Every day he saw her waiting there at the bench. Sometimes she would be standing. Her sun dress flowing in the wind, as if the lace or fabric had been lighter than air, catching even the smallest breeze. Her hair dancing about her face. His eye sight was poor, but he could see her tangled hair dancing. He could smell the perfume of her shampoo carried in the wind as he approached her. Other times she would be huddled together on the bench as she sat. Her knees clenched closely as she held her heavy coat to her frame in the cold wind.
It was the same as when he first met her. The droplets of rain fell hard, each splash on the pavement demanded your hearing. V could hardly believe someone had been caught so off guard by the storm. Her hands went from wiping her ever-dampening hair to her arms, to her soaked cloth clinging to her frame. He remembered thinking how beautiful and natural she looked. How helpless. How, in that moment, he saw someone in need of his help, even if his sight was less than superb. Her bangs and hair clung to her face and she smiled to him. The smile that he had grown to look forward to for weeks to come.
“Please, share my umbrella?” he asked of her as he held it above her shivering frame.
It was the first thing he ever said to her. The first words ever spoken between them as they stood there at the bus stop. Her careful nod and slight smile pierced through him in that instant. Her gratitude. Had he ever been so thankful for his eyesight before?
In his mind he could remember every detail of her. Her face. Her makeup and the way the strands of hair clung messily to her face from the rain like thin vines on a beautiful sculpture. The sound of the droplets on the umbrella and the feel of wetness as the bottoms of his jeans began to soak water and creep up his shins. It didn’t matter, as long as she was dry and comfortable.
“Thank you,” she spoke in soft syllables through the heavy rain.
Her voice had been like a symphony to the backdrop of the rain pattering. Her smile the beams of sunlight in the clouds of rain. It was a gift to see her before him.
When the bus approached and she nodded in gratitude before entering, he felt a heaviness in his chest. Such grace and beauty lost to him now because he hadn’t the courage, nor the strength, to ask her for any more than she had already bestowed upon him. Only a warm smile and a slight giggle from her as he sheltered her from the rain.
The next day it was drizzling lightly as he approached the bench. His sight limited to the bus. And…as if a sign from above, he saw her looking back to him with that same sweet smile. It would insight the tightness in his chest once more. She recognized him? Even with his blurry vision he could never mistake her for another.
“Hello, V!” she would smile and exclaim every time.
Always the same cheerful greeting. It always elicited his heart to work overtime in his chest. He wanted to know more about her. Wanted her to know more about him.
“Call me Jihyun, remember,” he laughed and smiled.
“Oh! Of course, I’m so sorry,” she would laugh and cover her face in embarrassment.
He loved that about her. And without another thought his umbrella would be covering her and sheltering her from the spring rain.
“You don’t take the same route as I do, yet you’re always here at the same time,” she says casually, “why do you take the bus? Your clothes….ah! I’m sorry, is that rude?”
The way she gets flustered turns his cheeks red. He didn’t think he was dressed so richly? Maybe only compared to Jumin…
“It’s not rude,” he chuckled, “my eye sight…” he let his voice trail off.
“I know,” she replied.
Delicate fingertips pressed against his cheeks and shocked him more than he had anticipated. The feeling of her warm fingertips on his skin made his heart leap and his body feel warmth in the growing cold.
“Is that why you…ride public transport?” she had asked.
“Mostly, yes,” he found himself admitting.
It is true. He can still see alright, enough to get around daily life. But he can not drive. Public transport is his means of traveling. He doesn’t wish to be like his friend Jumin, spending money on personal drivers and cars. Figures from afar appear as blurs, but not her.
Perhaps it was the way she smelled. Or sounded.
He could hear her rustling and know it was her. Her delicate hands moving through her bag to find her chapstick. Or her sunglasses. Or phone. He could tell her apart from anyone else in the world. it would start off as if she had forgotten the thing completely. Frantic and manic were her hands in the pockets and crevices of her bag. Eventually, the all-too-familiar sigh would escape her when she found what she was looking for. Maybe others could not pick it up, but he could. He heard and watched her pop the cap from her chapstick in the summer and rub it against her full lips. She wasn’t aware of how bad his sight had been. But she was more aware than most.
