please keep a positive thought for me

please be gentle with yourself. you’re trying. if it’s taking you longer than you thought to achieve something or get somewhere that’s okay. try not to compare yourself to others too much because not everyone gets to where they need to be right away. you’re alive that’s what matters. keep trying. you’ll get there.

Dear social justice bloggers:

Always remember that the people that harass you and make racist, misogynistic, ableist, transphobic, etc., comments on your posts are NOT the ones you’re trying to reach. Those are anti-SJ trolls and they have already made up their minds and will not listen to reason. 

It’s the people out there who are on the fence, who are still inquiring minds, the ones who most often don’t even leave a “note”, THEY are the people you’re trying to reach. In fact, any anti-SJ backlash you face is almost always a sign that you’ve hit a prejudiced nerve and are doing something right. 

So please do not lose hope. Keep on fighting for social justice no matter how many trolls surface from the nasty depths of the interwebz to try to stomp you out of existence. Bc the more they whine & moan, the more you can be sure that you are disrupting the white male supremacist (etc) status quo and promoting positive social change.

Personally, I plan to continue advocating for social justice for as long as I am able. I hope that you will all join me in solidarity!!!

Sometimes I still get these urges to contact you.
It feels like pure desperation…  Like my skin is crawling and my eyes are burning and I just want you back in my life so badly….
And I don’t know why? Where these sudden urges come from?
Why do I still do this, even after all this time?!
It’s like I'm getting out, I'm almost clear…. and then suddenly I feel like I would do absolutely anything just to have you back in my life again.
Even for a single moment…. Just to see you, talk to you - ANYTHING!
It’s like I don’t WANT to be out, I still want to be in love with you because in my mind, loving you equates to happiness and I just want that back… just for one second.
But I have to remind myself it’s not healthy. 
Loving you is not like it used to be - it's not real anymore.
It’s not happy, it’s not positive…. and it’s gone and I can’t go back.
All I can do is put the phone down, blink back the tears … and keep moving forward.
—  Ranata Suzuki
BTS’s reaction to you dancing with another man:

A/N: Aw, anon, your English is perfect, don’t worry ^ - ^ Thanks for stopping by and leaving a request <3 I’m sorry that this is embarrassingly late, I hope you enjoy it anyway~

Jin: “Why do you have to dance with him?” Jin pouts, as you crouch to lace up your trainers for dance practice.

“It’s only for one stage,” you soothe, standing up and closing the short distance between you and your boyfriend. A chaste peck on his lips has the frown smoothing into a smile.

“I know,” he says, “I just wish it was you and me together.”

Your face falls at this, as your mind seeps with concern. Jin always puts on a brave face for you, but you know there are a lot of feelings he keeps quiet to save you the worry. You worry anyway, of course, because that’s just who you are.

He picks up on your change of mood, and gives your cheeks a poke, forcing the corners of your lips up into a grin. “Hey, none of that,” he says, “If I practice enough maybe it’ll be me dancing with you next time.” To prove it, he takes a step back, and breaks into his famed traffic dance. It never fails to have you spluttering with laughter, and soon you’re joining in, flailing your limbs about in time to your own rhythm.

You collapse against each other, shaking with fits of the giggles. “Oh, boy, I don’t think the world is ready for our traffic dance collab,” you sigh, resting your forehead against Jin’s.

“Maybe not,” he murmurs, “Some day though. Some day.”

You chuckle. “Some day.” One more kiss, then it’s time to leave for practice.

Originally posted by jeonsshi

Yoongi: From his spot by the bar, Yoongi keeps his gaze rooted to you.

When you asked to go clubbing with him, this isn’t exactly what he had expected. In his mind, you had your arms wrapped around each other, floating in your own calm world, amidst the chaos of thumping music and flashing lights.

Yet here he is, sitting alone while you shake your hips, surrounded by a swarm of slobbering guys. The only thing keeping Yoongi calm is the diss track he’s composing in his head for the crowd of fawning men. He should write some of this stuff down - it’s gold.

But then he sees one of the guys getting too close, placing his hand on your waist, then sliding it lower. Oh, there’s no way in f-ck he’s getting away with that!

Without a clear idea of what he’s doing, Yoongi pushes himself away from the bar, ploughing through the swarm of sweaty bodies, and thudding a heavy hand into the man’s chest. “Hey, keep your hands off what doesn’t belong to you,” he snarls.

The man stumbles back, gives Yoongi a once over, and decides it’s not worth it. The crowd oozes away from the area, till you and Yoongi are left, invisible in the corner of the club.

“Um… thanks,” you smile sheepishly, “I had it under control though.”

“I know,” Yoongi says, “I just… couldn’t help myself. Creeps like that make me furious.”

You bite your lip. “Wanna get out of here?”


Originally posted by lethargicmin

Hoseok: Hoseok doesn’t mind. He really doesn’t mind… Well, okay, maybe a little… But it’s hard to watch you (the love of his life) dancing (the second love of his life) with another man. It should be him leading you as you follow the complicated steps, that cute, concentrated look on your face, that he’d just love to kiss away. But instead, it’s Jimin by your side. And seeing his hands on your waist has something sprouting in Hoseok’s heart. A seed of… jealousy? It isn’t a feeling he’s used to – it’s odd and constricting, crushing him from the inside, and forcing the air out of his lungs in a long, loud sigh.

“Hey, honey, what’s wrong?” you sink down beside him on the dance studio floor, cheeks pink from practice.

“Nothing,” Hoseok forces a smile, which you see through with one blink and one shake of your head:

“Come on, you can tell me anything, Hoseok.”

“He’s jealous because you’re dancing with me.” Jimin sends a Cheshire cat grin your way.

Hoseok doesn’t respond, just picks at the laces of his shoes, and then mutters, “You guys should watch your footwork at the beginning of the second verse. It gets a little sloppy. Yours especially Jimin.”

Jimin laughs this off. “Oh, I was just about to pack up for the day… But if you think we need improvement, maybe we should practice for another couple of hours. What do you think, Y/N?”

Hoseok’s ears turn red at Jimin’s teasing. “No, on second thoughts, I think you’ve done enough for one night.” He slides his hand into yours. “Let’s get out of here, what do you say?” A nod from you, accompanied by a kiss on the nose is all he needs to perk up.

Originally posted by asdfghobi

Namjoon: Namjoon has decided to start going to the gym more often. This has nothing to do with the fact that you’re now getting dance lessons from Jimin. It’s just a weird coincidence that he wants to life more weights after hearing you wax lyrical about your dance partner’s body. (“And then Jimin taught me how to do lifts. He’s so strong. Have you seen his arms? Wow.”) It isn’t that Namjoon’s self-conscious, but the thought of you spewing praises over him like you do with Jimin is certainly a good motivation to exercise.

