost like a schoolchild about to tell a dark secret and whispered to him.

“Alright, here’s what you do, friend- you to the sea an’ shed seven tears into the water. Seven, no more no less. Once you do that, it’ll summon a selkie an’ then, you’ll have to steal her coat.”

“Why?”

“Because, once a selkie has lost their coat, she’ll have to agree to be your bride.”

James put his arm around Hanzo’s shoulder.

“Handsome young lad like you… doesn’t make much sense you don’t have at least someone in your life. Jus’ try it, son. An’ hey, if nothin’ happens, well then I’m just an old fool havin’ the craic!”

“Dad? C’mon it’s time to go.”, James’ daughter, Aoife approached the two at the table to bring her father home. She was a beautiful woman in her mid 30′s, and medium length red hair… She was also happily married with three children. She ran the flower shop and took care of her father after his wife died, and would always greet Hanzo with a courteous smile.

When the two leave out of earshot, Hanzo overhears Moira at the bar sigh while cleaning the bar.

“Poor old James… don’t go weeping in the ocean for a fairy tale, Hanzo; he just likes tellin’ stories. Gives him a reason to get out of the house since his wife’s died, you see. He’s pushin’ 95 this year now, an’ his mind’s goin’ downhill. So don’t mind it.”

It’s true that James was among the oldest residents in town and in declining health, so Hanzo brushed it aside as nothing more than a lonely old man telling a story. Then again, maybe it wasn’t all crazy- Hanzo and his brother both had power over ancient spirit dragons for god’s sake! Maybe this island had some forgotten magic of it’s own, after all.

The next couple days, Hanzo went on with his life and thought nothing about his old friends’ story. Then, he started to notice just how many seals would congregate on the rocks near his house; but he reasoned that it was most likely because of the abundant amount of fish and sunlight in that spot that was ideal for relaxing.

Then he thought more about what James had said- how ‘a handsome young lad like him’ truly has no one to share his life with. Hanzo never paid it any mind until someone brought it up. Genji was always more charming and likeable than him in their youth, so he just accepted that. He expected that he’d have to go along with an arranged marriage like his father, have some children, and live his life as the head of the clan. But life has a way of making other plans, since he had to cut his brother down after their father died, his entire world had fallen apart, and he had to find a way to start life all over again.

One day, after meditating on the beach, he stood up and walked closer to the ocean. The waves had started to lap at his feet and he stopped when he was about knee deep in the water. He thought about everything all at once- his brother, the clan, his parents, the life he left behind. For years he was hellbent on a constant search for redemption. And through it all, what did he have to show for it? For his sacrifice, his time in Overwatch? What will his legacy be?… Will anyone remember him when he’s gone? Would anyone accept and love him after all he’s done? Does he even deserve that?

The tears he didn’t even know he had been holding inside had started to fall.

One,

A sob

Two,

Three

He starts to weep

Four,

Five,

Then, finally… bawling

Six,

Seven

He falls to his knees and cries into his arm, hiding his shame from the rest of the world.

Once he calmed down, he made his way back to the cabin to go change out of his soaked clothes. He looked around and noticed that the seagulls and waves had gone quiet and that’s when saw something moving off to the side on the rocks nearby.

He saw a figure draped in what looked like a long, dark, iridescent, fur coat. He watched her as she shed and laid on top of it while she lounged on the rocks, with a content smile on her face and her naked body basking in the sunlight. She was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

An all powerful sense of longing crashed into him like a tidal wave; he never wanted to get close to someone so much in his life. He doesn’t know what possessed him to walk over to her right then and there, throwing any sense of caution or apprehension to the wind. Once his footsteps hit the sand, she shot up and immediately turned to face him, clutching at the coat covering her body. He froze, and for the longest time they said nothing; just stared at each other, waiting for a response and wondering what the other’s one’s next move might be.

He was close enough now to get a good look at her- her hair was long, her skin was a cool tone, and her eyes were dark, clear, and blue like the ocean. He reached a hand out and slowly approached her. She lowered herself from her rock and started to walk towards him. He stepped back, almost afraid of her at first, then froze again. When she got close enough, she gently placed a hand on his cheek and traced her fingers along his jawline. He noticed that her skin felt cool to the touch and shivered when he felt her fingers travel down the sinews of his neck and along his collarbone. Through the fabric of his shirt, he could feel the gentle press of her palm over his heartbeat.

The lives of humans had piqued a deep curiosity in her. Each day they would meet at the same spot, and over time, they had begun to learn more about one another. He taught her how to use a bow, while she taught him how to swim and catch salmon with his hands. He told her all about his home and life on the surface. He even cast aside his fear of embarrassment and showed her the fisherman’s dance from his homeland, which amused her greatly.  

The first time Hanzo invited her to his home, she tried saké for the first time. Much to her naivety, she drank too much too fast, and Hanzo soon followed. Before long, inhibitions were thrown aside, their faces glowed, and their bellies were full of laughter and warmth from the alcohol. They were sitting on the sofa by the fire when she climbed on top of him and softly brushed her lips against his, then wrapped her arms over his shoulders to hold him close. The kiss deepened and he held their bodies flush together, his hands taking in every curve, almost worried she might slip away if he let go.

“Stay with me… please.” he whispered into the crook of her neck

Her voice was filled with sorrow,

“I- I can’t.”

His kisses trailed down her collarbone to her sternum,

“You will never want for anything… I can take care of you.”

He paused to look up at her reverently, waiting for a reply,

“Please…”

She had a sad look in her eyes, and then perked up when she thought of an idea.

“A year. I will stay with you for a year. If I’m unhappy, by the time a year has passed, I go back to the sea.”

Hanzo shed tears of joy and wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her into another deep kiss,

“I guess I will have to make you happy, then…”

The legend says that selkies make great wives, but their hearts will always have a powerful longing for the sea. So in order to keep his new wife happy, he purchased the property along with the cottage on the shore where they had found each other. In the morning, he could find her wading in the shallow water looking up at the sky before dawn. This was her time, so he gave her space and stood in the doorway while they both watched the sun come up. During restless nights, she would lay his head down on her lap and sing songs to him while brushing her fingers through his hair as he drifted off to sleep. He fell more in love with her with every passing day.

He bought clothes for her- thick wool sweaters and coats to keep her warm, and light breathable yukatas for warmer days to wear around the house. She loved the intricate patterns of flowers and clouds that were dyed onto the fabric in vibrant colors of all shades; but her most favorite was a dark kimono he gifted her with water lilies that shone bright shades of blue, green, and purple in the black silk when pointed at the sunlight.

The first night they made love was filled with as much nervous but impassioned hesitation as one might expect. Hanzo trailed his warm hands to calm the gooseflesh creeping up on her shoulders and left soft kisses in his wake. She arched her back when his mouth found her breasts and he suckled and rolled his tongue against the small hardened peak and repeated his attention onto the other side. He moved down her body and nestled his head between her legs, holding her hips in place and taking his time. She combed through his air and let out a soft moan when his lips and tongue found the delicate bundle of nerves and brought her closer to the edge all while lavishing her with praises.

He crawled up between her legs and she turned him over so that she was on top of him. She straddled his hips, and teased him briefly by grinding him against her folds then he slowly moved inside. She rolled her hips against him in a slow rhythm, having complete control of the pace. He looked up at her adoringly, then flipped over and started becoming more wild and erratic with his thrusts. She arched up against him and dragged her nails down his back when he hit all the right spots. He held her body close and spread kisses up and down the crook of her neck, whispering soft praises and love into her ear. She cried out when she came and felt a warmth spread as he finished inside her.

