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dat-town · 3 years

Text

wish you were here

Characters: Mark Lee & you

Setting: wish dragon au (and a bit of aladdin because mark even has a tiger in their garden like jasmine did. don’t ask why, just blame the regular mv), childhood best friends to lovers (at least there’s potential?)

Genre: fluff and humour

Warnings: mentions of a sick animal and a wild animal kept as a pet in a huge garden (just like jasmine’s tiger, it’s very tamed)

Summary: A magical teapot, a dragon that wants everyone to be happy and an old friendship being revived. Oh yeah, have I told you that you have 3 wishes?

Words: 6.4k

For @restlessmaknae 💕

When your mother told you you got delivery to your childhood home, you certainly did not expect this: a brown box as big as a small watermelon with your old Canadian address and MARK LEE scrabbled next to your name as another recipient but no sender. Not to mention, the first stamp on the thing was dating back to the early 2010s. Where the hell was this package for 10 years? And what would you and your old neighbour slash best friend have gotten together?

Okay, first things first:

You and this clumsy, kind of cute kid, Mark had been quite tight while growing up. You were born in the same year, only a month apart, and his family lived in the house next to yours in the suburbs of Vancouver, so it was kind of natural. You two might have been against the world kind of comrades, playing hide and seek when you were six and wondering about whether time travelling was possible through black holes at twelve. But no matter how close you used to be, you fell out of touch when Mark's family moved to the other end of the world, back to Korea, their roots when you were fourteen. You slowly forgot about him, and started university in the city, moving away from home, so nothing really reminded you of him ⎼ and your stupid, big fat crush on him that you had no courage to tell him about in middle school ⎼, nothing until this box.

You put the delivered package on your kitchen table while you make some dinner for yourself out of what you have gotten during grocery shopping earlier just before you picked up the mysterious stuff at the post office. You eye it suspiciously over your pasta, really not wrapping your mind about what it could be but instead of annoying yourself with this pointless curiosity, you put your fork down and stand up to open it. It’s a struggle at first, the box being secured with multiple adhesive tapes over the years but when you finally get rid of all that and can look inside of it, an intense feeling rushes through you… immerse disappointment.

“A teapot? For real? What were we thinking?” you furrow your brows taking the small, green and pretty old teapot into your hands. It looks like a piece of a traditional Asian set with its jade colour and dragon pattern. It couldn’t have been in a much better shape 10 years ago either seeing how wayworn it is but still, you expected something more… exciting? Something funny that might or might not give you an excuse to look up Mark Lee on the internet and message him for the sake of old times. But how lame it would be to befriend him on Facebook only to tell him that you got delivered a teapot under both your names. Hah, you would rather not embarrass yourself like that.

You shoot one last glance at the teapot before leaving it on your counter and going back to your food, you successfully forget about the whole ordeal. You carry your life on with only one small difference: Mark Lee back on your mind after long, long years.

It was just a small crush, you tell yourself, sighing as you look into the mirror, absentmindedly wondering how he’s doing. Does he think of you sometimes as well? Did he go to music college like he has always wanted? Is he happy? You wish he was even if he’s half a world away and with that thought you think it’s time to go to sleep despite the upcoming weekend days. You don’t want to mess up your sleep schedule over some boy but as soon as you pull the blanket over your chest and close your eyes, something explodes in your kitchen.

You jump out of bed faster than lightning, in slight panic over the fact that your neighbours will hate you for bothering them late at night and your landlord would kill you if you managed to blow up your microwave. But the sight that welcomes you is like no other that you imagined. The whole room is covered in thick pink glittery smoke. Like your worst Barbie nightmare.

“What the⎼” you cough, waving your hands to clear the air and once it dissolves into nothingness with its weirdly cotton candy smell, there’s a boy in the middle of it all, sitting cross legged on your kitchen counter so casually as if he owned the place. His pink-ish purple hair hangs into his eyes and he seems to find your coffee machine strangely interesting. You grab the first thing you can ⎼ a blender ⎼ and hold it up in defensive before yelling at the boy: “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”

The stranger’s mouth pulls up in a charming smile, his eyes sparkle as he turns his attention to you, hopping off the counter. He’s all thin and long limbs, so you hate how you hate to look up at him as he walks towards you before bowing ceremoniously.

“Hello, sorry for the sudden appearance, I just couldn’t wait any longer! I’ve been stuck in that teapot waaay too long. I didn’t mean to be rude or anything. My name is Taeyong, I’m a wish dragon and you’re my new owner,” he smiles and what he says makes absolutely no sense.

“A wish dragon?” you mumble in shock, looking around to see if this is just another prank of Johnny. You wouldn’t be surprised to see him jump out from under one of the cupboards. Or maybe you just fell asleep and you’re dreaming. Yeah, that seems like a realistic scenario.

“Ah, yes! I know I don’t look like it but modern times require modern solutions. Most people freak out because of my dragon form, so human it is,” the boy who seems only a few years older than you grins as he’s chatting and you have to give it to him, he takes this role pretty seriously. “You have three wishes as my owner. You can ask for anything as long as it’s not about death or love.”

So you got yourself someone who thinks he’s basically a genie? Oh gosh, is he that drunk?

“Aha, very funny. I’m too tired for this prank, so I would appreciate it if you left the same way you came...” you point towards your window because there’s no way he came through the door. Putting down your blender because the guy looks pretty harmless despite his crazy blabbering, you move to go back to your bedroom.

“No, no, no, I can’t do that,” the boy, Taeyong as he introduced himself, appears in front of you within a second and grabs your shoulder as if he could shake some sense into you. He looks pretty desperate. “I can only get a new owner if I fulfill all wishes of yours. It was super stuffy in that box the last decade, you know.”

At that excuse you let out a laugh.

“You don’t even fit it the⎼”

“You were saying?” Taeyong is suddenly nowhere near ahead of you but instead a small creature, supposedly a dragon, in the size of your palm flies in front of your eye level. “It’s magic!”

Okay, now that sight makes you feel like it’s you who is drunk. Or worse.

“Am I dead?” you have to ask in a small, uncertain voice, trying to think back what could have happened. Maybe that explosion literally blew your apartment up? But it hurts when you pinch your arm and turning back into his human form, Taeyong wants to prove the very same thing. Not the hurting but the not dead part, obviously.

“No, you’re very much alive and a happy owner of a wish dragon. Not permanently, of course, but still,” he tells you as he drags you onto your couch in the living room. As if sitting down could help processing all this.

So you have a wish dragon in your home, a magical creature that can casually switch between its dragon and human form and he says you should wish for three things, so he could leave and you could go back to your old, boring life without magic and things that scare you to death at 11PM.

“Can I ask… why? Why me? I’m not really owner-material,” you whisper because heck yeah, you even managed to kill your cactus before. Taeyong purses his lips as he sits down, a hand at his chin.

“Well, it’s unusual indeed to have a peasant girl, no offence, as my owner but as far as I know, you and your friend asked for a sign that magic was real.”

Oh, you remember that, being so obsessed with shooting stars and other stuff like that, you two used Mark’s brother’s computer to browse the internet, trying to find evidence about all that. You were kids wanting to believe in a world beyond the one you knew. But...

“That was like 10 years ago,” you furrow your eyebrows, not getting the timing.

“Well, sorry, you weren’t put on the top of the Heaven wish list and the shipping from Shanghai to Vancouver isn’t the fastest either,” Taeyong shrugs as if it was supposed to be natural. As if that was the most unbelievable thing. Well, delivery services are sometimes a pain in the ass, that’s true but getting a wish delivered by Heaven was something you would have never thought of and it all drains down on you. Strangest realisation of your life.

“So… it’s all real,” you whisper ahead of yourself: magic, dragons and all that. You could basically see your old best friend’s I told you so smile and let out a soft chuckle. “I wish Mark could meet with you, too.”

At that the guy ahead of you claps his hands and rubs them together, creating the same purple smoke from before. You look at him alarmed.

“Your wish, my command,” Taeyong grins and lifts his hands and before you could make a sound of protest because gosh, you didn’t mean it literally, you feel the ground move under your feet and you’re falling, into the darkness but despite shutting your eyes automatically, fearing the impact of the crash, nothing comes. Only the smell of soy sauce in the air and warm sunshine on your skin… Wait, what?

Your eyelids fly open and you notice in shock that you’re not in your flat anymore, ready to sleep. Instead, you stand in the middle of a goddamn street somewhere in Korea based on the signs still in your PJ shorts and tee. Oh my gosh! You hide in an alley right away and yank the seemingly proud Taeyong with you.

“I didn’t tell you that I meant right now! I can’t meet Mark in my PJs and I need my phone and wallet to function anyways. Not to mention, I don’t speak Korean at all...” you ramble panicking, the realisation that you’re indeed on the other side of the Earth due to some magic is yet to register. But the awkwardness from the stares you have just gotten has already turned you bashful.

Listening to you, the wish dragon seems sheepish and slightly embarrassed as he scratched his nape, his colourful hair falling into his cast down eyes.

“Oh… sorry. I got so excited over the wish that I didn’t think about it! It’s been a while since I did teleport magic but hey, I still have it in me. Anyways, sorry. Phone and wallet, you said? Here you go,” he pulls out something from his pants which magically seems to be indeed your belongings. That definitely makes things earlier.

“Uhm, thanks. Where are we exactly?”

“Ah, well you mentioned your friend Mark Lee, so we’re here. Well, one bell away because I did remember that it’s rude to intrude other’s houses without permission first,” oh now, you know, you snicker internally and gulp because hell, even if you wanted to see Mark, you wouldn’t have thought that the meeting would come so soon. You didn’t have enough time to prepare yourself mentally.

“So… you’re telling me that this… is where Mark lives?” you point at the impressive apartment complex on the corner of the street but Taeyong shakes his head.

“Nope, This is where your Mark lives,” he says and before you could object about the ‘your’ part, the dragon points at the other side of the road at a luxurious house with a huge garden, basically a palace. Seeing the beautiful fountain, the modern and yet traditional Korean style building beyond the fences makes your jaw drop.

“Hahaha, alright for a magic dragon you must have made a mistake. There’s no way the Mark Lee I know lives here,” you look back at Taeyong finding it funny that the kid who used to wore his favourite tees until his mother basically threw them out would live at such a place.

“Mark Lee, korean name Minhyung, supposed to be 22 years old internationally soon. Bad eyesight, contagious laugh, clumsy but has surprisingly good reflexes, gets embarrassed easily. Sound familiar?” Taeyong crooks a brow at you as he reads the information off from a parchment he just took out of his pants. Everything he listed is just so Mark that you’re left in disbelief.

“Uuh… that sounds about right.”

“His father hit it big in 2016 with a tech company, their net worth has too many zeros to count,” Taeyong explains, seeing how surprised you were over the fact that he lived a lavish life like this. Not that he doesn’t deserve it! Mark is such a sweetheart, so of course, you would only want the best for him but as if half the world wasn’t enough, now you have another huge gap between you.

“Gosh, I really can’t believe this. How am I supposed to just ring the bell and say hello after so much time?” you sighed with your head in your hands. “Argh, I need to buy some clothes and change.”

Taeyong approves the idea based on how enthusiastically he hollers, you wonder why nobody on the street seems to pay no attention to him. Maybe only you see him, just more reason for you to be crazy.

“Good idea because we’re having dinner with Mark!”

“What?” you look up in shock, not following through. Taeyong grins down at you, flashing a giddy smile and with a twirl he’s changed from his baggy, casual clothes to something more chic but still laidback.

“Your wish was him meeting me, so I arranged everything. I can't meet him without you and the teapot there, you know,” he explains as if it was supposed to be obvious. You aren't ready yet though.

“You just want to eat all the fancy delicious food he has,” you squint at him suspiciously and the dragon stays silent, so you must be right. He laughs nervously.

“Maybe, but can you blame me? I haven’t had a feast since a literal decade!” he hollers and somehow you really cannot find it in yourself to be angry at him. You are in Seoul for god's sake after all and magic is real, you can put up with the inconvenience of buying clothes and making yourself look decent before dumping all this surprise on Mark.

An hour later you stand in front of the gates of the Lee mansion and nervously you wipe your sweating hands into your dress. You can totally do this, you just say hi to an old friend, it's not like you're afraid he wouldn't remember you, hah, of course not–

"Y/N!"

You whip your head at the call of your name to the source of that all too familiar voice. Sure it's deeper than you remember but there's no mistake in whose it is. Plus, who else would call your name in South Korea of all places.

"Mark, hey!" you wave the boy who just got out of one of the fanciest cars you've ever seen in your life. And yet, despite the Prada suit and expensive shoes, styled hair and Swiss watch on wrist, Mark Lee still has that goofy little smile and the doe eyes that used to make you weak in the knees. Hah, who are you kidding? They still do.

"Oh my god, dude, you… you got pretty," Mark jogs up to you and having no filter like always he blabbers immediately only to stutter as his ears turn red. It was so him talking before thinking, so you didn’t really mean to dwell on his words. Although you felt your cheeks dusted with pink soon enough. "I mean, it's really good to see you! I was so surprised to see your name in my calendar for today's dinner! You should have told me you were coming to Korea, I would have picked you up at the airport."

His calendar? Ah, of course, he must have been busy and all that. You wouldn’t have been surprised to see an assistant run after him at this point, so you wonder how your wish dragon magically put you onto his list of important people to meet. Gosh, it was so weird.

"Ah, I have a funny story about that…" you chuckled to yourself but before you could have get out anything, even a please, can we go to a more private place? Mark’s eyes zero on the guy next to you and his eyes grow comically wide.

"And uhm, who is your friend?" he points at Taeyong who waves him in exchange with a kilowatt smile. He looks back at you with his mouth agapé. "Oh my god, you came to invite me to your wedding?"

He says oh my god way too many times for an eloquent rich kid, he really is the Mark Lee you knew.

"No, never! I mean, of course, I would invite you but Taeyong and I– I literally met him on my way here," you explain hastily cursing yourself for the silly lie. You came to tell him the news not to try to make it believable.

“I heard there’s food,” the wish dragon pipes in very helpful and you shoot him a disapproving glance he doesn’t notice. Luckily, Mark doesn’t seem to mind.

“Oh, yeah, of course, dinner! Come on in, let’s get you two settled,” he grins albeit a bit awkwardly as he leads you through the gate after opening it with his card.

On the way through the very, very, very big garden, he’s chattering about how he misses the Vancouver weather, especially on humid, hot days like this and talks about how he thinks the fountain in their yard is a bit too much but his mom loved it and then before you know it, you sit by a huge dining table with fine food in front of you. Suddenly you can’t decide whether you're grateful for Taeyong’s shameless presence – he digs into the jjigae right away – because at least the situation isn’t awkward because of your silence or you’re annoyed by it because you must seem like a weirdo because of him. That’s why you decide to rip off the bandage and tell Mark as soon as the last maid has disappeared too.

“Okay, so actually I came here because I have a surprise,” you speak up, probably too serious because the boy almost chokes on his food due to how fast he turns his head towards you.

“More surprise?” he coughs out and you offer him a glass of water which he takes with a smile.

“You literally won’t believe this one!” you assure him and wait until he gulps down the drink. Only then you point to Taeyong and tell him that your childhood wish has come true.

Mark almost falls off his chair this time.

Not after you tell him that though. He laughs at that with that wheezing laugh of his as if you told the joke of the century then pats you on the shoulder murmuring That was a good one, bro and turning back to his food. But then you look at the magic dragon pointedly and Taeyong puts down his chopsticks with an exaggerated sign. Then he flexes his magic: turning into his dragon form among additional sparkles and Mark suddenly looks like he’s about to faint. He reaches out to tap on your shoulder while not taking his eyes off the wish dragon.

“Am I dreaming?” he whispers and honestly, you totally get his reaction while Taeyong mumbles something about ‘people these days not believing in dragons’ as he shows off all the things he could do: gift riches, make one stronger than they are, giving skills of whatever one wants. He starts rambling about how this one Chinese emperor became wealthy thanks to this, how that one actor in martial arts and all this before changing back to his human form and he continues eating his pasta like nothing ever happened.

“I can do this all day,” he shrugs as if he didn’t just perform the coolest magic tricks.

“This… this is the best thing ever!” Mark exclaims with those sparkles in his eyes you missed so much. He was always so excited about new things and it automatically makes you smile how he bombards Taeyong with million questions like: ‘So you are the wish dragon that grants wishes?’ or asking him about his scales, his unique color, how it feels to live in such a small teapot, how old he is and the dragon glows under all the attention. Can’t blame him but Mark has always been so curious about the world, it’s endearing.

“So your first wish was to meet me?” he turns to you after long minutes of interrogating Taeyong and suddenly, under the spotlight you don’t know what to do with yourself. You can feel yourself blushing because you didn’t necessarily mean to wish for that but it’s not like you’re regretting it, it’s just… you don’t want him to misunderstand.

“I thought you should meet him, too, after all the package was delivered for the two of us,” you look down, trying to sound nonchalant while picking your food, avoiding Mark’s gaze. No matter how open armed he welcomed you, you still aren’t convinced that it’s okay to be here because the more time you spend with him, the more you would like to stay a part of his life. “It’s just… I wasn’t really sure we could ever meet again. We didn’t keep contact after you left.”

With dropped shoulders, you try not to sound too downhearted because of what happened because you know all too well, it wasn’t his fault, it was a family decision and look at him, it did good for him! He seems happy, they live in a practically mansion but most importantly, he didn’t seem to change with the wealth. He might wear expensive clothes but under it all he’s still the boy with the most loveable smile.

