#so me keeping this entire weekend free under the assumption that we would do something was big for me lmao haha im so dumb

[freebooter4ever]

my 'ive given up on life but i cant live off maple syrup marshmallows and peanut butter sandwhiches i need to get groceries' outfit. for some reason it looks like i took this in daylight but its dark as night outside despite only been 6 and its the most depressing thing i should have gotten groceries in the sunlight ugh hindsight.

[silkentragedies]

A boyfriend sounds good, but…

Non idol! Jung Wooyoung x fem! Reader

3.1k words, Highly suggestive at best, making out, FLUFF, E2L vibes, College AU

Warnings: Mentions of STDs, making out. ( This is so self-indulgent it’s horrible lmao- also, not explicit at all.)

This piece of fiction does not reflect the actions of the real-life Jung Wooyoung. Not meant for minors. 

College was supposed to be late night parties and hurried submissions, overdosing on caffeine and woefully unedited essay compilations. College was supposed to be hellish hangovers and greasy weekend brunches in bed, helter-skelter running to part-time jobs and missing classes with snoozed alarms.

You got all of that, of course, but you also got one thing you didn’t ask for, in fact, wished beyond wishes that it wouldn’t happen but of course, your guardian angel was up to some mischief: You got yourself an archenemy.

Jung fucking Wooyoung.

It all started off small, of course; bumping into each other rather violently in the hallways on orientation day ended with your coffee on the floor. Minor detail- his phone had also dropped on the floor.

You apologized profusely- he seemed like an upperclassman with his leather jacket, slim but solid build, a head of double-toned hair and oh were those tattoos peeking out of his collar- no point in causing a ruckus on the first day. You even offered to pay for the damage. 

And then he opened his mouth. 

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

The sheer annoyance in his tone rubbed you the wrong way- obviously you had to respond, you weren’t the only one at fault- 

“Sorry, but you weren’t watching where you were going either. So don’t tout the blame to me-”

“Oh, whatever, just keep your money. I can get it fixed myself.”

The audacity of this bi-

“Good for you then, because my offer is off the table now, pretty boy.” 

A smirk curled up his lip- “You think I’m pretty?”

“About as pretty as a skunk, especially with that hair.”

You had to tamp down the urge to childishly stick your tongue out at his bemused, mildly annoyed expression before walking past him.

 Lamenting the loss of your morning coffee, you hurried your way to the orientation venue. At Least he was an upperclassman. Thankfully you wouldn’t have to deal with him-

“Did you see that hot guy in the leather jacket and that black-blonde hair ?”

Fuck’s sake. 

“His name’s Jung Wooyoung and apparently all the upperclassmen already have an eye on him. He’s in our major so we really lucked out, hot guys-wise.”

Fuck’s sake.

Surely you could just avoid him and pretend he didn’t exist?

But no.

Jung fucking Wooyoung turned out to be the apple of the campus’ eye in a matter of 2 weeks. He was as new to the university as the rest of you and yet, managed to look more put together, cooler than the rest of you still struggling to figure out class numbers and professor names.

He was the upperclassmen darling- people drooled over him, wanted to befriend him, and invite him to all the big parties…

and fuck- even the teachers were already wrapped around his infuriating pinky finger. They allowed him to waltz into class 25 minutes late, smile his infuriating innocent smile and chill in the back row, scot fucking free.

A month in, he’d gotten into the Dance Club too-  cementing his legendary status in the university. It was unheard of, after all, for a freshman to get into the unattainable Dance Club in his first attempt. 

You happened to visit one of the club’s performances one weekend and even you couldn’t ignore the sheer talent he radiated. It only infuriated you more to watch Wooyoung hog the stage’s spotlight with almost no effort- all perfect lines, sharp and clean movements…

It’s fine, you could still ignore his existence

But no.

Another thing about Jung Wooyoung- he found sick pleasure in annoying the living daylights out of you. 

It was so juvenile, so high-school, so immature of him- sticking gum in your hair, snapping your bra strap, kicking the back of your chair, striking up nonsense debates with you in class…

And then he had the nerve to laugh in your face when you glared at him with hellfire in your eyes because you were too polite to lash out in front of a professor.

Of course, you exhibited no such restraint outside the classroom.

“You vs Woo” was a commonplace explanation for the commotions that blazed up in the campus courtyard every other day. You were like wolves, the way you snarled at each other, not hesitating to slash at each other with as many cutting words as you could find. 

This went on for months, an entire semester marred by an enmity that seemed to stem from nothing- until one day, mister Jung Wooyoung really fucked up.

“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? FACE ME, YOU COWARDLY WORM!” Your angry yelling and thudding on the door had Wooyoung’s roommates Yeosang and… Choi San? running to open the door to their shared dorm room. 

You barged into Wooyoung’s room, unplugging the game he was playing. “What the fuck-”

“You dirty fucking bastard. You shameless shitstain of a fucking human being-” 

Slap. Wooyoung reeled back. In all this time, you’d never actually hit out at him physically. It had always been words. Maybe this time he crossed a line?

“You told Changbin I had a fucking STD. THE GALL OF YOU-” You lashed out at him with every few words, pushing Wooyoung further back against the back wall of his room. 

“How fucking dare you make assumptions about me like that. you lowlife scumbag.” You snarled in his face, now having him trapped between you and the wall.

You were smaller than him by quite a bit- it was almost amusing to see Wooyoung cowering in front of you, lowkey terrified of what you’d throw at him next. 

“Okay okay, fuck, I’m sorry!” He burst out finally, cutting you right across your angry rant. “I didn’t mean it like that!! I swear, I didn’t even know you were the one he was talking about. And I only told him to be safe from STDs, not that anybody had one.”

“What makes you think I’ll believe you, Jung,” You screeched. “You’ve always been a dick in general to me. I wouldn’t put it past you to say something like that and lie to my face about it.”

You back away, almost disgusted at being so close to him, “Seriously, dude. Get fucked.” Flipping him off before leaving, you turn around to look at him still standing where you’d backed him up to, an evil glint in your eye.

“It will be so fucking unfortunate if somebody told the campus gossip blog you had erectile dysfunction and your hookups were all fake.”

\

Safe to say, Wooyoung never made digs at your sexual activity again.

Neither did he have much sexual activity of his own for a while. Not that there was much sexual activity in your case either.

Maybe it was that exact…starvation that led Wooyoung to behave the way he did.

What was juvenile teasing became more… flirtatious?

Oh gods, what the fucking fuck is going on-

Suddenly, it wasn’t gum in your hair, it was soft whispers against your ear, breath warm against your cheek

It wasn’t kicking the back of your chair, it was leaning in front of you to fistbump Lee Felix on the other side of you until you could smell his intoxicating chocolate-honey-sweat scent.

He’d taken to taking his leather jacket off and sitting through classes (he still turned up late for) in a muscle t shirt that showed off his toned arms- 

All of his movements now seemed to be designed to tease the crawling under your skin you hadn’t been able to quench recently-

Not that you were a serial hookup kinda person, but you’d been fairly sexually active until semester exams and Wooyoung’s rumors had brought around quite a dry spell for you.

It was like every action of his sparked something wildfire hot in your head, tension stringing your senses into overdrive- were you imagining it?

Wooyoung was having some troubles with said crawling under-skin himself. 

Since when did you wear skinny jeans like that to class? Did you always have such a pretty neck, just waiting to get marked up? Did you always have that sway to your hips when you walked out of class?

The forced abstinence was doing bad things to him. 

It did rather amuse him, however, when he could see your breath catch a little from his murmurings in your ear, or squirm in your seat when he spoke to Felix before the professor arrived. It was the little things, truly. 

You still fought like a cat and dog though- there was no way the two of you would ever let on that your scope of noticing each other had gone beyond annoyance and rivalry a while ago. 

//

“Fuck no. I’m not doing this fucking project with you. It’s worth half the fucking grade and you’re a numbskull when it comes to this subject.”

“Like I want to deal with you anymore than I have to, sweetheart. You’re pretentious enough in class as it is.” 

Fate really loved playing the cliche card with you- of course you got paired up with Wooyoung for one of your semester projects. 

No, it definitely wasn’t the teacher that saw you two glaring more at each other more than the whiteboard and decided to take matters into her own hands.

Of fucking course the teacher refused to allow switching of partners or individual grading- it had to be a team effort or you’d both fail the subject. As a team. Yippee-ki fucking yay.

So you two ended up in the library at 11 p.m, two nights before your first check point review, having procrastinated the fuck out of working together until the last possible minute.

Amidst cursing at each other and cups of ramen and iced americano, the two of you found yourself stuck with each other and attempting to build the basis of an acceptable report to present. 

Surprisingly enough, Wooyoung wasn’t entirely a lost cause when it came to the subject. He actually made sizable contributions to the report. He even got you some coffee on his break, despite the jibes and taunts you threw at him about going soft- you were the type to hold a grudge.

You were both wandering down the shelves in the library, looking for more references when Wooyoung decided to open his big mouth again.

“You do realize that shitty rumor you put out didn’t really mess with my prospects, right?” Wooyoung was so full of shit. “If anything, I’d be worried about you, sweetheart.”

There it was again. Sweetheart. Another of those taunting things that just riled you up in all the wrong(right) ways. It was like he knew everything you would go weak for and then shamelessly exploited them all.

“Unlike you, Wooyoung, I don’t need people to stroke my ego…or anything else. I can get myself going just fine.”

“If you did know how to stroke anybody’s anything, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have trouble getting some.”

Ohhh, so he wants to play some games!!! Okay then-

You reached out to flick at his ponytail, ever-so slightly enamoured by how well he pulled off the double-toned look.

“Like you know anything about how to please in bed, babe.” 

It was unfair how much that nickname falling from your lips affected Wooyoung. Some…not very appropriate thoughts had already taken root in his brain and you running your mouth was not helping at all. 

“Good enough for them to beg, sweetheart.” 

A soft crow of laughter escaped you as you turned to fully face him, the both of you standing between the Greek Architecture and Geography sections.

“You sure you weren’t the one doing the begging?” 

“Oh, really now?”

You really should’ve thought through what was leaving your mouth 

Because now you were wedged between the shelves and Wooyoung’s (unfairly) toned body, his arms caging you in with that signature shit-eating grin on his face as he leaned closer to you- 

The tension was almost atrocious now, suffocating you when it had only previously nudged at you. You could feel it settle under your skin, in your veins, fingers itching to reach out and pull him closer 

But you kept your hands braced against the shelves- you would not give him the satisfaction of making the first move yourself…right? 

Fuck, you really wanted to though- 

It had be the late hour leaving you with lesser inhibitions than normal or possibly the pent up horny in your system or maybe the questionable direction your conversation was headed in

There was no other plausible reason for your arch nemesis’ lips to look that inviting

It must’ve been the way your attention flitted from his eyes to his lips that gave you away, a momentary lapse of self-control before you looked away, off to some point behind his shoulders-

And he smirk only widens

“You know, nobody really visits this corner of the library.”

“Your point?”

Both your voices were whispers now, your bodies close enough to touch but not quite, Wooyoung’s face a few inches away from yours and holding your gaze 

(He had honey flecks in those dark eyes, 7 on one side and 4 on the other, like gold leaf in coffee)

“We could easily find out who begs for who…”

He still hadn’t touched you yet, his hands placed on the shelf on either side of you- you could move out from the space if you so wished-

Despite the tension between the both of you, it seemed like… like he was waiting for you to make the first move, voice your consent, act on it 

How considerate, you thought to yourself as you let your sight wander to either side, checking for people 

Surprising you found Jung Wooyoung’s one possible redeeming quality like this, mind hazy and barely restraining yourself from kissing the living daylights out of him- 

Oh well, fuck it

A soft sound left Wooyoung as you curled your hand around the back of his neck and pulled his face to yours, lips meeting in a soft, hesitant kiss

How dare he be a good kisser too?

One hand reached up to cup your cheek and you instinctively tilted your head into the warmth of his palm as the kiss deepened

Unfair that he could take your breath away so effortlessly

There was nothing hesitant about the way Jung wooyoung kissed you back

Lips pressing more persistently against yours, teeth grazing your lower lip and pulling slightly before diving in again, hand now curled around the back of your neck

His other hand caressed your side and gripped your hips as he pressed you gently against the shelves, your arm slipping down to clutch at the front of his shirt as his body molded all too perfectly against yours

You could feel him everywhere

Everywhere 

From the way his lips had begun to land messy kisses against your jaw and neck, the hand on your hip tightening and slipping under your shirt to clutch at soft skin, hips flush against yours 

You couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from Wooyoung, your head spinning at the intoxicating feeling he brought with him 

The sensation of his mouth against your neck was almost euphoric, your head lolling back against the books and leaving you to pull your lower lip between your teeth, an almost futile feeling bid to keep silent, you’re still in public

Somehow your hands wound up in his hair, pulling the double-toned strands as his head dipped lower, a quiet groan from Wooyoung your only pointer that he liked it

So this is why he was so sure of himself, your mind temporarily blanking when Wooyoung’s teeth pulled against the sensitive skin, biting and sucking gently

A choked, uneven sound escaped your mouth when he pushed you harder against the shelves, hand reaching lower to squeeze your butt-

A smirk lit up his eyes as he straightened up to look at the line of red- blue blooming across your neck, then at you, cheeks warm and still biting your lip, looking resolutely away from his gaze

“Weren’t we supposed to be working on the project?” 

This little buzzkill.

//

You didn’t work on the project that night

You spent it in Wooyoung’s bedroom, getting railed within an inch of your life.

Not without the lack of the both of you being absolutely unable to keep your hands off each other on the way there 

Between the library and his dorm, you pulled or got pulled into shady alleys and corners for ‘another taste’ 

“Never again.” You warned him when he dropped you off at your dorm, you looking windswept from the wind of course and his hoodie up because of the cold not because his neck was more purple than tan-

Lies.

Your daytime dynamic remained the same 

But now with added benefits- 

He got to corner you after class, feel you up until you were gasping his name and then leave you hanging 

You got to make brazen moves under the table in the library whenever he got too snarky for his own good

He could ask nicely, you learnt. Broken groans and choked-up sounds would escape him when you ran your nails over his skin, soft and sharp and wanting and unyielding as you kissed your way down his body

Down his neck, over his chest, the hard planes of his stomach 

He would plead for more when you sucked him off, bucking his hips closer to you everytime you slowed down or stopped

Find him at the right time, though and he could just as easily return the favour

He would tease you relentlessly, hands ghosting everywhere dangerous and then pulling away just to watch you squirm and make grabby hands at him, a frown marring your kiss- swollen lips 

Leave conspicuous marks too high up on your neck for you to cover, dark enough for a day or two that even makeup left shadows

Spending a long, long time between your legs only to get up and start dressing, claiming to be late for class

Quickies were your religion at this point 

Janitors closets locked and hand covering your mouth to muffle your moans before a dance competition, empty bedrooms in frat parties with one of you getting pushed onto the bed

It was an infernal coupon from hell : Find one archrival, get a fuck buddy free of cost!

Of course, there were side effects

“Did you just walk out of that empty classroom with Jung Wooyoung? After class hours?” “We were studying for the midterms!!”

“Uh.. Wooyoung, who was that leaving the dorm building? at 1 in the morning?” “uh yEAH WE WERE DOING THE PROJECT YEAH.”

Yeah, a boyfriend sounds nice but an archenemy you can make out with in secret sounds ravishingly pleasing-

When the boy in question is a certain young man with double toned hair with a penchant for leather jackets and out-of-line snark, you couldn’t agree more.

Yes, this is a revamp and repost from my main account xD. Like I said, this was self indulgence to the peak 😩 I'm a tad whipped for snarky boy Jung Wooyoung 😀

Do lemme know what you think ^_^. xoxo, A💕

Possibly interested parties: @aliceu​ @whiteprincessofnohr​

(drop me an ask to be added or removed! )

[mopeytropey]

a beer buds series: chapter 8

author’s note: happy, sappy Lexa hath arrived

available on AO3: here or below the cut

Timeline: just after Lexa returns from her holidays in New York, Clarke is bombarded with work at Dockside; Lincoln keeps her company over the weekend as Lexa relays the events of her Friday spent with Clarke (chapter 7 of 'apu')

Beer: Frequency KÖLSCH-INSPIRED GERMAN ALE

Clean and bright. Pleasingly malty with a touch of noble hop. Crisp and sharp with a subtle malt sweetness on the finish

ABV 5.0%

Frequency: Winter Hill Brewing (Somerville, MA)

:::

Lexa cannot stop smiling.

She hasn’t been able to curb the small grins and outright smiles that keep spreading across her lips at random intervals since leaving Clarke’s house on Friday morning.

She doesn’t stop them when her thoughts drift to the sound of Clarke’s voice and the looks they shared in her kitchen over coffee and bagels. And, she can’t keep her lips from curving when remembering their dinner Friday night, the way Clarke’s eyes would gleam and her cheeks would blush when Lexa would say something purposefully flirtatious. She has more-or-less lost all power over the muscles in her face and the control Clarke has on her overall good mood.

She hasn’t allowed herself this much visible happiness in ages. It feels both incredibly unnatural and like enormous relief.

And, because she is smiling into her phone while reading a recent text from Clarke, riddled with profanity about being stuck at work, she doesn’t notice Lincoln approaching.  

“Hey, I’ve missed that smile.”

Lexa’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice, and her smile remains. She’s missed him too.

“Hey.”

They clumsily exchange a hug while Lexa is sat on a wicker bar stool and Lincoln stands beside her at a bright grey bar counter made from swirled marble. The sun streams through the front windows of an upscale restaurant known for their brunch menu, woodfired pizzas, and signature cocktails.

Lexa had, in fact, intended to ask Clarke to brunch at this very establishment. She has been eager to resume their mutual exploration of the attraction that’s been brimming between them since early June. Friday had been a glimpse, a negligible fraction of what Lexa knows they are bound to discover over time. She thinks of her fingers tangling between Clarke’s or the physical distances between them that are gradually vanishing. Her head buzzes with all their potential in the days and weeks to come.

Lincoln unbundles from his wool peacoat and unwinds a striped scarf from around his neck to reveal his thick cable knit sweater beneath. “I just saw the girls,” he announces.

Lexa swallows, torn abruptly from the places her mind had been wandering. “Did you?”

“Yeah, they’re slammed down there.” Lincoln takes his seat and then angles himself comically in Lexa’s direction as if he plans to interrogate her. “So, Clarke says hi.”

Lexa’s chest balloons and her smile expands beyond her control. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

“I assume this means you two are on speaking terms again?”

The burn in Lexa’s cheeks is so severe, she’s forced to look away to the sounds of Lincoln’s delighted laughter. He playfully jabs a finger into her bicep while she fails miserably to keep her cool.

“We started talking before I left for New York.” Lexa clears her throat, hoping it will reduce the heat of her embarrassment. “She dropped me at the train station, actually.”

“Yeah, I know. Octavia told me,” Lincoln admits. Lexa backhands him across his chest and attempts to scowl. “Sorry, I had to mess with you a little bit. I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“That’s your one free one.” Empty threats, and they both know it.

“Yeah, sure. Okay,” Lincoln plays along, nevertheless slinging an arm around the back of Lexa’s stool.

The bartender approaches before Lexa can respond, and Lincoln reaches across the bar to slap her hand in a familiar exchange. “What’s good, Lincoln?”

“Hey, what’s up, Taylor?”

“What are you drinking?” she asks him while sliding a coaster in front of him.

He nods to Lexa’s pint of beer. “What’s this?”

“It’s that kölsch-inspired one from Winter Hill,” Lexa answers. “It’s really smooth.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll do the same. Thanks.”

“You guys eating?”

“Yeah, I’d love to see a menu,” Lexa tells her.

Taylor nods, reaching for two rolls of cutlery from beneath the bar. “You got it. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, so: what happened? What’s happening? Tell me everything. How was your Christmas?”

Lexa can’t help but laugh at Lincoln’s eager requests, rattled off with palpable excitement. She takes a deep breath. “Christmas was definitely interesting.”  

“Oh yeah?”

Taylor returns with Lincoln’s beer and two menus. She mumbles something quick and low in Spanish to Lincoln that makes him laugh.

“She’s got some real pretentious dicks on the other side of the bar,” Lincoln informs her once Taylor has left them to tend to her other customers. Because the bar is circular, Lincoln attempts to scope out the situation on the other side of the bar by peering through the rows of bottles, glassware, and flatscreen TVs that create a barrier between both sides.

“Think we should bounce them out of here?”

Lincoln laughs into his first sip of beer. “Let me have another pint and I’ll let you know.” He finishes another long sip before sliding his glass back onto the bar. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why Clarke is suddenly in such a supremely good mood despite working her second double in a row, and why you haven’t been able to wipe that idiot grin off your face since I walked in. Wait—also, what did Anya get you for Christmas?”

Lexa rolls her eyes, hoisting up with disdain an article of outerwear from the stool beside her. “Stupid hat.”

Lincoln swallows his mouthful of beer and laughs, nodding approvingly. “Classic An. Okay so, what exactly happened while you were at home?”

Lexa watches her fingers trace the darker patterns that thread the marble bar top. “For one, Costia and I met for coffee after Christmas and finally had that long overdue conversation I’ve been avoiding.”

“Hey, you weren’t the only one avoiding,” Lincoln reminds her.

“Yeah, I know.”

“And so, it’s over?”

Lexa exhales, reaching again for her pint of beer and taking a low sip. “I think it’d been over for a while, but: yes. In an official capacity, we ended it.”

“And, how are you and Costia? Okay?”

