not slowly enough

partycardigann  asked:

that bitch face taemin makes at minho when minho can't remember his birthday. i think about it a lot.

concept: since that broadcast taem’s been popping up with a bday cake for minho on every 9th of the month except for december. the spelling of minho’s name on the cake gets worse each time - it starts with ‘choi mango’ and somehow ends in ‘alola exeggutor’ because taem’s salty like that

Pinky.

I remember all the promises we’ve made together—all the good things you’ve said that I thought would last forever. We were like kids writing our futures without knowing how time could change us—how the world will try to always make us reminisce the past. How the people around us will try to mold us into something we didn’t want.

Ring.

It was the different type of love. I don’t know if fate is real or if destiny confuses us about what we feel. But I always imagine you with me, and my heart beating with yours in symphony. It was the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard. The most wonderful feeling I couldn’t get tired of.

Middle.

There’s always something that goes in between. Pedestrians passing by— every time the traffic lights signal us to stop. When you were walking fast yet caught up behind someone who is walking slowly enough. When you already want to do the things you love, but you saw something that puts a doubt in your heart. When you thought you already found someone who you can’t enjoy living without.

Index.

I choose you over anything else, hoping that you’ll also end up picking me over everybody else. Yet I put a finger on your lips telling you to stop spreading all the sugar coated lies. I point to your chest, hoping for you to be honest. Darling I think I couldn’t take it anymore, if you continue to pretend that you still love me more.

Thumb.

Believe when I say that everything will be okay, even if it will take a lot of time for me to heal. In the end I will surely learn from all of this things. I will still carry the love I have somewhere inside me. Not for you, but for—each and every—broken part of me. This is how I should let go of you. One by one, I’ll remove my fingertips away from holding your hands. One by one I’ll let go of you so you can rest and breathe. Day by day, letting go will ease the pain.

And until my hands stop bleeding, my soul will suddenly appreciate the wonderful life I’m living. In the end my heart will learn how to love myself more—and will finally consider it as my home.

—  ma.c.a // I should stop holding on you
3

chapter one — neil josten let his cigarette burn to the filter without taking a drag. he didn’t want the nicotine; he wanted the acrid smoke that reminded him of his mother. if he inhaled slowly enough, he could almost taste the ghost of gasoline and fire. it was at once revolting and comforting, and it sent a sick shudder down his spine.

Being unmotivated is not an excuse.

During these past couple of months, I had this urge of working extremely hard to actually get better at school–my academics. I studied everyday and I worked hard and put every ounce of effort into all of my work. I never let anything slide. When exams came around, I got nervous, I was unmotivated, I was not ready to acknowledge the fact that I was about to sit these exams. 

When I did, every word I wrote on those pages were not good enough, slowly I felt like everything I worked for in the past couple of month were slipping through my fingertips. I was saddened. Exam after exam I felt myself slowly drifting away, loosing myself to  pieces of paper I prepared my self so hard for. I had nights were I was so sad, and just slept unsoundly. I was sad. Extremely sad. And I knew that when I got my grades back, I wasn’t going to get the grades I wanted–and I didn’t. I got average grades and there I felt myself feel extremely angry and just unmotivated to do anything after pursuing these exams. 

My teachers have hope that I will get better grades and that I could easily bump myself up to higher points. They had faith in me, when I didn’t. How was I supposed to continue studying if I was feeling unmotivated? If I didn’t believe in myself completely? 

These past couple of months hit me like a ton of bricks. People were getting better grades than me, and to be honest it did bother me. Why? Because I want to feel that satisfaction, that relief to receiving those amazing grades. I want to feel acknowledged, I want to feel like I accomplished something. I want to feel like I am ready to take on the world and its challenges without the feeling that I was not able to accomplish any of the challenges. 

I pitied myself. I felt sorry for myself. 

Then came a day, were I woke up and finally realized that feeling sorry for myself, feeling pity for myself, feeling unmotivated, feeling like I am not smart enough, feeling like I am not worth it is not an excuse for me anymore. Those feelings are never going to get me to that top university. The universities are looking for people who can take initiatives, people who are capable of taking control of their own life, people who don’t give up that easily, and finally people who don’t get unmotivated so easily and keep trying their best even when they are at their worst. 

