#its his fault. with his current look song inspired by lost boys and that being his favorite movie oof

[the-kipsabian]

havent stopped thinking about vampire!kip since yesterday oof

[just-a-really-tall-girl-tbh]

Grounded

Summary: Y/n is kidnapped and forced to reveal secrets of the pack

Pairing: Derek X Reader

Warnings: Blood, torture, swearing

Word count: 2605

Original piece please don’t copy

The school bell rang for the final time that day, a collective sigh of gratitude echoed in the room, the teenagers grateful to be released from the maths teacher’s class. Gathering your books, you stacked them in a neat pile before exiting the room, offering a small smile to your defeated teacher. It wasn’t her fault maths sucked and no one enjoyed it, you did feel bad for her on some level but also who the hell would willingly dedicate their life to teaching numbers?

Entering the hallway, you made your way through the sea of teenagers, everyone desperate to go home for the weekend. Reaching your locker, you grabbed the couple books you needed, shoving them into your backpack, thinking about the homework you had due on Monday you sighed. The door to your locker slammed shut before you could close it.

“Hey, you ready?” Stiles smiled.

“I told you I can walk home.” You rolled your eyes, walking away from the boy. Surprised by your quick movement, Stiles jogged to catch up to you, throwing an arm lazily around your shoulders.

“I know you can walk home but why would you when you have me?”

Exiting the main doors of the high school, you welcomed the fresh warm air, the smell of angsty teens left behind you. Reaching the end of the pavement, you saw the jeep parked a few cars away.

“Stiles I want to walk.” You turned to face the boy.

“Y/n, you heard what Derek said okay? All these recent attacks? The break ins and thefts? He doesn’t want you alone.” Stiles tried to reason with you. Knowing the recent spike in criminal activity was less than likely to involve the supernatural, you felt safe walking the 20-minute trip home. In fact, you enjoyed the peace it brought you. Half of the walk was through the woods, a quiet haven from the busy high school, and being autumn, you relished in the yellow and orange leaves that swept through the small woodlands.

“Stiles. It’s 20 minutes. I’ll text you when I get home okay?” Stiles sighed.

“You know Derek is going to kill me if I let you, you know, that right? You like the idea of alive Stiles because I do! And I am not letting you be the reason I don’t make it to my 20’s okay?”

“Derek doesn’t have the balls to kill you.” You turned on the heel of your foot, headed towards the woods, leaving a defeated Stiles in your wake.

“I’m telling Derek you said he has no balls!” He called after you. You let out a small laugh, grabbing your headphones from your backpack, and your phone from your pocket, you scrolled through your playlist, deciding today was the perfect day for (Your current favourite song).

Entering the woods, you felt a rush of calm wash over you, the stressful week was pushed to the back of your mind, your thoughts centred on the surrounding woods. You stepped over exposed roots and around large bushes, glancing up at the sky you watched as the wind swept through the foliage, the ageing leaves dancing in the light breeze. The sun peaked through the cracks, determined to reach the forest floor, providing the perfect amount of light for your stroll. The floor of the woods had been coated in fallen leaves, leaving a blanket of red and orange below your feet. Taking a moment to stop and appreciate the tranquillity the forest provided you, you felt your phone buzz in you pocket.

Home yet? I’m this close to sending out a search party!

Rolling your eyes and shaking your head you began typing a response.

You need to…

Before you could finish you felt a knock to your head, your vision distorted, the soft sound of music playing through your headphones which were now next to you on the forest floor, was the only thing you could hear before everything went black.

***

Another blow straight to your stomach knocked the wind out of you. Coughing and spluttering you attempted to regain your breath, each inspiration hurting more than the last.

“Oh, you are so going to regret that.” You mumbled.

Leaning to the side of the chair you spat a mixture of saliva and blood to the ground, you couldn’t tell where the source of the blood was coming from, maybe your lip, or maybe the inside of your mouth. Too many lacerations to your face meant it all blended into one.

You raised your eyes to meet your rival, struggling to see through the blood you saw one man wiping his fists on an old rag, your blood coating his knuckles. He faced a woman to your left, who sat with one bent knee up on a bench. Her back leaning against the wall adjacent to you, a smug grin on her face.

You rotated your wrists which were bound behind you, the thick rope digging into your skin. Your ankles were bound too, tied to the legs of the wooden chair you sat on.

“You’re going to tell us what we want sweetie, its just a matter of how beat up that pretty face is going to be before you tell us.” The woman commented, as she played with her fingernails, pushing the cuticles back. If she was trying to look disinterested, she was doing a great job. But you were ready for this. You trained for this. You knew what was coming, and if it meant keeping your friends, the pack, safe, then you would gladly take whatever they threw at you.

The mans fist connected with your jaw once more, snapping you out of your daze. The room began to spin around you, and your vision blurred. Trying to recenter yourself you pulled at your wrists, the pain of the rope grinding into your skin giving you something to focus on.

“Alright careful there, big guy, we need her conscious if we’re going to get that information.” The woman stood from her seat, striding slowly over to you, before bending at the waist in front of you. She reached out to grab your face, but as soon as her fingers made contact with your skin you pulled away. A stern look, on your face made the woman let out a small laugh.

“You’re a tough one aren’t you.” She turned her head, almost admiring your battered body before her. “Too bad that doesn’t mean shit around here.” Grabbing your hair, she yanked your head back, exposing your neck to the room. Moving to stand behind you she held out her other hand, gesturing towards the man in front of you. Without a word exchanged, the man grabbed a knife from a nearby table, its blade glinting in the moonlight the small window above you allowed.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea who you are dealing with do you?” The woman whispered in your ear, her grip on your hair only tightening as she neared the knife to your throat. You felt the cold edge, lightly cross your neck, not enough to pierce the skin, but enough for you to avoid swallowing.

Taking a deep breath in you closed your eyes. Grounding yourself was apart of your training, something that was drilled into you from the beginning. Breathing in again, you picked up on the different smells the room produced, sweat from the man in front of you, poorly masked by his cheap cologne. The sweet smell of the woman’s hair from behind, her locks dangling beside your face. The overwhelming metallic smell of blood being the most potent. You changed your focus to your heartbeat. Feeling it pounding against your chest begging to be released you pictured your heart slowing, its contractions reducing with every breath you took. Steadying your breathing was next. Cautious of the blade still connected to your neck you breathed in through your nose, holding in for a few seconds before releasing softly through your mouth. Repeating those steps, you were able to regain some stability. You were still in the same crappy scenario but at least now you were calmer. A panicking person is an interrogators wet dream. A calm person, their nightmare.

Sensing your self-control increase, the woman let go of your hair, moving the knife from your neck to the table beside the man. Standing before you once more, she knelt in front of you, keeping one knee up for balance, she waited for your eyes to open once more. Regaining the control, you almost lost, you felt strong enough to open your eyes once more. Staring at you the woman barely moved, she was searching your eyes for something, her expression a mixture of shock and impressed.

“You’re not afraid.” Her words barely above a whisper. Your only response was a return glare. A small smile creeping on to the face of your kidnapper. “They trained you well.”

Standing, she turned to the man behind her, whispering something in his ear before turning back to face you, her arms crossed against her chest. The man dropped the rag he was still holding and left the room, the sound of the door locking behind him.

“Let’s cut the bullshit honey. You have information I need. And I know I’m not going to break you, not by torturing you anyways. So, let’s try something else, shall we?” The woman began to pace back and forth in front of you, the small room only allowing her a few steps before being forced to turn around again. Your eyes followed her, left and right, before she stopped in front of you once more, still facing forward.

Taking in a sharp breath, she spoke. “How’s your sister doing?” She turned to face you. Refusing to let her know she was finally making some progress with you, you remained staring at her. Resuming her pacing she continued speaking.

“She’s what 5 now? Gosh so young. But you know what they say right? They grow up so fast.” Your eyes tracked the woman, more intently than before. This woman knew your family. Something that was always off limits when the pack was involved. Your attempts at shielding them from the supernatural had been successful, keeping that part of your life private even from Derek. And here this woman stood, threatening them. Threating to take away your motivation to make the world safer. Unfazed by your lack of reaction the woman carried on.

“Soon enough she’ll be going to high school, making friends, maybe even realising who her sister really is.” She stopped before you once more, bending at the waist she placed her hands on the arms of the chair you were bound to. “You didn’t think you could protect them, forever did you?” Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. No amount of calm breathing could ground you now. “Aw babe.” Her hand raised to your cheek, ready to wipe away the falling tear. You only pulled away from her once more, hating the way her skin on yours felt. “Don’t tell me I hit a nerve, did I? Sucks doesn’t it. Well, there is one way of ensuring your little family stay naïve to the world around them.” She stood tall once more, her voice now deeper, more sinister than before. “Tell me what I want to know.”

You had no choice, right? She threatened your family, your sister. You protected them from so long, only for you to be the reason they are in danger. Looking down at your lap, tears hit your thighs unable to control them you simply let them fall. Taking a deep breath, you looked up at the woman before you, a smirk present on her face which made it so much harder to say what you were about to. But the images of your sister raced through your mind. The way her hair shone in the autumn sun, the way her smile reached her eyes when she was really, truly happy, the way she greeted you after school every day by running down the front path directly into your arms. That was the highlight of your day, finishing school and-

Wait

You never responded to Stiles.

You never texted him back, and the kidnappers were kind enough to bring your phone into the room with you – hoping to get some information.

Your eyes moved to the door behind the woman, a loud crash followed by a heavy grunt sounded from behind the entranceway. The woman whipped her head around, only to be met by silence. She slowly approached the doorway.

“Adrian…?”

Silence

The woman turned back to you, unsure of herself. You only had a small smirk as a response. Before she could question you, the door busted open, barely remaining on its hinges, a rush of dust filled the room. Watching ahead as the dust clouds engulfed the woman, you heard a deafening roar followed by a petrified scream. Small thuds followed, as the dust reached your eyes you began coughing, the sudden pain in your ribs swiftly returning.

Two hands were placed on your shoulders, looking up you were met by two green eyes.

“Hey, you okay?” A worried Derek scanned your face, concern riddled him as he saw the multiple cuts and bruising before him. You could only nod, the dust denying you the ability to speak.

Moving behind you, he effortlessly cut the ties that bound your hands, then your legs. Using the arms of the chair to stable yourself, you attempted to stand, wincing when the pain became too much. Derek moved to your side, wrapping your arm over his shoulder. Carefully placing his arm around you, resting his hand on your hip he accepted most of your weight, attempting to make standing and walking easier. As you took a few steps forward, the dust cleared from your eyes and you were able to regain focus. Looking forward you saw the woman who threatened you, her back against the same wall the door was, her skin now covered in blood, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. Scott stood before her, looking down at the defeated woman, his eyes still red and his claws still present.

Clearing your throat, you stopped walking, causing Derek to pause and look over to you. You peered down at the woman, no longer in a position of power, she looked smaller, more gaunt than before. Her eyes showed she was petrified, providing some comfort to you after what she did.

“Sucks doesn’t it?” a whisper of a smirk present on your lips.

Proceeding to step forward through the doorway you were met by a panting Stiles, his arms stretched out in front of him, you couldn’t tell him to stop before his body connected with yours. You inhaled sharply, grimacing as pain rang throughout your body.

Derek used his free hand to grab Stiles by the shoulder, pulling him away from you, a small growl forming in his chest.

“Oh, shit sorry of course you’re hurt shit sorry.” The boy stumbled over his words, his eyes finally taking in the battered sight before him. He moved to the side of you not occupied by Derek, his help was welcomed by you, suddenly feeling lightheaded from standing.

The three of you began walking forward towards the exit of the building.

“Is now a good time to tell Derek, you think he has no balls?” Stiles piped up earning a death glare from Derek. “No? Okay we can come back to that.” You used whatever energy you had left to shake your head.

[sunjaesol]

let's try (again and again and again)

juke | drabble | canon compliant | fluff

"Luke, I swear to God, it works better if there's an inversion in the last chorus for a…" Julie's cup of tea sloshed around as she gestured in the air. "A punch!"

The ghost groaned and shot her a look. They'd been at this for hours: squabbling about the same song, the same lyrics, the inversion that she knew would work. Alex and Reggie had left the studio the moment they realised the two songwriters just went in circles.

But it wasn't her fault! Luke was being stubborn, like always, as though he needed to uphold some punk rock integrity like that didn't die and transform into pop.

Normally, Julie enjoyed a healthy dose of sparring with the cute guitarist, but now, all she wanted was to finish the song and get a headstart on her Spanish essay.

"Jules, trust me, okay? The way the chorus builds up? Doesn't need to change! It's perfect!" The boy punched the accompanying keys on the piano and sent her a satisfied smile. "Don't you hear that?"

"I do. I came up with it." Placing the cup on the piano, she crossed her arms across her chunky cardigan. "Please."

Luke shrugged. "I think it'll ruin it."

How could she change his mind? If they wanted to perform something new by the Spring Fling, then they had to complete Begin Again. The band currently lacked time and inspiration for a new song.

When his intent gaze didn't waver, she decided to take action: unclenching her warm hands and slipping around to the piano to sit beside him. His shoulder felt cold against hers, mist-thin though perpetually bronzed from a lost summer, but familiar. The ghosts' 'firm' forms had taken some time to get used to.

It freaked her out, after the high of feeling them for the first time had worn off. Like, how did it work? Why did it work? What had they altered within the fabric of the universe that allowed them to have this little bit of luck?

She didn't want to jinx it though. Which was why they needed to finish this freaking song!

Her hands danced across the keys in a trusted progression. A gentle melody cut through the afternoon tension, its chime like an olive branch.

As she played, she said: "This is the chorus."

Luke smiled. "I know."

"And now…" Her fingers tensed as she let the music flow into a staccato version of what they composed. Luke perked up. She sang the chorus once, twice, and then — finally — with inversion.

It felt right. It felt better than right! How could he not hear that?

But then she finished and looked at him, pleased with her coup d'état, and found nothing but admiration in his green eyes. (That hadn't changed.) It unnerved her in a good way, like seeing a friend across the room in a new location.

He raised his hands in surrender. "Alright," he drawled, "you win this one, Molina."

"Only if you genuinely like it."

"I do," he reassured, his hand hovering by her shoulder and then falling back in his lap. His head tilted her way. "And I bet Reggie could play a killer bassline with it."

She grinned. "Exactly!" Reaching for her mug, she took a determined sip and made the edit in their shared songbook perched before them. With a teasing lilt, she added: "You should listen to me from time to time."