Afterwards, they held each other and whispered sweet nothings while he inhaled the ocean’s scent in her hair as she nuzzled into his chest and her fingers traced the lines of his elaborate tattoo. Every night thereafter, he could taste the saltwater on her skin.

He tried burning the coat. Once; on a night after they had been arguing when he was sure that she would find it and run away. He threw it into the fire while she was sleeping, and a minute later he heard a godawful shriek of pain coming from upstairs. She was writhing on the bed and the skin on her arms had started turning a angry and violent red. He put two and two together and rushed back downstairs to pull the coat out and stomp out the fire. He never bothered asking for forgiveness, knowing in his heart he didn’t deserve it, so he expressed his apology through his actions: applying salve to the burns on her skin, dressing her wounds every day, and holding her close every night. From then on, he kept the coat folded neatly in a large lacquered box under the floorboards of the house and never lashed out at her again.

A few weeks later, she had started becoming nauseous at certain smells and vomiting. Hanzo was worried that it was a side effect of her being stuck on land for too long, thinking that she might need to return to the ocean or she’ll die. Turns out, it was morning sickness.

Hanzo was elated at the news, and so was she. They were going to start a family! He brought her into town to shop for baby clothes and furniture, never once leaving her side. James and Aoife were curious about his new wife, having never seen her before in their small tight knit community.

“Where are you from, dear?” Aoife asked innocently

“She’s a selkie, darlin’, I already told ya!”

“Hush, dad!”

James pulls Hanzo to the side while Aoife helped his wife pick out some baby clothes.

“So, it worked, did it?! I knew it! The stories couldn’t’ve all been shite! How’d you do it? How’s life been for her on the surface? She doing alright?”

“James, although we are friends, I would appreciate it if you did not ask such outlandish questions about my new wife. They were only stories, old friend, nothing more.”

Hanzo felt bad for dismissing his old friend, especially since he was right; and James was noticeably hurt by this.

“Alright. Y’know…”

His once jovial expression suddenly grew dark and a grave seriousness was brought out in his tone.

“I’m not mad, boy. My wife Fiona may be gone, but I know a selkie when I see one! Their home is the sea, you know; an’ bless you for living close by, but it’s not the same to them. Once I gave my wife back her coat, she was gone for seven years! But in life, my Fiona was happy and she could come and go to the sea as she chose. It wasn’t until our Aoife was in primary school that she saw her for the first time and decided to stay. You can’t keep her from her home like that without at least giving her a choice! I saw the red marks on her arms… If a selkie’s coat is harmed, they can feel it. Don’t tell me you tried to burn her coat, lad?!”

Hanzo didn’t like being confronted, and he could kill the old man right then and there if they weren’t out in public. The fact that this man knew more than he let on brought out old impulses in Hanzo of wanting to tie up loose ends and how he would do away with a ‘problem’ like this in his old life. But he was a new man now, a good one; and he didn’t want to risk losing the happy life that he was about to have with his wife and child. He only snapped out of his incensed rage when his wife walked over to them.

“Hanzo?”

He almost jolted when she touched his arm.

“Yes? What is it, love?”

“Aoife and I are done shopping. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, beloved; I’m fine.”, he reassured her as he kissed her forehead.

He put his arm around her shoulder and the two started walking to their car. When his wife was out of earshot, he quickly walked over to James while Aoife was talking on the phone to her husband. Hanzo leaned forward then shot a look at James with his eyes full of hatred, and gave him a warning:

“Don’t ever talk to me or my wife again.”

Soon enough, Hanzo and his wife had set up a makeshift nursery in their tiny home, filled with clothes, toys, a changing station, and a canopy crib surrounded by a painted mural of the ocean.

There was a hurricane on the night she went into labor. The contractions had started and she clutched onto her stomach. Because of the weather, it was impossible to bring her to the hospital or call a doctor. While Hanzo ran upstairs to get medicine and the bed ready for an impromptu at-home birth, she slowly staggered out of their home and into the storm.

“I’m sorry”

He ran after her. They got separated when a tree was struck by lightning and fell over, blocking his path. Once he found another way around, he frantically searched the woods and shore until her cries gave way to the sound of the howling wind and roaring thunder. He kept trying to call out to her until his throat was raw and he could no longer make out her footprints in the sand. And in his grief he fell to his knees; the howl he let out was not human.

When the storm cleared the next morning, his exhausted and disheveled body remained in place, too despondent from the night before. His gaze was downcast and empty, staring off into the horizon but focusing on nothing in particular. There was a sound of something lumbering towards him, but he paid it no mind. Then he felt a tug as a bull seal bit down and pulled at him on his pant leg. Once the seal got his attention it started moving its body like an excited dog towards inland, down to where the sea joins with the river. He stood up and decided to follow the creature as it dove back into the water and occasionally lifted its head to turn and make sure he was still following behind.

The seal led him to a grotto a few hundred feet from where he last saw her footprints wash away on the edge of the river. He crept into the small cave and there, laying on her side at the edge of the water, was his wife. Her hair clung to the shape of her form, the dark color giving off the impression of her coat and a small pool of blood gathered at her lower half that trailed down into the water. Her skin was sickly white and pale, and to his relief he saw that she was alive, but barely- her body shivering weakly from the cold.

He rushed over to her side and held her close, kissing her forehead and rocking her back and forth.

“I’m sorry… she needed… the water…”

“Shh shh shh it’s alright, I’m here…”

She turned around to face him and in her arms was their newborn daughter- contentedly nursing at her breast while wrapped up in her own little white fur coat.

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking With the Schuylers (39)

Hi! It’s been a crazy week, but 39 is finally done! There are so many things I want to do with this story and these characters, I’m always very happy to hear you guys are reading and enjoying because that means I get to have the most fun in this world even longer :) 

Shoutout to @oosnavi for being my sounding board for the 2 weeks we’ve been developing Emily and literally listening to the paragraphs upon paragraphs I’ve sent. The true MVP right there. 

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I  19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32 33 34 35  36  37  38 

Tagging: @linsnavi  

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse.

               When an old flame dies out it leaves ashes, and embers, and rivers of tears.

               Supposedly.

               These are none of the things that Peggy Schuyler is feeling. In fact, there is a sensation of lightness when Enzo calls her to end their relationship-a really shitty move on his part-that helps to soften the blow. Instead of tears, there are upturned lips and a curious heart. She hangs up the phone, tossing it on her upturned covers, before moving to change her relationship status on social media.

               Single. The word that had once carried the weight of a natural disaster now floats in the air above her, through the glow-in-the-dark stars that line the high ceiling. It doesn’t come down to her level, although she feels it should be. And in this haze of feelings, of solitude and relief and peace, all she can do is shift over, grabbing her phone and holding it gently between two hands. His name is still etched in her contact list, four letters. They’re just that-letters. Attached to the name is a photograph, one they had taken while stuck on the subway one afternoon. Enzo is fun, lighthearted. His broad nose and face-consuming smile bring her own lips to turn in the memory. They joked, they laughed. He was comedic, and impulsive, and just weird enough to bring into her circle of misfits.