Finally, he’s in a position to say: “Hey babe, check this out,” and show off his arms, in close-fitting tank tops. This is a sure-fire way to keep your eyes trained on him, and no one else.

“Have you been working out?” you ask, eyeing him as he flexes.

“Yep,” he pops the ‘p’, looking pleased with himself.

The frown that clouds your features is not the response he was hoping for. “Is this because of me and Jimin?” you probe, lips thinning into a straight line.

Namjoon’s smile fades away. “Maybe.”

You shake your head sadly. “Baby, you know that no matter what I say about the other members, or any other man for that matter, you’re the only one I’ll want.”

Namjoon did know that. But it’s always nice to hear you say it.

Originally posted by hossiki

Jimin: Seeing you at dance practice with Jungkook had given Jimin an idea.

That’s why, when you come home from work that evening, you’re greeted by a trail of rose petals at the door. A smile curling your lips, you leave your bag in the hall, and follow the scatterings of pink and crimson to the living room where Jimin’s standing in a suit, a flower in one hand.

“What’s all this?” you ask, breath releasing in something between a gasp and a sigh.

“I’m teaching you how to ballroom dance,” he announces, eyes scrunching up as a smile stretches his lips. Crossing the room, he flicks on the stereo, and a few strains of stringed instruments start up. “Ever since I saw you dancing with Jungkook, I couldn’t stop feeling jealous, which is stupid… I know,” he goes on to explain, holding out his hands, which you grab onto, pulling him in until he’s no more than an inch from you, “I decided that teaching you some of the most romantic dances I know would cure me of the green-eyed monster.”

You duck your head, gently bumping your forehead against his chest. “You know you never have to worry about me spending time with other guys.”

“I know. But I worry anyway. Since you’re the most precious thing I have.” These are the last words he murmurs before the music drowns all else out, and you get carried away in a flurry of melodies and the golden sparks in your boyfriend’s eyes.

Originally posted by itschiminie

Taehyung: Seeing you dance with another boy makes Taehyung feel… weird. In the scattered rainbow of disco ball lights he can see your smile growing wide while this guy – who is he, anyway? – spins you around. With those simple gestures, Taehyung’s heart twists and turns - a writhing dragon, growling to break free from his rib cage.

There’s only one thing to do.

He strides towards you, pushing through the crowd until he’s by your side, where he feels at home. Then he does the only thing he knows how to do. Making you smile: his specialty. As the music picks up, he moves along with it, limps flapping, head bobbing.

Catching his movements, you grin, and seeing that he’s made you happy, Taehyung keeps on going, exaggerating his movements, until you’re bent over with laughter, the other guy completely forgotten. Then you take Taehyung’s hand, and begin to sway with him, lighting up a fire inside him. This is how it should be. Only him. Only you. And no one in between.

Originally posted by jitamin

Jungkook: Smile. That’s all Jungkook has to do. Smile as he watches you practice with Hoseok for set rehearsal, allowing his heart be pricked like a pincushion, again and again. Smile as your eyes scrunch up, gracing your dance partner with their warmth. He knows it doesn’t mean anything, and that at the end of the day, when the sun sinks low in the sky, it’ll be you and him going home together, hands intertwined. But waiting for that moment is torturous. Just a few more hours, he reminds himself. Just a few more sets of sixty minutes. He’ll count every one.

You glance his way, as the managers call time-out. Slipping from the group, you run over to him, and satisfy his need with a tight bear hug.

“Hey,” you whisper.

He grins into your shoulder. “Hey.”

You break apart before too many curious eyes dart your way. It’s not a secret that you’re dating, but you’d rather not parade it around in front of everyone. There’ll be plenty of time for all the needed touching, kissing, loving when you’re alone. For now, you give Jungkook’s hand a squeeze that promises: “soon”. Then you’re heading back for another rehearsal.

It’s enough for Jungkook. He’ll keep on smiling till you’re back in his arms again.

Originally posted by jeonbase

(I did not make these gifs!)

the man from u.n.c.l.e. (2015) sentence starters

tw disordered eating, alcohol, gendered slurs, violence

❝ you look important… or at least your suit does. ❞
❝ statements like that can get you into a lot of trouble around here. ❞
❝ make yourself comfortable, why don’t you.  ❞
❝ you’re wasting your time. i haven’t seen him for 18 years. ❞
❝ if i had 15 minutes, we’d drink tea, eat biscuits; i’d talk, you’d laugh, and we’d be on our way. ❞
❝ are they still following us? ❞
❝ when you hear something that sounds like a gunshot, drive. ❞
❝ you can’t be serious. ❞
❝ excuse me dear, i just need to use your back door. ❞
❝ hug me. ❞
❝ what’s that? it smells like feet. ❞
❝ how long was your prison sentence? ❞
❝ don’t ever make the calamitous error of mistaking my deliberate short-sightedness for blindness. ❞
❝ look at ‘em. merrily oblivious as we labor tirelessly to save them from extinction and not even a ‘thank-you.’ ❞
❝ don’t kill your partner on your first day. ❞
❝ i’m sure you understand humiliation better than most. ❞
❝ my woman would never wear anything like that. ❞
❝ smoothly done. ❞
❝ you can’t put a paco rabanne belt on a patou. ❞
❝ and remember… take it like a pussy. ❞
❝ not very good at this whole ‘subtlety’ thing, are you? ❞
❝ either you start to look like you know what you’re doing, or i’m out of here. ❞
❝ would you like a bigger glass? ❞
❝ no fun dancing by yourself; i need a partner. ❞
❝ don’t you make me put you over my knee. ❞
❝ so you don’t want to dance… but you do want to wrestle. ❞
❝ i like my women strong. ❞
❝ now we are engaged. again. ❞
❝ i am neither a goat, nor your sister, so… get your hands off me. ❞
❝ i’m okay, i think. ❞
❝ i’ve been on a diet, my dear. just caviar and champagne for three weeks. ❞
❝ you see, each one of us has a destiny… and i believe i can help you with yours. ❞
❝ you can see the future? ❞
❝ i can see us having lunch tomorrow. alone. ❞
❝ darling, time to go. ❞
❝ they had it coming. ❞
❝ you need to control your temper. ❞
❝ i think he’s an athletic, good-looking gazillionaire, who’s offered me a job and made advances towards me. ❞
❝ i quite like him. ❞
❝ i don’t know what you’re upset about, you’re not even my fiance! ❞
❝ the thing is… i work better alone. ❞
❝ i’m not leaving. ❞
❝ and what, exactly, did you do to him? ❞
❝ just shut up and watch me work. ❞
❝ you’re trembling. ❞
❝ it’s going to be okay. ❞
❝ i’ll be close by. ❞
❝ help yourself to a drink. ❞
❝ so sorry to keep you waiting. ❞
❝ i thought i was doing so well. ❞
❝ the fault doesn’t lie in your performance. ❞
❝ she seemed so innocent. ❞
❝ i’m so sorry i can’t stay to finish you off myself. ❞
❝ man has only two masters in this world, and their names are pain and fear. ❞
❝ i never thought i’d say this, but i’m actually quite pleased to see you. ❞
❝ it’s okay. i would have done exactly the same thing in your position. ❞

