#but the practice around the piano from the hardest word was shot the day before (where lolly hits that horrendous note XD)

[ferociouslycreativemystery]

Every clapperboard from the ghosts bloopers (so far)

[deathvalleyusa]

day’s eye

Summary: In the eyes of a child named Daisy, Alfie Solomons is a thing of adventure books and mythical tales. As she grows he seems to morph to even more mythical proportions. That is, until Margate shows Daisy just how mortal and human Alfie is. ONE SHOT.

Characters: Alfie Solomons, Child OFC, OFC

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Language, S5 spoilers

A/N: Wrote this a while ago but only recently picked it up again. I had plans to write a fic about Nora (Daisy’s mom) and Alfie but this ended up happening instead lol. x-posted from AO3.

When one grows up without a father, people assume a terrible fate befell him. The War. An accident. Perhaps he had found himself in trouble with one of the many gangs that ran the streets of every city on British soil. His absence could be explained away.

When one grows up without a mother, death is often called upon as the excuse as well. Childbirth. Influenza. Beatings no one saved her from.

But in certain cases, the father is simply gone and the mother still lives and breathes. Daisy was one such case.

Her mother, a lovely woman named Nora, had dreams. Visions of a house, a garden, and a job to keep her steady. Daisy was a part of the vision, but not a part of the journey thus far. So at her grandparents cottage she stayed. Six years old, knowing her mum was somewhere else, trying her hardest.

The day Nora came for Daisy was one of excitement. Tears. Good-byes from her Papa and Gran, hugs that melted into her skin. A buzzing ecstatic feeling as they boarded the train, heading to a place called London.

"It's all new there for us, Daisy," Nora had said. Pretty in her makeup and burgundy cloche hat. "A life for us, eh? Me and my girl?"

Daisy was not expecting to meet a man that week.

At six, she'd met her fair share of men from her grandparents' village. Her mum had never brought around anyone other than her uncle Harry. So this man was something new entirely.

Daisy had thought he maybe had been a bear before he was a man. Towering and scruffily bearded, he was an odd one.

"This is little Daisy, then?" He had asked. Voice low, accent unlike the Liverpool one she had lived with all her life. He spoke with a curiosity and a kindness, deep blue eyes twinkling.

"That's her," Nora answered, beaming. "Daisy, this is my lovely friend Alfie."

He offered a hand. Daisy stared, then gave a glance to her mum. A supportive nod, and her tiny hand met his.

It was not unlike her grandfather's, or Uncle Harry's. Worn and slightly rough on the pads, work showed it's time through calluses and small light scars. It was warm though, gentle as he shook hers before enveloping it in another large hand. Daisy couldn't help but admire his rings and the small crown tattooed into his skin.

Like a man from the pictures, she thought to herself, giving a pleased smile. Like a pirate. Or a king.

One thing Daisy learned, as she spent more time with her mother and Alfie, was how much he spoke and how rapt her mother's attention was to his words. He spun stories, rambled about the folk about town. Posed hypotheticals at Nora who would answer after a long pause. Alfie would always include Daisy, posing the same questions or asking about life in a quiet village.

Years passed. Daisy, in her infinite child wisdom, came to understand some of the nature of Alfie besides his sweetness. That he was just as she had suspected, a pirate and a king. He terrified others, kept the men in the bakery in reverence of him.

She came to understand her mother as well. A woman with muted glamor, someone with quiet dreams that slowly seemed to materialize. She was not the princesses or damsels in the films or books Daisy consumed. No, she was something of a beautiful warrior.

Daisy thought of herself as an adventurer. No one feared a child of her age, and she had no one who needed her protection quite yet. Instead, she was a wily spirit, content with exploration during the day and a cozy home with her mother, and quite often Alfie, at night.

It came as no surprise at the age of nine when Alfie sat her down and explained he had asked her mother to marry him. Truly, it felt like a long put off event, and Daisy had just wanted it over and done with.

Alfie's laugh filled the sitting room when she told him.

"It's not always that simple, Daisy Bell," he said. "But I'm pleased, your mum expected you to take the news hard. Not sure why, but you are full of surprises, yeah?"

And so, on one afternoon that had gifted pockets of sun, Daisy watched as Alfie made her mother his pirate queen. Daisy, in turn, became a pirate as well. And with her new place as the daughter of a pirate and a king came new lodgings.

Not a ship, but a house with many rooms. A place for her toys and baubles, and a new wardrobe to hang the pretty things her mother liked to dress her in. Daisy quite liked to sneak into Alfie's study, staring at the little collections that lined shelves. On the occasions she snuck in while he sat at his desk, he'd call her over with a wave of his big hand. A sweet would appear, followed by a kiss to the head.

"Don't tell your mum," he'd whisper in gruff tones, "or she'll 'ave both of our heads for spoiling your dinner."

It was those moments she liked best, when the two of them would hold a small secret. Daisy knew Alfie and her mother had their own secrets, whispered under their breaths as if Daisy would pay it no mind. Talk of bread, of a man named Shelby. Nothing that ever reached her in her fortress.

And in that fortress protected by men led by Alfie, who as Daisy neared eleven, seemed more pirate than king, she thrived. Played with the other children, took pockets of Yiddish they taught her home to practice with her mother. Spent hours feeding treats to Cyril behind her parents’ backs. Tormented Alfie's men with silly games and questions they usually had no answer to. Ollie was her favorite. He had taught her to play cribbage in the moments where his time wasn't completely occupied with Alfie's commands.

There were long stretches where Alfie did not return home, only giving a phone call to calm Nora's nerves. Her mother would get whispered conversations; Daisy was given sweet words and a gentle good night or morning. Daisy contented herself with this, until one day Alfie did not return.

************

"He's gone to Margate," Nora explained, rubbing at her tired eyes. They seemed to grow more tired with each passing year. "I haven't heard from him yet, Daisy. Perhaps tomorrow we'll get a ring."

The call did not come. Daisy thought of terrible fates that befell kings and pirates. How easily it could happen to a man whose business kept him in hushed conversations. How her pa, dear Alfie, could be struck down in crossfire with the polished guns he kept locked in his study.

When a letter came, and with it a terrible wail from the beautiful mouth of her mother, Daisy knew she was right. Wished it not to be so; that there had been a terrible mistake and the news written was wrong. But sneaking a look at the letter when her mother had finally let it out of her grasp, Daisy found her worst thoughts had not been bad enough.

Alfie's wonderful handwriting lay before her. Asking forgiveness of Nora, then of her. A betrayal to the Shelby man detailed Alfie's demise. A desire to end a painful, cancerous existence that he had never spoke of to Daisy.

Another letter detailed his condition. Alive, but for how long would be up to him. Where he could be found in the winding streets of Margate.

With no noise, she returned the letter to it's envelope. Daisy took care to walk quietly, letting herself hang at the entry of her mother's room. For the first time in many years, she crawled beside her in the vast bed, letting a desperate hug melt into her skin.

On the eve of her twelfth birthday, the house with many rooms lay barren. Everything had been packed and sent to Margate, which Nora explained would become their new home. Daisy had seen her mother hold back tears as they locked the doors for a final time. Her house and her garden that had materialized out of her dreams since Daisy was very small was no more.

Camden Town had too much risk lying to the north to bring Alfie back even in secret. He was no longer a king, but a ghost of one. They were to follow the ghost, live in a haunted home by the sea.

In that haunted home, Daisy helped place Alfie's collections and her baubles on shelves. She ignored the moans from the guest room, which had become a makeshift hospital ward. Instead she practiced her piano and read on the balcony to avoid the noise. Wished that Cyril, wherever he had gone off to, was by her side to help her ward off the ghost that lived here.

Alfie haunted her, night and day. He haunted her mother more, once he became more coherent and spoke his rambling nonsense to her. More than once she had heard Nora's voice raised behind the oak door, and no reply from Alfie. Her mother was not an angry woman, but Margate in those early months had sparked like a flint and filled Nora’s glamorous face with a rage-fueled fire.

As time passed, Daisy returned to her schooling. New friends were found, and so was a sense of normal. Her mother’s anger had become smoldering coals, and she started to leave the house. Sometimes for pleasure, other times for business still left from Camden Town. Daisy wondered often if Alfie, who remained behind the closed door, envied their comings and goings. She wondered more if he missed her, months separating the moment she had seen him in a gauze mask till now.

***********

On an unremarkable Sunday afternoon, her mother had gone out for some air. Daisy had been left to her own devices, plunking out a song on the piano in the sitting room. A voice, one she hadn't heard in more than a gruff whisper in weeks, sang out:

"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do!”  

He was awake. Calling to her, it seemed, with a silly song he'd sing to tease since she was small.

"I'm 'alf crazy, all the love for you!”

Daisy rose from the piano bench, wood upon wood scraping quietly before feet plodded to the guest room she avoided. Now, though, the call from within was irresistible.

The door groaned silent as she peeked in, black curls slipping around her shoulders. There in bed lay the man she called father. A man in a pitiful state, but lucid.

"Daisy Bell, sweetie." he managed to crack a smile. "I'll cover up this nasty face of mine if you like, yeah, I just need to see that cherub one of yours."

She stepped in, trod closer.

"It's all right," Daisy remitted. "Will it always look like that?"

Alfie took consideration. "It won't always be as red, yeah, but it'll still look like a gnarled fucking tree. Maybe it'll smooth one day, but it's stuck, love."

"Then don't cover it," she said quietly. "If it's forever, I need to get used to it."

"Wise words from the mouth of babes."

"I'm nearly thirteen." A slight bristle shook through her voice, reminding herself of her mother. "I'm no baby."

"Is that right?" Alfie shut his eyes, heaving a grumbly sigh. A few beats passed, and he opened his good eye. Deep blue, like the ocean at night. Daisy sometimes sat on the balcony of their townhome and watched the waves roll in and out. Alfie's eye held no waves, just stillness.

"Well, if you're such a grown woman now, with wisdom and maturity beyond all our years, right, you'll fetch your dad a thimble of whatever Mum's got in that fancy bar cart she had to have, yeah? A secret between us grown ones, so I can partake of the earthly pleasures again."

Daisy's face hardened. "Mum says you can't."

"A biscuit then. With a strong cuppa." Noting her doubtful looks, he gestured to his face. "The tea to soften the biscuit so this old man can chew softly."

Daisy gave him a doubtful look, but obliged. Wondered how many times he'd asked for small tokens from the nurse or her mother and was promptly shut down. She returned, biscuits and tea in hand.

"You have my undying gratitude, Daisy Bell," he said.

He seemed quite happy, but Daisy couldn't tell if the biscuits or her presence was more the cause. As he dipped a corner of the biscuit into his tea, she thought how silly it was for a ghost to enjoy afternoon tea. She couldn't help an amused smile.

"What's that you're giggling about?" Alfie asked. His own mouth drew into a devilish grin. "You do something funny to these biscuits, ey?"

"No," Daisy replied, smiling wider. "It's a silly thought is all."

"I haven't heard silly thoughts in some time, just a nurse droning on and on about health and tablets. Indulge me."

For the first time in many months, Daisy felt heard again. Hands grabbed the wooden chair next to the wardrobe, scooting close to Alfie. She even let her forearms rest on the side of his bed, close enough to feel warmth not usually becoming of a ghost.

"Well you see," she started, "when we met when I was very little, I saw your rings and tattoo and thought of the men in the books my Gran would read to me. All while we lived in London, I thought of you as a pirate king."

"Is that so?" he chuckled, taking a sip. "Reckon you were a pirate princess then, weren't you?"

"Something like that." Daisy grinned before looking away at the wall. "After Mum got the letter and we couldn't bring you home… Well, I felt like you were a ghost. Like I've been living with a ghost this whole time in Margate."

Alfie didn't respond. Daisy had known he wouldn't; the wound on the soul was still as raw as the scar on his eye.

"But just now, seeing you eat,” she continued, “I found it quite funny to see a ghost eat a biscuit and enjoy a cuppa. All ghosts should be that funny, I think."

"Do you?" Alfie heaved a great sigh, then chuckled. "Better to be a ghost with a sense of humor and an appetite for sweets than a man who's lost both, yeah?”

Daisy nodded. The more she let what he had said rattle about in her mind, the more she came to understand the thankful truth of it. Though she mourned her pirate king, Cyril, and the house with many rooms, Margate and its ghost with his biscuit and tea had their own comfort.

She once again was a child who had a father with a terrible fate that had befallen him. A dozen excuses could be made for his absence but Daisy knew this time, at least, that in secret he still existed. The little secrets they shared had grown to one of great magnitude, like ones of novels and myths.

“I’ve missed you.”

Alfie, who had finished one of his biscuits, eyed her up with that twinkle she loved so dearly in the still dark blue iris. The cup clinked against the saucer as he set it on his lap covered by a blanket. Daisy felt the familiar roughness of his hand as it grasped hers.

“So have I, Daisy.” He gave her hand a squeeze, the feeling less ghostly than she had imagined. “Someday, I promise you, I’ll be out of this terrible fuckin’ bed and you and I can do whatever pleases your sweet heart.”

“That could be a very long time,” Daisy answered. “Is it okay for me to come back in? Will Mum be upset?”

Alfie took a pause.

“I don’t think so,” he decided. “And if she does get upset, it won’t last. The rotation of faces will do me good, yeah? That nurse sometimes makes me feel more ill by her presence alone, she’s got a particularly sour smell to match her face. The sooner I’m out of this room, the better I’ll be, I think. The sea air’ll do me some good, don’t you think?”

Daisy nodded again, vigorously. If Alfie thought the sea and the wisping salt against his face would help him be less a ghost and more a man, she would believe it too.

“We can go walking together,” Daisy suggested. “In the afternoons when I come home from school. And all day on weekends. Mum said she’d buy me a swimming costume for the summer, maybe we could swim—”

Alfie interrupted with his distinctive laugh, a near giggle unexpected from such a large man. The first time Daisy had heard it she had been taken aback, only to laugh along. Hearing it now was like a balm slathered on a skinned knee.

“We’ll start with a short walk, sweetie, then think about swimming in the next distant summer when these limbs can carry this old man easier. If I try to swim now, right, I might be swept away into the sea and some fantastical creature may happen upon me and drag me to its home in the depths. You believe in mermaids, love?”

“No.” Daisy sat back in the chair. “Not anymore.”

“Pity,” Alfie answered. “I saw one once at a carnival; pretty thing with a tail blowing bubbles under the water. If anything were to drag me out to sea, I’d choose her.”

“Stay on land, then!”

Alfie looked at her, quieted by her outburst. Daisy hadn’t meant for the words to leave her mouth so loudly. But all the talk of leaving once more sent her deep into a place of fear.

“I don’t want you to leave again,” Daisy tried once more in a softer voice. “I don’t want you to even try.”

“Then I won’t,” Alfie replied simply. “I’ll ignore all those siren calls I hear from the beach and stay right here, on your orders. You’re the boss, then.”

“Mum said she’s the boss now.” She shifted in her seat, wondered how cold the tea sitting on Alfie’s lap had gone. “Her and Ollie, she says.”

“Right then, you’ll just have to be my boss, won’t you?” Alfie shut his eyes. Daisy inspected his face, riddled with red scars and the patches of scaly rashes around his scalp he had explained as an affliction called psoriasis when she questioned it. He opened his good eye, giving her a quick smile. “Keep me in line and give me my orders to follow. First order is no following mermaids, got that love, what else should I heed from you?”

Daisy had never had that kind of power before, giving orders to an adult. The men at the bakery heeded her silly requests before, yes, but Alfie had always been the one to bark orders. As a child on the cusp of thirteen, it was an immense responsibility. She racked her brain, lips pursed as she ignored Alfie’s amused face, before settling on one.

“Get well fast,” Daisy finally said. “And don’t make Mum cross again, I’ll know if you do.”

“A tall order, that last one, but I’ll do my best,” Alfie grunted, tapping her hand before saluting her. “Yes ma’am.”

[lailannajacobs]

Suns and Stars

Pairing: Loki x reader

Request: Hey! Can I request a Loki x reader where he overhears the reader (a total stranger) playing Clair de Lune and he immediately falls in love with both the song and the reader? It can be in whatever context you'd like to make it :) Hope all is well with you in quarantine!

Warnings: Pure fluff! 

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: Thank you for this request my wonderful anon! Clair de Lune is one of my favourite pieces so it was an absolute joy to write this! I’m doing well in quarantine, hope you’re safe and well also! <3 

Loki knew magic. Knew what it could create and what it could destroy. He knew its ebb and flow and the way it lit a fire through his body as it transformed from a kernel of thought into a power almost unimaginable. He knew he would never need anything else as long as he had it.

Normally, Loki loved Knowhere. The chaos, the bustle, the people from everywhere, packed into one place. Thieving, conniving conmen and few with morals, all looking out for themselves, trying their hardest to make money to get where they were going. But now, he couldn’t stand it. All he wanted was to get off planet and back to Asgard. Back to his bed more specifically. But he couldn’t go back. Not yet. Not empty handed.

He’d been tasked with finding a stolen relic, and the intelligence he’d gathered had led him here a week ago. And yet, still nothing. He’d threatened, bribed, blackmailed and no one could tell him anything more than he already knew. But the relic was here. All information pointed to it.

All he had left to do was find it.

He wandered the busy streets, ignoring shady vendors with their practiced grins and dodging hurried pedestrians. Loki didn’t know where his feet were taking him, just that he hoped he would magically find the relic he was looking for. He scoffed. That was how desperate he’d become.

The drifting melody of a piano got louder, and he realized that he wasn’t wandering aimlessly but in fact following the music that seemed to draw him and take him by the hand like a sprite. The notes took him down a small alleyway, the bustle of the market fading away, making way for the lilting melody.

Loki loosed a breath, the pressure on his chest easing until he finally felt like he could breathe once again. He didn’t recognize the song. All he knew was that it was the most beautiful thing on this planet. He paused at a doorway that led to an open garden and realized he was wrong. There, sitting at the piano, lost in the music, was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. The Midgardian’s eyes were closed as their fingers slid across the keys, each note more beautiful than the last. The notes picked up speed, rising up the scale, brining Loki’s heart rate up with it until the notes began to tumble like a rolling hill until they could hardly be heard. But he was filled with the music, brought to life with it’s haunting melody.

“Enjoying the show?” The Midgardian asked with a laugh in their voice that accompanied the music perfectly.

He stayed where he was, surprised that he’d been caught, “I can’t imagine anyone wouldn’t.”

“Are you trying flattery to make up the fact that you’ve been staring?” The Midgardian took their eyes off the keys for a moment, allowing him a peek at that small smile, “I don’t know about you, but I was always told that it wasn’t polite to stare.”

“Even at something so angelic?”

“The song is beautiful,” They amended.

He stared, unable to take his off of them, “Yes, of course, the song.”

“So, Loki, God of Mischief, what brings you to my little corner of Knowhere?”

“You know who I am?” He asked mildly.

“Everyone knows who you are. Haven’t you wondered why it’s taken you this long to get the stolen relic?” They spared him another glance, “That is what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

He tried not let his interest show, “What do you know about the stolen relic?”

The Midgardian said nothing, head dipping with the quick succession and then rising back up as the notes slowed. Loki waited, mesmerized.

“Do you know what this song is called?” The Midgardian countered.

He clasped his hands behind his back, “Unfortunately, I’m not familiar with it.”

There was another pause, “Clair de lune.”

“Moonlight,” He echoed.

“Did you know that this is the only place on Knowhere that you can see the three moons at once? When they’re all full, on a night like tonight, the whole courtyard will be as bright as day, only for a few minutes.”

“And what happens during that time?”

They shot him a secretive smile, “Would you like to stay and find out?”

He bowed his head in thanks, “If it isn’t too much trouble.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it was.”

He breathed out a little laugh. “How long until it happens?”

“Impatient?”

“Curious.”

Their hands flew across the piano, never faltering, “Would you like to sit, Loki?”

He nodded and approached slowly, careful not to disturb them. He remained perched on the edge, though all too aware of the space where their thighs brushed against each other.

“What is a Midgardian doing on this planet?” He murmured, unable to keep his eyes off the keys, “You’re a long way from home.”

“You assume this isn’t my home,” Their hands pressed down with more force.

“Is it anyone’s?”

“It was when the planet was used as a mine.”

Confused, he said, “It hasn’t been used as a mine in a hundred years.”

“And yet some have remained.”

Loki was about to ask if they meant that the mining tunnels had remained or if some of the families had or both, when a rainbow lit up the top of the piano. He looked up at the sky and noticed the second moon come into sight.

“The moonlight is refracted because all the towering buildings,” They explained as if sensing his question, “When the moonlight comes into contact with the other moon’s light, it creates a million little rainbows - or moonbows per say.”

They kept playing, though the rhythm slowed as they took in the sight all around them. Loki blinked in awe, unable to believe what he was witnessing, everything made more beautiful by the music enveloping them.

The song came to an end just as the third moon appeared overhead and everything burst into a kaleidoscope of colours, waves of pinks, greens and blues washing over their mesmerizing face.

The words escaped Loki’s lips before he could think better of the question, “Would you like to dance?”

They placed their hands delicately on their lap and looked up at him, “There won’t be any music left if I do.”

A quick spell had the piano playing by itself, a song that couldn’t compare to theirs, but pleasant all the same. He stepped off the bench and extended his hand.

They stared at him thoughtfully for a moment and then put their hand in his and he pulled the Midgardian close, swaying gently to the music.

Loki knew magic. Knew what it could create and what it could destroy. He knew its ebb and flow and the way it lit a fire through his body as it transformed from a kernel of thought into a power almost unimaginable. He knew he would never need anything else as long as he had it.

And yet, sorcery could not have come close to replicating the magic he felt with the Midgardian in his arms, blanketed in the rainbow of colour twinkling around them.

“You know, God of Mischief,” They murmured, breath tickling his ear, “I’m not disappointed you stumbled into my courtyard.”

He breathed a laugh, “I can’t say that I am either.”

They pulled back and stared up at him, the corner of their lips pulled up slightly. Loki couldn’t stop staring at their mouth, wondering what it would be like to put his own on it. He leaned in slowly, giving them the chance to pull away, but they didn’t, the distance between them growing smaller and smaller. He hovered an inch away, both of them breathing shallow as if they were holding their breath to see what would happen next.

Everything went dark and a deafening crash sounded behind him.

Loki whirled to face the noise, the Midgardian slipping out of his arms. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark, but whatever had been there was long gone now.  

When he looked back, the Midgardian was gone, the courtyard dark and silent as if all life had vanished from it. He leaned against the piano, thinking. He hadn’t even gotten their name. But he had gotten information concerning where the relic might be stashed. And once he found it, he knew that he would have to come back and thank the person who had so kindly helped him out.

[anonbebe97me]

𝕄𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕜 (Ch.6: The Storm.)

A/N: This was a fic I’d originally posted on Wattpad last year. Hope you guys enjoy!

Description: Working for Mr.Yoo Kihyun was an absolute nightmare; Y/N hated everything about him, and was convinced he was either part demon or at least some sort of reptilian hybrid- never in a million years would she have expected to learn that he was, indeed only human, and even worse; that he might even be…likeable?