               But even then, had he been enough? She should be crying-isn’t that what girls did after breakups? She hadn’t cried when she’d broken up with Leo or Nick, either, but she’d been young then and the relationships consisted of group trips to the movies and sweaty hands held over greasy, aromatic popcorn. This should be different. Peggy had been dating Enzo for a few months; they’d gotten serious. In this frame of time, in his mind, serious had meant a few fumbling moments of awkward sex while her parents were out of town and ‘really great’ beer purchased by an older cousin of his. She’d thought it was cool, feeling older and more mature even though the beer made her stomach bloat and her head spin a little.  And sure, the sex was awkward but when Peggy had told Maria about it she’d just laughed, tipping her head back and shaking her head. It’s just because he’s your first. It’s always awkward the first time.

               It hadn’t gotten less awkward-in fact, the longer their relationship progressed, the more out of place Peggy began to feel. She wasn’t sure just what was wrong, or how to fix it, but she knew it couldn’t be Enzo. He hadn’t changed one bit. He hung around a separate crowd-ones who were swimmers like he was. They weren’t particularly harsh but Enzo’s friends weren’t the nicest, either. They were concerned with higher-class outings and getting drunk on their parents’ boats. She often sat low in the bleachers, watching him swim back and forth with concentrated gusto. He was good, but not the best. He liked to pretend that he was, though. He’d climb out of the water, shining with fresh droplets that cascaded down bare skin as if they belonged there, and reveled in the cheering of the crowd. This was-is-his home. Peggy, on the other hand, holds court with a grouping of mismatched friends on fire escapes with vodka mixed into sugary drinks. She prefers these nights, when inhibitions are released and expectations forgotten. These people, this family of friends she had acquired, don’t treat her any differently. Their statuses are different; a scholarship student, an immigrant, a wild child, and a senator’s daughter…together, they fit. Together, they enjoy their nights on the rooftop as equals in their own right. Societal standings cannot find them hovering above the city lights.

               Not even Enzo could ruin their nights above the crowds. He’d been invited; multiple times, in fact. But each time he answered Peggy’s request with a hesitation that ended in words woven together on the spot. An excuse. She’d known that each time, but let it slide. He’d never liked her friends, but she’d never particularly wanted to include him in their plans anyway. She and Enzo were their own separate unit, away from friend groups and families and anybody else but themselves. That’s how he liked it-and Peggy, as well. While others worked best as one unit joining everybody together, they kept things simple. Easy.

               But easy hadn’t been comfortable-it hadn’t been right. While the relationship had been pleasant and the sex adequate enough, Peggy craves more than that. She knows that what she’s missing isn’t the level of devotion Eliza and Alex have for one another, or the simplistic domesticity of Angelica and Church. She and Enzo hadn’t had any of that, but her mind and her body don’t seem to pull toward it. Whatever it is that he doesn’t have-whatever is making her so nonchalant about the breakup of a three month relationship-she wishes that she could decipher just what’s going on.

               She calls Eliza first, and it’s when she conferences in Angelica that’s when her middle sister knows that something must be up. She doesn’t sound upset, however. She speaks in her normal, lifted tone as if it were just another day. But it isn’t. When she breaks the news to her sisters they gasp, both speaking at once. The general consensus, she gathers, is the question of how he’d done it.

               “I mean, he called me. Just now.”

               “He called you?!” Angelica spits her consonants with harsh diction, and although they’re only speaking through the phone she translates the very sudden and visceral protection through the hardened tone of her voice. Peggy cringes, shaking her head. But before she can respond, Eliza jumps in. She’s more calm; even and gentle as she speaks.

               “Are you alright?”

               “I think so…no, I am. I am alright. I feel like I should be really mad but I’m not.”

               “He was a jerk anyway.” Angelica interjects, letting out a breath of air. “You‘re way too good for him. I can’t believe he did it over the phone though, what kind of asshole,”

               “Ange, it’s alright. I’m over it.”

               “Are you sure? Because I can come over there, it’s not a big deal. Maybe I can even stop by his place on the way there, just have a chat…”

               “I mean I wouldn’t object to that because it was a dick move but I’m fine, so we’re just going to leave it. He did the right thing,”

               “-In a shitty way,”

               “-But it still was the right thing, Ange.” Peggy lays across her bed, phone pressed to her ear, listening to the evolution of a conversation between her sisters. It’s a debate, actually, over her situation. She doesn’t join in. She doesn’t feel like it. In her train of thought, he’d broken up with her and that was it. What was the sense in getting worked up over a moment that left no hard feelings on her part, anyway?

               The week crawls slowly for Peggy, who is back at school from winter break while her sisters are god knows where, basking in the freedom of another week away from their responsibilities. They’ve come to visit a few times but she’s been in school, stuck in uniform pretending to care about senior studies while sitting in the back of the class with Maria, her best friend. The news of her breakup with Enzo had spread rampant, and even before she’d set foot on campus that following Monday she’d been bombarded with questions. Most of these inquiries came from strangers who pretended to know her; one-sided acquaintances who were more interested in her amount of Twitter followers than her actual life. She takes these things in stride, brushing off the comments in a nonchalant light.

               “He and I are fine, we just…didn’t like each other anymore.”

               Maria thinks she’s ridiculous. But then again, that’s her best friend. She’s more like Angelica than anybody else, ready to throw back insults if Peggy seems even slightly offended. She restrains Maria. She’s not sure why everybody is making such a big deal of things. It was only three months. It was only a few awkward afternoons in one of their bedrooms while their parents worked. Enzo hadn’t really even been a big deal. He still isn’t. And now, as passersby watch as she waves to him in the hall, she wishes the entire relationship hadn’t happened at all. If life after a breakup was supposed to be all drama and tears, why even bother with one in the first place?

               Also, what did feeling absolutely nothing at all make her, or their relationship?

               She’s still mulling the situation over on Thursday night, curled up on the window seat with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. She’d burrowed herself deep into a YouTube rabbit hole, progressing from makeup tutorials to toy reviews to personal vlogs from people all over the world. She’s content in this place, where she can be alone. Her mother had gone to a book club meeting, and her father had holed himself up in the office after a Christmas break that had lasted ‘far too long.’

               Her private time is interrupted by a shift of weight on the grey plush cushion, a shadow cast on the window she’d been staring at. Eliza pulls the end of Peggy’s blanket so that it’s draped in the middle, over both of their legs, before taking a sip of her own large mug of cocoa. It isn’t like Eliza to stay away too long; although Peggy had said time and time again that she was fine, her middle sister isn’t one to drop the subject and move on. Angelica tends to see the other side of the issue; what had been wrong with the boy to hurt one of her sisters. More importantly to her would be what she could say to them in return for the heartbreak. Eliza, on the other hand, had always been the one to tend to her sister’s moods and well-being rather than the actual issue. She’s the counselor, the spokesperson of the heart. This is why, when she looks up at Peggy from a sip of cocoa, the younger Schuyler actually groans.

               “I brought you some things-just some candy, and some bubble bath, and a new lipstick. I know you said you don’t want to talk about it,”

               “-Bets, I never said that.” Peggy sits up, using one hand to push back the wild curls from the frame of her face. She’s exasperated. The word breakup has become overused, so much so that it feels like it goes right through her, in one ear and right out the other. “I said I was fine about it.”

               “I just wanted to make sure. You remember my first real breakup? With,”

               “-Henry Ackert, yes I know. He was the ‘love of your life’ and he broke up with you in the middle of the cafeteria freshman year and you cried in front of everybody and Angie punched him. How could we ever forget?”

               Eliza sits back then, and for a moment a pang of offense crosses her features. She smooths it out quickly, though, sighing before reaching for her sister’s hand.

               “My point is, I’m here. If you want to talk. Or not, that’s fine too.”