bts as types of roasts
  • namjoon: Scientists say the universe is made up of neutrons, protons and electrons. They forgot to mention morons.
  • seokjin: If I had a face like yours I'd sue my parents.
  • yoongi: Please, keep talking. I always yawn when I am interested.
  • hoseok: Which sexual position produces the ugliest children? Ask your mother.
  • jimin: I thought of you today. It reminded me to take the garbage out.
  • taehyung: When you were born, the doctor came out to the waiting room and said to your dad, "I'm very sorry. We did everything we could. But he pulled through."
  • jungkook: The only way you'll ever get laid is if you crawl up a chicken's ass and wait.

                                 THE ARCHANGEL NEWORK

As I promised two days ago, I would create an official network tag to recruit angel lovers from the fandom so sharing the love for our smol lost children would be easier to do. Keep in mind that this network is for all angels, and not just the fierce and mighty archangels. We gotta give ‘em all some attention.


  • You will be able to share your love for angels with other people in the fandom and perhaps make friends with them.
  • Gain more notes on your posts, hopefully.
  • If you are an artist, or a graphics maker, or a giffer, or fic writer, or a meta writer… you will be able to share all of your amazing work of the angels with everyone on the #thearchangelnetwork tag. Our celestial babies need more love!


  • Anything with the angels is obviously allowed.
  • Anything Angel/Hunter or Angel/Angel is definitely allowed.
  • Anything that isn’t about the angels is not allowed.
  • You can profess your love for any of the angels as much as you like, however if there is one you dislike please keep those thoughts to yourself. People will be looking through the tag to look for positivity towards their favorite babies, and we don’t wanna make them upset!
  • It’s everyone’s little happy place. In short, any hate or rash criticism towards the angels is not allowed.


  • Reblog this post to spread the word. Likes only count as bookmarks.
  • Send me an ask to tell me that you are interested in joining the network and give me your favorite quote of one of the angels that you love.
  • Once I’ve replied, you’ll be an official member of the network. :)
  • Put a * in your ask if you want me to reply privately.
Birthday Wish || Jeon Jungkook

Genre: Smut, Fluff 

Words: 2,555

 A/N: ayo! I’m such a hoe. Fun fact about me, jungkook is like a dirty little secret to me. I will tell everyone that he’s not my type but dear god, whatta man. 😍 fun fact #2, I’m still a big hoe. If you want something, go ahead and request it! 

P.s.- thank you guys so much for loving my Jimin smut xD also, thank you to @flakandforay for putting it on the weekly recommendation post! ^-^ *blushes profusely*  

 - admin courtneycat 


Originally posted by jeonify

 "Happy birthday day dear Y/N,“ Hoseok’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you closer to the cake, "Happy birthday to you! Wooo!” The cake was pink, with white frosted lettering- hopefully chocolate inside. You peaked a glance at Jin and gave him a mental ‘thank you’ because you knew he was the one who made the cake. He winked back at you. 

 "Y/N! Make a wish! You have to make a wish!“ Taehyung yelled from across the table. His boxy smile was contagious and you couldn’t help but smile back at the boy. Closing your eyes you thought about all the things you could wish for. Money, love, success, etc. Hmm. The possibilities are endless, really. You opened your eyes back up and had made eye contact with the boy seated across from you. 

 Jeon Jungkook. 

Keep reading

Soulmate AU: You Share Thoughts with Your Soulmate

Breathe in. Breathe out. Focus on how it moves, where the flow of energy goes, where it exits. Then, allow every thought to blur – 

Shuffle, shuffle.

– until all outside noises begin to fade –

Deep sigh.

–and only then does your inward journey of meditation begi–

Oh, don’t you dare look back! Just keep your eyes on me, I said, ‘You’re holding back’, she said –

“Please don’t take any offense to this, (Y/N), but please shut up,” Stephen muttered, his growing exasperation quite evident. He kept his meditating position intact, including keeping his eyes shut. He had no reason to open them. Not when he knew that you were currently slouching in a poor attempt to mimic his figure.

Keep reading

1. Clearing the misunderstanding

“No, no, no! I need that back, please!”

But Connor’s already storming off, and Evan… Evan can’t let him take it. He can’t. What if he shows Zoe? What if he shows the whole school? No. No. He can’t. He can’t let that happen.

It’s the fear that pushes him to run after Connor and grab his arm, pleading for him to stop. And when Connor twists around and yanks his arm out of Evan’s grip with a vicious, “Get the hell off me!”, Evan won’t deny that he flinches back and almost runs off. If it were any other situation, he’d retreat and let Connor go. Let it go. But the panic of imagining how much worse this could get if he did keeps Evan right where he is, and he ends up pouring out a rambling, stuttering explanation.

“Please, I really need that back,” He says, voice wavering embarrassingly while his hands flail in nonsensical gestures. “It really wasn’t meant for you. Like, at all. I have a therapist… and they said, they wanted me to write a letter to myself. You know, like write positive thoughts and all. And that’s supposed to make me feel better. A psych yourself up sorta thing. But like, it didn’t work. It doesn’t work. Because… haha, because you know, it really hasn’t been good so far? It’s been pretty bad. I mean,  you shoved me on the first day back. Not… not that it’s your fault! I don’t blame you! Like, who likes it when someone’s laughing at them. I sure don’t. But I wasn’t, by the way. Laughing at you, I mean. And… um, where was I going with this? The letter! Yes. I have to bring it to my session, it was an assignment. So um… if I could get it back…”

He trails off with an awkward laugh, eyes flickering down to stare at the ground and face burning in shame. He’s so screwed.