“I… I was thinking about you a lot, I just thought you forgot about me,” Mark admits with a sheepish smile, tucking his hair behind his ear shyly. He really still is the same and it’s playing silly little games with your heart. If this was a cheesy Disney movie, a slow bgm would start to play as you look into each other but your moment is broken when Taeyong accidentally kicks into his chair as he stands up. At first he looks alarmed but then giggles.

“I will just… go. Don’t mind me,” he disappears like smoke with a wink, leaving you two alone at which Mark lets out a woah. You chuckle at his cute reaction, heart doing somersaults in your chest.

You thought it would be awkward, just the two of you alone after long years but Mark has this thing that he makes people feel comfortable around him, so it’s actually quite nice. You catch up on everything and anything that comes to your mind: old neighbours, studies, friends, what are you doing now and what would you like to do, too.

After finishing the delicious dinner, Mark offers a home tour which you would never refuse and you jaw drops at the huge crystal chandelier in their living room as well as their swimming pool but your favourite place in the whole mansion is Mark’s room because it’s just so him. You can’t describe it well but the moment you step inside, it feels like home. It’s cozy to the point it makes you want to cuddle a pillow. It has colours of pastels, a synthesizer here, a guitar there, posters of singers framed on his wall and vinyl records hanging down. His window has a view of sunset and Namsan above their green garden and although you haven’t been in Seoul before, you’re pretty sure it’s your favourite place in the whole damn city, too.

“Wait, there’s someone I would like you to meet,” Mark suddenly exclaims while you’re looking through his pictures and he pulls you out of his room, out of the house, into the garden: You giggle all the way as he’s being so secretive about it but then your steps halt unexpectedly and the hand you have in Mark’s yanks him back.

“Mark… why is there a tiger in your garden in the middle of Seoul?” you ask as quietly and as immobile as you can. You don’t want to attract the sleeping animal’s attention to yourself. But to your biggest surprise, the boy just laughs, his thumb caressing your skin soothingly.

“She’s Jasmine and she won’t hurt you,” he reassures you but needless to say, you’re not too calm and you’re pulled close to the wild animal that lifts its huge head towards you lazily. “She was abandoned by her mother as a cub and she was outcast in the zoo because she’s a bit sick, so she has always been weaker than her siblings. Dad made a donation and we have raised her since she was young.”

You hiss when Mark reaches out without fear but the tiger basically purrs as he strokes down his fur at the neck. You watch in awe as this big wild animal becomes a soft cat under the hands of Mark Lee. When the boy encourages you to pat her too, you hesitate but he promises you that it’s gonna be alright and you take a leap of faith.

“What’s her sickness?” you wonder aloud as your fingers get lost in the soft fur of the tiger. You hope she’s not in a lot of pain.

“It’s an immune system thing, not sure what exactly but she wouldn’t have survived this long in the wild,” the boy tells you and his mouth curls up in a smile when Jasmine licks your hand. It seems like you’re tiger-approved. You look into its warm brown eyes and your heart churns at the thought of her condition.

Mark tells you stories of Jasmine, about that one time she crashed his birthday cake or how much she likes to swim with him in their pool during summer and gosh, you could listen to him go on and on forever. You’re only reminded of the reality, that all this is just a possible one-time thing, a weekend getaway with magic when Taeyong shows up in swimwear, ready to crash in said pool.

“I guess he might have been bored in that teapot,” Mark laughs, not minding at all. He even offers you to join but you have a better idea.

“Taeyong, I have my second wish!” you call out for the wish dragon who’s suddenly much more excited about that than the water. He’s beside you in a moment, beaming and curious. You glance at Mark with a soft smile before looking at your personal genie confidently.

“I wish Jasmine would be healthy,” you whisper, playing with the tiger’s furry ears which she seems to enjoy. You were a little bit afraid the dragon would say it’s not possible, that he can’t cure sickness but to your relief, he just grins.

“Your wish, my command,” he nods and puts a hand over the animal. Nothing but a smoke of purple signals the magic being done but you believe in it and so does Mark by the looks of it. He reaches out for your hand and squeezes it gently.

“Thank you,” he smiles and you smile back. He used to be your best friend after all, it’s the least you can do for him.

Mark convinces you to stay the weekend and there’s no way you could tell no to him, not when he clears his schedule just for you. He never complains about how busy he must be working for his father’s business while being a music major at a local university. All he ever talks about is the places he wishes to show you and he takes you around Seoul as if he was your certificated tour guide. It’s lovely how enthusiastic he is about it while what really matters to you is the time you spend together. He makes sure you two take a million photos to remember by, Taeyong posing on half of them since he joins you on your little trips and sometimes it’s just the two of you watching the wish dragon being genuinely in awe by modern technology, 10 years is a long time after all.

On the last day before you have to go back to Vancouver (thanks to Taeyong’s kind offer to take you the same way you came back since he misunderstood you, you don’t have to sit through a 10+ hours flight and you have more time), Mark not only tries to make you breakfast despite having an in-house chef (his eggs are ugly as heck but you appreciate his efforts and can’t help but coo at his dreamy smile under that grey hoodie when you tell him it tastes yummy) but he also introduces you to his friends in Korea. Of course, they tease you (mostly Mark) about where he has been hiding you but it’s all chill and fun you’re not quite ready to say goodbye. But you should go because the more you stay, the more you don’t want to leave. You’re lucky enough for this chance to reunite with Mark but all good things end eventually.

“Let’s not disappear from each other’s life again, okay?” the boy grins at you as you’re ready to go, Taeyong already working on his magic.

“Yeah, let’s not,” you agree easily, looking forward to your video chatting and constant texting even if it’s from the two opposite ends of the Earth with a terrible time zone difference.

You glance at the wish dragon who’s drumming with his fingers while pursing his lips as if he was waiting for something and you let out a huff before working up the courage to actually do something about these feelings inside of you. You might have regretted not confessing in middle school, you have spent years wondering about the what ifs, so you don’t want to make the same mistake twice but still, you want to give Mark a chance to ignore it all if he wants to. So you step forward and wrap your hands around him as you hug him close. It’s obvious that your action takes him aback, he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands and his body tenses under you but it all melts as you say those words that have been threatening to fall from your lips all this time:

“I have missed you.” you confess, honest and based on the hitch in his breathing, Mark must be surprised. You can’t blame him though, you just wanted him to know. You step back with a weary smile, his big Bambi eyes on you but before he could say anything you nod at Taeyong and you feel yourself falling, purple fog pulling you in. A few moments later you’re back in Vancouver, in your apartment, without him.

The first few days pass in a blurr, you can still barely believe what just happened. Your weekend with Mark feels like a too good dream but Mark kept his side of promise and texted you almost immediately as you left. He sends you selfies, songs that remind him of you and you talk about your days like you never did before. Still, it feels like you’re dancing around certain topics which are basically the elephant in the room and maybe that’s why Taeyong tries to cheer you up in his own way. Though, he soon realizes that you not being happy isn’t the problem, you are happy, you just… miss Mark more than you ever did.

“Enough of moping, you still have a wish left!” Taeyong exclaims, throwing himself onto your bed. “Come on, close your eyes, imagine what you want the most in the world and make a wish!" he singsongs. However, before you could even just indulge him, your phone pings with a new notification.

fullsun00 tagged you in their post!

You click on it right away, wondering what Mark’s friend Donghyuck is doing online at 1AM. The uploaded post turns out to be a photo of you and Mark when you all hang out near Han river. You were too busy at the time laughing at how the boy almost lost his whole scoop of ice cream before he could have had a single bite to notice his smile while looking at you. Based on his caption Donghyuck apparently wasn’t.

fullsun00: just old friends, they say. friends my ass @buttercupyn @onyourm__ark

You click your tongue wondering what Mark thinks of the callout but you press like on the post anyways. You put your phone aside before you could see how his other friends join the teasing in the comment section.

“Actually, I do have my third wish,” you speak up as you turn to Taeyong before he could make a remark on your tinted cheeks.

You’ve been thinking a lot about it during the past days. You could wish for anything but you’re at a point of your life where no riches or fame would make you happier because you’re happy enough just the way it is. It might not be perfect but you don’t want to be selfish and you want to make decisions you won’t regret: like catching up with Mark, curing his tiger and bringing happiness into the life of somebody who only ever served other people in his life.

“Ooh, what is it?” Taeyong claps, giddy as if he was waiting for this to happen. He probably did.

“I wish you would go on a vacation and enjoy life,” you tell him but unlike his usual reaction, this time the dragon’s smile fades and he blinks at you, confused.

“You could ask for anything in the world and that’s what you want? Are you sure?” he furrows his brows, not quite believing your words but you just smile, knowingly.

“Yes, Taeyong, I’m sure.”

“Your wish, my command,” he bows with his hands put together and with a twirl suddenly he’s in a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses, looking as ready for a holiday as one can be. You chuckle and tell him to just go, you’ll be fine.

You’re fine, you really are. Life goes on, you study and work, you laugh with your friends, you video call with Mark regularly and his friends are regulars on your social media, too. It’s just sometimes the feeling of missing something hits you harder than other days. Especially when you’re looking through the pictures you have from your Seoul weekend.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper ahead of you at one particularly good photo of Mark and the sunset, smiling at you behind the camera. You miss his smile, the cute wrinkles around his eyes when he crunches his nose, the sound of his laughter, his hand on your wrist… you miss him.

Ding-dong.

You stand up startled at the sound of your flat’s bell, running to the door to open it even though you have no idea who it could be so early on a Saturday morning. Not having a better idea, you expect it to be either a neighbour of your landlord but on the other side of your doorstep stands a boy who you thought was a continent away. He’s dressed semi-casually this time, his shirt tucked in his jeans, hair lightly falling onto his forehead and a nervous smile on his thin lips.

“Mark! But I⎼ I don’t even have more wishes,” you blink, taken aback, looking around to look for Taeyong in case he came back. But your behaviour just manages to confuse Mark instead.

“What?”

“I just wished you were here,” you blurt out without thinking, your words only processing later in your brain and it’s then when heat creeps onto your cheeks. Mark tries to but can’t really hide his growing smile at that.

“Really? I’m glad then. I just took my new private plane on a test drive,” he says bashfully, a silly excuse for real.

“All the way to Vancouver?” you tease, watching Mark fumble with the hem of his shirt. Your heart beats overtime just because of the fact that he’s there.

“Well, what can I say? I did miss the weather here,” he plays along with a shrug but he’s more serious when he looks deep into your eye and adds: “And you left without letting me answer.”

Oh yes, you did. You were kind of afraid of his reaction but seeing how he was ready to travel across the world just to see you, maybe there’s no reason for you to be so afraid. It feels like deja vu but a reversed one in a way as Mark gently pulls you into a hug, his lips grazing your hair with a whisper that makes your heart skip a beat: “I have missed you too.”

You really wouldn’t wish for anything more.

#nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct x reader #mark lee x reader #mark lee x you #stories

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jincherie · 4 years

Text

fox rain | five

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 9.9k+ • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: stop two on the angst train express!!! not as blatant, more reading between the lines here...... have fun! • ☽ — notes: bros... it’s only downhill from here. cowa-fucking-BUNGA amirite cowboys???????!?!?

— posted; 18.09.2020

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterpost | prev. | five | next • —

You lay in a sort of placid, bewildered shock, the kind that is sourced from confusion as opposed to an unpleasant surprise. After waking to blearily turn off your alarm before it blasted through the entirety of Dancing Lasha Tumbai, you’d unlocked your phone to find this curious set of messages from a number you haven’t saved. You’ve been lying in place for several minutes as your tired, wired brain slowly kicks into gear and attempts to debunk the mystery. After another unsuccessful few minutes of staring blankly at the screen, you’re saved from impending cranial combustion when your phone lets out a delightful little tinkle and another message hastily joins the others.

Ah, that makes so much sense now! Except it doesn’t. Actually, it kind of adds to your bewilderment. Taehyung… is texting you? You don’t think you’ve ever in your life had any correspondence with him that didn’t either take place in the presence of Jimin or under the influence of alcohol… also in the presence of Jimin, now that you think of it. You haven’t really interacted with Taehyung outside of Jimin. So it is particularly odd to wake up to a series of messages that are from him, and pertaining to such an odd topic. You’re still so tired you can’t even fathom what would warrant a text from him. Maybe you dropped something at one of your tutoring sessions and Jimin asked him to give it back to you? It would make sense, since after the rollercoaster of a ride the last week has been for him (in particular, the questionable events that took place at the hands of one Kim Seokjin but somehow ended up with Jimin and Hoseok making up? You don’t really understand it but you’re not even going to bother to try to at this point) he has ended up a little preoccupied.

Tapping the screen when your inactivity leads it to go dark, you take a moment to scrounge a response from the empty barrel bottom that is your brain. Once satisfied, you drop your phone onto your bed and flop yourself back to the position you’d been in before your own alarm woke you so rudely. Technically, you don’t have to be up and about for another hour…

With faith that your additional hour of sleep will revive your ability to think, you allow yourself to slip somewhat self-indulgently back into sleep and pass the fuck out like a woman who has spent the night trying to forget.

(Which you are, and did do, except with maybe a little less alcohol than what that sentence implied.)

X X X X

It has been almost a week since the unfortunate end to that tutoring session on Monday, and while you’ve managed to stay off social media enough that you haven’t triggered yourself by accident in the entirety of that duration, every time you come on campus it’s like for however many steps forward you took, you take double the amount backwards. University students are such gossips! Well, the jobless ones are, anyway. The students that work and study are too busy dragging themselves around campus in a stunning rendition of the undead from various media to be bothered with the latest plot twist in the resident school drama. Which is to say, there has been no twist. The population is still shamelessly up Sera’s ass in the belief that she is the author of the poem, and as has become the norm you find yourself resisting the urge to hunt the bitch down and go in for round two on her face. Surely, your self-control has earnt you the title of a saint by now.

You’re blasting some angsty shit on the way to your music history class and pretending you’re in a music video for some indie band (it’s cathartic, and you will argue that fact to your grave), when you make it a few steps past the entrance to the food court and have the absolute living daylights scared out of you. Thudding footsteps reach you through your earphones and two hands clamp on your shoulders to halt you in place and spin you around like Barbie Ballerina.

“You’re a disgrace!” It’s Seokjin who has halted you in the middle of the hallway, every bit as dramatic as you’d come to expect. “You skipped drama class? And you call yourself an acting major, PSH!”

Yanking your earphones out, you nail the tall, pink-haired idiot with a glare. Very bold of him to be approaching you after you nearly chopped off Lil’ Jinnie barely a few days ago for his bastardous antics. Perhaps he’s getting a bit big for his glittery pink rainboots.

“First of all, will you please listen to me when I tell you I’m not an acting major?” Unfortunately, when you speak your voice comes out more exasperated and less threatening than you intended. “Second of all—very bold of you to be approaching me right now. You’re lucky you escaped with your life, you meddling bastard. You want me to bite the rest of your dick off?”

“You should know by now that I take that as a compliment,” Seokjin sniffs, haughtily, ignoring the latter part of your threat. “And do you know how boring it is for me to crash your class when you’re not even there? No one threatens me like you! It’s getting harder and harder to get it up these days, you know. I need a hit of the good stuff.”

For a moment you’re simply stunned into silence, staring at him and wondering just how and why he seems to have been sent here with the sole mission of making you want to kill him and then yourself. Nothing you could think to say really is enough, so you settle on simply turning and walking away.

Of course, you forgot that no one turns their back on Kim Seokjin and gets away with it.

“YAH!”

You wince—you think he actually just broke a sound barrier, or maybe your eardrums— or both. Seokjin quickly scrambles to place himself in front of you, arms out. His eyes are wide in something you suspect he thinks is a puppy-eyed look, but actually comes across more like he’s trying not to shit himself.

“Promise me you won’t skip drama again!” Seokjin says, pointing a finger at you in borderline accusation. When he doesn’t see your expression budge, he quickly changes tactics. “If not for me, the most charming prince in the story of your life, then at least for Jungkook, that poor virgin—”

You blink, distracted for a moment by what he said. “Wait, Jungkook is in my drama class?”

“’Wait, Jungkook is in my drama class?’” Seokjin repeats in a voice a few octaves higher than your own. “Listen to you, not even knowing who is in your own class. For shame! But have no fear, since you clearly skip so much I will happily extend my generosity and take you under my wing. Tutelage fee starts at $55 with an extra $5 for every question you ask that I don’t know—”

“Do you ever actually hear yourself talk?” you ask, feeling your will to live draining out your ears. “Like, the shit that comes out of your mouth? Do you hear it? Because—wait, are you saying you would charge me for questions that you don’t know the answer to?!”

Seokjin shrugs, “It’s a little unorthodox, I know. But—”

“I would literally be bankrupt! Thousands—no, millions of dollars in debt!” You exclaim, grabbing him by his stupid big shoulders and shaking him about. “Do I look crazy to you?!”

“Oh, what, you think you can do better?!” Seokjin demands, voice wobbling from your shaking. “What’s 2x2?”

“Fucking four!” you wail, releasing him in your despair. You can’t do this, your day only just started and you are not exhausted enough to micronap while he talks like usual. “I’m leaving, don’t follow me. DELETE MY NUMBER.”

“Haha jokes on you!” you hear Seokjin holler from behind you, voice rapidly growing quieter from the speed that you’re powerwalking away. “You never gave me your number!”

You make it to class barely on time due to Seokjin acting as one of the biggest inconveniences in your life, and while you manage to push him from your brain for the duration of it, you wish you could say that is the last time you see him,

It’s probably the fact that you busted his ass being a weirdo with Jimin and Hoseok last week that has him so…. attached this week, you suspect. You’re at your third Seokjin encounter for the day and you’re honestly considering whether you should trip to the campus pharmacy and look for some pepper spray, or maybe an umbrella. Pepper spray would be more effective, but the umbrella…. You can’t argue against the satisfaction it would provide.