Luke gawked. "I listen! All the time!"

"Oh, really? So, when I told you to not TP Reggie's old bully's house, did you listen to me then?"

Fearless mischief got him shifting closer to her, raising his brows. "C'mon, he had it coming! And a little joshing around never hurts anymore."

Julie rolled her eyes. "Sure."

"You've never done something bad?"

"I think I did my worst when I trespassed Carrie's place," she chuckled. "I have a scar on my knee from that stunt, did you know that?"

It didn't faze him. Instead, he looked at her like she won Olympic gold. "Bad-ass!"

Julie only felt like a bad-ass on stage though. With the lights and the music and her boys flanking her, unstoppable energy flowed through her and nothing could beat that. Still, she's been toying with an idea, a daydream, that was even more rebellious or scary or crazy than every performance combined. More scary than jumping over the Wilson gate!

So, what were the odds of Flynn declaring her insane on the idea of asking Luke to be her date to the Spring Fling?

Pretty big.

She felt silly for even having those fantasies. Luke in a suit that didn't quite fit but looked good either way, holding her hands as they bopped around to a mainstream pop track. Rushing backstage to get ready for their half hour set. Kissing her cheek during a slow song.

She knew it wasn't possible. She knew all they had was this studio and their eyes locked in a singular moment.

"What?" he asked.

Her gaze averted to the piano, bashful. "Just… thinking about how fun the Fling will be."

"Yeah," he said with a nod, though his tone felt heavy. And then— "I never went to a dance. They never played the good stuff."

"No Bikini Kill?"

"No Green Day or Blink-182 or Pearl Jam." He tsked. "They had no taste. We had the idea to host, like, an anti-prom at The Raven in our senior year, but…" He let out a breathy laugh. "You know how that turned out."

"Maybe we'll do it if it's time for my prom," she suggested with a giggle.

Luke matched her smile. "Yeah. Let's do it."

Maybe by then, she'd have the confidence to ask him out. Maybe by then, he'd be more than a cold shoulder, real and warm, or at the least, someone to dance the night away with.

For now, she'd sing with him.

That was more than enough.

[shesawriter39049]

|FEVER| M|

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

About- Namjoon just has a kink for letting you do whatever the hell you want with him...Whether that be putting him in a hot pink suit shirtless! Or, telling him he’s a good boy as he fucks you into oblivion!

OR- Namjoon and yourself hooked up 5 months ago when the boys were in London on Tour, and you were the creative director for there British GQ & Harper’s Bazzar Cover! Now, months later he’s prepping to release his second mixtape “RM vs Rap Monster”. Opting to go a complete 360 from his first release Mono in all realms. So, with that being said BigHit thinks he needs someone with a little more... “umph” Take a wild guess as to who they call...

WC:1.2k (Sneak peek)

WARNINGS: Switch OC (Top & Bottom...but there's no real dom/sub tones here) Service top/power bottom Namjoon, praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex(Back shot), come play, dirty talk, light choking, light overstimulation, (This is lowkey a little softer than it sounds) The OC kinda leads this, but Joon isin’t the cliché “sub” he just likes letting her take control.

NOTE- Just my take on the OG cliché Artist X Stylist AU (Though she’s more of a full package, Art Director/Stylist/Photographer ETC) I have tried to add some minor elements to make it a little more realistic. I will say I typically stray from “Idol-verse” just because if we’re being real, the cultural difference alone sometimes stunts my creativity...BUT I just had a little fun with this one...so I hope you all enjoy it. Also, I don’t go into much physical details but in my mind regardless of race, aesthetic wise the OC is a huge contrast to what he’s use to which is part of her appeal. I picture a tatted Barbie of some sorts...

SIDE NOTE: No shade, but shade, I was lowkey inspired to write this bc I have very strong opinions about the creative team at BH....

*** Let me know if you guys want the full thing or not...I kidna flaked on posting because it is such a cliché lol

SONG- FEVER DUA LIPA  FT ANGELE

~~~~~~~

“Well, it’s a yes for me” Eyeing him in this Hot pink-fitted Burliti suit, which you paired with a very sheer black Arnar Mar turtle neck. The minute you saw the piece on the runway you’d been dying to get it on someone with melanated skin, and it just so happens, the boys are fresh off the US leg of their stadium tour! So, lucky for you, baby boy’s been in the sun a lot, and Namjoon’s currently a sinful shade of brown and you're totally here for it…

Then to top it off, the mesh material of the turtle neck creates the perfect silhouette around his offensively toned chest, outlining the muscles sinfully. Eternally snorting at the way the fans are gonna thank and curse you out all at the same damn time once they see the looks you’ve pulled for this man!

And yes, you had your crew bring extended shades of foundation and concealer, because his face and neck will match if your name is going to be attached to these damn photos! 

Head tilted to the side as you silently observe the way he rakes over his reflection in the mirror, it’s a sixth sense you’ve acquired as a stylist at this point. Half of your job is essentially being a hype man/self love coach, real shit, a lot of these artist aren't always as...confident as one may think!

And just like clockwork Namjoon runs his palm down his thighs, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on his pants for the umpteenth time in the span of oh I don’t know 30 seconds? Which in turn prompts you to say….

“You look good Joonie...” Musing over your second glass of Don, the compliment was genuine, tone warm, soothing even, not a hint flirtation insight because that wasn’t your motive. You weren’t trying to get him flustered you’re just trying to gas him up a little, you wanted to see Namjoon get alittle cocky and feel himself!

Ears perking up like an overgrown puppy, head whipping in your direction “Yeah?” The way this man’s eyes just lit up like the soul skyline. I just-goddamn, an almost bashful smile toys on those plush lips of his, and you can’t help the way your chest flutters with nothing but fondness.

“So fuckin cute” Flutters off your lips, as you hide a smile of your own behind a half empty whine glass. The delivery was so faint it almost go lost in the background music floating through the air. However the slight flush hitting his cheeks let you know Namjoon heard you whether he wanted to admit it or not!

”Mmmhmm, the color looks fuckin insane against your skin, not to mention, the way everything's going to pop once we tone your hair a little! “ Eyes drinking him in from head to toe, though there was nothing suggestive playing within your iris. Very much aware of time and place and right now your genuinely looking respectfully! Seeing if any alterations are needed, making sure you like where everything sits along his frame. Making notes in your phone of places you want to pin and adjust later...snapping a couple shots here and there. 

Licking his lips anxiously as he plays with the lapels on the blazer “But like-I mean-I- dont’-It doesn’t look like I’m... trying too hard or anything?” Brows furrowed in the center of his face, jaw tight, wincing slightly at his own words, almost as if he was afraid of your response. The vulnerability within his delivery was more than evident, and no matter how common this is with artist, it’s still just as devastating! Regardless of how much he tried to play it off as if he was just making casual conversation, you can see how blatantly uncomfortable he is . Gazing back at you wide eyed, and uncannily exposed, pointing at the outfit in question. Licking his lips anxiously as he plays with the the blazer, switching posses subtlety trying to get a better feel for the suit.  

You stayed silent for a minute, taking the time to actually process before speaking which is rare, not gonna lie. Gaze piercing as you hop off the bed, wine, and accessories in hand, swaying closer. “It’s fashion”. The baited pause almost implied that’s all you had to say, as if one-word was self-sufficient, and in your mind it was...but you knew better than to just leave it at that.

“Art at its finest Mr. Kim” You smile something a little devious, and he flushes even deeper as you slowly start to invade his space eyes locked with him meaningfully. You can physically see the shift, the closer you get, Namjoon starts fidgeting slightly under your gaze but he doesn't back down.

“It gives you room to play, create...it’s something that let’s us connect to people without saying a damn thing.” Suddenly the hand that wasn’t holding your alcohol has become a prop, flailing around haphazardly as you spoke, pointing at the various pieces hanging on clothes racks in your suite! The penthouse has essentially been transformed into your own personal walk in closet for the next 5 or so days! “It’s a statement. A opportunity to tap into a side of yourself that maybe you can’t always verbally articulate to the world around you! More importantly, it’s supposed to be fun, it’s literally something that can be removed within seconds! I mean we all have to wear clothes so why not just enjoy it?”  Head cocked to the side as you appraise him, brow quirked, eyes warm, yet there's a clear challenge playing within your gaze.

Namjoon’s watching you intently, almost as if he’s taking mental notes as you speak...the heaviness within those dangerously honed eyes of his could almost be unsettling to some, but you quite like it. Made you feel as though he actually gives a flying fuck about what you’re saying.

“In my opinion the only time it looks like someone’s “Trying too hard” Making little air bunnies with your spare hand “Is if they look uncomfortable in what they’re wearing, confidence is key, and I know you know that better than anyone RM!” You muse batting your lashes in Namjoon’s direction, and he dimples back at you, eyes sinking into tiny crescents, face rivaling the color of his suit, trying to hide said smile behind his own glass of champagne.  

“I could put you in a damn clown suit...” Words trailing off your tongue lackadaisically as you grow distracted searching the bar for a specific chain from John Hardy. “Which” Focus snapping back in his direction making the later splutter a little “Would be fire as fuck if I did by the way, but-”  Namjoon ended up cackling midsentence, almost choking on his drink in the process, fist pounding against his sternum.

Yeah..killing the leader of Bangtan wasn’t really high on your list tonight....

“Ayee, none of that shit...” Smacking him in the back a little more so just to be an ass because he wasn’t even choking anymore “Don’t die on me until we at least get this damn photoshoot done, I had to cancel my trip to Jamaica for this shit!”

Now he’s damn near choking and his laugh was contagious, it’s just.. loud, carefree so yes, your cackling, and there's nothing cute about it. But you honestly don’t care, you let yourself get lost in it! Finally able to feel the atmosphere in the room start to shift to something a little less scripted and a little more organic...

Throwing his hands in the air as If he’s waving a nonexistent white flag “I’m sorry, noona” There’s a pout playing in his lips, not exactly aegyo per say, but it’s fuckin adorable “Blame PD-nim, it’s his fault we had to do this so last minute” Wheezes from his throat, in the form of a slight whine, almost rivaling Jimin if I’m honest.

You already know he was laughing more so due to your delivery, specifically, your casual use of profanity over anything else. This is actually something you use to be self-conscious about, especially at your first shoot with the boys, at the shoot for GQ . Well aware it wasn’t as common in Asia for people especially women to use “fuck” like a comma. So you were hoping they wouldn’t be offended, or uncomfortable by your dialect, and, thankfully they didn’t seem to mind. Much like Joonie over here, they found it entertaining over anything.

“Yeah, a huh, sureee...” Eyes rolling to the back of your head playfully as you start lightly altering the suit in question with clips and pens. “Stay still babe” The pet name slipped off your tongue effortlessly, honestly, that's what you call most people in your life. However you were far too focused to notice how wide eyed and flustered the man before you became upon hearing it directed at him so casually.

A faint little “Sorry” muses off his lips as he gnaws on his inner cheek, trying to stay still as you ghetto-rig hems into place until you can get this under your sewing needle.

“ No, but real shit…” You sigh, taking on a slightly more serious tone “If you step in front of that camera like you own the bitch, regardless of what your wearing..., then they can’t tell you shit! If your comfortable there’s no such thing as trying too hard” You shrug nonchalantly like that was the simplest concept known to man, downing the rest of your drink “Alright, that’s all, thanks for coming to my Ted talk” Waving him off as if you’re about to leave the room and he pouted playfully, jokingly begging you not to leave him yet...it felt good to be able to banter like this. The shift continuous shift within the atmosphere was more than welcomed…

Hesitantly you watch his eyes find their way back to the full length mirror, which promptly smacks you back to reality!

Unfortunately you didn't fly all the way to Seoul just to drink,  and shoot shit with Namjoon for hours on end,  your actually here to work…

Sooo...

“Alright” Placing your arms on his shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze as you peer over his shoulder. Meeting his gaze through the glass, chin resting gently against the blade. “Back to the reason you came Mr. “I’m sooo anxiously” Shooting him a teasing little smirk in the process “The suit, yay or nay”

So, here’s the thing technically the official fitting is tomorrow, and as far as his team knows he’s in the studio with Yoongi and Hoseok finishing up a song!

Which of course raises the question as to why he’s here..alone..mind you..no staff or security in site.

Just Kim Namjoon and yourself.....

~~~~

Heyyyy, Lemme know if you guys want this or not, it will leave kinda open ended because it was supposed to kinda be a 3 part mini series initially. Part 1 ends the morning of the shoot, the full thing is set to be around 6/7k! Spoiler, the company is going to want to keep her around for more than just Namjoon’s solo project....

Also, YES...I did see that they actually put Tae in that Burliti suit (I wrote this long before that shoot was released)...I actually hated the way it was styled it though...I never thought I’d say this but MGK’s team did a better job than BH....

[holyhidan]

come home

Hey guys! Continuing my lil ficlet series of the JJK men. This time we have our sweet winter prince, Fushiguro Megumi/Come Home by Sean Bolton. [part 1 here!]

pairing: Fushiguro Megumi x f!reader

genre: fluff, some angst/sad themes

warnings: none

wc: 1.4k

all underage characters are aged up to 18+ (just in case)

Damn it.

Damn it!

She just had to come along. Gojo had tasked Fushiguro with taking out his first grade 1 curse, alone. Though when she chimed in and offered to accompany him, Gojo eventually relented. His students are precious to him, after all. It didn’t help that she plead to him with the most adorable puppy-dog eyes. “These damn kids,” he thought, sighing deeply before giving her the ok to tag along with Megumi. She raised her fist with excitement—this was her first experience with a grade 1 curse. Gojo placed a hand on Fushiguro’s shoulder and leaned in close to his ear.

“Keep an eye on her, yeah?” he whispers. “She’s strong, but she’s also reckless. Reminds me a lot of a certain sakura-haired boy.”

“I will. Although you wouldn’t have to worry about it if you just said no to her.” Megumi bites, giving Gojo a side-eyed glare.

“Oh, I’m not worried at all!” Gojo exclaims, clapping his hands together. “You’re my most talented student. Think of it as both a learning and a teaching opportunity!”

“Isn’t that your job…” Fushiguro thinks, letting out an exasperated sigh.

Which lead to her current state: beaten and unconscious in the recovery wing of Jujutsu Tech.