That is the kind of personality I need, that is the kind of personality which I will have. I will not stop till I get the grades that I want, I will work my hardest and smartest from now on, I will learn how to prioritize my social life from my school life. I need to learn how to balance. And most importantly I need to learn how to not give up so easily and feel unmotivated so easily. Being unmotivated is not an excuse for me anymore, and nor should it be for you. Being unmotivated wont allow you to get those grades, those accomplishments. 

8

Neil Josten let his cigarette burn to the filter without taking a drag. He didn’t want the nicotine; he wanted the acrid smoke that reminded him of his mother. If he inhaled slowly enough, he could almost taste the ghost of gasoline and fire.

Welp. We went to see Wonder Woman. I cried during the sad parts and some of the other parts. They were the same kind of tears I had on and off through Ghostbusters. Movies with strong women who are fully realized people who are allowed to be sexual but are not sexualized and can also kick ass just make me cry randomly. Though TBH I also cry in LotR when anyone picks up their sword and runs into battle screaming the name of their home. I didn’t even realize how ravenous I was for a female version of that.

draw the squad thing (original by @mugges ) Atlantis dorks edition

okay this might be a bit ooc but I wanted to draw something fun because they deserve fun (and honestly they are sometimes just like a bunch of children, especially Rodney and John, shenanigans are bound to happen)

Rodney probably lost a bet or something, Teyla wishes she didn’t ask what John was so smug about, and John is enjoying himself a little too much :D in the end Rodney could hold on for like three seconds before dropping everyone on himself, pulling his back and ending up in the infirmary for days

bonus smol Ronon laughing his butt off (ref here)


Comission info :)

You know what I want. I want a Sky High remake so that they can continue it into a series. Picture this:

Sky High Remake. Freshman year. Same plot, same characters, Will is still a dipshit, but it’s less 00s looking with modern fashion, modern acting people, better CGI. Make Warren Peace gayer. Sets up the whole series. 

Sky High Sequel. Sophomore year. The main character is Layla. The hero and sidekick set up has been demolished. Now students who have sidekick powers are in the same classes as students with bad ass powers and are getting the butts kicked constantly. The main characters fight over weather or not this is better and their friend group splits in two. They don’t talk to each other as Layla desperately tries to make everyone get along. Eventually they have to put their fighting aside to fight the Gym Coach and his army of bullies who has been secretly setting up former sidekicks to fail so that all the heroes of the future aren’t “lame.” They take him down and compromise, agreeing that people should be matched by power level but not separated.

Sky High 3. Junior year. The main character is Ethan (puddle guy). He wakes up without his powers. He doesn’t tell anyone because he thinks nobody will like him if he has no powers and that they’ll come back soon enough. Slowly he realizes that other kids have lost their powers too but aren’t telling anyone. The group befriends Sophomore known for not having any powers at all whose there because his parents have powers. Turns out he knows the ins and outs of the school really well and he helps them as they go on a mission to discover what happened to their powers. This new guy starts dating Warren. Finally the whole team has to fight the villain, a new character with sidekick parents, who has been stealing the powers of the students to make himself stronger so he can be the best hero ever.

Sky High 4. Senior year. The main character is Warren. We finally get to see his family and what it’s like with one hero parent and one villain parent. His parents don’t live together because his dad Baron Battle is in jail but it’s weird. But he learns his dad has broken out of jail. This makes things really weird for him and Will as Will’s parents are out looking for him. Eventually Warren and Will have a big fight, using their powers, and they both get suspended. Finally, at Prom, Warren’s dad appears at the school to try to get Warren to be his henchman. Warren refuses and they all have to fight Warren’s dad. 

ISN’T THIS A GOOD FUCKIN IDEA?!?!

Humans and Sense of Place

As humans most of us have a sense of place. We get attached to the places we live. Home is a sacred thing to most of us. It may not be the place we were born or grew up, but if we live in a place long enough we start to develop feelings for it. Some good, some bad. The longer we live somewhere, the more we learn about it. About the people and animals that live their, the plants that grow and what they all do as the seasons progress. We know the places we call home, sometimes too well. We get attached to features in the landscape, rivers, hills or woodlands, and get upset if they are despoiled or desecrated.

Every human knows that home is more than just a roof over your head or a place to spend the night.

And what if we go into space. What if we settle there. What if children grow up walking on red rocks and start calling Mars their home. What if we spread farther? We leave our star system and distant homeworld behind and make ourselves new homeworlds on other planets.