Link To: || 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 7

I watched Lizzie and Karina through the mirror hanging in the living rom. They poured themselves a shot of tequila, their faces scrunching as they swallowed.

"You sure you don't want a shot before we go?" Lizzie asked me.

Karina scoffed, "No! You know Y/N's a lightweight- remember the last time she pregamed?"

Lizzie laughed, nodding her head, "Oh yeah- she puked in the Uber."

I tried my hardest not to roll my eyes at them as I applied a little more highlight to my nose and cheekbones. Though I didn't normally get this dressed up for karaoke, but I was ready to party my life away- especially since I knew I'd be spending the weekend working on the stupid contract and building permit documents.

"I'm not a lightweight," I backed away from the mirror and walked over to the counter.

"Oh please. We all know you can't hang-" Karina started.

"And there's nothing wrong with that," Lizzie added, trying not to make me feel lame.

I bit my lip for a moment, and then I grabbed the tequila and poured myself a shot.

"Y/N...think about what you're doing..." Karina said, an eyebrow arched as she stared at me, a menacing smile on her face.

I raised the shot to my mouth, taking a minute to brace myself.

"It's the weekend!" I shouted, shutting my eyes, throwing my head back and taking the shot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our Uber pulled up to the karaoke place and we hopped out of the car. Our heels clicked in unison on the pavement, and we checked each other's outfit to make sure nothing was out of place.

We walked into the bar and were immediately greeted by the bar tender, Wonho.

"Hey girls," He called out as he poured a shot for a pretty blond girl who was practically drooling over him.

Karina smiled at him, pushing her chest out ever so slightly, "Hey Wonho."

Lizzie and I laughed as we all walked up to the bar.

Karina leaned forward onto the bar, making sure her cleavage was on full display, "Wonho- could you please make us a round of iced teas?" She asked, her voice low and sultry.

Wonho blushed, "Karina, you gotta stop. I'm at work," He laughed.

Lizzie rolled her eyes, "Let's go get the table," she said, pulling me away from Karina and Wonho.

She and I sat down, "She's unbelievable," I laughed.

Lizzie rolled her eyes, "Right? She sleeps with the guy once and now they're just like..." she throws her hands up in mock exasperation, "whatever that is."

Karina walked over and sat down, a smirk on her face as Wonho followed behind her, holding a tray with our drinks.

He set them down and bowed, "M'ladies," He said. He then turned over to Karina and grabbed her hand, "My queen," He kisses it and then turns back to the bar.

Lizzie and I cannot contain our laughter and we bust out as soon as he's out of earshot.

"What?" Karina asks, an innocent look on her face as she grabs one of the iced teas and sips it.

"Yeah, what," I say with a smirk on my face.

Lizzie looks around the room and leans forward, "Is it just me, or are there like, a lot of girls today?"

I look around as well and nod, "Way more than last week," I said.

Karina makes a disgusted face, "Ugh, I know," She says, glancing at the bar where Wonho is laughing flirtatiously with a particularly...plump backside.

I laughed, "Of course, Wonho is working tonight..."

Karina glares at me and continues sipping her drink.

"Anyway, how are you feeling?" Lizzie asked.

I thought for a moment, "I don't know...I keep thinking I should quit, but then I think about how close I am, you know? I don't want to lose such a great opportunity because of some jerk," I say, thinking about Kihyun sitting in his massive chair, eyes on his phone.

"Oh, I was talking about the shot you took earlier," Lizzie clarified.

"Oh," I said, mildly embarrassed, "I'm fine," I said, taking a sip of my drink.

I was surprisingly calm and couldn't really feel the shot. It had relaxed me, but I felt nothing beyond that.

"It's the calm before the storm," Karina looked at me, shaking her head in disapproval.

I rolled my eyes, "I'll be fine."

A woman walked up onto the platform, a big smile on her face as she grabbed the mic off of the stand.

"Hello, ladies and....gentlemen?" She said, squinting her eyes into the sea of women at the tables, "How's your guys' night going?"

The crowd cheered and clapped, as did we.

"Alright, so my name is Soon-ae. We have quite a few performers tonight but there are still some slots open! Remember to sign up over by the bar if you'd like to sing tonight or tomorrow," She ran through her intro quickly, "Alright, whose ready to hear some awesome singing!?" She called out.

Again, there was a huge cheer and she stepped off the platform.

The first performer walked up, and Karina rolled her eyes. It was the girl who was flirting with Wonho only minutes before. She was clearly tipsy, and her words were slurred as she introduced herself and the song.

The crowd clapped, but Karina put her hands to her mouth to amplify whatever she was about to yell out.

"Boo!" She yelled.

Thankfully, no one heard her. I laughed and nudged her, "Karina! Chill."

"No, she was flirting with my man," Karina huffed.

"She wasn't the only one," Lizzie said, pointing at the bar where a line of women had their boobs on the bar, much like Karina had them when she ordered their drinks.

Karina sunk in her chair and crossed her arms.

I shook my head and we focused our attention to her singing.

By the end of her performance, the shot had kicked in and I was feeling  ~*~*great~*~.

I clapped and cheered for her as she handed the mic back too the MC, "WOO!!!"

Lizzie and Karina looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"The storm..." Karina said as she narrowed her eyes at me.

"What? I feel perfectly fine," I shrugged.

"Alright, our next performer is," She looked down at her clip board and then back up at the crowd, "Kirange!"

My heart dropped.

She stepped aside and Kihyun walked up to the platform. He was dressed a little nicer than before, wearing a white blazer, white shirt, and black skinny jeans.

"Wait..isn't that..?" Karina trailed off.  She and Lizzie turned to read my expression.

I was motionless.

"Hello ladies," He smiled, his eyes low.

The women cheered much harder for him than they had for the drunk girl.

"I'd like to do a little something different, tonight," he said, a sly smile on his face as he walked off for a moment to pull a seat up onto the platform, "Ms.Soon-ae," He called out to her.

"Yes?" She asked, a smile spreading across her face.

"Now, I've prepared a song and choreography, but Would you do me the honor of choosing a lady to come sit in this chair..." He ran his hand through his chocolate brown hair, "I wanna sing to her..." He said with a wink.

"He's smooth, isn't he?" Lizzie asked, wincing as she said it.

The ladies went wild as Soon-ae's eyes scanned the crowd.

"We can go if you want," Karina said, looking at me apologetically.

Just then, Soon-ae's eyes seemed to land on our table.

"You," She pointed.

Karina and Lizzie looked at me, shock on their faces.

I looked behind me to see who she was pointing to, and then my heart started racing in my chest at the realization that she was pointing at me.

"Me?" I asked, eyes widening.

Soon-ae nodded, "Come on, lucky girl," She said.

I stood up and the crowd continued to cheer.

Kihyun squinted in my direction, trying to see who had just been picked. It wasn't until  was all the way on the platform that his expression fell.

I felt like a deer in the headlights as I walked over to the chair and sat down.

"Alright, you got your girl- now sing!" A girl called out from the audience.

Kihyun paused for a moment, and then cleared his throat, "Yeah, alright...thanks Soon-ae," He said.

I looked up at him, still unable to fully process the situation I was in.

"J-just sit back and relax..." He said, not wanting to fully make eye contact. He walked a few paces away from where I was sitting, and waited for the music to start.

I stayed stiff, not wanting to let my guard down.

A piano sounded around us, and he walked slowly toward me, picking up his feet ever so slightly.

"Jebal meomchurago Meomchura haessjanha Wae ireohge gojibeul buryeo Miryeonhage..." As he got closer, he reached his hand out and he gently touched my cheek.

I swallowed hard, my heart jumping in my chest at his touch.

Once more, I looked up at him, this time, wanting him to look at me...and he was.

His eyes were fixed on me as he sang, moving around me to the music.

He gently grabbed my face, and then turned it toward himself, dipping low- his face was so close to mine, and it reminded me of the other day when he'd opened his office door as I stood right outside of it.

And in this moment, I had the same feeling in my chest that I'd had that day.

He pretended as thought he as coming in for a kiss, and my mind raced as I tried to figure out what my next action would be- but as quickly as he came in, he pulled away, causing the audience to cheer even louder than they had before.

"Ireohge gipeojil jul moreugo Ireohge johajil jul moreugo Magu kiun nae mam cham mosdwaessda..."

As he finished singing, he got on one knee and grabbed my hand, "Naega michyeossnabwa..." He raised my hand to his lips, and he kissed it, the music fading.

The crowd, including Karina and Lizzie, were screaming their heads off.

He stood up, and offered his hand out to help me up, but  ignored him and quickly made my way off of the stage and went back to the table.

Soon-ae grabbed the mic from Kihyun and pretended to fan herself, "Wow! That was quite the performance- let's give it up for Kirange!"

Kihyun walked off the stage, and I refused to look ini his direction... but I felt his eyes on me.

"Well, that was...uhm..." Lizzie trailed off.

Karina looked at me with concern, but  kept my head down.

What just happened...?

[nialledfromfics]

just one more night

a niall oneshot

wc: 6343

pov: niall + 1st p. reader

warnings: contains smut. 

It felt like it had been forever since I had stood at his front door. Four weeks, five days and seventeen hours to be exact, but it certainly felt like a lifetime ago. I was juggling a cardboard box in my hands, one that was generously filled with a few of his things–some clothes, his grey paddy cap, a dark blue bomber jacket, a few records and a toothbrush–that had been left at my apartment as I tried my best to work up the courage to walk through that door. He was expecting me; we had briefly texted back and forth the previous night about finally exchanging our things, and he had told me to stop by after work the next day. And even though I had prepared myself for the exact moment as best I could, tossing and turning in my bed and going over a thousand scenarios in my head all night long, as I stood there, I became vastly aware that maybe I wasn’t so sure that I was ready to see him again. Maybe I wasn’t so sure that I would ever be ready to see him again. 

We had dated for nearly three years, going steady and strong and making it through situations that a normal couple wouldn’t even be able to fathom. The publicity of a successful debut album, endless promo, appearances and award shows, and an eight month long tour that had him traveling the world, day and night. So I was more than positive that if we could get through all of that, we could get through anything. I had never loved a man the way that I loved Niall, I had never before experienced the kind of love, passion and connection that we shared and it was never a question to me that we would end up spending the rest of our lives together. But just being together wasn’t enough for me, I wanted all of him. I wanted that commitment. We were both in our mid-twenties with good stable jobs and a love that I had thought was unbreakable, and all I wanted was to cement that bond that I knew we had. I wanted to settle in together, get married and start a family. Niall had told me that he wanted those things too, eventually, and that he would love to have kids, someday, but he just wasn’t ready for that yet. He told me that there were so many things he wanted to do first, dreams he wanted to accomplish and while I was happy to give him the time to do that, he wouldn’t give me a promise that he would be able make any of my dreams come true. And really that was all that I had wanted from him, just a promise that one day it would happen and that in the end, that was what we were working towards. 

So the decision to take some time apart was one met with a million tears and undeniable heartbreak, but it was amicable and understandable from both of us. He said that he loved me and he wanted me to have everything my heart desired and that I shouldn’t have to wait on him for it. I told him that I loved him and I wanted the best for him, even if that didn’t include marriage and kids, or me. Walking away from him was the hardest thing I had ever done. Up until the moment I was standing at his front door with a cardboard box of his things in my hands.  

My teeth clamped down onto my bottom lip and the sweat had started to pool on my palms, making my skin feel irritatingly clammy. Nerves shouldn’t have been something that I was riddled by, I knew this man, probably better than anyone else in the world, but maybe that was why I was so nervous. I knew him inside and out. I knew the way his voice went softer every time he said my name, I knew how his eyes lit up every time an Eagles song came on the radio. I knew the smell of his freshly washed skin and the scent of his favorite shampoo and how he loved to just cuddle up on the couch and watch TV after a long day in the studio. I knew the difference in his laughs when he thought something was truly funny or when he was just trying to be nice to someone he’d just met. I knew the way he held my hand just a fraction tighter when we walked out in public, or how he liked to steal kisses after I had taken the first few sips of my morning coffee. I knew how it felt to have him. To have his naked body hovered over mine, his heavy breaths panting in my ear and his fingers tangled in my hair. I knew how it felt to have his heart. I knew him better than I knew myself, yet I was more nervous than I had ever been. 

I swallowed hard at my realizations, struggling to balance the box on my forearm as I reached into the front pocket of my jeans and pulled out a little silver key. Peeking down at the cold metal in my hand, my eyes fluttered as I remembered the very night that he had given it to me, almost two years prior. A bittersweet memory. One that had sparked that bit of hope in my heart.

Shaking myself out of my silly daydream, I inserted the key into the lock and pushed the handle, letting his large front door swing open. I had barely poked my head in when the soothing sound of a piano being played from his living room gently wafted over my ears. A warmth coursed through me as I paused for a second to listen and not being able to see him from the front entrance, I carefully closed the door behind me and slipped the key back into my pocket. My heart was pounding in my chest as I took each step, as if it were fighting to drown out the sinfully melodic notes that were echoing out from the other room. His house had felt like my own house for years with the amount of time I had spent over there; helping to host parties, cozy date nights and lazy weekends in, the countless nights I had shared his bed, but as I walked through the open foyer, past the large alley kitchen towards his living room, I felt as if I didn’t know the place at all. As if it was all uncharted territory. 

I slowly crept around the corner, stopping right at the entrance of the expansive dimly lit room and my eyes danced along the decorated walls until they had fallen on exactly what I had been searching for. Niall. He was sitting at his grand piano, a pencil pinched between his lips and his brows wrinkled as he tapped away on the black and white keys before pausing to make notes on the papers propped up in front of him. He hadn’t noticed me, not for what seemed like hours as my stare drifted from the hunch of his broad shoulders under his white t-shirt down to the movement of his socked foot on the tiny brass pedal. I felt like I was floating on air as I quietly watched him, my nerves practically washing away with each note he played like the gentle tide of the morning’s sunrise. 

It wasn’t until he had stopped to take a long, and much needed, sip of his bottled water that I cleared my throat and spoke up. “Niall?” 

His clear blue eyes shot over to where I was leaning against the doorframe to the living room and he just stared at me for a moment, almost as if he was surprised to see me, before a tiny smile emerged over his lips. “Hiya, darlin’,” he softly remarked. 

A sigh escaped me at his tender greeting and I slowly walked over to him, setting the box down on the top of the piano. Keeping my gaze settled on the array of contents in front of me, I chewed the corner of my mouth and geared myself up for the awkwardness that would surely ensue. But it seemed like Niall was determined to rally against it. He had begun to play the notes on the piano again and I glanced over at him, noticing the deep concentration that was on his face as a few words started to flow past his lips and for that split second...it was like nothing had changed. It was as if we were back at the beginning, Niall working on new music and me intently listening to every note and lyric he had written while being his objectively, unbiased test audience. It felt good, familiar and, dare I think, perfect. At least for that single moment anyway.

“That’s beautiful,” I said as he stopped playing, “did you write that?” 

Niall nodded. “Yeah,” he replied, his eyes flicking down to the piano keys as he randomly ran his fingers across them, “kinda just came to me in a dream last night. Been workin’ on it all day.”

“I like it.” 

He looked back up at me. “Thanks. So, how’ve you been?” 

It was a question that I knew he would ask, yet one that I wasn’t sure how I would answer. Do I tell him that I laid awake almost every night thinking about him, missing him? That I sometimes wondered if I had made a mistake by leaving? Or do I pretend that everything was fine? I pulled in a deep breath and slid my gaze in front of me, staring out of the large curtained window that faced his back yard. I couldn’t pretend, not with him. “I mean, I’d say okay but…” my words softly drifted off as I peered back over at him. 

“But you’d be lyin’?” 

He knew me just as well as I knew him. Tucking my lips into my mouth, I quirked my brow in response. “Yeah.” 

Niall sighed lightly, tipping his head down to run his fingers through his messy brown hair. “I was nervous coming over here,” I went on, Niall meeting my gaze as I spoke, “bringing you your stuff, seeing you and everything.” 

“And now?” 

“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully with a slight lift of my shoulder. “I feel like I’m questioning everything all over again. Which...is probably why I was nervous about coming over here in the first place.” 

His eyes, still that breathtaking ocean blue that drew me in that very first night we met, lingered over mine. “C’mere,” he said with a cock of his head, “I wanna show ya somethin’.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I raised my brows at him and he gave me a sweet little chuckle. “I ain’t gonna try nothin’, just...c’mere.” 

I faintly rolled my eyes and shuffled closer to him, standing next to where he sat on the piano bench. “This,” he started, waving his finger at the music paper in front of him, “is about you.”

“I hope it’s nothing shitty,” I scoffed under my breath.

A laugh burst past his lips. It had been so long since I had heard that sound. “The content’s not shitty, not so sure ‘bout the execution just yet.” 

“What is it about exactly?” I asked, curiosity taking hold as I looked over at him. 

His head tilted back slightly to gaze up at me and I watched as his chest swelled with a deep, readying breath. “It’s about how much I miss you,” he said, “and about how at times we make choices that we think are right, and maybe they are at the moment but...they just don’t feel right later on.” 

Turning myself around to face him with my bottom towards the piano keys, Niall dropped his chin and peered down at his lap, but I didn’t dare move my stare as I carefully listened. “Every time I hear your voice or see a picture of you on me phone or...even just think about you, I just...I can’t take it. I get really angry with meself.” 

“Why?” 

“ ‘Cause I let you go,” he said, glancing up at me. 

My head tipped to the side in a light sigh as I let my arms fall to my sides. “Niall, we both made that decision, it wasn’t just you.” 

“It was me, love,” he counteracted, “ ‘cause all I had to do was give you what you wanted.” 

“Yeah, at the expense of yourself!” I said with a furrowed brow. “Ni, I’m not gonna force you to do something you’re not ready for, just like you wouldn’t ever force me to do anything I wasn’t ready for. Besides, that’s not a reason to get married and have kids anyway. You have to want those things as much as me, and it’s okay that you don’t right now. I just want you to be happy.” 

“I was my happiest when I was with you.” 

My eyes ease closed as his words floated over my ears and I turned my head to the side, instinctually biting at my lower lip as I tried to settle all the emotions I could feel creeping up inside me. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and I slowly drifted my stare back to his. His chin was trembling slightly, his blue eyes heavy and glassy as they darted over mine. I faintly nodded. “I love you, I hope you know that,” he went on, lowering his head again. I glanced down to see him fiddling with his fingers in his lap. “I wish we could go back, I wish it was all different. I just want...I just want one more night with ya, love. If I could have one more night–”

My lips were on his in that second, kissing away the remnants of his lost sentence. I had no idea what had come over me, it was like a wildfire inside me that spark after spark had finally ignited and was nearly burning unstoppable. I had to kiss him, I needed to kiss him. With my small hands cradling around his bearded jaw, I bent over and pressed my lips to his, our mouths moving in conversant harmony as if we had never stopped kissing in the first place. He was warm, excruciatingly warm, and his sweet taste filled my mouth as my tongue greedily swept over his. 

Pulling back slightly, I softly brushed my lips along his. “I love you, too,” I breathed out, “and I miss you, Ni, every second I miss you.” 

My mouth was back on his, kissing him, before he could utter another sound, my fingers curling around the sides of his face as I held him right where I wanted him. His heart was racing as my lips kissed over his chin to his neck, his pulse thrashing against my palm as I slid my hand down the front of his chest. I sucked along his throat, nipping the sweet sticky skin and Niall slowly tipped his head back. 

“Babe…” I heard him whisper, his fingers twisting into the back of my hair, “babe…” I giggled slightly, licking over his jaw and he lowered his chin so our lips could meet once more.

“Baby…”

“Shut up,” I gently scolded between kisses.

Niall huffed out an amused chuckle. “What?”

Inching back, I darted my eyes with his. “Just shut up and kiss me.” 

With a half grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, Niall narrowed his stare slightly before pushing himself up from the piano bench. My eyes followed his; the black of our pupils drowning in each other, holding captive and quiet as Niall wrapped his big hands around my waist and yanked my body towards him. My bottom slid across the piano keys, a roughened crescendo ringing out into the stark silence of the large room and he leaned in to kiss me again, but was stopped by the press of my fingertip to his lips. 

“Wait…” I said, swallowing hard, “who’s here?” 

Niall shook his head. “No one,” he replied with a boyish smirk, “just us.” Nibbling at my bottom lip, my stare swam over his face for a moment before I grabbed around the back of his neck and roughly pushed my mouth to his. His large hands squeezed around my middle, the pads of his fingers digging deep into my waist before his touch traveled up my sides, pausing to cradled around my face. He kissed me harder, deliciously sweeping his tongue over mine as my eyes pinched shut and low eager hums pulsed from my throat. My chest felt tight as I struggled to catch my breath, my heart racing like a prized horse coming up on his last lap and I tipped my head back as his hot mouth dropped to my neck. 

He was ravenous, his lips curling around my tender skin and sucking across every inch that he could reach. A few groans emerged from his parted mouth, his heated breaths panting over my dampened flesh and before I knew it, I was yanking at the sides of his t-shirt, pulling it right over his head. My eyes flew open, fluttering as they tried to focus on him. His brown hair was a mess, disheveled and soft, and my stare slowly slid downwards to watch the heavy rise of his bare chest as he flung his t-shirt to the floor. His skin was flushed pink, and I licked across my lips as my trembling hands just barely ghosted down the front of his body. 

I swallowed hard as I glanced back up to his face, noticing the cheeky smirk that was once again pulling on the corner of his mouth. It made an unmistakable heat start to waver between my legs; one that I had felt so many times, one that I had missed so badly. Niall slowly reached out and hooked his fingertips under the hem of my top and without saying a word, yanked the thin material over my head. His mouth was back on mine, sucking at my tongue and nipping at my lips as my bra was clumsily removed and thrown across the room. We both started to fumble with pulling off each other’s pants, his cotton shorts falling to a heap around his ankles as I wiggled out of my jeans and kicked them onto the floor. A shaky giggle spilled out of me against his lips as Niall grabbed at my panties and expertly slid them down my legs.

He cupped his big palms around my jaw and kissed me even harder, my hands dragging over the soft sides of his waist. Tucking my thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, I began to shimmy them down his thighs and Niall pulled back slightly. “You sure?” he asked. 

My brows furrowed a bit, only because I was already full naked and it was only then that he had stopped me to ask if this was something I wanted, but I just smiled. “I want you inside me,” I whispered with a nod of my head. 

“God, I fuckin’ missed you.” 

His lips pressed to mine and he gripped tight around my waist, lifting me up to set my bottom down on the keys of the piano. I chuckled lightly, amused by his eagerness as he quickly pushed his boxers all the way off, but was stunned quiet by the sight of him. He was so swollen for me, so swollen that the skin was a fiery bright red and his tip throbbing, and all I could do was choke back a breath and ready myself for what was about to happen. I slowly met his gaze again and he brought two of his fingers up to his mouth, licking across the pads before he slipped his hand down between my legs. My lips fell to a part as he gently rubbed over my entrance, spreading my wetness across my aching center. 