Most good days, when he met her at the bench, they would talk about themselves. If she was carrying bags, she would explain what she purchased for him. Even if it was trivial, he found himself enthralled in her explanations.
“Shoes for the beach. You know my old ones always gave me trouble,” she laughed and he agreed since he had known as well, “and this new dress. I don’t know how well it will look. Maybe for a lunch with friends…”
She held the dress up to herself and he felt almost bad for imagining her in it. Perhaps on a moonlit night. She would be waiting as he approached from a street corner. She would be smiling, only for him, in that dress. He’d buy her dinner and wine. They would share her favorite dessert and she would tell him all about her day. He would listen intently. He cared. For a moment he had to remind himself of where he was.
“It’s a beautiful dress for you,” he remarked.
“Why, thank you,” she replied and stuffed the items back in her bag with red cheeks.
One day she was showing him what she had purchased, when she noticed how aloof he seemed, though he was trying his hardest not to show it.
“Your eyesight,” she spoke softly, “it’s getting worse…isn’t it…”
Why was he choking back his words? Was it the slight drizzling rain clouding his eyes, or his own tears as he held his umbrella over what he hoped was her frame. If he could do anything in this world, it was to keep her from being cold…and wet. Somehow, she knew. Just by the way he had acted, for he hadn’t said a word about how he was doing.
He felt a soft hand on his own free one. It was hers. Without thinking twice he smiled and let her lead him. He could even hear her smile in her voice.
“Sunglasses…not that I’ll be needing them anytime soon, don’t you agree? I feel like a fool for believing the weatherman,” she laughed and held her forehead against his own as she did so, while still guiding his hand around her bag.
Was she not put off by his ailment? It was one of the first times he could say he hadn’t felt like an outsider. Someone who needed to be asked to be accepted. She had grabbed his hand…
She had grabbed his hand…and from then on, she continued to do so.
Some days, he didn’t need it. Some days, the sun shone bright and still would be out-shined by her radiance. Her smile and aura as he approached the bench would radiate his core. Whether she was heading to work, meeting friends or shopping, she looked beautiful and full of hope to him. She filled him with her warmth even on the coldest of days.
It wasn’t since Rika that he had felt this way about another human being. And even thinking about her inner beauty, could he say he even felt this way about Rika? No. This person who had accepted him as who he was, even with his sight as it happened to be. This person who asked nothing from him other than conversation as they waited for the bus to take them to their destinations.
When he had fallen in love with her, who could say? But he was sure she felt the same way. Her subtle touches to his hands and arm when they met. The way she leaned in close to explain things to him.
“It is cold…but I do appreciate the rain,” she said one day to him after he had placed his jacket over her. “It gives life to the flowers around us, the plants…Life would cease to exist without the rain. I think we should appreciate it. Don’t you agree?” she asked him.
Of course he did. His hands held her shoulders tightly as he explained so. How badly he wanted to ask her to dinner in that moment. Maybe just to a cup of coffee. To ask her everything about herself. Did she garden? What was her favorite film? Did she enjoy music?
He could sense a lot about her just in the time they spent together. She was selfless. She only went shopping when it meant it was needed. If it was for meeting friends, or perhaps something she didn’t have before. He liked that about her. She was observant.
“The bus has been a little late…fourth time this week…I hope the driver isn’t feeling ill,” she had mentioned one day.
“What’s so funny?” she smiled and put her hand on his forearm playfully, “ I really am worried!”
“Only you would be worried about the driver when your ride is late…I just…find it charming,” he admitted to her.
When he was late, or struggling to make it to the bench, he found her at his side, helping carry his things and hold him steady.
One particularly rainy day, her bus arrived on schedule. It was the familiar slosh of the flowing gutters as it pulled close to the curb for her. The all-too-familar squeak of the door hinges as it swung opened for her. But she did not move. She did not enter. Her hand lay wrapped on his forearm, which held his umbrella sturdy to protect her the best he could from the elements.
“I’m not going in today,” she spoke coyly as the door shut and the sound of the bus driving down the road faded once again in the distance.
He couldn’t hold back his smile much longer. Her touch soothed him. Her delicate hands he had grown to fall in love with. And the sweetness in her voice like warm honey coating his soul.
“We can’t waste the day,” he found himself replying, “how about I take you to lunch…and then maybe dinner?”