Connor’s disgusted scoff is enough to tell him he’s ruined all chances making it out of this with any semblance of dignity or a even lack of animosity from the guy.

“Therapists, huh?”

Evan nods. Words aren’t doing so great for him, afterall.

“They think a fucking letter is going to do anything? What a load of shit.”

Again, Evan nods.

“They always think they know what’s best. They don’t even think that we all got our own ways of dealing with shit. Or that things that work for others isn’t going to work for us. You. They won’t work for you. It doesn’t help, right?” Connor asks.

Evan hesitates, then shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs. “It doesn’t help.”

“But you gotta show something that makes them think you’re doing better?”


There’s a loaded silence. Heavy and uncomfortable. He can feel Connor staring him down, but he has no idea what the guy is thinking.

“Here, then,” says Connor, and then he tears the letter in half. Right in front of Evan eyes. And he folds it over, and tears it again. Evan can’t believe what he’s seeing, his mouth opened in dumbfounded shock. Connor looks back at him with a raised brow, like Evan’s the one being weird. “Look, don’t show them this. Show them your cast instead.”

Looking down at his cast, all Evan can see is the glaringly, obvious blocky letters of ‘CONNOR’ scrawled over it. He’s sure the confusion he feels is not at all subtle.

“Tell them you made a friend. So you forgot about the assignment. Or you were busy,” Connor explains. “It’ll look a ton better than that sorry excuse of a letter you wrote.” He holds his hand out and drops the shredded remains of the letter into Evan’s hand. “Or don’t do it. I don’t care. It’s your fucking life.”

“Oh…” says Evan, fingers clasping over the pieces of paper in a loose grip. “Th… thanks.” It’s a good plan. A good alternative. One that won’t make his mum disappointed. But does he really want to lie?

'Haven’t you, already?’ says a voice in his head. He glances back at his cast and thinks the voice does have a point.

“Guess I’ll see you around then. Later.”

He looks back up to see Connor already walking away. Of course, he wasn’t expecting a friendlier goodbye. He’s lucky he didn’t get punched or something. Thank goodness for small graces, huh?

“Th… thank you.” It startles Evan to realise he’s even calling out to Connor. But he supposes the guy’s helped him out. So he should be grateful. He raises his broken arm. “For this. Thanks.”

It’s possible he’s imagining it. But he swears he sees Connor look a little less murderous.

And then, the impossible happens.

Connor smiles at him.

“Evan, right?”

Evan nods emphatically. Maybe… maybe this isn’t going to be such a bad day afterall.

But then Connor’s smile drops, replaced with a menacing glare.

“Evan, stay the hell away from my sister.”

Yup, this is not going to be a good day.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6)

Maybe You and Harry Break Up (Part 2) 

Read part 1 here!

Now maybe it’s a month or so later of not seeing him and you’ve slowly stopped crying everyday and have only broken down once in public from seeing his album cover on a tube advert. You’d like to say that’s good progress, considering how you’re still very much in love with him. But it continues to be very, very painful. Harry’s hard to avoid, with his songs on the radio and his movie trailer on the telly and the memory of his touch on your skin and the ghost of his kiss on your lips.

Keep reading

A Misunderstanding

Pairing: You x Jimin

Summary: Your best friend Yoongi finally got you to expose your crush on Jimin and now he’s determined to play matchmaker but you aren’t having any of it - not until Jimin starts believing you hate him.

Genre: ANGST 

Word Count: 2336

Authors Note: so it’s been awhile since I’ve written anything because of school and work but I’m back now! Hooray! Also, feel free to send in requests!

Originally posted by gotjhope

[text message received at 6:43pm from Min Yoongi] “come over”

[text message sent at 6:45pm from you] “no”

[text message received at 6:45pm from Min Yoongi] “jimin is here”

[text message sent at 6:46pm from you] “That is exactly why I’m not coming”

Instead of a the buzz of a text message notification, the ring of a phone call played through your phone. You looked at who was calling and wasn’t surprised to see Yoongi’s name. You sighed and reluctantly answered, “I’m not coming over, Yoongi.”

“Don’t lie to me Y/N. You want to.” Yoongi demanded. “No. Ever since I let my crush on him slip you won’t stop insisting I come over.” He had done this regularly for the past few weeks and it was beginning to become tiring. “Stop trying to get us together.” You added, peeking around the corner to see if your roommate Sunyoung was anywhere near. She fed off gossip and if she overheard she wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut about it. “I knew you had a crush on him forever. You only confirmed it.” He insisted and you rolled your eyes. “Don’t lie, Yoongi. No you didn’t.” How could he? It wasn’t like you were obvious or anything.

Keep reading


Root + Shaw existing

anonymous asked:

May I get some Kylux wing au?

Hux isn’t sure how long he’s been in captivity.

He’d tried to keep track of time but after his kidnappers had injected him with something to make his body limp and unresponsive to his mind’s cries to move, Hux had lost.

He’s held in an oversized bird cage, round, with a mocking perch suspended above him, seeds being thrown at him every day in jest of a real meal.

The floor of his cage is cold as he sits back against the bars, body shivering, wrists cuffed together, and the cuts on his skin sting and bleed. But the worst pain comes from his wings being tied together. In four separate places along the top bones of his glorious grey wings, metal chains have been fastened around them both, keeping them locked together in an unfathomably uncomfortable position—forced and stretched out behind him—but regardless of how Hux strains and screams, the ties do not loosen.

As best as he can manage, he shrinks back into his cage, face buried in his arms.

“Look, Boss,” one of Hux’s captors clangs against the front of the bars. “Our little birdie looks sad. Should we take him out for a fly?”

Please, Hux thinks, though he doesn’t move. Let me go.

The thought of being able to spread his wings, feel the wind blow through his ashen feathers, be able to fold them back properly and have his officers admire his impressive appendages makes Hux tremble. He wants to go back to the Finalizer, back home, back to Kylo.

“Nah, leave him be,” a different voice replies. “He’s going to be let out today. But for a much better reason.”

The low chuckle at the end of the man’s sentence makes Hux looks up to see The Boss—a tall human male with a heavily scarred face—staring through the bars of his cage at him, right through him. With a loud click of the man’s fingers, four portly men emerge from behind him and enter Hux’s cage, chains in their hands.

Even with his wings and wrists tied, Hux puts up a noble fight.

He kicks, he bites, but his malnourishment causes him to be restrained much too easily, and chains find themselves around his knees and ankles, one around his neck like a collar for no other reason than it can.

He’s dragged from his birdcage, trying his best to flap his wings but the metal chains only rattle against his struggles; the sound of his captivity.