An audible moan slid past my lips and Niall smiled at my candor and lightly twisted his fist into the ends of my hair. Taking the time to line his tip at my opening, he captured my waiting mouth with his and slowly pushed himself all the way inside me. My eyes rolled back as he filled me, the heated skin of his hips burning my inner thighs as my swollen walls pulsated around his thickness. I missed feeling him inside me. I missed feeling the weight of him, feeling his warmth against me, his touch on my skin and I moved my hands to cup around his neck, holding his sweaty body flush to mine. I kissed him harder, his slim hips rocking as he thrust into me and he slid a hand down, hooking his fingers under my knee to lift my leg up higher against the side of his body.

Slipping his mouth from mine, my arms wrapped fully over his broad shoulders as he buried his face down into my neck. His hips rocked even faster, Niall working me with everything he had and I pinched my eyes shut, whimpering at the intense feeling. 

He nuzzled his nose below my ear, his stubble tickling me and the heat from his breath dampening my skin. “Fuck, love,” he panted, his big palm tracing down my spine, “you feel so good…” 

I lightly gasped at his words and my arms squeezed tighter around him, desperate to keep him close, to keep that feeling of being with him, of him being inside me, for as long as I could. I didn’t want it to end, I didn’t want to lose it again. I didn’t want to lose him again. 

Tucking my face down against the crook his shoulder, I inhaled deeply. His familiar scent swarmed my senses just as he slowed his hips to bury his length as far into me as he could. My head tossed back in an echoing moan of his name at the body-numbing sensation, as Niall caught the front of my exposed neck between his lips. “Need t’ fuckin’ taste ya,” he mumbled as his hot tongue slinked over my throat, “missed your sweet little cunt...” 

“Oh God, yes,” I spit out, splashes of how fucking good that man was with his mouth ran rampant over my naked body and I shivered in his arms as he slowly withdrew from between my legs. 

Niall carefully helped me off of the piano, our hearts beating a thousand times a second as he tangled his fingers in mine and lead us towards the other side of his living room. Yanking me forward to stand in front of him, he raked his fingers through my messy hair and kissed me again, slowly lowering me onto the massive couch. I let a faint giggle escape when my naked body hit the soft cushions, and it stifled just past my parted lips before my eyes squeezed shut and my back involuntarily arched from the slight burn of his bearded jaw rubbing down my inner thighs. He wasted no time burying his face between my spread legs, his mouth, hot and eager, lapping and sucking at my folds. 

I choked on my breath and reached down with both hands to tangle my fingers into the soft strands of his dark hair as low, satisfying moans gushed from my bared throat. Tipping my head back further into the couch, I could barely wrap my mind around everything that was happening, all that he was making he feel, all that it meant, as Niall continued to ravaged me; sucking over my sensitive clit and flicking his tongue along my dripping center. His big palms pressed hard into the tops of my thighs, holding me as still as he could and I knew his darkened eyes were glued up at my face. I could feel the heat of his stare blistering into my flesh but I couldn’t do anything but pinch my eyes tighter and try to stave off my already impending orgasm. 

Tiny, rapacious whines were coming from Niall as his tongue explored, the kind I remembered every time he had his mouth on me. The kind that let me know just how much he loved tasting me, how ravenous he was for me, how much he wanted it. The kind that set my insides ablaze and made me want to explode with each pass of his skilled wet tongue. By then my trembling body had taken over; rocking against his mouth as he sucked, my thighs shaking around the warm sides of his face and my toes curling into the material of the cushions. But Niall didn’t let up. His insatiable mouth went harder, moving up and down my quivering center and his tongue playing greedy at my entrance. With a frenzied spark shooting in my lower tummy at the feeling, I had barely let out another long winded moan before I felt his mouth slip from my heat and his body slowly start to slide up the length of mine. 

Niall pressed tender kisses all the way up my bare frame, pausing to show special attention to a few of his favorite spots and my eyes finally shot open just as his face came flush to my own. He nestled his thick body back between my legs and within a second his lips were pressed to mine and his cock was once again buried inside me. I cried out into his mouth, his slim hips lazily rolling against mine as he began to fuck into me once more. Wrapping my hands around his sticky neck, I kissed him harder as he worked above me, our sweat-coated bodies melding together as we nearly drowned in each other’s ragged breaths. My warm center pulsed around him as he very slowly pushed himself in and out, our lips barely losing contact as Niall gently rested his forehead to mine. I felt his hands cradle around my head, and my eyelids eased open, catching his stare. 

With my breaths stumbling in my lungs, my eyes drifted over his, and I twisted my fingers up into his dark hair as his trembling body came to a lull on top of me. A shiver flowed down my drenched frame as the stark quiet of the room, apart from our frantic gasps of air, pierced over my ears and all I could do was dreamily gaze up at him and try not to get lost all over again. 

His racing heart was knocking against my chest, so much so that it scared me, and my eyes fluttered as Niall softly brushed his thumb along my temple. “I love you,” he whispered, the tip of his nose drifting along the side of mine, “I love you so fuckin’ much.” 

I swallowed hard, the well of tears begging to fill the brims of my eyes as his words tumbled around in my head. My watery stare darted silently over his, yearning to make that moment last forever before a soft smile adorned my lips. “I love you, too,” I breathed out, pulling him down to meet my mouth in a kiss, “so much.” 

Our gaze met yet again as he leaned up on his elbows, his body starting to move a bit more fervently against mine. “Sit up,” I abruptly spit out, reaching up to softly comb away a wisp of fallen hair from his forehead, “please...I wanna fuck you.” 

Niall paused his thrusts, his eyes darting over mine for a moment before he hung his head down in an amused chuckle. But he knew I meant business when he felt me reach down with both hands to grope at his fleshy little backside. A smirk edged over his mouth and I pushed my hips up into his as hard as I could, just to coax him a bit more. I knew what I wanted and Niall was in no position to argue and as he caught my stare, he licked at his lips and slipped an arm under the arch of my lower back. Twisting us both over with ease, Niall sat up and plopped his bare bottom on the cushion with his feet planted flat on the floor as I straddled him. Pushing his hardened length back inside me as he had accidentally slipped out, he let his head fall to rest on the back of the couch in a low groan as I began to grind against him. 

With my hands planted on his chest, my fingers roughly curled into the damp dark hairs that splattered across as he gripped tight around my waist, helping to guide my body along his. I bit my bottom lip as I rode him, watching with avid satisfaction as his eyes rolled back and his pink flushed face scrunched up from the feeling, my hips rocking faster and letting him bury as far into me as he would go. He was throbbing inside me, the overly-swollen tip of his cock pushing right against my special little spot with every tiny trust he was providing as our bodies worked beautifully together. Harder, faster. Deeper. Our frantic gasps and heavy moans edged past our slackend lips as we moved, fucking our way to that mind-numbingly intense high that only we knew together, that we had both missed so much. I was shaking, quivering, aching to come; my toes vehemently curling aside his legs and a fevered flush spreading wickedly over my exposed body and I leaned forward, wrapping my arms around Niall as I tucked my face down into his neck. 

My eyes fluttered closed in a breathless whimper as I felt myself start to give way to him, his warm touch traveling up the span of my rounded back and holding me against him as he took complete control and fucked up into me. I could tell by his breaths, by the way his body jerked, and how his fingertips bled into my flesh that he was close and I wanted nothing more than to come with him. Attaching my lips to the side of his throat, I sucked ever so gently, but enough to entice that perfect little whine from him that I loved so much before I felt Niall tuck his face right against mine. He held me tight, so tight that I almost couldn’t breathe. 

“Come for me, love,” he choked out, my body nearly on the verge of collapse as I struggled to keep fucking him as deep as I could, “...baby…please...” 

A cry belted out from my lips and plastered to the sticky mottled skin of his neck and I tangled my fingers into his hair, the heat of my release swarming from my core as it started to recklessly consume my entire body. His name slipped sweetly off my tongue as I finally let go, trembling uncontrollably within the hold of his strong arms. My thighs clamped around his hips, and it was in that moment that I felt Niall go rigid inside me, pushing up into me only a few more times before the tightening pulse of my swollen center quickly brought him over that needed edge. 

I had never heard him come so loud before. Guttural, deep breathy moans, ones that stick heavy in the back of your throat and leave a sweet taste on your tongue, slid deliciously over my ear as he filled me and nuzzled the side of his face into my hair. His hips slowed to a stop, and we just stayed frozen in our blissful intoxication of each other for what seemed like forever. I didn’t want to move, for fear of what would happen, that it would all be over, almost forgotten, if I did. But Niall held me as tight as he had before, his fidgety fingers twirling in the ends of my hair as his mouth kissed sweetly along my jaw. 

Finally forcing myself to pull away from him, a long sigh slipped past my parted lips as I tossed myself over onto my back next to him, my legs still dangling over his thighs. Niall laughed under his breath and wiped away the sweat of his brow with the back of his hand as I eased my eyes closed in a more than contented smile. Not a word was exchanged–just quiet acknowledgment over what had just happened–as we both took the time to catch our breaths and sort our thoughts. At some point, Niall had turned his head to look over at me, his gorgeous baby blues swimming over the slopes and valleys of my glistening naked body, but I was none the wiser to this fact. 

I shakily reached up to brush through the front of my hair, wiping the strands from my sweaty face when I felt the delicate touch of Niall’s fingertip swirl around my belly button. It tickled and I giggled lightly under my breath as he continued to play, tracing a line up my stomach to my chest. Pressing his hand flat against my flushed skin, he slowly pushed his palm between the slopes of my breasts. It was the soft warmth of his mouth around my nipple that made me gasp and peel my eyes open, catching Niall just as he had leaned down to tenderly kiss over the peak of my breast. 

He had a dopey, pleased grin on his face as he picked his head back up, my eyes locked in on his. “You’re beautiful, ya know that? And I’m not just sayin’ that just ‘cause you’re layin’ here naked on the couch with me,” he chuckled, “you’re just...beautiful.” 

I gave him a sheepish smile. “And you’re beyond sweet to me,” I mumbled, reaching over to gently run the back of my finger down his still flushed cheek. 

“I wasn’t lyin’ ‘bout what I said to you,” he admitted, grabbing my hand in his as my touch left the dip of his chin. He peeked down to watch as he started to play with my fingertips. “I meant it. Every word. I love you...I never stopped lovin’ you. We never should’ve been apart.” 

My heart was nearly bursting in my chest and it felt in that moment as if we had never been apart at all. It felt like it was all supposed to feel. But it also felt different, as if something had changed. Something for the better. “I never stopped loving you either, Ni. Not one second did I stop loving you. And through everything we’ve gone through...I know you’re the only person I’m ever gonna love.” 

A stillness filled the space between us and Niall leaned himself down to cuddle into me, planting his cheek against my chest. I lightly ran my hand through the side of his thick brown hair, wrapping the ends around my fingertips and his heavy lidded eyes fluttered softly with my touch. It was definitely times like those that I had missed so much. 

“Stay the night with me.”

My brows furrowed. “You...still want me to stay?” 

Niall lifted his head to look at me. “ ‘course, darlin’, but...only if ya want to.” 

I bit off the smile that pulled at my lips before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Happy with that response from me, Niall pushed himself up from the couch, taking the time to ease my legs back down on the cushions. He grabbed a nearby chenille blanket that was folded up on the other side of the sofa and tossed it over my exposed frame, and sauntered back towards the piano. My stare was glued to him as I slumped down into the couch and quietly chewed at the edge of my fingernail, diligently following every movement his naked body made. I had only dreamed that I would ever see him like that again, and it made a warmth knot up in my stomach. He stopped just by the piano bench to snatch his shorts from the floor, tugging them back on and earning a low whine of displeasure from me as the material flipped over to cover the round of his gorgeous ass. 

Niall chuckled upon hearing my grumble of annoyance and he turned to glance over at me, running his hand up through his slightly dampened hair. Just as he went to look up, his bright blue eyes caught the glint of something on his hardwood floor and my brows wrinkled in curiosity as he bent over to pick it up. It was his house key. The one that I had stuffed back in my jeans pocket. 

Flicking his brow, he held it up to me. My bottom lip tucked into my mouth and I hugged the blanket closer to my chest. “I was gonna give it back to you...” I tried to explain. 

“Well, don’t,” he said, chucking the key over to me. I watched it bounce across my thigh before peeking back up at him. “I want ya to keep it.” 

My expression softened at his words and I giggled, picking up the tiny piece of metal to twirl between my fingers. “So...just one more night, huh, Niall?” 

Rolling his head to the side in a snort, Niall walked over to me and leaned down, both his big hands planted on either side of my upper body. He was so close, I could still smell the sex on him. It made me ache for him all over again. “It’s never just one more night with you and me, baby,” he confidently said, planting a small kiss on my lips. “It’s forever. And we’re gonna make it work this time, I promise.” 

[dakotacrisis]

For Better or Worse

I FIXED IT! I had to help my poor children through this cringe-fest. No akuma and these two have an actual effing conversation about their feelings!

MAJOR SPOILERS if you haven’t seen Puppeteer 2 yet.

---

This day was turning into a nightmare. What was Alya thinking? Marinette couldn’t confess right now. So many things weren’t right! Even with Tikki’s encouraging words Marinette still found a black hole of doubt swirling in her chest. She left the bathroom repeating that she could do this if only to help her convince herself that this wasn’t insane.

She looked up and saw Adrien across the room. “Huh?” Marinette got closer, “They finished the statue already? I thought it was gonna take longer. That’s the whole reason we all got to come here in the first place.”

It was an incredible likeness. She stood to admire it for a moment before an idea popped into her head. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if she could practice her confession on the Adrien statue before confronting the real thing.

“Okay. A little practice never hurt anyone. Not like anyone’s around to see me put my foot in my mouth.” Marinette looked around to make sure no one was watching. “Hello Adrien, it’s me, uh, Marinette. No--he knows who you are already!” Marinette chastized herself.

“Focus, Marinette!” she took a deep breath and turned back to the statue. “Uh hey, Adrien, sorry for running off so suddenly. I saw the finished figure back on the main floor. You look good! I mean it looks good! Not to say you don’t look good but--”

Marinette dropped her head into her hands. “Why is this so hard?”

She stared back at the statue and sighed. “Figures, I can’t even tell a wax figure how I feel. Even if he rejects me I want him to know though. It’s not just a little crush but real admiration. I--I--”

She squared her shoulders and looked at the statue. They even got the exact right shade of green for his eyes. “Adrien, I...I like you. Not just as a friend. I’ve had a crush on you since you gave me your umbrella that rainy day after school. Getting to know you over the time we’ve spent together has only solidified what I feel. You’re sweet and kind and brave. You see the best in everyone and have the patience of a saint. Especially with me. That’s why this is so hard, trying to tell you how I feel without spewing word vomit. I get nervous because while the fantasy in my head is nice, it can come crumbling down with one word from you. Now more than ever I feel like I need that fantasy. I’m under so much pressure with things I can’t even tell anyone about.”

She placed a hand on Wax-Adrien’s cheek. The wax was still warm it seems. “I like you, Adrien. I hope that you can like me the same way.”

She leaned closer as if to kiss him but stopped. “Stupid.” she muttered and shuffled past him towards the elevator.

“Wait!” A hand grabbed her wrist. She turned back and saw that the Adrien statue was holding her. Wait. Not a statue.

IT! WAS! NOT! A! STATUE!

“Adrien?” Marinette’s brain started to fry. He was playing a prank! Of course they didn’t finish the statue that fast! He was just trying to play a harmless prank and she--oh no!

“Marinette, I--”

“Why didn’t you say something?” She wretched her arm away from him, “That wasn’t funny, Adrien! Not funny at all!”

She ran back toward the elevator. “Goodness, I’m such an idiot!” She slammed the button for any other floor. The doors started to shut but a hand shot through and pried them back open.

“Marinette, wait, please,” Adrien begged as he jumped into the elevator. The doors slid shut behind him blocking Marinette’s exit. “I’m sorry. It was meant to just be a prank. I thought it may cheer you up.”

Marinette squeezed herself into the farthest corner of the elevator. “Why would I need cheering up?” she muttered.

“Because uh,” Adrien fiddled with his ring, “I thought you were mad at me. What Nino said and then you taking off like that I thought that maybe I had done something wrong. That you hated me for some reason. The prank was supposed to lighten the mood I guess.”

“I don’t hate you.” Marinette looked past him at the elevator key pad. In her rush she had hit one of the topmost floors. This elevator wasn’t exactly speedy either. She was stuck with this conversation whether she liked it or not.

“I gathered as much,” Adrien stood in the corner opposite of her. “Did you really mean all that? What you said when you thought I was a statue?”

Now was the time to deny. Deny everything and let this whole mortifying experience die in a hole where it belongs.

But Marinette didn’t want to deny it. It was the truth. Every single bit of it. “I can’t lie to you, Adrien. I...I did mean it. I meant every word.”

There was a long silence.

“Say something,” she squeezed her eyes shut, “Please.”

“Sorry, I was letting it sink in.” He finally said. “I guess I wasn’t expecting a confession today.”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to say anything. I knew it would ruin everything.” Marinette slumped to the ground. “I feel so stupid.”

“No, you’re not,” Adrien sat down next to her, “To be honest I was rather shocked. I thought you liked Luka.”

“Luka is great.” Marinette shrugged, “But he isn’t you.”

She dared to meet his eyes once more. He was looking at her with a mixture of awe and pity. “And I’m not Kagami.”

“Kagami?” Adrien’s eyebrows raised, “What does Kagami have to do with you confessing to me?”

“Adrien, please, I know you like her. I helped you go on a date with her for goodness sake.” that dark curling snake of jealousy constricted around her heart.

“Right…” he stared back at the ground, “If you’ve liked me for as long as you’ve said then why did you help me? Why would you offer to help set me up with someone else?”

She drew her knees up to her chest, “Because seeing you happy means more to me than my crush. If I can’t be the one to make you happy then I’d rather see you with someone who could. It doesn’t matter what I feel in that instance. It’s not my heart.”

“Marinette,” Adrien hesitated to put on a hand on her shoulder, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t try and--”

“I mean it!” he turned to her fully so he was kneeling in front of her, both of his hands clasped on her shoulders, “You said how I was kind and brave but you are ten times that. You are without a doubt one of the kindest, bravest, most talented, passionate, and selfless people I have ever met. You are so confident and driven that I can’t help but look at you in wonder. The only person I can think of coming anywhere close to how incredible you are is Ladybug herself. But you don’t need a suit or powers to be amazing. You’re our everyday Ladybug...my everyday Ladybug.”

Marinette was at a loss for words. Would it be too much to cry right now?

The doors pinged open and Alya and Nino were standing there waiting with Manon between them.

“Oh hey,” Alya surveyed the scene, “We were helping Theo look for Adrien but you seem to be in good hands.”

“Alya!” Marinette made a break for the door.

“See you back down in the studio!” Alya was quicker and hit the button for the studio floor. She gave Marinette a wink before the doors shut again. Adrien and Marinette alone again for another long trip back down.

“I am going to kill her.” Marinette banged her head against the door.

“Is that what they were talking about before?” Adrien asked, “The whole thing about leaving us alone together was to…”

“Give me a chance to confess. Yes.” Marinette turned back around, “Not that she told me that earlier. Which is why I panicked and bolted earlier.”

“I still don’t fully understand.”

“Alya and Nino thought they were helping because I’ve been trying for months to tell you how I feel--”

“Not that.” Adrien interrupted her, “I wonder how someone as spectacular as you could see so much in someone as lame as me.”

“You are not lame, Adrien.” Marinette smiled as she took her place sitting back across from him. “You are probably the least lame person I know.”

“You only say that because you like me.”

“No, I don’t. Also, this self-deprecating behaviour of yours has to stop. You are a wonderful individual. You’re a master fencer, you play piano beautifully, you’re fluent in Chinese, and you’re a talented voice actor as well as a model.”

“Only because my father has me practice all those things until I’m perfect at them.”

“What about video games? You’re second only to me, after all. You’re also insanely smart. I think that you and Max are the only ones who got straight A’s on their report cards last term. That is all you, Adrien.”

He finally smiled at her again. “Not to say you don’t have a dorky side too. You’re still socially awkward and make dumb jokes from time to time but it’s cute.”

“You’re not perfect either. You can get a bit scatter brained when caught off guard and you seem to have an intimate relationship with the floor.” he smirked in a way that made her heart race.

“Oh, it’s like that is it?” She laughed, “You know in the anime world my clumsiness would be seen as adorable and endearing.”

“You watch anime?” Adrien’s head perked up, “I didn’t know that about you.”

The rest of the elevator ride was spent in comfortable conversation. It went from them talking about what anime shows they liked to other interests. Music, food, video games, favorite puns. By the time they reached the studio floor again they were leaning on one another howling with laughter with bad joke after bad joke.

“Okay. Okay. I got another one.” Adrien said as he and Marinette got off the elevator, “What do you call a fake noodle?”

“What?” Marinette giggled.

“An impasta!” the two broke down into hysterics again.

“It’s so dumb!”

“If it’s so dumb then why is it so funny?”

“I got one. What kind of tea is the hardest to swallow?”

“Reali-tea?” Adrien guessed.

“Boo! You stole my joke!” she pounded on his chest.

“Get better jokes then,” he grabbed her hands to stop their assault. “I could send you a link to a site I know. The best kind of bad jokes you’ll ever find.”

“Adrien, there you are.” Theo walked up to them, “Where did you go?”

“Oh sorry,” Adrien smiled in apology, “I, uh, got stuck in the elevator.”

“Well, you’re back now. Come then, I’d like to get your figure done today.”

They walked back into the studio. Nino, Alya, and Manon had yet to make it back. Adrien placed his other hand inside the mold. “Now don’t go running off this time. I need to go grab more wax.”

With that Marinette and Adrien were alone once again.

“Hey, Marinette?” Adrien said.

“Yeah?” she plopped herself into a chair next to him.

“We kinda got off-track earlier in the elevator. I just started gushing about you and then you said all those sweet things to me and then we started with the jokes and well…” he took a deep breath, “I think we still need to address the elephant in the room.”

“Right,” Marinette was hoping that they may have just forgotten about her confession with all the other stuff that had happened, “You have an answer for me?”

“I feel like I need to explain first.”

Oh that was a great way to start this! He was gonna break her heart, wasn’t he? Of course he doesn’t like you like that! He’s crushing on Kagami! Stupid! Stupid!

“Stop that.” Adrien’s voice broke her from her thoughts.

“Huh?”

“You’re panicking. I can see it in your eyes.” he motioned for her to come closer. He took her hand with his free one, “There’s nothing for you to be scared about.”

“Don’t give me false hope like that.”

“I mean it.” he held her hand tighter, “You’re amazing, Marinette. What all I said before I meant it. I just never thought of you that way.”

“Adrien…”

“That’s not what I meant!” he pulled her closer so she couldn’t run away again, “I mean with Luka and my own warring feelings I just never explored what I felt for you more deeply. You were my friend and that’s all I thought there was to it.”

“Were?” Her heart started to beat faster.