What if some are better than others. What if some planets prove easily habitable to humans and accept our terraforming with ease. But what if others reject terran life, and force every human that lives on them to stay in protected shelters while it slowly kills them with heavy metals and toxic compounds. What if despite all this, humans still call this planet home. What if generations grow up on that planet, developing history and love for their home, even if it slowly kills them.

And what if humans meet other life in space? What if that life looks at these planets that are so hostile to human life and instead see a world that is perfect for life-forms like them. What if the very heavy metals and toxic compounds that kill us slowly are actually vital to their very life and wellbeing.

What if they make a deal with humanity? What if they have many planets that they cannot live on, but are perfectly habitable to humans. And what if humans have planets that are death to them but havens for the aliens. Its very logical that the two should swap. For both sides have something the other wants.

And what if, when the news comes, many of the human settlers choose to leave the planet they grew up in, for a planet that will not slowly kill them. Some leave and never look back, while others still feel a sense of loss in their hearts when they remember.

But what if some refuse to leave. What if the fact that the planet is killing them slowly is not enough to convince some to abandon the place they call home. What if they stay, even when the alien colonists arrive, step off their ships and breath the air with relief instead of choking death.

What if they are still there as the aliens go on to colonize their new home with a vigour even the most determined human could never replicate on that world. What if they still live in contained shelters and know the planet is slowly killing them, even as those who left prosper on other worlds.

And what if to the aliens they become a part of that place. What if the contained complexes and the sight of humans in environmental suites becomes as much a part of that planet as its mountains of heavy metals and its lakes of toxic chemicals.

What if the aliens that call that planet home, come to regard the humans as being simply another part of that home. Something that would be noticed and missed if it were to disappear.

Maybe some humans leave that planet. Maybe many leave to seek a better life on another planet that will not slowly kill them. But maybe some always stay. Maybe to them home is something sacred and the fact that it is slowly killing you is not enough to leave it.

Music Man

Bucky x Reader

Surprise, surprise! You open your big mouth to Tony Stark, and it gets around about your crush on a certain metal armed soldier. What happens when he finds out about it, and what will he do to get your attention?

Warnings: FLUFF. FLUUUUUUUUUFF.

Word Count: ~2200

A/N: Holy shit a writing?! YES. For @avengerofyourheart ‘s birthday! Happy birthday love, I’m sorry it’s late but I hope you love it nonetheless!!

Originally posted by natymms

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


   You sat in the kitchen, idly spinning your spoon with your finger in your coffee cup; your eyes focused on something else besides your breakfast in front of you. It was while he wasn’t looking (as always), but you just simply couldn’t help yourself.

   Bucky Barnes, in general, was a gorgeous man. Taunt muscle just teasing outlines underneath a tight t-shirt, a new black vibranium arm that had your mind wandering on how he would know how to use the damn thing; his hair pulled back in a bun to keep it off his neck from his run with Steve. Those eyes? Ugh, the blue killed you every time, making you weak in the knees. Of course, as soon as the man turned around from what he was doing, you’d quickly look down at your food like it was the most interesting thing in the world; only praying he hadn’t caught you ogling his assets.

Keep reading

alphaandhismate  asked:

Hey Rachel got a question for ya. Do you think Stiles would feel inadequate compared to all the buff sexy werewolves and push himself​ to the breaking point trying to look like he belongs? Cause I have this headcanon where he decides to work out to make himself look like he belongs beside the wolves but it doesn't work out to well and he winds up doing more harm than good. Which upsets Derek when he finds out (because he loves the idiot but he won't admit it)

Aw I can absolutely see this. Stiles, already prone to insecurity and the feeling of not being good enough, slowly being worn down by that itching knowledge in his skull of being that he’s not as strong as any of his friends, not as attractive as any of his friends, and sure as hell not as useful as any of them, right? Sure, he’s smart. He knows that. But what the hell use is that in battle? He can’t dive in front of a bullet to keep the others from hurting, can’t stand beside the others and fight at anything close to their level.

And no matter how much he smirks at enemies’ jibes and plays off as enjoying being the group’s token human (”means I get to leave all the heavy lifting to you guys, right?”) it’s a feeling that would keep building up over time, pushing at the back of his skull every time the pack insists he be left behind on a certain mission, that he should stay where he’s safe, or gets offhandedly told he’ll just slow the others down. Every time they go running out in the preserve and he gets to sit behind and watch the car. Every time he goes out with the group and finds himself wondering what he looks like in everyone else’s eyes: this circle of beautiful beyond belief, supernaturally perfect people and then… him.