“Yeah, we’re good. We’d been such good friends anyway—I honestly think that was a huge part of what complicated things for us for so long.”

Lincoln hedges his reaction. “I want to be really happy for you right now because you basically look like you just dropped this huge weight around your neck, but … are you okay with everything?”  

“I am.” She looks up to meet his eye as if to prove herself. “It felt right. And, I’m—” Her traitorous lips, already pulling at their edges in a smile, will give her away every time. “I’m really good actually.”

“Good because I’m so happy for you, buddy.” Lincoln squeezes her shoulder with the hand resting on her stool. “Okay so, I know you and Clarke are talking again—and, believe me, we’re all relieved as hell about that—but, what exactly have you told her?”

“You mean about Costia?”

Lincoln finishes his sip of beer, pinning her with a look he must have learned from Anya because Lexa feels absolutely transparent. “I mean, I think Costia is just the tip of a pretty substantial iceberg, but sure. Let’s start there.”

At his candid retort, Lexa exhales a laugh and grasps her beer. “I’m fairly certain Clarke knows that my feelings for her aren’t entirely platonic, if that’s what you mean.” Her mind flashes briefly to the lighting and warmth of Clarke’s kitchen, the scent of toasted bagels and freshly ground coffee.

Lincoln claps his hands, as he so often does in moments of triumph, and smiles broadly. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that we are finally having this conversation.”

“I know. Me too.” In spite of her nerves constantly bubbling to the surface, Lexa is also flooded with the acute relief of authenticity.

“Have you seen her since you’ve been back?”

“We spent some time together on Friday.” Lexa ineffectually bites at her lip to keep from smiling. She thinks of slow hugs, soft hand-holding, and timid admissions amid charged goodbyes. Their interactions thus far have been so buffered by innocence, Lexa cannot believe the way her stomach swoops at her memory of them. “I brought her bagels.”

“Suave.”

“Listen, she—I wasn’t attempting to be romantic.”

Lincoln doesn’t miss a beat. “Liar.”

“Clarke has been living her entire life under the misguided assumption that a small, newly established bagel shop in northern Massachusetts is on par with legitimate New York bagels, Lincoln.” The severity in Lexa’s tone has him visibly amused. “I felt it my sacred duty to correct this misconception.”

“You brought her Bergen’s, didn’t you?”

Lexa looks offended at the ask. “Like I would offer her anything less.”

“And, where are my Christmas bagels?”

She rolls her eyes, reaching for her nearby pint. “Linc—”

“Okay, I see how it is. Too hung up on impressing Clarke to remember one of your oldest friends.” He is nodding, self-righteously.

Like a loveable idiot.

“I’m beginning to second-guess your request to hang out today,” she tells him while averting her eyes to the paper menu in front of her.

Lincoln laughs at her stern tone, knowing it’s a bluff, and returns his arm to rest along the back of her stool.

“How are you actually feeling about this?”

“Sharing an afternoon drink with you? I’m of two minds at the moment.”

“Now who’s being a jackass?” Lincoln grins. “So, you’re scared out of your mind about Clarke then?”

Yes. Absolutely. The nervous uncertainty is all-consuming.

Lexa shrugs, ignoring her inner anxieties and recites aloud the mantra of useless facts she’s been telling herself for days.

“Clarke and I have been close for quite awhile. She knows me, maybe better than most people. Despite any potential uncertainties, we’re operating on the foundation of a very sound friendship.”

Lincoln watches her like she’s come entirely unhinged. “Okay, yeah. Do you have any idea how incredibly shook I was at the prospect of kissing my friend Octavia?”

At the thought of kissing Clarke—images painted vividly by her traitorous mind—a breath lodges in her chest, and Lexa must return to her beer for fear of passing out.

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m just trying to get you to be honest with yourself. And me, for that matter. I mean, I’m just assuming—knowing how much you overthink every goddamn thing to death—that you haven’t slept with her yet.”

“Jesus, Lincoln.” Lexa swallows her embarrassment through multiple sips of beer.

“For that matter, you probably haven’t even kissed her yet.”

“I can’t think about … that yet,” she manages to say without her voice croaking from the strain.

“Kudos to you for being able to think about anything else.”

“I have, obviously, considered the prospect. I just—more than anything I keep thinking about how I want to be around her all the time.”

“No offense, because I mean this genuinely and supportively as your friend, but are you just now figuring that out?”

“Shut up,” Lexa laughs.

:::

The food, as it turns out, is notable.

Lexa orders chicken fried steak and eggs with chorizo gravy and griddled potatoes, immediately lulled into a state of happy sedation as she clears her plate.

Lincoln groans his satisfaction as well, leaning back into his stool when he’s finished. “Damn. That was so good.”

“I might nap on this stool. Your friend would be okay with that, right?”

“Yeah, obviously.” Lincoln stretches his arms over his head and folds his hands behind the base of his neck. “A good bartender is always looking to have her guests fall asleep at the bar.”

“Okay good,” Lexa answers with a sleepy smile and suppresses an actual yawn with the back of her hand.

“What are you up to for the rest of your day?”

“This meal has completely erased any prior motivation to workout. My couch sounds pretty nice right now.”

The sun is setting and the streetlamps have begun to flicker on along the cobblestreet outside the restaurant windows.

“Not gonna go lurking outside Dockside until Clarke gets out of work?” Lincoln prompts with a teasing wink.

“Why do I feel like this was an actual tactic used on Octavia?”

“An effective tactic, you might say.”

“No,” Lexa laughs. “I’m not planning to stalk Clarke at her place of business, you creep.”

“Suit yourself,” Lincoln shrugs. “If you need any tips, I’m just sayin’.”

Lexa’s laughter is more of a cackle, lost in the increasing din of the Sunday evening bar crowd. “I think I’m all set. Thanks.”

“Oh okay, here we go—two beers later, she is confidence personified.”

Taylor returns to collect their empty plates, and Lincoln, practically gleeful, seizes on an opportunity to embarrass Lexa in a public setting.

“Taylor, help me out here—first kisses with relative strangers versus first kisses with a friend-turned-something-more. Generally speaking, which one makes you more nervous?”  

“Why?” Taylor grins, bracing herself across from them with both hands grasping to the edge of the bar top. “Is one of you about to ask me to makeout?”

Lexa smothers a mortified oh-my-god against the palms of her hands where she has covered her face.

“No, no,” Lincoln laughs while shaking his head. “Like I would ever do anything to get Toni on my bad side—your girlfriend might be more intimidating than Octavia.”

“She’s gonna love hearing that,” Taylor smiles.

“The thing is, Lexa here—”

“Would love the check,” Lexa interjects, pinning Lincoln with her most threatening glare while her cheeks still burn warmly. “And, for reasons yet unclear to me, I’ll take Lincoln’s too. You can put us on the same tab.”  

“You got it,” Taylor chuckles, and strides off to the kitchen with their empty dishes.

As Lexa signs the tab, leaving an exorbitant tip to somehow assuage her own embarrassment as well as fulfill an unspoken creed between service industry workers, Lincoln warmly grabs her shoulder.

“Thanks. This was a great way to spend my otherwise very boring Sunday while O is stuck at work.”  

“Lucky for you, my Sunday plans were also foiled.”

“So glad we could be each other’s second fiddle,” Lincoln grins.

Lexa returns his familiar smile. “Anytime.”

They bundle back into their coats and hats and gloves before Lincoln waves and shouts a quick farewell to Taylor from across the bar. As they push through the front entryway back out into the cold and wind and lightly dusted snowy sidewalk, Lincoln wraps an arm around Lexa’s shoulder and hugs her closer.

“Thanks again—you didn’t have to pick up the tab, buddy.”

“Think of it as your belated Christmas present. Besides, you basically always pay whenever we hang out. I owe you.”

For the drinks and food, yes. But, Lexa also feels indebted to Lincoln’s unending kindness and patient listening as everything between she and Clarke has unfolded.

“You don’t owe me anything, but that food does make for a great belated Christmas present.”

“Well, it’s not pumpernickel bagels and pimento cream cheese, but,” Lexa shrugs, looking up to catch Lincoln’s eye just as his expression creases painfully.

“Aw man, did you have to bring up the pimento cream cheese?!”

Lexa laughs and savors the warmth of Lincoln’s broad frame close beside her.

:::

Sometime between the distance of Lincoln’s apartment, where they had parted after a smothering hug, and Lexa’s front entryway, her phone buzzes from within her coat pocket. When she sees Clarke’s name as the incoming call, she removes a glove with her teeth and swipes to answer.

“Hey.” It’s so cold now that the sun has set, her breath is frozen in puffs, but the anticipation of hearing Clarke’s voice builds a warmth deep in her stomach. “How are you?”

“Oh my god, I’m so tired,” Clarke whimpers.

Always so dramatic.

Still, she has sympathy for Clarke’s long and tiresome hours of unexpected work over the weekend. Lexa shuffles across an empty crosswalk, hurrying towards her street as other pedestrians bustle past in bulky winter wear. “Sorry you’ve been stuck there for two days.”

“I was prepared for Saturday. Today has kicked my ass. Where are you? It sounds windy. Oh my god, please tell me you aren’t running in this weather.”

Lexa laughs as she reaches her apartment and searches for her keys while keeping her phone pinned against her shoulder. “I’m walking home from grabbing food and drinks with Lincoln.”  

“Oh, that’s right. Sorry, my brain is fried. Drinks and food sound so nice right now,” Clarke practically whines.

Lexa pushes into the warmth of the stairwell and begins to take the stairs to her apartment. “Seeing Lincoln was really nice, although it was you I was hoping to share a meal with today.”

“Were you?”

She can hear Clarke better now as she unlatches the locks of her apartment’s front door and steps inside a quiet, darkened room. She smiles shyly at Clarke’s surprised delight and lightly clears her throat.

“Yes.”

“And what did these plans entail?”

Lexa used to wonder constantly about Clarke’s intentions—whether or not she was consciously aware of the provocative ring to her voice. Presently, Lexa requires no translation: Clarke’s flirtation is unmistakable.

“I wanted to take you out for brunch.”

“I would have loved that.” Clarke sounds beyond charmed, and Lexa’s entire face warms.

“That’s—that’s good to know,” she responds, exhaling shakily at Clarke’s belated acceptance to a date they never got to have.

“I had brunch plans for us today too!”

“Oh yeah?” Lexa’s intrigue instantly distracts from her spike of nerves.

“Yes! They involved homemade waffles and really nice prosecco I absconded with the last time I left my mom’s and, most importantly, not being at work for over nine hours.”

Lexa clicks on a nearby lamp and shuffles out of her coat but does not bother to remove her absurd winter hat. The idea of Clarke making plans for them—specifically plans that involve home-cooked meals and sharing bubbly wine in Clarke’s home—sets Lexa’s stomach fluttering as she collapses onto her sofa.

“Well, for future reference, I’d be up for drinking prosecco with you any time, appropriated or otherwise.”

“This is good information to have.”

Lexa cozies into the couch cushions at the sound of Clarke’s laugh, wishing desperately that they were sat side by side, filling each other in on their day. She might weave her fingers into Clarke’s hair to help her relax or pull Clarke’s legs into her lap to massage her calf muscles after a long shift at the bar.

“How was your afternoon with Lincoln?”

“He was very upset about being excluded from the New York bagel delivery.”

More of Clarke’s laughter broadens the small smile on Lexa’s mouth. “They were indeed very enviable bagels.”

“I’m glad you liked them. We’ll have to get more sometime.”

A pregnant beat in which Clarke doesn’t immediately respond has Lexa’s heart racing. “In New York?”

The insinuation of taking Clarke to Brooklyn is lightyears ahead of asking her to brunch, and Lexa scrambles to backtrack her overzealous suggestion while pulling her stupid hat over her eyes. “I, um—I didn’t mean—”

“Lexa, I’m sorry—ugh,” Clarke grunts in frustration. “I have to go help one of our servers with something.”

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. I’ll let you go,” Lexa fumbles to say, grateful that Clarke’s endless string of responsibilities has saved her from more useless stuttering.

“Can I call you when I’m finished here? If it’s not too late?”

Lexa sits up and finally removes her hat. “Call me whenever.”

“Okay.” Lexa can hear the grin in Clarke’s response and indulges in one of her own. “Oh, and if the invitation still stands, I would go with you to New York any time, with or without the promise of bagels.”

Lexa cannot stop smiling. She doesn’t even try.

:::

[voidcat]

Intrusion

– 3: level 5 of friendship (wc: 1.8k)

prev ; next ; m.list

a/n: a filler-ish type of character. according to my ao3 a/n i kinda felt out of this chapter by the time i sat down to write so yea,,, + the text copy pasted from ao3 again so bolds and italics may be gone.

>[Hey I’ll go to the café a little earlier and sit around for a while. I’ll send you the address and you can meet me there.]

>[btw they don’t only serve pastry so if u r hungry after practice, you can eat there.]

>[k bye see ya]

You were up hours before you received a message from Iwaizumi. A simple “Good Morning.” blinking at you from the corner of your eye. Sending a short reply, you went back to your book. The house completely silent, save for your creaking footsteps; your parents have already left, typical as always.

It was odd for you to be up before your alarm. You brush the possibilities off, trying not think too much about it. The air feels nice and the chirping of birds isn’t exactly distracting, I might as well do some reading. That is how you decided to begin your day, pushing all your thoughts aside and entering a brand new world.

The heavy silence starting to weight on you after a while, you change your clothes, send these texts to Iwaizumi and head out.

Finding a good spot to sit by the window side, in case Iwaizumi cannot find the place, you order a drink as you pick your book up where you left off. You must’ve dozed off because you don’t realize him until he sits down.

“Hey.”

“Oh, hi. Glad you could make it.” It’s weird to see him without the school uniform now. The tshirt looks like he changed into it after practice. The jacket hanging from his seat and the bag by his side, both carrying the trademark colors for Aoba Johsai sports clubs indicating your assumption further. His face seems redder than usual, he must’ve left a short while ago.

You stare at one another for a moment. “So, how was practice?”

“As usual. We tried switching positions and had some 2-against-2 matches a little.”

“Ah, that… sounds good? I think. No, maybe a bit intense too? I’m not sure.” Shaking your head as you speak, you can hear him chuckle, probably at you.

“How about your morning?”

“As usual.”

“So you do wake up before noon on weekends, huh.” You can’t help but smile at that.

“Except for that part, then.” You look up to find him smiling at you warmly. This only makes your smile bigger.

One of the staff approaches your table and drops a single menu between the two of you. When will cafes stop assuming two people of the opposite sex as a couple and bring only one menu?..

Iwaizumi makes a gesture, signaling you to take a look and choose first.

“You go ahead, I have some inside information on their products.” You say with a smile as if you really are sharing a top secret. What’s up with the never ending smiles today? It couldn’t possibly be because of meeting with him, right? No way. And yet, the smiles appear before your face all natural, feeling familiar; so you let it keep happening. Change once in a while never killed anybody.

Eyes wandering around, examining each furniture, each plant, the expressions people wear; trying to distinct the source of each smell, guessing what it is, you wait for Iwaizumi to choose. The air is calm, no one is too loud and you can hear relaxing songs playing through the speakers. I hope the harmony of this place isn’t disturbed during the rush hours, you can’t help but think.

Getting tired of the pastel ambiance after a while, you divert your gaze back to Iwaizumi. Only to see a frustrated face staring at the menu he’s holding. He almost looks like it insulted him or better yet, attacked him. Your hand reaches to it before you can realize. You lower the menu a little.

“Need help?” He almost looks embarrassed to nod does it any way.

“Yeah, I’m torn between Americano and filter coffee… But what exactly is the difference between the two?” The excitement inside you hard to conceal, your hands jump into the air, digits spread wide.

“Oh, oh! I know this!” The look Iwaizumi gives you makes you stop. He seems… at ease. He has one of these small smiles you’ve witnessed before. There’s also a hint of something in his eyes, a gleam is there sure and a little bit of playfulness, but also something else you can’t put your finger on. Whatever it is, it suits him and you’d like to see him like this more often. You shake your head at your last thought.

“No, don’t give me that look. I only know about types of coffee because one of my friends is a caffeine addict.” And so you start to talk about different types of coffee, milk and espresso ratios, all in detail.

Five minutes into speedtalking about coffee and you give up at the look of defeat you are met with. “Just order Americano, you seem the type any way.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” You ignore the question.

A minute of waiting and awkward stare passes, then another minute of ordering is added to the pile. Iwaizumi, following your advice and ordering Americano, you asking for chai latte and the ‘cake of the day’. You two fall back into silence.

No conversation starters coming into mind, your eyes keep wandering around. Stealing glances at him once in a while, only for the both of you to make eye contact and immediately diverting your gazes, the unsettling silence starts to take its toll.

“I… I need to use the restroom.” You dash out before he can say anything, hoping the door you saw earlier does lead to the restroom. Splashing water to your face to calm your nerves, why would my nerves even be not calm in the first place??, you slowly head out and pray to whatever force out there that your orders have arrived.

You’re either lucky or you’ve used up your daily dose of luck because your prayers seem to be answered. The steam coming from your beverages is numbing and the cake looks heavenly to you. Light cream between the layers and on top, surrounded with fresh fruits and some jam spilled over the plate to make a twirling shape for a good presentation…

There are two sets of cutlery.

Because bringing a single menu was not enough and they just had to bring two sets of cutlery, still assuming you’re a couple. Not to worry, it’s not worth losing your cool over. You take a deep breath and sit as you breathe down, a not so genuine smile plastered on your face.

“So, how is the coffee?”

“Good. I suppose you were right about ‘my type’” he does air quotes as he speaks. Another smile breaks free of your mask.

“If it’s any consolation, I usually prefer coffee without sweeteners, so it is a little my type too.” A knowing nod at that.

“And the cake?..”

“Well, it looks good. You can try if you want, they did bring another fork anyway.” He doesn’t too eager at that. Cutting a part of the cake and putting it to one side of the plate, you shrug and start eating.

An easy flow of conversation comes after.

It starts with something that catches your eye in the street, starting to look through the window and creating fun little scenarios, the air around you gets warmer.

Excitingly pointing at a cat passing by, Iwaizumi learns how fond of cats you are, even so that you have one at home.

Inspecting the trees nearby and trying to guess what species, you find out he has an eye for it. He knows most of the trees and flowers out there.

He asks you your favorite genre to play on piano and in return you ask him his preferred sports drink. It goes like this. Beverages already drunk, cake long eaten, you two get lost in small things and what-nots.

The sun at the top, shining through and drowning the world under its golden light, everything seems to be at peace. Not a single customer around talking too loud, or maybe they do but you’re too out of it to notice… The temperature just right, your thoughts at bay, all harmless. Almost as if it’s a regular weekend day-out, the way it feels so familiar.

Feeling relaxed and loosened up, ready to doze off to sleep at any given moment, you slowly find yourself getting lost in pale green eyes, and vice versa.

Whatever unseen force that was holding the entire place, including you, in a calm trance, falls apart at the sudden sound of an unwelcome beep.

Both of you reaching out to your phones, you see a notification alert

Staring at your screen for a while, a sincere smile blooms on your face, giddy with excitement and happy, you feel unstoppable at that very moment.

“Good news I hope. Care to share?” Iwaizumi’s words reach your ears a few seconds too late. Still holding your phone with both hands grinning like an idiot now, you shake your head a little.

“You need to reach level 5 of friendship with me to access this story, sorry.” You can see him laughing lightly at the back of his hand.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh nothing. It’s just… I expected at least a level 10.” It’s your turn to laugh now, and so it seems.

“You’ve listened to me playing the piano. That gives you a 5 level headstart already.”

“You’re really that secretive about that?” All that joy from a moment ago has died down and replaced with confusion. You avoid his eyes and focus on a spot near him again, just like the first time.

“Secretive is not the best choice of words. More like… insecure? I guess, I’m not sure.”

“Well, that’s just dumb.”

“I- What? Excuse me?!”

“I’ve said what I said. You already play well and only a fool wouldn’t notice the way you give your all as you play. There is no logical reason for you to be insecure about that.”

“Yes but- you see…” Words die out at your throat, hand hanging in the air.

Another thing you learn about Iwaizumi Hajime right then and there. He is honest and as harsh as truth can be.

You wonder if he is like that all the time, if he is as open when it comes to himself. Or does he hide behind a façade like the rest of the world.

Noticing how tense you are getting, Iwaizumi ends your misery at last, asking about the book you were reading and you two fall back into another quiet chatter of everything and nothing until you  call it a day.

[utterlyinevitable]

Trials & Tribulations (CH. 4)

Me Without You

Chapter 1: Afterwards Chapter 2: The Next 4 Days Chapter 3: It All Falls Down

Love Interests: Ethan Ramsey, Bryce Lahela Word Count: 3.3k Warning: angst, adult themes, possible destructive mental health triggers Summary: Have you ever been so out of touch with your emotions that you constantly make choices? Yeah… That’s what Becca’s doing.

________________________________________ 

For almost two weeks Becca left him texts and voicemails at various times of the day - anything she could think of to reach him. She needed an explanation. Things were good, she thought. Why would he up and leave without saying a word? Weren’t they in a better place now? Why did he go? 

They’d slept together a few days ago, breaking down every sacred barrier of professionalism they’ve erected since Miami. It was an initial shock for them to be on the same team come the fall but they could work though it. They were stronger than this. They’ve been through so many secrets together how could they not? 

By day 9 Becca had long left the shock of abandonment behind and just needed to hear his voice, rationale be damned. His voicemail lulled her to sleep most nights when Rafael couldn’t come over to help numb the pain. The short curt message was so distinctly him; 

“Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Leave a voicemail or call 911 if it’s an emergency.” 