               “Honestly? I’m kind of done with this whole breakup thing. Can we do something? Something that doesn’t involve you giving me a sugar-coated pep-talk about valuing myself as a human being and how I need to dig inside of my heart and listen to my feelings?”

               The words don’t come from the younger sister as harsh, or ungrateful; rather, they’re jesting. Peggy has one eyebrow raised, lips turned up in a smirk as Eliza raises her hands and shakes her head in disbelief.  Her little sister knows her; the words from her mouth are an exact outline of what she’d prepped to say on the way over. She’d expected tears, and hugs, and honestly a lot more hot chocolate than they’d drank. But then again, this is Peggy; a constant surprise, a continual outpour of loud laughter and impulsive choices. She’d always been the one to turn everybody else’s bad days into fun ones.

               Eliza knows that this is what she must need-they’d all been through the breakup circuit at Manhattan Prep before, she knew what it was like to be the one everybody suddenly couldn’t shut up about. And that kind of limelight; the pity, the ‘what actually happened’ kind of talk…is exactly what Peggy can’t stand. The older Schuyler understands her sister’s pain, but not the recommended dosage of social medication needed to bring her little sister’s mood back up. For Angelica, the two of them would sit on the bed and listen to her rant until her face turned red. Eliza would heal with a few sad movies and some ice cream. Peggy-Peggy hadn’t yet experienced the breakup of a long-term relationship. But she was her party-loving, social butterfly of a sister. The treatment had to fit the patient, and she’d been all wrong about how to help her sister.

               “Hey, Alex and I are going to John’s tomorrow for tapas. There’ll be music, family…a perfect distraction. Wanna come with us?”

               It doesn’t take long for Peggy to formulate her answer. Her plans for tomorrow night had included nothing but staying in with their parents-meaning long conversations at the table, and leaving the meal early to get away from any more questions about Enzo or school or topics that she just no longer cared to speak about. At least with Alex and Eliza and John there would be good conversation…normal conversation. And then from what she knew about John from game nights and the sporadic hangout over Alex and Eliza’s dates that they’d crashed, he was pretty entertaining. There’s a weird sense of humor about him that she enjoys, a shameless mixture of dad jokes and on-the-spot comedy she hopes will be helpful in curbing whatever kind of slump everyone seems to think she’s in.

               The next day, she tags along in the car for the short ride to the Laurens apartment. Alex begins a full-blown thesis about ‘boys like Enzo’ that nobody asked him to complete. Eliza shakes her head at him, still lovingly, while Peggy stares at him through narrowed eyes. He responds with the idea that this pseudo-lecture is something she needs to hear, although she’d just had to listen to a different variation on the same topic from Angelica just hours before. That hadn’t been as bad as this ranting. Nothing beat Alex when he got off on a tangent.

               That’s what they’re discussing when they walk through the door- Eliza leads, apologizing for the scene behind her before hugging Valeria and John in turn. Aromatic scents waft from the kitchen, the sound of brassy trumpets and acoustic guitars floating above them. Peggy and Alex add a dissonance to the mood. She rolls her eyes as he speaks one hundred words in one second, with flailing arms and a hand on her shoulder, breaking down his thoughts on the proper treatment of a breakup. Eliza slides between them, ending their conversation with a bemused expression shot Alexander’s way. The lift of his eyebrows and mouth slightly agape tell Eliza that he’s slightly offended. She ignores the concept completely.

               “This is my sister Peggy.” Eliza gestures toward her with a long, graceful turn of her arms and she nods, responding with a slight wave and a smile.

               “Thanks for letting me join in-tapas sounded so much better than take-out Chinese and listening to this one rant at me all night.”

               “It’s really no problem, sweetheart, any Schuyler is a friend of ours. Come in and take off your jacket, we’ll have dinner in an hour.” Valeria bustles back to the kitchen, where her voice lifts and chirps along to the radio in a free-formed version of a scat. In the living room, John has already gone back to the sofa, patting the place next to him. Eliza settles easily between him and Alex, John shifting her closer to his side and propping her against him. Alex feigns jealousy, kicking his feet over the pair and taking up the largest portion of the couch so that his feet are next to John’s face. He laughs before shoving them off, shaking his head and shouting about the smell of sock-clad feet mixing terribly with beer.

               Peggy lingers for a moment, scanning the situation before finding an empty seat next to a face she’s never seen before. She makes a beeline for the other half of the loveseat, grinning before settling herself in.

               “Mind if I sit here? I’m really not looking to get maimed by Alex’s gross socks either.” The girl nods, the only noise a hum of approval just barely loud enough to hear. Her gaze is cast down to her phone, and although she tries Peggy isn’t quite close enough to get a look at what might be keeping her from making a real introduction. She turns her attentions to the three on the long sofa for a minute; their escapades have died down, Eliza settling for her head on John’s chest and her legs slung over Alex’s. They’re deep into conversation about some show Peggy has never seen, and soon the comparisons of characters from season one to three bores her.

               When she turns her attention back to the girl next to her she’s still on her phone. Peggy bites her lip and waits. Then, she clears her throat. The girl barely budges. Finally, the youngest Schuyler has had enough. She shifts her weight higher on the couch, smoothing the fabric of her grey knit sweater with purpose. She won’t let it slide like Eliza would. She won’t make a huge deal out of it like Angelica would. No, Peggy Schuyler would take being ignored in a completely different direction.

               “Hi, I’m Peggy. I don’t think we’ve met yet?” It isn’t the way her voice inflects-that is completely normal. Peggy Schuyler uses her loudest voice to get these words across, so much so that her companion jumps from her seat with the sudden influx of noise. The Schuyler stifles a grin and tilts her head slightly, waiting for the girl in the seat beside her to say something.

               The first thing Peggy notices is how beautiful the girl is-when she finally looks up at her it’s through dark eyes that make immediate contact with hers. She has hair the color of espresso that falls in effortless waves past her shoulders. She pushes it back from her eyes before holding out her hand, nodding.

               “Emily.” And that’s all Peggy gets. The girl kicks one leg over the other, leaning back against the couch before casting her gaze back down at her phone. It hits her very suddenly, how short their interaction had been, and she looks up at their company to see if anybody else noticed the exchange. John is staring at them, and shrugs his shoulders at the youngest Schuyler before reaching behind him. He takes one of the circular throw pillows on their seat and chucks it over the coffee table, hitting Emily square in the head. John whoops and high-fives Alex, Eliza and Peggy looking on in horror.

               “Hey Em, we have company.”

               “I’m aware of that, John, but I,” There’s a shift in John so sudden that the room is filled with it, an unannounced feeling directed only at Emily but shot throughout the entire room. He looks at her with lifted eyebrows and arms crossed in defiance over his chest, daring her to continue. And Emily sighs, tucking her phone into the pocket of her elaborate elephant harem pants. She shifts to sit cross-legged on the couch, an expression both embarrassed and stoic decorating her features.

               “Sorry. I was working.”

               Peggy is jarred; the slight chill of tone coming from such warmed and softened features has sent her for a loop, and it takes her a moment to come up with a suitable answer. In the end, all she can muster is an acceptance of the half-assed apology before they’re called to the dinner table.

               Valeria Laurens keeps her guests entertained with lighthearted stories and heavy food; she creates an effortless dome of conversation that Peggy has no trouble settling herself into. They laugh over stories of John’s time in little league baseball, then delve straight into a tale about the possibility of their neighbor harboring a dead body. Eliza keeps mostly to herself tonight, Peggy notices, although she seems to be very good at pretending she’s at the forefront of every conversation. It isn’t clear whether or not Alex notices. She figures he mustn’t based on the rapid-fire conversation he is having with Emily. She sits next to him with her chair pushed close, speaking low and in a rushed mixture of English and Spanish words too stirred for her to understand through eavesdropping. Every so often he nods, but says nothing past a mumble or a whisper. Peggy watches the exchange with heightened interest, but not until Eliza disrupts her.