You’re trying to sneak your way into a library on the Arts side of campus, one you don’t usually go to, so you can study without worrying about going absolutely batshit insane in the presence of Seokjin. It was hard, but you think that you’ve finally managed to shake him. What on earth had him so determined to tail you today? Was it seriously because you skipped your own class? Nutcase.

You peek your head around the corner looking not only for Seokjin, but for another thing you had happened to notice every time you were ambushed. You have yet to determine whether the glimpse of phenomenally bright floral print right before Seokjin pounces you is causation or correlation, and it makes you a bit nervous. Cautiously, like timid forest animal, you creep around the corner and begin to make your way into the building, eyes flicking from the library door right at the end to the rest of your surroundings. The café coming up on your right tempts you greatly, but you know it is too great of a risk. Out in the open, you’d definitely be seen.

This area is almost like a courtyard, an undercover area between three separate buildings. With a looming cement and glass ceiling, though, it feels like a building of its own. The library sits nestled in the corner of the largest building, and although it isn’t very wide, it spans several floors. You plan on going to the highest one and hiding in a corner near a window.

You’re close, so close to reaching the library in fact that you’ve fallen into a false sense of security. By the time you register the sound of pounding footsteps approaching behind you, for the second time today, it’s too late.

“Ah, y/n! Wait!”

Instinctively you prepare to burst into a sprint to get away, but at the last second stop yourself. That doesn’t sound like Seokjin… that sounds like—

“Taehyung?” you ask, turning in surprise as the boy comes to a screeching halt in front of you, bending with his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath.

“I’ve… been trying….” he huffs, “To talk to you…. all day….. hah…Why are you so….. good at running away?”

He looks absolutely wiped out, cheeks red and sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. You’re just beginning to feel guilty when you notice his shirt, the bright floral print that you literally don’t know anyone else bold enough to wear, and you realise he’s really not lying. Poor Taehyung, just like you he has fallen victim to—

“That Seokjin bastard,” you say, completing a quick scan of the area to make sure the mention of his name didn’t somehow summon him. “He’s been harassing me all day. I’ve had to really up my game. By the way… are you okay? Please breathe… also what did you want to talk to me about?”

Taehyung straightens, eyes closed as he attempts to control his breathing. One of his hands comes to sweep the ashy hair from his face, the ends slightly damp with sweat.

“I’m fine,” he says, sounding slightly like he’s about to pass out. You prepare to take a step forward and catch him if he does, but he opens his eyes in the next second and shoots you a dopey smile. “I’m fine! Apparently just… whoo… really out of shape.”

“Your sacrifice is not in vain,” you say, smiling when he lets out a sudden laugh. Another shaky breath rakes past his lips before he straightens, eyes blinking a little wider. “Ah, right. I was looking for you because, um… you didn’t respond to my text… and I needed to ask you something that’s a little time-sensitive…”

“Your text…” you wrack your brain, sure that you remembered responding to it this morning in bed. Your mouth shifts into a wince, though, when you can recall writing a response, but not actually sending it. “Oh. I am so sorry, I’m an idiot. I was kind of half asleep when you texted, and I swear to god I typed a response but I think I fell asleep again before sending it…”

There is not a shred of accusation on Taehyung’s pleasant features, lips instead slightly curled in a smile. “That’s fine,” he chirps, rocking on the balls of his feet for a moment. “I do it all the time too. I’m just glad I caught you.”

You return his smile, before a thought that had been nagging you earlier returned and you acted on the urge to voice it. “By the way…. How did you get my number?”

Your question seems to be unexpected and, for some reason, flusters him slightly. He reaches to scratch the back of his neck, averting his gaze for a moment. “Uh, Jimin gave it to me. It was for something stupid a while ago but I never needed to use it.”

You raise your brows at what he said, but get the feeling he’s not going to elaborate. Instead, you remain quiet and wait for him to continue his thought from earlier. He shuffles on his feet, returning his gaze to your own. “Anyway, the reason I was trying to catch you all day was because I wanted to ask you something…”

“I know it’s not really any of my business, but I kind of noticed, and Jimin mentioned lightly that things haven’t been, uh…. great for you lately.” He doesn’t even give you time for that statement to sink in amongst your shock, continuing without pause despite the way his cheeks begin to flush, “And, uh, my exhibition is this Friday, and I was gonna go with Jimin but he double-booked himself with Hobi, so now I have no plus-one and I was wondering… if you wanted to go?”

When you simply stand there, dumbfounded, he clears his throat awkwardly, fiddling with the cuffs of his button-down. “To um, you know, take your mind off things… maybe… you don’t have to, of course, but I just thought I would—”

Snapping out of your stupor before he can take back the invitation, you hastily step forward and outstretch your hands. “Oh, no I would love to go! This is really—” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the light sting of your eyes “—sweet of you. I’d like to go, if it’s ok. You’re sure Jimin doesn’t mind…?”

Taehyung seems shocked, and you suspect he might have thought you would turn down the invitation from the way his eyes seem to light up. Have you really been walking around campus looking like that much of a gloomy bitch? You need to check your facial expressions when you get home this afternoon.

“He won’t mind,” he says, waving his hand excitedly. “Great, perfect—um, here is the little info sheet. I’d stay to tell you more but my class actually started a few minutes ago, so…”

“Oh!” you exclaim, taking the sheet from his hand before waving him away. “Go! Go to class! I’m sorry I made you late! Thank you for this, by the way!”

He seems slightly dazed at your enthusiastic thanks and farewell, but he shakes himself out of it and before he goes he sends you a smile that you can’t think of any other way to describe except dazzling. “It’s no problem, y/n. See you then.”

And then he’s off and you’re left standing alone in the pseudo-courtyard, clutching the exhibition pamphlet in your grip. Your eyes sting ever so slightly, and you can’t help but think how kind of sad it is that one person goes out of their way to think of you in the midst of everything you’re dealing with and you’re so touched you’re nearly driven to tears.

Hormones suck and you want a refund.

X X X X

Taehyung was right when he said that what he had to ask you was time-sensitive.

You hadn’t realised it at the time, but Friday was only a few days away— and in the midst of classes, schoolwork, and everything else, those days went fast. Before you know it, it’s Friday morning and a panicked glance at the pamphlet Taehyung had given you reveals that the exhibition opens officially around 4:30PM. That works out surprisingly well for you, considering your last class ends at three o’clock and you can easily reschedule your session with Hoseok and Jimin.

There’s a lot about the invitation you haven’t gotten to really dwell on, and that continues to be the case as the day flies before your very eyes. By the time your music theory class comes to an end and you finish scribbling down the last few lines of note from your teacher, the event is even closer than you anticipated. From your recent examination of the pamphlet, you’d found earlier that Taehyung’s exhibition is being held at a small university-sponsored gallery downtown. It shouldn’t take you too long to get there from your house, and on the way home after packing your things, you plot out the route you’re going to take. It’s about a twenty minute trip, as you discover, since there is by some stroke of luck a bus that goes straight there from a street just around the corner from your own. Taking that into account, you should have around forty minutes or so to get ready.

Considering you’re one of many poor university students populating the area, it’s not often you actually put the effort in to get dressed up. Around these parts, there is a distinct culture of sweat pants and comfortable tops and more often than not a socks-and-slides combo, something you take part in more often than you’d like to admit. Still, you feel that considering the nature of the event you’ve been invited to and what you know of Taehyung’s works, you should probably be putting in much more effort than usual.

While you might act like a slob sometimes, this isn’t actually a problem— even goblins like you can have a stash of decent clothes somewhere in their cave. Yours happen to be pushed to the back of your closet on hangers that haven’t seen the light of day in months. What can you say? University takes its toll in mysterious ways.

Standing before your closet, eyes boring into the portion that’s been held in its depths for longer than you can remember, you wonder which way you should go with your outfit. Exhibitions are fancy right? Should you dress it up? Logic says you should, but on the other hand what if you are the only one dressed up? That would be humiliating. You pause for a moment to think about the type of garb you usually see Taehyung in— you have a feeling that he will probably dress the same way tonight. Recalling his bold, avante-garde taste in fashion is about as helpful as one might imagine, but it does comfort you to know that no matter what you choose, most eyes will likely be on him anyway.

Comforted by that fact, you make up your mind and pull out a set that isn’t too over the top, and won’t make you look like a rat. Once you’ve slipped into those, you freshen up and wash your face, trying to make yourself seem a little bit more alive afterwards and not like you had an 8AM class today. You’re successful, to a degree, but you’re a little tight on time so you can’t really dwell on it. Feeling your stomach rumble as you grab your bag and key, you can only hope that this exhibition has free food.

x — x — x

“Ah, y/n! You’re here! You… you look nice.”

You were so busy staring at the large, shiny building before you that when Taehyung’s voice rings out in greeting, it startles the hell out of you. You don’t even register what he says before you’re pointing with eyes and mouth wide open, “Your exhibition is in there?!”

His expression of surprise melts into one of amusement, a laugh tumbling from deep in his throat. You don’t even notice the way his cheeks are flushed ever so slightly as he meets your gaze.

“Fancy, right?” he says, wagging his brows. “Some loaded alumnus who actually enjoyed his university experience practically donated it to them. So now they use it for, uh… for most exhibitions.”

“For the best ones, you mean,” you say, your grin widening when he scratches the back of his neck, bashful and blushing. “But yeah, damn. I was expecting it to be nice but I wasn’t expecting it to be this nice.”

Taehyung laughed again, clearing his throat. As he takes a moment to collect himself, you let your eyes scan over his form. The second you do so, you feel a foreign flutter in your stomach, heat flushing to your face. There is truly no other way to describe his choice of outfit for today except for painfully boyfriend. Perhaps on anyone else it would look a little less than presentable, but on Taehyung’s model-esque form the loose chestnut pants and an oversized leather jacket over a boldly patterned shirt work wonders. How does he look so effortless yet so…?

If you’d attempted to wear something like that you’d end up looking like the local court jester. Perhaps you should just make peace with the fact that God has favourites and Kim Taehyung is clearly one of them.

“It, um. It started a few minutes ago, shall we head in?”

Taehyung offers you his arm, a gentlemanly move that completely contrasts the boyish grin on his face. Ignoring the sudden sensations in your abdomen, you make a show of curtsey-ing before you take it, eliciting a laugh from your company as the two of you head to the entrance and the full exhibition experience begins.

As soon as you enter there is someone by the door, who seems to be at the very least taking note of how many people enter, a table with flyers and booklets beside him. Taehyung parts from you only to move over and grab a few, brandishing them as he returns with a bright grin.

“Here is all the information about the event, madame,” he says, with an extremely exaggerated air of grandeur, presenting one of the flyers with a flourish. You take it, unable to help your soft snort.

“I would have thought I had something better, what with the very artist behind the event accompanying me,” you say, grinning when you see his cheeks turn an endearing pink as he flashes a bright, boxy smile.

“True,” he returns, folding the other flyer and slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. “You can’t ask a flyer questions in real time. Anything that crosses your mind, you can ask straight to the source.”

“Oh? Then, may I enquire as to what the theme of this exhibition is?” You’re enjoying the playful air that drifts between you now, unable to rid your face of the smile currently displayed on it even if you wanted to.

Taehyung’s eyes flick to you, a lopsided smile tugging his lips to accompany the sly accent to his gaze. “Ah, a tough one right off the bat. I think telling you straight-up would be too easy. Let’s see if you can try to guess it as we walk through.”

You turn to him with an affronted look, having expected him to easily supply you with the answer. Taehyung is a little cheekier than you remember. You snap your mouth shut, cheeks heating when you notice he has offered his arm to you once more. Taking note of the other people in the room walking around in a similar manner, you slip your arm through his and try to ignore the way you feel your ears light on fire.

“Okay, you’re on,” you respond, if a few moments too late. He doesn’t comment on the delay, simply sending you a smile that you can’t quite decipher the emotion behind. You don’t get to dwell before the two of you are off, beginning on your journey through the building and starting on your tour of the exhibition.

You’d kind of always known that Taehyung was talented, considering he managed to make such a name for himself on campus in such little time with such ease. Hell, he’s well-known enough to have made it onto the list of suspects for the muse of your poem. Still, this knowledge is only compounded the further into the building you go and the more of the exhibition you see. Taehyung is truly talented, the images blown up and displayed on the wall each capturing a certain emotion that you don’t have a name for, yet is so familiar that each time you see a new one it gives you pause. Viewing his works, seeing into this part of him and witnessing this bit of his soul he has bared, you can’t help but feel a slight sense of kinship.

It’s something that rests in the space between your lungs and diaphragm, something that tickles but also something that aches. You do know this feeling, so familiar yet so out of touch and far from the tip of your mind’s tongue. You do try to guess the theme of the exhibition as you go, throwing out the occasional dumb guess to elicit a laugh— he always laughs, and it always makes you smile— but you don’t quite manage to pin it.

“The five senses,” you shoot into the dark, standing before an image that has made you stop and stare for a good five minutes now. It’s not quite black and white, and it’s not a particularly unique image— but something about the composition, something about the movement in the two hands that are so close yet so far from actually touching, speaks to that hidden part of you. The way one of the hands simply hangs, unbothered and neutral, but the other, the one slightly closer to the foreground, has fingers ever so slightly outstretched, reaching but never quite committing to the movement and the unspoken consequence of the hinted action.

Of course, you know the answer even before Taehyung says it. He laughs, hands in his pockets, “Nope, ddaeng.”

“This is hard,” you whine, without much heart behind it. The smile stays on Taehyung’s face.

“Whatever. You’re smart, I know you can guess it. It should be easy, for you.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and you have to turn away so that he doesn’t see your cheeks warm. The two of you had parted when you caught sight of the snacks table; you’d been prepared to abandon him and make a beeline over, but Taehyung had surprised you by marching over himself and coming back with a loaded plate. He’d confessed with a sheepish smile that he hadn’t had lunch, and really you were in no place to judge since you hadn’t either. By this point in your journey, though, the plate is almost empty. There’s only two tiny cupcakes left and you’re letting the rest of the things you scarfed down settle before you go in for more.

Perhaps it was a little dangerous, coming here with Taehyung. He looks so fine, even while shoving sweets in his mouth, that you spend about the same amount of time looking at him as you do at his artworks. It takes all of your willpower to tear your eyes away every time you catch yourself looking at him and admiring the truly boyfriend fit he has donned for this occasion. Every so often he will simply stand before one of his works, scrutinising it with a fresh perspective and ever-criticising eyes, and the sight of it will make something nameless and foreign well within you. You don’t quite know what to do with it, so you ignore it. Or at least, you try to.

It feels a little too similar to what you know of yearning. It leaves you confused.

You stop not long after in front of another piece, this time a combination of three images that act as separate snapshots of smaller parts of a larger image. You admire the way he has set it out, revealing not too much but just enough that the viewer gets a sense, a feeling, but isn’t confronted with the message. It allows everyone to take their own sensation from it. You like that a lot about his works— he doesn’t tell people what to feel as they view his images, but merely hints, prompts and nudges. He sets the stage and allows people to take what they need, see whichever bits draw their eye most and spell meaning from elements of their choosing. He’s talented, you find yourself marveling again, so incredibly talented.

But still, you can’t put a finger on what the theme is.

By the time you make your way completely though the exhibition, having doubled back at a few points to look again at a select few of the pictures, you’re still no closer to guessing. It has you deep in your thoughts as you stand outside, waiting for Taehyung to return from thanking one of the guests who had recognised him for coming.

“Guessed it, yet?”

You turn, pinning him with a look that you hoped didn’t look as dumb as it felt. “Leave it with me,” you say. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

At your words, Taehyung laughs— it’s one of the full-bodied ones you’ve come to enjoy, where he throws his head back a little and shakes his hair back into place after. You have to snap yourself out of it before he catches you staring.

“I’m sure,” he says, unable to keep the cheeky grin off his face. It does slip ever so slightly though, just for a moment, as you watch a thought cross his features. “By the way…”

You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue. You feel an odd combination of at-peace, and unsettled. Holistically, this is the most at-peace and relaxed you’ve been in weeks. However, when you take a moment to tune into the inner machinations that make up your being… something in this exhibition has reached into your insides and fiddled around, moving things where they shouldn’t be and touching things that aren’t meant to be touched. It’s odd, and you acknowledge that it gives you quite a bit of cognitive dissonance. Even so, you’re calm enough that you have no trouble being patient while you wait for Taehyung to continue and say what he seems so nervous to say.

“Um, I know I initially only asked you about coming here, to the exhibition…” he begins, reaching to rub the back of his neck in what you recognise to be one of his nervous ticks. “But, I actually have these vouchers I won in a competition a while ago for a paint-and-sip session that are about to expire, and I was wondering… would you like to go? Now, I mean. Since they actually kind of expire tomorrow. Unless you’re busy, because if you are that’s—”

You decide to put him out of his flustered misery, reaching to nudge his arm. “Of course, that sounds fun! Plus, you were right the other day; I could really do with the chance to relax. Thank you, for all this. I really appreciate it.”

It takes a second for your words to register, but when they do the most blindingly bright smile spreads across his face; he’s practically beaming at you.

“Of course,” he says, with barely a moment’s hesitation. “I’m really happy you agreed to come— I’m glad you said yes to the paint-and-sip, too, because it’s one of my favourite places. Come on, let’s get going. If we get there at just the right time, we can get a really good seat, hopefully by the window.”