“Yeah,” Adrien looked deep into her eyes, “You...you’re great. You mean a lot to me and I--I--I think I--I don’t know. It’s all happening so fast that I can’t think straight. All I do know is that I like you. I like you as a friend but also not. There’s something there. Something has always been there like a detail in a painting you never noticed before that changes how you see the rest of it.”

“What are you saying?” She didn’t dare so much as breathe at that moment.

“I feel something for you. I may not have it all figured out now but I’d like to.” the bell dinged and he released his hand from the mold. He held both her hands in his. “Can we talk about this? Really talk about it? Say somewhere more private and over a plate of cookies?”

“I’d like that.” she touched her forehead to his. “I’d like that a lot.”

---

(Read the rest on AO3)

[mari-onberry]

12 days of Luka Day 2: Lukadrien

Read on ao3

@lukacouffaineappreciationmonth

Every day, Adrien went to work at the flower shop his mother left him when he died. And every day, he would see the tattoo employee that worked next door who made him feel feelings he thought he had lost the capacity to feel a long time ago. 

“You have to talk to him one of these days, you know,” his friend, Marinette would always tell him. After romantic tension between them fizzled out, she was very involved in finding him someone, especially because she felt partly responsible for him being alone. It sometimes felt like she was bragging whenever she would hang out with her girlfriend in front of him. 

“I know.” And he did. But he was nervous, and he was convinced he would mess it up if he ever did try to talk to him. 

So when he showed up at the shop, Adrien nearly had a heart attack. “Hello, welcome to Agreste flowers,” he greeted, his voice shaking. He could hear Marinette giggling next to him and he shot her a glare before the tattoo employee made his way to the counter. 

“Hey there, I’m Luka. I work next door, and I wanted to buy some flowers. What do you recommend?"

Adrien prepared his answer, hesitating so he didn't stumble through it. “It depends what you’re buying them for, but tulips have always been my favorite.” Adrien didn't mean to imply anything romantic between him and Luka, but it definitely came off that way.

Luka just smirked and thumbed through his wallet. “Okay, I’ll take a dozen.” 

Adrien looked at him, surprised. “Really? Okay. That’ll be 44 dollars and 15 cents." He was happy that Luka was buying something, but a bit disappointed as well, because buying flowers probably meant he was dating someone.

Luka handed over the money and waited as Marinette handed over his bouquet. "Have a nice day," she said. 

"Thanks," he said, quieter and more restrained than before, as if he had suddenly lost his confidence. He left quickly without another word. 

"Adrien!" Marinette scolded, hitting him playfully on the arm. "That was your chance to ask him out. You don't know when the next time he'll buy flowers is, and you for sure aren't going over to his shop any time soon."

Adrien sighed. "But he was buying flowers. He's probably dating someone."

Marinette put her face in her hands. Adrien was helpless. "Adrien, I highly doubt that. He seemed really into you. And you'll never know if you never ask." She was trying to remind him of the fact that she was in love with him for years and he never knew. She didn't want him to repeat that all over again.

Finally, Adrien actually did catch on. "Cover for me.” He ran as fast as he could out the door and tried to catch up to Luka, but it has been too long and he was already inside. It took all of Adrien's courage, but he managed to open the door and go inside. Everyone looked up at the interruption, including Luka, but Adrien immediately chickened out and went to sit down in the lobby area.

"Excuse me, young man? Do you have an appointment?" Adrien looked up to see the lady at the counter talking to him. He just shook his head, too nervous to say anything else. He was actually pretty scared of needles, so he was trying his hardest to not look in the direction of the tattoo artists. "Do you want one?" Adrien realized it would probably be pretty rude to stay there if he wasn't going to buy anything, so he stood up and made his way to the counter. 

There was no way he would actually get a tattoo, but he decided it would be a good way to get to talk to Luka. 

"First tattoo?" The receptionist asked, and Adrien nodded. "Thought so. Do you want to look at designs, or do you have one in mind?"

That was when Adrien really looked around the store and saw art all along the walls. The receptionist slid a book across the counter that Adrien saw was full of designs for every kind of tattoo. He was surprised to find that some of them were actually really pretty. If only it weren't for the needle, Adrien thought it would be cool to get one.

"Adrien?" Luka said as he caught sight of him from across the room. Adrien looked over and saw he actually wasn't busy tattooing anyone. 

"Hey, Luka." Adrien watched as Luka made his way to the counter.

"Gina, I'll take care of this. He'a friend."

The receptionist, who was apparently named Gina, nodded and Luka pulled Adrien away and towards his tattooing station. 

"Do you really want a tattoo, Adrien?"

He didn't, but he wasn't giving up now, and he didn't want to leave without at least talking to Luka. "Yes."

Luka held back a laugh; Adrien was the last person he expected to get a tattoo. "Okay, well I have a few designs, or if you want a tulip, I can sketch something up real quick.

"You drew these?" Adrien asked. He had seen these designs, but he didn't know it was Luka who drew them. "They're amazing. You're really talented, Luka."

He could've sworn Luka turned a little red, but he dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him. "Thanks, Adrien. That means a lot." He motioned to the chair, inviting Adrien to sit down. He complied, a little shaky from even the thought of getting a tattoo.

"So, have you always wanted to run a tattoo shop?" Adrien asked, trying to stall as best he could with small talk.

"Well, I do love tattoo art, but I've actually always had a passion for music."

"Really? Me too."

"What do you play?"

"Piano."

"My band could use a keyboard player." Luka had seen Adrien hundreds of times, but he never never knew he was into music. He regretted never talking to him earlier.

"When are you free to play?" Adrien loved the idea of playing in a band with Luka, even if it was just once. "I have work every day, but the next time I have free time is the 14th."

"The 14th? Isn't that Valentine's day?" 

"Oh, I guess you're right. But it's not like I'll be doing anything; I don't have a valentine." Adrien had actually never really had a valentine, even though he has had many admirers. He was just never the best at dating. 

"Me either. But isn't that a busy day for flower sales?" 

"Yeah, that's why I take that day off every year. It's always chaotic, and I didn't really go into the flower business to deal with chaos."

"I usually take the 14th off too. There’s always way too many drunken couples getting matching tattoos. But I doubt the other members of the band will be free. They all have valentines." Juleka and Rose had been dating for years now, and they usually went out on a big date on Valentine's. The same went for Ivan and Mylene.

"Well, we could just do it alone, play just the two of us," Adrien suggested, his voice quieting in embarrassment. He wanted to play with Luka as soon as possible, even if that meant the rest of the band wouldn't be there.

"Okay then, it's a date."

---

Adrien ended up not getting a tattoo; he told Luka about his fear of needles, and Luka understood. He also told Adrien that if he ever changed his mind, he would give him a free tattoo.

Marinette was very surprised when Adrien told her about what happened. “You asked him on a date?” She asked, genuinely proud that Adrien was able to pull it off.

"No, it's not a date date."

"He called it a date. And it's on Valentine's day." She couldn't believe how dense he still was, even after everything. "Well, whatever it is, good luck. I think he could really be into you."

"You think?" Adrien really hoped she was right.

"He came to the flower shop to talk to you, he obviously didn't actually need flowers. And he did agree to your "date" or whatever it is. That means he's interested in you, at least in some way."

"Thanks, Marinette. You're a good friend," Adrien told her and, for once, Marinette was glad he said it.

---

Finally, Valentine's day came, and Adrien wasn't ready for their "date" in the slightest. It turned out that Luka lived in the apartment above the tattoo shop, which was similar to Adrien's own living arrangements, and they were to have their date there. Adrien was surprised to find out they had been neighbors this whole time without even noticing, but he was more surprised that he had previously had enough courage to agree to this. He was practically shaking when he got to the building and was greeted by Luka's smiling face. 

"Adrien! You made it!"

Adrien followed quietly as Luka walked him to his apartment. He was also excited to see him, but his mind kept wandering to what Marinette had said, and he wondered if this really was a date. 

Then, Adrien caught a glimpse of flowers that looked very familiar. "Are these the flowers that you bought from me?" He didn't think he would keep them.

"Yeah, I actually didn't even need flowers back then, I just wanted an excuse to talk to you. But they are really pretty."

Adrien tried to suppress his growing blush.

They made it to his living room, which seemed to be made into a makeshift band practice area. 

"Sorry, I know this isn't the best place, usually we practice on my mom's boat, but she's busy today, and--"

"No, this is fine. This is great." 

Adrien started to set up his keyboard, and Luka did the same for his guitar. 

"What kinds of songs do you know?" Luka asked, hoping there would be some songs they could play together.

"I mainly know classical songs, but I've always been good at sight reading if you have the music."

Luka looked through his music and pulled out a few songs and handed them to Adrien, who in turn looked through them. They seemed to be mainly a bunch of love songs. 

They played through a few, and they were all pretty mushy, full of cheesy lyrics. Luka sung along to some of them, which Adrien thoroughly enjoyed. He briefly wondered if there was anything Luka couldn't do; he seemed talented at almost everything. Each song made his heart swell more as he was more and more convinced that Luka shared his feelings, and playing these songs together made Adrien feel even more connected to Luka than before. 

Then, they ran out of songs. This didn't seem like such a big deal, but Luka handed him another song, their fingered touched ever so slightly, and shivers went down Adrien's spine. "Luka," he started to say, not sure of what else to do as Luka leaned down to kiss him, and then...

Adrien panicked and pulled back, seemingly opposed to the idea of kissing Luka.

Luka immediately apologized, feeling bad enough for trying to kiss him without even asking, and feeling worse that he apparently didn't reciprocate his feelings. "I'm sorry, I think we had different ideas as to what this was."

"I guess so."

"So you don't want to go any further than being friends? Are you sure?" Luka inched his hand towards Adrien's until their pinkies touched. 

Adrien panicked again. “Luka. I need to tell you something. Promise you won’t be scared off by it?”

“Promise.”

Adrien took a deep breath and continued. "My mom died when I was thirteen, and my dad locked himself in his room for three days," he blurted out, trying to explain to Luka what had been going on in his head ever since they met. Luka listened intently.  "My mom died, and I never got so much as a hug. He still won't talk to me; I guess I remind him too much of her." He tried to hold back tears; he hadn't told anyone except Marinette about this, and he certainly didn't expect to be telling Luka this soon. "My best friend was in love with me for years and I didn't know it because I didn't even know what love looked like. So, I'm sorry if I seem confused, or dense, or blind. I do like you, Luka. But I don't think I'm ready to kiss you just yet."

Luka smiled. “Adrien, thank you for telling me that, and I'm sorry for your loss. It's okay if you don't want to kiss, I completely understand. But is it okay if I hug you?" He thought Adrien could really use a hug, and he wanted to cheer him up in any way he could.

This surprised Adrien, and he thought through the question. "Okay. I'm okay with that."

Luka slowly wrapped his arms around Adrien, carefully so as not to hurt him in any way. At the slightest touch, Adrien's heart caved in, and he leaned into the hug, reciprocating it and wrapping his own arms around Luka. Every inch of Adrien's skin that touched Luka's burned with longing, a relief feeding his starvation for touch with the smallest of gestures. Soon, he couldn't take much more and leaned his head forward, resting his chin on Luka's shoulder. "Luka," he managed to say, his mouth only inches away from Luka's ear. He felt a few tears fall onto Luka's shoulder, but it was a good feeling. Cathartic, almost, like he had been waiting for this moment for a long time.

“I think I could get that tattoo now. If you’re there to hold my hand.”

“Of course.”

[rktingyan-blog]

when she's prompted for her special skill, tingyan nearly jumps out of her skin. dancing was her best skill, but what she had in store proved to be the most fun. when putting something like shadow puppetry down as a talent of hers, she'd expected to be asked to demonstrate. so with a nod, she asks to grab an item from her bag and returns with a bed sheet and tape. sheepishly, she looks to the expectant interviewer and gives one more request.

"could you turn the lights off, please?"

hesitant but agreeing, the woman stood to turn the light off while tingyan prepared. she had expected to display her talent, and the last thing she wants is to look unprepared. always be a step ahead, she'd told herself. taping the two of the corners of the white sheet to the ceiling, all that could be seen was the silhouette of her frame from behind it.

"okay, ready?" she asks, and once she gets a nod in confirmation she leans to the ground to turn her flashlight on, causing her shadow to be prominent. peeking from the cover, the female gives one last smile to the unamused judge. "hi, i'm chong tingyan, and you're about to see the story of  the emperor's new clothes using shadow puppetry." doing this gave her a wave of nostalgia, using both a skill she'd learned at school and a familiar story from her childhood. it definitely wasn't the same as playing an instrument, but tingyan figures the woman had heard enough piano playing that her own skill wouldn't seem too special in comparison. she'd have to be different.

moving her body from the sheet, she brings her hands into view, her hands crossed in what seems to be the shape of a bird. in between her fingers was a small cloth that waves as she mimics flying. "once upon a time there was a crane, known to be the wealthiest and most prominent emperor in the entire kingdom." the original story involved humans, but tingyan decided to make the story more interesting by involving animals which represented the character's traits. her sentence is spoken in korean, though she prepares to begin switching languages. behind the curtain tingyan bit her lip, nervous for the perception of her skill. maybe it seems childish, or boring? all she could do was hope it was enough.

on impulse, she decides to break out her comfort zone and do something a little different from when she'd practiced. "i am the richest man alive! i'm respected by my kingdom because i am smart and the most wise man of all." the line is spoken in cantonese as she'd prepared, but instead of the standard dialect she goes for an exaggerated impression of a boastful king, whiny like a crane. it felt strange switching to cantonese, the majority of her life in china reliant on mandarin, and cantonese only really being spoken to distant relatives and to her language tutor. she knew enough that she could tell the story properly, but just in case it wasn't spoken by the other she follows up with a korean translation, continuing to do so for the rest of the story whenever chinse was spoken. the interviewer may have been impressed with her chinese, but it was her native tongue - second nature to her, requiring little effort. it was the korean she spoke the majority of her time there that took the most effort out of her, head pounding with the amount of concentration it took to speak in korean without faltering. she had to, though - anything to preserve the magic of a good story.

"he was known for having the finest clothes all around." making sure to wiggle her arm so the cloth flew in the air, she mimicks the bird waving his wings in the air. even she can't help the little giggle coming out her lips as she transitions to the next portion of the story.

"but one day, two manti came to the kingdom in search of the king, advertising some of the finest clothes around." her words hint at obvious sarcasm, as she takes off the cloth offscreen and returns with two hands - each crinkle into the shape of manti. "hello, king..." the girl says, characterizing them as evil with her menacing words in korean. "we come from far, just to present you with our clothes! only the most excellent and wise can see our clothes. grasshoppers all around talk of how pretty our clothes are. come take a look!"

"there they traveled to the weaving store, where the manti showed him all their clothes." as she narrates, tingyan backs up from the sheet to provide the illusion of a crane flying further away. she gets closer once more to show them arriving. "the problem?" she asks, peeking her head out to feign shock at the interviewer. turning her attention back to the presentation, she moves her hands around quickly to illustrate the crane looking around.

"he couldn't see anything! but remember, only the most excellent and wise can see the clothes. emperor crane didn't want to get embarrassed, because everyone else seemed to know what was going on."

"so pretty!" she says softly in mandarin, curving her fingers into a rabbit's silhouette. the language is clearly easiest for her in the way it naturally comes from her lips, her native tongue. swiftly, she moves to a pig, overlapping her hand but leaving slits for the eyes, honking before saying "so nice!" in mandarin. the female hopes the blush on her cheeks isn't evident, because truthfully this whole story was a hit to her ego. it was something 10 year old tingyan would do. nothing like the woman she was now, but she had to push those feelings aside. embarrassed or not, this was her shot to show her enthusiasm.

"uh...right...so beautiful!" the girl claims in cantonese, the whiny voice of a crane coming full force as she switches her hands to it's form once again. "here, have my coins, and you must give me the finest clothes all around!"

"of course, my emperor, the manti said," she says in korean.

in an attempt to speed the story up, she decides against displaying the actions and narrated them instead, this time in korean. "so they took the money and pretended to work, while the crane got excited for his clothes all night. the next day, they presented him with the clothes - to be worn at his very important parade."

""oh...so...wonderful!" the crane exclaimed," speaking in cantonese and doing her best to act as if she's lying, she has the finger puppet wander around as if he’s observing. "the crane then put on his... clothes, ready to face the entire kingdom."" she's sure to emphasize the word, and this time when she takes off the cloth she purposely doesn't put it back on the finger crane.

"so he walked in the parade, and no sooner than he can be seen a croak is heard."

inhaling, the female tries to put her pride to the side best she can and lets out an obnoxious screech. "my god, where are his clothes?" she said, impersonating the most dramatic rooster she could conjure up. "one by one, the crowd began to notice." now came the hardest part, tingyan trying her best to shift from animal to animal - a dog, a squirrel, a crab, squealing "where are his clothes?" in numerous voices. god, please make me less embarrassed than i am now, she thought. finally, following the chaos she returned to the crow, her voice in the familiar whine as she acted out misery. "oh, what should i do? now the people will know i was a fool and followed what others said!"

halting, she approaches the front of the sheet, so her face was in full display. "and that's when the crane learned to be a leader, not a follower." she'd chosen the story because of the importance she felt the lesson held, and when she was done, bowed in appreciation of the interviewer's patience and grins. looking her in the eye, tingyan got a rush of satisfaction as she viewed the seemingly unbreakable interviewer’s hint of a smile. "thank you for your time."

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON R!OT’S LEAD VOCAL, RAP CHOO DASOM…

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 22 DEBUT AGE: 22 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 19 COMPANY: 99 Ent. ETC: this member has significant popularity due to her overseas upbringing and has inadvertently become the spokesperson overseas

IDOL IMAGE

she’s the foreigner. worse, she’s the american one, and that in and of itself is a label to live up to. she has to be larger than life and outspoken, the one that international fans can relate to. she’s the foothold that 99 has for r!ot to get into the doors of the western world, and the pressure lies on her shoulders to live up to that. during vlives, she leads the conversations when the english language is involved. in a way it’s comforting to her, because she gets to speak in her native tongue without thinking or worrying about if she’s using the right words or wording her thoughts properly. living up to what an american k-pop idol is supposed to be like is a tough job, but she does it without complaint.

apart from being known as the unofficial overseas spokesperson, dasom is known for her nearly perfect execution of the girl crush concept. she has a look and vibe about her that screams girl crush, and that was a big part of the reason why she was scouted out by 99. as a trainee, they molded her into the image of girl crush, and it’s a role that her international fanbase hypes up a lot. it’s a role that dasom has a lot of fun portraying, as it’s something that comes more natural to her. she doesn’t mind cute concepts, but she knows that if she was forced to do one, it wouldn’t mesh well with who she is and she would come across as fake during performances.

even though she’s the most popular member overseas, that doesn’t translate into domestic popularity. not the least favorite member, but not the most by a long shot, dasom finds it hard to connect with domestic fans. not because she doesn’t want to or doesn’t try, but because 99 pushes her so hard to appeal to their foreign market that it leaves a disconnect between her and korean fans. despite the disconnect, she tries her hardest to form somewhat of a bond with them, and hopes that she’ll be allowed opportunities in the future to show her face more and wiggle her way into the hearts of the south korean public.

IDOL HISTORY

in spring of 1995 in the city of seoul, a man and a woman met by chance one evening when they were both working late. the man, at the time a twenty something year old with a wife and a kid, the woman, a nineteen year old fresh out of high school and interning while she took college classes. the chemistry between the two of them was palpable. from then on they pursued a friendship with one another. the man found himself connecting to the woman in ways that he couldn’t with his wife, while the woman was happy that she found someone that she could relate to. she never connected with anyone who was her age like that before, let alone a man.

as their friendship grew stronger and stronger, underlying feelings began to develop, and by the time september of 1995 rolled around, they were in a full blown affair with one another. things didn’t seem as though they were going to end between them anytime soon until the girl fell pregnant in january of 1996. when she tried to tell him that she was pregnant, he freaked out, telling her that it wasn’t his problem, but her own, and disappeared without a trace. heartbroken and embarrassed, the woman left seoul and south korea altogether. she fled to the states, settling down in new york before she could give birth.

and what became of the child? they made their arrival in the world on september twentieth of that year. choo dasom was a beautiful baby that everyone fell in love with the moment they laid her eyes on her. everyone apart from her own mother that is. her mother, was not happy with the arrival of her daughter. when she looked at her face, all she could see was the face of the man who she had fallen in love with and gave her all to, only to have her heart broken. she didn’t want anything to do with dasom, but her religious views and beliefs didn’t allow her to give the girl up for adoption.

as dasom grew older, she began to notice that her mother didn’t treat her like all the other kids’ moms treated them. they were given hugs and kisses as they were sent off to school, and were greeted with hugs and kisses at the end of the school day. the most that dasom ever received from her mother was a pat on the shoulder or head and a normal, lukewarm greeting. she started craving her mother’s love and affection, wanting to go above and beyond to receive the same treatment that all of her peers did, but it seemed as though nothing she ever did was good enough for her mother. she brought home good grades, was obedient and respectful, and when she was twelve, she even started babysitting and using the money she received from that so she could help contribute to the household. dasom was nearing her wits end trying to please her mother and nothing ever came from her efforts apart from frustration and sadness.

the one constant thing that had been ever present in her life was music. it wasn’t something that was planned, just an opportunity that arose when she was a little girl. overheard from a passing comment made by her mother, dasom learned that her mother loved the piano, and a lot of the music she listened to was heavily piano based. with that knowledge in mind, dasom had taken up the piano lessons that were offered at her, and from there things had flourished. she added guitar playing to her roster of things she was able to do, both instruments becoming something that she fell in love with. playing the piano and the guitar quickly became less about making her mother proud of her, and more about her own enjoyment.

dasom had become skilled in both instruments, her biggest strength being her piano playing. she had joined a junior orchestra that was run by a music program in the city, and was on her way to a music career. when she was seventeen, she was offered the opportunity to join a traveling music orchestra once she became of age and graduated from high school. of course it was an offer that she wasn’t going to turn down, and she immediately went home to tell her mother. for the first time in her life, she felt exhilarated. there were people out there who recognized her talent and wanted to give her the chance to grow and show off her abilities, and that filled her with a feeling of appreciation she’d never experienced before.

her world came crashing down around her a few months later when her mother told her that they would be packing up and moving from new york to seoul. she didn’t want to move, especially not when she was so close to graduating and joining the orchestra. she had plans and dreams that she was working hard towards, and her mother ripped that away from her without a second thought. dasom tried to beg and plead with her mother to put off her plans until she graduated, or to let her stay in the city with one of her close friends’ families, but her mother didn’t listen. they ended up moving just a week before the school year started, and she never quite forgave her mother for that, not even until this day.

the sudden shift in cultures from america to south korea was something that dasom had quite a difficult time adjusting to. she had been speaking korean her entire life, but she spoke it with an obviously american accent, and she didn’t speak as quickly as others did. at home in new york, she would speak to her mother in a mix of korean and english, oftentimes switching between the two a few times in the exchange of a few sentences. having to speak korean straight with no english inclusion was difficult for her, as well as having to take on korean customs and behavior. it had taken her quite some time, almost a year and a half, but she was finally starting to settle in and began to make friends and connections with people her age.

being scouted whilst shopping with her friends wasn’t something that a nineteen year old dasom thought would happen to her, but looking back on it today, she’s happy that it had. 99 entertainment scouted her for her looks, but were unaware of the fact that they had stumbled across someone that had a background in music already. her music knowledge had made it easier for her to understand the techniques that were being taught to the trainees. however, being able to read notes and knowing the vocal scale didn’t necessarily equate to being able to sing.

dasom started off as one of the bottom tier trainees in the bunch. not horrible, but not all that great either. she had a lot of potential and the trainers wanted to keep her there for that reason, but when there were so many other trainees who could sing better than her, the necessity of her presence was quickly starting to dwindle. it wasn’t until evaluations rolled around and dasom was almost removed from the label as a trainee that she really started to kick up her training process into high gear. she stayed behind after all the other girls left, asking the vocal trainers to work with her a little more, she pushed herself harder during dance practices and she developed her skills at a gradual, but steady pace. by the time the next evaluations rolled around, she had risen in the metaphorical ranks and had become one of the more well rounded trainees there.

after two years and ten months of training, dasom was told that she would be debuting. from then it was a whirlwind of debut preparations, ranging from hours spent in the studio to hours spent in dance practice rooms. it was exhausting, but she pulled through without slowing down. her looming debut was more than enough motivation for her not to let the last few grueling months throw her off her game.

with their debut comes a surge of popularity and recognition for dasom. as the foreigner and english speaker of the group, she’s gained the attention of a lot of fans, specifically overseas fans. because of that, when it comes to speaking for the group, the responsibility has fallen on dasom’s shoulders. it’s a responsibility that’s hard to bear, but like most things in her life, she bears it without complaint. it’s a lot of pressure and she has an underlying fear that she’ll crumble beneath it. she’s still a rookie after all, and she doesn’t know how much she can take before cracking.