The room he’s taken to is large, with a large window in the roof where Hux gets a good look at the purple sky of dusk before he’s pinned down to the floor, the chains on his wrists and ankles fastened to hooks on the ground.

“Give him the shot,” the boss says. “Secure the assets to the ground.”

Hux can’t help but whine when hands are suddenly all over his wings, a pinprick pain in between his shoulder blades and suddenly all feelings in his wings are lost. He manages to turn his head, cheek resting on the floor, to see his wings being unchained but immediately pinned down again, clasps fastening around the arched bones of his wings.

“Now, boss?”

“No. Let’s wait for the feeling to come back to the little thing, hm?”

“Bastard,” Hux mutters, groaning as the sensation returns to him; and the feelings of the clasps in his wings burns.

The boss is suddenly kneeling down beside Hux, brushing his hair from his face.

“Ready to be plucked, my pretty bird?”

Hux’s heart sinks, stops.

“No, don’t, stay back!” Hux yells but only agitates the fresh wounds in his wings. He’s stuck, he’s trapped.

“Hush, little hatchling. Grey feathers are a rarity, you know?” His cold hand strokes along the length of one of Hux’s wings, and he whines. “White and black, boring. Your beautiful silvery, dusky feathers will fetch me a pretty price. Now. Lie still. This is going to hurt.”

Hux growls in defiance—though he realises it emerges as more of a sob—when the man plucks the first feather from him. It’s a big one, long and perfect, waved in front of Hux’s face in mockery.

“Don’t cry, birdie. You’re going to make me rich. My little pet.” He strokes Hux’s cheek, plucking another feather free with his other hand. “I wonder, is it true that beings with wings are better sex partners than those without? Heightened senses, not to mention the sight of those magnificent wings stretched out when I make you climax so fucking hard—”

But the rest of the man’s sentence is drowned out by the sound of wings being spread, opened defensively with tremendous strength, wind rushing past everyone in the room.

Take another feather from him. I dare you.”

Ren. It’s Ren, Hux’s mind echoes that same phrase, turning his head to the door to see Kylo standing before them, white wings stretched out in intimidation. Kylo’s wingspan isn’t the largest Hux has seen, but stars, he casts a striking image; black robes, scarred face and stark white wings flanking him, arched to block out the light from behind him.

The boss scoffs, and Hux sees his hand moving to pull another one of his feathers from his wing—but the pain of the pluck never comes.

Instead, the man is thrown backwards with the rest of his hulking posse, cast back against the wall, hitting the brick with a sickening crack.

“Are you alright?” Kylo says softly, kneeling down next to Hux, waving his hand to unfasten the binds around his arms and legs, but the Knight uses his hands to release Hux’s injured wings from their clasps.

“Fine,” Hux exhales, relishing in the feeling of having Kylo’s soft fingers against his feathers again. “Just get me out of here.”

Kylo hums in response, apologising a few times when Hux groans in pain as he’s freed, able to move his wings of his own accord for the first time in a long time. The appendages ache as he spreads them wide, pain radiating down his back and, as he stands, Kylo steadies him.

“How many did they take?”

Hux shrugs. “Only a few. So you showing up a few moments earlier would’ve been ideal.”

“You’re welcome,” Kylo says and Hux rolls his eyes, but he falters immediately.

“I thought I’d never be free,” Hux says, wings folding in behind him to rest. “I thought I’d die here.”

“Wouldn’t happen,” Kylo says, cupping Hux’s cheek. “I promised I’d never allow anyone to clip your wings, Armitage. Not your father, not Snoke, not anyone.”

Kylo smiles at him, pulling him into his chest, using his white wings to engulf the both of them in a warm and feathery embrace, protected. Hux feels safe.

Jaime Imagine...

((I’ve been wanting to write this one FOREVER and I finally got some inspiration to do so! It didn’t come out quite how I wanted it to, BUT I hope everyone likes it!))

Word Count: 1,617

Warning: I don’t think there are any…mentions of moans? OH…something some may seem as a cliffhanger!

Keep reading

Just Don’t

I’m sure there’s already probably a post out there about this but here’s a list of things not to say to someone with a chronic illness:

1. “But you don’t look sick.” - I read this article about a girl who’s really sick with a lot of different chronic illnesses, and she said that if she had a dollar for every time she’s been told this she could afford the various surgeries she needs to survive. I’ve said it before, it’s a blessing and a curse to not look as horrible as we feel. On good days, I like to pretend that I’m normal and I can blend in. On the bad days, I hear this a thousand times. Do you think that by telling me this I magically feel better? Because that’s not how this works. Y’all are lucky I don’t look how I feel because you’d run screaming. The reason this offends us is because it comes off like you’re not believing us. Please don’t do it.

2. “You’re too young to have that.” - Thank you. I’ll just tell that to my body. Did it fix me? No? Shocking. Again, this is offensive because it seems like you’re not believing us. Please don’t do it.

3. “At least it’s not cancer.” - Omgggggg. This one pisses me off like no other. There’s a post about this I’ve seen on here and the best line is something like “Who told you it was okay to rank suffering?” <——- READ IT AGAIN. That is never okay. You come off as so ignorant when this comment is made. Just because you actually know something about cancer doesn’t mean you know anything about how it would compare to my illness and it’s so ignorant to even try to compare them!!!! Did you know that the most commonly used drugs to treat autoimmune diseases are chemo drugs? And we stay on those for LIFE. Also, what’s one of the most feared things for a cancer survivor? A relapse. This is like waking up to a relapse every day of our lives. This is offensive because it’s ignorant. You know nothing about my illnesses and yet you’re going to try to compare it to something else and the fact that you’re trying to compare two different types of suffering when you know nothing about the one is just wrong. It’s just wrong to even try to say one person is suffering more than another. Don’t do it. —–> this section also includes the “this person I know had cancer and is living an inspiring adventurous life” people. Just stop. Honestly. Do you think I’m just sitting here bitching and not trying my hardest to survive? Do you think I enjoy this? Do you seriously think that if I had any way to live like that that I would still be sitting here? Omg. Please don’t do it.

4. “My aunt’s sister’s cousin’s dog’s brother’s friend has that and she’s fine.” - I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve heard this shit. Okay the dog part is exaggerated but not much! Like please, tell me how this person you’ve maybe seen twice in your life and maybe even talked to once is just doing fine. Did you ask them about their illness? Did you ask them how long it took for them to get diagnosed and what life was like during that time? Did you ask how many medications they’re on to keep them going in a semi-normal life? Did you ask them how they’re actually feeling underneath that smile? Did you ask them if they’re going to cry when they get home from being in so much pain from spending a day pretending to be normal? You didn’t? Didn’t think so. Again, ignorant. Please don’t do it.