She had indeed been reckless. Eagerly jumping into the fight without taking a moment to analyze the curse’s technique thoroughly. She vastly underestimated its strength and speed, taking multiple hits from the curse within seconds. So fast that she didn’t even have time to gather her cursed energy to shield herself. Nue barely made it in time to snatch her up before the curse landed a fatal blow.

It wasn’t long after Nue flew her to safety that Demon Dog Black and Orochi tore the curse to pieces. Megumi personally dealt the final strike to the curse’s head with his bare hands.

Fushiguro wouldn’t leave her side, not even as Shoko healed her.

“Fushiguro, you’re pretty beaten up yourse—” Shoko began, but Megumi interrupted her.

“I’m fine. Focus on her.” He clipped, staring blankly at her mangled body.

Shoko made quick work of healing her. She had a few broken bones, but nothing that Ieri’s reverse curse technique couldn’t fix. She imbued the last of her cursed energy into sealing the various lacerations and bruises that littered her skin. Shoko was meticulous, closing the wounds with such precision that there wouldn’t be a single scar on her body. It took more energy than usual, causing her to stumble backwards a step before catching herself. The throbbing pain in her head and dizziness was nothing compared to the guilt Fushiguro would feel every time he saw her damaged skin.

Shoko wipes her brow and lays a hand on the top of Megumi’s head, ruffling his inky locs.

“She’ll be just fine. You can go back to the dorms now. It will likely be a good 12 hours before she regains consciousness.” She states.

“I won’t leave her.” He mutters.

“Figured as much,” she thinks. She recalls how he stayed by Itadori’s side long after he had died. He had to quite literally be pried away from him by Gojo. Shoko’s heart clenched, reminiscing on the times Gojo would come back from a mission beaten to a pulp, long before he was the untouchable man he is today. Geto would stay with him until he woke, only to tear him a new one for being so irresponsible and stupid as soon as he opened his eyes. Gojo would do the same for Geto, though. How dangerous it is to have something so precious to you.

Shoko retrieves a blanket from the nearby warmer and drapes it over Fushiguro’s shoulders.

“At least try to get some sleep, little raven.” she says with a soft smile, giving his head a final pat for good measure. Normally, Fushiguro would have been irritated by her pet names and doting, but this time he was thankful for it.

“Thank you, Shoko.” he whispers as she leaves the room.

Hesitantly, he reaches out for her hand. Her fingers twitch slightly, causing him to recoil as if he was burned. He vaguely becomes aware of the heavy static in the air—something he knows all too well.

“How long have you been there, Gojo-sensei?” he says, not bothering to glance at the space in the corner of the room where Gojo stood in.

“Yare yare,” Gojo sighs, throwing his hands in the air. “Even though I’m masking most of my cursed energy, you could still sense me. As expected from the blessed Zen’in child, I suppose.”

Megumi shoots him an icy glare before returning his gaze to her.

Gojo shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and there’s a palpable change in the atmosphere. His usual playful and casual aura is replaced to that of deadly seriousness. To call it unsettling would be an understatement.

“Megumi,” he starts, making it to Fushiguro’s side in just a few strides. He places his left hand on the sliding door, the other on Megumi’s shoulder.

“What happened isn’t your fault.” Gojo states, still facing towards the exit. He slides the door open, taking a step forward before pausing.

“It’s mine. I’m sorry, Fushiguro.”

With that, he’s gone, the slider closing behind him without so much as a sound.

For some time, Megumi sits in silence, watching the rise and fall of her chest. A sickening feeling washes over him, reminding him of the times he’s sat for hours in his sister’s room, waiting for her to wake up.

But she never does.

The thought has him reaching for her hand again. He knows she will wake, but he can’t help the irrational part of his mind from thinking that maybe she won’t. Megumi squeezes her hand gently, in awe of the smoothness of her skin. But she’s cold—too cold. Without a thought, he shakes off the blanket Shoko gave him. He drapes it over her, pulling the soft fabric up under her chin. She looked so incredibly peaceful, as if she was in no pain at all. Carefully, he brushes a few stray hairs from her face before returning to her side, hands clasped around hers.

He’s not sure when he started singing softly to her, but he stops when he realizes. Force of habit, he figures. When he visits Tsumiki, he occasionally sings or reads to her. He doesn’t know why, perhaps somewhere deep down he hopes he’ll get some sort of response from her. Something, anything to let him know that she’s still there with him.

But she never does.

Lost in his own anguished thoughts, he almost doesn’t notice how she stirs fitfully the moment he stopped his song. His hands tighten around hers, and he chuckles lightly to himself. When did I become so pathetic?

Several seconds pass. Faintly, he begins to sing again.

“The space where you should be,

Occupied by cold feet

A vacant pillow and empty sheets

Sometimes I need you to hold me”

Her face relaxes into that of a restful slumber at the sound of his deep voice. Megumi smiles softly, his own eyelids feeling heavy.

“You get ready for bed,

I can’t promise I won’t peek

It feels like I’ve been moving in and out of a dream

I stay up all night and watch you while you sleep

I’m so inspired, you don’t even have to speak”

He blinks sluggishly, eyes never leaving her face.

“You wake up and I’m on the floor

Staring at the light underneath the door

You say I love you, but I love you more

I’ve never craved anyone like this before”

He places her hand on his cheek and leans into the warmth of her palm.

“I can’t wait for you to come home,

Come home”

Unable to resist any longer, he allows his eyes to shut. His voice ebbs, the volume of his words lowering to that of a honeyed whisper.

“I can’t wait for you

To come

Home”

Her scent overflows his senses, and he lets himself drown.

“Come…home…”

[bonus]

-the next day, late morning-

“Megu-mi!” Gojo chimes, sliding open the door without so much as a knock. “Didn’t Shoko tell you to go back to the d—”

He’s stopped by the sight in front of him.

Rays of crisp sunlight slip in between the blinds, just enough to illuminate the two. Megumi’s head still rests in her palm, one of his hands loosely gripping her wrist. His other hand is tangled in her hair that’s splayed out on the pillow. They’re both still asleep, and Gojo isn’t sure he’s ever seen Fushiguro so content in his whole life. He chuckles, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture of the pair. He’d tease Megumi about it later.

Gojo takes one last glance at them before leaving the room and shakes his head.

“These damn kids.”

[anotherbeingsworld]

Paris in the rain.

Pairing: Bryce x F!MC (Casey Valentine)

Book: Open Heart

Word Count: 2362 

Warnings: FLUFF. 💕😉

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixelberry. I do not own anything, except for the storyline. 

A/N: Hi! This is officially my third fic that I will be posting, AHH! I feel giddy right now typing this, and its a compilations of more than a dozen of emotions in my head!! This story was inspired by Lauv’s song called ‘Paris in the rain’ and boom, this story happen! Its mostly fluff, and sometimes our life needs a lil fluff right? 🙈 I apologize in advance if there is any mistakes since English is not my first language 😅  Alsoo, I want to give a huge thanks to @maria-soederberg for checking all my mistakes and helping me with the story! GO CHECK OUT HER STORIES, SHE WROTE A LOT OF AMAZING STORIES ! <3 To end this, I hope you all enjoy this story! READ AWAYYY. 😊 

Tags: @maria-soederberg @choicessa @bitchloveskcbaseball @annekebbphotography ❤   (comment down if you want to be tagged!)

PS: CHECK OUT ALL THEIR AMAZING STORIES AS WELL! 

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Paris in the rain. 

The voices around Casey are fading away into the background as her thoughts start to wander towards a certain surgeon who is 3346 miles away.Casey is currently at a prestigious medical conference in the city of lights, also known as the city of love. She was invited to share her latest insights regarding the medical world.

But Casey feels her concentration leaving and her mind continuing going back to their last moment back in Boston. They had a heated argument about something useless, such as ‘Bryce leaving his dirty socks on the floor, or walking with his shoes through the apartment, not cleaning the dishes just as Casey asked him to.’ Those arguments were useless, yet one argument led to another one. And Bryce snapped at her which shocked Casey. He never had snapped before. Then he even started to point out Casey’s biggest insecurities. He knows it was wrong but he said it, and couldn’t undo it. It was all so pointless at the end that she wishes she could undo all these small arguments that led to this one big one.

It is her second and her final day in the city of love; France. Yet, Casey wasn’t able to enjoy it. Paris has always been on top of her bucket list, therefore shouldn’t she be here and enjoy it? But she can’t, because it is not how she imagined the trip to Paris.

“Dr. Valentine, do you have anything to add before we end the conference?” Dr Lanchester’s voice rings from the microphone.  His voice brings Casey back to reality. She puts up a smile that does not reach her eyes as she shakes her head. Dr Lanchester nods before giving a farewell speech to all the doctors that joined the medical conference.

Suddenly Casey feels someone placing their hands on her shoulder, she glances at her colleague, Dr Lindsay Russell who is a doctor invited from the UK to give an insight regarding the medical world in her country.

“Are you okay, C? You seem a bit zoned out in the end there.” She asks as the other doctors starts to exit the room.

“I know, I just have problems at home y’know.” She states as they both start to make their way to the exits as well.

“Let me guess, boy problems?” Lindsay smiles gently.

“Ding, ding, ding . Give the girl a prize.” Casey lets out a small laugh as they walk side by side enjoying every second of the foreign air that shows them that they are far from home especially in Casey’s case.

“I know this won’t solve the problem, but I think we should enjoy our final night here. It’s a rare occasion where the hospital sent us miles away from home.” Lindsay states with an enthusiastic smile plastered on her face.

“Alright, but under one condition.” Casey lets out a mischievous laugh making Lindsay feeling terrified. Lindsay wonders what the condition could be.

“Don’t leave me in suspense, C!” Lindsay shouts, laughing.

“You need to buy me the biggest croissant one can ever find!” Casey beams at Lindsay who lets out a laugh.

Lindsay nods and responds, “You have my word, now c’mon! Let’s explore the medical convention for now, before we continue with our adventure tonight.” She states. Not long after Lindsay suggesting this, Casey is pulled on her arm towards the various parts of the annual medicine convention.

After three hours of exploring, Casey and Lindsay says their goodbyes to get themselves cleaned up for the evening. Despite the excitement of discovering the City of lights, Casey feels a pang of sadness as the thought of Bryce starts to fill her mind again. Before their fight, they talked about how amazing their trip to Paris would be. They would hold hands while walking alongside the Seine, they would share kisses in front of the Eiffel Tower or even at the top of it. As criminal as that might be, they would even sneak out some of the little soaps from the hotel room because they smell so good and also look great. And of course, they cannot forget to eat all the chocolate they would find in Paris. It all seemed so perfect, but at the end it was too good to be true.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost missed the notification on her phone. It was a text from her roommates, she smiles thinking about her friends who had been nice enough to take her back in after the fight with Bryce. Casey looks at their group chat and the different messages of her friends.

Sienna: Casey, have fun! We can’t wait for you to be back, Edenbrook is so quiet without you. :(

Elijah: Hit me up with all the goodies from the conventions Cas! You’re the bomb!

Jackie: Don’t forget to enjoy all the expensive booze as you spend your time around snotty doctors Cas! ;)

Aurora: She ain’t wrong, see ya soon!

She smiles at  the texts, but looking at those messages make her eyes wander to a particular name in her messages. They hadn’t been texting since the ‘fight’. She wants to tell him how much she wants to be in his arms, how she wants to make all those fantasies come true. But she can’t do it. She lets out a sigh, as she continues to get ready for the night out with Lindsay.

Meanwhile, at a motel not so far away. Bryce Lahela is adjusting his tie.Bryce struggles as he  tries to look his best, he is aware that people think he looks good in everything. But today, he wanted to look even better. It is for a special occasion after all.

In the meantime, he facetimes Elijah as he guides him through a tie tutorial. “Almost there, and… done!” Bryce lets out a scream as he successfully managed to tie a tie. Although, he is from a wealthy family which required him to dress up like some stuck up corporate workers, he never made an effort to dress up. It made his parents mad all the time, yet he never really cared what they think. He had lived all his life with casual attire and it’s pretty comfortable.

His phone lets out a ping as a message pop up over their video call.

Linsday: I already told her about tonight, you better not screw up, Lahela!

Bryce: Thank you, I owe you one. And, don’t worry I won’t.

Linsday: I will believe it when I see it, let me know when it’s time.

Bryce: Gotcha.

Bryce takes a deep breath, Elijah looks at him through the phone, noticing how nervous he gets. Soon, Elijah is joined by Sienna and Jackie who instantly whistles at him.

“You clean up good, meathead.” Jackie shouts from the other side of the phone while Sienna gives an approving nod.

“Thanks, Jackie, I am doing everything I can to fix this.” Bryce lets out a sigh. “I can’t lose her, she  means a lot to me. And, I don’t want to be away from her anymore. I-“

Before Bryce can continue, Elijah’s voice fades into the background. He looks at his phone and sees their call got disconnected as his phone lets out a ping once more.

Elijah: Sorry about that buddy, Jackie immediately hung up before you start one of those sappy  monologues. All of us are rooting for you, get em tiger!

Bryce lets out a small laugh before heading out the door, with a high amount of determination to fix it. Both of them were at fault for their fight, Bryce feels himself getting anxious and the fear of losing her resurfaces even though deep down he knows that she loves him.

 Casey always felt like she is not good enough for him. No matter how many times he had tried to assured her that she is the most beautiful woman in the world. Bryce made this one mistake and pointed that out in their fight leads to Casey walking away from him, and a quiet night for Bryce. The next day, he wanted to clear the air between them but Casey unfortunately had left for Paris, without a goodbye.

 Casey feels herself enjoying the perks of being a foreigner, living her best life in Paris despite the small pain in her chest. The night went on and she even got the chance to enjoy her croissant which was promised by Lindsay. They managed to go café hopping, and doing everything she desired.

 As the night continues, Lindsay lets out a small yawn. Casey’s head perks up at the sudden reaction. “Tired already?”

 Lindsay nods, as she stretches her arms making Casey laugh with her antics. “I think I am going to hit the hay, you ready to go?”

 Casey shakes her head, as she gestures to the Eiffel Tower which is a short walk away from her. “I think I’m going to stick around a little longer, I will see you tomorrow?”

Lindsay pulls her into a hug and waves her goodbye. “See you tomorrow, C!”

 After Casey continued her commute, Lindsay takes her phone out and sends a text to Bryce, to proceed his plan. After getting a thumbs up reply, she whispers ‘I hope he doesn’t screw up this time.’ to herself as she makes her way back to her hotel.