He couldn’t share his worries with the others –– Scott would get that worried look in his eyes and insist Stiles is perfect the way he is. Lydia might not share the same speed and strength as the others but she’s always been supernaturally beautiful, and she’s got her own banshee tricks to help out in a fight. So he keeps it inside, bottles it up… and he starts to push himself. Stays after school lifting weights until his limbs are wrecked from it, goes out running until his legs are shaking under him. Thinking one more lift, one more mile, one step closer to belonging.

And it starts working, too. He’s able to keep up with the pack sometimes, on their more casual runs. He’s gaining muscle, losing any last hints of baby fat. But there are hollowed shadows under his eyes too and he’s not eating enough, probably, but that’s fine. It’s fine when he wrestles with Liam and ends up with a purpled bruise blooming out across his ribs from a too-hard tackle. It’s fine that he can’t really sleep anymore because his muscles are always burning. It’s fine because he’s started looking at pictures of the group after pack events and almost seeing a group of people who fit together, not a handful of perfect people around a lanky, awkward him. Who the hell wouldn’t sacrifice a little comfort and the ability to lift his arms above his head for that?

.-

Derek’s the one who notices first, because of course he is. Drops in through the bedroom window one night like the supernatural stalking creeper he used to be, and finds Stiles collapsed to an exhausted heap against the side of his bed. Too tired and too sore to have stripped off his sweat-stained shirt or make it the extra step to lay down on it. He forces a smile when he spots Derek, but it’s more pained than it should be. Wavers at the edges. Derek ignores his opening jibe, doesn’t comment on the way Stiles tries to push himself up on unsteady palms and falters, a spasm of motion that starts and dies just as fast. Just moves silent, sits down next to him on the floor at the foot of the bed. There’s a world of words in his silence, a disapproving air Stiles can feel deep in his bones, and he finds himself saying “I’m fine,” low and head ducked, like it’s a lie.

It’s not a lie. But it’s not exactly true either, is it?

Derek’s eyes are on Stiles’ face now, flicking down his damp shirt, over his faintly trembling limbs, and it’s like he’s seeing too much suddenly, seeing through walls Stiles is too tired to pull up. People aren’t supposed to see him at this point in the day; they’re supposed to see him in the morning when he has the energy to grin and bounce and keep up with the rest of them like it’s effortless. They’re not supposed to see the tired bruises under his eyes or the way he shakes from hours of trying to hold himself at a werewolf’s level.

He wets his lips, a flash of frustration burning bitter through him.

“Look, I’m not strong like you guys.” It’s not news. It’s been a constant refrain for the past two years of his life, ever since Scott was bit and turned into a superhero sports star girl magnet and left Stiles standing awkwardly in his dust. Stiles couldn’t ask for the bite, Scott wouldn’t understand. And he doesn’t think he wants it either, not really. He doesn’t want the claws or the anchors or the pulls to the moon. He just wants to be able to keep up with them. Wants to not be the funny one in a group of supermodels. Doesn’t want to be the weak one in a group of heroes. Doesn’t want to be the one holding them back.

He bites over a frustrated sound, frowns at Derek’s faintly pinched brows, manages to lift one bone-dead arm and snaps out even more harshly: “I’m not… hot.”

It’s not the whole issue, it barely touches the issue, but it’s too much already and he scowls after he says it, daring Derek to snort or mock him or roll his eyes and agree, obviously, but that searching look only seems to sink deeper and Derek murmurs, “You’re wrong.”

Which is just… it’s worse than laughing. Because Stiles could handle people dismissing him, mocking him. He’s used to that. What he can’t take is Derek fucking Hale feeling so goddamned bad about his patheticness that he’s reduced to lying to try and comfort him.

“Oh, right, sure. I’m hot. You guys are all freaking Greek gods with all the muscle and the… faces.” He snorts, falling back against an overworked spine that protests the pressure. “You can’t even talk. You’ve always been the hottest person ever. You’ve got no idea what it’s like to be the one no one ever wants.”