The journey continues, Taehyung leading you through the city while chatting easily all the while, a stunning twilight cityscape backdrop and the gentle glimmering surface of the river meandering through buildings providing the perfect scenery. If you had a little more faith in your artistic ability, you might try and paint the image you see now; Taehyung in the colours of dusk, soft and natural against the bright lights and harsh lines of the metropolitan landscape. But alas, you aren’t as talented as the man besides you, and you don’t even want to think of how it would turn out if you attempted to paint such a thing. You quickly throw the thought from your mind before it can linger and get up to more trouble than it’s worth.

“Here we are!” Taehyung’s cheer breaks you out of your stupor, bright smile directed your way once more as he stops in front of a large establishment with long strips of window and a colourfully sewn awning.

‘Brush & Bar’, the cursive, neon sign reads above the door, flickering between soft pink and peach orange. It’s an interesting aesthetic the place has going on, but when you look over and catch sight of Taehyung once more it suddenly makes sense why he likes it so much. The style of this place is very similar to some of the more outlandish things he tends to model around campus. Before your reverie lets you remain abandoned outside, you hurry to follow after the ashy-haired boy, grabbing the back of his jacket when you almost trip over the door frame. He spares a look over his shoulder to make sure you’re okay before he continues, moving towards the counter and smiling with more charm than you can personally handle at the staff member there.

It’s a woman, who you suspect is in her mid-thirties, and she is pretty enough that it takes you by surprise when she rolls her eyes heavily at Taehyung’s approach.

“You again, boy?” she asks, though it sounds more rhetorical than anything and you catch the slightest tinge of humour accenting her words and it soothes your hackles. “Don’t you ever get sick of hanging around here?”

“Nope!”

She cracks a smile, lines appearing at the edges of her eyes. “Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. We’d miss you an awful lot if you ever stopped showing up here.” Her eyes flick ever so slyly to you, and then back. “Say, is today the day you’re finally gonna make good on those vouchers you won? I know you said you were waiting for the right chance to ask that g—”

“Yes!” Taehyung cuts in loudly, eyes wide and cheeks flushing darkly. “Yes, yep! I brought the vouchers! They do expire tomorrow after all!”

The woman, Bora as you now see from her nametag, simply smiles, something sly about the action intriguing you. Taehyung clears his throat, reaching to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly. “So, um… I will use them now. Is the window seat free…?”

Bora nods, a fond curve to her lips now as she rummages around behind the counter and takes the offered vouchers from Taehyung to punch holes in them. “Your favourite spot? Of course. I had a feeling you were coming, too, so I’ve already gone and set it up with some canvases and acrylics.”

She hands the vouchers back, and Taehyung slips them into the pocket of his jacket. “Paintbrushes and jars are in their usual place, and I know you don’t normally drink while you’re here but if you’d like some tonight just take your order up to Kyungsoo. Oh! And tonight’s special for snacks is tea cakes, so definitely make the most of that. There are some good ones in the display.”

At the mention of food and alcohol, your gaze had already started to wander on its own— you catch sight of the display of cakes and other sweets and feel your mouth water. Ridiculous, since you were kind of full before, but what can you say, you’re a complicated woman. Lots of layers, not unlike an onion. The thought almost makes you snort.

With a gentle nudge to your arm, Taehyung is bringing you back to the present moment and leading you over to the window, where a medium-sized table has been set up with two square canvases and a basket of paint bottles, palettes leaning to the side. Taehyung instructs you to take a seat, informing you with a smile that he’ll grab some paintbrushes and water for the two of you to use. At his suggestion, while he is gone you open up your phone and search for something to paint. Something that’s not too hard and not too easy. Because your skills are… well, they’re not nonexistent but you’re not about to go around tooting your horn in front of someone with actual art skills and talent. Apparently there is usually an image supplied for each night, but Taehyung says it’s not strict and that tonight is one of the nights where all the patrons just have free reign.

You sort of get distracted part way through the activity, eyes subconsciously seeking Taehyung’s leather jacket amongst the decently filled establishment. It’s really quite nice inside, actually; the walls and general decor are soft and neutral, with pops of colour everywhere that bring each corner and table to life. A lot of the furniture is wooden, natural and polished underneath specks of paint that decorate in layers that tell of time spent well. The lighting is soft with the exception of the bulbs stationed above each table, which are brighter and angled towards where the canvas would be. On one of the walls, the one near the bar, it is completely covered by greenery— vines that, as far as you can tell, aren’t actually fake. A soft, almost jazzy tune filters lightly through the room, complemented by the low hum of chatter and paintbrushes hitting glass. You’re incredibly impressed and, admittedly, you like this place a lot. It has the kind of vibe that just… makes you content.

“Here we go!”

You startle at the sound of Taehyung’s low register, looking over to see him placing a bundle of paintbrushes in between the two of you and a jar beside each of your canvases. He takes his seat across from you, smiling brightly. “Did you decide what you want to paint?”

You hum, turning your gaze out the window for a moment to see if it grants you any inspiration— it’s a gorgeous sight, the twilight sky broken by the outline of buildings with glimmering insides, but it doesn’t help much. You don’t know what you want to paint. Of course, there is this big, expanding feeling inside you, the urge to express it somehow filling you to your fingertips, but what do you do with it? You don’t even know its name.

“No,” you answer, reaching for one of the palettes propped up to the side. “But I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll just see where the vibe takes me.”

The smile Taehyung gives you at that is softer than most, and he eagerly follows suit in grabbing a palette and beginning to set it up; he squirts a big dollop of white, blinking at it for a moment as though he hadn’t intended to put that much. “There are some pencils and erasers to the side there, too. I prefer the moldable one.”

You thank him for his advice, before realising as he puts his own pencil ever so lightly to canvas that he hadn’t told you the subject of his painting. “What are you going to paint?”

“A secret,” he says, leaning around the canvas to grin at you. “Since I don’t know what you’re painting. Let’s swap paintings after, though. I do want to see eventually.”

That makes you laugh, but you don’t bother pushing further. A surprise is nice every now and then, you know. So long as it’s not the kind that ruins your life as you know it indefinitely.

But you’re here to have fun and relax, so you’re not going to get into that. You’re not even going to think about it.

Taehyung clears his throat, catching your attention immediately. “Right, before we start we should probably order. Did you—”

“No need, my boy!”

Two new figures appear at the side of the table, one a youthful man on the shorter side, the other older and plumper with grey beginning to speckle through his hair. The shorter one places two drinks onto the table, colourful cocktails in a generous glass, and the older laughs before placing down two plates, each with a different kind of cake slice situated neatly in the middle.

“On the house,” the man continues, chuckling at the shocked and somewhat flustered look on Taehyung’s face. “You’ve given us a lot of business so don’t even worry about it. Plus, we heard you were finally making the most of those vouchers so… here’s a little something to start the night off well!”

“...Thanks, Mr Kang,” Taehyung finally manages, shooting them a smile that could honestly give Hoseok’s own a run for its money. “You too, Kyungsoo. Do…. do I wanna know what’s in this?”

He’s gesturing to the drinks, a somewhat fearful look on his face. The shorter man shakes his head, thick brows curved in mirth as his lips twitch into a lopsided smile. “Nope. Tastes good though, so you got nothing to worry about.”

You can’t tell whether Taehyung is relieved or concerned, and so step in to save him a moment of reprieve. “Thank you so much— this all looks amazing!”

Happily, the two men soak in your praise. “I assure you,” Mr Kang says, patting his chest proudly. “It tastes as good as it looks.”

Kyungsoo snorts, but doesn’t disagree. He gives the two of you a small smile. “Right, we should be on our way. You two enjoy yourselves, and if you want refills just come let me know.”

Taehyung nods, thanking them again, and then it’s just the two of you once more.

“Well,” he says, licking his lips and reminding you of a puppy as he stares intently at the slice of strawberry crepe cake, decorated with a generous drizzle of syrup and two fresh, sliced strawberries in a dollop of cream beside it. The other one, a coffee-caramel blend you presume from the heavenly aroma reaching your nose, looks just as good but is nowhere near as successful at capturing his attention. “I guess… let’s begin!”

Whether he meant painting or devouring the food, you end up doing a bit of both. Each mouthful of cake that enters your mouth is announced with an explosion of flavour so rich it lingers long after you’ve swallowed the mouthful down. The drinks, too, are delicious. Fruity but not too syrupy or sugary, you suspect Kyungsoo had used spirits and tempered the fruity flavour with a bit of lemon or lime.

You still aren’t really sold on what to paint, but in the meantime you end up sketching out the flowers that sit on the windowsill a little behind Taehyung. They don’t seem too complicated, and if they end up looking terrible you can just smear the canvas with paint and call it abstract. Of course, part of Taehyung’s shoulder cuts the vase off from view so he’s probably going to end up making an unwitting appearance in whatever mess turns up on your canvas.

Even though neither of you have any idea what Kyungsoo put into those drinks, you’re sure its something strong. Before long the two of you are already giggly, conversation flowing easily as you put paint to canvas and attempt to make something decent. It’s around the time the two of you are almost finishing your drinks that the conversation takes a delightful turn, which consists of Taehyung telling you about his little fluffball, Yeontan.

“Oh my god,” you say, fingers gripping the paintbrush tight as you try to pet the urge to pet a dog that isn’t even here. “He’s so cute! Look at his grumpy little eyebrows!”

Taehyung laughs, having taken a break from painting to show you his dog like a proud parent. He takes his phone back and slips it into his pocket, paint-flecked hand returning to the brush he’d abandoned. “He’s such a smart dog, but he’s also super dumb. Runs into shit all the time. And there was one time that a friend came over and brought a new camera that he hadn’t seen before—”

Taehyung has to pause recounting the story, he starts giggling so hard. It makes you erupt into laughter as well simply because of how contagious the sound is. “He got so mad, he ran in front of me with his little legs and started barking at it like he was trying to protect me. I love that little dog.”

“I love him too and I haven’t even met him,” you giggle, using your pinky (the only finger you’re sure you haven’t gotten paint on yet) to wipe under your eyes. You don’t think you let a tear slip but you’ve been laughing so much you can’t be sure.

Taehyung beams at you from around his canvas, brush held midair. “That’s exactly what Jiminie says.”

That gives you pause. “Wait— Jimin hasn’t seen your dog? But you’ve been friends for ages!”

You catch the photographer smiling as he delivers a few soft strokes to his painting, affection hidden in his tone as he responds, “Yeah, a few years. Since… the last? Second last year of high school? Maybe? It was a wild start to the friendship.”

“Wild?” you echo, intrigued.

“Yeah. What really kick-started our friendship was this one time I came over while Jimin was really upset about something. I can’t remember exactly how it happened but we ended up at some wack university event nearby. It was boring as hell, and somehow we figured the best way to be entertained would be to commit a mild crime and get away with it.”

Once more, the ashy-haired male has to pause his story to get the giggles out of his system, taking the opportunity to sip a little more of his cocktail. You do the same, not one to pass up much of any drink these days.

“Long story short, he ended up streaking across the field and earning himself a title at the university as ‘mooncheeks’ or something equally dumb and funny, earnt himself a bit of a nude legacy.”

You pause, the alcohol beginning to slow your mind just enough that it takes a little longer for you to connect the dot between his story and something you’d shoved so deep in the back of your mind years ago that you��d almost forgotten it.

“Wait—” you smack your paintbrush down, eyes wide as an accusing finger is thrown his way. “That was— he ran into me on the way back! Oh my god I almost forgot, that was you two?!”

Taehyung erupts into laughter that is an octave or two shy of being too loud, having to place a hand over his chest to brace himself. He’s nodding wordlessly, eyes pinched shut, and it’s probably the alcohol making your eyes blur but for a moment you could almost swear he’s glowing.

“Yeah,” he finally manages to articulate, wiping a stray tear or two from his eyes, sniffling. “It cheered him up, though, so I think it’s worth the potential trauma.”

That makes you laugh, another sip of your drink going down. A lot of the spirits must have settled at the bottom, because this one had a little warmth as it went down.

The night goes so easily it’s like a dream, the atmosphere and alcohol in combination with Taehyung’s company making you feel much like you did before this whole shitshow, back when it wasn’t so hard to release the tension in your shoulders or to muster a genuine smile. Taehyung happily gets you a few refills, refusing to let you pull out your card— which is probably for the best because you’re not sure where your wallet is and you’re not coordinated enough to look right now.

You’re on the further side of tipsy, teetering on the edge of pleasantly drunk where nothing makes sense but you’re still somewhat coherent, and everything is funny. Taehyung has almost dipped his paintbrushes in his drink instead of the jar a few times, resulting in a long round of laughter and sore stomachs each time. Eventually, you’d moved his drink to the other side of the canvas and he’d offered you a sheepish smile.

Surprisingly, your painting doesn’t look too bad, either. Currently it has a bit of a blurry, undefined quality to it, but in your current opinion it kind of works for it. Taehyung’s shoulder did end up making a feature and as the two of you talk you find yourself distractedly painting patterns in the ‘leather’, swirls and hearts and hell, even a few triangles. Eventually, you reach the point where you think that you really can’t do anything more to make the painting better in the time you have, so with a contented sigh you place your brush down and instead turn your attention to Taehyung.

Even as he talks to you and wobbles a little in place, he’s still so incredibly focused in his work, in every detail that meets canvas at the direction of his nimple finngertips, that you don’t think you even see his hand shaking while he paints. Which, your hand was— a lot. It’s the main factor responsible for this one squiggly flower stem in particular you can see in your painting.

As you sit there, happily listening and laughing at each anecdote Taehyung offers you about his life, you find your mind wandering a little bit. Back to the exhibition, and the works and even the way you caught him regarding them. You recognise the critical lens that he viewed them through, because it’s one you adopt yourself for your own creations. Something wells in you, an urge to reassure him in case he ever had any doubts about his own talent; you’re far too many drinks in to be in a place where you can stop yourself.

“Taehyung,” you begin softly but seriously, with minimal slur. He doesn’t stop his motions, but you see him pause for the briefest moment before humming in acknowledgement. “Taehyung, I have to tell you…”

You’re figuring out how to best word your impression of his works and his talent, but you must take longer than you thought because Taehyung lets out a soft huff, giving you a smile that you can’t quite decipher.

“Don’t worry,” he says, flicking the paintbrush back to rest the wooden stem on his knuckles. “I already know I’m not the muse. You don’t have to worry about convincing me.”

For a second, all you’re able to do is blink. Taehyung simply goes back to his painting, expression neutral and his soft hum brushing your ears beneath the soft melody floating from the speakers. You realise quickly that you don’t know what to say to that, and that the full implications of his words haven’t really sunk in yet. He must have noticed that you’d been trying to go around and convince all the suspected subjects that they aren’t the muse of the poem… you feel oddly ashamed, for some reason. Your cheeks feel hot, and not just from the alcohol flush.

“Done!”

Taehyung’s voice breaks you from your reverie, his cheery smile greeting you once more. “All finished?”

You nod, offering a smile of your own and taking the opportunity to say what you wanted to earlier. “Yep. I’m excited to see yours, you’re so incredibly talented, Tae.”

His smile turns shy at that, a bashful laugh tumbling from his lips as he does his best to clean up his area. You do the same, standing up for the first time in a while and having to reach out and stabilise yourself on the table so you don’t fall. The drinks hit you a little harder than you first thought!

“Thank you,” he finally mumbles a few moments later, collecting the brushes. “I’m excited to see yours, too.”

You let out a short laugh at that, knowing that whatever you threw onto that canvas isn’t going to be able to hold a candle to what he made.

Quicker than you can keep track of, the two of you finish tidying and then before you know it you’re saying your goodbyes to the staff and stepping outside. You shiver at the unexpected breeze that greets you, people along the other side of the street huddling together. It’s a windy night and the breeze carries a bit of a bite.

“Oh, right,” Taehyung starts in place, offering his canvas to you. “Careful, it might still be a bit wet…”

Somewhat mindlessly, you swap paintings with him, smiling brightly before your gaze is drawn to the side. By nothing but absolute chance, it passes over the line in front of a bar popular with students at your university, and you almost blink and move on before your eyes halt in familiarity. At the hands of nothing but stupid luck, there is someone you recognise over there. Yoongi stands, face indicating a loud complaint before it even leaves his mouth, and there are a few others around him that he seems to be with who are laughing as they wait in line.

Your head feels so messy, like the wind has managed to get inside your skull and fling everything about like leaves on the autumn breeze. You’re so distracted in the moment that you don’t see it as Taehyung follows the direction of your gaze, and his expression drops. When you jerk out of your reverie, it’s just in time to see his eyes flicking from your painting, to his, and then back to you.

You’re about to peek at his painting and fill the silence with a compliment, but he beats you to it. Something is different about his expression, and not just because he’s no longer under the warm light of the paint bar. The glow you’d noticed so easily earlier seems to have dimmed a bit.

“Did you figure out the theme of the exhibition?”

At his question you startle, gaze flicking to the side as you try and figure it out on instinct on the spot. You’d completely forgotten to think about it, and considering you spent about as much time looking at him as you did his works while at the exhibition, you can safely determine you’re still nowhere closer to the answer. “Ah… no.”

As though drawn like a magnet, your gaze ends up over in the direction of Yoongi for the briefest second. You struggle to tear it away.

“It’s anaxiphilia.”

Even through the inebriation slowing your thoughts, his words reach you immediately. It’s as though your heart has turned to stone and dropped straight through your chest. That unspeakable, unknown emotion wells and bubbles within you, swelling to twice, thrice its size and blocking words before they can even reach your throat. Your eyes are on Taehyung again, but his are still centred where yours had been— had he also noticed Yoongi? You didn’t know they knew each other...