 Casey takes her time enjoying the view around her. The night is getting darker but the people around her are still smiling, enjoying the atmosphere around them. Some of them are sightseeing, and some are enjoying each other’s company at one of the most romantic places on earth.

 After a few minutes of walking, the Eiffel Tower comes into her view. The sight makes Casey smile uncontrollably. She stops to look at it properly. It looks spectacular, better than what she had been seeing on her desktop when she was 6.At first she was so focused on the sight in front of her that she had barely noticed the presence next to her. As she takes a glance at the person beside her, her eyes widen. It was him. He is standing there beside her, with his signature smile that is one of Casey’s favourites. Both of them were silent for what felt like an eternity until Bryce clears his throat to capture her attention.

 “What are you doing here?” Casey asks maintaining her distance because she still can’t believe Bryce is standing next to her.

 “I came here to make your dreams come true; one of them involves this building.” Bryce states as his gaze stays on her whilst gesturing the Eiffel Tower, his eyes displaying every emotion someone can have.

 Before Casey can reply, he continues, “I want to fix this, and I won’t leave your side until I achieve my goals. You are the best thing that ever happened to me and I am not ready to let you go, or to let us go. This thing that we had, is much more than any fight, any quarrel or any insult. What we have is something special, and I wouldn’t have it any other way…” The sound of thunder causes him to stop as they both glance up towards the sky, where lightening covers the sky from time to time.

 “Bryce...” Casey looks back down to him, ignoring the weather above her.

 “I love you Casey Valentine and I don’t want to lose you ever again.” He stops when suddenly the rain starts to fall. His eyes went down towards his clothes and notices that it’s soaked. But he doesn’t mind, he is not finished yet. He looks over to her and his breath stops for a short moment. Of course, Casey always looks beautiful in his eyes, but the light of the Eiffel tower reflecting in her eyes, followed by the rain that covers her face in small pearls makes her more beautiful than she has ever been.

 Bryce takes a deep breath as he continues, “I’m sorry that I said all those things back in Boston. I never meant to hurt you, Casey. I love you with all I have. My life is evolving around you. Waking up every morning? I can’t imagine it without you by my side. Walking through the hospital halls? I cannot imagine it without our ‘stealing kisses’ moments or jokes we share while bumping into one another. And I can’t bear the thought of living without you. I love you and I cannot live without you.” Bryce admits. “Please come back.”

 Casey felt her eyes gaze into his. The rain caused his hair got stuck on his forehead, and followed the little drops on his nose; somehow he still looks amazing in her eyes. Their eyes connect to one another and in that moment they know that whatever happened in Boston, its one of the bumps of being in relationship. Casey feels glad that Bryce had came this whole way to Paris, finally being able to make both of their dreams come true. After a few moments, Casey closes the distance between them as she puts her arms around his neck. She nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck and whispers, “I love you too, so much.” Bryce smiles as he hold her close.

 As they are in each other embraces, Bryce is glad that she forgave him and they can start a new page together leaving the fight behind. He promises to himself for their next trip to Paris, he will do all the little things with her. Bryce wants her to be happy and he never wants to leave her side again. He loves her too much, to imagine the world without her in it.

 Despite the weather, they got a chance to find each other once more in one of the most beautiful city in the world. After a while, Casey felt a notification from her phone. She smiled after reading the message, and give him a light kiss.

From: Bryce

'Cause anywhere with you feels right

Anywhere with you feels like

Paris in the rain

Walking down an empty street

Puddles underneath our feet’ – Lauv.  

THE END.

A/N #2: Hii! So, I hope all of you enjoy it! Its one of those stories that brings a smile on my face and its fill with fluff! The best in both worlds; happiness and fluff, hehe. 🙈 I still felt anxious about posting this, but I am growing everyday! Don’t forget to like, reblog and leave a comment!  It would really means a lot for all writers! 😊 Once again, THANK YOU FOR READING! <3 

Check out my other fics here ! ❤❤

[oisaaac]

“ Six feet under ”

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Summary: Crowley decides to pay a little visit to his one and only love.

Warnings: angst, character death, sad boi crowley

Notes: English isn't my native language, so sorry for any mistakes this hasn't been proofread either.

This is very out of the blue and maybe a little cliché idk, but i hope some of you enjoy it nonetheless <3

kinda off from the original show plot but try to bare with me uwu

inspired from billie eilish's song 'six feet under'

Help, I lost myself again

But I remember you

Thick heavy grey clouds shrouded above the cemetery as if it read Crowley's mood. It was the same heavy weight he felt everyime he decides to pay you a visit. The same weight that seems to get heavier as time ticks by.

It had been a year since you died. A year that seems to be dreadfully longer than the time Crowley stayed above earth.

It was always a reminder for him how different his celestial form is from a human being like you. You always joked around that he had to see you die at some point—with grey hair and wrinkling skin while he didn't age even a bit, yet look where he is now.

He didn't expect it to come too soon, too fast, too sudden and too painful. It made him think what was really God's ineffable plan? He couldn't even ask it himself. Besides it was ineffable after all.

He should've seen this coming though. A demon falling in love with a human? Both of you knew things can't get normal. For one he was an immortal under a lot of circumstances and you on the other hand was—fragile. The moment you saw the bright light when you were brought to this world you were already hanging on a thin thread. Surviving for only a small barrowed time. Crowley always thought it was some kind of inside joke made by God, a very cruel joke.

Small droplets started to fall down from the sky as Crowley stood looking at the flowers he have in his hands.

You would've loved this. He thought to himself kneeling down on the moist grass, not bothered by the uncomfortable feeling of the contact with his jeans before staring at your grave stone.

It still feels unreal for him, seeing your name precisely carved on the stone which made his heart wrenched.

Retrace my lips

Erase your touch

It's all too much for me

But Crowley knew he would rather feel the pain in his chest over and over again rather than forget about you even if he could never be the same when he was with you.

His closest friend Aziraphale felt pity for the demon, but loving someone always has a cost to pay and he could only give much reassurance to his dear friend. Besides, he was somehow at fault considering you died in his shop trying to help him. Crowley didn't blame the angel though, knowingly you wouldn't either, but that didn't stop him from blaming himself and giving the silent treatment to the angel (which Aziraphale understood where he was coming from) for months. You would have opposed to if you knew, knowing their friendship was one of the strongest bonds you had ever seen. Luckily they were good now yet Crowley still needed more time to mourn.

You were always so kind and gentle, one of the traits Crowley loved about you. Good or bad you seem to look surpass every label knowing it was more than just what they perceive. To you Crowley isn't just the demon who had fallen to spread evil, he was your Crowley; your sassy kind hearted loving demon. He never wanted to have such vulnerability, but he let himself otherwise.

Of course he didn't regret any of it. He would need to die first before he ever regrets choosing a path with you in it. Even if he knew the moment you walked in Aziraphale's bookshop clumsily waltzing in his life only to bring this kind of pain he was currently feeling he would never choose of you not being a part of him. If only he could have had more time just one more second to see you smile, to feel your soft touch, to look directly into your loving eyes that made him feel like he was home. It sometimes brought Crowley anxiety with the thought that he didn't deserve what he was feeling with you—the joy, appreciation and love, yet you always said that he did, he did deserve happiness but the tragedy that comes with it had come unforeseen.

Blow away

Like smoke in air

How can you die carelessly?

Why did you have to go inside? Why didn't you just wait for me. You were human afterall. You weren't built to withstand heavy flames and thick smokes. You've always been so reckless for the sake of others. You knew it was dangerous, but you risked your life nonetheless.

Crowley laid the flowers near your headstone before he caressed the letters of your name closing his eyes trying to remember every detail of your face.

"Just for a second. If you're really listening to everyone's prayer then bid mine. Just for a second. Look at me you've foresaken me and let me fall into the pit yet here I am calling out for you." He looked up calling out to somebody, something or someone who was listening to his mantra. "Please!" He choked through the verge of tears. "I love her. I'll always will. If this is my sin then punish me for eternity, but let me see her just for a second." The only response a low rumble of thunder and finally the heavy clouds opened its gates letting the rain freely fall from the heavens camouflaging Crowley's tears.

They're playin' our sound

Layin' us down tonight

And all of these clouds

Crying us back to life

But you're cold as a night

It was no use. You're gone. The pain settled in his chest eating his insides. It was his punishment after all.

Crowley was soaked by the time he was snapped out of his small trance. He fixed the flowers on your grave before putting the individual red rose in the middle remembering how much you loved that red flower then grabbing the old ones to dispose them before standing up and taking one last glance of you until his next visit.

He whispered his promise that he would come back over and over for the rest of his eternity, he had all the time in his hands anyways.

Six feet under

I can't help but wonder

If our grave was watered by the rain

Bloom

Bloom

Again

Crowley turned around to head over his bentley only to be met by your e/c eyes. He didn't even realized his grip on the flowers loosened as he blinked once, twice, more than enough to make sure he wasn't seeing things while raining and there you were like an epiphany standing on your red dress drenched in rain smiling like an idiot at him. You took deliberate steps closing in the gap between the two of you while you kept your eyes locked on his yellow serpent eyes that you grew to love.

"Y/n," Crowley whispered still trying to figure out how.

"Crowley," You put your hand on his cheeks caressing his wet skin with your thumb. You didn't even understood how, but you were happy. You missed him so much that you didn't say another word and just leaned in connecting your lips with his he didn't respond at first, but slowly he recognized you. It was really you, his beloved y/n. He had so many questions hanging on the back of his head, but he didn't dare to utter any of them. He didn't want to let you go and waste whatever miracle it was that brought you here.

All the muscles in each of your bodies molded into one. You and Crowley were in sync like a melody that you both practiced over and over again. Your hands made its way on the back of his neck tangling your fingers on his wet ginger locks, Crowley's hands gripped you tight yet at the same time gently trying not to break you under his touch. The intensity of yearning and all the other emotions that comes with it all swirled into one.

Out of breath you both parted staring at eachothers eyes. "I love you too." You softly spoke your truth.

Maybe whatever was up there was really listening. Either way Crowley held on you to the very last second of your borrowed time.

"We'll be together again someday." You reassured him while you smiled. Crowley just studied your face and for the first time in a while genuinely smiled and was happy. And it was enough as goodbye for the both of you... for now.

Help, I lost myself again

But I remember you

Kinda long A/N: honestly idk what to feel about this if its good or not in my 19 years of existence i always wrote fanfics imagines and stuffs but usually i usually put it up then delete it later because i dont have any confidence of my work but im trying again. this is my first time posting in tumblr though.i hope this is good, like it gave you feels because it did when i wrote it. please don't kill me that i made crowley straight oof 🥺 sorry for any mistakes again! thank you for taking time on reading this and if you reblog and press the heart thingy thank you so much i will love you forever 💕

[phoenixrisesoncemore]

I was tagged by @wangxianbunnydoodles (oh my, this is long and you might regret it; also I don’t follow instructions well 😉). I tend not to be very good at these things (sorry to anyone else who has tagged me in these kinds of things before—this is a rare event happening mostly because I wanna talk about Tolkien books and ships) but here goes:

Top 3 Ships

I don’t actively ship characters that often. I’m not sure why that is. I do enjoy reading fic with pairings either canon or not, but I don’t often go “all in” on ships in most narratives I consume. There are notable exceptions (more than three but these are the three most recent—I have no idea how to identify my top ships):

WangXian (CQL). This is surely obvious from the current state of my blog, right? I blame The Untamed and its impossibly tender, only-subtextual-by-a-hair’s-breadth romance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a show express ultimate devotion, deep affection, true appreciation, complete understanding (eventually), and the sheer *necessity of the other* between two people quite like this one has. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two characters and desperately wanted them together and happy as much as I have these two, so bravo to the cast and crew for generating such second-hand devotion in me.

Silvergifting (Tolkien). This is all @thearrogantemu’s fault. I’d read some Silvergifting before I read These Gifts That You Have Given Me, mostly out of curiosity (some good stuff, too!), but I had never read any Tolkien fic that convinced me it was *true* (on many, many levels, though the ship level is the one pertinent to this post). In any canon-like universe this ship hurts, but in the Gifts universe it hurts the most; it hurts like Hell. It hurts in the way only razor-sharp, sorry-the-universe-works-this-way, oh-are-those-my-entrails-on-the-floor-I-didn’t-even-feel-the-knife tragedy can hurt. And it’s so convincing that it’s just...a fact now. Tolkien just forgot to tell us. So now I ship Silvergifting, but most deeply, specifically THAT Silvergifting. (Meanwhile, 14 year old me continues to look at *significantly* older me like I’m insane.)

ZeLink (Legend of Zelda). Deep down I’m still 12 years old and no amount of fine lines and wrinkles is going to change that. When is Breath of the Wild 2 coming out?

Last Song

I listen to soundtracks and bombastic and dramatic orchestral pieces much more often than I listen to what people mean when they say “songs,” and a significant chunk of the “songs” I listen to are from musicals/operas.

Earlier today it was Hanz Zimmer’s soundtrack to Dark Phoenix (don’t start me up on the continuing disappointment that Phoenix adaptations continue to be to me—you don’t want to hear it; even I don’t want to hear it).

Before that it was Barbra Streisand’s The Broadway Album. (I prefer her outer space cover of “Somewhere” to the actual thing. Fight me.)

Before that it was Carmina Burana (One of my favorite things ever was when we went to a live performance of Carmina Burana and a boy who couldn’t have been more than 7 years old sat in the aisle in front of us and head-banged enthusiastically through “O Fortuna.” It was so metal. You go, kid. You get it.).

Before that it was a splattering of Billy Joel hits with emphasis on “2000 Years”, “River of Dreams”, “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant”, “The Stranger”, and “Only the Good Die Young” (thanks to that outstanding WangXian interpretation!).

Of course the soundtracks to The Untamed/CQL have been on repeat for weeks around here, particularly every single iteration of “WuJi” and the flute-heavy instrumental pieces (man, those are good!).

Not long ago I had Sarah Brightman’s covers of “Figlio Perduto” from La Luna and “Glosoli” and “One Day Like This” from Dreamchaser burning through my iPhone battery (yes, I like popera).

Enya, and especially Shepherd Moons and The Track Which Shall Not Be Named has been on repeat a lot.