She’d always hung up right before the beep. Becca was embarrassed by how many times she called each day yet was more embarrassed to have him hear the desperation in her voice. As silly as she felt, it’s like a piece of her had gone missing. Eight weeks was a long time to pine after someone who ran away. More like an entire year… She had him once, why was he pushing her away again? 

After catching him leaving their apartment that fateful morning after her ethics hearing, Elijah and Sienna held onto Becca’s deepest secret. They saw no need to start drama within their group after everything that has happened, especially for one briefly passionate weekend. 

However short-lived, it was the most freeing three days of Rebecca Lao’s life. It felt right, he felt right. Why doesn’t he feel the same way? 

Ugh I can’t keep thinking of him. 

Becca pushed him to the back of her mind every single time he popped into it, forcing herself to focus on her patients and the little distraction known as her friends. Dr. Rebecca Lao was determined to move on, her completely decimated heart be damned. 

***

At 1:12PM on that ninth afternoon Becca snuck back to the locker room and sent him another text, 

Please let me know you’re okay. 

She huffed as she shoved her phone deep into her coat pocket, ready to go on lunch and wallow in her misery. 

For the last seven days Becca hadn’t worn a lick of makeup. She couldn’t bring herself to keep up appearances. Anyone could see the cracks through her painted face, so what’s the point in putting all the effort into it? She wore the bags under her eyes proudly a reminder that, albeit everything, she’s still alive and capable of thriving. Her greasy brown hair was pulled back in a haphazard bun and baby strands flying carelessly around her forehead, she hadn’t felt like washing it in a few days. Her eyes were dull. Nothing really sparked the fire in them anymore. No one was pushing her to reach past her potential anymore. 

I can’t wait to spend all day in bed tomorrow. Maybe I’ll actually take a relaxing bath…  

“Ah, Dr. Lao!” she heard the chipper and lively voice of Naveen call a few feet ahead of her. She looked up from her fixated gaze on the stark white linoleum and to the old doctor bounding happily towards her with his cane. “How are you?”  

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” she responded trying not to meet his inquisitive eyes. “How have you been?”  

The question was simple enough. It was obligatory small talk in most circles however here and now they held a deeper meaning. Rebecca couldn’t have been the only one taking His departure roughly. 

“Hanging in there,” he told her honestly with newly darkened eyes, and she gave him a sad smile back. Naveen extended an olive branch to the only other person that would understand, “Would you care to join me for lunch?”  

“I’d like that, yeah.” 

“Wonderful,” he beamed “I’ll meet you in the atrium in 15 minutes?”  

Beca forced a small smile, “It’s a date.” 

  Naveen and Becca sat at a table at one of his favorite local Indian restaurants near the hospital. During the fifteen minute drive over, the man raved about the chutney and how the family-run establishment was one of the only ones with a proper heat meter - “not like conservative dishes you’d find at chains”.  

The two pleasantly spoke of their last few days as if they were two lifelong friends despite only knowing one another for a few months. Once the waiter brought over their meals she finally let herself ask the question causing hives at the back of her neck, “Have you heard from him?” 

Naveen moved the rice around his plate to mix with his lamb curry and took a deep breath; he knew this was coming. 

“He sent me an email once he got there,” he said as evenly as he could manage. “I’m sure he’s fine. Ethan’s tough.” Naveen wished he could ease the woes he’s seen pass the young resident’s features ever since that day of the announcement. But his loyalty towards his makeshift son outweighed conflict in his heart. There was a reason Ethan didn’t tell her and I must respect it. However misplaced. With a slight smile he tried to reassure her instead, “Surely enough, no matter his rank, he would have taken control and whipped everyone into shape. He’ll be back home to us soon enough.” 

Email? She didn’t think of that… God, He is an old man.  

Her attention was fixed on the salad in front of her, pushing the leaves one over the other. “I jus -” There were so many questions she needed answers to. If anyone knew Him well enough to help her speculate his motives it would be his most dearest friend. Her voice was small as she continued, “Why didn’t he tell me?” It took a lot of strength to keep her voice from cracking. 

Her stormy eyes finally lifted to meet warm brown. The deep marks of age on his dark brown features arched downwards in sympathy. He set his fork down by his plate and dabbed the corners of his mouth, preparing to ease the mind of this doleful girl. 

“He told me he applied the moment he quit but didn’t expect to hear back. It was a wishful thought; he never would be able to stay retired long. We have that in common, him and I. As for why he didn’t tell you I can only speculate.” The older doctor tried to keep his features impartial and failed. “The boy has a one track mind sometimes; when he puts his mind to it nothing will stop him until he’s reached the desired outcome.” 

She’s seen Him exhibit that kind of behavior before and gave Naveen a sad smile back in recognition. 

Naveen reached across the table to cover her hand with his. “He’s been through a lot in life and hasn’t always been the best with feelings. But when you know him long enough, and get to know his expressions, it’s easy to see something...” the Chief of Medicine chose his words carefully, “intimate has become of you two.” 

Normally Becca would have scoffed at the insinuation, but now she just couldn’t bring herself to react. Naveen’s words were settling in - she knew He had scars from his childhood that he didn’t dare talk about. She knew He was closed off and an acquired taste. And she knew Naveen was half-right. 

Sadly she replied, “I don’t think there’s anything between us.”  

Naveen didn’t want to argue, he could see through the broken girl in front of him and his heart ached for them both. 

Rightfully he changed the subject, “Are you working on any exciting cases?” 

“Not as exciting as they are unfortunate,” she shrugged, picking at the salad. “I have a young girl with leukemia and a patient on dialysis with pneumonia. I’m not sure either of them will pull through.”  

“If you need any help, I’m only a page away.” His gaze cascaded a sense of comforting warmth over her. “You’re not just my grandmentee, you’re family.” 

She was happy to have Naveen in her corner but couldn’t help wondering if the offer was conditionally tied to him. 

“Thank you.”  

“Thank you for joining me,” Naveen acknowledged, “I say we make this a routine thing!” 

For the first time in a long time the corners of her lips perked up, “I’d like that.” 

That evening she sent him an email;  

Hey, 

I know you’re kicking ass down there (you know I mean the outbreak, please don’t punch anyone!), but I hope you’re being safe. I had lunch with Naveen today, he’s really worried about you. We miss you. Please please please let us know you’re okay. I’m still mad at you for leaving but I’ll forgive you if you just please talk to me. If I did something wrong, I’m sorry. I just want to know that you’re alive and well. Even if you don’t want to talk to me, please keep Naveen updated. 

See you soon, 

R x 

***

“Roo-mie Bar Crawl. Roo-mie Bar Crawl.” Sienna chanted from the middle of their living room. The gang was all dressed up and ready to let loose after a really harrowing week on the job.  

Becca hadn’t contacted Him since that first and last email three days ago. She made her peace with it. After days of trying, a deep conversation with Naveen, and receiving absolutely nothing in return for her efforts, she settled on the assumption that He was ghosting her. Her heart ached but she didn’t want to let the heartbreak consume her. Instead she’d find other distractions. 

Those distractions came in the form of Rafael, Bryce, and Sienna. Each friend mended a different part of her tattered heart. Sienna took care of her by way of baked goods, forcing her to talk about her feelings and retail therapy - Becca needed a bit of mothering in these last few days, especially since she didn’t have a close relationship with her birth mother. Bryce was her feel-good companion, he’d take her out for a drink or an excursion, anything he could possibly do to have her smile reach her eyes once again. Lastly, Rafael helped take care of her intimately - although he’s been M.I.A. the last week… 

The group congregated in their shared living room, ready to go. Becca sat on the sofa next to Bryce as he helped lace up her heels. Sienna chanted once again and everyone cheered a response. Once more Elijah listed off items and everyone patted their pockets and their bags. Phone? Check. Wallet? Check. ID? Check.

“Is Raf not coming?” Becca asked as they paraded through the hallway.  

“No, he’s got plans with his girlfriend,” Jackie said matter-of-factly.  

Becca's footsteps fell behind her friend ever so slightly. What!? 

“Really? When’d that happen?” 

Jackie retorted like it wasn’t the most important bit of information, “I don’t know, recently?”  

“She’s his childhood sweetheart,” Kyra piped in. “Just moved back and they’ve been on a few dates. Very romantic.” 

Becca bit her lip, “Yeah… good for them.”  

There were so many questions racing through her mind. They had just slept together for the fifth and seemingly final time less than 2 weeks ago. Was Becca the other woman? No matter the questions there’s just one thing Becca couldn’t shake; 

I’ve gone and thrown myself at another man who doesn’t want me. 

She was determined to have a good time regardless of the mountain of rejection forming at her core. Good thing alcohol’s the best medicine… She was prepared to spend the next few hours looming in her chaos, choosing reckless behavior instead of facing her feelings. 

***

The group pregamed at Donohues for happy hour, choosing to spend their most coherent of hours in a familiar place. They downed 2-for-1 tequila shots each and played a round of darts until the board began to move. Becca did all she could to keep from staring at the empty far corner of the bar. Every time she did she took another shot.  

Then the residents made their way to a dive bar for cheap drinks. It was a small hole-in-the-wall place with not enough space for the large group. Bryce and Kyra went in to grab the first and only round bringing it out to the side of the building where everyone else was waiting. The sun had now fully set and the group was getting cold. To warm up Jackie suggested they chugged.  

Fifteen minutes later they ended up at a sports bar and grabbed some quick grub. Elijah was drawn to the TV playing a game Becca couldn’t care less about. Her and Bryce shared a plate of nachos and a double cheeseburger with onion rings. Sienna gave a side eye at how close her two friends were becoming. After the third bar the group started to fan out, Aurora and Kyra headed home needing a solid seven hours of sleep to be functional. 

Feeling the buzz and forgetting about Raf, they powered on! On their way to the club the group passed an Irish pub with music blasting. They accepted the inevitable detour and danced in the middle of the floor to the house fiddle band. Everyone had one drink before Sienna, Jackie and Elijah bowed out afterwards overcome with exhaustion. 

The last two troops gave one another a devious smirk and headed to the club arm in arm. 

Bryce and Becca held off on drinks feeling full of life from the last few rounds and put off by the elite pricing. He grabbed her hand and led her onto the technicolor floor. They danced and danced to song after song. Occasionally she’d turn around and he'd hold her flush to his chest. The sensation releasing copious amounts of serotonin and oxytocin. 

At one point she was sandwiched between Bryce and another hopeless stranger. It seemed the two men wanted to outlast the other. She found the determined glimmer in her friend’s eye so amusing. Becca turned away from the poor stranger and back to Bryce, the two men calling a silent truce. He raised his eyebrows and she mouthed “stay”. He moved in closer and kissed her temple causing the nameless hopeful to storm away. 

They stayed. They danced. They drank. 

Bryce leaned over to speak into her ear, “That guys totally checking you out.” 

She cocked her head to see a dark skinned stranger in well-tailored clothes eyeing them. 

“Maybe he’s checking you out,” she sneered.  

Bryce’s contagious and magnificent smile lit up his face, “He’s definitely trying to figure out if we’re together.” 

She made a show of rolling her eyes.  

Pointing over his shoulder he said, “I’m gonna go get us another round.” 

The mystery stranger used that as an opportunity. 

“Hey,” his tenor voice smooth and unconflicted. 

The stranger wasn’t much taller than Becca. He had dark olive skin, enchanting amber eyes, a buzz cut which is so different from her type - she liked a man with locks she could latch on to. His shallow beard accented his chiseled jaw. He wore a navy blue v-neck that drew the attention to the defined muscles beneath. He was a small man compared to those she surrounded herself with, and was a stark contrast to what she was attracted to. And maybe, just maybe he could help her forget for a minute. 

“Hey,” Becca said back, scanning the crowd over the man’s shoulder for Bryce’s return. 

Before she knew it she was bumped in the back and tumbling towards the handsome stranger. Bryce was the culprit walking hand in hand with another girl he picked up at the bar as he shot his friend an encouraging wink.

The stranger nodded over to Bryce’s retreating form, “Looks like you’ve been dumped.”  

“I’ve been abandoned by my friend,” she clarified. Becca’s eyes locked with the olive strangers and shrugged, “Guess I’m in the market for some company.”  

He raised his eyebrows and they both moved to close the distance, letting the air around them take control. His thin hand moved to her waist while one of hers laid to rest on his taut forearm. They moved in unison. She kissed the stranger fiercely for what felt like hours in the middle of the club, their tongues battling for dominance. His left hand trailed up to her hair and the right settled on the skin at the small of her back to keep her flush to him. When they came up for air he asked Becca to go home with him. 

Without hesitation she said she’d meet him at the bar in five. 

Sitting in the dirty bathroom she couldn’t believe what she was doing. She was intoxicated, alone and willing to go home with just about anyone that would give her the time of day? No. She was stronger than this. She shouldn’t succumb to this. She wasn’t desperate enough to do this.

But the alcohol took over. 

She regretted the decision immediately. 

After all this time she never expected a response. 

First with a text, Are you ok? 

Why now? She thought as she stood in the dingy bathroom watching the notification flash over her lockscreen.

She fled. 

Becca shoved her phone deep in her pocket and retreated back to the commotion as fast she could. She scanned the room briefly looking for Bryce but spotted the stranger moving onto his next conquest. She reached the base of the stairs, her phone incessantly vibrating. She pulled it out to see the same message sent a second time. Against her better judgment she typed back;  

Not at all. 

Within seconds, flashing across the phone screen was the name she longed for. 

Incoming: Ethan Ramsey 

She didn’t have a chance to say anything as she made her way outdoors before he asked in a low and stoic voice, “Where are you?” 

“Where are you?” 

“Rebecca…”  

She wanted to hang up so badly. But his voice… How she missed his voice. And he was there. He sees her messages - he called because he cares. Well that’s what she told herself. Why else would he finally respond after all these days?  

Her words were caught in her throat - she had so many things she wanted to say to him - to ask him, but nothing came out. She was rendered mute between the embarrassment and opportunity. 

“Becca are you still there?” 

She had to open and close her mouth a few times before the words manifested on her tongue. “Right where… you left me,” she whispered more to herself than anything. 

He left. He left me. 

The two ex-lovers were silent, the load of everything she’s had to bottle up finally taking its toll and Becca started to sob. All of the feelings she’d tried to box away and shrug off came crashing down. Ethan Ramsey broke her heart. He let her into his world outside of Edenbrook and vice versa. She let herself fall for him and it became detrimental, a derailment to every hope she started residency with. 

Another person she considered close had betrayed her. 

Another man had disappointed and abandoned her. 

Becca never talked much about her past, gently refusing to confront the heartache her father caused her, what Landry had done to her, how Rafael avoided her and how her idol, her mentor and lover abandoned her. The culmination broke her. 

She dropped to the curb, her vision impared by her tears. She let her face fall in her left hand and clutched the phone in her right to her ear. One word kept running through her mind as she completely fell apart on a dim Boston street at an ungodly hour of the evening, praying that the son-of-a-bitch on the other end of the line would put her at ease; 

Pathetic. 

“Bec-” 

She hung up the phone.

________________________________________

Taglist: @ohchoices​​ @dulceghernandez​​​ @aylamreads​​ @binny1985​​​ @ramseysno1rookie​​​ @interobanginyourmom​​​ @queencarb​​​ @perriewinklenerdie​ @rookiefromedenbrook​​ @eramsey28​​ @choicesficwriterscreations​​ @heauxplesslydevoted​​ @schnitzelbutterfingers​​ @purpledragonturtles​​ @ramseyandrys​​​ @ermidc​​ @mrsdrakewalkerblog​​ @doilooklikeiknow​ @overwhelminglyaquarius​ @drethanramslay​

[kateyandthecloset]

Paris Sunsets and DC Nights . emily prentiss . 3

Emily Prentiss x Reader

Emily introduces you to the team and you realise that she had told you as much truth as possible.

Everyone's eyes were on you as you walked towards them, Emily's hand not moving from where it rested on the small of your back. Her contact meant that you had not become so petrified under the curious gazes that you had run off. That was how you had made it through the countless phone calls with your family, Emily, or Jessica as she had been then, would hold your hand through the entire conversation. Somehow, knowing that she was there, stood in your corner, you didn't get as nervous as you had before. Since Emily, you had never hung up the phone and cried yourself to sleep with your parent's harsh words running through your head, she had made you stronger. Almost as if her strength had been contagious.

That moment was no different, four of Emily's co-workers glancing to you should have sent you running for the hills. However, for Emily you stayed, smiling towards them as much as you dared. They each looked between you curiously, but the more elaborately dressed of the group was grinning at both of you. It was as though she knew more than the rest of the team, and that worried you. You knew that Emily would never purposefully say a bad word about you, but she worked with profilers. The people before you both were trained to see hidden tells, Emily didn't have to say you broke her heart for them to know that it was true.

In the six months leading up to this moment, Emily had told you about her experience with these people. You recognised some of them from the half truths she had told you under the Paris sunsets, but there were new details and different names. However, it was clear that they were Emily's family, no matter what. She had spoken of them all with such fondness and from looking at the people you were sure you knew their names, despite never having seen their faces. Emily had practically already introduced them to you, now it was your turn.

From what she had told you about her return, you knew that her friends had known that something wasn't right when she returned to them. They were as in the dark about the events that had unfolded as they had been when they had happened, but they were aware that the woman they had known had been changed by her year in Paris. Little did they know, she had changed you as well.

Emily had refused to tell her friends about the café. To begin with, it was that it didn't make it real. If she was to share the story, then she had to accept the story. She didn't want to accept the fact that she had broken every ounce of trust you had given her, even thinking about it had caused her to become overwhelmed with an ill feeling in her stomach that would not go away. However, soon it became more than that. Once you had called her the first time, she had known that she couldn't tell them what had happened. If you were to, against all odds, return to her, she wouldn't subject you to the knowledge that she had told them only her side of that day. She respected your trust more than that.

However, against all knowledge that you had, you couldn't help but feel as though the gazes of four strangers were threatening to burn you alive. Your mind painted sharp glares onto the otherwise inviting face, screaming at you that you would judge every decision you had made since meeting Emily and possibly before them. Deep down, you knew that you were over reacting. There was no way that these people – who Emily had felt so strongly for she introduced as family – would judge you. And, even if they did, you were sure that Emily would defend you.

Emily had always defended you. Against your family when they called, she would stand up for your decision to leave the states. She had stood beside you when you had informed the police of the man who had attacked you outside of your home after he had seen you and Emily on a date, and then, when they told you that it was inevitable, she had listed statistics about the likelihood of him repeating those actions against another member of the community. Or at least, Jess had defended you in those situations. Perhaps, Emily wouldn't. Not against her friend. Maybe, their thought would make her realise how cruel your actions had been that day.

Without warning, your heart had begun to race in your chest. Attempting to keep the panic internal, you began to feel your head become light. That was when you took a conscious control of your breath, slowing the pace to the point that your head stopped prickling with heat. However, in doing this, you had involuntarily begun to pick at the skin around your nails, which Emily had noticed.

She took one of your hands in hers, stopping you from your instinctive attack on yourself. Letting out a breath, she glanced between the members of the team with a grin on her face as she explained, "This is y/n y/l/n. I met her in Paris last year."

Without thinking you waved slightly, your cheeks becoming warm with embarrassment, the action having clearly been one routed in awkwardness. Your eyes fleeted around the group, stopping at the man from the elevator – who you guessed was Spencer, given that he was doing the best at imitating your nervousness. There was something in his expression that caused you to wonder if Emily had told them about you both. Within his smile was a glint of knowing, but you also knew that there was a large chance that you were wrong. Reading expressions had never been something that you were good at, Emily on the other hand had, understandably, been an expert.

Noticing your nervousness, the slimmer and more reserved looking blonde held out her hand, "I'm JJ."

"y/n," you muttered before screwing your face up in realisation, "but you already knew that."

It was at that moment that you realised Emily hadn't let go of your hand. In fact, she had interlocked your fingers before closing the rest of the space between you both. You couldn't help but smile at the interaction, the idea that the woman still wanted to be near you surprising you so much more than anything else that could possibly occur.

"I'm just annoyed because Emily hasn't even mentioned you before." The second blonde blurted, glaring at the woman to the side of you in a way that cause you laugh slightly. "She's not said your name once, and clearly you were close in Paris."

Emily shook her head, looking at the woman as she mused, "Like you share anything about your personal lives with the team. And Morgan talking about how the girl he picked up on the weekend doesn't count."

"Excuse me," the dark-skinned man retorted, having witnessed the rest of the group chuckle at Emily's comment. "Those conversations are the highlights of your weeks."

"Keep dreaming," Emily stated, her voice thick with a humorous tone.

The man seemed to ignore her, holding out his hand for her to take, "Derek Morgan." You took his hand timidly, having had to let go of Emily's to shake it. He noticed your apprehension, taking it to mean that you had read into what Emily had said about him, "You should ignore whatever they all say, I am a man of honour. In fact, if you had any free time while youre here, I could show you some of the best sights in DC."

Both you and Emily withheld laughter at the man's comment, Emily being unable to bite her tongue, "Morgan, it's not going to work on (Y/N). You really aren't her type.”

Raising his eyebrow in disbelief, Derek grew confused as he asked, "What is your type then, pretty lady?"

"Oh, well, JJ is very much my type. So is Emily. In fact, the only person here apart from you who isn't my type is the man who I assume is Dr Reid." You explained, Derek growing shocked as you motioned the woman around you. "Oh, even Margret Thatcher is more my type than you are, and I did not intend that as an insult. Merely a fact."