5. “You just need to be more positive.” - Seriously? Please, tell me more. Explain to my joints that since I’m thinking happy thoughts they shouldn’t be aching any more. Explain to my lungs that I should be able to breathe now. You know, I know that being positive is something I need to work on and that it can help me with my overall happiness on good days. But this is offensive because you imply that I’m not trying hard enough and that this is a simple illness that can vanish if I put in enough effort. Like I’m not doing everything I possibly can. Like I’m just being lazy. Being positive is not going to change the nights I spend alone in too much pain to sleep. Ignorant. Please don’t do it.

6. “Are you sure it’s not all in your head?” - Man…this is the worst. Like there is no way that this comment could be helpful. You are indicating that you don’t believe the person speaking and that you aren’t listening to anything they’re telling you. If somebody is telling you about their illnesses they’re telling you about real shit. Shut up and listen. Plus, this also bothers me because it’s derogatory towards anyone with mental illnesses. So what if it was in my head? Does that make it any less real? If you care about somebody does it matter where their pain is coming from? More ignorance. Please don’t do it.

I think that most people just don’t really grasp the reality of the situation and the fact that you can get sick and never get better. I think most people honestly think they’re helping in some way but these things make us feel even more isolated and make us want to reach out to people even less. Saying these things shows us that you know nothing about our lives and that you aren’t listening to what we’re saying. Because in all honesty, none of these things have anything to do with our own individual situations. So if you really care about the person who’s opening up to you about their illness, listen to what they say about what their life is really like. You can ask questions we love it when someone shows a genuine interest but don’t say ignorant things. If you don’t know what someone is going through, then don’t pretend like you do. Don’t compare one case to another, don’t compare one disease to another, don’t judge us by our appearance or our age, don’t make assumptions about our mental health or our mindset. There are so many stigmas against us anyways so if somebody you care about is trying to inform you please listen. Thank you.

5 years of struggling from anorexia- I thought I’d be stuck forever, I thought I wanted to be stuck forever. I thought that I’d only be happy if I was sickly underweight. I had a fear of recovering. Here I am now, I found my hobby, I am who I was before. I can have fun now. I’m not always crabby over everything. The amount of opportunities I missed out on because of my disorder. I can’t express how much I love being able to get out of bed and have energy. Being dizzy SUCKED; I don’t miss it one bit. Or my headaches. If you’re scared to recover, take it from the girl that thought she never would, never wanted to. You’re either forced into recovery or it’s in your hands. It’s your decision. Yes I understand the disorder isn’t, but it’s in your hands to get better. Your hair won’t fall out, your skin will be beautiful, your eyes will glow, your smile will light up the room. Others will look up to you for being a badass. Life won’t be dull. Please get help or message someone who you think could help you. Don’t keep telling yourself you can’t get better… like I said, take it from the girl who thought she’d never get better. I thank god all of the time I’m not in that rut anymore. Everything is happy and positive. Believe me, that’s what you want. Chose life!!

An Evening Away

2165 Words. One-Shot. Rated PG.

Pretzel Week - Fake Dating Trope in the Enchanted Forest

One drink. It was all Emma needed to steel her nerves. Pulling the hood up over her long plait of blonde hair, she ducked into the small tavern nearest the castle. It was a seafarer’s haunt, so she knew the patrons would largely be those passing through Misthaven on their way to other destinations. She swept in through the door and made her way past a crowd of burly sailors before settling at a small table nearest the window. She turned her back to the outside and looked around for the nearest serving wench.

“What can I get you?” A pretty young girl asked, swinging her skirts up against the table as she collected the tankards left by the previous occupants.

Emma kept her head down and hood on to avoid being recognized. “An ale, please,” she slid a shiny silver coin across the table. The girl picked up the coin and hurried off to the bar to place the order. Looking up, Emma watched the girl go before relaxing into her chair. The day had been long and arduous.

Negotiations were taking place amongst her father and the heads of several other kingdoms. Emma was required to sit in on the talks, considering she seemed to be the largest bargaining chip King David had to his name. Her future was up in the air. She would be sold off to a single King or Prince; whoever presented the largest bid. No matter how much she begged her father to reconsider an arranged marriage, he always gave her a painful smile and promised he would find the best suitor possible.

It was maddening for Emma, especially given that her late mother had spent every night in her youth telling her own beautiful love story. Queen Snow had promised the Princess an opportunity to find True Love and yet, her opportunity had never come.

“You’re somethin’ special, aren’t ya?” Came a gruff voice from the corner, snapping Emma from her thoughts. She glanced in the general direction of the sound before looking back down to the table and shifting her position to show disinterest.

“Aww, come on now,” the voice continued. There was a scraping of wooden chair legs against cobblestone floor, and heavy footsteps made their way toward her. Emma closed her eyes tightly and swallowed hard. Confrontation was absolutely the last thing she wanted. “Give us a smile, would you?” The man continued, placing two large hands on the table in front of her.

“Please, just leave me be,” she sighed, keeping her head low. “I’m not looking to be social with strangers.”

Keep reading

29 - ‘Your’ POV

Request: van calling you up drunk cause he got some lies to tell please love you xx

This request made me giggle at first when I saw it, then it stumped me. I was unsure of how to portray Van in this. First thought was to portray him as an ass and a player, but then I realised I just couldn’t do it. That’s not him at all. Wanna keep it positive about Van on here, you know? So even though this fic is a bit ~emotional~ it’s better than a shitty Van lol. Hope you don’t mind that it’s not explicitly about the request, but it is incorporated.

Hope it’s okay anon, thank you for your request hun and I love you too xx 

Tried a new layout with this one! Kinda goes between past and present??


The lies: (present)

“Heyyy y/n it’s me Van, obviously…pick up your fuckin’ phone. Anyway just callin’ ‘cause you know, I’m doin’ fine and good and I’m real happy and I think you made a good choice yeah? I don’t need you. Look after yourself,” he slurred into the phone before the message cut off abruptly. You’d replayed it over and over, each time your heart breaking a little bit more. He sounded like he was trying to be angry, but he wasn’t, he was just devastated. 

It’d been just over two weeks since you’d broken up with him. You knew he was hurting, just as you were. But this? This was new. Van had never done this. He was broken, angry, lashing out. Every message he left was the same misery-filled, drunken drawl.