Last Movie

I don’t sit down to watch movies that often any more. It just takes too much stillness and undivided attention and more resistance to multi-tasking than I have. The actual last movie that I watched (in a “have it on on another screen while I work” kind of way) was Raiders of the Lost Ark, which, of course, I’ve seen umpteen times and which followed a similar rewatch of the Back to the Future trilogy. The last movie I watched completely without distraction was Book Smart; I don’t watch comedies very often, but I really enjoyed it in an “OMG, I can totally relate to this” kind of way (except for the class president thing—that would have required that I interact with other people my own age and also not be homeschooled). Before that I think it was the Tolkien biopic. Man, I still haven’t written anything about that.

Currently Reading (in order of when I started them)

Oh dear.

The Familiar: part 1, Mark Z Danielewski. *sigh* For as much as I think Danielewski is brilliant and House of Leaves is one of my favorite books ever, I’ve just not been able to get into much of his other work. It’s universally a time and energy investment to penetrate and puzzle through, and I just don’t have as much of that as I used to. House of Leaves makes that investment worth it from early on and is absolutely a page-turner once you settle in, but other than The Fifty Year Sword I’ve just not been able to get into the rest of his work. The Familiar: part 1 is supposed to be the first in a 26 part series which is currently halted at part 4, I think. Without a guarantee of all parts ever being published, I don’t think I’m ready to invest more time into part 1 and may end up abandoning it, unfortunately.

History of The Hobbit, Douglas Anderson. Anderson did what Christopher didn’t and gave The Hobbit the HoMe treatment (if a bit less literal and opaque in format). It’s fascinating (I mean, there’s the Beren and Luthien name drop you were not expecting right there in the first draft), but reading essentially the same passages with only small changes over and over can be a slog, so reading it has been an ongoing project for over a year now.

Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien’s World, Verlyn Fleiger. This is Fleiger’s look at Tolkien’s Middle-earth in light of his association with Owen Barfield. Particularly, she is examining Tolkien’s work in conjunction with Barfield’s Poetic Diction and his thoughts on language and meaning. I have not read Poetic Diction, but I probably will now since it apparently addresses language formation as related to the origin of human consciousness which is SO up my alley.

New Seeds of Contemplation, Thomas Merton. My late sister-in-law had a masters in theology from Notre Dame and became a huge Merton fan. Meanwhile, my best friend actually spent a weekend retreat at The Abbey of Gethsemani. Between hearing about him from the two of them, I developed an interest in Merton. I happened to read “Moral Theology of the Devil” a couple of years ago. It was one of the most illuminating theological things I have read and deeply inspired my own Tolkien fic-writing (let’s just say the progress there is otherwise slow). This book is a collection of pieces which happens to contain that piece, and I’ve been skipping around through it for a while now.

The Lord of the Rings reread (Tolkien, obviously). I hate this, but I am so deep in so many critical Tolkien books that I’ve not had the chance to really sit down and relax into my reread for months and months and will likely just end up starting over. Plus I want to read it concurrently with the next entry in this list and the next entry is taking longer to get through because of its format. That entry being:

The Lord of the the Rings: A Reader’s Companion, Hammond and Scull. This is a treasure trove of data and insights for those really wanting to dig critically-historically into The Lord of the Rings on a chapter-by-chapter, passage-by-passage basis. The only issue with it is that jumping back and forth between the two (as you have to: this is a reference book) tends to kill the mood of The Lord of the Rings when read as it’s meant to be read: for enjoyment!

The Power of Limits: Proportional Harmonies in Nature, Art, and Architecture, Gyorgy Doczi. This has been an ongoing read here and there since Christmas, especially as I work on two personal projects.

The Gospel in a Pluralist Society, Lesslie Newbigin. To be honest I don’t think I am going to finish this one. I like a few of the things he says, things I think are truthful and which need to be confronted in American Christian culture in particular, but it’s just too much Calvin for my taste, too many assumptions I do not share being the heretic that I am, and I spend too much time anger-notating about theology to read it with grace.

In Full Measure I Return to You, thearrogantemu. This is a reread of the (relatively) happy AU fic for my most favoritest Tolkien fic (Gifts), but I’ve put my reread on hold while I finish one of the two projects, after which I am diving in and screw the rest of this list for the time being.

Food Craving

Sushi. My kingdom for some good sushi. I’ve only had sushi once since we got back from NY and while it was the best sushi I have had locally IT WAS NOT OMAKASE AT SUSHI NOZ. It also didn’t require a personal loan to pay for, but *shrug* I’m spoiled now and will forever crave what I can no longer have.

People I’d Like To Get To Know Better

I hate tagging people in these things because I’m awkward and shy and do them so rarely myself that it feels hypocritical for me to ask it of others. That being said: if you’re a follower of my blog and you want to do this, please do! And please tag me! I’d love to get to know more about you 😊.

[supergraphicultramoderngirl]

vulnerable in oh so many ways

a tyrus oneshot songfic inspired by light on by maggie rogers, based off of 3x13

try not to cry challenge: failed (grab ur tissues)

word count: 2325

—————————

Would you believe me now

If I told you I got caught up in a wave?

Almost gave it away

“You haven’t talked to him yet?” Buffy asked in surprise. She sat next to Andi in their usual spot in The Spoon, with Cyrus sulking in his seat across from them.

“No, there’s nothing to talk to him about. He ditched me for some rude girl, plain and simple. Nothing I can do about it,” Cyrus replied, throwing an uneaten baby tater back in the basket.

Andi responded, “Why are you so worked up about this, though? I mean, when the whole gun thing happened, we had to pry you away from him.”

“That wasn’t his fault. I should’ve figured this would happen, I’m always the second choice,” Cyrus mumbled.

“Hey.” Buffy leaned forward and took his hands in hers, much like when he’d came out to her. “You are never just the second choice, okay? You’re just as important as anyone else. And if TJ chose someone like her over someone as amazing as you, then he never deserved to be friends with you in the first place.”

Cyrus gave her a small smile. “Thanks. And I know, it just hurts, you know? Like, he still chose her over me.”

Buffy and Andi exchanged a look, leaving Cyrus to question, “What?”

“That’s the thing, Cy. It’s weird that he just bailed on you,” Andi replied.

Buffy added, “Yeah, he usually follows you around like a puppy. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“I know. That’s why it hurts so much,” Cyrus murmured, leaning back in the booth.

Buffy squinted then, recognizing the face he was making. The last time he looked like that was when they’d watched Jonah and Andi kiss. “Cy?”

He looked up. “Hm?”

“You know you can tell us anything, right?”

Cyrus sighed. “I know.”

Buffy asked slowly, “Do you? Want to tell us anything?”

Cyrus just shook his head, knowing exactly what she was implying.

“Yeah, not gonna lie, I’m lost,” Andi interrupted.

Buffy put her hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Would you hear me out

If I told you I was terrified for days?

Thought I was gonna break

“Kippen!”

TJ looked up from his phone to see none other than Buffy Driscoll running up to him.

Buffy almost stopped in her tracks upon seeing how, well, horrible TJ looked. His face was paler than usual, he’d acquired massive eye bags, and his hair was messy, lacking its usual overpowering gel. “Whoa. Um, okay, what the hell happened?”

“None of your business,” TJ mumbled.

Buffy crossed her arms and sat down next to him. “When my best friend is that upset, it automatically becomes my business. Why did you bail on Cyrus?”

TJ sighed, leaning back in the bench he currently occupied. “It’s really complicated.”

Buffy took the seat next to him. “I’ve got time.”

Oh, I couldn't stop it

Tried to slow it all down

Crying in the bathroom

Had to figure it out

“So you’d rather to a costume with Cyrus than with me? Have fun with that.”

Those words echoed in TJ’s brain since they were first spoken. He thought he had it all covered, that he was being subtle enough that no one would pick up enough but still touchy enough where he could still express how he was feeling. Apparently not. TJ hadn’t even thought about people thinking it was a bad thing, only hiding it because he has a crush on his straight best friend, that’s embarrassing. Was it a bad thing? Would other people think it was a bad thing? Guess so, considering Kira does, or at least implied that she does. What if she told other people about it? What if everyone thought it was wrong? What if—

And suddenly TJ broke down on the tiles of his bathroom floor in the middle of the night.

He had no other choice, did he? He had to do the costume with Kira, or else he’d be outcasted even more than he used to be.

Classic TJ.

With everyone around me saying

"You must be so happy now"

Cyrus watched as yet another person went up to congratulate TJ and Kira, sighing into his math homework.

Kira had recently announced over Instagram that the two had started dating.

Buffy was gone from school that day, so it was Andi’s job to do some damage control, meaning constant hugs and reassurance that TJ is and always was a dick.

“Stop watching them, Cy, it’s only going to make you feel worse,” Andi said softly.

Cyrus replied shortly, “He stopped trying to text me.”

Jonah, who sat next to Andi, asked, “Well, isn’t that a good thing then? If he was being such a bad friend to you, shouldn’t you be happy he’s out of your life now?”

I should be, Cyrus thought, but I’m not. “I guess. Something about this just feels so weird.”

Andi grabbed his hand to console him. “That’s totally fair, considering you li—“

“No, I didn’t,” Cyrus interrupted.

“Sure.”

Oh, if you keep reaching out

Then I'll keep coming back

And if you're gone for good

Then I'm okay with that

If you leave the light on

Then I'll leave the light on

It had been three and a half weeks since TJ had last tried to reach out to Cyrus.

Both boys had just assumed that the other hated them and just never spoke to them again after that crushing realization. And to be fair, that realization is completely plausible since neither side knew the whole story.

But Buffy did.

Despite wanting to spill it all at first, she kept her mouth shut in the beginning as she didn’t want to out either of the two boys. But the further they drifted apart, the closer she came to the conclusion that she had to get involved. She wouldn’t say anything about their sexualities, obviously, but she knew that they had a bond stronger than whatever Kira was attempting to ruin.

So she got involved.

Cyrus was not expecting a call from Buffy at 11pm, however they’d had late night conversations before, why would this one be any different than their ramblings about various movies or songs or things that happened during the day?

Buffy’s voice came through the phone strong and clear, “You need to talk to him.”

“What? No, there is no way I’m ever talking to him again,” Cyrus scoffed.

“Yeah, but I did. Knowing what happened and watching you drift apart because of it is literally killing me. You need to talk to him, Cy,” Buffy responded.

Cyrus was silent for a moment, the only tell that was still on the call was his heavy breathing into the phone. Finally, he replied quietly, almost a whisper, “You talked to him?”

“I had to, seeing you upset like that.”

Cyrus’ reply was almost pained, “What did he even say? What could’ve possibly happened?”

Buffy sighed. “That’s not for me to tell.”

The two kids both fell quiet for a moment. Cyrus pinched the bridge of his nose and interrupted the silence with, “I think I’ve just given up on this, I don’t even care what happened. I should, I know, and somewhere in my brain I probably do, but right now, I don’t know... I just feel empty about this whole situation.”

“That’s fine, Cy, it’s completely valid for you to be feeling like that. Just, don’t give up on him yet. You guys are too good of a pair to be ruined by some she-devil,” Buffy said.

“Thanks. We’ll see, I guess. I gotta go, bye,” Cyrus replied.

“Bye,” Buffy answered back, ending the call.

Cyrus set his phone down next to him on his bed and sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. He didn’t have the energy to get up at turn off his lamp in the opposite corner of his room, only enough energy to think about the one boy who had constantly been on his mind since that one fateful Friday.

He looked out his window and spotted TJ’s house several streets away. He remembered when they would call each other and stand at the window, looking over to one another, pretending to give the eye contact they’d give in a normal face to face conversation. That was gone now, though, all he had was the light in TJ’s own room to look at.

He didn’t know that TJ was looking over at his house doing the same.

And I am finding out

There's just no other way

That I'm still dancing at the end of the day

Seeing Metcalf kiss his husband on the cheek in the middle of the hallway was the last thing anyone expected to see during school.

Naturally, word spread fast to those who weren’t around to see it, including TJ.

“Did you hear what Metcalf did today? It was so gross,” Kira said, taking a seat next to him at the lunch table. She didn’t notice when he scooted away from her the smallest distance.

“What?” TJ replied shortly.

“He kissed his husband on the cheek in the middle of the hallway. Why the hell did he think it was okay to be shoving that in our faces? And better yet, why does no one else seem to think it’s gross?” Kira complained, laughing.

No one thought it was bad? He could’ve been open about it this whole time?

There really was nothing wrong with him.

With some newfound confidence, TJ began to stand up and responded, “Because, Kira, no one else is stuck in the fucking 1900s. First, you make me feel bad about myself for no goddamn reason, and now this? I’m sick of it, and I can’t be around you anymore.”

TJ walked off, knowing that he could’ve told her off way better than that, but he had more important things on his mind at that moment. More important people.

After making the smallest detour, he headed over the the GHC’s lunch table, chocolate chocolate chip muffin in hand.

He watched Cyrus’ eyes grow wide as he approached them, but before he could stand up and leave him behind, he said, “I have a lot of explaining to do, if you’ll let me.”

“Yes, thank god,” Buffy sighed.

“No.”

She turned to Cyrus and asked incredulously, “No? What do you mean no?”

Cyrus shrugged, looking down at the table. “I meant no. I’m over this.”

“Oh.” TJ set the muffin down on the table, a somber look on his face. “Okay, I’ll just... get out of your hair, then.”

He began to walk away slowly, and Cyrus’ eyes flickered between him and the muffin he left behind. He winced and called out, “Wait.”

TJ turned around at the speed of light.

“Fine. I’ll hear you out.” Cyrus stood up, not making eye contact with anyone on his way out of the cafeteria. As he passed by TJ, he called out, “Swings,” and TJ quickly trailed behind him.

If you leave the light on

TJ took a seat on his usual swing, while Cyrus just stood next to the pole, arms crossed and eyes pointed to the dull mulch.

“Why did you ditch me?” Cyrus mumbled. “You’re the one who asked in the first place.”

TJ sighed, his knuckles gripping the chains turning a bright white. “The day before costume day, I was playing basketball in the park. When I was done, Kira came up to me asking if I wanted to do a costume with her. I told her no, I was all set because I was going to do a costume with you, which is true. I was so excited about it, Cy, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun it was going to be,” he began explaining.

“That still doesn’t explain why you ditched me, TJ,” Cyrus replied bitterly.

“I’m not done,” TJ responded, then continued, “She kept pushing, saying that her costume was this great idea. I kept telling her no, I’m doing this cool inside joke with you. And then she said,” he took a deep breath, “‘So you’d rather do a costume with Cyrus than with me? Have fun with that.’ The way she said it, it was like she was implying something, like she figured something out that I wasn’t ready for people to know yet.”