Beside Derek, the eccentrically dressed blonde laughed placing her hand on his shoulder, "Hot Chocolate, give up now. From the exchange between the two, there was a lot more than friendship in Paris."

The two of you turned red at the comment, Emily more so than you. For the last half a year, Emily had explained to you how she hadn't told her co-workers that she was bisexual. The woman had never specifically hidden it, there had been moments where she had made comments that had quite clearly pointed to the fact. Yet, for Penelope to have made that assumption set Emily off balance for a moment

Glancing apologetically at Emily, you decided to change the subject. Without looking away from the brunette, you asked, "So, I only spent a year with Emily, you have spent many, are there any embarrassing stories I should hear?"

"Well, you've come to the right place." JJ laughed from across the table, causing your attention to move from the brunette beside you to the blonde whose face was filled with an amused smile.

You couldn't see, once you had fixed your gaze on JJ, but Emily was signalling for her to drop it. Before JJ could say any more, Emily had interjected, "You know, we are quite busy with paperwork at the moment. Maybe we can save story telling for later?"

"Why don't you invite her to the barbeque at Rossi's tonight, Emily?" Spencer asked, causing the team to nod in agreement. "That way we can tell her a load of stories, and you guys can share some of yours."

Emily looked towards you, a worry on her face as she asked, "Do you want to? The rest of the tea will be there as well." You nodded, smiling slightly at the concern in her voice. It was after this that she turned to the rest of the team with a grin wide on her face and declared, "That settles it then, but I am going to ask that we don't share anything too bad."

"Why not Emily? If you didn't want the story told you shouldn't have done it." You joked, causing the team to laugh the tension in your shoulders becoming lesser with every sentence spoken between you.

Emily smirked slightly, a playful glint in her eyes as she retorted, "Is that true Miss 'I have a plan to steal the Mona Lisa'? In that case I gather that there aren't any stories that you don't want me to share."

"I am not in any way responsible for anything that left my mouth while I was intoxicated." You stated, mainly to the rest of her friends who had grown confused by Emily's comment.

Shaking her head, Emily declared, "Drunk words speak sober thoughts."

The team laughed once more, becoming more familiar with the playful relationship between the two of you. They had all noticed the moment you had become comfortable, and your nervousness had almost completely disappeared. However, they also knew that you and Emily had more secrets hidden than you would ever share with them.

JJ was the first to speak after the silence that followed the laugh, "I'll go grab you a seat, we only have paperwork to do today so I'm sure Hotch won't mind if you stay here."

You smiled, taking the seat for a moment and pulling the book you had been reading on the plane out of your bag. Having only gone to the hotel to drop your things off, you hadn't thought ahead to this point. You hadn't even known how long you would be in offices, so you hadn't brought anything to pass the time as you waited for Emily. So, you decided that once you had finished the book in your hands you would simply read it again. It wouldn't be the first time you'd read it back to back, but it would be the first time that you would be seen to do it by anyone other than Emily.

Before you could read a page through the book, you had been interrupted by the blonde you assumed was Penelope. She smiled to you sweetly as she said, "They deal with a whole lot of icky stuff. Do you want to grab a coffee with me? I can then give you a not so icky tour."

"Icky stuff doesn't bother me. I am a coroner back in Paris." You explained but stood up all the same. "However, that seems like a good idea, I feel like I may get some questionable looks just sat here reading."

"Emily, you are addicted to a type of lifestyle aren't you." The blonde declared.

Smiling, Emily looked at you while she spoke to the woman, "What can I say Garcia? This woman intrigued me; my life depended on getting to know her better."

You heart floated in your chest, a smile working its way onto your face. From that moment, you knew what you had questioned for the last six months. Emily had told the truth that day. When she said that she wasn't lying when she said she loved you. That was one thing that you were sure of.

Series Tag list: @yoruebeautiful @stop-drop-and-drumroll (message time be added)

[lettalady]

Alphabet Soup - I is for Identical

The document is due in a matter of days and he hasn't responded to your revisions, nor will he acknowledge the pings you've sent him this morning. You know he's at work. You saw him filter in with the rest of the small group working on the project. Everyone has been burning the candle at both ends to meet the deadline. You've started seeing charts in your sleep, crunching numbers as you toss and turn.

Irritation drives you up and out of your chair. You can see  movement from his workstation, legs sprawled out from behind the dividing wall, knees and feet swaying in a lazy motion as he apparently has bum-fuck else to do but lean back in his chair and swivel away the day.

He's not talking through a problem. He's not been pulled another direction by someone else on the floor, his opinion desired for input on their project. You can't hear his distinctive laugh, or a low-level muttering that you've learned to tune out – his go-to-method for working through a problem.

Maybe he needs another pair of eyes? Supervision to help move towards the goal. Maybe another pair of hands... though the temptation right now is to march over and strangle him. You need to know if he can resolve everything you'd noted in your revisions. You need to know if you'll be staying late, again delaying the reward for the completion of the project, or if you can start looking forward to the much-needed rejuvenating massage.

If he would just answer your pings. What good is an internal messenger system if he won't acknowledge the queries.

The fact that you're standing in place wins you a few curious glances from your coworkers. Maybe... if you get a coffee from the breakroom? A little more caffeine in your system probably won't help but it's a distraction. Except your feet carry you away from the breakroom, leading you towards the man that seems content to while away the morning.

Casual Fridays are evil, you've decided. There's no reason for his denim clad legs to be any more problematic than the buttoned-up attire usually required around the office, but here you are in your frayed state imagining a scenario where you get to yank that dark denim off him.

Your mental fantasy screeches to an abrupt halt as you round the barrier to find him stretched out in the rolling chair, still swaying slowly back and forth. His hands are folded over his stomach, fingers laced together, his focus solidly caught on the ceiling tiles above him.

"What the hell, Chris."

The chair squeaks beneath him as he lurches upright, blinking at you standing there with your hands on your hips. You wouldn't have felt even a little bit sorry if his sudden motion had sent the chair sliding out from under him. Ok, maybe a little, but right now you're too tired and hungry and angry and borderline burnt out to care that you'd given him a start. If he'd been working  it wouldn't have been an issue.

His mouth drops open, hinging to start to form a defense of his actions – or rather, inaction – but you're not having it. You flutter your eyes shut before squinting them open again, glaring at him as you shake your head, "No. I don't want to hear it. We're on a deadline here, or have you forgotten?"

A quick glance aside at his desktop shows his screen and the messenger window with your dialogue still sitting unanswered. At least the files are open on the screen, as well. He's just... ignoring it all.

"I know we're all exhausted. I get it. But..." You try to fight the urge to step forward and kick the bottom of his shoe. Anything would be better than the way he's got his legs sprawled out.

As though reading your mind, he rights himself a little more in the chair, drawing his feet back towards the rolling wheels beneath him. Which – would have been fine, appreciated, even – except the action is coupled with a seeming appraisal of your outfit, and how close you're standing, and ends with a damned look of amusement on his part.

Cue tirade, a bunch of words spilling out of your mouth causing a few curious coworkers to pop up from their chairs like meerkats, others leaning around cubicle walls to source the drama going down. It ends with you demanding that he have the decency to at least acknowledge messages and to let you know the project's status before the end of the day – if it isn't too much trouble.

After lunch, with a little food on your stomach to somewhat dilute level of caffeine in your system you realize maybe you were a little harsh on him. He'd gotten in maybe four words? You hadn't even waited around for any sort of explanation, just told him off and then stormed off – the rest of the floor giving you a pretty wide berth regardless of their involvement in the project.

Add to that the business-as-usual updates from him for the rest of the day, not a single word or sidelong look from him about your outburst, and you're about ready to curl up and melt into the scenery as the end of the day approaches. Then comes the chipper notification from him announcing that all the revisions were completed, the entire group receiving a copy of the final revision of the project for everyone to look over, and a few exclamation marks behind well wishes for the weekend now that the project is behind the lot of you.

Ok. You're an ass and need to go apologize to him. Why hadn't he stopped you? Corrected your assumption that he was putting off the final steps of the project? If he was so close to being done all it would have taken was a few words to course correct your --

Oh, right. The few words you refused to let him utter.

It's an agonizing number of steps to bring you back to his cubicle where he's cleaning up in preparation for leaving, tossing the empty coffee cup from a place down the street and shoving a notepad and pencil into his desk drawer. You clear your throat to get his attention, hemming through a soft greeting. "Er. So... I'm sorry about this morning. It was unprofessional and uncalled for and... I feel like a monumental dick. But um, I looked over that final draft and..."

His eyebrows arch up before knitting together. He's likely wondering why you are rambling through what he already knows. Everyone had clicked to view the document and then responded that they were happy with it. Everyone could see the group chat and the acknowledgements. This is some piss-poor excuse of an apology.

"I wish you'd said something. But I guess today is just the day for me to put my foot in my mouth." You shrug, helpless.

He's clearly just as ready for the weekend, keen to get to whatever he's got planned to celebrate the end of the project – he's already changed his shirt and shoes from the company-acceptable bland that is allowed on casual Friday. The plain shirt was already so so problematic – somehow the faded band logo is worse.

You sidestep, already trying to turn to escape his presence as you issue a final apology, "So anyway, yep. I'm sorry."

There's that thing about return trips. When you're venturing to somewhere unknown it seems to take forever. When you're traveling a familiar path, the trip seems to take a blink of an eye. Really you should have bypassed returning to your desk. You should have gathered up all your things, issued the apology, and then ran for the door. Instead you settle into your chair and stare at the computer screen and start to fantasize about somehow sliding into the matrix of the digital world.

"Hey."

His quiet greeting and the soft knock on the frame of the cubicle wall makes you jump out of your daydream. Is he here to return fire, finally? You slowly turn to face him, readying yourself for what you're due.

"We all have days." His smile grows as he emphasizes the final word, his shoulders jumping with a short shrug.

If he didn't have his hands anchored in his pockets he'd be waving them around – an ever-expressive talker. Sometimes it made you want to tie him to the chair during meetings... which is a super  unhelpful thing to be focusing on at the moment. It's the too-tight shirt, the weather-worn logo stretched across his torso, amplifying the muscles he usually has hidden beneath layers. And the dark denim framing the hips you want to straddle. And –

"I'm supposed to be meeting my brother. Celebration of the completion of the project. But..."

You suck in a breath, feeling the heat of your fantasies pooling in places that make you want to squirm in your chair. Role reversal! He's the one standing at the edge of the cubicle and you're the one swaying in the swivel chair.

Wait. Is he asking you out for drinks?

"Are you asking me out for drinks?"

He digs one hand free from his front pockets, rushing to wave away perceived concern, "No pressure."

"No. I mean, yea. Drinks sound good."

"Ok then."

The awkward barrier built from your outburst starts to fade as the pair of you walk towards your destination. You notice that his phone keeps buzzing. He only responds to every third message, but then he did mention that he'd originally had plans with his brother. He holds the door, tapping out another reply as the pair of you arrive at the bar down the street.

"Look if this is delaying plans..."

He shakes his head, glancing up as he pockets his phone again. "No. Hey. We deserve this. Long overdue stress release."

That's true but doesn't do much to alleviate your concerns that you've interrupted established plans. "I'm trying not to dig my 'I owe you' hole any deeper. First round is on me, for the record."

"There's no owing anybody anything." His laugh is catching as he follows along towards the barstools you've set your sights on. "Just drinks. As for who is paying ..."

It's not up for debate, but if he wants to try to make it into a quick draw scenario that's on him. With the project finally behind you – barring any unforeseen issues discovered by higher-ups – you feel yourself start to relax.

For the first time in – weeks? – you don't feel like you're trying to swallow while someone is sitting on your chest. Laughter is helping. Laughter and whatever those little bite things are that he ordered, too.

He's turned sideways, leaning his elbow on the bar-top and flicking pretzel pieces at your hands. This time when his phone buzzes it jumps off the edge of the bar and into his lap, but he doesn't bother responding to the message he reads off the screen. When you make a face at him he shrugs it off, "He's blown me off more times than I can count."

"You could invite him."

"Fuck no." He blinks at his own response and then emits a sheepish laugh, his cheeks coloring slightly. "I mean – I love him but, no. Not really in the mood to share. He can wait."

"Hey, dickface."

You turn, surprised by the unusual greeting, and then falter. You recognize the clothes: the sneakers, the snug dark denim, the plain shirt clinging to a well-defined torso. You blink and look back at the man sitting next to you who is currently rolling his eyes and groaning.

This must be what going crazy feels like.

You blink again, but nope – it's not a trick of the light.

There's two of them. Him. They're twins.

Your only saving grace at the moment is you know which of them you left the office with, and while they're both in just about the same attire, one has a shirt with words on it. Not-Your-Coworker reaches out to pinch his brother's arm, hard. "The guy that gets the free drinks should be the guy that got his ass chewed by the office hottie."

[ if you prefer reading or getting notifications from Wattpad/ AO3 ]

[wingsofkpop]

When You Love Someone - Part Three /// Agape

pairing(s): Brian Kang x Reader, Day6 x Reader

genre: High School!AU, Young Love!AU, lots of Angst, not really sugar-coated with Fluff

warning(s): None

word count: 3,5k

synopsis: There are many paths in life, but the longest of all is the path to the heart. In your eyes, what does it truly mean… to love?…

chapter directory

It’s funny how quickly time can fly by. It seems like only yesterday you were walking through the gaping doors of the high school for the first time with thousands of butterflies fluttering in your stomach like a windstorm. But here you are, only weeks away from walking through those same doors clad in a cap and gown for one last time—The final walk into your true adulthood. 

While others may disagree, your experience in high school has actually benefited you for the better. You’ve learned so much not only about the world, but about yourself since your initiation. It’s been a long road that’s passed in the blink of an eye, but you’re somewhat grateful for the paths you’ve endured thus far. Sometimes though, you find yourself feeling as if you have some kind of unfinished business—with someone you might even say. 

You shake the idea from your mind, returning your gaze to the product checklist in your hands. If you want to afford that dress, then you should actually consider doing some work unless you want your grumpy boss to dock you for ‘adolescently lolly-gagging around’—his exact words, not yours. The man nearly fired you for accidentally knocking over a rack of soda one time, and didn’t even pay you overtime after he made you stay later to clean up the mess AND mop the floors. Nothing even spilled, and it was on a school night nonetheless. 

After crossing off some items on the page, you make your way to the next aisle ready to repeat your actions. Like most shifts, this one seems to have trailed on for much longer than needed. The only thing protecting your sanity from inevitable combustion was the excitement of seeing Sungjin in a little under an hour. A smile immediately pulls across your face at the thought. Until yesterday, you hadn’t realized exactly how much you’ve missed the boy.

While Sungjin hasn’t been in your life as long as Wonpil, you still consider him one of your closest companions. You met a couple months into freshman years, and since you didn’t have a large circle of people you really talked to aside from Wonpil, you quickly latched onto the boy, even more so because of his compassion and lack of friends as well—although that changed for the both of you after he joined the basketball team and you somewhat blossomed out of your awkward phase. The both of you essentially grew up together, changed together. But even after four years, it’s as if nothing has really changed. 

And to be honest, you don’t know if that’s entirely a good thing. 

It’s not until the angry call of your boss do you realize you had been staring at a shelf of paper towels. You swiftly back out of the aisleway, preparing to dash into another, before you notice that the shout wasn’t directed at you—but a customer. 

You recognize the young man from your school: Kang Younghyun. He pretty much keeps to himself, so you’ve never really spoken, but from what you’ve heard from everyone else, he’s not a very friendly guy. He skips class on a daily basis, argues with anyone who so much as looks him in the eye, and according to rumors, hangs around with some pretty shady people. You’ve never been one to follow what the grape vine carries around, but even you can’t deny that the kid is rather intimidating… and just downright scary. 

“How dare you come into my store and try to steal, you little punk!” Your boss had Younghyun in his grasp, clutching the collar of his shirt with one hand and angrily shaking his fist with the other. He was fuming, his face gradually beginning to shift red as he drags his capture toward the register. You move to return to your task, not wanting to piss your boss off even more, but the accused thief’s hushed reply has your feet stopping in place: 

“I didn’t steal anything.” 

You try to tell yourself again to just look away, go back to work and wait out the rest of your shift without batting an eyelash, but something about the pained glint in Younghyun’s eyes and the soft, almost tired tone of his voice toyed with your moral reasoning. Somehow, a part of yourself believed that the boy was actually telling the truth… You didn’t know him after all. 

Your boss roughly yanks at his collar, “Of course you did! Punks like you are always getting into trouble!” Younghyun’s expression doesn’t change, but the strange feeling in your gut only grows. You swear you could see into the depths of his soul—What if it were you in his shoes? Wouldn’t you want someone to help you?...

“I didn’t take anything.”

“We’ll see what the police have to say about that-” 

“-Stop!” Before your mind can debate itself any longer, your feet are already carrying you toward the pair. Both parties grow visibly surprised by your interruption, more so Younghyun, but that doesn’t sway the words that continue to leave your lips: “It’s innocent until proven guilty. You should check the cameras before making any final accusations.” 

For a moment, panic overtakes your boss’s face, but it’s short-lived as it quickly shifts back to fury. He releases the boy to storm your direction, however your stance does not falter. Even when you can feel the hot breath of his whisper staining your cheeks: 

“If you want to keep your job, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and get back to work.”  

Your cheeks grow hot as rage invades your body, slithering through your veins like a venomous snake. You step closer to the man until your noses are just barely touching. Memories of all his harsh comments and nights gone without adequate pay only add more fuel to the fire. With your gazes locked, you can see the reflection of your own eyes through his—glowing in the fit of your anger. This time, when you reply, there’s no hesitation at all: 

“I quit.” Your boss lurches back, incredulously watching as you rip the employee apron from your torso. “I won’t be bullied and taken advantage of by you any longer.” He stumbles when you shove the garment into his chest, his expression completely devoid of anything except disbelief. He doesn’t say a word, even after you grab Younghyun’s wrist and drag him toward the exit of the store. But before you pass through the threshold, you make sure to knock over a nearby rack of magazines and CDs. 

“Enjoy cleaning that up yourself!” You chuckle, for once leaving the building with a proud smile strewn across your face. Too immersed in your own valor, you almost forget that your fingers are still clutching Younghyun’s wrist—then again you almost forget about Younghyun’s presence entirely.

“Why did you do that?...” His murmur brings you back to reality. He frees his hand from your grasp before running a hand through his blonde locks. “You gave up your job, and you don’t even know me…” 

“I’ve wanted to leave for awhile, since the guy’s such a jerk.” You shrug, then quickly add, “but you’re right, I don’t know you—but I know that you didn’t take anything.” 

“How could you know that-?” 

“-Did you?”

Younghyun startles at your question, but responds with a shake of his head. “No, I didn’t.” 

“Well, here we are then.” You peer back into the store, hand instinctively reaching for the boy’s limb once again. “In fact, let’s get out of here before egg-head calls the cops.” Younghyun doesn’t have the chance to protest because you’re already dragging him down the sidewalk with a laugh, “Gosh, I still can’t believe I did that!.. There’s a park across the street. We can hang out there.” 

“You… You want to hang out with me?...” 

You freeze, peering back at your companion with a confused expression. Your frown deepens once you notice the reflection of bewilderment on Younghyun’s face as well. Your head shakes, “Yeah, of course… Is that not okay?” 

“Well no-just… Aren’t you… scared of me?” 

“Why would I be scared of you?” Your chuckle relaxes the boy, his shoulders visibly sinking with relief. You continue to stare at him for a moment, noticing the genuine warmth along his features, before tilting your head with a smile, “...Should we get moving then?” Although it’s only an upturn of his lips, Younghyun smiles back. 

“I’d like that.” 

“I heard from Jinyoung that he and some of his buddies robbed the convenience store last weekend.” Wonpil explains as the two of you watch Kang Younghyun stomp his way through the cafeteria and out into the hallway. Students weren’t technically allowed to leave the lunchroom unless they had a teacher recommendation, but Younghyun wasn’t much of a stickler for the rules. Obviously. 

“Don’t believe everything you hear, Pil.” Sungjin waves a french fry toward the male, before popping it into his mouth. He quickly swallows the treat and continues with stern expression, “You can’t judge a person based on what others say. You know what they say about making assumptions.” 

Wonpil rolls his eyes, “It’s just gossip, hyung. It’s not hurting anyone.” 

“You never know.” Your face falls as the older boy clearly glances your direction, reminding you of the chaos you’ve endured all week. You try to push away the throbbing in your chest and instead immerse yourself in your own lunch. The sandwich and bag of Doritos only does so much though. 

You hear Wonpil say he’s going to go talk to his biology partner, Jeongyeon to finalize some details about a project and acknowledge his departure with a half-hearted wave. A couple seconds of silence pass between you and your remaining friend, the time spent savoring your lunch and observing the daily cafeteria behavior, until the latter finally breaks the silence with a soft murmur: 

“How are you holding up?... I know this week has been pretty hard on you.” 

You shrug and polish off the final bite of your lunch, “I’m fine, I guess…” 

“It’s okay to be upset,” He hums, pushing his french fries an equal distance between the both of you. You welcome the offer to share his food and help yourself to a couple fries. “Jae shouldn’t have let things go this far... especially if you two were together.” 

“He said that he told Chaeyoung that he wasn’t interested and made the excuse that she’s persistent, but I don’t know if I believe him since he’s not the best at telling people off.” You also correct, “and we’re technically still together.” 

Sungjin’s eyebrows pull together, but his facial expression remains calm. “Is that purposely? Have you guys talked?” 