“Oh,” you finally manage, swallowing down that nameless sensation. Taehyung’s gaze slowly slides back to you, dark eyes full of so much… something, you think it would take you years to unpack and familiarise yourself with it all.

For a second, the two of you stand with your gazes locked, both of you too deep in your own thoughts to do anything about it. Taehyung is the one that breaks the spell.

“Well, it’s getting late, I shouldn’t keep you out any longer… There is a bus stop here, and tons of ubers in the area…” His eyes flick away as he talks but return as he murmurs this last bit, “Thank you for coming today. I hope you had fun.”

“Of course I did,” you rush, finally finding your voice amongst the shambles in your head. “Thank you for inviting me, Tae. I really… I really needed this. Thank you.”

He nods, smiling at you, but you notice it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Please get home safe,” he says, and you nod immediately, making his gaze soften. “See you later.”

“Bye! Thank you again!” you wave, Taehyung turning quick and already a decent way down the street after his farewell. He offers a wave over his shoulder and you catch it just in time before you turn back, gaze unconsciously seeking out the familiar figure across the road. Distantly, you observe that Yoongi is no longer in line for the bar and has switched to the bubble tea place a few stores down.

Taehyung’s exhibition and it’s theme swim through your mind, a sudden impulse welling within you in response that spurs your legs into a motion. You’re about to go across the road in a sudden spurt of something like bravery, but for some indecipherable reason, you stop before you can get more than a few feet. You turn your head, gaze thrown over your shoulder, eyes seeking without an explicit goal in mind.

You catch sight of him just before he rounds the corner and disappears from view— even from the back Taehyung presents a handsome figure, but in the split-second you manage to view him, the most notable things about his retreating form is the slumped curve of his shoulders and the lowered angle of his head. He’s gone before you can blink leaving you for good this time with nothing but your messy head and the one thought that swims to the surface that says after seeing him glow in happiness for the better part of the evening, sadness doesn’t suit him much at all.

Clutching the painting, your turn back to the front and try and focus on the present for just a minute or two, like whether you’re going to catch a bus or uber it home, but each time you start a new thought it always brings you back to the odd mix of guilt swirling deep in your gut. There’s something else there, the familiar hollow pit of yearning, but for once… you can’t quite tell who it’s for.

a/n: thank u so much for reading! i really hope it was worth the wait and that you look forward the future parts as fox rain begins to slowly draw to a close!! pls let us know u liked it w a like and rb and screaming in our inboxes is always ALWAYS welcome!! thank u !! love u !! <3

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thedeathdeelers · 3 years

Note

Trevor doesn’t remember when he first starts thinking of his bandmates again. His dead bandmates, that is, and just thinking the word dead makes him want to curl into the fetal position all over again like when he was seventeen. He thinks he starts remembering them when a decade has passed and Carrie is born. He was twenty-seven and there was this little baby with big eyes and small pink fingernails in his arms, when he thinks ‘She’ll never get to meet her uncles.’ He doesn’t cry then, but it’s almost as if his baby girl can feel his sadness because she starts screaming in his arms and it's enough of a distraction that he rocks her to sleep without thinking of the boys again that day.

He keeps them locked away in the back of his mind for the better part of five years until kindergarten rolls around and little Carrie with her curly pigtails and glittery Hello Kitty backpack comes home excitedly talking about her new best friends.

“Daddy, they are so cool! Flynn has dinosaur stickers and she gave me one. See!” She points to the top of her right hand where there’s a green pterodactyl cartoon sticker firmly slapped on. “And Julie has this huge purple crayon and she let me use it to write my name!”

At first, he’s beyond excited. His little girl made friends on her first day, which shouldn’t have been such a surprise now that he thinks about it since she has always been a little go-getter. Still, he ‘ooh’s’ and ‘ahh’s’ at the right moments as she talks his ear off about her new friends. By the end of the first week, Carrie has decided she wants to invite her best friends over for a small back to school party with just them and lots of pizza. She reminds Trevor three times Friday night not to forget that Flynn likes Hawaiian pizza and Julie likes orange Fanta best, and that he should become best friends with their parents because she’s decided they are all going to grow up and live together.

He laughs and a twinge of ache in his chest reminds him for a moment of a time when he was younger, not as young as Carrie maybe but just as naive. He remembers for a second flashes of running around playing tag at the park and scrapping the top of his thumb’s skin off. He still has the scar.

He can still remember Alex pulling a Batman sticker out of his pocket and taking him to the public restrooms to clean the cut. Alex the worrier, even at twelve, rambling about getting the cut infected and the proper way to tie his shoes and doesn’t he ever think about where he’s walking.

“Bobby! Oh my god, please tell me you don’t need stitches!” He can remember floppy blonde hair and blue eyes and gasping breaths. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt, you idiot, your eyes are watering.”

“Maybe I’m just mesmerized by your beauty, dude,” he can hear himself replying to try and ease the rigid shoulders and deep frown on his friend’s face. “Really, man, I’m fine. Just a little blood.”

“Let’s just get you to a bathroom and wash it off, okay?” But Alex had been hiding his eye roll and curling lips and his shoulders no longer made him look like an awkwardly hanging scarecrow. It was enough to make him forget his thumb was throbbing and dripping blood.

The scrape is deep enough that it bleeds for a while into the sink, he can still picture the reddish water as it goes down the drain. He and Alex had met in the back of their sixth grade English class, Alex was shy and constantly biting his nails while he was just trying to catch a nap without getting in trouble. They’d bonded over a mutual silent agreement: Bobby held Alex’s hand under the desk when he had to read aloud in class and Alex would nudge him with the right answer when the teacher would call him in the middle of a power nap.

“Gatsby is gay,” he can remember Alex whispering to him when Miss Augustine had called him one time in class. He remembers repeating it without a second thought and realizing only seconds later what the fuck he had just said. He remembers wanting to turn to Alex because he knows there’s something important in the interpretation for his friend. He knows it by how Alex sometimes stares at that soccer player, Gabriel, who sits two rows in front of them. He knows by how Alex turns red when the guy notices him staring and the anxious way he strums a beat with his fingers. He wishes he could turn to him and say he accepts him no matter who he loves without saying it because he knows Alex isn’t ready for that discussion yet. But they’re in class so instead he turns to his best friend and gives him an overly exasperated look, hoping it conveys how he has no idea how he’s going to dig himself out of this one but Miss Augustine had smiled and just went about her lesson.

They never talk about it but a few days later, when he plops his copy of the book onto Alex’s desk before class he smiled and says, “You were right. Daisy was totally a beard. Nick and Gatsby were totally in love.” And reading shitty Fitzgerald - who stole more than half of the amazing work written and attributed to him from his wife Zelda, and as a feminist Bobby knows that’s just some misogynistic bullshit he cannot tolerate even for a school grade - is all worth it. Because Alex looks at him with a look of pure joy that makes him feel like he just scored an extra carton of strawberry milk at lunch (and that’s immense happiness because everyone loves that’s pink milk.)

He’s thinking about the park with a bloody thumb when he hears the doorbell and goes to answer it. And suddenly all the excitement of meeting his daughter’s new friends leaves his body as a chill kisses his spine. Nothing prepares him for seeing the girl from the Orpheum staring at him with a taller, blue-eyed man who must be her husband. His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open, What are you doing here? He wants to ask. Are you a ghost? But before he can, he feels Carrie wiggle her way past him and leap into two pairs of arms. He can just make out black, thick boxer braids, deep brown skin, and a bright mint feather boa above Carrie’s head and he knows he’s just met Flynn. The other arm wrapped around his daughter is attached to a girl slightly smaller than both of them, a huge mass of curls making her appear their height with light brown skin and a wrist covered in macaroni jewelry. And that must be Julie, which means, he looks up to see the parents in front of him - the girl from the Orpheum is her mother and he’s never going to be able to forget that night again.

“Flynn’s parents asked us to take her because they were running late for a dinner reservation they had scheduled months in advance. I hope you don’t mind just us,” the man says with a friendly smile as he reaches his hand out. “I’m Ray Molina and this is my wife, Rose.”

Rose, Trevor thinks as he briefly thinks back on that fateful night. Size beautiful, he can practically see Reggie handing her their band’s t-shirt. He can almost feel Luke leaning his arm against his shoulder and telling her that he’d had a burger for lunch. He didn’t even have to look to know Alex was rolling his eyes at how bad his flirting game was. It was like losing them all over again, only he couldn’t; this was his daughter’s day and he couldn’t wallow in pity. He has to host, so he reaches his trembling hand out and offers the best smile he could offer.

“Hi Ray,” he turns to his wife. “Rose,” he nods and watches as her polite smile fades into a softer one, a genuine one, “I’m Trevor.”

She doesn’t correct him on his name. She doesn’t even look to be affected to be honest, until Trevor leads them inside and she sees some of his awards on the walls. Ray is busy helping to serve the pizza and soda for the girls and it leaves him alone with Rose. She doesn’t mention the award for ‘Now or Never’ new hit single on the Billboard 100 or its being #1 on VH1. Rose doesn’t have to, all she has to do is look at him and Trevor feels himself turning back into the scared kid who showed up at the hospital screaming about his friends. Screaming to the nurses who told him he wasn’t looking for a hospital room, he was looking for the ID numbers of bodies at the morgue. He gives her a slight head shake, as if to plead with her not to bring it up. She nods, but he feels his guilt grow heavier as she leans up to gently smear a line across his name TREVOR WILSON next to the title for up-and-coming artist.

It’s Carrie with her signature giggle and yell that makes them head for the kitchen. “Daddy, can you come sit down! Before we eat we have a surprise!”

They walk in to find Ray sitting amusedly at the dinner table. He beckons them to sit down with him and Trevor can’t help but laugh at the scene in front of him. The girls have obviously gotten into his stage makeup and Carrie, Julie, and Flynn are wearing matching bright red lipstick and glitter on their cheeks. Flynn is sashaying with her boa as Julie holds Carrie’s pink one, and Carrie has her hand on her hip as she strikes a pose before snapping her fingers and triggering the sound system. ‘Barbie Girl’ by Aqua starts blaring in through the speakers and the three adults share a look. Should they turn off the song? It is highly inappropriate. But to do that would mean having to explain why it’s inappropriate and do they really want to ruin a song that as far as their kids are concerned is about Barbie living in her Barbie world?

“Hey!” Carrie yelps and their heads all snap back to the girls pouting at them, “We are trying to give you a concert! Don’t make us waste all of Flynn’s cool moves!”

“Okay okay,” he shakes his head, “Don’t you have more cool moves to show us, Care?”

“No,” his daughter gives him a dead serious face, “we have limited choreography.” She says it with such a puff of dismay and sass that Trevor can’t help but let out the loudest laugh he has in a while. There’s no way Carrie even knows what she’s saying but she must have heard it when he was on the phone with his agent who was arranging his next music video.

The thought pops up before he can squash it, Alex would’ve loved her sass, he would’ve loved to dance with her. But it doesn’t hurt as much, to think of Alex smiling and dancing with glitter everywhere.

It’s not long until Rose and Ray are laughing along too and the three watch the girls spin, twirl, improvise lyrics, and throw their feather boas around long after the pizza has grown cold. - 🌙 (so this is the first bit and each bit shows how I decided to headcanon bobby met the boys in school and remembering them and leads you to rose confronting him and learning about the boys before her death ahhh ok let me know if it’s ok 🙈)

excuse me this is

really good????

more please 😌

#no seriously moonon it’s really well written and i love the attention to detail and the way you’re introducing us to trevor - to bobby #and how he met alex and it’s just :(#so cute and sad?? and i want to know the rest!!#you should know i’m usually like. really meh about bobby like i just don’t really care enough about him? because we really don’t know #anything about him or his relationship with the boys #but this made me feel things #so ya #♥️#i hope this is encouragement enough for you to post the rest moonon🥰♥️#ask #anon🌙#jatp #julie and the phantoms

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artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

cirque d'amour - chapter one (trixya) - cal

AN: *tw: mild drug references* hello, hi! this is my first fic & my first time posting to Ao3 & AQ! the story is hugely inspired by the greatest showman & my love of drama simultaneously. latrice owns a Big Gay Circus where katya features as a provocative/gymnastics dancer. (u r welcome) but what happens when a cute little stranger captures her interest?

i am on Ao3 as https://archiveofourown.org/users/moastar

*huuuuge thank you to my proof-reader & supporter, elliot! ;)*

It was a beautiful night in Los Angeles.

Katya was staring dreamily at the crescent moon, a cigarette lingering between her index and middle fingers. Every time she took a hit, she watched the vapour rise into the sky and evaporate amongst the stars. She closed her eyes and took a moment to really breathe - she fondly called this exercise her ‘pre-show chill’. She knew she was due to command the stage at any minute, but this ritual was sacred, and should not be rushed.

She was rudely disturbed by a loud crashing behind her, and a muffled curse. The rooftop door swung open, and revealed a heavily sweating man, in full, unapologetic drag. Katya turned on her heels, her eyebrow raised as she took in the scene. Roy - no, Bianca - was fumbling with her towering ginger wig at the same time as trying to tug her ridiculously long gown from where it was caught in the door. “Fuck!” she rasped, sounding much more like Roy right now than Bianca, Katya thought fondly.

“Oh, mama,” Katya grinned at her friend, noticing the vein in his head throbbing. “What a mess.”

“You!” Bianca swung an accusing claw at her. “Get in here now, you witchy bitch! You’re on any minute, and I couldn’t find you anywhere! And for fuck sake, will you help me with this - agh - friggin' GOWN?”

Katya’s face broke out into a grimace, and she slapped her knee with amusement. “Oh, Bee,” she flicked the end of her cigarette out into the dark abyss, and she took a moment to watch the ash fly slowly out of sight before trotting over to her damsel in distress.

Bianca’s face looked like it was about to explode - even through the pounds of carefully applied make-up, Katya could make out the creeping redness. “Come here,” she wheezed, amusement lacing her words, before tugging lightly on the folds of Bianca’s dress. The trail released easily, and Bianca glared at Katya, who smiled sweetly back at her.

Bianca’s face softened, and she sighed. “Okay, queen,” a tiny smile played on her lips. “I’ve done my number and I’m about ready to get fucked up. It’s your turn. Now get out there, your public awaits.”

The crowd was positively buzzing with raw energy.

Katya lingered side-stage, scoping out her audience with interest. She immediately picked out the regular offenders - Raja, Courtney and Jay - and a grin bloomed on Katya’s face. She adored her dysfunctional little family, and it warmed her little gay heart how frequently they came to see the Cirque just to support her.

Katya was embezzled in sequins tonight - giving a dripping in jewels fantasy - and had chosen a very sexy black heel. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder, knowing she looked good.

Her moment of shameless self-love was broken by an announcement from Latrice - I mean, with that beautiful, booming voice, how could it not be? - now striding centre-stage. “Ladies and gentle-MEN!” the last syllable was little less than a yell. “I am pleased to announce our next act of the evening, here at the fabulous Cirque.”

Katya can’t help but feel a fondness in her bones for the ringmaster - he was nothing less than fabulous himself. He towered above most common folk, was anything but slim, and was louder than a foghorn. That being said, he was the kindest soul Katya had ever had the pleasure to meet.

“She’s bendy, she’s wiry, she’s sexy as hell, bitch,” Latrice waggled his eyebrows and the crowd went wild, spurring him on with their energy. From the sidelines, Katya held her breath.

“It’s -

YEKATERINA

PETROVNA

ZAMO-LOD-CHIK-O-VA!”

Latrice shuffled excitedly off-stage, and the lights dimmed. The crowd were cheering deafeningly now, and Katya swore she could hear Courtney’s screaming above them all.

Lana Del Rey’s “Million Dollar Man” started to play, weaving a spell on the eagerly awaiting crowd. Katya herself became tangled up in the spell, and she gracefully stepped out to meet the booming applause.

She turned to gaze at the many pairs of eyes all trained on her, and she gave a flirtatious smile before biting down on her finger. The reaction of the people at her feet gave her a thrill - she can do the simplest of things, and have them all begging her for more. She threw her arms out gracefully, pulling her hands back to caress her body and lose herself in the song. Her hands ran from her breasts to her torso - slowly, teasingly - and down to her hips. She then licked a finger suggestively, and ran her hand over her crotch, raising her eyebrows at her captivated crowd. She glided closer to the edge of the stage, taking exaggerated steps to show off her boots. She bent her knees and pushed her whole body backwards, so all the people could see was her legs. There was a collective gasp at that, and Katya smiled, before shuffling like a graceful crab to the side so that all could see her body bent impressively in a 'n’ shape. She rose to a stand and glided back to the centre.

Katya leaned against a pole that was placed centre-stage, and dropped slowly to the floor, her legs splaying in the most impressive split. Wolf whistles and screaming filled the air, and Katya grinned at her audience. It was at that moment that her eyes caught sight of someone she’d never seen before - her face illuminated by the dancing lights.

She was petite and reminded Katya instantly of a Barbie-doll. She looked sickeningly innocent and sweet, as if she would taste of honey. She was gazing at Katya with wonder, much like the other faces in the crowd, but Katya sensed something different about her - something almost fairy-like. Katya herself became captivated, and she almost - not quite, but almost - forgot to finish her number. Tearing her eyes away from the adorable stranger, Katya shot a wink in the direction of her friends, who were jumping up and down amongst the madness.

She dropped slowly to the floor, spreading her body provocatively against the wooden stage, and accepted the abundant offering of tips from those closest to her - boy and girl alike.