Cyrus had visibly softened at that, now making eye contact with TJ. It was obvious that he wasn’t trying to push too hard. “What... what did she imply exactly, just so I’ve gotten this all straight?”

TJ chuckled to himself. None of this was all straight. He took another big sigh and answered, “She implied that, um, well, that I’m gay. She made me feel so bad about it, like it was wrong. I thought everyone would think the same. Plus, the way she said it, I thought she was going to do something, like out me. So, I took the coward’s way out.”

Cyrus took a seat next to him, laying his hand on top of TJ’s on the chain of his swing. He reassured him, “Hey, you were not being a coward. Sure, some heads up about not doing the costume would’ve been nice, but you were only trying to protect yourself. I know exactly how you feel.”

TJ smiled softly, looking down at his lap. “Thanks.” He then quickly furrowed his eyebrows and said, “Wait, what do you mean you know how I feel?”

Cyrus laughed quietly, “I was not expecting to do this today, but I’m gay too, TJ.”

A massive grin broke out on TJ’s face. “Cool.”

Cyrus nudged him with his elbow. “You’re such a dork.”

“Only around you,” TJ replied. “So we’re good now?”

“Yeah,” Cyrus replied, a soft look on his face that could only be described as fond. “We’re good.”

Then I'll leave the light on

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Put Together (BC x Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Street Artist!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Moving in together is a pretty big milestone which goes accompanied by a fun shopping trip to IKEA, wandering through the showrooms to gain inspiration for the shared home.

Putting things together, however, proves to be very difficult for a kangaroo and a koala.

Masterlist

Everything has a bright and dark side for all in the world contains positivity and its counterpart. Such is the way of existence, although the shadow side might not be realized until later when trying to put together the furniture bought for the brand new shared studio in a redeveloped part of the town, the community trying to save face by improving neglected neighbourhoods just enough in the hopes of attracting young people to thus let it flourish at their hands. A successful endeavour, since many couples in the prime of their lives have taken up residence in the harbour district with refurbished warehouses decorated with approved graffiti, some works even by the hand of the Australian boyfriend of a mere though steady nine months.

The trip to IKEA was a lot of fun, singing along to songs playing on the voluminous radio on the top of lungs while waiting in a terrible rush hour because more minds had the idea of visiting the massive home depot on a dreary day. It was the sole way to keep the simmering irritation thanks to standing endlessly frozen among honking cars to a bare minimum, fingers entwined while getting lost in the melodies.

The briefly picked up on looks of adoration as interior showrooms were scoured for inspiration were heart-melting, Chris noting down all the chosen pieces of furniture on the small slip of paper with the cheap company pencil regardless of the fact the decisions were basically made without leaving many choices to the blonde boy. When remarking upon the continuous silent agreement, only occasionally providing some input on colour choice, the youth commented that building a home together is all that really mattered to him. Moreover, there was confidence in knowing better how to embody both personalities in the interior than he himself would have been able to do. Henceforth, howbeit with this somewhat uncomfortably in mind, the would-be massive shopping trip cracked on.

Alongside pure affection, there was also a dominant sense of pride in deep earthly eyes that seeped through in attitude, proud to have made it to this milestone, this achievement that was solely a dream for both on lonely days wherein the concept of love was practically unknown aside from family bonds and friendships formed at school. A satisfied innocent smile could not be erased from roseate lips throughout the entire venture, broadening to a wide bubbly smile when testing couches by launching ourselves onto them or spinning around in desk chairs together, seated on the personified koala’s lap and holding on for dear life to the characteristic raven black leather jacket, in search of the perfect one for the planned small home office.

Withal, every sort of happiness comes at a cost, this being that the ecstatic joy has malformed into frustrating confusion now that cardboard boxes retrieved from the immense storehouse litter the bare oaken floor of the empty echoing studio and the time has come to put the furniture together with, at times questionable, manuals. Missing screws or seemingly misplaced pre-created holes form only two of the multitude of sources for agitation, Chris’s brightness gradually becoming darker as the time passes and solely the round coarse night-toned metal coffee table, a few wall shelves, the stone grey couch - this one in particular with a lot of cursing and fuming in resilience after almost ripping the papers with step-by-step instructions - and a single bookshelf awaiting its three neighbours have been established in three hours time.

The cap that was bought on the first trip abroad as a couple, Scotland as its destination, is thrown to the side with a low resigning sigh after reading the supposedly easy to understand guide to the second one of the collection of bookshelves, a bright alabaster cabinet with glass doors. ‘It doesn’t make sense. How is it possible that one door fits perfectly and the other doesn’t?’

‘Did you put the clasps parallel to the others?’  ‘Yes, I did. Look,’ by means of illustration, the inside of the display is shown, pointing at the metal hinges in the designated places which are, indeed, parallel to those opposite, ‘I placed them where you said.’

The position of those already in the correct place was discovered after giving the advice of perhaps reading the text on the paper the correct way instead of upside down and yet vocal directions still had to be given to reach the current part of the building process. Not to say Chris is not the most skilled person when it comes to IKEA furniture or any furniture for that matter, but the flashback of the battle with the first bookcase makes it so that a slight scepticism has come to colour attitude in the predicament caused by this, apparently, problematic one.

‘Let me give it a spin, maybe I’ll be able to insert it. You might break the glass if you try to ram it in like this.’ The former four attempts at placing the door where it should go according to the guide went dramatically wrong, every carefully made endeavour to take on the task instead cut off by assuring snarky remarks. Any gently given direction of slightly altering the angle of insertion was dismissed with a coldly sharp comment about perfectly being able to handle it, so that, too, did not help in regards to any sort of progress.

Howbeit very reluctant, a chance is given with pouted lips and mocha eyes glaring at the last piece of the puzzle. ‘Good luck. I swear, if you manage to- oh.’

As predicted, all that was needed to do was manipulating the insert angle of the door a tad, the discovery leading to an indignant huff accompanied by a check-up whether the seemingly impossible mission has truly been accomplished. Which it obviously is, judging by the golden locks hanging in self-deprecating shame and sarcastic inwardly directed speech. ‘Are you serious?’

A pat on the shoulder makes the street artist raise his head at a broad smug smile on a beloved face, finding satisfaction in being better in doing something which is generally associated with men. ‘I told you how to do it, didn’t I? If only you’d listened.’

‘Oh, come on, Y/N. I still managed to put the couch together on my own because you weren’t a lot of help with that.’ An accusing index finger points to the ashen fabric sofa set against the far east wall, above which has yet to be hung the collection of empty sleek lacquered black frames for displaying Chris’s drawings specially made for decorating the house.

‘I was looking for the missing screws!’ Palms rise into the air in dramatic defence, gaze unbelieving of the argument. ‘How was I supposed to know the rest was just a matter of inserting one part into the other?’

‘Sure, koala.’ The devious smile faded from one visage is replicated on the other, evidently not backing out of the witty battle until a triumph is had, hands firmly placed on the hips, thus pressing the fabric of the loose shadow-toned shirt covered in wood snippets and dust tightly over a well-trained chest. ‘But who also put together the coffee table?’

A denying shake of the head as raised digits lower again to be tucked into the pockets of the skinny jeans also affected by decorating the shared home, followed by an incredulous laugh at the attempted clever response proving superiority. ‘That was simply a matter of getting it out of the box, kangaroo boy.’

‘Oi, it also required some putting together.’ Pure uncensored defied belief seeps through in the voice of the street artist, unhappy with being unmasked by such an easy task that does not count in the overall grander picture.  

‘You only had to place the tabletop on its foundation, so that doesn’t count. Furthermore, who installed the shelves on the wall because someone could not handle the drill properly and almost drilled through the places for the attachments?’

Stark white teeth distractingly bite down on the bottom lip, Chris turning away to hide the shame of the almost accident whereby a woman’s touch formed the apparent saviour of a ruined interior before daringly locking gazes. ‘If the coffee table does not count as furnishing than that doesn’t as well. And it’s not my fault the wood is so thin, it’s easy to completely run it through if there’s barely any depth or thickness to it.’

‘No, it isn’t. You’re just clumsy, but you don’t want to admit it.’

An eyebrow is arrogantly cocked at the defiant street artist, who copies the attitude with the intention to counterattack with a sarcastic comment that shall continue the bickering until a clear victor appears. ‘Me? Clumsy? Who almost dropped the boxes with candle holders for the bedroom yesterday?’

Well, for what has to function as a bedroom since it is nothing more than a simple oaken bed frame with drawers and two matching night tables made of the same material, located in the space next to the little balcony looking out over the old harbour. Again, it was established with the necessary cursing and risk of a shredded manual, the help continuously searching the massive cardboard box for the needed parts sometimes wrapped in bubble wrap while trying to keep the kangaroo boy’s temper under control. As it would seem, the platinum blonde boyfriend is better at popping bubbles than reading and following the instructions given by IKEA.

‘That wasn’t because I’m clumsy, but because you scared the living daylights out of me by suddenly appearing and trying to wrestle me to the ground.’ As a means of giving extra strength to the point, a stern finger points from an offended face to the scene of the past accident, speaking with a higher tone now that sensitive nerves truly are on edge with triggering memories.

Yesterday, it had seemed like a genius prank to jump out of the bathroom while bringing in the newly acquired fragile candle holders that had the Aussie frantically search the massive lower floor of the home depot only to find the mysteriously disappeared girl again in the candle section, judging which holder would go with what candle and colour while also keeping the outlay of the planned interior in mind. Thus, the notion of caution while bringing in the unloaded boxes with frames and accessories that had temporarily formed a fort in the cool hallway of the apartment building was entirely nullified, even though the culprit put a special emphasis on this beforehand when it was him carrying the vases for the bouquets of fake flowers. A scattering of violet reflecting glass almost formed the consequence of the affectionately meant yet aggravating instead gesture, the youth barely able to save face by rapidly steadying a toppling stance and breakable decoration.

Household chores are up to the artist for the coming month as a punishment.

‘Alright, fair point. But still, you especially wanted the crystal ones while you know I can attack at any time.’ A foreboding playful stance is taken up, the bickering entirely forgotten as crossed arms unravel to spread wide while the back arches in the anticipation of pouncing on the targeted prey in front with a mischievous grin.

The step backwards does nothing to escape the fate already set in motion, the wiggle of dark eyebrows promising there is no escape from the love about to be shown. Regardless of the urge to attempt to find a way out, it is difficult to suppress the amusement as the predatory stance changes to resemble a kangaroo which results in a chuckled warning. ‘Chris, don’t.’

‘I’m gonna catch you~.’ A provocative hop forward with an adorable high-pitched giggle, bleached locks obscuring the sparkling mocha stare.

‘No, you won’t.’ Another step backwards on the bare oaken floor, answering the threat with a voice truly bordering on pure innocent laughter. ‘Catch me if you can.’

What ensues is a weirdly human kangaroo madly chasing his offender who has fully joined in the grinning, cutely though relentlessly continuing the chase after her until she is driven into the kitchen corner and picked up with ease by strong veiny arms in a twirling fashion.

When feet touch the ground again, they linger a few centimetres from the ones which pursued them a mere second ago, cheek contently resting on the onyx fabric displaying the effect of furnishing, listening to the steady heartbeat of the cheekily smiling beloved. ‘You’re an idiot, Chris Bang.’

‘Could say the same for you, koala.’ A kiss on the crown of the head results in a glance upward into warm adoring chocolate irises, which, in turn, leads to another gentle meeting but this time between mouths with a tenderness that erases some of the devilish attitudes in both individuals. The embrace tightens, ensuring the instincts always triggered in each other’s presence there is nothing but a safe haven, a home for two people to grow in.

Though wanting to remain in the moment for as long as possible, much remains to be done and has to be for the day might still be young yet demands action, knowing the cardboard mess is unbearable to live in. Moreover, the break from daily obligations has a deadline that would rather not be extended due to a delay in settling into the new studio together. Henceforth, breathless lips laboriously pull away as a big palm comes to cup the cheek while a desperate urgency begs for a deeper connection. ‘Let’s take a break and then crack on with the other bookshelves and the dining room. Would be nice to not eat dinner on the floor for once.’

For a second, Chris is clearly at a loss for words and composure, still leaning forward with puzzlement plastered across the lost expression. Nonetheless, it is soon replaced with an amiable relief at getting a repose from putting together incomprehensible installations, consenting to the plan with a pleased hum.

The happiness of the pause with peach ice teas and fruit salad does not linger long because next up are the other bookshelves so that the living room is at least somewhat done, needing only a few fake though lush green plants, Chan’s framed works on the bare walls and a few other homely accessories alongside filled shelves to finish it off officially.

It only takes five minutes for a ripped manual.

[kitgilmore]

FOUR // OH WHAT A THING TO DO.

The girls found the school easier to navigate than the first thought, after finding their locker, they found their first classroom fairly easy, Kit was sitting being a blonde girl who names she thinks might be Paris, Rory a few seats over. Much to Kit delight, the classes seemed to be studying Russian Literature, or maybe French Literature, it was a bit confusing.

“And while French culture was the dominant outside cultural influence, especially for Russia's monied class, English culture also had its impact. Tolstoy's favourite author, for instance, was. . .”

“Dickens.” Kit whispered, taking notes.

“Dickens.” the girl in front of her said

“Yes. And of course, last week we discovered Dostoevski's main authorial influences. . .”

“Sand and Balzac”

“George Sand and Balzac.” she said again.

“Good. As Tolstoy commenced writing both War and Peace and Anna Karenina, Count Leo would turn to. . .”

“David Copperfield.” Kit said a little too loud to be a whisper, it earned her a glare from the girl in front of her, plus a few other people, she just looked down

“Correct Miss…, He would turn to David Copperfield for inspiration..”

“Gilmore” If almost to save her a tall blonde guy entered the room.

“ Ah, Mr. Dugray.”

“Sir.”

“Nice to have you back. I hope your Grandfather's better.” The teacher asked him.

“Much better, sir.”

“Good. Take your seat, please.” Walking past he looked at between Kit and Rory, Kit noticed the boyish smile, Kit just smiled back trying to be polite, while Rory shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Great Expectations, A Tale of Two Cities, Little Dorrit, all major influences on Leo Tolstoy. Tomorrow we will focus on. . .”

“Who are they?”

New girls. Twins.