“Aside from after I heard the rumors, no.” You say, “I don’t think I want to break up with him, because nothing actually happened between him and Chaeyoung, but I just need some time.” 

“Are you sure that’s what you want? How do you know he’ll tell her off for real this time?” 

“To be honest, I don’t. But I also don’t want some false rumors to be the cause of breaking our relationship off.” 

The boy stares at you for a moment, as if searching your eyes for any sort of dishonesty or deceit. His own soften when he finds nothing but genuine thought in your irises. With a small smile, he reaches for your hand to give it a gentle squeeze. Your chest blooms at his affection, delivering a squeeze of your own. 

“As long as you know what you want. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” 

You chuckle, “You don’t have to worry about me, Jinnie. I’m a tough cookie.” 

“Trust me, I know.” Sungjin spills a laugh of his own, using his other hand to brush a loose piece of hair away from your forehead. Used to the caring gesture, you allow your companion to do so and peer through the corner of your eye, finding Jae deep in conversation with none other than Chaeyoung. Another pang knocks into your chest, but it quickly disappears when Sungjin seizes back your attention. 

“How about we do something Saturday night? Just you and me?” He offers, “You wanted to see that new movie, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah, actually.” You answer, “Jae and I were gonna go, but I think I’d rather go with you instead.” 

It could’ve been your imagination, but you swear Sungjin’s smile seemed to widen. “It’s a date then.” For the remainder of the lunch period, you and Sungjin discussed the details of your weekend outing, briefly arguing over whether pizza or tacos were a better midnight snack. Not once did you think of Jae, or Chaeyoung, or heartbreak. 

The following Monday, you decided to end your relationship with Jae. 

Sungjin’s heart continues to pound as he makes his way down the near-to-empty street. With the sun long past set, there was barely anyone aside from the occasional nightly jogger skipping around in the dark. It was both a blessing and a curse. Sungjin usually enjoys the peace and quiet of a silent night, but right now with his thoughts haunting his mind like a tornado, he really wished for some sort of relief. Then again, he should be pretty used to it by now—You’ve been the center of his thoughts since freshman year after all. 

He never meant for his crush to grow to anything other than that: A crush. But alas, you can’t control your heart, and you certainly cannot control who your heart falls for. 

For what seems like the millionth time since the start of his walk, Sungjin wipes his sweaty palms on the side of his jeans, transferring the plushed rabbit charm to his opposite elbow. On the way, he saw the keychain in the window of a store and was immediately reminded of you, and although a gift obviously doesn’t make up for his elusive behavior, he hopes it will still bring a smile to your face. He’s missed your smile, almost as much as he’s missed you. 

It took everything in his willpower to keep away from you for the last few months, considering the fact that you two have never been anything other than attached at the hip. There were so many times he wanted to pick up the phone, just to hear your voice, or wait for you outside of the school, just to see your face. But the more and more he forced himself to think of anything that wasn’t you, the more thoughts that contained you overtook his head. Just last week, he almost failed his calculus exam after spending most of the allotted time worrying if you had turned in the final draft of your English essay. He usually reminds you about those kinds of things. 

Sungjin stumbles, his foot catching on a small divot in the pavement. He quickly settles himself, inhaling a gust of relief before setting out again. His heart somehow picks up even more speed as he takes sight of the convenience store only a short distance ahead. He peers down at the watch on his wrist, concluding that you should be wrapping up your shift for the night. His hands are sweaty again. 

After the push from Wonpil, Sungjin thought that confessing his feelings to you would be the best idea. But as of now, with his pulse ten times too fast and anxiety crushing his nerves like a vice, he can’t tell anymore—What if his confession not only fails, but changes everything? Your friendship is one of the most important things in his life, and he cannot imagine living without it. Especially with the last year of high school coming to a close. 

He shakes the doubts out of his mind and instead, focuses on the excitement of seeing you. With a final bout of strength, Sungjin peers inside of the building through the giant storefront window. Confusion floods through his body when he discovers an obviously grumpy man cleaning up a mess of CDs and magazines and absolutely no sign of you. Maybe you were finalizing some work in the back? Or went for a quick bathroom break? 

Something in the reflection of the glass steals Sungjin’s attention, bringing him to peer over his shoulder. Through the corner of his eye, he notices some movement occurring in the park across the street. It was too dim to know for sure, but he swears he can see the color of your hair. 

It only takes a couple steps forward for him to realize that it is you sat on one of the swings, rocking back and forth with the nightly breeze. All fears slip from his mind as an excited grin pulls across his face. He dashes across the street, opening his mouth to call out your name, but his voice dies in his throat when he sees past your body—finding that you weren’t alone.

Sungjin’s smile disappears as he recognizes Kang Younghyun inhabiting the second swing beside you, a bright expression on his own face as he listens to you ramble on about something. He watches the boy’s lips move seconds later, obviously causing your head to roll back and a loud laugh to escape your lips—the sound like knives against his heart. 

For a moment, Sungjin hopes you’ll angle your head just right and catch sight of him. But his faith disappears once more when Younghyun reaches forward to brush a piece of hair from your forehead. He looks away, unable to watch, and sadly gazes down at the keychain still in his hand. His thumb caresses the bunny’s smiling face, before he turns and begins to walk back the way he came. 

The silence of the night mocking him with each heavy step. 

“-so that’s why the Russo brothers completely ruined Captain America’s character in Avengers Endgame.” You finish off your rant with an exhale, gently swinging back and forth as Younghyun—who told you to call him Brian, laughs at your passionate argument. He wipes an invisible tear from his eye before grinning. 

“You’ve obviously put a lot of thought and evidence into that.” 

You chuckle, “Can you tell?” 

“Just a bit.” To say you’ve learned a lot about Brian would be an understatement. Unsurprisingly, all the rumors about him were completely and wholeheartedly wrong. There was no gang, or anything along those lines. He was just a misunderstood guy with some attitude problems. You also found that the reason for his frequent absences at school are due to his visitations with his mother, who’s been hospitalized the majority of the year after experiencing a near-to-fatal car accident. She’s recovering well, thank goodness, but he doesn’t like to leave her by herself—Who knew he was such a nice guy?  

He watches your feet pump back and forth for a couple seconds, before reconnecting your gazes. You merely stare at each other until he finally speaks, “...Thanks for this. It was nice to talk to someone for a change.” 

“Of course.” You answer with a smile, “I’m (Y/N), by the way. Sorry, I should’ve told you before all that.” 

“I know who you are.” 

“You do? How?” 

“I’ve seen you around.” He shrugs, “and I know you’re really close with the captain of the basketball team, Sungjin-” 

Your mind completely blanks out on Brian’s voice when you hear the name fall from his lips, the sudden realization of your nightly plans hitting your gut like a cold, hard punch. Frantically, you rip your phone from your pocket to peer at the brightened screen, dread flowing through your veins when you find it to be way past nine’o’clock. 

You launch from the swing with a gasp, “Shoot!... I’m sorry, Brian, but I have to go!” 

“Late for something?” 

“I was supposed to meet Sungjin almost an hour ago.” You shake your head, already noting the panic blooming through your body. “I’m really sorry, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, you run from the playground and out into the dimness of the night. You glance toward the convenience store, finding it to be long closed… and empty. 

“I’m such an idiot,” You murmur to yourself, swiping through your phone to pull up Sungjin’s contact. The buzz of the ringer sears at your eardrums, each repeat of the sound shoving more and more anxiety down your throat. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until you hear a click over the line. 

“Sungjin! I’m so-” 

“-This caller is unavailable at the moment. If you would like to leave a message, please begin after the beep-” You drop the device from your ear, quickly ending the call before burying your face into your hands. How could you have been so careless? With Sungjin of all people? When things were finally starting to turn around?... and you just went ahead and ruined everything. 

What are you going to do now? 

This very thought haunts your mind as you make your way home through the silence of the night. 

[robinskey]

Lover (Steve Harrington x Reader)

A/N: GUYS as you’ve probably noticed, I’m incredibly excited about the release of @taylorswift‘s new album. IMO, Lover is one of Taylor’s best songs to-date, and I thought it would fit perfectly with a fluffy, domestic Steve one-shot. 

Warnings: Mild language, heavy fluff. Story under the cut.

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January

This is our place, we make the rules

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear

Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?

It wasn’t until you and Steve moved into your first home together that you realized how deeply in love he was with holiday decorations.

You had started the process of moving your belongings into the new place at the end of September. By mid-October, Steve had begun pestering you about shopping for Christmas decorations. You reminded him that you hadn’t even unpacked the last box yet, and Halloween hadn’t even occurred yet. Steve was persistent that you needed to get the lights up as soon as possible to “maximize the Christmas spirit.”

After a lot of convincing, Steve had finally agreed to wait until November. By then, you figured, he’d forget about it. I mean, this was the guy who couldn’t remember his social security number and occasionally wrote it on his stomach (“because I’m not dumb enough to keep it on, like, my hand, Y/N, where everyone can see it.” When when you suggested he just carry his social security card with him, he told you he didn’t trust himself not to lose it.) Surely, that guy would forget all about it, right?

Wrong. On November 1st, you were nursing a Halloween-candy hangover when Steve dragged you to Goodwill. You returned home with enough decorations to light up a mansion and spent the rest of the afternoon stringing them all around your tiny one-bedroom house. After dinner, you and Steve headed outside. As the sky faded to black, Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and he watched in wonder as your small townhouse transformed into a winter wonderland.

“Look at that, Y/N! We did that,” he said. The various colors of the lights reflected in his eyes as he gazed down at you.

“I didn’t know King Steve Harrington could get so excited over Christmas lights.” Your smooth teasing was foiled by a strong gust of wind that left goosebumps on your arms and caused you to shudder.

“I’m full of surprises,” Steve said as the two of you started back towards the front door. “For example, you probably didn’t know, but I can make the best cup of hot chocolate in the state of Indiana.”

“Oh, really?”

“Oh, yeah. Grandma Harrington taught me her secret recipe.”

Even though you’d known Steve for years, you learned new things about him every day. You wondered if you’d ever run out of things to learn about the boy you’d known all your life.

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home

You're my, my, my, my lover

We could let our friends crash in the living room

This is our place, we make the call

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

Dustin Henderson started referring to your place as “our house” before you guys even moved in. He dropped by several times a week with updates on the newest happenings at Hawkins Middle or questions about how to handle a Suzie situation. At least once a month, Dustin crashed on your couch after a weekend movie night. 

On one occasion, you and Steve returned home from a date night to discover half a dozen adolescents gathered around the television in your living room. A curly-haired kid carried around a bag of chips in one hand and waved cheerfully with the other. He flashed his infamous toothy grin, which you met with a half-scowl, half-squint of confusion.

“Dustin? How did you get in here?”

Dustin spoke through a mouthful of Doritos. “My mom dropped us off. And then I used my key.”

Your glare switched targets. This time, you directed it at Steve. He clamped his hand down on his face; you weren’t sure if it was to avoid your gaze or express his frustration.

“Dude, I gave you that key for emergencies only.”

“This was an emergency!” Dustin threw up his hands, sending an army of cheesy corn chips into the atmosphere. After falling back to earth, bright orange triangles wedged themselves into your new white rug. “The season premiere of our favorite show is tonight, and we didn’t have anywhere to watch it.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. Your eyes scanned over the gang sprawled across your couch, armchairs, and carpet. Judging by the boxes of candy and cans of soda littered across the floor, Dustin must have raided your pantry. Apparently, the kitchen wasn’t the only place he infiltrated, since almost your entire linen closet was spread out over the living room. Lucas and Max shared the recliner beside which Dustin was currently standing. Will sat on a pillow with his back against the coffee table, his attention still focused on the television screen. You turned your attention to Mike, who was curled up next to El under a crocheted blanket you’d received from your grandmother. 

“Doesn’t your family have a TV, Mike?” 

"Yeah, we do, but my mom kicked us out so she could watch a soap opera or some shit. She and Nancy love that crap.”

Nancy. 

That name ignited the flame of jealousy in your chest. You knew it was totally irrational; she and Steve hadn’t dated since high school. They’d both moved on-something Nancy did almost instantaneously. Steve had told you the whole saga of their mostly-one-sided relationship, and you were fairly certain Nancy never really loved him.

Still, Nancy was Steve’s first serious girlfriend. She was the first girl-the only girl, other than you-to whom he’d said “I love you” and meant it. Nancy was, and would always be, Steve’s first love. There wasn’t anything you could do to change that.

“Y/N? Hey, babe, you good?”

Steve’s voice jolted you back to reality. You shook your head slightly to clear it, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

You pretended not to notice the way his mouth twitched downward slightly in concern.

“Great. So we can stay?” Dustin interrupted. The hopeful gleam in his eyes was too much to resist.

“I guess,” you sighed, earning a chorus of triumphant “yeah!”s from the kids. “Your show’s probably about over by now, anyway, isn’t it?”

Dustin furrowed his thick brows, as though that was the most blatantly incorrect assumption you could have made. Lucas let you know that “it doesn’t even start for three more hours.”

“Won’t that be, like, midnight? Your parents aren’t going to freak out if you come home at two in the morning?” Steve asked.

“Actually...” Dustin drew out the word until he finally ran out of air. Then, he spoke the next few words in one breath. “We were hoping you’d let us spend the night here?”

You and Steve exchanged glances. Between your schoolwork and Steve’s work schedule, the two of you hadn’t been able to spend as much quality time together. You’d finally both managed to secure a responsibility-free night and a cheesy rom-com to watch while cuddling on the couch. (Steve pretended to hate those movies, but he almost always teared up at least once during the show.)

None of that mattered now, though, because your boyfriend could never say no to his favorite child-or so you thought.

Steve scratched the back of his neck. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before saying, “Actually, Dustin, tonight’s not the best night for a sleepover. Y/N and I kind of had plans.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Plans, huh? What kind of plans?” he said, earning a smack on the arm from his girlfriend.

Color rose to your cheeks; Steve picked up a pillow someone had haphazardly tossed on the floor and launched it at Lucas’s head. Instead of hitting its intended target, though, the cushion collided with Max’s face. Ever the hothead, the ginger quickly contorted her neutral expression into a deep frown. She chucked the pillow back toward Steve with tremendous force, along with a few other throw pillows. Only one actually hit Steve. The rest rained down on you.

And, as a mature, homeowning adult battling literal children, you knew there was only one correct response: to hurl each and every one of those pillows right back.

It didn’t take long before the scene devolved into utter chaos. Fluffy rectangles flew across the living room, smacking into bodies or simply into walls. The kids outnumbered you and Steve three-to-one, so you were doomed from the start. However valiant of an effort you two gave, the party still overcame you, burying you and Steve under an avalanche of pillows.

“Clearly, we won this fight,” Dustin said as he loomed over you. Steve had tried to act as your human shield, so he laid beside you on the floor. “I think that means we earned the right to stay.”

“Dustin-“

“No, Steve, it’s okay,” you said, turning towards him. “I know it’s not what we originally planned, but maybe a sleepover with the kids would be fun.”

Steve looked at you with admiration glittering in his chocolate eyes. “Yeah?” he asked softly.

“Yeah.” You shifted a few pillows to get closer to Steve and plant a gentle kiss on his mouth. He smiled as your lips brushed his, and for a moment, you forgot about the gang of gangly tweens in your living room.

Then, a symphony of “ew”s and “aw”s and “can you not”s and “I think it’s sweet”s erupted throughout the room.

Steve shot into an upright position, pointing his finger in the general direction of the sitting area. “Hey, this is my house, and my girlfriend, and if I want to kiss her, I will. And if you dweebs want to stay here to watch your stupid show, you’ll keep your mouths shut.”

“As long as you keep yours shut,” Dustin quipped. “I think I can speak for everyone when I say we’d rather not see you and Y/N sticking your tongues down each other’s throats.”

You tossed the last pillow throw of the night at Dustin but agreed. You and Steve kept the PDA to a minimum that night. They were just kids, after all, and you didn’t want to corrupt them. However, when Nancy came to pick up Mike the next morning and Steve waved to her from the porch, you didn’t hesitate to flounce out the front door in your robe and draw Steve into a passionate kiss.

You just had to make sure Nancy knew what was yours.

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home

You're my, my, my, my lover

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force-of-a-man to be my lover

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover

Your favorite part of the day was coming home to your best friend.

Steve more or less memorized your schedule. You arrived home around the same time every evening, so Steve knew when to start listening for the sound of gravel crunching under the wheels of your car. He would then meet you on the porch with a “hello” kiss and a “how was your day, honey?” You always feigned indignance as he took your bags, murmuring something about how weak he must think you are to not be able to carry them two more steps. But, secretly, you spent your entire commute home anticipating the interaction.

This was especially true on the stressful days, the ones you felt would never end. Even though Steve was completely clueless in most situations, he could typically tell when you were in a foul mood. Those were the times he pulled you a little closer to his heart, hugged you a little tighter, loved you a little extra-just in case you needed it.

Today, you really, really did. It had been one of those days where everything seems to go wrong. You couldn’t wait to crawl into bed with Steve and snuggle all your sorrows away.

As you pulled into the driveway, your heart beat faster in anticipation. You watched the front door swing open. It took you a second to realize that the figure standing on the porch wasn’t your boyfriend. Rather, it was a short, stocky kid with a halo of golden curls. If it hadn’t been for the unmistakable hair, you might not have recognized him; you’d never seen him sans ballcap but plus a paisley-print bowtie around his neck and certainly never with dish rag was draped over his arm.

“Hey, Dustin,” you said. When he responded by simply smiling back at you, you asked, “What...what’cha doing here, kid?”

“Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ll be your server for the evening,” he responded without missing a beat. 

“My server?”

Dustin bent his head slightly in what he must have considered a sophisticated spin on a nod. “Indeed. Now, if you’ll follow me, ma’am...”

You kicked off your shoes and set down your purse before wandering after your guide down the dimly-lit hall. Something crinkled under your footsteps. You quickly noticed small ovals scattered across the wood floor. As you stepped on one, it felt like silk against your bare feet. 

Petals?

You were too busy staring at the flowers scattered across the hall to realize you’d reached your destination. Dustin stopped, and you ran right into his back. You stumbled before regaining your balance and taking a look around the room.

The “server” had escorted you to your own kitchen-a place you were quite familiar with, since Steve couldn’t cook a decent meal to save his life. (To be fair, though, you weren’t much more skilled with the stove, so approximately 90% of your diet was comprised of takeout and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.) However, you’d never seen the kitchen quite like this.

It was the cleanest it had been since move-in day. Not a dish sat on the counter or even in the sink. The crumbs typically scattered across the floor had been replaced by rose petals. Sparkling white Christmas lights stretched across the room, and Elvis Presley crooned over the record player in the corner of the room. You didn’t even know Steve owned a record player. (As you later discovered, he didn’t. He’d borrowed it from Jonathan Byers.)

In the center of the room, your cheap card table was draped with a lace tablecloth. Wedged between two covered silver platters that looked like they belonged in a castle, a flickering candle cast shadows on the face of the boy sitting beside it. As soon as his eyes fell on you, he scrambled to his feet and over to you.

“Hi,” Steve said, winding his arms around your waist. He sounded breathless, even though he’d literally just walked a few feet.

“Hey.” Your eyes flicked from his slicked-back hair and freshly-shaven face to his crisp button-up and newly-polished shoes. “What’s-um-what’s all this?” you asked, vaguely gesturing around the room.

“Oh, you know.” Steve pressed a quick kiss to your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the table. “I just thought I’d do something special for you tonight.”

"That’s...really sweet.”

Steve scooted your chair in before placing himself back into the seat across from you. Dustin disappeared into your pantry, then returned with a bottle of sparkling grape juice. As you watched the teenager carefully pour a splash into each of your glasses, you asked whether Steve had bribed or tricked him into spending his Friday night playing restaurant.

“This is my full-time job, ma’am. This is how I earn my living,” Dustin answered dutifully before breaking character. “Besides, four of my stupid friends are on a double-date, and Will’s sick, so I had nothing better to do.”

“Way to sell us on the idea that you want to be here, dipshit,” Steve remarked.

“Hey, show our waiter a little respect!” you teased, gently kicking Steve under the table.

“Thank you, Y/N. But, actually, I prefer the term server,” Dustin corrected. He proceeded to produce a notepad from his pocket and read you the specials-or, rather, special, considering there was only one: spaghetti with meatballs. “On our regular menu, we also offer a wonderful noodle dish with a marinara sauce for the same low price as the special-zero dollars.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “So...just spaghetti again?”

Dustin clapped a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Excuse you, madam. It’s spaghetti without meatballs, which is a completely different experience.” Dustin glanced around as though someone might overhear before quietly adding, “Personally, I would recommend the spaghetti with meatballs, unless you want grubby hands digging around in your dish to pull out the meatballs, which may or may not already be incorporated into the pasta.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed nonetheless. “I guess I’ll have the spaghetti with meatballs, then.”

“Excellent choice. And for you, sir?”

“I’ll have the same,” said Steve.

“Well, you’ve both made this very easy for me. Pardon my reach,” Dustin said, leaning over to pluck the covers off the platters. A heaping hill of noodles, red sauce, and meatballs lay underneath. 

Dustin took the lids and disappeared into the living room. You weren’t sure if Dustin was just trying to stay out of the way or if he was going to attempt to wash them in the bathroom sink. It definitely wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing he’d done in your house; once, you and Steve caught him trying to explain morse code to a squirrel in your backyard. That kid was truly an odd duck. 