Derek’s eyes flick down Stiles again, reassessing, and Stiles winces over the realization that Derek’s trying to find something, anything likable on his wiry frame.

Don’t––” He starts, because he physically cannot handle that, but Derek’s saying “You’re wrong,” again, and it’s soft and warm in a way that doesn’t sound like pity.

But Stiles doesn’t let himself feel it. The “oh yeah?” he shoots back is sure and challenging, almost smug in its confidence because maybe he’s not beautiful beyond all reason like the man next to him, maybe he’s not strong and desirable and wanted but at least he’s smart enough to realize that.

Derek lets out a growl of frustration and turns where he’s sitting, crowds in close with palms pressed to either side of Stiles’ thigh, and Stiles is on the edge of rolling his eyes because does Derek seriously think he can intimidate Stiles into changing his mind about himself, but then “you’re wrong” falls out a third time, a too-warm growl of a whisper, and Derek closes the space between their lips.

Stiles loses his conviction in the contact.

Derek’s hands move over him while they kiss, dragging soothing tips and scolding pinches over his wrecked muscles in ways that leave him groaning, touches sinking you’re beautiful and you’re wanted under his skin in ways the best words probably never could. Hands trail down to play across Stiles’ fingers, silently praising the cleverness of them. Beard-rough lips drift up to kiss across his temple and a warmth of admiration seems to melt into him with each press. And Stiles can barely move, arms aching protest as he lifts them to thread into Derek’s hair, body quivering in ways that shift between exhaustion and want.

When Derek finally leans back Stiles whimpers, wanting more but too worn down to chase him. But Derek’s watching him from inches away in the dark room, and there’s no reflected flaws in those dark eyes now. Just you’re beautiful, you’re wanted. You’re important

Stiles runs light thumbs down Derek’s beard, lets out a light laugh he barely recognizes.

“Guess I believe you,”

(And from now on, on nights when the pack goes out running, Stiles and Derek find a more interesting way to occupy themselves by the cars.)