“Nothing could make me happier, Jihyun,” she pulled her body in close to his as she spoke.
He could feel her steps in sync with his own. This wasn’t the first time he had taken her out. Not even the twentieth time…her feet and hands, her voice, her steps and the pitter patter they made next to his own feet…the way she walked was all too familiar.
Yes…this day was like many others he had come to share with her. And yet…he felt in his pocket, that hardness in the shape of a box. The velvet case with a ring inside.
It may have come to be a familiar day for them. But today, he would ask her to be his wife.
i don’t really know how to advise you since i’ve never personally used references, but once you’re able to see building facial structures + anatomy as SHAPES more than anything, the process of piecing your character together becomes much less complicated!
i’ve also included other techniques i’ve seen other artists use and really, finding the right style of drawing your guide lines are key to drawing anatomy without references, to me!
Summary: Adorned in an exquisite
ivory A-line dress, you’re the most beautiful Jungkook has ever seen you. After
all, it is your wedding day.
Word Count: 7,182
Genre: Angst (?), smut
A/N: I originally planned this to be
an angst but then my thirsty ass ended up incorporating some smut into this.
Please let me know what you think about the angst though, did I do it right? I
would like to improve so any constructive criticism would help! Oh and
everything in italics are flashbacks.
The only word that could come close to describing your mere
presence as he watches you weave your way through the round tables. You’re being
pulled into an awkward hug every second by guests as they try to figure out how
to overcome the barrier that is your dress without ruining your hair and makeup.
He watches as you converse animatedly with the guests, some of whom he does and
does not recognize.
You tuck the strands of hair that frame your face behind
your ear, only to have them fall back to where they were just seconds ago, but
he gets a brief view of your face. Your cheeks are stained with a light pink
tint, your lashes expertly curled in a way that showcased the eyes Jungkook
fell in love with, face properly contoured
– a term which Jungkook unwillingly learned after having to watch too-many-to-count make up tutorials with
you – and your lips, smothered in god knows how many different brands of
lipsticks. The end result of four hours of makeup was nothing short of
perfection. Jungkook mentally curses the stupid rules and superstitions that
forbid him from seeing the bride before the wedding day.
You know the trailer scene where Rocket asks for tape to put over the death button?
It does not include Peter and Rocket realizing that Groot has to carry the device that can kill them all.
Keeping in mind that Rocket and Yondu spent half a night trying to get Groot to find a red finn for Yondu and he brought them: A desk, a pin, underwear, and a severed finger before KRAGLIN finally brought them the finn.
The trailer does not include the part where Rocket asks Peter to go asks the others if they have any tape during the middle of the huge climatic battle. We get to hear Peter fly around to Yondu, Gamora, Drax, and Mantis asking them if they have tape for a solid two minute before retuning to tell Rocket, that no, no one has tape.
“Did you ask Nebula?” “I asked Yondu and she was with him!” “So you didn’t ask Nebula.”
Tense scene in the last twenty minutes where Groot has delivered the death button to Ego’s brain. He deliberates between the automatic destruct and the count down. The theater cheered when he pushed the right one.
Kraglin asks Nebula what she’s going to do with the money she’ll get from turning in the Guardian’s of the Galaxy.
Nebula: (Long speech about revenge on Thanos and Gamora)
Kraglin: “I was thinking about a pretty necklace.”
Kraglin is pretty great too
He’s one of the crew members that stays loyals to Yondu after a hostile take over. Kraglin tells Yondu that Taserface killed ‘all his friends’ and my heart broke in a million pieces.
Gamora and Peter spend a small portion of a scene dancing, and it was so cute???
Peter is really trying to get Gamora to open up and Gamora’s like there’s nothing to open up about, no sir, no feelings here.
Mantis tried to do the empathy thing on Gamora and Gamora basically said, “touch me and I’ll break your jaw.”
Peter obviously confides in Gamora, and Gamora obviously gives him advice but it’s not a two way street. He trusts her, but she doesn’t trust him, and he wants to help her because he wants to earn her trust, not just because he’s trying to seduce her. That boy is in love.
What gets Gamora to open up is Nebula and I can’t even believe it.