And speaking of weird behavior, you were still seriously questioning what was happening. Steve was a sweetheart, and he did everything in his power to make you happy. This definitely wasn’t the first time he’d surprised you with a thoughtful gesture, but it was probably the most all-out he’d ever gone. The last time he even attempted to cook for you was during senior year of high school, when you first started dating. As an after-school snack, Steve had popped some pizza rolls in the microwave and promptly forgotten about them...until, of course, the kitchen appliance burst into flames.

As strange as it was, you didn’t want to ruin the moment by verbally expressing your curiosities. You simply swirled slightly-soggy spaghetti around your spoon and savored the small talk. Eventually, Dustin reappeared to clear your plates and ask if you wanted dessert. 

“What are my options?”

Dustin’s excellent waiter facade faded for a second. He glanced at Steve with wide eyes. His gaze begged for guidance-which Steve failed to provide. He simply squinted at Dustin as if to say, Figure it out for yourself.

The entire ordeal lasted about fifteen seconds. It was too long for Dustin to turn back to you with a tight-lipped smile plastered on his face as though nothing had just happened between them.

“The final course is-the dessert, uh-it’s a surprise.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn you saw Steve offer a nod of approval.

“Okay...” You drew out the word as your mind jumped to every conclusion possible. “Is it a good surprise? Or is it, like, a somewhat-edible science experiment that might actually poison me?”

“Oh, no, no. It’s a good surprise. You’ll like it. I promise,” Dustin said. “I-uh-I’ll go get it,” he said, then disappeared once more. 

“Steve, why did Dustin just head toward the bathroom? I swear, if he made Jell-O in the toilet or something, I’m going to lose it.”

Steve just shrugged. He avoided your gaze, and a few beads of sweat had broken out across his forehead. That pretty much solidified your suspicions that Steve and Dustin were pulling some weird sort of prank on you.

Dustin returned a few minutes later with yet another silver platter. (Seriously, where was he getting these things?) This time, though, there weren’t any noodles on the plate he unveiled. Instead, a small velvet box sat on the metal.

The next few seconds happened in a blur. You recalled Steve rising from his chair and reaching for the box. Then, suddenly, he was on one knee in front of you. The box opened like an oyster. Instead of a pearl, though, its treasure was a glimmering diamond ring. 

Tears began clouding your vision before Steve’s lips even parted. As soon as he spotted the water in your eyes, Steve started to get choked up, too. He tried to power through, but his voice became more strained with each syllable.

“Y/N. These past few years with you have been the best of my life, and I never thought...shit." Steve blinked rapidly, attempting to clear away the tears. “I never want to spend my time with-with anyone else-damn it,” he murmured as a drop of water finally escaped his tear duct and rolled down his face. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I had this whole speech prepared, but now I’m a mess-”

You stopped his ranting by placing a gentle palm on his cheek and a kiss on his forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I love you for the whole-ass mess you are.”

Steve leaned into your touch for a moment and whispered, “I love you, too, Y/N.” Then, he straightened up, cleared his throat, and softly asked, “Will you marry me?”

“Of course.”

Steve barely had the patience to slide the ring on your finger with his shaking hands before he picking you up and swinging you around. He kissed all over your face, and your happy tears mixed with his in a joyous saltwater solution. 

The kiss fest didn’t end until Steve, caught up in all the excitement, accidentally pressed his lips to your nostrils. The two of you burst into a fit of giggles amplified by the ecstasy of the emotions you were feeling. Your hysteria lasted for several minutes and ended with you and Steve laying on the floor, lungs devoid of oxygen and limbs tangled together.

“Are you guys really that happy, or are you, like, on something?”

You both glanced toward Dustin, whose presence had completely slipped your mind. Luckily, Steve had a response ready. It was cheesy and cliche, but nothing could have fit the situation more perfectly:

“No, dude. We’re just high on life.”

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home (Forever and ever)

You're my, my, my, my

Oh, you're my, my, my, my

Darling, you're my, my, my, my lover

***

Taglist:  @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @rexorangecouny  @broadwayandnetflix @explode-a-pult @whormotional @loulouloueh  @readinthegarden12 @lacunaclouds

If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3

If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)

[motleycrueroadie]

Along for the Ride (pt. 4)

Thank you again to anyone that has been taking the time to read this! I love writing it!

One I Two I Three 

Tonight being Friday, I fully expected the diner to have more people than usual but I hadn’t expected to be sweating an hour and a half into my shift with no end in sight. Even though Tiff’s is on the Sunset Strip, we were not the “happening” place on Friday night. This coupled with the manager’s inability to pay anymore than he had to, meant that the diner was only ever manned by two people: a chef and a waitress. For some reason, Tiff’s was swarming with people tonight, so there were only a few booths that were vacant at this hour. I’ll chalk it up to the fact that everywhere else was occupied and I was blaring our prized jukebox with quarters that I got from tips. I needed a continuous loop of upbeat rock to get me through tonight.

 Despite the newcomers, there were a few regulars that came to the diner every weekend after the shows. My regulars were a group of teenagers, buzzed in every sense of the word, who came by consistently for greasy food to satisfy their munchies before stalking off into the night to do whatever it is they did. I would give them credit though, they tipped me well and had never caused trouble in the diner, so I always turned a blind eye to their underage drinking (they loved slipping vodka into their sodas). However,  I made sure they all had at least one glass of water before they left. I hadn’t seen them yet  tonight, so I was beginning to wonder what kind of trouble they had got themselves into. 

“Janis!” a slurring voice called out, exaggerating the N in my name. Looking over my shoulder as I grabbed some meals from the window, I realized I spoke too soon. My regulars were coming in the door and headed for their favourite booth. Daniel, the one who had called my name held the door open while the rest of his group entered. He haphazardly wandered over to the jukebox while I carried the food from the window over to a table. Placing their food down, Daniel called out “What do you want to listen to Janis? My treat, anything you want!” 

I had to laugh at the kid while I continued whizzing around the diner, he did this every time he came in. 

“You know what Danny boy, I’m feeling some ZZ Top tonight.” I said to him as I rang in someone’s bill on the cash register, “In particular, Tush.” He looked up from the jukebox, raising his eyebrows to indicate he had found some sort of “hidden message” in my request. 

“Not yours Danny boy, I might as well be your older sister.” He just nodded to himself, knowing I was right. Popping in the quarter, he headed back to his friends. 

“Poor kid thought he had a chance there didn’t he?” said a familiar voice. None other than Nikki Sixx was at the opposite end of the counter from me. 

Nikki must’ve noticed the sudden head turn in the direction of his voice, “Is that a look of surprise on your face Joplin? Did you forget I was coming?” I shook my head at him, reaching under the counter to grab a clean rag. 

“Didn’t hear you come in, rock star,” I said while turning on the tap and letting the cold water run over the rag. “I just can’t believe I missed you coming, what with that beautiful mess of a nose you’ve got going on.” Pointing at the dried blood mixed with fresh underneath his nose, he reached up to rub it with his hand. 

“I thought I cleaned it up,” he mumbled to himself as I handed him the rag. I lightly snickered at his comment as I motioned to a booth near the jukebox. 

“I’m a little backed up at the moment, so have a seat at the booth right there and I’ll come get some more details from you in a moment” he looked to where I was motioning and back at me nodding. I started to hand him a menu when he opened and closed his mouth before opening it again. 

“Do you have a newspaper?” I knitted my eyebrows together before replying, 

“There’s a stand near the entrance” He nodded to himself before taking the menu from my hand and heading over towards the newspaper stand. As I rounded the counter to head towards Danny and his group, two people walked in the door - a tall lanky young guy and a shorter gal. 

“Take a seat where you can find one and I’ll be with y’all in a moment!” I called out to them as I passed. 

“Well kids, will it be the regular order?” I asked as I reached their table, knowing the answer to my question already. Danny nodded to indicate a formal decision while the rest of them barely acknowledged my existence. I knew that if I was to try and take an order other than the regular, that it would be like herding cats. Instead of waiting to hear if there was any opposition, I winked at Danny while heading back towards Carlos to give orders and prep drinks. 

“I see your friend is back mija, he better not be looking for free food here too.” Carlos gave me a side eye while he focused on the grill. In response I rolled my eyes at him while starting on the drinks and grabbing menus for the new people that came in.

 Carlos was a little old fashioned in that he made assumptions based on appearance. He thinks that Nikki is a stray that I’ve brought in because I felt bad for him.  I don’t think I made that any better when I told him that I had been having Nikki over for dinner, but Carlos was a little wayward in his assumptions. He wasn’t wrong in thinking that Nikki was a stray, but I don’t think he realized that I was too. People only know as much as you tell them, and I don’t particularly enjoy being vulnerable around others, so I tend to keep some information close. Carlos and I had been working the night shift together since I started at the diner, so I trusted him with a tad more information,  enough so that he knew what I did outside the diner but that was it. I didn’t let Nikki this close into my life because I felt bad for him, I just related to him. Initially, all I had known was that Nikki and I were both out here on our own so I wanted to know him better, except I kept the wall up. Despite this, he was the one to initiate a deeper conversation by asking about my folks today. Nikki put me in a vulnerable state and I wanted to back out even though I knew it wasn’t an option. You can’t unshare what’s already been in the open. Nikki dove in head first to this new information by sharing his own vulnerability with me. Him and I were both strays, so how can you feel bad for each other? You don’t. You just let the other know they aren’t alone. Once you know you aren’t alone, you can be comfortable in the face of discomfort.

I returned to my table of regulars with their drinks in one hand, and a promise that their food would be out within the next 15 minutes. As I rounded the diner to head to the table of newcomers, I noticed one was missing. The tall, lanky boy. He wasn’t hard to miss considering his height and the fact that he was currently at Nikki’s booth. As I passed by, I glanced over my shoulder to see that Nikki wasn’t entirely thrilled with the conversation. Looking back over to the girl, I could tell she was a little annoyed with the situation so I slid into the booth across from her. This way she couldn’t continue to glare at her date.

“You plan on having something to eat tonight sweetheart? I’m sure it’s on his dime.” She looked at me now instead of through me. I watched her turn the idea over in her brain before shaking her head. 

“Can I at least get you something to drink?” I asked while she continued to look disappointed. 

“You know what? I would actually really love a root beer float.” I smiled up at her, liking her choice in drink. 

“I’ll see what I can do about getting your date back over here” I said while getting up before continuing, “That is, of course, if you would like him to come back?” She laughed at me while she nodded her head. 

“Yeah I would like it if he came back” I laughed with her as I moved along to the table with her date and Nikki in it. 

“Sixx, can I make the safe assumption that you would like a Jack and Coke to start off with?” Nikki looked up towards the sound of my voice while I approached the table, nodding as I stopped next to the lanky kid. 

“Can I get some blueberry pancakes?” was the greeting I received from the kid, who had yet to make a good impression on me. 

“Sweetheart, what’s your name?” I asked him as he looked up at me confused. If there was one thing I know from working in the service industry, it’s that sometimes people need to be reminded to use their manners. This kid looked to be around my age, so I was going to feed him the lesson straight. No pussy footing around. 

“Tommy” I smiled at this, a childish name that fit the youthful energy and forgetfulness. 

“Tommy, let me level with you” I lost the smile to communicate the severity of my next statement, “You ain’t getting those pancakes until you say please and when I bring them out, they’re going to the table where you’ve left your date.” He looked back over his shoulder to where his date was people watching out the window. Turning back to me he slouched his shoulders over a little bit, and I caught him glancing at the name tag. 

“I’m sorry Ms. Janis, would I be able to get some blueberry pancakes please?” I broke the stern look, smiling at him. 

“Of course you can Tommy, would you like some syrup brought to the table as well?” Tommy nodded adamantly while I looked over to Nikki. 

“Do you want any food to go with your JC?” 

“I would love an order of blueberry pancakes as well…..” He watches as I raise my eyebrow at him, I know that he’s teasing me but I’ll indulge it. “Oh did I forget to say please?” Flipping him off, I grab the menus from in front of the two of them. 

About an hour and a half had gone by before the diner was clear of everyone except Nikki. Tommy had returned to his date when I brought out his pancakes, but not before slipping a napkin across the table to Nikki. He tipped me well and even apologized again on his way out the door, to which I had only laughed and told him all was good.  Danny and the rest of the regulars pitched in a few quarters each so that I could continue playing tunes on the jukebox, and all stopped to compliment Nikki on the “kick-ass” show he put on tonight. After they had left, Nikki sat patiently looking through the newspaper while I made sure the tables were clear and sanitized. With an armful of the diner’s napkin holders and the other hand carrying a package of napkins, I sat in the booth opposite Nikki for my first opportunity to sit down since starting the shift. 

“A kick-ass show tonight?” I questioned while starting to refill the napkin holders. He nodded while motioning to the rag abandoned on the edge of the table. 

“Lead singer and I went at it in front of the crowd at the end of the set.” Pausing what I was doing and raising an eyebrow at him, I prompted him to keep talking. 

“We’ve been at each other’s throats for the past couple of weeks and I just snapped over him changing the order of the songs around.” Again, without saying a word he could gauge my reaction just from my face as I continued on with my tedious task. 

“Listen I know it sounds like some stupid ass shit, but it was just my boiling point you know?” I nodded knowing the feeling all too well. 

“So I take it, that’s the end of London then?” He nodded while sort of laughing to himself over the way it ended. Reaching across the table, I grabbed his empty glass and raised it up into the air for an impromptu toast. “To London!” I shouted in a god awful British accent while Nikki looked at me as if I was the one who walked in here tonight with a bloody nose. 

“Janis Jade! Quit being so damn loud!” yelled out Carlos from the kitchen window, where I knew he was peeling potatoes for the day shift. 

“What are you going to do now then?” I said, sliding the glass back across the table to him and stood to return the napkin holders to the table. 

“Well I grabbed a newspaper to start looking at the ads for new people, but a drummer arrived in front of me.” There weren’t too many people who had gone up to Nikki while he had been there, and knowing that Danny and his group hadn’t spoken to him for long enough to form a band, that left the lanky kid. The napkin I saw him slipping Nikki most likely had a phone number on it then. 

“Tommy offered to be your drummer?” 

“Didn’t you see the drumsticks the kid was carrying around?” He spoke with genuine disbelief that I hadn’t noticed this apparently great detail. 

“Wasn’t paying that much attention to him” Which was a truthful statement.

“That’s because you were too busy giving him an earful” Grabbing my cleaning rag off the main counter, I turned around and snapped it in Nikki’s direction. He moved further back into the booth while laughing. 

“Well he deserved it!” I said, pleading my defense.

“I’m not saying he didn’t, Ms. Janis” he said, snickering to himself at what Tommy had called me. Rolling my eyes I replied, “So you’re a bass player and you’ve got yourself a drummer. Now you need a guitar player and a lead singer at the minimum.” He nodded, holding up the newspaper to indicate that this was his starting place. I smiled at him, it was clear that this was what Nikki really loved to do. Without even skipping a beat, Nikki put London behind him in search of the next batch of people that would help him put out music. I could only hope that whoever ended up being his next band were people that he could be friends with. After all, music is great but it’s even better in good company. Inspired by this, I spoke without thinking, “Tell you what Sixx.” He looked interested. “Once you get this band of yours together, I will come to your first show.” Nikki sat up straighter at this comment.

“Really?” He asked, to which I nodded. He looked almost taken aback by this but his smirk quickly returned to his face. 

“Can I count on you to post our flyers in the window to promote the show?” I only laugh at him.

“Form the band first, then we’ll talk.”

Next Chapter 

[mashafootball]

Lone Ranger (Julian Brandt Imagine)

Julian Brandt Imagine (FLUFF)

Please keep in mind: English is not my first language. Feel free to point out mistakes etc tho :) + It’s somehow quiet long. 

If someone would have asked you how you felt in that exact moment, as you sat in front of your laptop in a very crowded coffee shop in Cologne’s city center doing your latest assignment for university, your honest answer would have been: lonely. Obviously, you would never say that out loud, but the truth was, that you had been feeling that way for some time already. You have never been in a situation like this before, because usually it was quite easy for you to meet new people, make new friends, to get out of your comfort zone. In fact, you had already been living in Cologne for almost three months, and still you haven’t met anyone in the city that you could consider a friend now. Of course, you had met some people through uni lectures, but none of them seemed very keen on you. And it sucked. It really did and it made you feel bad, unwanted and anxious. Sometimes you even thought about returning back home to your comforting friends and family, but you would always tell yourself that these challenges would make you grow as a person and make you even more independent than you already were.  

Your head slowly bobbed along the rhythm of the song you were currently listening to while your fingers flew across the keyboard in order to fill in the blank pages on your laptop. Nonetheless you were well aware of the fact that the sounds surrounding you got louder and louder as the coffee shop got even more crowded than it already was. At first you didn’t even notice the young blond man standing in front of you until he gingerly tapped you on your shoulder, making you flinch under the unexpected touch. You shot him a confused smile as you pulled the headphones out of your ears. “Sorry.”, he laughed awkwardly “I wanted to ask you if it was ok if I could join you, the place is kinda crowded.”, his voice sounded mature and he also seemed very confident, but still he had that helpless smile plastered on his face which made him somehow look insanely awkward. It took a few moments for you understand what he wanted, but you began nodding frantically while moving your stuff across the table, making room for him to place his belongings on the table too. “Sure, no problem.”, you mumbled and shot him a shy smile as he placed his coffee on the table and got a laptop out of his backpack, almost mirroring you while sitting across from you.

So, you both started working, occasionally shooting each other a soft smile while tapping on your laptops. An hour later you were both still in the exact same position and you noticed the blond boy eyeing the university papers that were placed next to your laptop. “It’s fun, isn’t it?”, he joked as you removed the headphones from your ears once again. “I hope you are having as much fun as me.”, you laughed closing your laptop and taking a sip form your already cold coffee, pulling a disgusted face. “I’m Jannis, by the way and you are?”, he held out his hand and you obeyed by laying yours in his. “Y/N. Nice to meet you Jannis.”, you suddenly felt some sort of hope inside of you, even if it also made you feel very silly. You were somehow sure that you just met your first friend in Germany. “What are you studying?”, it surprised you a little that this Jannis actually showed some interest in you and soon you both were engaged in a very nice conversation.

“I could introduce you to my friends you know?”, he laughed a bit “I’m sure they would like you, you could join us next weekend. We want to go clubbing.”, Jannis offered making you smile at him. “No..I would feel like an uninvited guest, but thank you for offering.”, at first you thought about saying yes, but you didn’t want to spoil the fun for his friends by showing up without even knowing them. “What are you talking about Y/N?”, he laughed again “You should tag along, or do you want to be a lone ranger for the entire time of you being here?”, he surely had a point, but still you didn’t feel comfortable nor confident enough to accept his offer. It only took a few more minutes until you both said goodbye with each other and Jannis cheekily adding “I’m gonna text you the details Y/N.”

He had actually managed convincing you to join him and his friends the following weekend in one of Cologne’s most popular clubs. You were kinda looking forward to going out on Friday for the rest of the week. Finally, you had something motivating you to push through the next few days.

On Friday the day had (finally) come. After spending way too much time choosing your makeup, outfit and accessories. Back at home going out usually meant wearing jeans and maybe a shirt that showed some cleavage, nothing more. But after googling the club Jannis told you that you would attend you realized that jeans and converse wouldn’t be enough for tonight. Instead of that you chose a short strapless skintight black dress, black pointy heels (which made you insanely nervous because you were scared of falling) and a full-face makeup (normally not your thing at all). Nervously you paced around your living room, trying to walk as gracefully as possible in your uncomfortable heels. The beeping of your phone interrupted your runway imitation making you jump a little at the sound.

“Standing in front of your door. Jannis :-)”, you shot a look at the clock hanging in the living room and you realized that your own version of ‘America’s next top model’ had lasted longer than expected and still you didn’t feel one hundred percent sure in walking in those killer heels. Dancing definitely wasn’t an option tonight. After grabbing your coat, you headed out the door, almost forgetting how nervous you actually were. You were pretty sure that Jannis’ friends would be just as nice as the blonde boy himself, but the thoughts of disturbing them during their night out made you feel slightly uneasy.

As soon as you left the apartment complex’s door, Jannis got out of a black car smiling widely. “Hi Y/N!”, he greeted you with a comforting hug, making you feel ten times better already. “Thanks again!”, you said smiling at him “Is that your car?”, furrowing your eyebrows you eyed the black car behind the two of you. Was Jannis rich? “That’s my brothers, actually he doesn’t know I borrowed it, but as I’m only borrowing it, he will be fine. We will go back to my place, ok? Some of my friends are already there for pre-drinking.”. he explained softly, somehow aware of the fact that you still didn’t feel one hundred percent comfortable with tagging along. “Sounds cool! How old is your brother, because that car is...quite nice I guess?”, you asked Jannis as you both got into the car. “22”, he laughed starting the engine and driving off. You nodded as you gave him an impressed look, must be pretty successful at the age of 22.