“Writing styles of these two literary masters, Tolstoy and Dickens.” Just then the bell rang.

Class dismissed.

“Looks like we got ourselves a Mary.” Kit heard cute, blonde boy say. Gathering up her books, she adjusted her backpack.

“Miss, Gilmores, could you come up here please?”

“Here are last week's study materials.” He hands them both separate binders, filled to max capacity with notes.

“There'll be a test on them tomorrow, but since you're new, you can take a makeup on Monday. Will that be sufficient time?”

“Monday? Sure, that's fine.”

“Good. That's just an overview. It would be very helpful to you to borrow one of the other student's personal notes. They tend to be more detailed.”

“More detailed than this?” Kit asked.

“t seems daunting right now, I know.”

“No, no. It's okay. It'll be fine.” Rory said flushed.

“Remember to get those notes. They'll be a lifesaver.” The twins nodded and exit the classroom. Kit looked at this binder and decided she needed a car if she was going to cart her cello and all of this work back and through every day. Kit was lost in thought she didn't notice Rory stopped in till she said.

“Oh”

“I'm Paris.”

“I didn't see you there. Where'd you come from?” Rory asked.

“I know who you two are?. Lorelai and Christine Gilmore from Stars Hollow,” she said eyes the twins up and down.

“You can call me Rory.”

“Kit”

“Are you going out for the Franklin? she asked Rory rather, abrasively

“The what?”

“Nice innocent act. At least I know you're not going out for drama club.”

“Are you?” she asked Kit

“Am I what?”

“I'm confused,” Rory said.

“The Franklin, the school paper, are you going out for it?”

“I don't know, I have to find my locker first,” Rory told her, the twins tried to walk away but like many of the conversation they had on this campus, it didn't end there.

“I'm gonna be editor next year.”

“Well, good for you.” Kit snapped, annoyed with this girl already.

“I'm also the top of the class, and I intend to be valedictorian when I graduate.”

“Okay, we’re going now,” Rory said, Kit didn't need to be told twice.

“You'll never catch up. You'll never beat me. This school is my domain and the Franklin is my domain. And don't you ever forget that.”

“I wonder if she pee’s on the floor to make that her domain”. Kit remarked.

Kit found the Chilton’s Auditorium easy enough, After lunch the twins went their separate ways, She’s had a meeting with the music teacher/ conductor, at the beginning of the lesson they talk about her previous experience, about the school’s orchestra they currently had 40 students, 8 cellists, two of whom were freshman, Mrs. Kepnes said that she would probably take one of their spots being a sophomore, the way she said it made Kit feel terrible.

but then had to prove she knew what she was doing in theory, with her cello in her hand she begins to play 2nd Bach Suite No.2 in D minor, Just you and the cello, she had to remind herself, it's not like there was a sea of students all judging her, once she was through the room was silent, then her teacher asked for someone more contemporary so she played, Yo-Yo Ma’s Triptych: |.. Kit began to lose herself in the music she could feel the tension of the last couple of days fade away, like a storm cleaning the air, she thought about Peter, about what he would say if she was playing just for him “vy slishkom bespokoit'sya, vy igrayete Amore, ispol'zuyte svoye serdtse” you worry too much, you play Amore, use your heart.

Again she was met with silence, Mrs.Kepnes than asked her to play something from the last twenty years so she played Yellow by Coldplay that was the last modern song she’d learned on her cello. When Kit was though she smiled, as he teacher dismissed her, she took her cello and left the stage, once she was standing outside she began to breathe, really breathe she wasn't sure what just happened. Just when she felt like she was going to cry, the short girl with short dark hair she’d eye stalked early, come out, pushed the door open to find Kit with her head against the locker doors.

“That was amazing” Kit straighten up, smiled at the girl, whose freckles were more visible unclose.

“Thanks, I think. that wasn’t. I don’t think that was.. “ she began, but the girl stopped her, her blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves.

“No really, I haven't seen anyone play with that much passion in a while, most of us are forced to take an instrument but you it's like yours.”

“Thank you but I'm sure that's not true..” Taking a deep breath she introduced herself “I’m Kit, by the way, Kit Gilmore.” extending her hand.

“Kit… Not Christine”

“Never Christine”

“Alright Kit never Christine, I'm Hazel McCrae, Violin, welcome aboard.”

Once all that was said and done, Kit went to find her sister, stopping by her locket the halls were pretty empty. Kit wished she could leave most of this stuff here, but was thankful her mother was picking them up, she checked her watch, she still had one class left.

“So you're the other Mary”. Looking up she saw the blonde guy from her earlier class, behind him was another guy, slightly taller, loose-limbed and slim, he was busy getting books from his locker.

“Excuse me?” she said, looking him in the eye.

“I’m Tristan.” he said, moving closer.

“Here I thought you the lamb Mary was looking for”. Tristan slightly scoffed but the boy behind him chuckled.

“I guess you’re not as sweet as your sister”.

“We have more of a betty veronica thing going on.”

“And which one are you?” Tristan said, smiling a charming smile Kit was sure would work on any other girl. Before she could answer, the guy behind him said

“Veronica Lodge or Veronica Sawyer” Tristan took a step back to involve his friend in the conversation, Kit turned to say him, she could see his eyes now a little more blue than green, his hair dark and curly. She pursed her lips, before saying “Either, either, both.” Kit smiled at him, before pulling her book bag higher on her shoulder. “Kit Gilmore,” she said extending her hand.

“Emmett Talbot” his hands were firm, his handshake was strong. Kit was slightly worried he was going to say something else and ruin her impress of him, so she picked up her cello and said

“Nice to meet you Emmett Talbot” before, leaving to put her cello in the music locket she’d been assigned.

“Seats now, please.” Her history teacher said, Kit hadn't found Rory but she knew they had History together when Paris walks in she gives Kit the meanest look, she could be made about her answer that question in English could she. Kit found a seat near away from her, took out her pen and notebook. When Rory walked her she heard Paris say “Oh, you've got to be kidding me.” she frowned. Rory took in front of her, while Tristan sat next to her.

“Hey, Mary.” he said to Rory.

“Okay, we left our projects off on Friday with Mr. Gaynor, so today we will pick up with Miss Gellar.”

“I don't have my project,” Paris said as she stood up.

“Miss Gellar, did you have sufficient time to complete your project?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you don't have it done?”

“Nope.”

“All right, you will receive an incomplete for this project.” She sounds disappointed and Kit actually felt bad for Paris when Rory stood up, interrupting.

“It's my fault.”

“Who are you?”

“Rory Gilmore. I wrecked her project.”

“Shut up,” Paris said.

“I don't have a Rory Gilmore, I have a Lorelai Gilmore and Christine Gilmore.”

Kit raised her hand when her name was called.

“That's me.”

“You are Rory and Lorelai Gilmore?” The old woman said as if she didn't understand the concept of a nickname.

“Yes. And I wrecked her project. My locker got stuck.”

“Just stay out of this.”

“Do you go by Rory or Lorelai?” She asked Rory before looking around her and say to Kit “Do you go by Christine Gilmore”

“No... It’s Kit” she said looking around making sure everyone knew that, she didn't want anyone to call her Christine every.

“Whatever. It's not her fault.”

“I need you to pick one.”

“One what?”

“One name.”

“Rory.”

“Fine, thank you. Rory, you wrecked Paris' project when?”

“Just before class.”

“Very convenient.”

“No, I did. My locker got stuck and when I opened it. . .” Rory tried to explain.

“Stop it!”

“Miss Gilmore, since you say you wrecked Miss Gellar's project, then you may help her fix it. You have until tomorrow.” Their teacher said.

“Fine,” Rory said as if it was no big deal as if she didn't have a million things to be to catch up already.

“No,” Paris replied getting more and angrier.

“Why not?”

“I don't want your help!”

“But I don't mind doing it.” Rory was still calm.

“Just stay out of this.”

“What is wrong with you? I'm trying to help you.”

“Well, don’t!”

“Ladies, enough. Miss Gellar, if you don't want Miss Gilmore's help, then you may have until tomorrow. If it's not done, you will receive an incomplete. Is that understood?”

“Yes.” Paris says sitting down.

“As long as you're standing... .could you also stand. “ She said to Kit, who slid out of her seat, straightening her skirt she smiled ”…Class, we have two new students. Say hello to Rory and Kit Gilmore.”

“Hi, Rory and Kit,” The class said in a chorus.

“Hello, Mary,” Tristian said.

“Does Jesus know just how clever you are?” Kit said taking her seat with Rory.

The Rest of the class went on without fault, their teacher was nice enough, the subject matter wasn't as daunting as her first class. There was so the tension between her sister and Paris, but she guessed Rory would just have to learn to be more competitive.

“Let's try another passage. "The Romanists have, with great adroitness, drawn three walls round themselves, with which they have hitherto protected themselves so that no one could reform them, whereby Christendom has fallen terribly." Who said this?” The teacher asked.

“Martin Luther,” Rory says.

“Very good, Miss Gilmore. And what year did Martin Luther address the Christian nobility?”

“1520.”

“Very good, Miss Gilmore.” When the bell rings their teacher excuses them “Until next time,”

“Stay out of my way. I will make this school a living hell for you.” She heard Paris say to Rory

“See you tomorrow, Mary.”

“Gosh, what a sheep.” Kit said pulling Rory up from her seat, “Come on, Kid”

Overall Kit’s first day at Chilton was long but interesting, she had a good audition for Orchestra, maybe bad a friend, meet a cute non-douche boy. Her classes were engaging, she didn't find herself getting bored, or daydreaming and not once had she wrote music in her margins. This private school thing wasn't so bad. Once they picked up her Cello the twins made their way outside to find their mother. Rory ran into her arms when she saw here. While Kit made a beeline for the coffee.

“Mm. Hey, you.”

“So, this whole plaid-skirt thing... .my idea?” Kit opened the back door, putting her cello inside.

“My day sucked, too.”

“Promise?”

“Swear on my mother's life.” Kit was enjoying her coffee a little much, this school really needed a coffee machine available to students, it would seriously help. Looking around she found Hazel, getting into the same car she arrived in this morning. She wasn't sure whether to wave, but she waved first, Kit smiled as waved back. Maybe she had made a friend.

“I brought us some coffee.”

“Why, I'm shocked.”

“It's sooo good” Kit told her, before climbing into the jeep.

“Triple caps, easy foam.”

“Wow. What, do they expect you to get smart all in one day?” Their mother commented holding up Rory’s backpack.

“Oh, they expect a lot of things,” Rory said climbing inside the jeep, Kit let her jump into the back and their mother pass her the bag.

“Well, so tell me.” She said, Rory, put her head between the seats and said

“I don't know. It was just one big, long, scary, tweedy, bad eight hours,” she complained.

“Add some hairspray, and you've got my day.”

“How about you?” she said nudging Kit, who just shrugged.

“One of the girls already hates me, the guys are weird.” Rory continued.

“Weirder than other guys?”

“Yeah, they kept calling me Mary.”

Both Kit and Lorelai sniggered. “You’re Kidding me. Wow”

“He tried that with me”.

“What did you say”? Rory asked her.

“I told him, we have more a Betty, Veronica thing going on” taking another sip of her coffee, she mother hummed in agreement.

“Why? What does it mean?”

“Mary, like Virgin Mary.” Kit told her.

“It means they think you look like a goody-goody.”

“You're kidding.”

“No.”

“Well, what would they have called me if they thought I looked like a slut?” she almost whispered.

“Well, they might have added a Magdalene to it.”

“I might have made a friend and meet a boy who got my Heathers reference.”

Both Rory and Lorelai looked at Kit like she was the sunshine in their raining days.

“Drive on” she said gesturing her head towards.

[wishingfornever]

10/19/17 – Extensive Contact:  To Forgive, Never Forget

Current time is 11:55.  I had several dreams last night that I’d like to share.

The first was a dream that Wendel, my childhood home in the middle of nowhere, was being renovated.  As in I drove in and there was a Pizza Hut, a McDonald’s, and a Walgreens there as I drove back into it. I had to leave for something and there were more Pizza Huts and multiple McDonalds’.  It was becoming a town with a lot of emphasis on these two businesses.

Second dream… it was about Esther.  I had returned and she and I were talking again.  She was very polite and very nice.  Asked for forgiveness and I said, “It’s alright, you thought it was best. I’m just glad you’re back.”  We were cleaning around the house and she said she’s single again.  I took the hint and asked if I could be her boyfriend again and have the second chance I never really had.  She agreed.  

There was a lot we were doing and I proposed that we can get her a ticket to come back to Houston with me when we were done there.  She couldn’t have been happier.  I asked her if she’d want to read the journal.  She said yes.

My thoughts at the time was, “Oh, boy!  I can’t wait to tell my journal that she and I are getting back together!” which was later followed by, “Wait, am I still going to post it?  I guess we’ll see when she’s done.”

Then I woke up.  I was so upset when I woke up.  I should have known it was a dream.  She was too compliant.  This is destroying me.  :/

The original blog is still up.  Did I ever explain what that was?  I think I mentioned it, but never really got into it.

She started it when we started dating.  She posted these little posts about our relationship.  I had to guess the password.  I believe I shared that password, actually.  That said, they were very inspiring. It gave me hope.  It was a very supportive platform.  Posts when things were still somewhat good… they’re in white with blue text. She basically stopped posting when we were in California.  The last post when we were in a relationship goes like this:

“6.2.2017

Its hard opening up about what’s going on inside of me. I usually wait until it passes & try to ignore it. Today was different. Part of healing is acknowledging what you feel & accepting it. Part of doing that is communicating to the people around you about whats happening.

Just saying, ur hella special. Ur welcome.”

The last post goes:

“9.3.2017

The end.”

That fucking hurts.  It hurts so bad.  I just wish we could see eye to eye again.  If I had three wishes, I’d wish to be the person she deserved.  I wished she was always happy.  I’d wish for another chance.  I don’t like it, but this is how things are.  This is my biggest regret.

I really don’t feel like doing much of anything today.  I think I’ll go back to my room.  I’m sorry.  But, looking at the bright side, at least you won’t have to hear me talk about my every moment of the day this time.  I’m sure that’s a bonus to some.

I’m back.  Only after an hour.  I asked Daniel to talk to Esther. Hopefully let her in on the fact that Dennis lied to me, her, and everyone else.