She’s obviously Groots favorite after Rocket, he cries when she has to leave him and she reassures him when she’ll be back and it’s cute?
The Cree and the Guardians of the Galaxy in the chase scene through the Asteroid Field
Rocket and Peter can’t decide whose going to pilot the ship, each convinced they’re better then the other.
Gamora: “either of you two could’ve gotten us through that asteroid field if you had piloted with what was between your heads and not your legs!” Peter: “My penis could’ve grown a hand and piloted better then Rocket.”
Drax figures that the best way to get the Cree ship on their tail off is by jumping out the bag of the ship, trailing behind it, and shooting it himself.
The winch breaks and Gamora has to grab ahold of the end, there is a solid five minutes of her just screaming on screen as she literally keeps Drax from becoming a fly on the windshield.
They crash land and Drax just laughs.
They’re saved by Ego who is apparently riding on top of his ship, as spotted by Rocket.
“Who saved us” Rocket: “A one inch dude on top of a space ship! Well, I mean he wasn’t one inch tall, he’d probably get bigger if he got closer.” Peter: “Yes, that’s how vision works.”
If you don’t think Michael Rooker walking in slow motion while taking back his mutinied ship by killing everyone on it with his arrow is hot then you got another thing coming.
Mantis manages to slow Ego by forcing him asleep.
Mantis: “I can’t do it if he doesn’t want to.” Drax: “You can do it because I believe in you.” Mantis: (Does it) Drax: “Wow, I can’t believe she did it!”
Mantis gets knocked out by Ego and Drax has to carry her to the escape ship but is basically sunk into and by Ego to capture him. Drax –despite being submerged in quicksand to top of the head– is holding up Mantis above the quicksand.
Imagine: One day when minding the book shop, you come across a strange-yet-handsome young man perusing the shelves. What you thought was another annoying private reader would turn out to be more than you ever imagined.
You were at your wit’s end. Your summer of working at the bookstore was not the magical, mentally-stimulating experience you had imagined it to be. Instead it was days of rude, somewhat-racist customers, disorganized shelves, and your worst nemesis–private readers.
Private readers were “customers” who came into the shop only to read through the books without paying, then leave. They were the biggest enemy to your business–your grandfather’s business, until he had passed away. This shop was the last thing of his you had, and you were not going to give it up thanks to some private readers.
You were kneeling on the floor, exasperatedly reorganizing a shelf when you spotted the feet of a private reader in the adjacent aisle. You could tell who they were just from the way they stood. They would lean against the shelves for extended periods of time without moving as they read their book of choice. Sometimes, they’d even sit on the floors!
You stood quickly, sliding a chunk of books off the shelf so you could see the culprit. He was a tall, dark-haired young man with expensive-looking clothes and a lanky build. He was currently privately reading an Archie comic. Your face reddened. But no matter how handsome, private reading was not allowed. For anyone.
“Excuse me,” you said, a hint of irritation in your voice. “Private reading is not allowed.
The man turned to you, an amused smile on his face. His angle gave you the full view of his freckled, tan face, deep blue eyes, and impeccable bone structure. He looked so familiar, yet you couldn’t place it.
Your irritation grew, overshadowing your growing attraction. “Does that work on all the girls? They must not have a ‘no private reading’ policy.”
The man’s expression fell slightly. He sauntered down his aisle, turning so he was standing in yours. He walked up, hand extended.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said with a chuckle. “I’m Cole. Cole Sprouse.”
Flufflet #1 for @lifeinahole27, to help reward her for writing her CSBB story!
First up, some wedding (reception) related fluff–
Emma had initially been opposed to having a redo wedding reception, but once it became clear that the whole town viewed it as the opportunity to have a really baller victory party, there was very little she could do to argue against it.
So everyone all got dressed up again, went back to the rooftop, and enjoyed the wedding reception that should have happened a week earlier. And Emma had to admit, it was kind of a blast, eating, drinking, laughing, and dancing the whole night.
Her feet were killing her as they pulled up to the house once the party ended. Snow and Regina had both objected pretty vehemently to Emma being the one to drive, but Killian was still learning how to drive stick, so what else were they supposed to do? Besides, they had to drive home; Henry had decorated the Bug with streamers and cans and a “Just Married (Last Week)” sign.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Killian said as they climbed up the front steps.