The song came to an end and Katya rose to stand, and bow, against the thunderous applause. Latrice skittered across the stage to stand at Katya’s side, beads of sweat glistening across his forehead.

“Now that,” Latrice boomed into his mic, clasping a strong hand on Katya’s back. “Was enough to turn me straight. HA-HA! No, of course I’m kidding. GIVE IT UP FOR OUR OWN MISS ZAMO-LOD-CHIK-O-VA!”

Katya smiled into the second round of cheers, casting a darting eye into the crowd to find the sweet stranger, only to be mildly disappointed at the realisation that she was gone.

“Zamo, you just get better every time.”

Courtney was leaning against the bar, tapping her acrylic nails against the wood as she impatiently awaited her drinks.

Katya smiled at her. “Thanks, mama.”

Courtney eventually handed Katya a cocktail, complete with a tiny umbrella. Katya cocked a questioning eyebrow at her for a heartbeat, before Courtney hissed; “It’s a virgin, girl.”

Katya pursed her lips around the straw, being careful not to smudge her lipstick. “Where’s Jay and Raja?” She mumbled through tentative sips. Courtney tossed her perfect blonde hair over her shoulder with a mildly bored expression.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed dramatically, waving a perfectly manicured hand in a vague direction. “I think they went for a smoke.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Katya grinned, well aware of Courtney’s disdain for the smoker’s break. Courtney’s lip twitched before she mirrored Katya’s smile. “Girl, you deserve it,” She slapped an encouraging hand on Katya’s arm. “You go ahead. I want to watch Violet.”

Violet certainly was one to watch - an aerial artist, who never failed to snatch a few wigs, and a perfect final act of the cirque.

Katya fought through the heaving crowd to the cool evening air outside. She spotted Jay immediately - how could she not, they were wearing all baby pink with glittery platform shoes, complete with a cap that spelled out “werk” in cheap gem stones - talking rapidly with the quietly towering Raja beneath a palm tree. As Katya made her way over to them, flipping a cigarette out from the stash in her bra, she thought (and not for the first time) what a strange couple they made.

“And so I says to him…oh, AYO! SIS!” Jay spun around immediately when they noticed Katya drifting towards them.

Katya saluted at Jay and couldn’t help but notice a scattering of dust beneath his nostrils. Jay threw their arms around Katya and trapped her in a vice-like grip. Katya wound her hand around Jay’s back to pat them gently, glancing at Raja. Raja’s dark, hooded eyes regarded her for a moment, before giving her a little shrug.

“Hey, you were great, as always,” Raja murmured - their voice always sounded like black silk, and Katya loved it. “Jay here was getting their life.”

But Jay wasn’t paying attention - their perfectly shaped eyebrow was raised in questioning, looking past Katya’s shoulder. Katya turned to follow their gaze, and she was surprised to find the sugar plum fairy from the audience - the one who had momentarily captivated her.

“Hey,” she smiled sweetly, her cheeks blooming red with - what? Embarrassment? Warmth? Alcohol? Katya laughed nervously, regretting her actions immediately. “I-uh, sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear,” Katya’s words came out in a messy tumble, and she was acutely aware that her friends were watching this exchange with barely muted interest.

The girl in front of her looked somewhat taken aback, but she continued none-the-less. “I just wanted to say I really loved your performance. I mean, you probably get this a lot, but your dancing is pretty compelling.”

Katya snorted. “Yeah, it usually compels people to leave the room.”

The girl’s face broke out with glee, and a loud laugh-scream hybrid escaped her lips. Katya felt a buzz from this reaction, and she started to laugh herself, broken by wheezing.

��I’m Trixie,” the girl said, wiping a tear from her eye. Katya took a moment to examine her face - her make-up was a lot, her winged eyeliner creeping across her face and her contour cutting sharp lines into her cheeks. Katya liked it, she realised, and re-visited the idea that this girl could quite literally be a Barbie, complete with all the pink and blonde curls.

“Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova,” Katya grinned, offering Trixie her hand. “But you can call me Katya.”

Trixie took Katya’s hand with amusement - Katya noticed how clammy her hand must’ve felt in Trixie’s cool, soft one - before the air was broken by a loud caterwauling, not dissimilar to a cat. Trixie turned on her cowboy boots to greet the person responsible for the din.

“Babe,” a girl appeared behind her, fashioning an all-denim body suit that glittered in the yellow light of the streetlamps. “Where were you?”

Katya regarded the new addition to the scene with a stiff lip - she was stunning. Her eyes were painted with glittering blue eye shadow to match her outfit, and her perfect blonde hair was streaked with every colour of the rainbow. “Sorry girl,” Trixie grinned at her, a clear note of admiration in her voice. Katya felt an unexpected stab of jealousy. “I was talking to the star of the show.” The other girl noticed Katya for the first time - she was chewing gum incessantly, and Katya was reminded just how much she hated that.

“Oh, hey,” the girl muttered, sounding bored.

“This is my girlfriend, Willam,” Trixie snaked her arm around the smaller girl, but Willam ducked out of her hug and grasped Trixie’s wrist. “Come on, babe, Violet is due on any minute, and she is fierce!”

Trixie shrugged apologetically at Katya, allowing herself to be lead back to the heat of the club. Katya watched her go, her face pinched sourly. Jay appeared at her side. “You look pissed,” they chortled, slapping Katya playfully on her arm. “Better look next time, sis. You know you can have anyone you want.”

Yes. Katya did know that. The thing is, she didn’t usually want anyone. Not for more than a moment of heat in the club’s bathroom, or gracing a stranger’s bed for a night. But Trixie - Trixie had captivated her interest from the moment she saw her, and Katya was not ready for that. Oh, not at all.

#cal #trixya #lesbian au #circus au #smut #fluff #slow burn #pining #tw drug use #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #aja #courtney act #bianca del rio #latrice royale #rpdr fanfiction #cirque d'amour #raja gemini

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gt-lifetime-blog · 6 years

Text

The Bigger They Are: Michael

Part IV - Monday, October 2, 2017

After taking him home with me last night, I couldn’t fall asleep. All I could think about was the fragile like in my hands. Each soft breath was followed by an even softer rising and falling of his tiny chest.

And I felt guilty.

I haven’t always been the person Owen loves - yes, it’s obvious. I used to be a bully to his face; now, I’m a bully behind his back.

“What is wrong with me?” I placed my forehead onto the table. I would’ve slammed if it wouldn’t wake up the shorter-than-usual shortie.

I don’t know how I feel about Owen; I want to be his friend, but he’s just so… dorky. Yet, somehow, it’s something that attracted me in the first place.

Who am I to be his “friend?”

“C’mon, faggot, show me whatcha’ got,” I sneered at my victim.

It had only been last year, but it felt like a lifetime ago. I was a different person then, but I can’t stop thinking about it. The date was November 2, 2016 - Owen’s birthday. I had ruined it. My stupid fourteen year-old mind had stepped over the line.

I pushed the midget against some dude’s ajar locker, practically spitting in the poor guy’s face. After the football game, he had tried to lecture the team on why not to drink alcohol (fair enough), but things got out of hand when he threatened to tell. THat’s what led to this. THe whole team was cheering me on as I went through his “personal” notebook, ripping out page after page and reading them out loud, much to his dismay.

“‘My parents have threatened to kick me out…’ Aww, got some family troubles, squirt?” Todd, one of my teammates, snickered.

Picking on some seventh grader is not something I’d do - but this particular seventh grader? Yes, yes, yes!

I ripped yet another page from the notebook, while Owen was sweating profoundly in that disgusting pink crop-top sweater (ew) and began to read it out loud.

“‘I can’t shake my feelings for…’”

I stopped.

“‘For…’”

Owen gave me a pleading gaze.

“Wait a minute, I think I read that wrong,” I nodded to Owen, “‘I can’t shake my deep, deep cravings for chocolate!’ Oh my God, who knew that a skinny little twerp like you could be such a fatty.”

I touched his belly, which barely had anything in it, and one of the football players for the junior high, Tommy, made a “boop” noise.

Why didn’t I read that name, you might ask?

Because it was mine.

In February, I asked for his forgiveness for being such a dick to him all the time, and he accepted. For some reason, though, he forgot I had ever seen that he liked me, and he didn’t even act awkward with me. He just talked to me.

I got more out of his friendship than I ever could with anyone else.

Then, his feelings for me were obvious. He playfully touched my shoulder to laugh sometimes, always leaned on me when we sat together, and always sweat when he was near me. Weird thing was, I didn’t even mind. I might’ve… loved him? I don’t know.

Just, every single time I see him, I’m ridden with guilt.

My teammates and other popular kids wondered why I hung out with the “fag.” Rather than telling the truth, I’d say that I was just pretending, that I was just gonna blackmail him later - stupid shit like that.

I don’t know how I feel. Do I love him?

Do I not?

Does he still like me?

After ranting to myself, I realized I had fallen asleep, and the bus was right outside! I ran downstairs, waving it on - I could walk to school, anyways. Everything started to come back to me, and I ran back upstairs to collect a rather frazzled-looking Owen. I must’ve dropped him when I jumped up!

“Oh, sorry, Owen! You alright?” I asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shook his head, blushing, “I just, uh, need clothes.”

I facepalmed. Where would I get tiny clothes? He was half a doll’s size, so I couldn’t give him Barbie crap… Unless I cut them in half…

“Eh, what the hell. It’s not like I’m gonna be seen by anyone else,” Owen shrugged as I stopped by the Barbie store at the mall before school.

“Um, actually, I think you still have to go,” I grimaced, and Owen started laughing!

“You’re friggin’ hilarious, man,” I heard him giggle from my pocket, “Me goin’ to school like this?”

“I mean, I could just take you home,” I suggested, and his eyes turned dark.

“NO,” he stated and fell silent (so did I, as I did not want to pursue the subject).

Following the trip to the store, I was able to fit Owen into some clothes, accidentally making his glittery pink torso into a crop-top, but he seemed to like it, so I guess it worked out for the best? He refused to stand in my palm, though, taking the pocket instead. This kid has some serious trust issues.

“Ugh, these khakis are so itchy,” the little one complained, tugging at his legs.

“Oh my God,” I giggled, “Stop making me laugh, dude.”

“Why’re you laughing?” he inquired, head tilting like a puppy’s.

“You’re, like, really cute when you’re this size, y’know?” I admitted, thinking that he’d be cute any size, “Like, can I try something?”

“L-Like what?” he was getting so flustered, literally hiding his head in his new clothes.

“Like this-”

I scooped him up gently from my pocket, giving a detailed look into his face. Every wisp of his ruffled hair, every dimple in his squishy cheeks, every line in his bright blue iris, every thing. I felt myself moving toward him, lips perched, and…

I stopped. Tears were welling up in my eyes - I didn’t deserve him. Me, the bully, getting something as special as Owen? After all that I’d done?

“I-I’m sorry,” I sobbed, placing him back in my pocket, “I didn’t mean t-”

“Mike, I, uh…” Owen began, “I kinda was looking forward to it.”

I ignored him for the rest of the day, keeping him in my locker for safety.

Only to find him gone later.

#The Bigger They Are #TBTA #story #ocs

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welcome2theneighborhood · 7 years

Text

100°

Chapter IV

‘Dear Amanda,

I’d lost the love of my life once, and I don’t know if I can do it again.’

AO3

The big day. My baby girl was graduating from college. Every parent’s dream.

I was probably up way too early, though. I’d bought something nice to wear for the ceremony, but by the time I was all done showering and ironing and getting dressed, I realized no one else was even awake yet, nor did they have to be. Six in the morning. Craig might’ve gotten up for a quick jog, but I’d told him to put that bit of the routine aside for our little vacation. So I was the only person awake, fully dressed, alone, and waiting for a proper time to get everyone else up.

I couldn’t even watch TV.

At eight I got tired of just sitting around and decided this was a fine time to start the day. I clapped my hands together loudly, moving between the beds. “Alright, rise and shine, everyone, we’ve got a big day ahead of us!”

The girls clearly didn’t appreciate me as an alarm clock, so they didn’t let me help them get ready. Which was a shame, because then Craig had to do it while also having to get ready himself, while I sat around ready and pretty useless. I tried to jump in and help River brushing her teeth, but she was pretty cranky and put off by it, so I backed out of the bathroom.

We got there early to get the best seat possible. The first several rows were reserved for the graduating students, but everything else was fair game. The auditorium was huge, but there were many students in the ceremony today. Amanda was only allowed enough tickets for four people, which we didn’t know until that morning, but the woman at the door suggested that we could all fit if one of us didn’t mind River sitting on our knees. So we took our seats, front and center, River wandering up and down the aisle but told to come and sit on Craig’s lap once more people started filing in.

It all went by in a blur. I was so excited I could hardly think straight. I was only barely aware of what was going on in the seats next to me.

“Dad, I’m hungry,” one of the twins groaned, but I didn’t catch which one. By force of habit, and very much in Father Mode, I almost responded with a Classic Dad Joke (even though Briar/Hazel wasn’t talking to me) but Craig cut off that thought.

“Hey, bro, I’m gonna go see if there’s a little cafe or something nearby.”

I realized then that we hadn’t had the chance to eat before we left, and was surprised that the matter of food hadn’t come up sooner. Kudos to the girls for being on the ball today. “Yeah, yeah, go on, I’ll save your seat.”

“Do you want anything?”

“Just get me whatever, I’m too excited to really be hungry.”

He nodded and stood (with some difficulty) and headed out to find our breakfast. I looked over at the girls. Briar was looking through the graduation program, and I saw her circle Amanda’s name in it with a pink highlighter. Hazel had her feet up on the seat in front of her, earbuds in and texting. River moved a seat over to sit next to me, but pretended to hide. I smiled and played along. “Oh no, where’d River go?” I wondered aloud.

Hazel looked over in concern before catching on. “Oh, I think we lost her!”

River was grinning widely behind the hands over her face. “Your dad’s gonna be really upset to see she’s missing!”

“I’m not missing, Dean!” she laughed, finally uncovering herself and dropping the ruse. “I’m right here!”

“Oh, there you are!” I hugged her and squeezed her tight. “We thought you were gone forever!”

She giggled and tried to push me off. “You guys are silly!”

“We’re very silly.” Hazel ruffled her sister’s hair and returned to her phone. River leaned over the armrest and asked if she could do word jumbles with me. I always carried my pocket version with me, even to my daughter’s graduation, so I whipped it out and we started working on one of the easier puzzles. I got schooled by a kindergartener.

Craig came back just before the ceremony was due to start. The auditorium was now packed with proud parents like myself, and I felt part of the collective but also a drive to brag about my daughter’s accomplishments. The little old grandmother next to me held her own quite well until my partner returned and a truce was called. “Hey, what’d you find?”

“There was a little bakery around the corner, so I picked up some muffins.” He handed them out to his daughters one by one, each receiving their favorite flavors. I’d barely unwrapped my pumpkin muffin before realizing Craig didn’t seem to get anything for himself, but before I could say anything, the graduation march started playing and all other thoughts fled my mind but “MY BABY IS GRADUATING.”

I’d seemed to have forgotten just how boring graduation ceremonies could be, though. The room was overcrowded and hot and was too noisy to properly hear anything, and I couldn’t see Amanda from this angle, and all I could do was wait for that ten glorious seconds when Amanda would be up on that stage, shaking hands with the dean and other school officials I didn’t know or care to know about, but it just seemed to be taking so long to get to that moment. In the meantime I just ate half my muffin, and shoved the other half into Craig’s hand.

I could hear River whining from her seat, and what I wouldn’t give in that moment to be a five-year-old who could get away with something like that. “Dad, when’s it over?”

“Just try to be patient, sweetpea. This is a big day for Amanda. She worked really hard to be here today, and we’re here to celebrate her achievement.” But because kids weren’t so easy to keep seated very long with nothing to do, Craig always had a Plan B on him, a composition notebook and box of crayons. He gave them to her with the promise that she would draw quietly, so she didn’t disturb the people around us. She nodded and got to work, not making a peep for the rest of the wait.

And then it happened.

And as soon as it did, it was over.

I’d just barely managed to get a picture while she was up on there, but it was blurry and overexposed and I cursed under my breath, loudly enough for Craig to hear me but not River sitting next to him. He’d gotten a picture, but his hands weren’t shaking, so he managed to get a much better version. I kissed him hard on the cheek and smiled to myself as I sunk into the chair to suffer through the rest of the event.

It took forever to find Amanda in the sea of graduates right after the ceremony. She wanted to introduce us to her friends, some of whom I recognized their names. I was honestly just grateful there weren’t additional Emmas in her life.

We’d made reservations for an early dinner, and really had to get going, but Amanda kept making excuses to not have to leave yet. I could recognize the pain of separation from the people she’d spent these long years with, and considered that maybe we still had time to cancel. I only barely mentioned it to Craig before he was calling it in, phone balanced between his ear and his shoulder as he held River up out of the crowd.

So we weren’t going out to a nice dinner that night. We went back to one of the friends’ apartments and ordered from various restaurants. While we waited we all made bets on who what order the delivery people would arrive in. The twins made out with twenty dollars each that night, while Amanda had to pay each person’s tips. I slipped her a twenty, and jokingly told her to consider it her graduation present.

Afterwards we played charades and a couple of games from the theater kids that I swear they were making up on that spot. When River and Atticus got bored of Legos and Barbie dolls, they put on a show for us that went on about an hour longer than we could’ve ever expected. I was surprised at how all the non-parents in the room kept enthusiastically engaged the whole time.

I’d say it was a pretty nice dinner after all.