               “Stop staring!” She hisses through her teeth, chiding her younger sister before hiding her frown in a large bite of her tapas. Peggy stares back at her in disbelief; Eliza is acting as if she can’t see the absurdity of the situation in front of her. Instead she sits back, chatting and laughing as if the girl whispering in Alex’s ear isn’t one of the most beautiful people she’s seen.

               The rest of dinner goes on as such; Peggy enjoys Valeria’s cooking and her ability to weave tales that leave her breathless. She cracks up at John’s lame attempts at food puns; badly timed and off-beat. She continues to watch Emily from across the table. Alex is clueless. Eliza smacks her leg, or nudges her, or rolls her eyes. Why are you staring?! The question lingers longer than it should. It’s for the sake of Alex and Eliza, for her sister’s well-being. Staring is just part of the process.

               When they’re leaving, sending their goodbyes and grabbing their jackets, they move in an awkward circle to hug each other before parting. Valeria plants a kiss on Peggy’s head, extending an invitation for both of the sisters to stop by whenever they please. John ruffles her hair cracking one last joke.

               When she gets to Emily she isn’t sure what to do-the girls hover for a moment before Peggy shrugs her shoulders and extends her arms to her new acquaintance. But then, she’s thinking about dinner and where all of that staring had gotten her and so she pulls away, still with one hand on the Latina’s shoulder.

               “Alex is really happy with my sister. And she’s really happy with him.”

               “Okay?”

               “I just thought you needed to know.” Emily steps back from Peggy’s touch, torn between laughing and shouting. Her unfiltered response is a laughter that spills from her with a natural gusto accentuated by her natural alto timbre. She shakes her head, hair flowing with it, before moving one of her own hands to Peggy’s shoulder.

               “Alex is my brother-my pain in the ass brother I never asked for.” Eliza and Alex stand by the door, waiting, as Peggy finishes buttoning up her jacket. She moves to join them but Emily follows, walking the short distance to the door with her in silence before holding a hand up to wave. “Eliza might be your sister but Alex is my brother, and as much as you try to protect her, I’ll protect him. Also, I like girls, if that makes you feel any better.”

               She waves one last time, to all three of them. Her eyes raise slightly at Peggy, just enough to stir her blood and bring offense to the moment they’d shared. Emily shuts the door behind them, then, a resounding click acting as the last word of conversation. Peggy stands dumbfounded and staring at the cream colored door for a moment, replaying the moment in her mind. Then, she’s strumbling to keep up with her sister and her boyfriend, who’d already started to walk away. Eliza walks in the middle, arm linked around Alex’s while Peggy squeezes in beside her. The youngest Schuyler has tensed shoulders-lips drawn into a thin line and eyes narrowed at the path in front of them. She takes breaths that are deeper than normal, more concentrated, and says nothing as they journey to the car. She huffs. She scowls. As Alex converses with Paul, Eliza finds her window to duck closer to her sister, whispering in her ear.

               “What was that all about?”

               Peggy shrugs. She turns her attention to the view outside her window, letting the mass of buildings and damp grey sky consumer her vision and begin to erase her frustration. Then she mutters under her breath, just loud enough for Eliza to hear.

               “Emily Laurens is a bitch.”

[janchristel]

7 Thoughts On Singleness: Is Something Wrong With Me?

I've realized that 20 years of Singleness was not too bad.☺ Thank you Pastor J.S Park for reminding us. Hello Single People! 👋👋👋 Take time to read this! Swear, you will not regret it. Just for five minutes. 👍😉😉 (Credits to Pastor J.S Park)😍😍😍 1) Singleness is not a season of waiting. I’ve said this before, but: You’re not waiting for a man. A man is not the focal point of anything. Jesus is the focal point of everything. A Western culture indoctrinated in romanticism would lead us to believe that “singles” are simply biding their time, waiting for some significant other to save us from the throes of loneliness. And I know that the latest pop song or chick flick or young adult novel has awakened some weird feelings in you, and it would even be nice to have someone. But relationships are hard work, celibacy is hard work, and life is hard work. There’s really no such thing as waiting for a spouse: your life has launched into being, and there’s work to do. If God is your priority, then a man who comes along who can even catch up to you would be dang lucky to have you. 2) Singleness doesn’t define your value, ever. What exactly is “singleness”? I wish we would stop defining things by the absence of something else. Being single doesn’t mean you’re somehow “incomplete” until someone else completes you. Let’s pause to consider that even the idea of singleness is false at its best, and oppression at its worst. In the first century, Apostle Paul wrote 1 Corinthians 7 specifically to address single people. To paraphrase, he said, “If you want to get married, good. If you want to stay single, good, and it could be better.” To you, this might sound ordinary. But at the time, it was a loaded bombshell. This was actually an entirely revolutionary view of sexuality that had been previously unheard of. During Paul’s life, the Emperor of the Roman Empire was actually charging a fee for the unmarried because it was considered bad for the economy and the family (never mind that Caesar was already bad for both). Being married with a family was considered the gold status of society, and a single person could only have been a widow or prostitute; there was no middle ground. So Paul comes along, and moved by the Spirit of God, completely wrecked the whole idea of family and marriage and singles. He legitimized singleness as an absolutely acceptable life-choice, but more than that, said it can often be better for carrying out God’s mission on earth (1 Cor. 7:29-35). Paul himself was single, which itself would’ve been quite a scandal. 3) Please don’t allow singleness to rush you into being not-single. Take as long as it takes. In the same passage (1 Cor. 7), Paul is urging us to not rush into relationships. Not only is rushing this unwise because we could shortcut God’s growth in our lives, but we could end up getting into a string of bad relationships or making other poor judgment calls when we’re clouded by the impatience to be with someone. Again, relationships are hard work. Pursuing anything goes beyond our idealistic hologram picture into a gritty, sweaty, pulsing reality that requires our everything. God might or might not send someone to you tomorrow: but so long as you’re pursuing God, you might hardly notice. That’s a good thing. Find Christ, you find yourself, and maybe you’ll find someone else. 4) Your season of un-attached life, or the “gift of singleness,” is a unique season like no other. There is a very particular way that God works through us when we’re not married or attached somehow, and it’s downright impossible for God to do those things any other way. I’m not trying to diminish one status or the other, but there are pros and cons to both which cannot overlap. I’m about to be married soon, but my married friend tells me the other day, “Use your remaining time wisely. Have a lot of solitude. Take long drives. Read as much as you can. Once you’re married, that’s it. It’s good, but so is your time right now.” 5) It might simply be that others are intimidated by you. It could just be that your godliness is thinning out the dating pool. That’s a good thing, too. When I was single and I went after the lady who is my fiance now, I have to tell you that I was totally intimidated by her. She was godly, she was a strong career woman, and she didn’t flirt back easily. Compared to her, I was a scrub, and I knew I couldn’t really pursue her unless I got it together. It could be very possible that other men see you as super-awesome, and as with most men, we’re just trying to get confident enough to make a move. 6) It’s okay for ladies to give a hint. Do you see a dude you like? Ask him out for coffee. Do you really, really want to meet someone? It’s okay to be in situations where you meet people. Are you kind of shy or new to the whole thing? It’s okay to ask a friend for help. It’s okay to pray together. 7) Before relational intimacy with others, we first need relational intimacy with God. My friend, again: I know this is a very tough time. Anything I’ve stated here is not a magic formula or silver bullet that will suddenly wash away the nights alone. I don’t mean to minimize anything you’re feeling, because I do believe most of us are called to be married, and singleness can be a tough time. So I want to encourage you to continue to seek after God and trust Him. That’s probably the predicable pastor-ish thing to say, yet no one can give you the validation, affirmation, and approval that God gives you. If we squeeze that from a spouse, we will crush them and crush ourselves. Before we can rightly estimate people in our lives, we must first hold an accurate picture of God and who He is, so that our foundation would be deepened to the very bottom of our roots. But more than simply seeing God as a vehicle to fill us, He is also the center of all things, the one who in Himself is worthy of all our affection. He is the pure beauty we’ve been seeking in all our relational ties; He is the only love who knows us exactly as we are, the very depth of our ugliness, yet He continues to pursue us and press in. I know that you know this. Sometimes it feels like a pithy consolation prize, like “Yes I know God is God, but I want a date.“ I just know that the more I press into Jesus, the more I understand that he became ugly so we might become beautiful, he was single his whole life and calls us his bride, he stayed on a cross to absorb all the ways we have failed: such a costly love puts all others in their place. My situation might hurt me or maim me, and life is never easy, but we have one who stands with us always, who gives me a value and dignity apart from whatever I’m going through or have done, and in this, I am never truly alone. Each day, even with my tiny frail faith, this is enough. Trust Him, bask in Him, know His glory. You are absolutely loved by Him, as if you were the only one that ever was. “You are significant without a significant other.” – Shauna Niequist @jspark3000