The drive to Jannis’ flat only took about 15 minutes and soon after that you were standing behind him in front of his own home’s door. “Why is no one opening the door?”, he mumbled to himself as he typed something on his phone, probably texting his friends to open the door. “You were the one who forgot the keys. Maybe your flat is already burning down.”, you said cheekily. Suddenly the door opened, a young tall blonde man shooting Jannis an annoyed look. “I know you took my car.”, he raised his eyebrows impatiently waiting for Jannis’ explanation. Ohh, that’s the brother.You felt a little awkward as you followed Jannis through the door as he continued bickering with his brother. “Yeah and nothing happened so chill out bro.”, Jannis said confirming your assumptions about the unknown boy. After taking another look at him you even realized that he kinda looked like Jannis, too. “Stop being a bitc* now Julian. That’s Y/N by the way.”, what a way to be introduced to someone. You shot the taller blonde a small smile as you reached your hand out. He on the other hand didn’t seem as enthusiastic as Jannis did when you first met. You tried to ignore his annoyed, almost arrogant glance. “Julian.”, he shook your hand firmly, making you feel ten times smaller and more insecure than you have ever felt before. Jannis only shook his head at his brother, nudging your arm and guiding you into the living room where a few more boys were already sitting on the couch. So far, no female support. “Don’t worry, some of my friend’s girlfriends will join us so you are not completely alone.”, Jannis said out of the blue, making it seem like he had read your mind. “Nice.”, you muttered, a little bit overwhelmed with everything that was unfolding in front of you but after a few minutes you came to the conclusion that Jannis’ friends were just as nice as him.

As you went into the kitchen to grab yourself another glass of wine and for some of the boys a new beer you lightly bumped into Jannis’ brother Julian. “Oh sorry.”, you rushed out worriedly as you were still a little intimated by him because of his way of introducing himself. “Don’t worry about it.”, he laughed lightly, taking you back by surprise as you didn’t expect him to react like that. “Sorry by the way for being so rude earlier. I’m kinda having a rough day.”, he tried explaining yourself as you shot him an honest smile, making him grin in return. “Don’t worry about it.”, you said imitating him. “I’m not really a resentful person so you are lucky.”, you added winking at him. “Maybe today isn’t too bad after all.”, he said nodding at you. “Are you tagging along later?”, you asked hoping he would say yes. “No, I can’t. I have to work tomorrow.”, you tried hiding your disappointed reaction, but couldn’t help letting out a very quiet sigh. You weren’t even sure why you felt gutted about the fact that Jannis’ brother, whom you had known for like ten minutes, wouldn’t join you on your first night out in Cologne. There was just something about his smile and appearance overall that made you interested in him.

“Working on a Saturday, sorry for that.”, you said laughing lightly as you hoped he didn’t notice your slight disappointment. “It’s fine to be honest. I love my job.”, he smiled softly as he got himself a glass of water, indicating for you to sit down on one of the bar stools. You followed his movement as you sat down next to each other on the small table in the kitchen, your wine and the requested beer already forgotten.

“What do you do? Except for not having to work on a Saturday?”, he asked sassily leaving you no time to actually ask what his profession was. “I’m a student and maybe I would be a little richer if I worked on Saturdays too.”, you answered as you shrugged your shoulder. “What are you majoring in?”. Just like with Jannis a week and a half prior that was the starting signal for a very passionate conversation. At first your dialogue reminded you a lot of your first encounter with Julian’s (you found that out) younger brother. But instead of (voluntarily) landing in each other’s friendzone like it happened with Jannis, your conversation with Julian actually felt like a first date and you were hoping that you weren’t the only one thinking about it that way.

You felt a little startled as you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket, making you look at the display for the first time on that evening. A glance at the digital clock left you a little speechless as you realized the conversation with Julian had been going on for a very long time now. “Has it always been that quiet or am I dreaming?”, you asked aimlessly as you scrolled through your messages, one from Jannis catching your eye.

“Wouldn’t have thought there wold be someodne able to talk to Julian today as he…succcss. We are on our way to the club, but ofc you can stay “””talking””” a litte more with my brother ;-)” you had to reread the message in order to understand what Jannis was talking about, that boy was way too drunk before even reaching the club. “Did he text you too?”, Julian asked as he also went through his messages. “He did.”, laughing quietly you waited for Julian’s response. “Little fuck*er.”, he muttered, stuffing his phone away again in order to give his full attention at you again.

“We should make use of the fact that they left the flat. Couch?”, Julian asked as he already got up from the stool. You followed behind him, taking the glass of wine with you, because you simply felt like you needed it. The living room looked like a mess, but both of you didn’t even acknowledge it too much, feeling too busy with each other. You tried to convince yourself that it was a “spur of moment thing” as Julian got a little closer to you. “I’m glad you are here right now.”, he said quietly making your heart flutter a little bit. “I’m glad I’m not in some club right now.”, you answered honestly leaning back on the couch “Plus you aren’t such a bad Friday night activity.”

“Geez Y/N. Thanks for that.”, he said making you laugh. “I didn’t mean it that way.”, you rolled your eyes, “I’m glad I’m here with you instead of sitting in a club right now, that’s what I wanted to say.”, you started out surely of yourself but got a little quieter at the end. All of a sudden you felt a little dumb and insecure. You had known Julian for about five hours now and you were smitten.

“Glad you chose the better Brandt.”, he whispered winking at you, making you smile once again. You rolled your eyes playfully at him as u began playing nervously with your hair. Out of nowhere there was suddenly such a weird silence between the two of you and instead of starting the conversation again you waited for Julian to do the first step.

“Can I kiss you?” It was an out-of-the blue question and his pale cheeks flamed right after he rushed the words out, making it seem like he didn’t actually want to say what he said. You laughed a little, fisting the hem of your dress as you turned your body a little towards his, a smile covering your lips. “Do you seduce all your women like that?”, you joked hoping it would ease the tension a bit. “Only some.”, he said, sounding more certain. “Well, in that case..”, you started as he broke of your sentence by placing his lips on yours. You have known that young man for five hours now and you were sure that you have never ever felt that many butterflies in your tummy before. The kiss deepened a bit as he cupped your face with his hands holding you in place. He broke the kiss for a moment, letting his hands linger on your face as he grinned at you. “Another women seduced.”, he said making a fist bump into the air. “Idiot.”, was all you said before you pulled him into another kiss, smiling slightly.

{ tagged: @julianbrandtrelated }

[theonyxpath]

The following text is the introductory fiction to Scion: Hero 2nd Edition. Scion 2e can still be preordered via BackerKit.

A cloud-darkened sky is only featureless to those who don’t really look. The careful and discerning eye perceives a thousand folds within the gathering storm. One can take any number of lessons from the sky beyond simple observation and appreciation, comparing the overlapping clouds to a well-made sword. Lessons of a storm’s strength born from careful refinement of air and water, or of a land’s parched patience rewarded with rain. But those were lessons Yukiko Kuromizu had long since learned, so she put the thought out of her mind in the split second before she slammed back-first into the cold waters of San Pedro Bay.

“Kuso,” she whispered beneath the waves, the bubbles from her muttered curse floating upwards. Yukiko imagined she could hear the fire giant’s roar beyond the waves. He was probably brandishing that lead pipe still, leaving a trail of burnt wood and dripping molten metal on the docks as he stalked and bellowed about the sons of Muspel. She had assumed it was too heavy to strike with any sort of speed. Her crushed ribs and the aching warmth spreading in her chest were the fruits of that assumption.

Yukiko rolled — or perhaps drifted — to face the blackness below. The blood was flowing freely from her mouth. She heard the sharp rapport of gunfire above and behind her, muffled through the water. Donnie Rhodes battling against her assailant, but that was another thought she needed to put out of her mind.

Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi, the Grass-Cutting Sword, slipped out of her grasp and plunged toward the ocean floor. She did not have the strength to catch it; instead, she watched it slicing easily through the ocean water. It had been lost at sea before, but they were a very long way from Japan. She imagined it turning along the ocean floor over the course of long months and years, far from Amaterasu-?mikami’s light. She imagined it washing ashore, not in Yokosuka where the waters were cold and the coarse beach crunched beneath your feet, but in Okinawa, where the sand was white and soft. She imagined the Shint? priests wrapping it in silks and lifting it gingerly from the surf. She imagined it being presented to the emperor upon his ascension. Yukiko imagined the sword being privately mentioned to her mother.

“Sansei,” the children outside the base called her. Three generations from Japan, though her mother was native to Okinawa. Her father was born in America, nisei, and had worn the naval uniform of his homeland. She didn’t know how her parents met, and had never truly asked. Yukiko’s father had been a man who didn’t care that an unmarried woman had been driven out of her village by her traditionalist family, or even that she carried the child of another man who’d loved her for a week and left forever. He only knew that the too-proud hostess he met at Navy Restaurant Yokosuka was the most wonderful woman he’d ever met, and he wanted to be the light in her life. Yukiko’s earliest memories of her father were of a handsome man smiling and kissing her mother, of him bouncing her happily on his knee and promising brothers and sisters.

Her father was in their family home still, sitting on the mantle, lacquered chopsticks within an empty funeral urn to commemorate a man lost at sea. The pension was little comfort. Yukiko’s childhood was a series of silent weekend afternoons and Japanese language lessons on weekday nights, of sorrowful silences at the dinner table. Her mother carried the grief of two lost loves like a sack of rice on her shoulders, and she stooped under the weight.

The children off-base were the worst. They were free to indulge in the customs of America, eating hamburgers and curry while she ate pickled vegetables and slivers of grilled fish. They were free to laugh and giggle with one another, but she was met with chilly silences and laughter that was cruel, not kind. Yukiko’s mother never noticed when she came home with bruises or muddied clothes or torn schoolbooks. The older woman went to work, came home, cooked dinner, and ensured her daughter was attending Japanese lessons. Then she would retire to bed, and Yukiko would be left with household chores. When Yukiko’s mother smiled, it was for American sailors, and it never reached her eyes.

One day, Yukiko noticed she’d grown taller than her mother. That day, she summoned her courage, and spoke long-hidden feelings aloud.

“Mother, I am sorry.” Once she started, she could not stop. “I am sorry I remind you of what you lost. I am sorry I am a failure at school. I am sorry I am too much like my father with too little Japanese in me.” That was a phrase from the girls at school, and it must have hurt her mother as much as it hurt Yukiko, for she had never seen the older woman’s jaw drop quite so. Even so, she had to finish. “I am sorry,” she choked, “That I cannot be a daughter you are proud of.”

Silence. After an eternity, her mother spoke. “Yuki-chan,” she said, cupping her daughter’s face with a gentle hand, but only for a moment. She reached over, flicked on the stove, and moved the kettle on to boil. “Never apologize for what the world does to you. Only apologize for what you fail to give back.”

“Mother?” Yukiko had never her speak about anything other than base practicalities. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Her mother took a deep breath as the steam began to spout, and poured warm water on a cloth. Yukiko felt the heat of the cloth as her mother gingerly wiped her daughter’s face, felt the gentle strength in her hand as she stilled Yukiko’s attempt to shy away from cloth and cleanliness. Her mother rubbed water over her hands, then returned the kettle to the stove.

“I mean that our thoughts, our feelings, our actions, disturb the world around us.” Something had changed in her mother’s voice as the woman gestured around the room. “You know this, right? Shint?? Kids talk about it, you learn it in school, right?” She did not. Most kids didn’t talk to her, and if they did, they didn’t talk about Shint?. “Is this about the Buddha?” she asked. She knew about the Buddha, definitely.

“The Budd—” her mother started, and Yukiko shrank back from the sudden note of strength in her mother’s voice. Her mother opened her hands and sank to her knees, lowering her voice and steeling her tone. Not with anger, Yukiko realized, but with pride. “No, this isn’t about the Buddha. This is about the world, and everything in it, and you and you in it.”

The kettle began to whistle. Her mother took it from the stove and poured two cups, whisking in some powder. The scent of matcha filled the air.

“This is the truth, Yuki-chan,” her mother began, seating herself next to her but staring at something out the window Yukiko couldn’t see. “Everything we do affects everything around us. To live only for one’s self is to twist that. You must live for others, and for the world. You must keep your eyes open, observe all around you.”

She paused for a moment. “My mother told me this story, once: When the son of the Emperor took up the blade Kusanagi, taken by the God Susano-O from the tail of a great serpent, he found himself fighting a great warlord. The warlord’s men set an entire field of grass aflame to entrap him, but the prince did not charge in heedlessly. He stood back and watched the fire crawl along the field, then sliced every blade of grass off before it could catch fire. He swept the blade—” and here her mother stood and made great sweeping gestures so unlike her, much to her daughter’s delight, “—to throw the flaming grass back at the warlord. He watched the world and saw it, rather than forcing himself upon it. You understand, right? He saw the kami.”

“What is a kami?”

“The kami are in everything and within everything. They are in the air, in the sword, in the fire, in the grass,” her mother said. There was strength in her voice. “They float between everything and they are in harmony, unless we disturb them. We cannot rule them, daughter, we can only see them and move between them.”

Her mother looked at her, truly looked at her, and stood. Yukiko realized she wasn’t taller than her mother after all. “You cannot force the girls at school to be kind to you, you cannot force your father to come home, you cannot force the world into what you want it to be. You can only see it and move within it, until you are where you want to be, not where they should be.”

Yukiko thought back to this moment often over the years. She thought back to it when she learned to watch the other children, to learn their cliques and their fears and their anger, and how to avoid it or redirect it. And again when a professor at Kyodai took the same umbrage at her heritage that ignorant schoolchildren had. She thought back to it when she was grown, when she rode across Japan on a domestic motorcycle until she came to an Okinawan beach, and a smiling surfer with a giant board across his shoulders walked along the surface of the water to tell her a story of how he seduced her mother. She thought back to it when that great kami shrank back in surprise from the fury her mother had given her, and asked her what gift he could give his daughter and a princess of Heaven as her birthright in recompense for a life of neglect. She thought back to it now, dying in some foreign ocean.

“See the world as it is, not as you want it to be. Look upon the kami with your own eyes. Now! Taste your tea and savor it for what it is.”

Yukiko sipped her tea and pursed her lips at the taste. It wasn’t very good at all. Her mother tapped her hand with something — a small packet of honey from the Naval commissary. Then the older woman smiled with her eyes for the first time in her daughter’s memory. “Sometimes the world really needs a bit of adjusting,” she admitted. “Sometimes we all do. I love you, Yukiko. And I am proud of you.”

Yukiko opened her eyes to the kami within the depths and saw only her own face.

The blood in the water, her blood, shimmered bright gold in the span of her heart’s beat. With a gesture she was one with the sea, and it raised her as easily as lifting her own hand. The surface of the water shattered as she rose, a pillar of might, higher than the giant and higher than the docks and higher than everything. Deeper, too, as she felt her sea touch the garbage-scattered ocean floor to find an imperial treasure. Kusanagi leaped upwards, breaking through the waterspout to rest in her hand. She saw the towers of the city of angels in the distance, shining white and brilliant as dragons made of lightning crawled across the sky, rising from the sprawl across the valley extending out to the mountains of The World.

Donnie whirled through the air, the great golden wings on his back beating furiously, the invention of someone named Daedalus. His twin pistols did nothing more than irritate the giant, and Yukiko thought she heard Eric Donner’s name in the Greek Scion’s shouted curses. Lambasting the other man for not dealing with his own monsters, she imagined.

No matter. Donnie knew, even if he pretended not to: The World was their duty.

The giant had set an entire section of the pier ablaze, a great black cloud crawling up through the sky. In truth, he wasn’t all that tall, maybe eight or nine feet, but he carved a swath of fire and destruction. He waved and gestured at Donnie, not seeing the column of water until it slammed into his head.

The fire incited the water to a riot of steam. It rolled, thick and heavy and white, across the cold ocean and the docks. Yukiko whirled Kusanagi above her head and felt the ancient magic respond, snuffing out the smoking embers all around and fanning the steam, flames, and sand from the sea’s floor into a column around the giant, thick and heavy. She flicked the sword up, touching a single pure white finger to the sky. The giant hovered a few feet off the docks, a massive shadow within.

Donnie landed beside her. “That’s not going to hold him!” he shouted over the boom of distant thunder and the twin roar of giant and whirlwind.

“It doesn’t have to!” Yukiko shouted back. “It’s just got to exist.”

“What?” Donnie asked. “What does that—”

Everything went white, the static setting Yukiko’s hair on end, the noise deafening her. The reek of ozone filled the air, and Yukiko let the magic lapse, lest another lightning bolt come screaming down from the sky. The giant was still smoking, but he was lying face down in scattered specks of lightning-forged glass.

Donnie said something, then smacked his ear. Yukiko shook her head. He smiled instead, and the sun, her aunt, broke through the storm clouds.

She was her mother’s daughter, and it would be a good day.

[givencontext]

Making the Political Personal – A Visit From Angie Thomas

One Book One Community

I love my community. I live in beautiful Northwest Arkansas. This is a unique place to live, because it is not centered around one city but four. Then there are the smaller towns adjacent to those cities. I live in one of those. I grew up about an hour from my current residence, and I consider this entire region HOME. I am a Razorback. I spent 14 years working at a certain retailer that is based in the area. We are truly blessed that our area is thriving and growing. We have a world class art museum with FREE admission. The perks just seem to keep coming and I try to take advantage of them – especially when they are free.

The city of Fayetteville recently invited Angie Thomas, author of the bestseller The Hate U Give, for some One Book One Community events. There was a free screening of the movie, which I had already seen twice. There was also a speaking engagement where Angie was invited to talk about the book. I went with my kids and my best friend, a fellow English major. My BFF is also the one who read this book in one day then put it into my hands so I could share the experience.

This event moved to a larger venue and the auditorium appeared to be full. As we walked into the theater, it crossed my mind that there might be protesters or hecklers, but it was a lovely event. Angie received more than one standing ovation and wrapped the Q&A section by rapping for us. Oh – and – I cried. Several times during her presentation I was struck by the same heartbreak and anger that her book evokes. There was a lot of laughter too, but Angie knows how to hit a mama in the feelings.

Making the Political Personal

The subtitle of Angie’s presentation was “Making the Political Personal.” She talked about growing up in Mississippi and how she actually grew up in a city with skyscrapers instead of the backwoods. This was hilarious, because she was talking to a lot of Arkansans (many of whom do tend to be transplants,) and she mentioned that she “saw a lot of cows on the way in” because our airport is basically in the middle of farm country (near my house.) Angie did acknowledge that an Arkansas audience probably has a good understanding of what it feels like for people to make assumptions about you based on where you live. Arkansas catches a lot of flack, but we do have a saying here… “at least it’s not Mississippi.”

Angie talked about how we might have a political view but it’s not until something gets personal that most people take action. She gave several examples of the young men shot by police officers that sparked the Black Lives Matter movement. You have to look at those images of those young men and imagine them as your own family members. That’s when it gets personal. Maybe that comes easier for me because I identify first and foremost as a mother. I also happen to be a white mom with a kid who is a person of color. I don’t see a “brown” kid when I look at my baby. I see a whole lot of myself. I also see a whole lot of fear and anxiety due to our current political and social climate. What can a mama do to try and alleviate those negative feelings?

I was also an “other” in high school. See here for one example (complete with photo) of my weirdness. And here I talk about being a metal head in high school. If the West Memphis Three events had taken place in my hometown, my friends and I would have been the ones getting life in prison for a crime someone else committed. That knowledge has stuck with me for my entire adult life. The fact that your life could be taken from you because of your appearance… and a band t-shirt is easy to remove, but one cannot change the color of their skin… it still felt very personal and it gave me a way to connect to people who, based solely on appearance, have little in common with me.

The Hate U Give Revisited

One of Angie’s stories that really struck me was about her mother as a young girl growing up in Jackson. She remembers distinctly hearing the shots fired that murdered Medgar Evers. His home is now a museum, and Angie grew up in that same neighborhood. Her retelling of her mother’s story brought to mind the scene from The Hate U Give where Starr and her siblings have to sit in the floor with the lights off and wait. Can you imagine feeling that level of threat in your own home? Can you imagine your kids being so well practiced at such a routine?

The private school in the book is more equated to college for Angie. Her experience was similar to that of Starr’s living a double life. Angie ties music into everything, and she would leave the house listening to hip-hop and by the time she pulled onto campus she was playing the Jonas Brothers.  It likely comes as NO surprise that she also had a real-life “friend” on whom she based the character Hailey. Naturally, real-life-Hailey’s response to the book was “OMG! Did someone really act like that?!” Yes. It was you. Ouch.

Canon

Y’all might remember when I waxed philosophical about the literary canon. During the Q&A portion of the event the host asked Angie how she feels about her book already being required reading in some schools. (There was also discussion of it being banned in others.) Angie disappointed me a little by not backing my “everybody should read Shakespeare” position, but I think that goes without saying. Everybody should read this book too. Reading a contemporary book about an actual teenager in teenage situations can get kids excited about reading. I think they should learn some valuable stuff from some of that old canon stuff, but they should also be given more leeway on more of their selections. Some kids are going to balk as soon as you say “required.” That could hurt books like The Hate U Give. But it is going to light a fire in so many more kids, and it is going to help sales of Jordans. I like the addition of The Hunger Games to the high school canon, but seeing contemporary realistic YA fiction making the cut gives me greater pleasure.

Seriously, if you still haven’t read this book, do it. Don’t watch the movie instead, watch it in addition to. There’s some interesting compare and contrast to do right there.

Your Personal Activism

Angie Thomas wants us to be activists. Political opinions are all well and good, but actions speak louder than words. My love language is “acts of service,” but I have never considered myself an activist. What is the thing that is so personal to me that I will walk past my fear and take action? When I picked up my Thich Nhat Hanh daily reader a few mornings ago, I saw this (emphasis mine):

“We think we need indignation in order to act. But even legitimate, righteous indignation isn’t enough. Our world doesn’t lack people who are willing to throw themselves into action! What we need are people who are capable of loving and not taking sides so that they can embrace the whole of reality.

We have to continue to practice mindfulness and reconciliation until we can see the bodies of hungry children as our own, until the pain in the bodies of all species is our own. Then we will have realized nondiscrimination, real love. Then we can look at all beings with the eyes of compassion, and we can do the real work of helping to alleviate suffering.”