As the night started coming to a close, I decided it was probably time to reveal Amanda’s actual graduation present. I’d gotten both her and Morgan monogrammed bracelets with teal beads and a golden band, reminiscent of their school colors. Morgan didn’t seem to expect the gist, and as I was being mauled in a hug by my daughter, she just smiled breathlessly and gave a quiet “thank you.”

“But wait, there’s more!” I added, putting on my best Billy Mays impression -and by my best, I meant probably the worst anyone in the room could imagine. I pulled out a carefully wrapped gift, covered in glittery green paper and wrapped up with a twirly blue bow. “Okay, this one’s technically from all of us.”

Though an only child, Amanda was far from spoiled. An only child myself, I knew to avoid something like that, no matter how easy it would be just to give in to her every wish and desire. I would bleed myself dry for this girl, but she never took advantage of that. Amanda didn’t know, nor expect, that she was getting anything but the first rather simple gift. So I knew that when she opened the second one to find a new and supposedly high-quality art tablet inside, I had to get a picture of her reaction.

This time my picture really captured the excitement of the moment.

#dream daddy #ddadds #dadsona #craig cahn #dreamdaddy #my stories

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chocobabyporcelain · 7 years

Note

How would the bros react to an S/O who wears jfashion? (I'm trying to think of things you like but all i can think of is jfash)

I am so here for this. But of course, you knew that.I did a different subfashion with each bro, but if you wanna see a specific bro with a specific fashion, just shoot me an ask and I’ll get to it.I’ve included a links to a pinterest baord on each fashion so if you’re not familiar, you can get a better visual.(Also, side note, I can totally see Iris dressing in Visual Kei)

Tags: @neko-otaku13 @itsmootothecow @itshaejinju @mp938368 @ffxv-milkshake @bespectacled-girl @insomniacapples @expectogladiolus

Noctis –Decora:

Noctis had known you since middle school, but he’d never seen yououtside of school before. Which meant he’d never seen you inanything other than your school uniform and the minimal makeup yourschool would allow.

Whenhe saw you at the arcade, dressedbrighter than a rainbow, he couldn’t help but stare. Nobody couldhelp but stare. Not all of them appreciative.

Youwere dressed in a bright yellow cut-sew with multicoloured polkadots, along with a red and blue chequered skirt over rainbow tights.There were glittery greenplatform sandals on your feet and a strawberry patterned jacketdraped loosely over your shoulders. You had a seemingly impossibleamount of hair clips decorating your bright red wig and plasticjewellery lining your wrists and fingers. Yourfuzzy, blue monster backpack was hanging limply from your arm as youand your friend, who was dressed similarly, battled on one of themachines.

“Yes!” you yelled out your victory, throwing your hands in theair as you jumped up and down, your backpack bouncing on your arm.

You friend groaned loudly and threw her head down in a pout. “You’reonly good at this because you have more experience.” she grumbled.

Noctis could hardly believe it was you. Could this really be (Y/N)?The girl in his class who kept to herself and barely said a word toanybody? The girl who got so embarrassed when she mispronounced“disestablishment” that she refused to speak for the rest of theday?

He took a deep breath and slowly made his way over to you. “(Y/N)?”

Youturned to face him, youreyes widening when you saw exactly who was addressing you. “PrinceNoctis!” You stepped back, subconsciously pulling your jacketfurther around yourself, as if trying to hide.

Your friend cast a look between the two of you and smiled. “I’mgonna go grab some sodas.” she said, slipping away before you couldcall her back.

An awkward silence stretched between you, both of you looking aroundin different directions.

“It’s—”

“You—”

You both spoke simultaneously, and then laughed nervously atyourselves.

“You first.” Noctis insisted.

Younodded.“I was just gonna say it’s a little strange seeing you outside ofschool.” You pulled yourbackpack to your front, running your fingers through its soft fuzz. Anervous habit you’d picked up somewhere along the line.

Noctissmiled at you, giving your coord a once over. Which made you a littleself-conscious, honestly. “You look amazing.” he gesturedvaguely at your clothes. “So bright andbeautiful.”

It was hard to tell who blushed harder at that comment, you orNoctis.

“Colourful!”he corrected. “Bright an-Bright and colourful.”

Youchuckled. “Thank you.” Youlet one arm fallfrom your bagto your side, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt. “It’scalledDecora fashion.”

“I’dlove to hear all about it,” Noctis was almost embarrassed at howquickly he’d spoken. “If, y’know, you’d like to tell me?”

Youswayed a little, rolling up onto the balls of your feet with a brightsmile. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” you replied, maybe alittle too eagerly.

“Cool.”

Iswear, Decora is a lot nicer looking than the coord I just described.

Prompto – Fairy Kei:

You were sat on a high wall just behind the overlook in Lestallumwhen Prompto first saw you. He caught sight of your pastel pink andbaby blue sneakers dangling just above his line of sight. “Oh,”he muttered softly as he looked up and saw you in your entirety.

Your fluffy tutu in pink, mint and lavender splayed out either sideof you, draping over the pastel candy-print tights that encased yourthighs. The pink sweater you were wearing (in Lestallum, which wasquestionable enough) was easily three times too big for you, one sidehanging off your shoulder, and had “Barbie” written across thefront in pretty cursive letters. You wore baby blue knee-highs overyour tights, with little pink teddy bears holding balloons on thesides, disappearing into your high-top sneakers. Your hair was dyedin split colours, pink one side, blue the other, and was tied up intwin-tails, with slightly uneven tie-off points which looked clumsy,but cute. You were swinging your legs daintily, fully engrossed inyour phone.

Prompto couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face ashe looked up at you. A real life fairy princess, perched comfortablyatop her vantage point, looking out at the world. You were beautiful.A true vision in soft pastels.

He took a deep breath, gathering the courage to call out to you.“Exc– Excuse me!”

You peered over the top of your phone, unsure whether or not thevoice was calling you. You saw the blonde man down below waving toyou, and you gave your own shy, tentative wave in return.

“Hey, this might sound weird but, um,” he lifted his camera, asif to make you aware of its existence. “Would you be comfortablewith me taking your picture?”

You knitted your eyebrows, worrying your lower lip a little. “Oh,erm…” You considered it, briefly. He seemed genuine enough andhe did ask permission first. That’s gotta count forsomething, right? You took a breath and forced a smile. “Yeah,sure.” You placed your phone down beside you and held up a peacesign.

Prompto hesitated. “Are you sure?” he called up. You werebeautiful and he definitely wanted a picture of you, but hewasn’t prepared to make you uncomfortable.

“I’m sure.” you replied, giving a short chuckle.

Prompto smiled up at you once more and aligned his camera, spending alittle time adjusting in a way that was comfortable and got a goodangle. He framed it perfectly, the midday sun behind you in a waythat made you glow radiantly.

“How do I look?”

“Gimme a sec.” He quickly made his way up the small hill, and youswivelled around on the wall to greet him.

You jumped off your comfy perch and grabbed your soft backpack offthe ground, stuffing your phone back into the yellow fluff.

Prompto stopped short when he caught sight of it. The fluffy birdshaped bag was recognisable anywhere. “Is your backpack a chocobo?”he asked with an excited smile.

You giggled, pulling your soft bag closer, cuddling him like aplushie. “Yeah. He’s super cute. I love him.” you said, swayingthe bag as if nursing a child.

“I think you might be my favourite person.” Prompto muttered,unable to stop the heat rising to his cheeks.

Blushing just as bright, you gave another nervous giggle, buryingyour face in the soft fluff of your chocobo backpack. “Do you, um,”you lowered the bag from your mouth, realising it was probablymuffling your speech. “Do you think you could email me that pictureso I can use it for my blog?” you asked, gesturing to his camera.

“Oh, sure thing.” Prompto reached into his pocket and dug out hisphone, opening his notes app and handing it to you. “Here, writedown your email address.”

You took the phone from him, typed in what you needed to, and handedit back.

Your name, email address and phone number.

“(Y/N?),” he smiled. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Thanks.” You began to fidget with your bracelet, a band ofplastic, pastel beads spelling Cry Baby that was previouslyhidden beneath your sleeve. “So, do you have a name, orshould I credit you as Mr. Camera.” you asked.

Prompto snorted at the nickname. “It’s Prompto.” he replied,maybe hoping a little that you’d call him Mr. Camera anyway. Maybehe thought it sounded kinda cool.

“Prompto.” you repeated.

That’s when a car horn decided to blast, startling the both of you.

“(Y/N)!” you heard your friend’s voice call.

You looked up to the road, where you could see the car of anotherfriend, the one in question leaning far out of the window. “Get in,loser. We got a tea party to get to!”

You waved and turned back to Prompto. “That’s my ride.” Youhesitated, rocking slightly on your heels. “So… text me later?”you trailed off cautiously.

“Sure thing!” Prompto’s reply was immediate. “I’ll send thephoto tonight.”

You smiled and nodded. “Thank you so much.” With that, you rushedto your friend’s car, pausing to wave before you climbed in,ignoring your friends as they teased you.

Prompto waited until the car drove off before looking back at hiscamera, at the photograph of you, sitting atop the wall with thatsweet smile. “Ah, geez.” he muttered.

He had it bad.

Hereis my very own Fairy Kei board!In fact, most of the coord in this is based off my actual wardrobe.

Also,can I throw out the headcanon that Prompto is totally prepared totwin with his Fairy Kei S/O?

Ignis – Uchuu Kei:

For as long as Ignis has known you, he’s known about your penchantfor space. Many a time he’d found you, in the wee hours of themorning, curled up on the woven chair that sat on your balcony,staring up at the night sky.

He loved the sound of pure excitement in your voice as you pouredover your star chart, talking endlessly about the vastness and beautyof space, yet to be explored.

The crescent moon string lights you’d hung around the vanitymirror, the nebula print cushions you’d decorated the bed with, thenebula soaps in the bathroom, all of it may not have been to Ignis’staste, per say. But, a shared home should have equal representationof all parties coexisting, and that was your mark.

He’d noticed you were starting in integrate your passion for spacein your outfits. It started with your nails, your usual block colouracrylics traded in for nebula patterns. Then, there was a pair ofholographic creepers you had your heart set on from the moment yousaw them.

You’d started to wonder if you could make your whole wardrobe spacethemed. Or would that be silly? You supposed it was. After all, youweren’t a little girl anymore, and they probably didn’t even makespace themed clothing in your size.

Still, that didn’t stop you looking it up at home whileprocrastinating work. You scrolled through pages and pages ofchildren dressed as aliens and astronauts, becoming more and morediscouraged at each microhuman you saw draped in silver, green andUFO print.

Until, you stumbled upon something amazing.

You slammed your hands down on the table, staring wide-eyed at thescreen on your laptop.

“(Y/N)?” Ignis called, poking his head around the door of thesmall dinning room, where you were (supposed to be) working. “Whatwas that? Are you alright?”

You smiled at him over the top of your heavily decorated laptop.“It’s a thing!” you muttered, your voice pinching slightly asyour excitement become more apparent. You beckoned him over to showhim the images on your screen.

Ignis came to stand behind you, placing an arm across your shoulders.He watched with you as you scrolled down the page, showcasing imageafter image of people—adults—wearing nebula patterns,silver, constellations, aliens. Space fashion was a thing!

“It’s called Uchuu Kei,” you said, opening a few images in newtabs for a closer inspection. “I can’t believe it’s actually athing!”

The excitement in your voice brought a smile to Ignis’s face. “Ithink it’d suit you nicely.” He pointed to a particular image onthe screen. I girl dressed in a silver dress, navy, star sprinkledtights and holographic creepers. “You’re halfway there, you justneed the dress.” he commented with a chuckle.

You laughed along, mulling it over in your mind. Could you reallypull it off? You wanted to, but you weren’t convinced. What if youjust looked really silly? “You think so?” you asked, a littleshyly.

“Certainly.”

And with that, your mind was made up. You’d try out Uchuu Kei. Andif it didn’t suit you, it didn’t suit you, and it would be alearning experience and you’d move on.

It started with you collecting garments, tucking them away in yourcloset until you felt you had enough to build a semi-decent coord. Itwas mostly tops and sweaters, you noticed. All with aliens, crescentmoons, rocket ships and various other space motifs. You only had ahandful of suitable skirts and one pair of shorts, and two pairs oftights.

When you felt you had enough, you wanted to work on building a coord.You gathered all of the Uchuu clothes from your closet and laid themout neatly on the bed. You’d pick up a shirt, lay it over a skirtand then put it back, picking up a different shirt and trying again.

You were there for hours, and quickly growing frustrated.Why was coording so hard?

When you finally settled on what you hoped was a workable coord, yougot changed, applying a little makeup and checking yourself over inthe mirror. “Ignis,” you called, making your way out of thebedroom and landing before your boyfriend in a cute curtsy. “Do Ilook alright?”

Ignis regarded you with an appreciative hum. You were wearing a shortsleeved t-shirt, black with a little green alien riding in a UFO withthe words I BELIEVE written in bold, friendly letters.On top of that was a nebula print suspender skirt, the strapsdecorated with badges of UFOs and rocket ships. You were wearing oddsocks, one navy and sprinkled with glittery stars and one a plainwhite, both pulled up to just under your knees, and on your feet,your beloved holographic creepers.

With a gentle smile, Ignis got to his feet, placing a hand on thesmall of your back, pulling you closer. “You look exquisite,darling.” he whispered, softy brushing a stray lock of hair fromyour face. “My little space princess.”

Someexamples of Uchuu Kei.

Gladiolus – Oshare Kei:

Gladiolus has known you for a long time. He’s seen all of yourabrupt style changes, and they happened often.

When you two met, you were playing around with Gyaru. It was acomfortable style, but the fake tan was annoying, and the bleachedblonde and heavy makeup really did not suit you.

You very briefly tried a Classic Lolita style, but thatquickly evolved into a more Gothic Lolita style, which youfound far more suited to you. Far more stylish.

Moriwas one of Gladio’s personal favourite looks on you. Theloose, floaty dresses and thick woollen cardigans gave you adelicate, doll-like look, and the earthy tones made you appear like aforest sprite.

When you announced, out of the blue, that you wanted to try adifferent style, Gladio had to admit that he was sad to see yourforest girl look go.

He very quickly changed his mind when he saw your next style.

Thefirst thing he noticed was that you haddyed your hair again. Mostlyblack this time, with neon pink dip dye. The vest you had on was alsoblack, full of rips with more neon pink peeking through. Hecould see the slightest hint of black, Lycra shorts peering outbeneath your short, pink and black tartan skirt. Yourblack and pink striped socks were uneven, one just below your kneeand the other pushed down to mid-calf, both disappearing intobattered, black converse.

Youspun on the spot, your skirt flaring out and showing off how snuglythose shorts fit. “What do you think?” yourquestion ended in a nervous lilt to your voice as youendedyour twirl in a cute little curtsey.

Gladiolooked you up and down, a muted grinplaying on his lips. “I think,” he said, pulling himself up offof the sofa and approaching you. He held your wrist in his hand andtwirled you once more, leaving you giggling and almost falling intohim. “thatyou look amazing.”

He stepped back, admiring you all over again. “What’s it called,again?” he asked.

“OshareKei.” you answered. “It’s kinda like Visual Kei, but morecolourful.” You swayed alittle, glancing down at your outfit. “Well, more pink, on thisoccasion.” You chuckled nervously, suddenly becoming self-criticalof your chosen colour scheme. Was it too same-y?No, no, plenty of coords use a two-colour palette, you looked fine.Better than fine. You lookedamazing! Right?

Gladioraised an eyebrow at you. “Hey, I know that look.” He lifted youup by the waist and held you with one arm under your butt and theother supporting you back. Herested his forehead against yours and looked you in the eye. “Believeme, (Y/N). You look incredible.Better than… the girl fromthat… Visual band you like…”he trailed off, trying toremember the band, or the girl, or anything, really.

Youscrunched your nose a little. Well, that was vague,but you decided you’d take the compliment, anyway. You smiled,wrapping your arms around Gladio’s neck, swinging your legs gentlyat his sides. “Thanks, Gladio.” you muttered.

Ican see Gladio really being into the “soft punk” vibe Oshare Keigives.