[crustybaguettes]

band, did you mean kim seungmin oggling sessions - seungjin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16587968 - read on ao3 :))

A cacophony of scales filled the room, carpeted walls absorbing most of the sound but still trapping it in, a chorus of different instruments jumbled together. Hyunjin ran his scales, C major up, C major down, C# major up, C# major down, D major up, D major down, D# major up…

           “Alright everyone, settle down, I want to start with Pictures At An Exhibition, bar 13.”

           The conductor’s baton tapped out a tempo against her stand and Hyunjin felt his foot instinctively tap along to keep time.

           “Hey, didn’t Ms Kim say to stop doing that, you know we get points taken off at competitions if the adjudicator sees.” Seungmin (Hyunjin’s crush that he, in the words of Aubrey from pitch perfect, ‘had a musical boner for’) whispered harshly, the section leader not wanting to put up with another rant from Ms Kim about proper etiquette and all the 996 ways to get 10 points taken off at an eisteddfod. The boy had always seemed a tad highly strung, but considering the regional championships nearing, Hyunjin could sense the waves of stress radiating off him. The clarinet section in their school band was decent at best, and as the two most experienced players in the section, they normally took the brunt of their conductor’s anger.

           “And 1, 2, 3.” The baton made a downwards motion as the piece began, and in any other circumstances Hyunjin would probably be enjoying himself. Despite the devastating averageness of the clarinet section, the rest of the band wasn’t too bad, placing their school in the top 3 for their province. Not seeming to take these achievements into account, Ms Kim was going as hard on them as ever, her saxophonist history forgetting that it’s much harder to play loudly on a clarinet than it is to honk out a triple forte on the saxophone.

           “Kim, what’s that bar marked as?” She asked while cutting off the band, her viper-like tone shooting directly at Seungmin.

           “Um…uh it’s…” he seemed to be struggling to find the bar being discussed, eyes scanning over the page in a panic and thumb frantically pressing and releasing the register key.

           “Forte.” Hyunjin leant over slightly to whisper, all too aware of the 50-something eyes trained on their section.

           “Forte, Miss.” Seungmin shot Hyunjin a small grateful glance before braving the gaze of Ms Kim, her eyes glaring daggers at the first clarinet.

           “And would you say you were playing forte, Kim?”

           “Um, not really Miss, but that note’s really hard to play lou-”

           “Kim, I don’t care if you chip a tooth if it means that you play what’s written on the page, understood?”

           “Yes Miss.” The 7 clarinets mumbled out in support of Seungmin, eyes trained at the base of their music stands, not wanting to aggravate the situation further.

           “Everyone, I know you’re tired, but I honestly couldn’t care less. The championships are in less than a week, so I don’t have the time to be stopping every 5 bars and remind you of what’s already written on the page. Now again from bar 13. And 1, 2, 3…”

           Rehearsal continued on for another hour in the same manner, stress radiating off the conductor in waves for some unknown reason; Hyunjin thought they sounded good (but then again, he hadn’t competed in international band competitions and conducted world renowned ensembles for 40 years, so what would he know right?). As his eyes were starting to droop downwards, despite the trumpets went over their soli for the umpteenth time, the clock finally ticked from 4:59 to 5:00 and the conductor finally ended the rehearsal.

           “Alright everyone, good rehearsal, remember our sectionals are next week so everyone needs to be practicing for 20 minutes a day. Can everyone help pack up before you leave please?”

           Hyunjin disconnected his mouthpiece from the barrel, an unpleasant popping sound accompanied by the signature trail of spit that was hastily wiped off and onto his pant leg. After clicking the latches shut, he stashed his clarinet case into the corner next to Seungmin’s and began picking up the chairs to carry into stack at the back of the room. At the end of every rehearsal, the hardest part was probably having to overhear (due to the miniscule space allotted for the band room) the section leaders being given their debrief from Ms Kim (see also; harsh criticising). Hard, because no one, not even Hyunjin’s worst enemies, deserved ‘constructive criticism’ from Ms Kim. Unbearable, because watching Seungmin’s face get more and more crumpled with every insult thrown towards the group was like watching someone kick a puppy. Unbearable.

           The circle of 7 section leaders broke apart, their crest fallen facing retreating back to the haphazardly placed instruments around the edges of the empty band room, unspoken assurances being thrown in their directions. Despite their weird not-really-friends-but-more-than-acquaintances relationship (that he would like to maybe one day turn into a not-really-friends-but-more-boyfriends relationship), Hyunjin and Seungmin picked up their clarinets and headed out of the room together and soon split away into two different directions, Seungmin to walk home and Hyunjin to the subway.

           The ride home was always full of subtle stares, a school child with a too-small briefcase-looking thing wasn’t a normal sight for the general public, and Hyunjin became the fodder for people’s curious, sticky-beaking brains. His brain, however, was devouring the anxiety bubble surrounding the thought of his parents, more specifically their expectations.

           Hyunjin’s parents weren’t mean, well, they were, but they meant well, kind of. It was their expectations of their musically inclined son (that had very little to do with music) that felt like little knives of disappointment stabbing into his self-esteem. The fact that he wasn’t the music captain, or even section leader made it worse; if their son couldn’t do what they wanted, he had to be the best at what he wanted, and at the moment Hyunjin wasn’t either of those things. The graded maths test sitting in his backpack with a large, red 59% stamped on it was weighing him down like a cinderblock strapped to his shoulders. Not good at school, not good enough in music, not a good son, he’d heard it all from his parents.

           The fact he was an only child didn’t help the situation. All his academically motivated parents wanted was a child who was the best. That’s all. For them it wasn’t much to ask. For Hyunjin, sometimes the pressure of having to make his parents proud, the pressure that was designed to be carried by at least 2 others, was overwhelming to the point where he felt like his best would only be scratching the surface of his parents’ plans for him.

           His school shoes hit the pavement as he walked through the maze like roads of his neighbourhood, the compacted windows sitting high on the house walls. A soft orange hue fell over his face, and for the first time that afternoon he didn’t feel so stressed. The sound of someone practicing piano drifted over on the wind and gave Hyunjin the feeling that he was in a movie, one where everything was okay, he had a caring family who loved him, a boyfriend who held his hand on the way to school and reminded him to take care of himself, a world that would never be his reality.

           Not only would he never escape the crushing reality of his inadequateness, but his father would never allow a relationship under his roof, let alone a homosexual one. In his dad’s eyes, a wife was like a trophy, something you receive as a prize once you’ve succeeded in life. In his dad’s eyes, a man and a man together was something that should be seen at a golf course or in a conference meeting, but never in love. In his dad’s eyes, Hyunjin wasn’t good enough, so why poke the flame when you could just avoid it all together?

           His key turned in the door, the clicking sound resounding through the dark, empty hallway and a puff of air escaped Hyunjin’s mouth in relief; no one was home. He slid off his school shoes and padded up the stairs, a soft thumping that made him feel like a little kid again. Hyunjin never knew why, but socks (especially thick ones) always gave him a soft feeling when he wore them around the house, the sensation of plopping or sliding his fabric-covered feet along the floor so much more appealing than his bare soles coming into contact with the cold floor boards.

           He flopped onto the bed with a sigh and slight arm flail and accepted the aftershocks from the wobbling mattress, the feeling giving him the image of floating on a boat. A boat in the middle of the ocean, away from everything and everyone. Just him and his mind. On second thoughts, Hyunjin couldn’t think of anywhere more like his own personal hell than his mind, just a ball of stress vibrating and building. His clarinet case was slowly dropped from his hand onto the floor, wincing after the latches hit the floor with a resounding thud.

           Speaking of clarinets, the seat placement auditions were in 3 weeks and Hyunjin hadn’t practiced anything other than band music for so long that the voice inside his head spoke in march tempo. He knew that if the weight of schoolwork was to get any lighter, the one thing he had to do well was music, and without that section leader title he wasn’t getting anywhere. Propelled by stress, he sat up, opened his clarinet case and retrieved a music book gathering dust on his shelf. After deciding on a song, Hyunjin began the slow and painful process of sight-reading a piece with more ledger lines than beats and more semi-quavers than notes in a scale. Until his fingers were cramping and his mouth was imprinted with the shape of the reed, and his front door slammed shut announcing the arrival of his mother, he practiced. The rhythm played over and over in his head as he closed his eyes to sleep, and with a startling and stressful thought he realised that Seungmin would’ve probably been doing the same thing for several weeks already. His new found stress-induced motivation was running through his veins, and even if he couldn’t succeed, Hyunjin could damn-well try.

Hyunjin’s new daily routine went something along these lines: wake up, get dressed, brush teeth. Contemplate the necessity of physical appearance as he brushed his hair. Say goodbye to his parents as he headed out the door, slightly stale muesli bar in hand and smudged lipstick stain on his cheek from a mother’s farewell. Get to school, study, have lunch, study, trek up to the individual practice rooms on the other side of the school. Get the key to the rehearsal room from a music teacher (senior privilege). Practice, and study in the breaks between practicing. At 11, (or whenever his eyes began closing on their own accord) pack up and head home. 11:45, get home and sleep. Repeat. After 1 week of this routine, not only was he falling behind in his classwork, a (not so phenomenal) phenomenon whose extent shocked his teachers of even his worst subjects, but every time he closed his eyes all he could see was staves, rests, dotted crotchets and key signatures. It was exhausting. The only thing keeping him running was the thought that Seungmin could be doing the same, and copious amounts of coffee.

           One day, it was particularly rough for Hyunjin. He’d gotten a Korean exam back and had done especially, well, shit (even for him). When he’d called his mum to tell her, she simply told him that it wasn’t good enough and that the reason he was staying at school so late better be because he was studying. Despite knowing it was far from the truth, he assured her that he would improve and that it was the upcoming regional championships that were stressing him out.

           She hung up after that, leaving the championships lingering in the back of his mind, just another thing to add on top of his mountain of stress. He’d gotten back late the night before due to trackwork on the subway line, and was running on about 3 hours sleep, which was not a lot when trying to practice a grade 8 clarinet solo while also trying to study and do homework simultaneously for two different subjects, all at 10:19pm on a Tuesday night.

           After a particularly shit run of his audition piece (Hyunjin was finding that word more and more useful, shit grades, shit playing, shit life, shit person) it was all too much to carry, like a cat storing up his energy to pounce until it finally spring to life onto unsuspecting prey. Hyunjin felt like a small mouse, his body being engulfed by an evil, all-encompassing cat, fur woven with fear and cripplingly low self-esteem.

           Before he knew what he was doing, a string of profanities (mainly comprising of shit) left his mouth and tears were flowing down his face. He discarded his clarinet in next to his music stand and sat on the floor, legs crossed over one another and head in his hands. His quiet sniffles and soft sobs filled the room, a welcome change from the same song repeating over and over, never good enough, never perfect. When he closed his eyes he could see his parents standing there, disappointed looks painting their faces. When he opened them, a reminder of his inadequacy stared right back at him in the form of notes and rests.

           A quiet knock broke Hyunjin’s self-deprecating train of thought, the fear that a teacher or cleaner had come to scold him for his hands to wipe the tears off his face, despite his urge to curl up into a ball and sob. “Yes?” He croaked out, a small crack entering his voice at the end, almost releasing another wave of tears. The door swung open carefully to uncover the concerned, glasses-adorned face of Seungmin, a familiar yet not exactly welcome face at this point in Hyunjin’s day. His maybe small but still present crush was demanding attention at exactly the wrong time, Hyunjin’s aching and tired heart wanting nothing more than to curl up in the other boy’s arms and let his worries wash away.

           “Hey Hyunjin, it’s pretty late, practicing this much can’t be good for you, you know you’re more than prepared for the championships right?” Seungmin’s soft and sincere voice filling the space with a feeling one would compare to hugging your mum after a few weeks apart. Like home.

           Hyunjin made eye contact with the boy and soon regretted it, remembering the red and puffy eyes he would not have, not to mention the tear streaked face and snotty nose. What a beautiful sight. “Wow dude, have you been crying?” The younger boy came and sat in front of him, carefully avoiding the clarinet lying abandoned on the floor. “What’s wrong? Can I help with…” he paused to look at Hyunjin’s study notes scattered around the floor “Biology? I could help you study, it’s one of my best subjects.”

           Hyunjin let out a phlegmy laugh, punctuating his sentence with a sniffle. “Every subject is one of your best. I think I’m too far behind to rescue at this point. Plus I don’t even care about science.” His voice gave into the wave of sobs building in his throat and as soon as the last word left his lips the wave crashed down, his chest burning from the crying.

           Seungmin hugged him after a short moment of ‘this person I only talk to about crescendos and concert dates is sitting in front of me sobbing what the fuck’ and began to recall some basic phrases to tell someone whose tears are staining your geography textbook. “You’ll be okay, whatever it is you’ll get past it, it’ll be over soon, it’s not the end of the world, everything’s okay.” His fingers moved in circles up and down his spine, the relaxing movement reminding him of when he was younger and his friend would write syllables on his back and make him guess what they were.

           Slowly his tears eased from a heavy downpour to a sprinkle and he sat up from being folded into Seungmin like a fortune cookie. A sniffle was let out as if it was an invitation for Seungmin to ask about his…situation, and the invitation was accepted.

           “So, and you don’t have to tell me or anything, like it’s totally fine if you don’t want to, like we don’t really know each other, but um, what were you crying about?”

           “Well, it’s pretty dumb…oh my god this is so embarrassing.”

           “You don’t have to tell me-“

           “No,  I want to, I um…I’m just really stressed.”

           “Mood…sorry, do you wanna talk about it?”

           “Well, I’ve been practicing day in day out just for this stupid fucking seat placement audition, and because of that I’ve had no time to do homework or study, so my grades are dropping, and because my grades are dropping my parents are mad, but the whole reason I need to be first clarinet anyway is because I want my parents to be stop bugging me and be proud about at least one thing in my life and my grades are terrible and won’t ever get better, no matter how much I study, so I need to do well in music, but I can’t ever be the best like my parents need me to be because you’re just so fucking good at the clarinet and I’m so shit compared to you and you probably work so much harder than me anyways so I don’t really deserve it and the champions are so soon and that’s just another thing to add onto the top of all my school work and I just can’t handle it anymore Seungmin. Fuck, my parents are gonna kill me when they see my Korean exam, fuck!” By the end of his rant, Hyunjin was crying again, his ears of stress and anger coming out warm and fast, the cussing seeming to wake Seungmin out of the daze he had fallen into.

           “Hey, do you wanna know a secret?” Seungmin said, his tone seeming to glaze over everything that had just been said, Hyunjin knowing that he was listening the whole time.

           “Sure, what?” Hyunjin had a distraction from having a full blown breakdown and at this point, he would take what he could get.

           “Well, I can’t read music. Or, not very well at least. I don’t know why, but my brain just can’t comprehend all those lines on the page.” He loosely waved his hand in the direction of Hyunjin’s sheet music to emphasise his point, being incredibly blasé to the massive bombshell he just dropped onto Hyunjin’s head.

           “But, your sight reading’s so good, how can you not read music?”

           “Well, most of the time I can play by ear and figure out basic rhythms a few bars in, or if I know the song I can normally play it fairly decently. If I have zero idea, then I mainly just, well, you might be a bit annoyed, but I sort of just listen to you play it and then copy it.” Seungmin looked down and fiddled with his fingers, suddenly becoming meek due to Hyunjin’s questioning.

           “You must a fucking super human memory, damn Seungmin, I’m impressed.” Hyunjin’s tears had dried up, the knowledge that his competition had just as many insecurities as he did making him feel a little bit better about his situation.

           “I mean, it’s not that impressive, the only reason I have to is because I can’t learn the real way, sight reading in my exams is a shit show, to put it lightly.”

           “But exams don’t matter, the fact that you made it to section leader with no sheet music or rehearsal marks or anything to rely on is amazing.”

“I guess? I don’t know, I’ve never really thought about it that way. Ms Kim doesn’t know, and I have no intention of her finding out, which is how you know it’s probably not something to be proud of. “

           “Well, I personally believe that’s bullshit, and Ms Kim has a stick shoved so far up her ass I’d be surprised if it wasn’t affecting her hearing.” Hyunjin began to stand up and pack away his things, the motivation and will to live being restored by human company.

           “Do you always swear this much when you’re tired, or is this just a special occasion?” Seungmin gathered his things up as well, their mutual insecurity sharing making them infinitely closer than they were before.

           “A mixture of both I’d say.”

           They talked back and forth, the two having a surprising amount in common other than the clarinet despite having never spoken to each other properly before. It took Hyunjin 5 minutes of walking in the wrong direction to remember where he was going, his lack of awareness clear evidence of his pure exhaustion.

           “Oh, fuck I’m meant to be going the other way. Well, see you soon Seungmin.” As Hyunjin turned to head back  to the station, he felt something tug on his blazer sleeve.

           Seungmin’s worried eyes met his own, the street lights reflecting in his glasses. “You could come over to my house? It’s only 5 minutes’ walk from here and we have ramen.”

           “Well who could say no to that?” Hyunjin shot his parents a quick text letting them know that he’d be out, making sure to turn his phone onto aeroplane mode after it was sent through to avoid the onslaught of threats and insults that would interfere with the one-on-one time with his ‘possibly more than a crush now’ crush.

           They walked slowly through the streets of Seungmin’s neighbourhood, their tired bodies being weighed down by sleepiness. Once or twice Hyunjin thought he saw Seungmin looking at him, but then again, it wouldn’t have been the craziest thing  that he’d imagined about the other boy. Hyunjin broke the silence, a small and insignificant question sitting at the back of his brain like an itch that needed to be scratched.

           “So, why were you at school this late anyway? Like, you know why I was but…you know, what were you doing?” The two finally made eye contact and Seungmin stared inquisitively back at Hyunjin.

           “I was um, I was at tutoring? I don’t know, I thought you’d just assumed that’s where I was, most kids stay out pretty late for private lessons and stuff. I just came back to school to get something from my locker and I heard you playing. Don’t, don’t you get tutoring Hyunjin?”

           Hyunjin felt his heart start beating at the familiar question (one that could only be linked back to his family) was asked. “Um, well, no, my parents don’t really believe in that sort of stuff.” Seungmin looked at him quizzically, expecting a more rebellious/money related answer.

           “Well, both of them got through school pretty well, not top of their class, but up there, you know? Anyway, neither of them had tutoring because their families couldn’t afford it, and now that they can for me they don’t think it’s…necessary? I guess? I don’t really know their logic, but the last time I brought it up I was just told to study harder so, somehow I don’t think it’ll be happening any time soon.”

           Seungmin’s face turned from confused to frustrated, an angry counter-argument bubbling on his lips. “But, that’s just not how it works anymore. Like, it’s impossible to even understand half our school work, let alone be good at it without private stuff. Maybe it was when they were at school, but now it’s just not….it’s not fair for you Hyunjin!”

           Seungmin’s passion for Hyunjin’s education made his heart boil over in fondness, as odd as it may seem. No one had really cared about that kind of stuff before. Well, at least, not in the way that Hyunjin needed. He wondered if Seungmin used to struggle in school, and that’s why he was so intense about it, but before he could ask Seungmin turned left and walked up a pebble path in between two small patches of well-kept grass.

           “My parents aren’t home, so you don’t need to worry about any of that.” Hyunjin being Hyunjin, his mind quickly leapt to the most lewd and inappropriate thing he could think about, eyes boggling out like a fish, but quickly realised Seungmin meant things like talking quietly or being overly polite.

           They took their shoes off and walked/slid (the joy of socks on floor boards) over to the kitchen counter, Hyunjin dropping his bag directly next to Seungmin’s as if anywhere ese in the house would’ve been forbidden for him to alter. The odd things you do in someone else’s house. Seungmin, as if on autopilot, opened the cupboard door and reached for a packet of ramen, quickly remembering that there was two of them and picked up another one. He flicked that kettle on and went about his routine, gathering a pot, spoon, two bowls, two sets of chopsticks.

           The whole thing felt weirdly intimate to Hyunjin, like when you go to a zoo and see animals doing things you wouldn’t want to be seen doing by strangers. He felt like he was watching Seungmin through a glass window, the younger boy pottering around as if no one else was there. It was quite entrancing, actually.

           Well until Seungmin turned around and made direct eye contact with him, making Hyunjin’s shoulders jolt a little bit in fear. His tie undone, blazer discarded and glasses askew, Seungmin looked cute. Well, very cute, to put it lightly. Hyunjin didn’t even notice he was staring, eyes drifting in and out of blurriness like they do when you’re dead tired, until the other boy awkwardly cleared his throat, holding out a bowl of ramen and a pair of chopsticks.

           They sat down to eat, still in relative silence except for the slurping and chewing noises that Hyunjin found repulsive and relaxing at the same time. Like something that smells so bad you can’t stop smelling it. Suddenly, Seungmin let out a giggle. Hyunjin didn’t know why, maybe it was the thrill of not being around his parents, or the fact he was onto his 19th hour of consciousness in a row, but he started laughing too. Soon, both boys were the kind of laughs that make you cry, make your stomach hurt or make you feel like you’re going to vomit. It was pretty funky.