“Bec. He’s drinking the pain away, calling me up drunk with these emotional messages. I have to call him back, see if he’s okay?” You said to your best friend through tears. Van didn’t phone you up drunk, Van didn’t get like this. 

“Y/n you can’t talk to him yet. It’s too soon. Besides, he’s clearly lying,” she replied, you could tell she was sick of your boyfriend - now ex-boyfriend drama. 


“Yeah. That boy loves you like the Earth loves the sun. He’s drunk and calling you up with all these lies he’s told himself to get by. Give him time. You won’t move on if you just give in to him.”

There it was again. Those two words. “Move on”. How could you move on from Van McCann? You probably couldn’t, but you had to try. Breaking up with him was one of the hardest things you’d ever done. But being without him was harder. People didn’t understand why you did it. ‘He loves you so much though?’ they’d say and you couldn’t deny it. You also couldn’t list a single thing he’d done wrong that would warrant the end of a relationship. But long distance like you were doing, a few weeks together, a few months apart…was so fucking difficult. It was draining you. No matter how much you loved Van, you had to put your wellbeing first. You had to get out. He deserved better, someone who could cope. 

When you told Van, the first thing he’d said was that he’d quit the band. That broke your heart even more. He put all of it on himself. 

You knew he was getting sick of all the phone calls in the middle of the night where he’d have to calm you down from a panic attack or convince you over and over that you were his one and only. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, your anxiety just took hold sometimes. Lately, that had become all the time. You were turning the relationship toxic and you hated yourself for it. You couldn’t love Van properly if you hated yourself. You told yourself over and over that you did the right thing, that you’d feel better in time. You told Van the same thing in an attempt to make him see your perspective. He just blamed himself for it which you couldn’t bare. 

His words “I’m real happy” and “I don’t need you” bounced around your head like a fly trapped in a jar. The way his voice broke, the way it shook and his tongue dripping with alcohol even over the phone. What had you done to him? Of course he wasn’t happy. You just hoped that one day he would be. 

You went to sleep that night still in shock that Van called you up drunk, so hurt that he was spitting lies. You pictured him stumbling through the streets seeing double, the only thought on his mind was you. He’d already tried to convince you to take him back, now he was trying to convince you he was fine, that you’d done the right thing. The lies were for you; so you’d feel better about what you’d done. He still loved you and once he saw that he wasn’t going to get you back, he wanted to make you feel safe again, the way he always had done; now just safe in your decision to be apart. The lies were a mix of emotions and it killed you to hear it. The worst part was what Bec had said: that he was trying to convince himself they were true. 

Once Bec had gone to sleep, you caved in and called Van’s phone. You wondered if he’d taken the red heart out of your contact name. As the dial tone echoed in your ear, your heart rate sped up like crazy. You broke up with him. You should not be doing this. Every little voice in your head screamed at you to hang up the phone but just as you were about to slam the red button, you heard:


“Larry,” you squeaked. You weren’t sure if you were relieved or disappointed that Van didn’t answer. 

“He’s awful y/n. Passed out in the back of the bus drunk. I’ve seen him go through shit before but this is something else. He thinks it’s all his fault. He just wants you to be okay,” Larry blurted, his voice full of sorrow and concern for his best friend. Your heart cracked. It wasn’t his fault at all.

“It’s not his fault,” you said quietly, your hands shaking.

“What do I do y/n?” Larry questioned desperately. You knew a lot was at stake. Not just for you and Van and Larry but for the band, the fans. Everyone. 

“I don’t know,” you responded, so softly and so full of sadness that you thought perhaps he didn’t hear. 

“Are you okay?” Larry asked kindly after a moment’s silence. 



The relationship: (Past)

It was Van’s last day home so you decided to stay in, just the two of you. You didn’t move far between bed, the couch and the shower all day; laughing, cuddling, making love. You made him tea and toast and talked about how one day you’d have kids to do all that for you. 

You were curled up together under the soft woollen blanket on the couch, clinging tightly to one another and drinking each other’s scent. Neither of you wanted to part ways for the next three months. But this was your life. This was your love. Skype calls when you could, sleepless nights, going out alone when everyone else you were with had their partner.

Van nuzzled into the dip between your neck and shoulder, wrapping a warm arm around your waist under your sweater. You were his little spoon. You melted into his touch and breathed out a long sigh. He made a small groaning sound as he squeezed you tight and you felt it through your touching bodies.

“You okay?” you asked, even though you know what was the matter. 

“Yeah. Don’t wanna leave,” he replied bluntly, burying his face further into your skin. He spoke all short when he got upset and didn’t want to show it. 

“I know. But you have to. And you love touring anyway. This is our life, this is us. We’ll get through,” you comforted, even though you probably felt worse than he did. 

“I wish you could come on tour sometimes,” Van whispered.

“I know,” you turned around in Van’s arms and faced him, pushing his hair back out of his face. He was so beautiful. 

The two of you just looked at each other for a while. You raked your eyes over his perfect face; his freckles, his eyelashes, his stubble, his lips. He was doing the same, taking you in completely, all bed hair and makeup-free. You suddenly felt self-conscious under his gaze. Van sensed your sudden change of mood and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m worried that one day you’ll meet someone else on the road and you’ll want to be done with me,” you whispered to Van, your eyes falling downwards, unable to meet his. You were fighting back tears. The usual rigmarole was about to begin. You hated yourself for it. 

Immediately, Van’s expression fell and he grabbed your face in his hands, looking you right in the eyes. 

“Don’t fucking say that y/n. I mean it. You know how much I love you,” he said seriously, you believed him. 

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling. You could never understand how someone so perfect, someone living the life Van led, still chose you. 

“As if the thought hasn’t crossed your mind,” you replied, a tear falling down your cheek. Van brushed it away with his thumb. 

“It hasn’t because it’s fucking stupid. I have a girl, I love her, I wanna marry ‘er. That’s it. Don’t need or want anyone else. I want you, y/n. Okay? That ain’t gonna change. Besides, I’m not a sleaze, I don’t go looking for other women. I don’t want other women,” He responded, you could tell he was getting frustrated. 

“How I feel isn’t stupid…”

“And I don’t think you’re a sleaze Van,” you added.

“Babe, I didn’t mean how you felt was stupid, come on,” he sighed, pulling you into him. 

As soon as you fell into his embrace, the waves of uncontrollable sobs came and you began shaking silently. Van held you close and let you cry. You knew he wasn’t sure how to help you anymore when you felt like this, he’d tried everything. So he just held you tight and made sure you weren’t alone. 