Looks like lightning

A giant alien spaceship castle you would assume have more then enough bathrooms. However despite the size there were only four in the whole castle one in each wing. Apparently Altean’s didn’t need to go as often as humans did so they never bothered to fit every area with a bathroom.
Of course Allura had her own personal bathroom in her chambers and Corran used the one in the east side of the castle leaving the five Paladins to share the one closest to their collective rooms.
Shiro at first attempted to create a time chart so that everyone would have time to get ready in the morning and get in a shower before bed.
However he quickly learnt that asking a group of teenagers not to take hours in the bathroom was like expecting a pig to sprout wings and fight the Glara.
Keith spends the least time in the morning, only bothering to brush his teeth before going out to train, it’s the evenings that he takes his time, spending almost an hour in the shower letting the warm water work its magic on his sore aching muscles.
Hunk takes his time whenever he uses the bathroom. Often singing or having imaginary arguments with himself.
Pidge spends hours in there. Often taking their computer in with them and ends up losing themselves so completely in their work that they could leave for five minutes to use the toilet and not be seen until dinner.
However out of everyone Lance is by far the worst. He spends hours in there every morning and evening, he will often run out during training just to look in the mirror. Because of this more then a few times a fellow Paladin has been forced to run across the castle in search of another bathroom.
After yet another close call Pidge had enough.
“He’s just so vain!” They snapped walking into the common area where Keith was sat sharpening his knife.
“I know but there’s not much we can do about it” he shrugged not even bothering to look up as the green paladin flopped down on the couch next to him.
“We could complain to Allura or maybe Shiro?” They offered voice slightly muffled by having their face buried in the cushions.
“Wouldn’t work. They already know and the worst that would happen to him is get a lecture and maybe being out of cleaning duty, it wouldn’t change anything. As long as he’s got all his cleaning products he’s going to continue to hogging the bathroom.” Keith patted Pidge on the head when they let out a frustrated groan.
Suddenly they sat bolt upright making Keith pull his hand away in surprise.
“But what if he didn’t?”
“Didn’t what?” Keith questioned a little unnerved by the Cheshire Cat like grin that spread across the smaller Paladins face.
“What if Lance didn’t have his products? What if someone were to hide them to teach him not to just leave his stuff lying around in the bathroom like he owned the place?”
A similar grim spread across Keith’s face as he realised what exactly Pidge was suggesting.
“I think that just might teach him a lesson.”
———————————–
When Lance rolled out of bed that morning like every morning he walked down the hall to the bathroom so he could wash off his face mask and get ready for the day.
However when he had washed the white mask off and reached for his makeup bag only to find it missing he knew something was very wrong. He checked again in case he had put it somewhere else the night before but found nothing.
At this point he began to panic falling to his knees as he tore apart the bathroom desperately searching for his bag as his breaths came shorter and faster.
He had to find his bag.
He couldn’t let the others see him without his makeup.
———————————–
Unlike Pidge, Keith couldn’t wait to see Lance get his comeuppance, so when he heard Lance go to the bathroom that morning Keith had followed close behind listening just out side of the door waiting for the moment of realisation of the prank.
Keith had expected Lance to get angry or maybe even a few tears but nothing major.
What he didn’t expect was to hear the sounds of the bathroom being ripped apart and soft desperate sobbing.
Worried the red paladin opened the door “Lance are you-”
He cut off when he saw exactly why the makeup bag had meant so much to him.
Across the right side of his face there were long white scars trailing along his skin. There were five in total all connected at the side of his neck disappearing under his clothes. One stretched over the outside of his face curling round to just above his left eyebrow. Another curled under his right eye with one branching off to across his nose. The other two wrapped around each other by his chin and jaw line.
Seeing Keith Lance instantly threw his hands up covering his face. “Don’t look at me!” He screamed frantically.
His sleeves fell down showing his right arm also covered with the swirling pale scars shockingly different to his dark skin.
Keith stared at him in shock.
How long had Lance been hiding this from them? When had he been hurt? What could of done this kind damage?
“Oh god… Lance”
Lance shrunk away from Keith not stopping until he hit the cold tile wall.
He looked like a trapped animal countered by a predator.
“I’m so sorry” Keith mumbled sitting down next to him and pulling the blue paladin into a slightly awkward hug.
Lance stiffened for a moment before melting under his team mates touch.
He turned, burying his face into Keith’s chest and sobbed desperately.
Keith wasn’t sure what to do. All he knew was that he wanted to make Lance feel better. Slowly he began to run his free hand through the taller boys hair making quiet shushing noises.
Half an hour later Lance had calmed down and had stopped crying, however he still had his face hidden in Keith’s shirt.
“Thanks” Lance mumbled so quietly that Keith had to wonder if he had imagined it.
The guilt stopped him in the stomach. He didn’t deserve thanks. He deserved to get his ass kicked and then shot out into space for what he had done.
“You don’t need to thank me… it’s my fault”
Lance slowly looked up just enough so that his blue teary eyes were visible. “It’s not… its mine.”
Keith bit his lip, he wanted to argue but Lance almost never talked about himself, not really.
“How so?”
“I was twelve I think, back when me and my family still lived in Cuba…”
Keith could practically hear the homesickness dripping from those words. He wished he could relate but he never really had a home to miss in the first place.
“Mamma told me and my older brother not to go to the ocean that day. But Leo told me it would be fine. And it was for a little bit. We swam, played and surfed for a couple hours. Then it started to get dark and Leo said it was time to go home b-but I was having too much fun so I ignored him. I even ignored him when he tried to warn me…”
Lance was quiet for a few minutes trying to swallow the lump in his throat.
“See Mama had seen on the news that there were lots of Jellyfish in the water that day… she tried to keep us safe without scaring us.
But we wanted to play and well I didn’t notice the Jellyfish until one stung me on the ankle…”
Keith found himself leaning closer silently urging Lance to continue.
“I fell off my board right into a whole bunch of them. I don’t remember much. Just blinding pain then next thing I know I’m waking up in hospital a week later.”
Keith gasped cringing at how Lance flinched at the noise.
“C-can I see?” He asked hesitantly. He didn’t expect his request to be answered so it was surprising when Lance took of his shirt to show the mess of thin white scars that stretched across his torso.
Kieth couldn’t help but run his finger over the one across Lance’s chest.
“Beautiful”
“What was that?” Lance asked causing Keith to blush bright red “I erm I only meant that they look cool! Like lightning!” He sputtered.
Lance chuckled bitterly “yeah I used to think so too. In Cuba at least the kids in school saw it as a badge of honour. But after my Dad died and we had to move to America to live with my Grandparents well… kids can be cruel. They can be cruel about makeup too but I find it’s easier to play the vain pretty boy then have to deal with teasing or worse pity.”
Keith gulped. He was honoured that Lance shared something so personal with him but he knew he didn’t deserve it.
“Look Lance this really is my fault me and Pidge stole your stuff to try and get back at you for always hogging the bathroom.”
Keith expected yelling, maybe more crying. What he didn’t expect was for Lance to just shrug one shoulder “yeah I figured from how guilty you looked.”
“Your not mad?”
Lance laughed, for real this time. “No I’m not mad. Your the first person to call my scars beautiful… it kinda meant a lot.”
Lance looked away blushing almost as much as Keith was.
He realises his hand was still resting on Lance’s bare chest and pulled it away only for it to be grabbed by Lance.
“Glad I was awake for this bonding moment”
Keith smiled looking down at their hands for a moment.
“Yeah me too.”