           The laugh’s died down and a question popped into Hyunjin’s brain, one that could possibly flip the whole situation on its head, but he wanted to know the answer, so he asked despite the possible consequences.

           “So, why aren’t your parents home?” Hyunjin instantly regretted his decision when Seungmin seemed to close into himself, fiddling with his chopsticks habitually.

           “Well, my mum’s away for work, she’s works for an insurance company based overseas, so she goes away a lot. My dad works as a bus and taxi driver, and he works the night shifts on the bus. My um, my mum earns a lot, but it’s usually only enough for the house, bills, food, clothes, you know, those kinds of things. My dad works the long hours so that he can pay for my tutoring, because, well, he didn’t have a very good upbringing and didn’t do too well in school, so he wants me to have a better chance than him. That’s why I uh, why I’m “good at everything”, I guess.” Seungmin accentuated the commonly whispered phrase with quotation marks, as if to say he didn’t believe it. Which was bull, because it was true. Well, it was in Hyunjin’s eyes anyway. “I try really hard, I study, I practice the clarinet, play baseball, I fucking…I work so hard, because I want my parents to know that their hard work mounted to something.”

           The two boys sat in silence, Seungmin staring at his ramen bowl, Hyunjin staring at Seungmin. The younger boy looked up, glassy eyes being protected by the soft gaze of Hyunjin, as if saying that it was okay to cry.

           Seungmin didn’t take the invitation, instead standing up to clear away the bowls. Hyunjin grabbed his before the other boy could, and began rinsing away the spicy remnants of their dinner. His thoughts wondered, comparing his life to Seungmin, comparing their parents, their grades, their motivation. He realised that to be motivated by love was much more powerful than to be motivated by fear, and maybe his parents could learn a thing or two from Seungmin’s. Their hands brushed together a few times, at first by accident and then on purpose, before Hyunjin have up on the hints and grabbed Seungmin’s hands in his own, the half washed metal chopsticks clattering into the sink.

           “Seungmin, it’s okay. You don’t need to be embarrassed, or ashamed, or angry or scared, because I know that your parents will love you no matter what, whether you become a baseball player or a musician or a lawyer or a bus driver, your parents will love you knowing that you did your best. It’s okay to blame yourself, and set expectations, but just know that you don’t need to, you have other people who are here. I’m here.” Their hands stayed linked along with their eye contact, a single tear running down Seungmin’s face, making Hyunjin wonder how the first clarinet kept it together when he was crumpled up and sobbing in his lap like a sad piece of origami.

           Before he could think about it anymore, or about how he wished he could give Seungmin all his happiness, even if it wasn’t a lot, he felt arms wrap around his torso and tears warm his shirt.

           ‘Seungmin’s crying, fuck what do I do?’ Hyunjin thought.  Seungmin let out a little giggle, breaking the stream of tears and making Hyunjin realise he’d done a bit more than just thought it.

           Seungmin re-emerged from the shoulder he’d been crying on and before Hyunjin even knew what he was doing, he kissed him. In hindsight, probably not the best idea, but you know, heat of the moment and all that jazz. It wasn’t like he was trying to force his tongue down the other boy’s throat, just a peck, but he did suppose it was a bit uncalled for. The more Hyunjin thought about it, the worse what he had done became and Seungmin’s frozen state wasn’t heling matters.

           “Uh, um sorry, I don’t know why I did that, god, I’m so sorry, I’ll just go now, sorry.” Before Seungmin could voice any protest and/or agreement, Hyunjin had picked up his bag and clarinet, slipped on his shoes and bolted out the door, the adrenaline of kissing Seungmin fuelling him until he sat down on the subway, the repercussions of today finally sinking in. He didn’t want to go home, actually, he didn’t want to go anyway, he just wanted to scream and cry and hug someone all at once. The first new friend he’d had in years, and he just went and fucked it up like the idiot he is. A sentimental, common-sense-lacking, gay idiot.

           Scrolling through his contacts, he was reminded of the friends he did have before completely isolating himself with his clarinet. Contrary to popular belief, he did have friends, quite a few actually, just not at his school. One of his closest friends, a boy called Jisung, used to skateboard with him on Sundays before his parents banned him from doing so, didn’t live far from the next subway stop. The announcers voice brought him back to the weekends where he could be a normal, happy 18 year old for one time slot a week. Where he could laugh and snort and yell and joke and be free for a few hours with his friends, what he’d always dreamed adolescence to be like.

           Not really thinking about anything, he got off at the next station, the familiar homeless man with his wooden flute now sleeping curled up in a duvet, and despite the lack of change in his pocket, he still mustered up 1,000 won, the smiling face of the old man playing on repeat in his mind as he walked up the stairs and out into the chilly night. He hadn’t realised how cold it was until now, but his fingers felt like they were going to stop functioning without some gloves or a heat pack, and he was probably going to need those at some point (the fingers and the gloves).

           Feet moving on instinct more than thought, he turned left and left again, the familiar waving cat in the window of a Chinese restaurant wishing him good luck, and Hyunjin appreciated the sentiment, he needed it. Not remembering the proper etiquette until 100m from Jisung’s house, he unlocked his phone and tapped on the small phone button underneath a particularly puffy-cheeked photo of Jisung. On the fifth ring, he picked up.

           “Hyunjin, bro, what is it? I haven’t seen you in ages dude, but you know it’s like 1am right?” Hyunjin hadn’t realised how late it was and felt bad, until the wind shot a shockwave of shivers along his arms and warmth was more important than manners.    

           “Yeah, I know, I’m really sorry it’s so late, I didn’t even realise, um, this is kind of random, and like you don’t need to let me, but could I sleep at yours tonight? It’s just that…well, it’s a long story.”

           “Um, yeah, sure, you can tell me when you get here, I’ll leave the front door unlocked, just come up to my room and remember where the creaky floor board is, see you soon.”

           “Thank you so much, see you.”

Hyunjin, had never been more grateful more Jisung’s chill parents or for Jisung not questioning him, and for the heat that encompassed him as he shut the door behind him and locked it carefully, slipping off his shoes for the second time that night. He was extra cautious when stepping around the loose floorboard right outside Jisung’s parents’ room, deciding that they deserved a good night’s sleep more than anyone else.

           As he opened the door to Jisung’s room slowly, he realised with a sad thought that this was probably the earliest he’s gone to bed all week, the overflowing levels of homework needing to be completed once he got home every night keeping him up until the early hours of the morning. Jisung’s bed head and familiar squirrel-like face stuck up from under his bed sheets, and the worried look in his eyes made Hyunjin almost breakdown, again.

           “Hey Hyunjin, it’s been a while hasn’t it.”

           “Yeah, it has been.” Hyunjin replied wetly with a bit of a sniffle, determined not to cry. He didn’t think he could even if he wanted to, the tear supply running a tad too low.

           “Here, put these on and then hop in. You look like you could use the sleep.”

           Hyunjin caught the sweat pants and hoodie that were thrown his way and proceeded to turn around and change. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for one of them to be getting changed in front of the other, especially due to the clothes-destroying nature of skateboarding.

           He lifted up the sheets and sat under them on the bed, Jisung’s arm coming to wrap around his shoulder and rub up and down his arm. He vaguely remembered Jisung setting an alarm and making sure that Hyunjin’s laptop and phone were charging before drifting off into sleep, the thoughts of Seungmin and school still running laps around his head.

After waking up and getting dressed, Hyunjin explained the events of the previous day to Jisung, gaining a little bit of comfort from the sympathetic gaze and sincere words. They finished up their breakfast and Hyunjin thanked Jisung’s parents, both of them making sure to remind him to come over whenever he felt like it. They’d always been more like parents to him than his own, ever since middle school when he helped Jisung get home safely after spraining his ankle playing soccer.

           Hyunjin’s clarinet felt heavy in his hand, a weighted reminder of the consequences he would have to deal with later in the day, including those during and after band rehearsal. He knew he wouldn’t be able to focus with Seungmin sitting next to him for an hour and a half, but he decided to cross that bridge when he came to it.

           After a quick organisation of plans to meet up soon, Hyunjin and Jisung parted ways at the subway station, Jisung to get on a bus and Hyunjin to take the (slightly shorter than usual) subway ride back to school. His mind raced with what he would say to Seungmin, what Seungmin would say to him, what his parents would say, what his teachers would say about his lack of homework completion. He’d taken his phone off of aeroplane mode to call Jisung last night, but hadn’t checked to see if his parents had messaged or tried to call him.

           Opening the messages app, the lack of a little red circle telling him what he already knew, there was his text conversation with his mum, the message not even read, let alone replied to. Some would take it as a blessing, but the fact his parents cared little about his whereabouts or safety filled Hyunjin with a longing for a familial relationship with his parents like the one Jisung, or even Seungmin, had. It had been like that his entire life, and got even worse with the beginning of middle school, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

He didn’t realise how awful he looked until waiting to get off the train and having nowhere to look other than his glassy, transparent reflection. His hair was a nest of flyaways and messy strands, eye bags more purple and prominent than ever, and his face looked red and swollen; a mixture of sleep and multiple bouts of crying. He accepted the stares this time, knowing what he looked like made it much easier to understand passer-bys’ fascination with him, although it really shouldn’t. He was surprised most Korean school children didn’t look like this on a day to day basis.

The sideways glances and discrete (ish) looks continued as he entered the front doors of the school, making a bee line for his classroom. As he sat down and prepared to sleep for the next hour of self-studying, his mind went blank for the first time in over 24 hours of consciousness. It was relaxing, a very welcome change from the overactive thoughts that had calmed from a storm into clear skies.

Walking back into the band room after ducking out swiftly when noticing he was going to be all alone with Ms Kim, Hyunjin’s eyes landed straight onto Seungmin’s small frame. Their gazes met and hastily shifted directions, wanting to avoid contact for as long as possible before they had to sit next to each other for an extended period of time that seemed to be getting longer and longer. It’s only been 10 minutes, 5 of which had been spent setting up chairs, but Hyunjin felt like he’d been there for hours.

           The minutes ticked past, and with every click of the clock hand, Hyunjin felt the tension between him and the first clarinet growing thicker and thicker; a fast growing fungus that fed on anxiety and angry band directors. Every time their hands went near each other reaching for a pencil, every time they accidentally made eye contact, or worse, physical contact, Hyunjin saw Seungmin visually cringe away, and he hated himself. Not only had he ruined whatever relationship might have been brewing between them, but he made Seungmin so uncomfortable that he couldn’t look at him. He broke the minimal amount of trust that had been weaving in the space between them, and for that he didn’t think he could forgive himself. Was Hyunjin over reacting? Maye. But was he also sad? Yes, and feelings deserved to be recognised, whether their dumb or not.

           When the rehearsal ended, the two stood up and faced each other, the younger quickly scurrying away to accept his weekly debriefing/insult collecting, and Hyunjin returning to his case to pack away his clarinet. Determined to keep tradition alive and to foster some spark of hope still alive inside of him, Hyunjin placed his packed up case next to Seungmin’s empty one, a stroke of despair striking through him as he realised that the other boy was still being scolded by their paranoid conductor, still convinced that their band wasn’t and would never be good enough.

           They both picked up the two remaining chairs in the room, everyone except them having scampered out as soon as possible. Considering their seniority in the school, Ms Kim could trust them enough to lock the door after they left. Avoiding eye contact was becoming one of Hyunjin’s specialties, he realised, not having looked at Seungmin properly for over an hour and a half (impressive, considering his old habits of ‘look at sheet music, Seungmin, sheet music, Seungmin). As they entered the storage room he decided that enough was enough, and spoke his proper words of, well, now that he thought about it, it had probably been around 9 hours since he uttered more than one word in a row.

           “Hey, Seungmin, look, about yesterday, I’m really sorry, I don’t know why I did it, it was really stupid and I’m so sorry.”

           The clack of a chair was all the warning he got before Seungmin was directly in front of him, hands in his own. Their faces were disturbingly (yet enjoyably) close together, and he could feel the warm puffs of breath from the other brushing against his face.

           “You know, I was going to tell you not to leave, but you kind of just, booked it out my front door without much warning. I mean, I probably would’ve done the same, but usually my crushes don’t like me back.”

           Hyunjin was silent. Seungmin liked him? Really? He blinked his eyes a few times just to check everything was really there, the little movement found cute by the other as the smaller boy let out a little giggle, before brushing Hyunjin’s hair out of his eyes and giving him a little kiss on the nose.

           “Hey, this is super romantic, but my nose is greasy as hell.” He couldn’t resist the little comment that escaped his lips, not regretting a single thing as he saw Seungmin’s eyes crinkle in amusement and his mouth twitch with a possible retort.

           “Maybe I’ll just have to kiss somewhere else then.” His mouth quirked up a little before reaching up to give Hyunjin a little peck on the lips, their mouths a little bit swollen and sore from playing. Seungmin’s hands came to rest on the bottom of Hyunjin’s blazer, fingers curling around the fabric as they leaned their foreheads against each other’s, the taller boy bringing his arms up to rest on the other’s shoulders. They swayed slowly back in forth in the musty little storage room to music that wasn’t playing, and Hyunjin, for the first time in years, hadn’t a worry in the world.

[toast-tit]

Piano Man

Chapter Five

mob!Tom x reader

Warnings: language, violence

A/N: Just message me if you want to be on the tag list:)

Summary: The Ecclesiastes Pub catered to a plethora of people. Prostitutes, college students, successful businessmen and London’s most wanted. Bartenders and waitresses learned to tune out conversations from their customers quickly if they wanted to keep their head. However, people will still come looking for trouble, even if that trouble revolves around Tom Holland, the most feared mob boss around

~ ~ ~

According to Harrison and Tom, the man after me was a hit man named Elias Rigsby, or the Piano Man. He’s wanted internationally and is a free agent, so anyone can hire him to kill whoever they please. In the 10 years he has been terrorizing people, there’s barely a single trace of him and we were lucky to even know his name. Rigsby was perhaps the deadliest man in the world and he was after me.

After the incident in the office, Tom and I stayed quiet, only talking to each other when necessary, which was unfortunately a lot. It didn’t seem to bother him a lot, but since I was closer to being a human being, I felt the exact opposite. I was never quite the fidgeter when I was younger, but now I always need my hands to do something so that I can look down at them when Tom tries to make eye contact. I know it’s a sign of submission, but at this point, I really didn’t give a shit about what was submissive or not. The man was insane.

I was on the phone with a man named Leslie Turnpaugh, trying to fit him into Tom’s schedule when the line had cut dead. “Hello?” I asked tentatively but I got nothing back. After a minute of this silence, a voice spoke and I froze, knowing who it was. “Number two, forty five minutes,” they said and the call ended.

Immediately I checked my phone and there it was, a new photo. I opened the message and look at the picture. It was a man with light blond hair and a beer belly, kissing a woman on the cheek. He had a mole above his lip and a scar on his cheek that made him more noticeable. I looked at the photo for a little while longer before I realized I only had 40 minutes to find him.

I pushed my chair back a little too roughly and I ran up the stairs, bursting into Tom’s office. He didn’t have the chance to say anything before I shoved the phone in his face saying, “Find out who he is.”

I sat in his office for about twenty minutes, biting my nails as Tom, Harrison, and some other men scrambled to find out who he was. The minutes were dwindling down and my anxiety was ever growing. Finally, Tom spoke up, “Chester Harris, 29, lives at your old complex. Harrison, take Jacob and Michael with you and find the man.” Harrison nodded and left quickly.

“Y/N,” Tom said but I didn’t budge, my mind was still in Chester and the Piano Man. “Y/N,” he said my name a little louder, but I still didn’t do anything. A tear slipped down my cheek and I moved to wipe it away and began shaking, something I was trying my hardest not to do.

I finally looked Tom in the eye and he revealed no emotion and I didn’t expect him to. “One day he’s going to send me my photo. It’s going to be me soon,” I whispered, not trusting my voice. As much as I hated thinking about it, I really needed to hug someone; I craved a comforting sort of intimacy right now. Tom shook his head, “You’re safe here, Y/N. Nobody touches anyone remotely close to me.”

“What about Barton? You killed him for a reason, Tom. Someone named Harry. He had to have meant something,” I questioned, nervous to his reaction. Surprisingly, Tom sighed and picked up one of the few photos of his family and looked at it. “Barton and Rigsby are well acquainted. Rigsby has done multiple tasks for Barton to keep his hands clean. One of them was someone I cared about and that was the last time someone I loved slipped through my fingers,” Tom put the photo down roughly and met my eyes. “Trust me, I’ll won’t let him get you,” there was a soft edge to his voice and I let my guard down a bit. I was warming up to him, whether he knew or not. Even when he’s threatening me because I crossed another line, I was beginning to care a little more. Funny, I’ve only been here a few weeks and I was beginning to have feelings for the mobster.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I choked the words out, not really knowing what to say. I had forgotten that he had lost also, whether if it’s because of his own accord or because of someone. My phone buzzed and the two of us perked up. I didn’t want to look at it, but I knew I had to. Slowly, I opened my messages and saw the photo of Chester Harris, strangled with a piano string, blood dripping down his neck. Dropping my phone on the floor, I covered my mouth and ran out of the office, desperately seeking solitude.

I rushed into my room and quickly closed the door. Instead of heading to my bed I went straight into my bathroom and threw up, sitting by the toilet and began crying horridly. It was to the point where I was dry heaving and screaming whilst shaking uncontrollably. The body of Chester Harris was etched in my mind with fire and I couldn’t smother it. It would only be a matter of time before a piano string would be wrapped around my neck and my family would never hear from me again. Tom would move on as if I was another burden and I would be six feet underground, the life I hadn’t started living taken from me so soon.

The door to my bedroom opened and I immediately straightened myself up. I wiped my mouth and my tears, stood up and looked in the mirror. I was a fucking wreck. Even though my setting spray is usually really good and could withstand a hurricane, it does not bode well with nervous breakdowns and my eye makeup was streaming down my cheeks and smeared. My face was pale and sickly, my eyes still very bloodshot. My hair was practically one giant knot that no brush could fix; it was funny that I looked presentable only minutes ago.

Tom entered the bathroom and saw me sitting on the floor, my face buried in my hands. He sat in front of me, gently placing his finger under my chin and moving it up, so he could see my face. His eyes scanned mine, showing what almost seemed to be sympathy, or maybe empathy?

“You’re safe here, Y/N,” he said gently. In fact, this was the kindest he had been to me. If I hadn’t been wrecked at the moment, I might have been intimidated, but right now, I needed what he was providing. “You say that, but am I? Anything could happen, Tom,” I keep my eyes on him, not wanting to lose the little contact I had. His finger was still under my chin and I internally begged that he would not remove it. I craved human touch. I needed to know I was alright, even if I wasn’t.

“Anything could happen,” he reiterated my words and with that, he leaned in and kissed my lips. It took me by surprise, but I definitely was not going to pull back. He was gentle and tentative, not at all how I imagined. I kissed back, placing my hand behind his neck and pushed him closer, making the kiss deeper.

He put his hands on my hips and practically lifted me on top of him, not once breaking the kiss. His fingers skimmed the hem of my shirt lightly before lifting it, taking it off and throwing it in the near distance. The cool air of the bathroom caught me by surprise, but I didn’t react much to it, too caught up on the man under me.

He broke the kiss and started kissing my neck, going to a lower spot each time. I moaned quietly and he did the same. He reached my collarbone and stayed there for a while, switching from butterfly kisses to sucking on the skin. “Tom,” I breathed, pulling away from him. Tom looked at my collarbone, where a dark red hickey embellished my skin and then met my eyes with longing. “Is something wrong?” He asked. I shook my head, “Not at all...I just don’t think I could do this today. I’m not in a go-“ “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, darling,” he stroked my cheek with his thumb before replacing it with his lips, “I understand completely.”

We sat on the bathroom floor for a little while longer, embracing one another. I started to cry quietly again, thinking of Ellen Rhie and Chester Harris. I thought of Elias Rigsby coming after me not because he had a vendetta against me, but because I was just another dollar sign.

The two of us finally recollected ourselves and stood up. Tom handed me my shirt and I took it back sheepishly. “Thanks,” I muttered and I put it back on. “Maybe I should’ve kept it, I was enjoying the view,” Tom smiled and I felt myself go red. “Of course you would, it’s not like you get to see it that often,” I retorted, hoping I could return to my normal self.

Tom clicked his tongue, “I see it more often than you think, princess. I just happen to like yours best.” “I’m honored,” I placed my hand over my heart in a satirical manner and left the bathroom. I looked out the giant window and watched as Harrison and his men came back, a look of defeat painted across their faces.

“I was in the witness protection program,” I confessed and Tom arched an eyebrow. “When I was 10, I was walking with my mother to the grocery store and help pick out Christmas presents for my brother when in an alley nearby a man and a woman were fighting. My mother walked ahead of me and went into the store, but I stayed behind. I don’t remember much about the conversation, but it was about a deal gone wrong. The man pulled out a gun and shot her three times, one in the chest and two in the heart. His face came out from the shadows and I recognized him, he was a serial killer that had been terrorizing America. He saw that I had witnessed the murder and he ran after me, the gun in his hand. My mother...she saw what was going on and she ran in front of me and he-“ I lowered my head and breathed deeply, trying not to let the memory destroy me again.

“I know,” Tom said, watching me carefully. I continued, “So I was in the protection program for years with a new family who cared for me as their own. I graduated secondary school and went to college, moving on with my life when I ran into him again.” Flashes of memory creeped in and I remembered the moment we ran into each other, the way his face contorted into surprise as mine turned into anger and pure rage. “There was a knife in my back pocket. Blinded with rage and vengeance for my mother, I-“ “You don’t have to keep going, Y/N. I know,” he put his hand on my shoulder, but I brushed it off and continued.

“Arthur found me with his body. He didn’t call the police or anything. Instead, he helped me clean up and gave me a job at the pub and his silence. We never spoke of it again, even on his deathbed,” I remembered being there with Cooper, holding Arthur’s hand telling him stories from my childhood. I remembered he closed his eyes and smiled sweetly, resting his head back. He let go of my hand and went for a teary eyed Cooper and squeezed his hand, saying, “No matter what, my children. The pub is there for you and so am I.” He exhaled one last time before he died, and I comforted Cooper for almost a year.

“What I did those years ago doesn’t define me as some evil person though, Tom. I’m no angel, that’s a guarantee, but there’s always that thought in my mind, even though I’m as low as the man I killed, don’t I deserve to live? Didn’t he deserve to live?” I asked. It was meant to be rhetorical, but I wanted an answer. “Life is made for everyone, it’s their choice to make sure they deserve it or not,” Tom said, “There will always be people who don’t deserve life, myself included. But you do, Y/N. You deserve to grow old and watch the days come and nights pass.”

My gaze finally broke from the window and I met his eyes. What were we doing? Just a few weeks ago, I probably meant nothing to him, and here I was, hopelessly wishing that he could grow old with me. This man, the scariest man in all of London, who points guns at anyone who inconveniences him, who puts people in their place even if they’re on the brink of death, and gets off on fear, had began to hold my emotions and my heart hostage and I didn’t care. Did he care though? Did Tom really care for my safety? Did what happen in the bathroom just moments ago a front or was it real?