Angie Thomas says things get personal when we see the victims of injustice as our own people. Thich Nhat Hanh wants us to see the hungry bodies as our own, but as someone who loves my children more than my own life, I read his sentence as telling me to see those hungry children as my own.

In this post, I talked about my experience as a teenager knowing other teens who were displaced, disowned, and homeless. I met these kids in Eureka Springs, a little haven of diversity and acceptance. Being a teenager in Eureka shaped a lot of my views. Recently, I watched every Netflix episode of Queer Eye and I saw articles about Jeremiah Harmon on American Idol. The visceral reaction I feel in response to people disowning their children for coming out as LGBTQ+ tells me that I have found my personal activism. I have my Free Mom Hugs t-shirt, and I will be making my first mom-ally appearance at Eureka Springs Diversity Weekend in a few days.

I am not traditionally the world’s biggest hugger, but I have been getting better at it – I think to prepare me for this. And I have always hugged my kids. I have also famously said that I don’t like kids, I like MY kids. My kids know that I love them NO MATTER WHAT. They know I will love them even if they kill someone, but they are under strict instruction not to do that. The sad reality that there are too many people who hold their ideals closer than they hold their kids… well, I have decided to take that personally.

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[sarahburness]

How to Live an Extraordinary Life, Starting Right Where You Are

“Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.” ~Rumi

“Isn’t this a miracle?” I asked myself in the milk aisle at Whole Foods.

It was a Wednesday night after work, and I was buying a few staples to get us through the week. It was a completely ordinary moment in a completely ordinary day, and it was miraculous.

Rewind a few years, same Whole Foods, same shopping list, and you’d find me absentmindedly wandering the aisles, lost in a head full of worries. I couldn’t tell you now what I was worried about then—the house, the kids, money, probably.

My body would be tense, with a hint of tears right behind my eyes.

“Isn’t this supposed to be a miracle?” I might have asked if I had the words to describe that feeling.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to be one of those interesting people who did interesting things like paint murals or write books. I wanted to see every continent and learn as many languages as my brain could hold. I wanted to feel excited by my life.

As a child, I had no doubt that this is what growing up would be like.

But, for just as long as I can remember, I also lived under the assumption that I had something to prove. My intelligence, my worth, my place in this world.

Somehow, these two ideas became intertwined.

That part of me that felt so certain that her life would be extraordinary started to have doubts.

Could I really pull it off?

Had I really earned it?

Was I being completely delusional?

Over time, that vision of an extraordinary life felt like a silly childhood dream, and I stopped myself from following it. I worked hard and earned a good reputation, but that excitement, that fulfillment was always just out of my reach.

I would let it go saying, it’ll come later, but as I checked off the boxes of life’s to-do list—degree, job, marriage, kids—I wasn’t feeling anything like I thought I would.

The feeling that something was off fueled a restlessness that I mistook for motivation. I poured myself into school and then work, but not necessarily out of excitement. I think a part of me still believed that if you weren’t happy, you just weren’t working hard enough at it.

What confused me about it all was that my life was good. I had a beautiful, growing family, a stable job, and a safe, comfortable house. I mean, I was buying organic milk to pour on my cereal. That’s a privilege.

So, if nothing was “wrong,” why didn’t it feel right?

I’d scold myself for not being more grateful, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t feel the way I wanted.

Then, one ordinary day, while squeezing in another email during my lunch hour, a little thought snapped me out of it.

“You’re missing the point, Leslie.”

Time stopped just long enough for me to notice my racing heart.

Maybe you’ve had these epiphanies, where you’re amazed by your own wisdom and you feel so incredibly clear and awake. Maybe it was during a life-changing event, or maybe, like me, it was during an everyday moment, like buying toothpaste or feeding the cats.

The immediate effect wasn’t anything extreme. There was no out of body experience, no inexplicable knowledge of the universe. Just an ordinary little thought that led to another ordinary little thought.

What if living an extraordinary life isn’t about the details?

Every now and then, I’d pull out a list I made that day and add a thought or two to it.

The point is…

Overflowing.

Seeing more magic.

Doing what you love.

Being happy.

Being present.

Feeling bright, brave, and brilliant.

Waking up and appreciating the mountains.

My children knowing how much they are loved.

Gratefully receiving everything I have.

Letting myself unfold.

Alignment, not approval.

Trusting the wisdom of my own heart.

A hundred percent up to me.

And in a gradual, ordinary kind of way, I figured it out. That feeling I wanted wasn’t an outcome. It wasn’t something that would happen “when.” It wasn’t in the details at all. It’s your feelings, moment to moment, that make your life extraordinary.

There is no committee keeping score and waiting to grant permission to begin. There’s just us, the people we care about, our corner of the world, and those little moments. And we have a choice in what we do with them.

That feeling that something was wrong wasn’t about my reputation or my checklist. It was about my awareness of the miracles right in front of me and my willingness to take conscious, meaningful steps that felt extraordinary to take.

Since that day, my life has changed dramatically.

We live in the same house, we shop at the same store, I have the same job, but now, I’m also one of those people who is curious about everything. Who loses themselves in creative projects just because. Who creates art, writes poetry, and self-publishes books. I’ve become one of those people who sees even the most ordinary moment at Whole Foods on a Wednesday afternoon as extraordinary.

How did I do it? I simply let myself begin right where I was.

You may have a completely different version of extraordinary, and that’s what’s so perfect. How to live an extraordinary life entirely up to you—it’s your life, after all. The action itself isn’t as important as the intent behind it.

As long as your intent is to make something in your world just a little better, to learn something just a little deeper, to try something you’re just a little curious about, it’s foolproof. You could institute pizza Saturdays or travel the world, saving endangered species. Both are extraordinary.

If you’re not sure where to begin, here are a few things to try. They changed the world for me.

1. Be tenacious in your appreciation and optimism.

First, slow down and look around. Then, appreciate anything and everything you possibly can. Thank the sun, thank the water, thank the air you breathe. Look out for the funny thing that happened on your way to work, beautiful sunsets, and acts of human kindness. Even when everyone around you wants to complain about the boss, be the one who notices that it’s such a nice day.

When I talked about my day, I used to begin with something that went wrong. Then, I gave myself one tiny challenge: lead with gratitude. I made a point of starting conversations with something positive as often as I could, which meant I had to start looking for those positive things and remembering to bring them up. I discovered so much beauty around me with this one simple switch.

2. Define your extraordinary.

What do you want to see in this lifetime? What do you want to learn? How do you want to feel while you’re living your life?

I’d thought about these things before, of course, but they would quickly get taken over by something more serious. I didn’t want to waste time. My attitude changed when I decided that feeling curious, engaged, and alive was more important than being productive.

I began setting intentions for the week. I’d write down an idea that excited me, a feeling I wanted to nurture, and something I wanted to learn or create. Then, I gave myself small, meaningful challenges that fit with those intentions. Carrying a composition book with me quickly led to filling that composition book, and then another and another.

3. Make friends with your body.

Your body was made for living, so live in it. Use it in a life-affirming way. Don’t just feed it, nourish it. Let it move, let it sweat, let it pump its blood, laugh, cry, and feel. Stretch into it and savor its senses. Rest it when it’s tired, heal it when it’s hurting, love it even when you want to change it, and thank it. And when it has something to tell you, lean in and really listen.

I used to treat my body like it had no purpose. I didn’t nourish it, I overworked its muscles, and I constantly tried to remodel it.

It wasn’t until I started paying attention to how I feel now that I asked myself, is this how you would treat a child or an animal in your care?

My answer was an emphatic, NO.

4. Lose yourself in curiosity and creativity.

Follow the fun and let yourself overflow. Take on a ridiculous project just because it lights you up, even if it’s silly, you’re “too old,” or it’s “wasting time.” Let it be messy. Let it change directions. And let it fail spectacularly. The outcome isn’t as important as the process of it.

I practice this by painting with my children. They are experts at following curiosity and creativity. While I’m painstakingly sketching a dog or a flower, they’re creating imaginary animals in underwater kingdoms and then covering the entire thing in handprints when the inspiration strikes.

Every time, I shake my head with a smile—this is supposed to be fun, remember?

5. Be of service in a way that’s meaningful to you.

Share something. Create something. Teach something. Go where you are masterful and add value to the world in any way that’s accessible to you. Feed the hummingbirds, pick up litter, volunteer in your community. Big or small, it doesn’t matter; it’s the meaning behind it that makes all the difference.

I started by cultivating the kind of presence I wanted to have in my own life. I wanted to feel present at home, for one, so I reduced the expectations I put on myself. The house may be messier, but our weekend adventures at the park are nothing short of extraordinary.

If you’ve ever wanted to feel differently in your life, take one little, ordinary step. And then another. Let your feelings guide you. Your extraordinary life is waiting for you on the other side.

About Leslie Ralph

Leslie is writer and artist who hopes to leave the world a little brighter than she found it. Her people are soul-searchers, deep feelers, and big-hearted dreamers that crave inner peace and inner truth. Download her free ritual for receiving to bring true healing, inner peace, and lasting joy into your life.

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The post How to Live an Extraordinary Life, Starting Right Where You Are appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/how-to-live-an-extraordinary-life-starting-right-where-you-are/

[junker-town]

Dale Earnhardt Jr.’s podcast shows why he's NASCAR's most-popular driver

A behind-the-scenes look at why Dale Earnhardt Jr. decided to become a podcast host and how it's preparing him for his upcoming role with NBC.

It was a little after 7 a.m. ET when fans began arriving. First a couple here and there, then a steady stream of people, all lined up outside a NASCAR team shop located in a business park on the outskirts of Charlotte, N.C. They were waiting for JR Motorsports to unlock its doors at 8 a.m. so they could go inside to watch Dale Earnhardt Jr. record his weekly podcast.

That Earnhardt has such a legion of loyal fans is no revelation. But their willingness to show up on a Tuesday morning just to hear their favorite driver co-host a podcast for an hour is a level of devotion no other NASCAR driver can come close to matching.

Among those waiting to get inside to grab a position outside the glass studio was Brian Baird, 30, an Air Force E-5 Staff Sergeant and Purple Heart recipient who was hoping to get Earnhardt’s autograph on two noses and two doors off cars Earnhardt had previously raced.

“He may be a rock star, but he’s a real person.” — Brian Baird

Stationed at McChord Air Force Base in Tacoma, Wash., Baird decided to make a “detour” to the Charlotte area on his way to Biloxi, Miss., for additional military training. Visiting JRM to take a in a recording of The Dale Jr. Download was something Baird had long wanted to do. And while Charlotte and Biloxi aren’t exactly bordering cities, the relative proximity meant Baird got to cross something of his bucket list.

As Baird stood outside JRM sipping an orange Mountain Dew Kickstart — one of Earnhardt’s main sponsors — Earnhardt came driving up behind the wheel of a Chevrolet Colorado with a giant tire fastened to the roof. It was this pickup truck that Earnhardt accidentally left running for eight hours at the airport last month while taking a day trip to Richmond — a bemusing story Baird says underscores Earnhardt’s homespun charm and why he made the drive across the country to see a mere podcast recorded in person.

“He has actual substance, he’s not vanilla,” Baird told SB Nation. “He may be a rock star, but he’s a real person. The things he talks about on his show are things I relate to.”

JR Motorsports

Dale Earnhardt Jr. (left) chats with Brian Baird (right) after a recording of The Dale Jr. Download podcast.

Baird’s summary is the genius behind The Dale Jr. Download, devised to give fans a window into Earnhardt’s life and serve as an extension of his social media feeds, in a format where he can expound on topics in-depth. Subjects vary from week to week, though each show typically begins with a recap of the previous weekend’s race, focusing first on Earnhardt’s finish, then transitioning to the race overall. From there, it’s a hodgepodge of free-flowing talking points, though there is a one-sheet outline Earnhardt and co-host Tyler Overstreet try to follow.

On this day, the 193rd episode of the podcast, Earnhardt calls good friend Martin Truex Jr., who two days prior had won the Cup Series playoff opener at Chicagoland Speedway. During the conversation Earnhardt asks Truex if he just woke up. Truex denies the suggestion, even though Earnhardt is convinced otherwise.

When the interview with Truex concludes, the topics run the gamut of serious (discussion on how Earnhardt would feel if Jimmie Johnson were to win an eighth championship breaking the record he shares with Earnhardt’s father and Richard Petty) to the absurd — including Earnhardt sharing a story of how his namesake on a hunting trip once shot a doe while sitting on a toilet.

“People love the human side of it.” — Dale Earnhardt, Jr.

“Being active on social media is simple, easy,” Earnhardt told SB Nation. “People love the human side of it. They get to know you and feel like they get to see you as a real person. That is so valuable when they see you at the track and out on the track and they connect to you.”

Throughout the recording Earnhardt, 42, is insightful, glib, and personable, showcasing the personality that has made him a 14-time most popular driver and crossover mainstream superstar. Watching the proceedings the entire time is Baird, along with nearly 100 other fans, all of whom cram into JRM’s gift shop where the studio is located. With no seating, everyone stands and observes through the glass, much like zoo visitors would watch the bears.

For all five years of its existence, The Dale Jr. Download has aired on the Dirty Mo Radio, an online radio podcast network under the Earnhardt portfolio. But while it has Earnhardt’s name in the title and tapes at the team he co-owns, he didn’t have a real hand in it, at least in the beginning. And that was by design, says Mike Davis, who handles brand strategy and communications for Earnhardt and JRM.

It was Davis who conceptualized a weekly podcast that would cater to Earnhardt’s sizable fan base. Not wanting to overburden Earnhardt nor wanting him to commit his time to a project he may not feel completely motivated about, Davis elected against Earnhardt having direct involvement. If Earnhardt wanted to be onboard then it would happen organically, something he chose to do on his own accord.

So initially the show, utilizing various hosts, featured a recap of how the No. 88 Hendrick Motorsports team performed each week, in-car audio snippets, and a popular segment called “Reaction Theatre” that replayed voicemails fans left on a designated hotline. Depending on how Earnhardt finished that week, the calls featured an array of emotions and was almost always an amusing listen.

Gradually, Earnhardt became more involved. In the 22nd episode, five months after the show’s debut, he made his first appearance, one in which he and Davis reminisced while looking through old Earnhardt family photos.

“When we first started the podcast I didn’t want to do anything weekly or lock myself into any kind of routine,” Earnhardt said. “I knew I was going to hate it and not wanna get up in the morning to record it. But over a couple of years of seeing it grow and understanding what it was, how to use it and what kind of tool it was to engage fans it became more and more interesting to me.”

JR Motorsports

Dale Earnhardt Jr. looks over a show rundown during a recording of The Dale Jr. Download podcast on Sept. 19, 2017.

Easing into the commitment, a segment was formulated for the 2014 season that had Earnhardt calling in and leaving an audio clip sometime in the hours after a race ended to recap what transpired. This occasionally meant Earnhardt would record the message at home, which brought with it unexpected and entertaining moments that also provided fans a glimpse into his life away from the track.

“It was gold. He was able to decompress and really go back and replay the race in his head,” Davis told SB Nation. “Sometimes he was doing it in his basement bar or he’d be walking around outside and you’d hear the donkey and buffalo make donkey and buffalo sounds, or the dog would be barking. It felt like you were there with Dale.”

Earnhardt took on an even greater presence on The Dale Jr. Download last summer and the reason wasn’t something anyone envisioned. A concussion sustained in an accident during the June race at Michigan International Speedway would eventually cause him to miss the final 18 races of the season, creating significant doubt whether Earnhardt would actually be able to return to competition at all.

During this period while sidelined and amidst an extensive rehabilitation program, Earnhardt wanted a way to keep his fans abreast of what was happening and his recovery. Instead of Twitter posts in 140 characters or short videos, Earnhardt realized he had a perfect outlet right before him in the form of the podcast bearing his name.

He became a regular on the show, updating his recovery and chiming in on other topics. Not surprisingly the show became a must-listen for those wanting to hear how he was doing.

“I was so candid about all that because I was afraid if people didn’t see me or see what I was dealing with or hear what I was going through, they were going to make guesses and assumptions from one extreme to the other,” Earnhardt said. “I didn’t feel like what I was going through was anything to hide or be ashamed of. This is what is happening to me in my life and I want people to know what is happening to me, what I was dealing with and out 18 races.

“It gave me a lot of peace of mind. Had I not done that, I would’ve sat at home thinking everyone was making assumptions.”

Another thing occurred as Earnhardt was sidelined: He took the opportunity to dabble in television broadcasting, a post-driving career avenue he never thought he’d venture down. But last October he accepted a spot in the NBC Sports booth as a guest analyst for the playoff races at Talladega Superspeedway and Martinsville Speedway. Afterward, he had a eureka moment and his outlook changed.

“I got out of the booth right out of the door and I looked at whoever was with me and said, ‘Holy (expletive), that was fun!” — Dale Earnhardt, Jr.

“I got out of the booth right out of the door and I looked at whoever was with me and said, ‘Holy (expletive), that was fun!” Earnhardt said. “Like, I couldn’t believe how much fun that was.”

Seeking greater comfort in front of the microphone and to better understand the detail and preparation that goes into being an effective analyst compelled Earnhardt to take a larger role on The Dale Jr. Download. At the beginning of this season, which would be his last as a full-time competitor, having announced in April he would return at the end of the year, he took over hosting duties on a permanent basis.

“The podcast was a way to learn about being a media personality,” Earnhardt said. “See what works, what doesn’t work, what people find interesting. A way to make mistakes and be able to learn and get better.”

Spurred by his newfound enthusiasm for broadcasting, which elicited widespread praise, Earnhardt and his team engaged in discussions with NBC and Fox Sports, NASCAR’s television partners about potential future opportunities. In July, he announced that he had signed with NBC in a multi-faceted deal that will likely see Earnhardt have a role beyond just NASCAR, possibly on the network’s coverage of the Olympics or NFL.

Earnhardt will also have his own television show, with talks underway on what exactly that will entail. One option is simulcasting The Dale Jr. Download or developing a new program with a similar concept that highlights Earnhardt’s charisma and capitalizes on his ability to give well-thought, heartfelt answers.

Whatever comes about on the television side won’t impact Earnhardt’s current role on The Dale Jr. Download. Maintaining a prominent presence within NASCAR and wanting to continue having a connection with fans upon retirement are motivating factors, as is expanding Dirty Mo Radio.

“We look at pairing with NBC as an awesome opportunity, but we want NBC to look it as an opportunity,” Earnhardt said. “We want them to see the potential in Dirty Mo Radio. I want to keep doing the podcast and get more creative.”

In addition to Earnhardt’s show, seven other podcasts air on Dirty Mo Radio with several more in the planning stages, including a lifestyle-centric program hosted by Earnhardt’s wife, Amy, set for early next year.

The impetus behind developing every podcast is twofold: Deliver a platform that allows Earnhardt and other NASCAR personalities to connect with fans beyond conventional avenues, while also providing additional benefits to JRM’s partners. The latter is especially pertinent in a tough NASCAR economic climate where funding is scarce. It’s no coincidence several of Earnhardt’s or JRM’s sponsors have a direct affiliation to a specific podcast.

“It’s another connection point to the fans,” Kelley Earnhardt Miller, older sister of Earnhardt Jr., co-owner of JRM, and herself a podcast host told SB Nation. “A way to give (sponsors) more value than just the paint on the car, which is so important. It’s really become a great tool for us.”

But it is The Dale Jr. Download, one of the top 200 most-downloaded sports podcasts, according to iTunes — which will in all likelihood increase with Earnhardt now hosting — that is the franchise with an in-person viewing audience from around the world.

Fans from Alaska, Hawaii, Canada, England, Ireland, Japan, and Scotland have specifically traveled to see Earnhardt Jr., according to Cathy Earnhardt Watkins, sister of Dale Earnhardt Sr. who manages the JRM gift shop. Davis even recalls one Canadian visitor asking him not to post a photo on social media became he was playing hooky from work and his work might see it.

On the day before the recording of the 193rd episode, a man from Upstate New York was perusing the JRM gift shop on a Monday when Davis informed him that Earnhardt would in fact be in studio the next day. There was just one hitch: To make it to the taping, the man had to lie to his wife and craft an excuse why he had to stay another day in North Carolina. Wouldn’t you know it, the man was there the following day.

“I was talking with her and I kept acting like my phone had bad reception,” he said. “That way she couldn’t ask too many questions.”

Another good crowd on hand for the @DaleJr Download! Thanks to all the fans that came out to listen! #appreci88ion #DJD http://pic.twitter.com/fM01RUnTLR

— Dirty Mo Radio (@DirtyMoRadio) August 15, 2017

Earnhardt recognizes the lengths his fans will go to get a moment with him. He’s advocating for Davis and his aunt to come up with way to add portable bleachers so spectators won’t have to stand for the duration, and after each show he will sign autographs for those in attendance.

It is these interactions where lasting memories are made and why folks come out on a Tuesday morning. For 15 minutes Earnhardt and Baird talk like old buddies about the doors and bumpers Baird brought with him.

The front bumper with yellow and blue Wrangler colors particularly catches Earnhardt’s eye. It is off the No. 31 car he drove in his eighth-career Xfinity start, when he was still trying to make a name for himself.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think Earnhardt was as excited to meet Baird than the other way around. Earnhardt quizzes Baird about how he came across these pieces of memorabilia, even going as far to suggest maybe they could go into business together. And as he’s walking away for a planned interview, Earnhardt turns to Baird and says if he’s ever thinking of selling to make sure he lets him know first.

It is a goodbye of two people who seemingly know each other quite well even though they just met.