“Let’s do this properly.” He reached down and lifted her up in a bridal carry.
“Killian, we did this already.” They had; right after the final battle, he’d carried her over the threshold, insisting that this was going to be their wedding night, come hell or high water.
“Well, now we’re doing it again. Don’t argue with me.” And over the threshold they went.
“I need something to drink,” she said, before he could carry her up the stairs. “Come on, we’ll do the whole wedding night thing, I just want some time to breathe, okay?” God, how did couples go right to wedding night sex after their wedding receptions? All she wanted to do right now was sit and watch TV. Was that normal?
He set her down and wandered into the living room while she busied herself in the kitchen. “Want anything?”
“Perhaps some water–with a little lemon juice in it.”
“Oh, good idea.” She grabbed and extra glass and grabbed the bottle of lemon juice from the fridge. Killian hated it, preferring to use real lemons all the time, but she liked the convenience.
He was smiling at her, almost like he was dazed, as she sat down beside him and handed him his glass. He took a quick gulp and then settled his left arm around her. “I had a lovely time tonight.”
“Me, too.” Mmm, yeah, the lemon had been a good idea. “I’m just glad Gold didn’t kill you on the spot when you offered to shake his hand. Did you hit your head or something?”
“Inviting him and Belle was your idea.”
“Yeah, because Belle’s one of your close friends. We had to invite Gold because we invited her.”
He snorted. “Are you truly upset that I’m trying to put the past behind me and make peace with him?”
“No, just … I’m surprised, I guess. I just thought maybe you’d settle for not murdering each other.”
“He’s a father again, and he’s trying to make things work with Belle. I suppose the best way to keep him from relapsing is to ensure he has the same safety net that I have.”
“Noble.” She sipped her water.
“I try.” She let out a long sigh without thinking. “Something wrong?”
“No, just … I’m glad we got to have our wedding. I didn’t get to really appreciate just how fantastic you look in that tux.”
He grinned. “Aye, and now I can tell you just how beautiful you are in your gown. You look like a swan.”
“No,” she said, her face hot.
“Well, perhaps more so when you wore your veil.” She’d taken it off halfway through the night, and if she was being honest, she had no idea where it went. Oops. “But I stand by my comment.”
“Swans are vicious,” she reminded him.
“And elegant.” He gave her a strange look. “Those earrings look familiar.”
She blushed. “Yeah?”
“Yes. Where have I seen them before?”
“Our first date.”
The look of wonder on his face was enough to make her want to melt. “Really?” She nodded. “Well, they’re lovely.”
“And that date was lovely,” she said. “Your own issues aside.”
“Oy, I think I’ve suffered enough for that one.”
They sat quietly for a bit as they sipped their water. When he finished his, he set it down on the coffee table (on a coaster of course), and took her free hand in his. “I can’t believe we’re married.”
“We’ve been married for a week,” she reminded him. She began to toy with his rings.
“Aye, and in a week, I’ll still wake up and think about how strange it is that we’re married.”
“I know what you mean.” She still felt almost giddy that she had a husband.
She wished little kid Emma could see this–that she’d grow up to be a literal princess who was married to the hottest man to ever walk the earth. Hell, she wished twenty-eight-year-old Emma Swan could see this; it would have been way more mind-blowing than the son she gave up for adoption showing up to tell her fairy tales were real. Or at least equally unbelievable.
Something felt different. “Whoa.”
“Well, I had to remove it to wear my wedding ring.”
“No, I know. I meant the other two.”
“What about them?”
“Aye. Swan, you’re very astute.”
“Killian,” she said firmly. “We’ve known each other for a long time now, and you’ve always worn the same three rings. What gives?”
He sighed. “I’ll never entirely be free of my past,” he said quietly. “I can’t erase the harm I’ve done, the people I’ve killed, the destruction I’ve caused. But I want our future together to be a happy one. I want to spend my days building something with you, with our family. It’s why I’m trying to make peace with the Crocodile.”
“If you’re trying to make peace with him, you might want to stop calling him that,” she interjected. He glared at her. “Sorry.”