Though I meant to say something to him, I forgot my words as I looked at the man I might love. Instead, I hugged him tightly silently thanking him for everything he has given me. The bedroom door opened and we quickly jumped away from one another. Harrison entered the room and looked at Tom shaking his head. “I know,” He answered and followed Harrison downstairs.

I stayed back, going back into the bathroom and starting a shower. My phone pinged and I picked it up, relieved that it was only Cooper. I smiled slightly and typed a reply before turning my phone off and climbing in the shower.

I got out and was met with a thick cloud of steam. Wrapping a towel around myself, I left the restroom and was greeted by a completely dark bedroom. Cautiously, I turned on the lightswitch and noticed something on top of my bed.

On top of my bed was a Polaroid photo of me with Cooper having drinks on my 20th birthday. With a shaking hand, I picked it up and turned it over. In scrawled writing, it said: Three days.

CHAPTER SIX

TAG LIST:

@financialinstability @magical-fairy-princess-stuff

[ushijimawakaflockaflame-blog]

K-Pop/Boyband AU - Kuroko no Basket Version

mori: I’ve been away for a bit because I’m so focused on K-Pop and GRE prep lol but here’s one since I did hq version. This one’s pretty predictable tho??? especially if you’ve heard all of gom sing... but here!

LEADER/VOCALIST: Akashi Seijuro

Like Oikawa, Akashi is the lead vocalist and the one who has trained the longest. He has a natural talent and is known to be a prodigy with perfect pitch and amazing musicality abilities when learning the choreograph. He keeps the group together and focused and honestly, the group wouldn’t know what to do without him. He contributes to the lyrics, but not as much as others, because he’s not as poetic or romantic lol, which is why he’s not super into the ballad songs. He prefers the more uppity ones, even if he doesn’t look like it. Akashi does most of the talking during interviews, although Kise likes to steal the spotlight here and there. Although Akashi is the leader, he’s actually the maknae (youngest member)! He always gets compliments on being both the leader and the maknae, although he isn’t as cutesy as the typical maknae. Akashi specializes in vocals, piano, and composition/lyrics.

LEAD RAPPER: Aomine Daiki

It’s certainly a trend that the rappers train the least before the debut, and Aomine is no exception, only training for about four months. Before his debut, he did a lot of editing and making beats for his friends because he never wanted to be in the spotlight, but after realizing how much chicks love rappers, he decided to give it a shot. Who knew such a deep voice like his would be a hit!? He started off on youtube before hitting cyphers and other competitions, and after winning his first cypher, he was scouted by the label. The rest of the group voted Aomine the hardest to work with because he’s super lazy and does not want to work. The group can’t complain, though, because when Aomine contributes and works, he does it well, like too well. Aomine writes all of the rapper parts because Murasakibara doesn’t care, lol. He’s also the one that always takes his shirt off on stage.... Aomine specializes in rapping, making beats, and editing.

VOCALIST/MAIN DANCER/ALL AROUND PERFORMER: Kise Ryouta

Kise is the face of the group, always front and center in photoshoots and interviews. Kise is the definition of Jack of All Trades, Master of None, because he’s pretty good at everything, although not outstanding in one. That being said, Kise can rap, but he definitely prefers to sing. If he had the option to, he’d only dance and choreograph all the hits, but no idol has ever done that before. He’s a fan favorite because he likes to interact and talk to the fans, so he’s in charge of all social media aspects. His favorites are live streams and vlogs because he likes answering fans’ questions. Outside of all the performing, he also likes to act and model. Kise’s appeared in the most music videos, photoshoots, and television shows than all the other members combined. Although he loves the spotlight, his favorite past time is listening to the other members compose their songs and being in the dance studio. Kise specializes in choreography.

LEAD VOCALIST: Kuroko Tetsuya

Kuroko is the oldest member of the group, although all the fans like to call him the maknae for being the shortest and cutest. He’s a fan favorite among the younger fans. Kuroko was the second member to join the group, so he and Akashi are closer compared to the rest of the members. He’s known for his angelic voice and poetic nature, so Kuroko writes the majority of the groups lyrics with the other lead vocalist, Midorima. He also is in charge of line distributions (which member sings/raps which parts) because he is the most unbiased. Kuroko is very camera shy and has a hard time shooting music videos, but Aomine is the one who brings him out of the shadows and teaches him on how to be confident. It took a while for Kuroko to get used to being on the stage, but over time, he got really tired from being so anxious and decided that being so nervous was not worth the trouble and easily got over his fear. He and Murasakibara are easily the worst dancers, and it’s super cute! Kuroko specializes in vocals and composition/lyrics.

LEAD VOCALIST: Midorima Shintarou

Aomine might be the hardest to work with because he’s so lazy, but Midorima is the hardest to work with because he’s too strict. Midorima likes to have strict practicing schedules and a strict diet to keep their bodies in check and in shape. The fans like to call him Mommy Midorima because they all know that he cleans the dorms and takes good care of the rest of the members. Despite his strict and hostile nature, he’s easily top 3 in fan favorites because the fans love the tsundere, the glasses, and his deep voice. Along with Kuroko, Midorima writes the lyrics to most of the songs. Midorima contributes more to the ballads, so you might hear him sing more in those songs lol. When the group loses an award, Midorima is the most heartbroken about it because he thinks that his lyrics weren’t good enough. After a loss, he’ll retreat to his room and try to write the next big hit. When the group wins, he can’t wipe his silly smile off of his face for a week! Midorima specializes in vocals and composition/lyrics.

RAPPER: Murasakibara Atsushi

Murasakibara can’t sing for his life, so he settled for rapping, and he thought he was surprisingly good at it. He auditioned for the label and was the fourth member to join the group. He can’t dance for shit, so he spent most of his pre-debut days trying to learn ow to dance. It’s because he’s so tall that he hits the counts a little too late, it’s not his fault!! His long hair and muscular stature makes him a fan favorite of the older variety, especially when he ties his hair back. He and Kise are the ones that are always asked to model in photoshoots. Murasakibara zones out during interviews, so don’t even bother asking him a question. he leaves the lyric writing to Aomine because he trusts his abilities and because he can’t write for shit, either, he’s just good at rapping, lol. During their pre-debut days, Aomine and Mura would hang out to get to know each other more so Aomine would have a better idea of what he was feeling and could put it into words for him to rap. Now Mura goes to Aomine for all his problems and feelings and Aomine helps him create lyrics. Murasakibara specializes in rapping.

[1ooo-w0rds]

Layers of Drew - Lacy

FF.NET LINK

Hey cutie. - E Lacy read over the text message again, unable to stop the smile from spreading on her lips. Her index finger twirled a curl of her blond hair, wondering how exactly to reply. Someone plopped beside Lacy, intentionally bumping their shoulder with hers. “Ooh, what are you grinning about?” Julie teased as she pinched Lacy’s side. Julie’s brown eyes scanned the text when Lacy tilted her phone towards her. “E? Who’s E?”

“I’m hoping…” Lacy trailed off as she looked across the rec room. Brooklyn Academy of the Gifted treated their students well. Aside from furnished dorms, they had a full staff kitchen, various art and music practice rooms and well-equipped recreational room. It had large leather couches, a projector for movies and a pool table. Three boys hanged around the table, laughing as they played with the balls. She quickly typed out a message and watched. Who’s this?

“Eric?” Julie whispered as they both watched a the blond of the group pat his pocket like he felt the vibration from Lacy’s text. Her eyes widen as she clenched Lacy’s arm. “Eric Johnson, president of the hottie club?” Lacy shushed her friend but bit her lower lip as Eric slid his phone out of his pocket. “You are having a fantastic week.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Lacy replied as she scrolled through her social media but still keeping tabs on the boys. Ryan, a handsome African-American boy, half leaned on a bar stool as he passively watched his friends and read at the same time. Beside him, Sam impatiently tapped his foot waiting for his turn as he watched Eric circle the table. They nagged Eric ruthlessly but the blond was unfazed, lining up his shots. He bended down, almost parallel to the table with the cue stick held easily in his long arms. Like he could feel Lacy’s gaze, his hazel eyes lifted up to meet hers. A corner of his lips curled up before he winked and hit the cue ball with a sharp crack. Ryan and Sam both groaned as the solid ball landed into the pocket.

“You're done admiring the view?” Julie teased as Lacy flushed, dragging her eyes away from the boys. It’s not like the other girls weren’t watching them either. “And you know exactly what I mean.” She held up one of her long piano player fingers. “Ryan, Mr. Tall, dark and brooding, held a whole conversation with you in chemistry. He doesn’t talk. Period.” Lacy shrugged her shoulders, they were partners for an experiment. They had to communicate.

“Sam, in his lovable clumsy fashion, nearly knocked you down in the lunch line today but did a very suave move and caught you, avoiding a disaster.” Lacy rubbed her shoulder, remembering the feel of his strong arm around her. It wasn’t too bad. “And now, Eric is texting you.” Julie squinted at Lacy. “Did you get your braces off?”

Lacy quickly covered her mouth and glared at Julie who laughed in response. “Maybe.” She whispered before brushing a strand of her hair out of her forehead. Maybe my powers are just acting up. She wondered, touching the bead bracelet she wore. Lacy tries her hardest to taper off her demigod powers especially in the mortal world. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence.” Julie gave Lacy either a concern or confused look before pulling out her laptop. Lacy’s phone vibrated and the girl smiled as she recognize the sender. Before she could read it, someone swiped the phone out of her hand. “Hey!” Lacy turned around on the couch before her voice trailed off. “Drew…”

The tall Asian girl stood there in sinfully short black shorts and a white v-neck t-shirt. Her dark hair dripped from her shower as she toweled it off casually with one hand. Her brown eyes scanned the text message with an unreadable expression. Lacy physically shrunk back when she saw Drew. “Hmm, interesting.” Drew murmured as she looked over to the boys before tossing Lacy’s phone back. “That one is a little out of your league.”

Lacy lowered her gaze, clenching her fingers. “Hey Tanaka,” Julie shouted as she sat up, quickly rushing in. “It’s not like she’s chasing him. All those boys noticed Lacy. You’re not the only pretty girl the hottie club taken an interest in.” Drew’s movements slowed as she gather her hair over one shoulder, drying the ends. She processed Julie’s words silently, unfazed. “Not everyone wants you, Drew.”

A dark smile spread across Drew’s lips. “Oh, you want to bet?” Drew said as she draped her towel over a chair. Her gaze slowly slid over to the boys as she plucked a pen from the table and artfully twisted her long hair into a bun. Lacy, and nearly everyone in the room, turned as Drew confidently strolled over to the boys. Even Ryan lifted his gaze from his book as Drew passed by. Daughter of Aphrodite for sure. Eric paused mid-shot as he noticed Drew beside him. “Hey.”

“Bombshell Tanaka,” Eric addressed as he stood up, not moving away from Drew. She invaded his space, taking the first step. Drew’s well manicured fingers tapped the table, inches away from his hand. Lacy watched in dread as her older sister worked her magic. “Any reason why you’ve graced us with your presence?” Deliberately, Drew reached up, wrapped her hand firmly around his cue stick. Eric’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he held her gaze.

“Wanna give me a lesson?” She asked in a sultry voice, possibly hinting towards more. A smirk curled around Eric’s lips as he took a step closer. Unable to watch, Lacy grabbed her things and rushed out of the room.

###

Lacy didn’t speak to Drew for a week. It wasn’t difficult. The two girls rarely shared any classes. They were in two different divisions of BAG’s art program. Lacy threw herself into her art, spending hours with her canvas and paints. She’s known for her bright colors and vibrant pieces that jumped off the pages. Lately Lacy picked up charcoal. The rough feel of the medium in her fingers, staining them for hours. The contrast of the ugly black against the pure white pages before something emerged from the paper. Art is about discovery for Lacy. She never knew what would be created until the very end.

“Lace,” Julie started as she set her breakfast beside the sketching girl. Lacy hummed as she moved her pencil across her pad, shading the wings of a crow taking off. “Please, we’re at breakfast. Can you eat?” Lacy nodded her head as she added the finishing touches before pulling away. The bottom of her hand marked with gray from the pencil and black from the charcoal she must have missed. “Charcoal? You know you only use that when you’re frustrated.”

“I…” Lacy tried to deny it but lowered her gaze, accepting the napkin Julie passed as she wiped her hands. “I don’t want to paint when I’m angry.”

“It’s Drew, isn’t it?” Julie asked as she looked over. Drew sat alone beside the window in her dancing leggings, tank top and loose light purple hoodie. Her dark hair braided over her shoulder as she stirred her coffee. The latest Vogue magazine held in her hand as she read an article. Lacy shrugged her shoulders.

Like a firework, Drew effortlessly drew all the boys attention away from Lacy. She played many parts with all the guys. With Ryan, Drew was the scholar, talking about classics books and movies. With Sam, she was the cheerleader, attending sports events she normally wouldn’t. All the students noticed as Drew got closer to the boys. Lacy stirred her cereal, trying to process her own feelings.

“I think I know Drew.” Lacy answered carefully, selecting her words. “She’s a dancer. The way she stands. The words she say. Every little movement. It’s deliberate. It’s an action to pull you in, drawing your eyes towards her. She won’t hesitate to give her opinion. Pushy in a way that feels almost disrespectful. She takes and takes and takes and then smiles when you have nothing else to give.”

“That’s - “

“TANAKA!” Lacy and Julie jumped at the booming voice, spinning in their plastic chairs. Eric stomped through the cafeteria, hazel eyes glaring at the Japanese girl. Drew idly sipped her coffee, unbothered as the tall boy approached her. Eric slapped his hand down on her magazine, knocking it out of her hand. The utensils raddled at the violent impact. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Drew sighed, placing her hands daintily in her lap, and looked up. “I believe I was reading, Johnson. We’re not on first name basis anymore? Such a shame.” Eric growled and grabbed Drew’s hand, physically dragging her out of her seat. Lacy gasped as she stood up. The two teens glared at each other. Drew’s fingers curled into a fist. “Let go.” She ordered in a calm tone. Maybe it was the anger or fury, but Eric’s grip tightened around Drew’s wrist, not feeling the charmspeak.

“What do you think you’re doing, bitch?” Eric hissed, inches away from Drew’s face. With her free hand, Drew reached into the pocket of her hoodie, pulling out a sleek smartphone. Eric noticed the motion. His grip loosened as he saw the device.

“Good boy,” Drew taunted as she pulled her arm out of his slack grip. “And watch your language. That’s now how you address a lady. Wouldn’t want the college board to know about your little game?” Lacy pushed herself through the crowd of students. Drew hid a smile behind her phone as she stared Eric down. “Thanks for the extra pic. Not what I expected but no one has to know. It’ll be our little secret.” Drew looked over Eric’s shoulder, noticing Lacy. She placed a well manicured hand on his shoulder and said in his ear. “Know your place and don’t mess with my girls.”

###

News travel fast in a small school. Lacy heard it all throughout the day. Eric insulted Drew. Drew broke up with Eric. Drew cheated on Eric with one of the boys. There were so many theories but when anyone tried to ask Eric, the boy shut down, keeping his mouth closed. No one dared to approach Drew about it. Well, almost no one.

Lacy opened the door that lead to the halls of the dance studios. It was eerily quiet because of the soundproof walls. Unlike the art hallway, the walls were stark white with bulletin boards of announcements and posters of competitions. Thin windows of the doors revealed the occupants. A pair of ballroom dancers going through familiar steps. A dance group practicing new choreography. Lacy paused when she recognized the slender figure with her arms held up like she was facing a partner.

Drew’s expression was so serious Lacy almost didn’t recognize her sister. Her hair pulled back tightly in a high ponytail. She moved fluently taking long confident steps. She turned and spun with grace, looking nearly effortlessly. Her back and arms created elegant lines. Drew stopped suddenly and turned towards the door. Lacy nearly jumped back in shock. Drew’s expression softened and she waved her sister in.

“You’re acknowledging my presence?” Drew asked as she walked over to her bag, fishing out a towel. Lacy opened her mouth to deny it but stopped. Three distinct bruises lined Drew’s wrist. The exact spot Eric grabbed her. “Proof.” Drew started, pulling Lacy’s gaze away. “That I stood up to the big bad Eric.”

“What was that about?” Lacy asked, squeezing her messenger bag strap. Drew turned away. “No, you don’t get to say nothing.” Her voice quivered but she held her ground. Drew looked at Lacy with a mixed expression. “I’m not a child, Drew. You can’t always protect me.”

“I can try.” Drew whispered so softly Lacy almost missed it. Drew reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. “The boys had a bet going on. A little fun game to keep the school year interesting. I’ve heard rumors about it from the upperclassmen. Which one can sleep with the girl the fastest.” Drew held her phone out, unlocked with a screenshot of text messages. Lacy took it as she set her bags down beside Drew’s. “I charmspoke Sam into sending me this as evidence. Eric is the clear ring leader. You were next target.”

“That’s…” Lacy breathed as she read the messages. Little quiet. - R The quiet ones are always a little wild. - E Lacy’s hands shook as she read more and more. Bile bubbled in her throat, disgusted with these boys. She could feel Drew’s eyes on her face. Lacy closed her eyes as she handed the device back. “That’s why you flirted with the guys.”

“I’m a good distraction.” Drew replied as she tossed the phone into her bag. Lacy leaned against the wall before sliding down to the floor, unable to stand. She felt manipulated like a toy for those boys. Tears welled at the corner of her eyes. “I have ammo on those boys now. They don’t call me Bombshell Tanaka for no reason.” Lacy chuckled as she rubbed her eyes. Drew crouched down and gently brushed a stray out of her face. “I’m sorry, Lace.”

“At least you’re using your mean girl power for good rather than evil.” Lacy commented as she gave Drew a half-smile. Drew groaned, rolling her eyes, as she sat down.

“Don’t tell Piper. She’s already a pain to deal with.” Lacy and Drew laughed, settling in a comfortable quiet. Drew went through her stretches as Lacy watched. “I know,” Drew said after a moment. Lacy tilted her head, confused as Drew leaned forward. “You don’t need protection but…”

“You’re here.” Lacy caught up, finishing her sister’s sentence. Drew turned her head and their eyes meet, both thinking about their big sister who wasn’t here. “And…” Lacy continued, “you will do everything in your power to protect me. You’re a good big sister.” Drew nodded her head with a ghost of a smile against her lips as she returned to her leg stretches. “You’re just crap at showing it.”

“Hey…” Drew warned with a laugh. Lacy giggled as Drew reached out and patted her leg. “You’re not a bad little sister either.”

[98blossom]

setting: spanning the years 2013 to 2017, set in an au in which nari’s family is a big player in black market dealings summary: at 13, kim nari is innocent and naive. at 15, she discovers the truth. at 18, nari has changed. at 19, nari is dead. warnings: light gore, blood, scary situations, implied torture, death, and just overall sad vibes  

                    at 13, kim nari is innocent and naive, full of hope and longing. she believes her life is as ordinary as anyone’s, that her family is composed of three utterly normal people, and like many children who grow bored of the routine their parents establish, she wishes for adventure. she dreams of becoming a musician, of performing for audiences in grand stadiums -- even if she’s behind the scenes playing for a singer. sometimes she imagines what it might be like putting on a show in the middle of the street like she’s seen on the internet and wonders how likely she is to be scouted by an agency. at 13, nari believes herself to be just another kid with a dream.

                    at 15, she discovers the truth, or rather, the truth crashes into her ordinary life.

                    she comes home to a quiet apartment -- not uncommon on a tuesday evening when her mother is tutoring her students and her father is likely still at work -- and while nari yells, “ i’m home, ” out of habit on most days, the words never make it past her lips. the living room is a wreck with the coffee table overturned, the lamp her grandparents bought laying broken on the wooden floor, papers and a few magazines scattered around, and a takeout box of jajangmyeon spilled by the couch. her heart is in a frenzy by the time she’s done taking it all in, hand flying to the phone in her back pocket when she hears muffled voices.

                    nari freezes, straining to make out what’s being said and who’s saying it as fear wraps its hands around her throat. is it the intruder? what if they’re threatening one of her parents? if nari were to guess, she would bet the jajangmyeon belongs to her father; mrs. kim scolds him all the time for grabbing takeout when they always have plenty of food at home. with a fresh bout of fear surging through her body at the thought of her dad being in danger, she follows the faint words leaking from her parents’ room. not before she starts dialing 119, though.

                    but just as the operator answers and nari reaches the door, hands trembling and sweat trickling down the nape of her neck, her parents’ door swings open to reveal a giant of a man who looks anything but happy. things become blurry after that.

                    she can’t clearly remember what happens because it happens so fast. she remembers the giant’s rough hands on her, her phone falling and cracking against the floor, the shouts and grunts coming from her parents’ room -- there’s a second intruder, she realizes too late -- and the cold metal pressing against her temple. she remembers how silent the apartment suddenly becomes, how she feels lightheaded and sick and so, so scared. she remembers her father’s face, how utterly calm he appears to be as he keeps his own gun pointed at her captor, and she remembers crying at him, though she can’t remember the words. she remembers barely being able to breathe because the giant’s arm is hard and tight against her neck, wishing, PRAYING that by some miracle, no one will die. that her father will give the giant whatever he wants so that he’ll leave, and everything can go back to normal.

                    it’s clear that god hasn’t heard a single word when the giant’s hold loosens, and he falls to the ground with a dull, sickening thump. 

                    she can’t move initially. nari just stands there, shaking and holding her breath and unable to tear her gaze from the blood beginning to pool around the giant’s head. even as her father races over to crush her against him while kissing her hair and reassuring her that she’s okay, nari remains fixated on the crimson liquid spreading across the floor. she can’t breathe. she can’t hear her father. her father... 

                   he shot the giant. her father shot the giant. her father killed a man without blinking an eye -- her father SHOT HIM IN THE HEAD. he shouldn’t be capable of that, she remembers thinking in her panicked confusion. he’s just a lawyer.

                    at 15, kim nari learns everything she believed her life and family to be is completely and utterly false. none of it is ordinary or typical or normal. normal families have grandparents who fuss and dote on their grandchildren; nari has grandparents who run two businesses, one covering the tracks of the other so as to keep the police who aren’t on their salary unaware of their dealings. she learns that her father, who she believed to be a simple, dedicated lawyer, is the heir to such a business, and though he tried to wash his hands of it, some stains never wash out. she learns that mirae is next in line, but her father refuses to involve her when she’s still ignorant of what’s happened. her mother, too, is none the wiser until she arrives home to a destroyed living room and two dead bodies. it surprises nari that her mother doesn’t lose her mind at mr. kim when honesty is so important to her, but perhaps the shock is too much for her in the moment.

                    she also learns that her father was planning to move their family to america to escape, to keep them safe and starter over, but he was one month too late. 