[247krp]

— Rejoice, little lambs! We have recovered our own Kim Taehyung, spotted prancing about in the Northeast Side. I don’t remember seeing him with any clique back in high school, but I’m not here to spill yesterday’s tea. So straight to the rundown: can you say materialistic and manipulative? Apparently now he spends time as a host in Trocadero Burlesque Club, and keeps skeletons buried at Banjeom Apartments, 303. But those won’t stay hidden for long, if you and I have any say on it. Welcome back, Icarus; we missed you so.

TW: bullying, (implied) homophobia, bruises, alcohol, depression

In case you don’t remember the devil’s name, here’s to refresh your memory:

Stepping into high school with a brand new personality should not be something that comes easily. But this version of himself was new and improved, sans the pitiful looks and easiness to bully. No, things were different now. Taehyung would not take any more of it, a new air of confidence about him that scared off all of his friends. This new behavior of his attracts gossip, and Taehyung only basks in the attention (they say the bitter expressions don’t suit his features, but he couldn’t care any less).

So many were concerned with the sudden shift, and Taehyung tries not to let it unravel his careful charade. At first, while old friends are scared away, new prospects seem to be drawn in, intrigued. Maybe it was the wrong crowd, but how could they be wrong, when they were the only friends Taehyung knew? They stick with him through it all. Even when he gets involved in shady business, they stick by his side. He supposes he would have to be thankful for that, having a support system through a tough time of wars against his previous moral beliefs.

He gains a reputation. Spiteful. Cruel. Backstabbing. They all whisper such words behind his back, but none of them know how Taehyung truly feels. Nobody knows that it’s an act. Nobody knows the emptiness he feels. He keeps to himself, not wanting to taint the innocence of those who were clearly better and more pure than he. Really, he was just being generous. They would all appreciate his kindness one day.

Nevermind the memory lane though, the present is always the ripest fruit:

Should he have done something better with his life? Would he grow into his 30’s, and regret everything he’s done thus far? Taehyung questions himself often, but by now, it was far too late. Sometimes, as he dangerously leans over the railing on the bridge, he wishes it would have all ended a long time ago. But with no time left for an existential crisis, Taehyung must move on.

He’s perfected his craft, found just the right words to sweet-talk those rich fools into giving him exactly what he wants. The job is easy, and the money is amazing. As long as he has the riches, he is happy. On a good day, Taehyung even considers this to be his dream job. As long as he closets the idea of everything being immoral and wrong, he can live a peaceful life.

But it’s all a matter of avoiding the right people. Taehyung tries his best to stay away from anybody he went to high school with, and any time he’s forced to converse with them, he likes to keep it short. He knows how they all feel about him anyway. In high school, he’d gained a reputation for being sleazy and untrustworthy. He just needed to convince them all that he was a changed man, of course. He could keep a secret, for a price.

As long as he locks away his own secrets, he would be safe. Nothing was more important than looking out for himself. These days, nobody could be trusted. It was always a matter of trust, trying to get others to believe his word just so he could exploit their well-wishes. This was just the name of the game, and Taehyung knew how to play.

But we are nothing if not open books – my job is to ensure you get to the best pages:

[ creation ]

a child is born. the morning dew collects on the underside of flowers lining the hospital’s lawns, catching the sunlight perfectly. his eyes sparkle the same way.

small child grows into an obedient boy. obedient boy does well in classes. he loves the way his mind is challenged.

bright boy becomes popular at school. he is known for his scholarly prowess.

taehyung is the top of his class. his parents are proud.

[ conflict ]

taehyung is nine years old when he thanks a classmate with a kiss. both giggle and flush pink.

the other kids laugh and point fingers. oblivious boy is unaffected.

older boys start to pick on him. they’re taller and stronger than he is. but his mind is more refined. he doesn’t let it get to him.

bullies corner him behind the school. their fists collide with his face. they do not get caught. nobody yells and begs for them to stop.

able boy fights back. he gets caught. they yell and beg for him to stop.

outraged mom and outraged dad are not happy. god did not put him on this planet to kiss boys and get into fights. they do not worry about the purple in his skin.

confused boy does not understand. confused boy says he was just being friendly.

mom and dad read him verses out of the bible. the words become twisted to shame him.

apologetic boy insists it was a misunderstanding. mom and dad finally give in.

speculating boy lays awake at night contemplating everything. would their gracious god tell him what he could or could not do?

[ metamorphosis ]

he is fourteen when he sits his parents down at the table. nervous boy sweats.

anxious boy’s throat closes. he is afraid to tell them the truth. anxious boy becomes a hurt boy when mom goes to lay on the couch, and dad only gets up to make himself dinner.

devout parents do not fare well with the news that their own child refuses to keep faith.

loyal son waits for them to assure him of their acceptance. but loyal son is nothing but a traitor in their eyes.

abandoned child becomes an outcast in his own home.

obedient boy turns into teenage rebel. parents are not disappointed. parents wonder where they went wrong.

[ solitude ]

cold boy approaches high school differently. he is brand new.

friends ask what happened. changed boy says he is only the improved version of his previous self.

confused friends grow distant, until they are not friends anymore. unruly boy does not care anymore. he is fine by himself.

teachers pull troublesome boy aside with concern. his grades are slipping. but their views are distorted. he is not bad. he is just different.

rebellious teenager continues to rebel. rebellious teenager cannot be stopped.

[ genesis ]

confident boy pockets a chocolate bar when nobody is looking. risk-taking boy is hooked.

troubled boy enjoys his time alone in the parks at night. expensive man in a long coat offers him a drink. it tastes stale and cheap, but the stain on his tongue grows addicting. he downs the whole bottle.

strange man says he has a pretty face. a face they could use.

impressionable boy is offered riches and expensive gifts. tempted boy cannot say no.

vulnerable boy is welcomed into the crew. they take him in despite his troubles.

distressed boy meets others like him. he feels at home, at peace. they do not ridicule him or shut him down. he feels warmth.

new boy is told to sweet talk the rich and fancy travelers at the bar. distract them long enough for the others to steal belongings from their hotel rooms. give them anything they want. he cannot say no.

criminal boy is not sober enough to care about the repercussions. he will be repaid in jewels and bills. it will be okay.