“As I was saying, my darling wife.” His irritation was fond, at least. “Those rings were always reminders of the man I was. For a long time, I assumed I would always wear them, as a way of never letting myself forget to stay on the right path. But I had to part with one of them so I could wear my wedding ring, and it made me realize …” He took a deep breath. “My ring symbolizes all that now. I look at it, and I think of you and our life together. I don’t need the other reminders anymore. And so I decided it was time to find some new rings.”
“I think that’s great.” She lifted his hand up and kissed each ring, ending on the wedding band. She loved seeing it on his hand; she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of it. “I do like the new rings a lot.”
“I’m glad. Your family helped pick them out.”
“Well, mostly your mother and Regina,” he admitted. “But your father and Henry approved the final choices.”
She looked down at his hand again. She’d grown so familiar with his old rings that the new ones had felt all wrong. But now? They weren’t wrong anymore.
God, she loved him too much. And now he was her husband.
Summary: Having your soul tied to the person you love for the rest of eternity isn’t a beautiful and magical as most make it out to be. (Based around the Prologue, I Need U, Run MV’s)
Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, and physical abuse.
Being born in a world where soulmates are real, sounds like a magical fairy tale. However, this is the world I live in and it has been terrifying. I never really believe it, soulmates that is, or at least I didn’t when I was little. Who could blame me? This was my first cycle and I didn’t feel this otherworldly pull to someone I was meant to be with, on top of that my parent weren’t soulmates either. When I asked them about it, they said that it was normal for people who lost their soulmate at a young age to find another person who also lost their soulmate. I didn’t understand then, and I still don’t completely understand their logic but they’ve been around for more cycles than I have. It has been recorded that people normally feel the connection to their soulmate around the age of 10. I was unfortunate enough to have my connection on my 7th birthday.
It was on a sunny day in the summer, I invited all my friends over for a sleepover. Everything was fine, to begin with. We ate cake, played games, and watched some movie. Then it happened, night rolled around and we were settling down for the night. I was walking to back to my room when I collapsed, hitting the wooden floor with a painful thud. My entire body was on fire, slowly the searing pain localized to my cheek as if I had been slapped. I cried out in pain, a metallic taste flooded my mouth but I knew I wasn’t bleeding. I couldn’t understand what was happening; I something kept striking me across my face and body but nothing was touching me. My parents rushed up the stairs to where I was in the hallway. My mom noticed the girls poking their heads out of the room watching me concerned so she went to occupy the girls, while my dad scooped me up in his arms and took me to my parent’s room to figure out what was wrong with me. Once I stopped crying I explained what happened to my dad, he looked at me pity and stroked my hair. “I’m so sorry sweetie. I’m sorry your first connection had to be like this.”
“Connection?” I sniffed, staring up at my dad confused. He knelt down and took my small hand in his grown ones.
“Yes, the pain you felt was the pain your soulmate felt.” His thumbs rubbed circles on the tops of my hands. “The feeling isn’t normally this strong it might have just been the first connection that strengthened the feeling. So don’t worry, it won’t always be like this.” My dad stood up and placed a light kiss on my forehead. “Now that you’re calm you can go back to your friends and enjoy the rest of your sleepover.” With that, I headed back my room but what I didn’t know was that this was the only the start of the constant pain I would soon have to endure.
As I grew up I became more accustomed to the pain; I learned how to control my reaction to it. I wouldn’t react as violently when the pain came, but that’s not to say it didn’t hurt anymore. It still hurt as much as it did the first day. Bruises would constantly show up after one of my “connections”. I wouldn’t have minded so much if it didn’t make my teachers worried about my home life. When the bruises would get noticeably worse, I would be called to the guidance counselor’s office to go through a routine of questions to make sure I wasn’t being abused at home. Of course, I wasn’t but it didn’t stop people from gossiping that I was. There was one day that I came to school with bruises around my neck and when I was sent to the guidance counselor’s office there was a police officer in the room as well. After that, the rumors got worse and not long after, we moved.