Once the sobs had slowed, you peeled your sweaty, wet face away from his neck and wiped your puffy eyes. You felt embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly.

“Don’t be y/n, it’s fine. I understand. You just gotta trust me yeah?”

“I do trust you,” you responded, sighing a little and wiping your cheeks. 

Van reached out for you again and pulled you into a hug. You rested your head on his chest as he gently rocked back and forth, softly humming a tune. You recognised it; it was one of the many songs he’d written about you. It wasn’t on an album or anything, but it didn’t need to be. It was just for you and him and that was more than enough. 


The truth: (Present)

You got through customs quickly, not having to wait too long in line or collect any baggage. The taxi ride, however, seemed to go on forever. You chewed your nails nervously; a habit you hadn’t had since you were a kid. Your knees bounced up and down and you couldn’t sit still. 

A week had passed since you spoke to Larry on the phone, it was evident that neither you or Van were coping. Which was, of course, to be expected in a breakup of that scale. But you couldn’t just sit there and take it. After a desperate message from Bondy of all people, you dropped everything and got the first flight you could. Which clearly showed that you’d made the wrong choice in breaking up with Van. 

Larry greeted you at the venue entrance and held you in a hug. You thought maybe he’d hate you for hurting his best friend so badly. He probably thought he would too. But any efforts to remain stoic vanished when he saw you shivering in the cold, no makeup on and wearing the same clothes you’d been sleeping in for days; leggings and one of Van’s shirts that you’d stolen months ago. 

“Y/n. Jesus why didn’t you put a coat on,” he said, taking off his own and wrapping it around you. It was almost snowing outside. He led you through the building out the back to where the bus was parked and where Van was inevitably hiding out. You wondered if he knew you were coming. Your heart was beating so rapidly you felt sick. 

“I know this isn’t easy y/n. I’m not asking you to take him back but, thank you. He needs you,” Larry told you before opening the bus door. You stepped inside and he closed it behind you, leaving you and Van alone. 

At a first glance, you’d assume the bus was empty, but you knew Van hated the small spaces of the bunks so he resided in the back lounge; singers privilege even though he refused to admit it. You walked through the skinny corridor and stopped when you reached the curtain that separated Van’s lounge to the rest of the bus. You tried to catch your breath. In one last effort to calm down, you pulled Larry’s jacket around you tighter and balled a fist into the pocket, squishing it against the empty pack of cigarettes. You shut your eyes and pushed back the curtain. 

Van was sitting on the couch with his knees up to his chest, eyes glued to a screen, PlayStation controller in hand and with big headphones on. You stood there for a moment just looking at him, he hadn’t noticed you yet. You could see even from there, the dark circles that surrounded his eyes, he looked sick. His hair was greasy and you could tell he hadn’t showered in far too long. It had been almost a month since you had seen him; which for you two, was not very long in the scheme of things but now felt like an eternity, given the recent events.

You walked over slowly, suddenly his head snapped up and he locked eyes with you. His expression was almost unreadable - so many emotions at once. Quickly, he threw the controller and headphones aside violently and stood up, crashing into you before you could even think of any words to say. He held you so tightly you could hardly breathe but you didn’t care. You held him as tight as you possibly could. You felt his weight shake in your arms and you knew he was crying. You’d only seen Van cry a few times in all the time you were together. All this emotion made you break too and soon you were both sobbing into each other’s clothes. You didn’t move and you didn’t speak. You’d never felt so relieved to be back in his arms. 

You both pulled away in a mess of tears and shaky hands. Van ran a hand through his hair and then rubbed his face. 

“Fuck,” he said, raising his eyebrows and sighing. 

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted. 

“Y/n don’t,” he urged. 

“No. Let me finish,” you insisted. He stayed quiet but his wide, red and puffy eyes looked you up and down, lingering on the t-shirt you wore.

“I fucked up. I’ll never be able to make up for that Van. But the truth is - I love you and I need you and I was a fucking idiot for letting you go and pushing you away and for acting like a total brat all those times. I trust you and I’m so sorry for everything I’ve ever put you through. I’m not asking you to take me back, I could never expect that of you but-”

Van crashed into you again like before but this time his lips heavily collided with your own. You kissed hard and passionately, you could feel the emotions radiating between you like a current. He held your neck firmly and you gripped the front of his jacket, your knuckles turning white. You kissed and kissed until you were both gasping for air. 

“Y/n, I will never fucking let you down. I’ll answer every call and talk you down until you feel safe. I’ll get on the first flight when you need me. I’ll never make you feel worried or alone again. I’ll do better at skype calls and I promise it’ll be better than before,” he gushed, his voice breathy. He was holding your face in his hands tightly and his voice shook with conviction. 

“I’m the one who needs to change. I’ll get off your back, give you space. I trust you and I need to work on showing that,” you replied, reaching up and holding his face as well. You went on your tippy toes and kissed him again. 

You enveloped each other into a hug and leant your forehead against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. God, you’d missed this. How could you have ever been so self-centered to let this go?

You both fell down onto the couch and continued to be wrapped up in each other, your legs spread over his lap. You’d missed his smell, his touch, his voice. Everything. 

“Why’re you in Larry’s jacket?” He asked, with a small laugh.

“I got on the plane in whatever I was wearing when Bondy texted me. No jacket.”

“You look better in it than he does,” he said. 

“Well, we are about the same size,” you replied and Van laughed. A sound that rang in your ears like music. It was a running joke you had at Larry’s expense that you were almost taller than him. 

Van rested his forehead against yours and sighed out in contentment. You could feel his whole energy change. It wasn’t slow and black and dark as it was when you first entered the lounge. He was coming to life again and so were you. 

“Thank you. For coming. You didn’t have to,” he said softly, shutting his eyes.

“Yes I did,” you replied and he nodded. 

“How about a shower yeah?” You asked, ruffling his disgustingly dirty hair. 

“Only if you join me.”

“Van, that shower is the size of a coffin,” knowing full well you’d both hardly fit. 

“Smaller the better. Just means I’ll have to be all pressed up against you,” he winked and you smiled. You could feel things slowly falling back into place. You knew things would be okay. It might take time to be right but they would be eventually. You loved Van and he loved you, there was never any doubt of that and that’s what you had to focus on. Not the distance, not the missed phone calls or nights in bed alone wondering what he was doing or who he was with. You had love and that’s a lot more than some people had.

Van shed his clothes and headed to the shower. You followed him happily, not even giving a thought to the boys that would be joining you on the bus later that evening. All that was on your mind was that beautiful, beautiful boy waiting for you under the hot water.