[ downfall ]

drunken boy never stops drinking. drunken boy stumbles into the street. drunken boy does not have high chances of surviving.

shaken boy is too traumatized to touch liquor again. drunken boy becomes sober boy.

sober boy wants to settle down and retire his troublesome ways. but the excitement always draws him back in.

[ rebirth ]

parents do not care. they have not had a son since taehyung was fourteen.

his life will not go to waste.

spontaneous boy packs up his belongings and leaves home in the middle of the night. he does not get the chance to say goodbye. he leaves a note instead.

wandering boy finds home in the city and lives off of other people’s riches.

trocadero is full of scandal. he is not scared away. he is intrigued.

charming boy continues his work. he loves the pay.

he has convinced himself that he is happy.

[the-soul-doctor]

Hello, I would love to find a God fearing man who loves me. I'm a tall, older woman in my mid 50's and men don't seem to be attracted to tall women. Is there any hope for me.

http://jspark3000.tumblr.com/post/99522181305/7-thoughts-on-singleness-is-something-wrong-with-me  

7 Thoughts On Singleness: Is Something Wrong With Me?

Anonymous asked:

I’m 27 years old and I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve only dated once but that didn’t go so well. I’ve prayed and I’ve prayed and I’ve asked God for my significant other but honestly sometimes I feel as if God doesn’t hear me. Which then causes my heart turmoil especially when I see other girls getting married and dating all the time. It just makes me feel like there is something wrong with me or I maybe I’m unworthy of someone else. I just really need some peace in this area or my life.

Hey dear sister, I know this is an especially painful season for you right now, but please allow me the grace to share a few thoughts with you.

1) Singleness is not a season of waiting.

I’ve said this before, but: You’re not waiting for a man.  A man is not the focal point of anything.  Jesus is the focal point of everything.

A Western culture indoctrinated in romanticism would lead us to believe that “singles” are simply biding their time, waiting for some significant other to save us from the throes of loneliness.  And I know that the latest pop song or chick flick or young adult novel has awakened some weird feelings in you, and it would even be nice to have someone.

But relationships are hard work, celibacy is hard work, and life is hard work.  There’s really no such thing as waiting for a spouse: your life has launched into being, and there’s work to do.  If God is your priority, then a man who comes along who can even catch up to you would be dang lucky to have you.

2) Singleness doesn’t define your value, ever.

What exactly is “singleness”?  I wish we would stop defining things by the absence of something else.  Being single doesn’t mean you’re somehow “incomplete” until someone else completes you.  Let’s pause to consider that even the idea of singleness is false at its best, and oppression at its worst.

In the first century, Apostle Paul wrote 1 Corinthians 7 specifically to address single people.  To paraphrase, he said, “If you want to get married, good.  If you want to stay single, good, and it could be better.” To you, this might sound ordinary.  But at the time, it was a loaded bombshell. This was actually an entirely revolutionary view of sexuality that had been previously unheard of.

During Paul’s life, the Emperor of the Roman Empire was actually charging a fee for the unmarried because it was considered bad for the economy and the family (never mind that Caesar was already bad for both).  Being married with a family was considered the gold status of society, and a single person could only have been a widow or prostitute; there was no middle ground.

So Paul comes along, and moved by the Spirit of God, completely wrecked the whole idea of family and marriage and singles.  He legitimized singleness as an absolutely acceptable life-choice, but more than that, said it can often be better for carrying out God’s mission on earth (1 Cor. 7:29-35).  Paul himself was single, which itself would’ve been quite a scandal.

3) Please don’t allow singleness to rush you into being not-single.

Take as long as it takes.  In the same passage (1 Cor. 7), Paul is urging us to not rush into relationships.  Not only is rushing this unwise because we could shortcut God’s growth in our lives, but we could end up getting into a string of bad relationships or making other poor judgment calls when we’re clouded by the impatience to be with someone. Again, relationships are hard work.  Pursuing anything goes beyond our idealistic hologram picture into a gritty, sweaty, pulsing reality that requires our everything.

God might or might not send someone to you tomorrow: but so long as you’re pursuing God, you might hardly notice.  That’s a good thing.  Find Christ, you find yourself, and maybe you’ll find someone else.

4) Your season of un-attached life, or the “gift of singleness,” is a unique season like no other.

There is a very particular way that God works through us when we’re not married or attached somehow, and it’s downright impossible for God to do those things any other way.  I’m not trying to diminish one status or the other, but there are pros and cons to both which cannot overlap.  I’m about to be married soon, but my married friend tells me the other day, “Use your remaining time wisely.  Have a lot of solitude.  Take long drives.  Read as much as you can.  Once you’re married, that’s it.  It’s good, but so is your time right now.”

5) It might simply be that others are intimidated by you.

It could just be that your godliness is thinning out the dating pool. That’s a good thing, too.

When I was single and I went after the lady who is my fiance now, I have to tell you that I was totally intimidated by her.  She was godly, she was a strong career woman, and she didn’t flirt back easily.  Compared to her, I was a scrub, and I knew I couldn’t really pursue her unless I got it together.  It could be very possible that other men see you as super-awesome, and as with most men, we’re just trying to get confident enough to make a move.

6) It’s okay for ladies to give a hint.

Do you see a dude you like? Ask him out for coffee.Do you really, really want to meet someone?It’s okay to be in situations where you meet people.Are you kind of shy or new to the whole thing? It’s okay to ask a friend for help. It’s okay to pray together.

7) Before relational intimacy with others, we first need relational intimacy with God.

My friend, again: I know this is a very tough time.  Anything I’ve stated here is not a magic formula or silver bullet that will suddenly wash away the nights alone.  I don’t mean to minimize anything you’re feeling, because I do believe most of us are called to be married, and singleness can be a tough time.

So I want to encourage you to continue to seek after God and trust Him.  That’s probably the predicable pastor-ish thing to say, yet no one can give you the validation, affirmation, and approval that God gives you.  If we squeeze that from a spouse, we will crush them and crush ourselves. Before we can rightly estimate people in our lives, we must first hold an accurate picture of God and who He is, so that our foundation would be deepened to the very bottom of our roots.

But more than simply seeing God as a vehicle to fill us, He is also the center of all things, the one who in Himself is worthy of all our affection.  He is the pure beauty we’ve been seeking in all our relational ties; He is the only love who knows us exactly as we are, the very depth of our ugliness, yet He continues to pursue us and press in.  I know that you know this.  Sometimes it feels like a pithy consolation prize, like “Yes I know God is God, but I want a date.“  I just know that the more I press into Jesus, the more I understand that he became ugly so we might become beautiful, he was single his whole life and calls us his bride, he stayed on a cross to absorb all the ways we have failed: such a costly love puts all others in their place.  My situation might hurt me or maim me, and life is never easy, but we have one who stands with us always, who gives me a value and dignity apart from whatever I’m going through or have done, and in this, I am never truly alone.  Each day, even with my tiny frail faith, this is enough. Trust Him, bask in Him, know His glory. You are absolutely loved by Him, as if you were the only one that ever was.

“You are significant without a significant other.”