Just spoke to Shane.  He seemed to have denied lying.  Told me much more about the subject.  It’s possible that he was lying to me, but it’s even more possible that Dennis is the one who was lying.  I’m not sure who to trust right now.  I want to trust Shane, but I feel I’m confronted by my own bias.  I need advice.

Who do I trust?

It doesn’t matter.  I guess this is all the next step for the drama. Maybe she’ll be more suspicious of Dennis.  Maybe she’ll begin asking herself the right questions.  Thing is, if she doesn’t want to believe then she won’t.  For her own securities.  I guess that’s why I never figured he’d do this to me.

You know, I’ll be happy if Esther just talks to me again.  Like we used to.

Daniel denied telling Dennis anymore than I asked him to.  He’s a nice guy.  I trust him.  Whether he’s honest or not is irrelevant. Shane told me that I should watch what I say with Daniel.  Because he told Dennis something I told Daniel which was something told me. Typical drama bullshit.  I proposed the idea that Dennis went through Daniel’s phone when drinking.  He uses it for music when they do drink.  So, it’s open and easy to see.

Personally, I’m not sure I believe Dennis was going through his phone.  But, again, I also do believe Daniel is telling me the truth.  A third possibility is that Shane lied to me and was able to guess that I told Daniel.  Sort of a cold prediction where I admit he was correct despite him not knowing anything.

It’d make sense.  What he accused me of was far more than I actually told Daniel.

Anyways, looking back at when she blocked me.  It was… unusual.  Why did she block me at that time?  I was about to message her.  It’s possible that there is some supernatural bullshit going on and that supernatural bullshit caught on to me wanting to message her and pushed her to block me before I could.

Of course, blaming the unknown for a failed relationship is pretty outlandish.  I mean… I saw something the night she finished picking up her things.  She’s changed vastly.  There could be something else going on but I’m not sure.  Maybe she needs a priest.

I wouldn’t force her to see one.  I’m not religious.  Hell, I’m not even certain about what I saw.  I was in a fragile state.  The mind is poison… it’s possible it was all in my head.  Or I could just be in denial.  I’d have to experience it further.  Maybe if I come back, I’ll take some time to meditate.  Try to connect.  Don’t remember the name of the suicide victim from before.  I’ll have to look back in the conversation with Shane.  He told me his name.

Or maybe I spoke to him via voice chat.  Fuck.

Shane told me that they intend to get an apartment in Susanville.  I guarantee they won’t be able to afford that.  I hope they do. Their relationship won’t last and Dennis will have to move back in with his mom.  Maybe Esther, too.

The thing with Dennis is that he gets very offended kind of easily. Like, after enough time, he’ll actually become aggravated with someone.  Probably not his fault.  He’s something of an introvert. Doesn’t like to be around anyone for too long.  Esther will learn that.

Anyways, I just got a bunch of work with the bank done.  I didn’t go to Starbucks, but maybe I should call them.  This is all necessary to get my Kickstarter up and running.  April 1st is when it’ll end, I’ve decided.  Because I’m a fool.  Appropriate, I felt.  I’m calling Starbucks now.

They didn’t pick up.  Might be a problem with my phone.  But I was able to call Golden 1.  They shouldn’t be busy, this is the slowest hour.  Google confirmed that.  I’ll call again tomorrow.  I’ll try to wake up early and call between 10-12 and then again at about 3-4.  After this week, I’ll look for a different place to apply. I’ll need to print out my resume.

If I get asked about the blanks in between, I’ll let them know that I wrote a book and now I just need an editor.  Hopefully, that job will be able to afford me an editor as well as rent and food while I’m at my cousins.  It’s stressful to try to deal with that as well as the drama between myself, Dennis, and Esther.  I guess Shane, too. Daniel as well.

I guess I’ll get to editing my book today.  Or as much as I can. Before the Kickstarter goes live, I want it prepared for an actual editor.  I might change entire scenes is why.  Character names will change.  There would be a lot of differences.  Today, I’ll be productive.  I’ll end it with my sets and a shower.  Get back into the swing of things.

Adela also told me I wasn’t learning Spanish.  She’s right.  I haven’t been able to find time for Spanish.  I need to get Rosetta Stone working again.  Thing is it glitched out and made me redo an entire chapter.  Fucking.  Bullshit.  Was I doing badly?  I don’t know when I’ll be able to just speak Spanish with my cousin, but I understand what she says to Max.  Mostly through context and keywords.

Adela told me I looked skinnier.  I told her I lost ten pounds since I got here and she said, “Oh, I can see.  Did you lose it at your feet?” I watched as she tried to fight back a smile.  I told her I’m telling my mom and she laughed.

Alright, so…  Adela tried calling Starbucks and no one picked up.  Weird. Fate of the universe working against me?  Who knows.

For now, I spoke to her about Saturday.  I’ll make her breakfast.  She prefers her eggs scrambled.  I’m switching out my seasoned salt for Himalayan pink salt, the shit Esther got.  I have to twist it so it won’t add too much salt, not that the seasoned salt would be too overwhelming.  I’ll chop up spinach and put it in the eggs with onions and carrots.  No broccoli because Adela doesn’t like broccoli with eggs, which is unfortunate.  That broccoli will last a while, so I’m not concerned.  It’s a large bag and it’s frozen. Should have a decent shelf life.

Anyways, I’m going to get started on editing.  I won’t start on Rosetta Stone until I get some chapters done.  I’ll try to dedicate an hour a day to Rosetta Stone.  Rosetta Stone claims that it’ll take 200+ hours to learn everything so should be about 7 months.  Oof.  That’s a lot but with Adela, I’ll probably learn it faster.  I’ll finish at about May, probably.  Hopefully, I won’t need to worry too much about Rosetta Stone resetting my lessons again.  If so, I’ll just manually skip it.

Perhaps I should be more patient, but I have a lot coming at me at once.  Kickstarter, my book, Spanish, a job, losing weight, and perhaps more goals I can’t think of or haven’t shared yet.

When I can afford it, I’m legally changing my last name.  To Molinero. What’s on the book.  It’s more to reconnect with the heritage I denied myself when I was younger.  The best time to plant a tree is thirty years ago.  The second best time is right now.

It’s 4:26.  Time to work.  Later.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-2U0Ivkn2Ds

I’m… looking for a good ambient song.  I went through my favorites.  Found that.  I feel… broken.  I hate music right now.  I’m sensitive and I can’t handle it.  I’m easily swayed.  I’m easily wrapped up.  Pushed.  And, apparently, easily forgotten.

But I don’t forget.  I could never forget.  I could only forgive.

I was looking for something without woods with a gentle melody. Something that I could fall asleep to.  Help me think. Unfortunately, I found something with lyrics.  Helping me think about my current misfortune.

Esther… if you’re reading this a year from now on Tumblr, just know that I’ve never stopped caring about you.  I know, I should have moved on but I’m not that kind of person.  Maybe if you’ve read all this.  Maybe if you know that I’m such an idiot.  Maybe then you’ll know what kind of person I am.  There are no lies in any of this. Only the truth, no matter how painful it is.

I want to die.  I would rather die.  This is the worst breakup I’ve ever had.

I was rethinking the night you left.  Or rather, I left you.  I should have stayed.  I should have ensured that you were brought back.  I should have reasoned with you.  You should have reasoned with me. Then again, I know now.  I know that Dennis is a piece of shit.  He is such a fucking monster and I never knew.

It’s… somewhat ironic.  I tend to be able to know a person just by being in their presence.  I can’t explain it but my gut tells me not to trust someone or that they’re a good person or whatever.  Thing is, I knew Dennis far longer than I started being able to judge people. My niece used to ask for my opinion on her boyfriends.  I gave it, then she told me, “But he’s so sweet.”  I was a pushover then. I told her go for it.  Needless to say, they didn’t last longer than a couple of weeks.

I guess I never learned to measure Dennis’s character.  I was socially inept at that age.  I just wanted people to like me.  I saw him as, “New friend?!” and wagged my tail.  He was such a dick to me.  Tried doing everything he could to get me to stop bothering him. Claimed to have had a restraining order.

Eventually, I grew on him.  Or, at least, so I thought.

What a fucking bastard.

Anyways, I found some flute music.  Supposed be Chinese, not sure if it is or isn’t to be honest.  Title is “Beautiful Chinese music Instrument Endlesslove 10 different songs” so maybe it is.  Maybe it isn’t, who knows?  Endlesslove, though… upsetting to see.  It’s been a pain in my ass thus far.  It’s not getting any better.

I had to get the notes from Esther.  These notes… she printed out my story.  Read it.  Gave notes.  She was going to be my editor.  I lied to my parents about her being somewhat professional because I really didn’t want my dad on my fucking back.  I’ve had a lot of problems with him.  One of the reasons I came to Houston.

I asked her to not talk about my book that much.  Keep it hidden from him.  Bless her heart, she tried but he asks so many questions.  He asks… inappropriate questions, too.  My dad has become less socially aware as of late.

Regardless, I need her notes. She read my story when I guess it was in pre-alpha?  Left a lot of notes.  She also said she wanted to see more action.  Kind of lead to the rewriting of a chapter.

I appreciate what she’s done. I tried to get Dennis to do it.  Said he couldn’t get into it.  I don’t think he even tried, to be honest.  I tried getting Jer to, as well.  He wouldn’t, of course.  Later on, he did offer again but it was too late.  I was going to have him edit after the edits with Esther.  But, things happen slowly.

Christ, it’s hard to go through the pages.  She got through 64… she did such a good job.

I asked Daniel to tell Esther that I wanted to thank her but couldn’t.  I know she won’t reopen lines because of it, but she’ll know I’m genuinely grateful. She… has bad spelling though.  Of course, I say that using spell check but… yeah.

She still did a good job.

She would ask when we would edit next but I was always too grumpy.  I guess I was more of a slave to my emotions then, even now.  So, we only got so far.  Now, I only have these notes on 64 pages.  They’re good notes… a lot of tips and advice. I guess I took her for granted.  I let her into so much more of my life than I thought. Than she thought.  I’ve never been like this after a breakup.  I’d have moved on by now.  But this is different.  This is so different. I hate it. Esther made me feel something I’ve never felt before.  True love?  Maybe.  Just not for her.

Ugh…  I…  I don’t hate Dennis.  I don’t.  He just aggravates me and everything I heard about him had a spin added to it.  It’s just… Dammit.

I forgave him.  For everything. We’re talking again.  I added him on Facebook.  We’re legitimately talking about the good ole times.  And of course… Esther admitted that she hates me.  You can see why.  During the discussion, Dennis pointed out more of the things I did which were not cool.  Before I continue, know that Esther had a troubled childhood.  Her stepfather was the reason she moved in with me.

Anyways, Dennis pointed out three things about Esther.  I knew she was cutting and did nothing about it.  The thing is, I expressed concern but it wasn’t concerning enough for her.  I didn’t want to be compared to Andrew, so I tried to be relaxed about it.

Here’s the thing.  Each time she cut, I blamed myself.  I felt HORRIBLE when she cut as if I failed her.  And I did.

She was also afraid of me because of my anger.  Which, is true.  Like Andrew, her Step-Dad, I was a very angry person.  I upset easily.  Road rage, that sort of thing.

And I would also make her flinch because I thought it was funny.  Yeah, I did.  It’s fucked up but I did.  I regret doing it.

I had a lot going on in my head. Not good things.  However, to those who are still following this, you’d see why she was angry to begin with.  Is that enough to hate me for?  Maybe.  All I could do is let her know I changed.  The rest is out of my hands.

This is comforting, strangely enough.  Didn’t get to work on my book but I got something else done.  Shane is angry with me because I said he called Esther a whore, and he did.  However, I can’t seem to find the message. Like it vanished or something.

Oh, shit.  Shane deleted it.  I just checked to see if it were possible.  Totally deleted without a trace.

That mother fucker…

Ah, well.  I’m pretty stressed but the drama between us is officially over.  I guess I could end the journal here, but who knows what’ll happen next.  I hope I’ve been completely honest about everything so whoever reads this would be more aware of what happened and can make their own opinion from it.

There were a lot of players in this particular game.  Daniel, of course, was relaying information to Dennis.  He admitted it.  Esther admitted it.  Feeling betrayed by Daniel, but it’s nothing personal.  Still, he lied to me.  Dennis lied to me, too.  But I feel he’s been more honest from our conversation.  Doesn’t mean he won’t lie to me later, but he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

This is the time to move on. He’ll add me on Skype probably and after a while, we can finally begin rebuilding our old relationship.  I can’t confirm that he’ll be completely honest with me at any point, but he swore he was trying to stop lying.  I want to believe him.

I guess… I was very angry at him.  I don’t hate Dennis… I don’t hate anyone.  There are a few people who’ve earned my ire, but he… well, he and I can work past that.  A lot is changing.  Life is a river and you’re dragged by it.  When you find yourself at foreign banks, then try to make due with what you have.

Still.  I want Esther to talk to me again.  She just… won’t talk to me.  I know why she removed me.  Coincidence.  I was told to tell Randy to tell them that they’re crap.  So he told them I told him that they’re crap.  So, she removed me because she was angry with what I was doing.

She had a right to be.  Perhaps she’ll get over it.

I really don’t feel like doing anything.  I could edit, but I lost my drive.  That was a lot of emotion.  It was for the greater good, but it was a lot of emotion nonetheless.  And I just discovered that it takes 3 days to verify my identity and bank account.  Fuck.

Oh, well.  Now that I’m talking to Dennis, Daniel doesn’t have to keep reporting on me. Dennis will want to know what it’s about.  You know, the me telling Daniel not to trust him.  Yeah, I’ll let him know.  There is a lot I’ll have to explain, but there will be time for it.

I feel… bad.  I hated Dennis so much, at least I thought I did.  I mean… I don’t think he really apologized.  But I forgave him nonetheless.  I just wish he were a better friend from the beginning.  Let me know things were getting bad between Esther and me… then again, Esther told him to be hush hush about it.  Something else was that he spoke about me a lot to Esther.  Like he’d point at places and say, “Oh, we did this thing over there.”

Yeah… he wasn’t the best of friends… but he appreciated my friendship more than I knew.  That made him a better friend than I actually gave him credit for.  With Esther, I saw all the good.  With Dennis, I saw all the bad.

Ironic.  With Esther, she saw all the bad.  With Dennis, he saw all the good.

I’m going to watch some videos.  Then I’ll go to bed.  Tired.  Emotionally drained.  I feel comforted, don’t get me wrong… but I also strangely feel… defeated?

Good night.