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

Text

Why Naboo Hates Valentine’s Day

Author: Nonexistantpup

Year: 2010

Rating: PG

Pairing: Naboo/Saboo

For a long time, Naboo stared. He stared again. And then he stared some more. “It’s... shiny.” Vince rolled his eyes. “Of course it is, it’s a mirrorball suit!” Naboo nodded slowly. Maybe he’d been smoking something stronger than usual; he felt a twinge of inexplicable nervousness and Vince’s outfit had already given him a headache. “So - why's it pink? And why are you wearing a fuschia, tinsel boa around your neck? And why-” “You ignoramus,” Vince accused, putting his hands upon his sparkling, pink hips. “It’s Valentines - duh.” Naboo blinked, his headache having increased tenfold. “Shit.” “Come on, Naboo,” Vince said enthusiastically, sitting next to the small shaman; that bloody Valentine costume was even more painful from up close. “Don't play daft; you must have known it was coming. Howard’s already been celebrating for days!” “Sulking, you mean.” “Yeah!” Vince agreed enthusiastically. “It a tradition.” He paused, looking carefully at Naboo. “Don’t you start sulking too. Valentines’ Day is a great time to meet people too. You're good looking in a miniature-mystic-man kind of way. Girls must love that.” Naboo just glared. Then he felt around on the couch for his dope; there was no way he’d survive this without something to numb him to the world. “Oh!” Vince exclaimed, apparently blind to Naboo’s blatant disinterest. “And I made this for you! Happy Valentine’s day.” It’s at this point that Naboo considered suicide. From apparently nowhere, Vince produced an abomination that resembled strawberry icecream with pink syrup drizzled about it generously. A shining heart pendant dangled in the centre of the thing, however; not a good sign. “I'm going to be sick,” muttered Naboo. Naturally, Vince ignored him. “A Valentine’s day turban! Shaman chic! You’ll be a legend! You’ll draw attention away from me when you start with the shaman-loving moves!” “No,” Naboo moaned, hiding his face in his hands. Vince chuckled. “Nah, probably not. You’ll still be a hit though. Oi, do you think people would think I was a shaman too if we told them we were brothers?” Despite his misery, this still brought a smile to Naboo’s face. “Like anybody would buy that.” “Don’t sell yourself short, Naboolio,” Vince admonished firmly. “No pun intended. With a bit of glam and some work on your hair, you could be the life of any party!” Naboo grumbled, his fumbling fingers finally falling upon a little plastic bag. Without a moment’s hesitation, he opened it and, with the materials inside, began to roll himself a sizable joint. As Vince put on bright pink lipstick and then pressed his lips against Naboo’s cheek decoratively, the shaman didn't even bother to argue. This was only the beginning. [o] Predictably, Naboo only had about fifteen minutes to himself before Bollo came bounding enthusiastically into the room, Vince riding on his back like a four-year-old on a sugar high. The gorilla had little pink kiss marks all over his face and, Naboo was slightly sickened to see, around his neck was hung a glittering silver chain adorned with a heart pendant that matched the one on Naboo’s ‘Valentine’s turban’. Shit, the turban! He’d meant to put it out of sight as quickly as possible and hope Vince would forget about it, but it was too late now. There was the abysmal thing, sitting next to Naboo on the couch like a glittery pink cowpat. Bollo lumbered over to Naboo, plucking the turban from his head deftly. Naboo scowled up at him. “What are you playing at, you hairy ballbag?” he demanded. “Give that back!” On Valentines day, however, he had no authority over his familiar. It was part of Bollo’s contract - a part Naboo severely regretted agreeing to. Especially since, being a follower, Bollo tended to just cater to Vince’s every whim on the rare days he had off.

“Come on, Naboo!” Vince urged blissfully. “Where’s your spirit?” “At end of bong,” Bollo informed. Naboo gave him the finger. “Sod off.” “Yeah,” agreed another voice - Howard’s - from the top of the stairs. Oh, shit. If there was anything worse than Vince and Bollo on Valentine’s day, it was Howard bloody Moon. “Just because some persons of substance don’t choose to cheapen the institution of love with garish colours doesn't mean they do not have spirit.” Vince was frowning at Howard intently. “What’s that supposed to mean, you dull Old Maid?” “It means that, just because I don't adorn myself in sparkling plastic, I have love in my soul and that’s what matters! Isn't it, Naboo?” Naboo gave Howard a withering glare. At least the so-called ‘maverick’ recognised when he was employing the wrong tactics to gain Naboo as an ally in this ridiculous argument. “I celebrate the love inside my deepest soul in my own way; it does not need some cheap-” “Celebrate the love in your soul?” Vince interrupted with an inelegant snort. “So what - you're going to attempt to bum yourself?” Howard bristled. “You wouldn't understand the depths of true love even if it came and smacked you in the face.” “Came smacking me in the face?” Vince repeated, seeming genuinely confused now. “You kinky loon. You...” There was a long pause in which Vince looked thoughtful. Then, he pulled the bright pink lipstick from his pocket, applying more freshly to his lips. Howard, appearing very worried, went to take a step backwards and almost fell down the stairs. He didn't though and instead spun around and ran down them, Bollo following after with Vince still on his back like a jocky Barbie doll. Naboo heard a crash downstairs and some girlish giggling he didn't want to find out the reason for. Instead, he looked at the clock. Any moment now... Right on cue, Naboo felt his mobile phone vibrate against his leg. Since true shaman robes had no pockets, he kept a few vital things strapped to his thigh like guns. He clicked his tongue. Even good dope wasn’t getting rid of his splitting headache. Sure enough, when he flipped open his mobile, there was one text message. From: Dennis Subject: Urgent Gather immediately. “Smooth, you great twit,” Naboo muttered. If there was anything worse than Bollo, Vince and Howard on Valentine’s day, it was the Head Shaman. [o]

There were flowers everywhere. Bloody. Everywhere. But Naboo wasn't surprised. As he landed his flying carpet, Old Mickey threw rose petals at him and Naboo fought the urge to snap at the elderly Romanian. It wouldn't help anyway; Mick didn't speak a word of English. Well, he pretended not to, anyway, and it had been literally decades since anybody had bothered to try and convince him otherwise. “Ah, Naboo!” Dennis greeted. “Happy Valentines.” Naboo sighed. “Happy Valentines,” he repeated in little more than a monotone. “Nice turban,” Saboo commented, snickering, and Naboo responded by casting an icy glare in his direction. Since Bollo had run off while still holding his turban and Naboo hadn't felt like pursuing him, wearing Vince’s glittery catastrophe had seemed like the lesser of two evils. Naboo’s magic didn't work if he wore no turban at all. He pulled off the offending item, trying not to blush. “Didn't your message say ‘urgent business’, Dennis?” Naboo demanded. It was pointless though; this happened every. bloody. year. “Why, yes!” Dennis agreed pleasantly, folding his hands over each other on the table. “Unfortunately, I seem to have forgotten what was wrong, however. I expect we shall find the answer if we look.” Naboo gritted his teeth. “You mean, if we all follow the sappy music and rose petals?” Dennis seemed pleased. “Why, yes,” he said again. “Most of the others have already done so.” Naboo raised an eyebrow. This explained why it was only he, Saboo and Old Mickey in the vicinity. Although the rose petals led into the thick darkness of the forest, the spot where Dennis was holding his little Valentines party was probably not too far away. If it was, Naboo wouldn't be able to hear Tony Harrison exclaiming, “And that’s why they called it a royal pardon!” Chortles of laugher followed, along with the animalistic grunt that Mrs. Harrison gave when amused. It sounded a lot like the animalistic grunt she gave when upset or angry, which often caused confusion, but for Tony’s sake, they all pretended not to notice. Dennis rose from his seat, pulling Saboo by the upper arm. “We’d best hurry,” he suggested happily. “Kirk has offered to give his rendition of an aria from Mozart’s ‘Così fan tutte’.” Naboo tactfully refrained from comment. Encouraging Old Mickey to walk ahead with him, Dennis marched cheerfully in the direction of the sounds at his party, describing his feelings on several of Mozart's operas. Mick just looked bemused. And now it was time for the worst, soppiest, most insufferable part of the day. Naboo followed Dennis and Old Mickey towards the forest. He had only just passed into the shadows of the trees when he felt familiar hands clasping onto his hips, holding him back.

If there was anything worse than Bollo, Vince, Howard and the Head Shaman on Valentine’s day, it was Saboo. Saboo who could, and did, click his fingers, causing a small shower of thornless roses, each adorned with a bow made of black, silken ribbon, to fall from nowhere. They were real roses too; there was no way to conjure that scent. Saboo released one of Naboo’s hips to catch one by the stalk and ran the smooth petal over his lover’s cheek. “Why do you have lipstick on your face?” Naboo sighed. He had stopped walking by now and crossed his arms, huffing ever so slightly under this attention. “Didn’t rub it off?” Saboo's arm wrapped around Naboo’s waist now instead of holding onto his hip. Such a slow, gentle touch. Saboo was always so Goddamn gentle on Valentine’s day - sappy and protective. Naboo felt that familiar, warm breath by his ear. “I’ll do it.” Saboo’s warm lips pressed against the mark on Naboo’s cheek. Everyone was so ridiculous on Valentine’s day. So mushy and foolish, it was like Christmas but with an utterly revolting colour scheme and nothing but meaningless sentiment. How on Earth did he manage to suffer through it year after year? Naboo didn't know. He hated it though, and reminded himself very firmly of this as Saboo caressed his cheek and finally kissed him, surrounded by roses. Sounds of mirth echoed softly in the background and Naboo didn't even want to think about what he'd find when he went back to the shop. How did he put up with these people? Vince with such mindless, child-like ways and Howard so much self-importance it almost completely hid everything else inside of them. Bollo with his gruff forms of affection, blundering through everything with endless care and patience and yet at the same time utter incompetence. Dennis with his irritating Goddamn contradictions - so complex and yet so simple, so stupidly naive, seeing everything in black and white. And, of course, Saboo, whose hands and lips were still so tenderly exploring. Naboo couldn't bloody stand him. Couldn’t stand any of them. Just like he couldn't stand Valentine’s day. Always had. Always would.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #saboo #naboo #naboo the enigma #naboo/saboo

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worthywriting · 8 years

Text

I Love Barbie-qua

“What outfit will I wear today? Maybe the totally cool striped purple shirt with the glittery shooting stars on the sleeves.. or perhaps the rad jeans with the daisies going down the leg. Hmm, I haven't even tried on that mini dress with the unicorn silhouette yet.. it'd look great with that gold lamé jacket I have in my closet. Oh, so many fabulous choices! I better hurry and make a decision before work starts! Hmm.. I wonder what I will be today. Maybe.. a.. police officer! No. I don't have that uniform yet. Um, how about.. a ballerina! No. I lost the tutu. A teacher! No, I did that last week. Oh, I know! I'll be a movie star!! Yeah! Oh, and my best friends Jessica and Mallory can even star in the movie with me! This is the best idea ever!” I joyously proclaimed as I tossed Keisha, my favorite Barbie doll into the air. This was my routine as a young child. I would go to school during the day, and once the bell rung, I'd dash home to my room where my imagination was complimented by the ideal-looking women of my dreams: my Barbies. My most treasured possessions. These doe-eyed pieces of plastic got me through the happiest and most difficult times in my early years, which could be trying for a little black girl growing up where the only other one of her skin color is non-existent. Non-existent that is only if you don't count Keisha. Keisha the black Barbie doll. Keisha, my girl.

I grew up in a middle class home, in a middle class neighborhood, where I attended a middle class public school; and for nearly every year, I was the only female of a darker brown skin tone. The majority of my classmates were of Asian decent with pale skin and long, flowing, shiny black hair. Now, as a 23 year old adult, I look back at my elementary class photos and see that I clearly stand out like a sore, brown thumb. My frizzy, black hair in 5 ponytails, all placed around my head with barrettes jingling at the ends was always a thorn in my side. My brown skin, caught every hue of the light that shone on it to make me look as if I were made of a precious copper. Though I didn't see myself as something so precious that way back then. My classmates were of my envy, for they could ride the swings on the playground and look as if they were a beautiful bird as their pale skin tuned nearly to white in the gleams of the sun and hair flapped like wild fire with every sing pump going higher and higher. The only times I was aware of my hair having any movement was when one of my nuisance barrettes would poke me in the eye if I turned my head too fast. Being of this decent felt like a curse, a pain and incredibly lonely, that is until I'd go home and play with my girl Keisha.

Keisha, my beautiful black Barbie, was exactly what I needed in order to feel like it was not only okay to be me, but that I was indeed, fabulous. She was pleasing to the eye, had a great body, smart, funny, intelligent, basically anything and everything I wanted her to be. This creatively formed piece of plastic became a letter that I was writing to my future self. When I would play with her, that was my voice, my thoughts, my dreams being acted out vicariously through her in hopes of one day that I would act those things out once I was old enough to do so. Because I spoke my dreams through her in playtime, and could see and physically “make” this gorgeous brown figure “go to work” as a doctor/artist/airplane pilot, I could envision myself as the real life version of a gorgeous brown figure doing such. Barbie is essentially a voodoo doll without the voodoo. Little girls play with the doll because that is who they want to become when they grow older. They don't see the gigantic breasts or unrealistic waist. The only reason I picked up on those traits as a young girl was because of the older women who would ridicule my beloved for her appearance. And as a child, hearing these things from my elders, I would go along with them and call Barbie a “bad role-model” or “ridiculous imagery”, because I wanted to fit in with these women. But as I have grown up, I am beginning to see things in a different light.

I am black Barbie. And as such, I don't appreciate all of the negativity. For years, I was fed the ideas from smart, educated women that the Barbie doll, no matter what shade, was a bad influence on the very vulnerable mind of a young female and that she caused them to compare themselves to the plastic beauty and feel bad that they “weren't as beautiful” or “thin”.

Barbie is criticized because she's thin and beautiful and it is said that little girls don't need that comparative pressure. But what if you are thin and beautiful? This is not teaching young girls that Barbie's look is unrealistic, but how to compare themselves to an inanimate plastic object. Because Barbie is given the personality of being happy with herself, having great friends, being beautiful and thin, the willingness to try new careers and has a pension for pink, she is put down by women. This behavior starts with Barbie at a young age, but moves on to real women of the same aura once older. Women who are beautiful, uncommonly thin, tall and have multiple talents are more likely to be talked of in an ill nature or looked at through green eyes than seen as just another fellow female in the world trying to make it. It seems as if a woman can't have too many good things going for her to be considered fair game. Though the male kingdom goes through this in minor degrees, it is far more prevalent amongst women. Boys aren't told at their tender age that the muscles on their action figure are unrealistic, or that even though G.I. Joe has kung-fu grip and karate chop that he's a bad role model because the majority of real men can't do that. Once men grow older, even if they have a pot belly and work at McDonalds, when they see a man with rock hard abs who can carry a tune at karaoke and is a plastic surgeon, they're more likely to say “wow, he's pretty cool. He must work out”. If a woman in her adult years who is even slightly overweight and has a decent job, sees another woman who is a great singer, rail thin and is a doctor, shes more likely to be called “.. bitch..”. The lessons learned from the ones who give us the toys are the actions played out as we progress into adulthood.

Unfortunately, I feel that Barbie is put down by women who feel that they are below par of a certain shape/career level/ideal of beauty that they, themselves want to be, which renders into jealousy to be put on a smiling plastic object that can't fight back. If the Coca-Cola bottle instead of a regular cap, had a cap in the shape of an attractive, female head, I'm sure Coke might be regarded in the same way.

I grew up continuously hearing the slogan “Real women have curves”. What does that mean? I'm not a real woman? When truly thought about, the words have quite a bite. Real women. Real women. Its saying that women in the living, human world are supposed to be shapely, a bit more “meat on her bones”, and that if one isn't that way, then she is fake. Like a Barbie. But as a woman, myself, who has been a size 00 since 12 years old and lacks the curvature of womanly hips, this slogan is a stab in the heart. Am I not seen as a real woman by my fellow females because my genetics didn't include a set of hips? Am I to be regarded as a fake woman, just a plaything by men until they can find a real woman with 'childbearing hips'? Is it seen as okay to call me a “fake” woman because I am beautiful and talented like my friend, Barbie? What if I weren't so facially fortunate? Homely. Would it still be okay to say I'm not a “real” woman? My talents, gone. Still okay? I understand that the slogan is a way for the women who weigh more than 100 pounds to make themselves feel desired and beautiful as well, but the name calling is a terrible approach.

By no means am I attempting to make a claim that being thin and beautiful is a burden, but more trying to make the argument of that there is a big problem with women transcending their frustrations onto a simulation doll instead of joining together with other women to make sure that the future generation grows up as content with themselves and others around them as possible. Barbie is a doll. Barbie is plastic. Barbie can't walk into a married human man's office and seduce him to run away with her. Barbie is only a tangible extension of imagination for young girls to get the wheels turning for what they'd like to become in the future. Which is incredibly important for the young, black female.

Little black girls need Barbie. She might just be the only other female of color besides family that the child becomes familiar with, and even though Barbie is an extension of the child's imagination, its important for her to give the doll a voice, one that the child would like to hear that sounds pleasant and relatable. Black Barbie is beautiful, just like the other Barbies. Black Barbie is tall, the same height as the other Barbies. Black Barbie is slender, just like the other Barbies. There is nothing that says that black Barbie is in any way inferior or unequal to her lighter toned counterparts, the only difference is a change in shade.

Though Mattel was criticized by the way they created the first black Barbie, Christie (1968), simply by using the same facial feature template as 'white' Barbie, but only with brown skin and hair in a small, big, loosely curled black afro, I personally feel that that was the right and best choice for them to do for the first of the kind. As African-American women come in a wide variety of shapes, sizes, hair types and facial features, anything too over done or not done enough would have resounded in an incredible backlash from the black community. If the nose was too wide, the charge of racism would have been applied by the black women with narrow noses. If the hair was too coarse, then the black women with straighter hair would have cried intolerance. The best thing to do was to simply dye the already loved 'white' Barbie a common shade of brown and give her some snazzy clothes to ensure that racist disputes couldn't be made, for she was exactly the same as her white counterpart.

Since then, Mattel has come out with a wide variety of extraordinary versions of black Barbie which range from noses wide and narrow, to dreadlocks and braids, to light-skin to dark skin, to brown eyes and hazel eyes to everything in between. They even have a new line of Barbies entitled the S.I.S (So In Style) Collection of African-American Barbies of different skin shades, hair types and personal styles for every little girl to envision herself as.

Barbie is a friend. Barbie is a vision tool. But Barbie is plastic. Barbie is not real. She is around to support little girls in their dreams and goals and be there even if no one else understands. Her flack is great, but importance is greater. As one who grew up to be Barbie, I know that the way in which I view her as a valuable tool for young females might be a bit biased. Some might feel that along with the skin color progressing, that the weight needs to be altered as well, and to that I wholeheartedly would agree. Fuller figured Barbies to a point, would be a delightful addition to the Mattel line, not only for the girls of fuller figures, but for the ones who already resemble Barbie to become acquainted with, too. All women of strong life choices need to be represented. Every girl should have a Barbie, because whats learned from Barbie is learned for life.

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