– Shauna Niequist

@jspark3000 

[ajokeformur-ray]

A Black Butler/ Kuroshitsuji ship? Both for friendship and romantically? I'm a heterosexual girl who is very very shy and quiet around strangers, but if I can comfortable to you, I warm up to little by little. I'm really not into big crowds, I prefer being alone sometimes, but I wouldn't mind if I had someone I'm close to talk to me. I enjoy painting and doing photography (preferably candid ones, and those are my best ones). I love classical music and Broadway musicals, but any genre is okay with me, ballet. I'm considered to be creative, sweet, proper, ladylike, spontaneous, and independent by the majority of the people I meet. I usually try to fix a problem on my own before asking. I love history and literature and, I really want to know about everything. I also love learning different cultures, and languages, which currently, I'm trying so hard to speak 3 different languages at school and at home. I want to learn how to play the piano and the ukulele but I don't have the time to do so (sadly). According to my teachers, I'm a good speaker, and they love the essays I wrote, despite being so long yet detailed. I love books, I will stay up late and spend an entire day at the book shop. I aspire to be a doctor, so I try my hardest to, so I usually go overboard with the studying and just end up falling asleep on the table while doing so, or doing a project. My curiosity can go to far lengths, depending on the object before me. If it's something I like, I go to ends of the earth just to know everything, even if it means exploring some abandoned castle of a sort in the middle of the day, just as long it's not too dark or scary, I panic once I see there's no light whatsoever. I get worried very very easily, same with being nervous, especially if it means speaking at the front, which is ironic since I'm told to be a good public speaker. Often, I think I'm just a burden and troublesome. So, I say sorry a lot when I really don't have to. I love debate. I wouldn't mind one, especially if it's on the spot. I'm not used to compliments and gifts, so I usually just think they mistook me for someone else, and get all flustered if the gift is really for me. If it's a compliment, I think they're joking so I don't take it seriously that much. I've wanted a cat, but I'm not and never allowed to have a pet. But cute cat videos are what I live for, I'm not joking I squeal and gush like a dummy when I see one, same if I'm with a bunch of kids in a classroom. SUPER DUPER CONSERVATIVE. I will only sing if I'm alone, doing something, or at a really really soft tone. Oh and I get really annoyed if I'm super hungry. But I try to stay calm and wait patiently and quietly. Although, i do consider myself to be socially awkward and silly most of the time. Since I've done a lot of ridiculously silly things in my lifetime, like hitting someone with a frying pan or distracting a teacher for a friend, but people tend to like my stories, despite being the fact I consider them silly. And I can mostly relate to people, despite being all shy, so I'm pretty friendly. - Requested by @awhitesampaguita

NOT MY GIFS!

Romantic ship 

Sebastian Michaelis!

- Sebastian would enjoy spending time with you and watching you slowly opening up to him more and more

- He’d encourage it in any way he could

- You prefer solitude but don’t object to quiet company, and I can see Sebastian being busy dusting or cleaning with you in the room too, reading or doing something of your own, basking in the other’s presence

- He’d appreciate your independence, as Ciel’s butler he doesn’t often get the chance for alone time, and so the fact that you can look after yourself for the most part, unlike Ciel, is refreshing to him

- He loves watching you create something, and would want to know everything - what inspired this piece? How long did it take? Does it match the imagine in your head? On and on it would go, and he’d listen intently, wanting to understand

- Sebastian is very cultured and would appreciate your interest - I can imagine him slipping into teacher mode, telling you all about the languages and cultures you’re curious about

- He’d definitely help you with your language studies, slipping in the odd word here or there in one of the three languages you’re trying to learn, wanting to help you

- You go overboard when studying, so imagine this: it’s been a few hours since Sebastian left you studying in your room, and the silence is slightly unnerving. Going to your room, he knocks on the door, calling your name softly. Hearing no answer, he goes in and a look as close to affection as he can get crosses his face. He sighs upon seeing you sleeping on a pile of books, ink on your face. He lifts you easily and places you on your bed, covering you with the duvet. “Sleep well, Y/N. I shall wake you after the dinner preparations.” and he’d leave the room as quietly as he entered it

- Your love of exploring would sometimes be bothersome to Sebastian, wanting to find you quickly, but he’d also be amused by your endless curiosity

- In punishing you for wandering off, he’d certainly dim the lights, revelling in your panic for a short few moments before ‘coming to the rescue’, enjoying the way you cling to him

- Your fear of the dark would amuse him, but he’d understand it and, again, if he exploits that fear sometimes for his own amusement, well, what do you expect? He is, after all, a demon.

- When he’s not feeling quite so devious, he’d accompany you in the dark just as you blow out the candles, and would hold you to his chest, cradling you in his arms. If you were to look around the room in fear, he’d shush you gently and say something like, “There is nothing to harm you here, Y/N. Please relax,” and kiss your forehead tenderly, willing you to sleep

- Your low self-esteem confuses and maybe even offends him greatly - he finds you and your soul to be of great beauty and doesn’t understand why you don’t feel the same

- He isn’t one for emotional talks, but he’d certainly try to get you to see what he sees - flowers to cheer you up, or cooking you your favourite meal

- All the cats!!!

- He’d be able to hear you singing, what with his demon hearing, and would sometimes comment on it. Sometimes though, he says nothing, not wanting you to stop.

Friendship ship

Ciel Phantomhive!

- Ciel would find it somewhat flattering that he is one of the people you gradually open to as you spend more and more time in his company

- You both prefer solitude and quiet company, so much of your time spent together would be in silence, Ciel studying or signing papers or reading a book, and you would be doing your own thing too

- Again, your independence is much like his, and he’d certainly appreciate this, knowing that your friendship isn’t entirely a dependent one - life as Earl Phantomhive doesn’t allow much time for socialisation, after all!

- He’d buy you paper, pens etc. for you to draw with, and would enjoy looking over your works

- Ciel can speak multiple languages and may help you in his own way by switching between languages whenever you talk - while this is frustrating sometimes, he means well and wouldn’t appreciate you telling him to stop

- You both over-study!! So of course, this leaves Sebastian to put the two of you to bed (separately) or wake you up in time for High Tea, though he’s not against taking pictures of the two of you curled up together sleeping, surrounded by  books, for a bit of blackmail...

- He’d let you explore on your own, though sometimes the two of you would take late-night walks through the manor together, in silence or conversing quietly, just waiting for Sebastian to step out from the shadows and take you both back to bed

- Which he does, with a small lecture about needing adequate rest etc.

- He’d find your fear of the dark understandable, knowing that not being able to see what hides in the darkness makes you incredibly vulnerable, and he wouldn’t ridicule you for it

- Ciel also has low self-esteem, though he hides it under anger and sarcasm, so he’d understand and would take it upon himself to drop compliments casually, here and there. 

- He would compliment your appearance as well as your talents

- He hates cats! Sebastian would, of course, take you to his closet, where he’s hiding around thirteen cats against Ciel’s knowledge - he’d leave you in his room for hours, so you could play with them to your heart’s content

- Just make sure you change clothes or borrow a lint roller off Sebastian before spending time with Ciel - he’s allergic

- Upon finding out that you don’t sing around others, Ciel would make it his mission to catch you in the act at least once

- He’d employ Sebastian to help, of course

- You’d share a supportive, healthy friendship!

I ship you with both Sebastian and Ciel (same as me!) and I think you’d have a great dynamic with the both of them (ot3 if you wanted...) and could date either of them and be friends with the other, if that makes sense. Hope you enjoy this! You just work so well with each of them.