Pretty

You and him had been friends for years.

Your mothers were best friends throughout high school and college, so naturally you were around each other from birth. You’d seen each other through the good and bad. You were inseparable. He was your best friend, your first kiss (at 12 years old, you both just wanted to see what it felt like and decided to use each other), your other half. Him and you. You and him. That’s the way it always was.

You were often teased by other friends about your closeness with him. Constantly affectionate with one another; kissing cheeks or hugging waists. You never questioned it. He was familiar, comfortable. That’s the way it always was.

He was always magnetic, it came naturally to him. People just gravitated towards him. He was consistently pulled to you instead. You watched as your crowd of friends cheered him on while he chugged a beer. He glanced around and met your eyes, seeing you sitting at the bar with a full drink. Excusing himself from the crowd, he made his way over to you.

“Oi, love! Wut’re ya doing? Supposed to be getting drunk with me, yeh?”

He’s grinning at you with his perfectly straight smile, eyes cloudy from alcohol while still bright just from their natural color. He was beautiful and that was never lost on you, often having moments of just admiring his beauty. This being one of those times.

You laugh at him. “Don’t think anyone can get as drunk as you are right now. How many in are you?”

“Not even drunk yet, love. I’ve only had 2 beers. I plan to have many, many more and I plan to have them with you.” Raising his hand to catch the bartender’s attention, he ordered another beer for himself. “What’s with ya tonight anyway? You a’right?”

Truthfully, you were just exhausted. Only tagging along on this night out because you couldn’t resist him and his persistent begging. You longed for your sweet, soft cotton bedsheets and 3 fluffy pillows.

“I’m fine. Just tired. Not all of us have massive energy like you.” you reply to him.

He laughs. “Not massive energy, just tryin’ to drink away my problems and what not”

The bartender sits his beer down in front of him. Muttering a thank you, he turns towards me more, “Care to join me?”

You look at him with confusion. What problems could he possibly have? You decide to ignore his comment, you catching the bartender’s attention this time. “Martini, please.”

He smiles at you once again, proud of himself for enticing you to down drinks with him. “There’s ma girl!” he says.

An hour later, it’s past 1AM, and you were both far from sober. Standing outside the bar, holding onto each other for support, you tried to catch a cab home.

“Stooooooop!” He yells at a passing taxi. Far too loud but far too drunk to care. “Neva’ gonna stop for us, love.”

“Wanna just walk? I mean, my apartment is like 3 blocks from here.” You say. You’ve never been one to wait and the cold night air wasn’t helping the waiting situation.

“Sure, let’s gooooooo!” He yells again, grabbing onto your shoulder for leverage.

Him staying in your apartment was never a weird thing. He slept there often, almost more than he did as his own apartment. He even his own side of your bed.

Stumbling into the door, he throws his shoes off by the coffee tables and dives onto the couch. You chuckle at him and heads towards the kitchen for two bottled waters.

“Here drink this, you’ll need it in the morning.” handing him the bottle. He looks up at you with red, squinty eyes and says “What an angel you are.”

You roll your eyes, opening your own bottle to down the cold liquid. “What can I say?”

Suddenly he sits up, looking at you with the tiniest smile. “You look pretty.” reaching over to touch your cheek, “H’ve yeh always been this pretty?” his words slurring together.

You laugh. “Well, I have always had this face.” Without thinking, you lean into his touch. His hand moving more towards the nape of your neck. “Pretty much stuck with it.”