By the time I started middle school we had already settled into the new house. My parents also personally went to the school to talk to the principal about my “condition” so things would not get out of hand like it did at my old school. I also started logging when and where I would get my bruises. After a few months, I noticed a pattern, during at school nothing would happen, for the next few hours after school nothing would normally happen but there were rare occurrences but again those were very rare. Late at night is normally when the pain and bruising would show up. On good days, there wouldn’t be any pain but those don’t happen that often. Usually, there would only be a single hit and it wouldn’t normally bruise, which I now consider good. On the other hand, the bad days were terrible. My entire body would ache from what I could only suspect were punches or kicks to the stomach. On those nights, I would have to take a hot bath to relieve some of the pain. While soaking in the tub I would quietly sing. My mom once told me that when you would randomly get a song stuck in your head it was your soulmate sing the song. Normally I’m skeptical of that but on nights like these; I pray that it is true. I don’t know what type of situation my soulmate is in but I want to at least give them some type of comfort, even if it was something as small as a soothing song.
In the middle of high school my father got a promotion and was transferred to Seoul, so naturally, we moved again. My parents offered to talk to the new school I was going to attend but by now, I’ve gotten pretty skilled at hiding any visible bruises so I assured them they didn’t need to. For the first time in awhile, I felt normal at school. No one looked at me with suspicious eyes, no one was trying to be in my personal business; I was just the new kid. Some people were curious, but that only lasted for a week or so. After a while, everything settled down and I attended school like a normal kid. The rest of the school year passed, and before I knew it I was starting my last year of high school. There were a few familiar faces in my new class but I only knew one person well enough to consider them my friend, Jeon Jungkook. When I first transferred to this school, I often approached him and ask questions about the school. Simple questions like where I could find the gym, the library, and the teachers’ offices. I don’t know why I chose to go to him. He wasn’t really keen on helping me but he wasn’t rude to me and always helped me get to where I needed to be. One day I stayed later to look around for a club I could join and I found him in the art room sketching away. After that, I would occasionally ask him about his art. He was reluctant at first, but with some time he opened up and we would have little talks in between our classes. This year, I want to truly be friends with him. The type of friend that hangs out after school, not just someone he only talks to at school.
“Good morning Jungkook,” I smiled at him while taking the seat in front of him.
“Morning” Jungkook glanced up from his doodle and held up his hand with a slight smile.
“It’s cool we’re in the same class again huh?” He nodded with a small ‘yeah’ before when went back to his doodle. I bit my lip trying to think of things to talk about since he wasn’t trying to keep the conversation going.
“So what did you do over the break? Did you have any new drawings?”
“I hung out with my hyungs for the most part” he shrugged, “I do have some new sketches…” he trailed off looking down at his bag then up to me. “ Do you… do you want to see them?”
“Yes!” my eyes lit up with excitement. Jungkook normally never let people look at his artwork without them having to pester him; so, Jungkook willingly wanting to show me was a pleasant surprise. He reached down to his bag, which was beside him and grabbed a small black sketchbook. He flipped through the book stopping at a drawing.
“This was one of the last ones I was working on before we left.” He handed me the book. The drawing was a side profile of a girl sitting at a desk working. The longer I stared at it the more it started looking like me; from the way, the hair was styled to the two freckles on the neck.
“Is this me?”
“Yeah, the next two are you too.” Jungkook gave a small chuckle.
“Really?” I excitedly flipped to the next drawing to see yet another sketch of me sitting at a desk; however, this time I was resting my chin in my hand as I stared off into the distance. “These are amazing Jungkook!” I turned to the next one. In this one, I had my head resting on the desk as I dozed off.
“They’re not that big a deal. I could make better ones. They’re just sketches of boredom.”
“Well, I love them.” I smiled brightly as I stared at the sketch. “If you ever need a model for anything I’d be glad to help.” Jungkook laughed taking the sketchbook back.
“I might take you up on that.” I nodded before turning around as the teacher walked into the classroom.
…In my opinion my hands have grown too delicate; but what can I do? I shall go out again, even if it cost me a good deal; for my chief concern is that I should not neglect my work any longer. Art is jealous; she will not allow illness to take precedence of her. And I give in to her.
…Men like myself really have no right to be ill. But you must understand what my attitude is to Art. In order to attain to real Art one must work both hard and long. The thing I have set my mind upon as the goal of all my efforts is devilish difficult, and yet I do not think that I am aiming too high. I will make drawings that will amaze some people.
Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to Théo (trans. Anthony M. Ludovici),
The Letters of a Post-Impressionist.