                    at 16, nari and her family move into the lavish home her grandparents own, and it’s there that nari quickly learns that her life is no longer her own to do with as she pleases. her father’s parents are nothing like her mother’s kind, nurturing parents -- they’re cold and demanding and expectant and BRUTAL and force her to learn about a business she wants nothing to do with. they force her into self-defense classes, then into shooting practice, then personally teach her about the management and financial aspect of their dealings. at 17, they hand her off to someone they trust. he’ll teach her the ropes, they tell her, and she’s confused because they’ve taught her everything she thinks she needs to know and seething because it’s the LAST thing she wants. but she understands that she doesn’t have a choice, even with her father arguing with his parents more often than not about her involvement. if she doesn’t do as she’s told, she’s useless, and being useless gets a person killed.

                    nari wonders if that’d be so bad, especially when her grandparents’ right hand takes her with him to a business transaction -- the safest she’ll ever attend because these guys are regulars, and “ regulars know not to start shit ” -- and she has to watch as he’s shot in front of her. any attempt at running is pointless, but amid the terror coursing through her veins and the urge to be sick, nari feels some satisfaction in giving one of the guys a bloody nose before they knock her unconscious and take her away.

                    she doesn’t like to remember what happens next. it’s a part of her memory she’s tried her hardest to erase, yet she can’t fully block it out -- even at 18, nari remembers each painful detail in perfect clarity. she wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat sometimes, heart racing and blood roaring in her ears as she scrambles to check her surroundings, to prove to herself that it’s all just another memory and no longer her reality. on the worst nights, her hands often search her back as far as they can reach, tracing each scar as a reminder that she has long since healed from that incident, that it’s in the past, that she has survived, and she is safe now. but she still doesn’t feel safe. she can’t feel safe living as she does and knowing what she does.

                    by 18, much has changed. nari has changed. she no longer holds hope that things can go back to the way they were, having accepted that, like her father, she won’t be able to leave the family business no matter how desperately she wants to. she’s fallen into the role her grandparents have forced upon her, learning and training and involving herself willingly even when her parents both ask her to stop. if she doesn’t play the role, who will? mirae? mirae who has graduated culinary school and created her own business? mirae who is blissfully ignorant to the darkness that would swallow her whole if she so much as glanced its way? mirae who is hurt that her family has cut all contact, but who otherwise lives a happy, ordinary life? no. nari won’t allow that to happen. this fate belongs to nari now, and no one else.

                    and she hates it. with every fiber of her being, she hates it. she hates that she may have to kill someone with her own two hands one day. she hates that her family is in constant danger and that their safety will one day be her responsibility -- if they die, it will be her fault. she hates that her friends all believe she’s ditched them now that she lives in luxury, that they’ll never know that if given the chance, she would trade luxury in a heartbeat to have them back. she would give anything to have them, her old life, her old self...

                    she hates that she hasn’t touched a piano since her kidnapping. her fingers grow restless more often than not, tapping against whatever surface they find themselves resting upon, and when nari notices, her heart aches with regret and yearning. yet she can’t bring herself to so much as look at a piano. 

                    it hurts too much. the longing is bad enough, but if she were to start playing, nari knows it would be unbearable. for the sake of her family, she has to leave her first love behind. she has to leave the dreams of her youth behind. she has to leave the kim nari who was bright behind. there’s no place for her in this world.

                    at 18, the dreamer has died, leaving a pessimistic realist in her place. by 19, the realist joins the dreamer in the ground.

                    the day is nothing special. but the weather is nice -- sunny and just a little cold -- and it’s the first day in a long time that nari doesn’t have to worry about the family business. her lips twitch and curve into the faintest of smiles. a day off, all to herself, to spend however she wishes! she can’t help but wonder if her father has something to do with it, if he pulled some strings to allow her some time alone, because he and her mother have complained more than once about how little free time she has between her studies and her training. it doesn’t exactly matter if he’s the reason, but the thought that that might be the case makes her smile a little wider, feel a little warmer despite the breeze.

                    temptation reels her in that particular day. perhaps it’s the sense of nostalgia that blossoms in nari’s chest at the sight of what was once her favorite music store, or perhaps it’s because she’s denied herself of what she loves most for so long -- regardless, nari finds herself stepping inside, swaying to the pop song bursting from the speakers as she shuffles through some albums. she reaches for one she remembers mirae loved only for her hand to knock into someone else’s, an apology immediately falling from her lips before she’s even glanced at the stranger. nari can hardly believe her eyes when she finally does look at the male who towers above her.

                    a lanky young man with kind eyes, messy hair, and long fingers perfect for the piano -- though his features have grown more mature since their freshman year of high school, she knows it’s lee jiyun who has unwittingly bumped into her. his eyes go a little wide upon realizing who she is, lips parting in a silent gasp before they curve into a smile.

                    his smile is just as warm as she remembers. it stirs the butterflies in her stomach, entices a slow, growing grin of her own, and has nari forgetting for a brief moment who she is supposed to be. she forgets that she will one day be in charge of her family’s business, that she will one day have blood on her hands, that she will one day decide who lives and who dies in the name of “ good business. ” she forgets that she is supposed to be the cold, wary grandchild of the kim family. in the presence of an old friend and crush, the persona nari so carefully built melts away to reveal the remnants of the dreamer she quietly said goodbye to shortly after her kidnapping.

                    she’s 15 again, bright-eyed and hopeful.

                  “ you cut your hair. ” jiyun’s voice is deeper but still just as sweet. “ it suits you. ”

                    she decided to cut it when her grandmother pointed out her long hair could be a disadvantage she couldn’t afford against stronger opponents, but nari doesn’t mention that. she just flicks her gaze from jiyun’s feet to his face. “ and you’ve gotten even taller. ” 

                    he rolls his eyes at her, hands sliding into his pockets -- the only way to keep his fingers from tapping restlessly against his thighs, nari remembers. “ still bitter about my little growth spurt, shorty? ”

                  “ there was nothing LITTLE about it! i went from being a whole three inches taller to being a whole three inches shorter! ”

                    they slip so easily into conversation as if it hasn’t been years since they’ve spoken to each other, bantering and bickering and reminiscing their days with their crotchety piano teacher, and though she knows it can’t last long, nari allows herself to enjoy this one, small happiness. she allows herself to accept jiyun’s invitation to grab food, to speak and laugh freely, to whine when he comments on her height and blush when he tells her she’s gotten prettier ( even if, in the same breath, he recalls the time she was missing her two front teeth ) . she even allows herself to exchange numbers with jiyun, knowing that she won’t be able to keep in contact like he hopes she will, but a few texts here and there can’t hurt. 

                    when they part ways, nari doesn’t feel the gloom set in like she expects it to; instead, she feels light. hopeful. and it scares her. but the memory of jiyun's arms wrapped around her as he muttered how badly he missed her banishes that fear to the back of nari’s mind. just this one day -- for this one day, she won’t worry over how horrible this could all go. for this one day, she just wants to be happy.

                    her phone’s text notification rings sharply, and immediately nari checks to see who it is, mind already running through scenarios involving her family and situations gone wrong, but it’s only jiyun asking that she let him know when she arrives home safely. nari can’t stop her smile -- not that she tries -- as she begins typing out a response, searching for the right kaomoji when she hears frantic screaming from in front of her. her head snaps up to see an older woman on the sidewalk screeching and wildly motioning for nari to move, but she understands the situation a second too late, registers the sound of a speeding car too late, attempts to run the rest of the way to safety too late.

                    at 19, approximately 3 : 15 pm, kim nari is dead. she has her regrets, mostly concerning mirae who may be forced to take her place and who still doesn’t know how much her little sister has missed her all this time. she regrets leaving her parents all alone to deal with her grandparents and not acting like the teenager they knew she wanted to be. she regrets becoming exactly what those old bags wanted her to be instead, but she doesn’t regret the blissful ignorance she provided mirae as a result. she regrets having to give up music, denying herself everything that made her feel happy and alive. she regrets the pain jiyun will feel when he never hears from her again as well as the pain that will pierce him if he ever finds out what happened to her. 

                    she doesn’t regret meeting him that day, though. she doesn’t regret spending all that time together, feeling more like herself than she has for a long time. she doesn’t regret entering that music store, giving into her longing for the first time in ages. she doesn’t regret allowing her old self to reemerge. she regrets trying to kill the old nari in order to survive because that’s all she’s been doing these past few years -- surviving rather than living. 

                    she hopes in her next life, she chooses to live.

[faithfulnews]

Immunizing Your Marriage During COVID-19

Located between two coronavirus “hotspots,”[1] watching the economy shut down, and worrying about our high-risk loved ones, our anxieties simmer and sometimes get the best of us. Will our income be cut? Will our home suffer more damage as we await critical repairs that have now been postponed? Will our children fall behind academically as we unskillfully try to educate each on different learning platforms? You know the story because you’re living your own version of COVID-19. Add your worries to this list. We all feel it: this is too much Lord.

Our marriages are strained. We try to team up and endure difficulty with grace and patience. Maybe we do well for a day or two. But, if you’re like us, your usual pattern of relating to each other under stress reappears. The temptation is either to turn on each other or to turn inward in preoccupation during these times. Some of us maximize the threat while others minimize it. But each of us consistently use one approach over the other. It’s so normal for two spouses to deal differently with stress, chaos, and uncertainty. Under duress, one becomes controlling, louder, and angry while the other quickly grows withdrawn, silent, and irritable. One is hot anger. The other is cold anger. Neither is good. There’s no need to evaluate as to which is better or worse, but of course we do.

What’s worse is that we start keeping a mental accounting of which of us is more impacted. If your children are at home, you can compare who gets more uninterrupted time to do the tasks required or who is parenting better or more. If it is just the two of you, you can easily compare who is working more around the house or you might dwell on simple annoyances that are more easily overlooked with some healthy separation. Resentment can build.

But the truth is, God has given you this person for just this moment in time. Your spouse is not the enemy (Eph. 6:12), but someone who, just like you, is weak, suffering, and prone to struggle under this stress. Moreover, your spouse is your co-laborer in a historical moment that can, if left unchecked, weigh your marriage down with anxiety, depression, anger, and growing resentment. What can you do not to flounder in the fog and friction of this “war”? How can we actually strengthen our marriages during this pandemic?

Here are six things we are finding helpful.

Value faithfulness above productivity

We are living in a historical moment that we will likely not see again in our lifetime. It is good to remember we are not in normal routines. In our home, we are trying to continue working while also homeschooling our stir-crazy children who think they’re on holiday, and now have access to technology throughout the “school day” (which means constant temptation to venture from spelling to YouTube or any number of apps). We are holding important virtual meetings from our bedrooms and trying to schedule them when someone is not practicing the piano. Yes, it is good to try to keep life as normal as possible, to prioritize order and a clean organized home, but things are not normal right now and we need to make allowances for that. Our daily task list will look different each day and we must adjust our standards for productivity accordingly.

Our daily temptation is to measure the success of our days by what we accomplish. But, this time of life should remind us that bearing fruit is not the same as getting things done. The fruit we seek is the fruit of being faithful with what God has given us today. Galatians 5:22 is clear on that, “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.” When we call this to mind, we are less tempted to withhold grace by judging our own or our spouse’s productivity. 

Entrust yourself to the true Protector.

While we wait for a declining curve of coronavirus cases, we can be tempted toward trusting in false gods and not even know it. If we wash our hands, don the right mask, get the right anti-viral drug, stand six feet away, or receive enough money from the government, we will be OK. These are all increasingly prudent things to do, but good things make bad gods. Our hope is not in these things; our help is in the God who rules every molecule of our universe. It is good to remind ourselves that he sustains the sparrow (Matt. 10:29–31), he commands the wind and waves (Mark 4:39), and he is Lord over every detail of the created order (Job 38-39). Your Father has you and your family’s life square in the palm of his hand. This day’s hope is not in protecting you and your loved ones from the coronavirus or economic harm. This day’s hope is in the true Protector. With security rightly placed in him, we can relate better to one another.

Walk in love on a path to prayer

Countless blogs and books have been written encouraging husbands and wives to pray daily together. Almost all describe how prayer works to foster intimacy as a couple draws near to God and one another. Prayer is a significant way to grow a stronger, more unified and intimate marriage. But when Peter writes about prayer, he actually moves in the opposite direction than we typically think (1 Peter 3:7, 12, & 4:7). He does not focus on the emotional and relational benefits of praying together. Prayer is not primarily a means of relational intimacy. Peter says it’s the couple’s relationship that helps their prayers. How a couple relates to each other makes their prayers either effective or ineffective, powerful or hindered, free-flowing or clogged. And it also impacts how God hears and responds to them. He has a special openness to our prayers when we are treating each other with understanding and honor. He is particularly vigilant and attentive to us as we genuinely seek peace and one another’s well-being.

So, in these times of quarantine and restriction, pray! But do so with a heart attitude that prioritizes the ability to pray with hopeful expectancy that your prayers will rise unhindered to God’s ears.

Clothe yourself with humility

Living in a bunker together with an invisible enemy surrounding you may have drawn out depths of your hearts you did not see coming. We’re living in (too) close proximity with those we love but without the daily graces of routine, healthy separation, and maximum productivity. Most of us do not operate optimally when we are anxious and feeling threatened. Sin is very real and we will see it! Like the man who wears a shirt and tie to his Zoom meeting but below the camera shot sits in red running shorts, we can put on a good show for those “out there,” while our spouse and children have a clear view of the selfishness and conceit in our hearts. Yes, this is discouraging as we aim to bear fruit.

But rather than despair or resort to the well-worn patterns of relating to each other under duress, use this time to practice humility and repentance. In God’s economy, these are some of the most powerful moments of intimacy in marriage. Like reviewing an algebra problem that went awry after making an error as you tried to solve the equation, go back, locate, and fix the mistake you made with your spouse before trying to move forward. Be very suspicious of your heart, erring on the side of not trusting your motives and calculation of wrongs done to you. Let no offense fester before you go to your Father and ask for conviction on how you started, responded to, or escalated the strife. Then quickly repent, go, and repair with your spouse.

Prioritize encouragement

Our words are powerful in the lives of those around us. They can build up or tear down, bring healing to an offense or escalate a fight. What a privilege it is to wield such tools to buoy a discouraged or fearful spouse. In the last two years, we have faced the hardest years of our life together. Many nights we have found ourselves recounting the events of the day and turning to each other for comfort, faith, and affirmation. By God’s grace, we are not often both defeated on the same night. So it seems to work out that we take turns reminding each other of God’s sovereignty, faithfulness, steadiness, and goodness. We have read the Psalms to each other as we fall asleep, or placed our phone on the pillow between us to softly play a favorite worship song that reorients our heart to the Father who loves us. We have gently spoken truths against the accusations, fears, and doubts that attack (especially at bedtime) so the other can drift into slumber.

During this pandemic, do not underestimate the importance of reminding your spouse of what is true, worthy of praise, and commendable—especially as the day wanes. Read Scripture; sing songs; pray with and for one another; speak encouragement. 

You are a team with a common opponent

The anxieties and exhaustions of this season tempt us to turn on each other. Just last night, we had words over a parenting issue, phrasing our discussion as if the problem was the other’s fault. Perhaps there are things our spouse needs to see and change, but treating our spouse as the enemy attacks your teammate, not your opponent. As we battle out COVID-19 and its effects on our family, we need to strategize how we can confront this problem together. One thing our family does often is call a family time-out. We stop normal activities and call everyone together to get a game plan on how to tackle a situation as “Team Sironi.” Far too often we have gone beyond the point of “this isn’t working,” and it never ends well.

Why not do this with your spouse too—a routine reorientation on how things are going and what needs adjustment. How can we share the added load of educating our children? How can we jointly enforce house rules needed to make things operate more smoothly? What are the besetting weaknesses and sins in each of our hearts that we can watch out for and preempt? What tempts us to turn inward in an unhelpful way when our relationship faces heat?

All told, COVID-19 is challenging all of us in one way or another. Some of us are deeply enjoying this extra time together. For others, the wheels are coming off. But let’s be candid—being confined at home will bring out the lifelong differences and incompatibilities within your marriage. The virus has not caused these things but intensified them. This is not likely the time to try and change your spouse’s habits or to resolve the differences between you. Recognize that these differences will heighten in this season and give each other grace. Don’t make big marital decisions but take Leo Tolstoy’s advice to heart: “What counts in making a happy marriage is not so much how compatible you are but how you deal with incompatibility.”

Will you join with us as we try to use this time of quarantine to fortify our marriage? It is hard to see now, but when the COVID-19 crisis has waned, we will look back and see how God used this time for our good and his glory.

[1] New York and Philadelphia.

The post Immunizing Your Marriage During COVID-19 appeared first on Christian Counseling & Educational Foundation.

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[lewishamledger]

Forward thinking

Words Rosario Blue; Photo Paul Stafford

A day after returning from Germany recording new music, Catford-based rapper Thales sits down with me to discuss new music, supporting Rag ‘N’ Bone man on his European tour and the reality of juggling the real vs the fake and the struggles of following your dreams.

Despite being a student of philosophy, I somehow managed to miss the link between Thales the philosopher and Thales the rapper. So, let’s clear this up first: Thales is pronounced Tah-lees. As Thales points out, one mispronunciation can stick with you your whole career and we’re not about that.

Influenced by UK OGs such as Roots Manuva, Skinny Man and Black Twang, as well as American hip-hop artists like Mos Def, Talib Kweli and Common, Thales brings that sound to UK hip-hop that I as a seasoned UK hip-hop fan love – a mixture of soothing jazz and piano-laced beats.

With lyrics like “if money is your drive then your mind’s limited, never limit mine, I’m trying to find what its limit is”, you feel like you’re listening to poetry. His lyricism is solid and authentic like the values he holds.

Thales has been writing music since the age of thirteen. His love affair with hip-hop began at seven after watching his uncle, a B-Boy, practicing break dancing in his Gran’s back garden. Thales owns and cherishes his Uncle’s silver ghetto blaster.

“My uncle would be breakdancing and I’d see that and hear the tapes. It wasn’t really hip-hop then though because hip-hop hadn’t really come here in that way, it was more like breakbeats or whatever, ‘cause this is like [the] 80’s,” Thales recalls. “I just used to see that as a kid and I loved like the breakbeats.”

Thales was blown away by hip-hop the first time he heard it. Hearing it as a child he thought it must have been illegal because of the language used in the songs; and since no one really had money for original copies, Thales’ belief appeared to be true. “You never saw the original; someone was just doing a tape for you and, like, people used to buy and sell and swap tapes at school.”

It wouldn’t be till the early 90’s after the release of Dr Dre’s seminal hit The Chronic and Snoop Dogg’s legendary ‘Doggy Style’ the following year that Thales would finally see a real copy in the flesh. “That was the first time I’d seen physical like copies of this music – that it actually existed – and I thought, like, ‘wow, this is crazy’.”

The quality of Thales’ writing was, at the start, “shit”, by his own admission, because he was regurgitating what he had been hearing, which was mainly American hip-hop and didn’t reflect his personal experience. He continued to write with only American influences driving his craft.

“In the beginning it wasn’t really about the words; it was just the feel, the music, the flow or whatever,” Thales says. At the time his writing was mainly focused on technique, so discovering now widely referred to as “conscious rappers” like Common, Kweli and Mos Def made Thales begin to think about the art of writing and the message he was putting out.

Then followed the British influences with the rise of UK hip-hop, pioneered by artists such as Task force, Skinny man, Roots Manuva and 57th Dynasty to name a few.  They carved out a unique British sound rather than one which imitated that of the US. Thales started to properly develop his writing style the more and more he listened to these artists.

From around sixteen years old Thales began recording music. This was in an era when access to recording equipment wasn’t easy and suitable technology wasn’t cheap. Nowadays there is so much technology at our disposal with access to a lot of free software, cheap recording equipment and social media as tools to give artists full agency over their work.

Thales amusedly recalled the low quality of his early recordings and the hoops he had to jump through to even get it recorded. "I used to record with the head phone microphones that came with the computer – that was the only way you could record it – and I had to do it next to a speaker, 'cause you had to play the beat out the speaker and record the voice and the music at the same time."

Once he was old enough, Thales started performing at open mic nights and attending hip-hop nights where he started to get acquainted with the scene. This lead to him being approached by two producers who offered to make beats for him. He then put music out and things were looking up but nothing ever came to fruition. The reality of the industry then hit him: “I found out everyone on the hip-hop scene was broke,” Thales says.

“I didn’t really lose faith in it but nothing was happening, you know; that was it, things were just not moving. It was too much, it was oversaturated and there was no money to be made and I had no money and I was living with my Mum as well. And I was like, you’ve gotta get a proper job, basically, ‘cause this thing is not gonna pay the bills.”

Thales never stopped writing and focused on working. Then a close friend asked him what he was doing with his music - “you’re sick, you’re a sick writer” – and encouraged him to get back on to his music and try again.

If it didn’t work out then it didn’t work out, but at least he would have given it one last shot. His friend advised him to start afresh with a new sound, a new him and even came up with the name Thales after the pre-Socratic philosopher.

“He said the way you write, you are a philosopher, rather than somebody who always writes bars; you’re always quite conscious.”

So Thales began to focus on his music seriously again, contacting different producers on SoundCloud, writing and making new music. He was lucky enough to meet and use the studio of Fumez, an acclaimed music engineer with notable credits including the Mix-Tape and sound engineering for Link Up TV. Thales has received valuable coaching from Fumez which he says has really helped him to improve his sound.

After playing a few of his new tracks to a number of people, he caught the attention of a few industry bigwigs, who put him on the radar of Rag ‘N’ Bone man. This would ultimately lead Thales to be one of the support acts on his 2018 Grande Reserve European Tour. An experience Thales is still taking in.

Coming off the high of the Grande Reserve Tour, Thales has been straight back in to the studio recording music and working on the video for his new track titled ‘Honestly’. The video is mainly shot in the Borough of Lewisham and is due for release next month.

Thales feels it is important for his work to represent his life honestly and the difficulty that comes with following your dream. He struggles to see the sense in flossing a lifestyle that he’s not living and doesn’t want to sell younger artists a fake dream. "My motivation for the music as well, or the music I'm trying to make is to be truthful to the young people.”

"My motivation for the music I'm trying to make is to be truthful to the young people”

Thales has had times where he almost walked away and gave up on his music, because trying to follow your dream while juggling work is part of the harsh reality of being an independent artist. “Continuing to do it is the hardest part. The determination is the hardest part. Is it Kanye West that says it – ‘Giving up’s way harder than trying’? For me, yeah, you do reach those times when you’re like, do you know what. What am I doing? Like – I can’t be bothered.”

Thales has a full time job, is up every day at 6am and then after work, the time where most people will put their feet up before they have to sleep, he’s using to write, practice and balance the rest of the responsibilities in his life. What’s important to Thales is that his music is a reflection of his life, experiences and his Borough, Lewisham.

“To sort of sum it up,” he says, “if you listen to me – the music is that. It is everything you hear outside in this borough. It’s a reflection of everything you see. You drive round here with the windows down, you hear the same as when my sound is coming out of the windows. You're gonna hear the good, you're gonna hear the bad; you're gonna hear a big mixing pot of everyone just entwined and that's it.”

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Follow Thales on Instagram and Twitter @thalesthegreat and visit soundcloud.com/thalesthegreat