“It’s a nice face, I quite like it.” He trails his other hand down the bridge of your nose. “Like ya lips too. Always ‘ave.” His fingertips running over your cupid’s bow.

You stare at him, observing his actions. “Is that so?”

“D’ya remember when we were 12 and we kissed each other in my room?” He lets out a snort, “Tried to be sneaky because our mothers were just downstairs.”

You remember the memory quite well, it being one of your favorites. You were both so nervous but he did everything he could to make your nerves go away, cracking a joke before it happened to make you laugh. “I remember…”

“Don’t have to be sneaky now, do we?” His fingers now running along the length of your collarbone. Touching you so lightly, you could barely feel it. “We can kiss all we want, can’t we?”

“You are so drunk.” nervously laughing, you pull his hands away from your neck. “Don’t even know what you’re saying”

“I know exactly what i’m saying, love.” He now replaces his hands with his lips. The feeling of them, igniting something in you you’ve never felt before. “Know exactly what i’m thinking too.”

Scared of what his answer may be, you cautiously ask, “What are you thinking?”

Looking you dead on in the eyes, he answers with, “Thinking of how i’d love to make you cum, love.”

Choking on noise in your throat, you look away from his eyes. What is happening? What is going on right now?, you think. This can’t be happening.

You quickly realize that it is in fact happening when he grabs you by the nape of your neck once again and lightly brushes his soft lips against yours. “Let me kiss ya, please…..been dying to all night long.”

Had he really? Your best friend had been thinking about kissing you all night long?

You simply nod your head and his smooth lips are against yours in no time. His lips moving slow, taking his time. You move your hands into his soft hair, tugging a bit as he deepens the kiss.

“So pretty, love…..so, so pretty.” He says after pulling back for air. “Gonna let me kiss you all over? Make you feel good? Make you feel pretty?” His hands running across your chest in a silent plea for permission.

“God, yes. Yes. Make me feel pretty.” He moves his lips to your neck, while his hands lower to your belt buckle. Unraveling it from your belt loops, he pops the front button open, slipping his warm fingers into the band of your underwear.

“So wet already, ‘aven’t even touched ya yet.” You barely have time to be embarrassed before you feel his fingers on your most intimate place. Your best friend. With his fingers in your jeans.

“Don’t tease me, please.” You whine, desperate for him to touch you more. He grants your request, slipping a finger in, pumping slowly enough that you feel the ridges in his middle finger.

You moan. “Thought you were gonna kiss me?” He looks at you with a smug smile, adding another finger as he replies, “Where do ya want me to kiss? Tell me.”

Known for being teasing in general, you don’t know why you didn’t think he would enjoy being a tease in the bedroom. “You know where I want you to kiss me.”

He kisses your cheek. “Here?” He moves to kiss your lips. “Or here?” Moving down to your stomach, “Oh, I know. Right here?”

Bucking your hips towards his mouth, he places a kiss on your clothed center. Earning a moan, he looks up from between your thighs, “That’s the spot, innit?”

“Yessss” you moan, unable to hold it in. “Kiss me there, please.”

“Anything for you.” he says, pulling your dark jeans from your legs, your underwear long with it. He places your foot on his shoulder, kissing the inside of you thigh.

He takes a light lick at first, making you clench. The tip of his tongue giving attention to your sensitive folds, before lowering his head and attached his lips to your nub.

“Shiiiit” you moan once more, giving up at holding them in at this point. “That feels so good.”

He adds his finger back into the mix. Your muscles clenching at the feeling of such pleasure. You were close and he had barely started.

“You taste so good, wanna stay down here for days.” You meet his eyes, and you remind yourself to take a mental image of this moment for future references. He looks beautiful, he looks comfortable, he looks at home between your two thighs.

His finger speeding up, and his mouth attaching to your most sensitive area. You feel the familiar burn in your stomach approaching. “Fuck i’m gonna c-cum, oh my god.”

Sucking even harder against you, he spurs you on, “Come on, give it to me. Cum for me, beautiful.”

You eyes roll back in your head, your ears suddenly going deaf. You can’t hear him, all you can feel is the hard wave of your ecstasy crashing over you.

You feel him pet your forehead as you wind down from your high. Feeling his sweet kisses against your cheek. “Was I pretty?” you ask, grinning lightly.

“Fucking beautiful when you cum, love.” He says, grinning back. “So fucking pretty.”