Title: Teenage Rebellion Fandom: Stranger Things Characters: Jonathan Byers x Reader Reader Gender: Female Word Count: 1,355 Warnings: Some swearing, mentions of bullying Notes: Based on a request from an anon for “Could you do a Jonathan Byers fic with the prompt ‘I always hide in this one stairwell whenever I’m having a mental breakdown / existential crisis / etc but today when I came here you were already there’ Thank you!”
Jonathan Byers had grown very accustomed to people whispering about him, often pointing and giggling amongst themselves as they did so. Because of this, it didn’t bother him when a few of his peers began gossiping about him – until he heard his mother’s and brother’s names come up.
“I still don’t think that Will Byers ever really went missing. That freak show of a family probably just wanted to land some paid interviews or something.”
“I think the mom is a bit of a schizo. She probably just had a psychotic break and made the whole thing up.”
Jonathan could hear the teacher yelling after him as he left the room. He knew that if he had to sit there and listen to those idiots for another second, he’d have ended up getting suspended. The teachers would undoubtedly be looking for him, so he went to the one place he knew they’d never check.
I’m Only Honest When It Rains (If I Time It Right the Thunder Breaks)
I found this from months ago, back in the ‘only so many lifeboats’ craze. So it won’t be canon obviously, but it’s somehow giving me 4x03 feels despite distinct differences and I worked frickin hard on it so here you go.
The words sound
hollow to Octavia, in the same way an I’m
sorry in the wake of tragedy sounds insincere—no matter how genuine they
are, they simply can’t process the situation enough to say it with authority.
And surely Clarke
can’t comprehend what’s happened, because Bellamy is not going to make it.
Octavia enters her
new room with a loud grunt, partially to keep everyone away but mostly to trick
her mind into forgetting how empty the place is. It doesn’t, of course, and she
finds herself thinking inexplicably of Lincoln, and how much he would’ve liked
the earthy color of the tent walls, the dull saltwater smell, the soft blanket
on the cot. The peace they found here. Then she pushes away the idea, because
Lincoln is dead, and wishing he was here only reminds her of what she did after
he died, and those memories hurt much, much worse.
She still remembers
the day she finally came back to Arkadia, empty of anything but her sword and
her regrets; can feel the imprint on her skin where Bellamy clutched her to
him, the divots in her cheeks where tears flowed helplessly as she whimpered, I’m so sorry, you can never forgive me, I
shouldn’t have done any of it, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. He forgave her
immediately, right there at the gates of Arkadia, and somehow she was almost
angry about it because after she betrayed him, beat him, hated him, he
shouldn’t still love her. He should’ve yelled at her, pushed her around, made
her feel what he felt.
But he didn’t, and
he won’t, because of course he wouldn’t. He’s Bellamy.
And now he’s gone.
A month previous, Clarke stands at the top of the hill outside
Arkadia. She watches the sun rise slowly over the distant horizon, the yellow
and pink light beautifully lighting up the forests as they burn.
The storm has been
getting closer and closer for weeks now, and finally they’re taking action. In
a few days, they’ll flee to the sea, where Luna will take everyone to the safe
zone in two trips—everyone, that is, except for those who will make the one
last attempt to stop the storm and the reactors.
“Hey,” says a low,
gentle voice from behind her. She doesn’t turn, only waits for Bellamy to stand
by her as he always does. Their hands barely touch, knuckles against knuckles,
and she thinks of intertwining their fingers.
“Hey yourself,” she
says after a long drought of silence, not sure what else to say. Anything she
actually wants to talk about frightens her too much to open her mouth—her
feelings, her regret, the knowledge that some of their loved ones will get left
behind to die.
So she just stands
still, arm against Bellamy’s, her soul tucked into his, and she prays.
Bellamy walks into the quiet meeting room with a twisting nausea
eating at his gut. He knows the plan is the best one they have, but that
doesn’t make this any easier.
says, looking up in surprise from some papers. He’s alone, as Bellamy intended.
This was not a matter he wanted public yet. “What do you need?”
“I wanted to talk
about the lists you gave in the meeting today.”
evacuation?” Kane swallows. “If you were wondering why I put you in the second
round, I merely assumed you and Clarke would want to be together, and give
others a higher chance—”
Bellamy forces his
voice not to shake. “That’s not what I mean. I want to be taken off.”