what i wore running

so like, what if, right, what if hawke has never seen varric in anything like the gun show armour at all. like, it’s not like she’s never seen his arms before, of course she has, but she arrives at skyhold and of course he’s just dicking around the keep in his dwarf about the house gear which she’s seen like a squillion times, but then idk he has to go out for something something the inquisitor said so ANYWAY

and like, he still has bianca ofc, but he’s with a reputable organisation now, and he’s been given proper gear, upgraded, dwarf suitable, varric-specific, so she’s just like expecting chest hair and the works (and it’s not like she isn’t secretly suspicious the chest hair is ACTUALLY FULLY ARMOURED because how no one’s tried to stab him in it, she’s got no idea)

except he comes out and he’s wearing that armour and y'know, he’s been helping out with the inquisition in not just a killing things kind of way so he’s built a bit more muscularly than she’s used to 

so hawke is completely struck dumb, scared to open her mouth because she’d just drool everywhere and okay, she’s always been into him but never mentioned it because reasons and stuff and then there’s that whole mysterious bianca “i’m already taken” thing, y'know, it’s not like he ever made himself seem remotely available after all??

except now she just wants to touch him, feel his muscles flex, his shoulders, maker’s breath, his damn shoulders, wants him to pick her up and fuck her against the wall and–

of course varric is varric so he notices she’s gone weirdly silent when usually he has to bribe her to shut up and it worries him because it’s out of character for her, and so he’s like “hawke, are you okay? is there something you want to tell me?”

and it’s on the tip of her tongue to blurt it out, how much she fucking wants him except she says “no,” and “it’s okay,” and “maybe i’m just tired” and he smiles and pats her hand and says something about her long trip to skyhold and to go and rest and he’ll see her when he gets back, okay?

Today was such a satisfying say I am beyond happy

I had my final school performance and everything went AMAZING. I managed to get through all of my pieces (2 solos, 3 duets) with barely any mistakes.
(The dress above is what I wore to the showcase)
Also, there was something oddly satisfying about running down the empty school halls in this dress when I was rushing around to get to different places.
Today was a really great day…

Dear Chan (Dino)

type: oneshot

genre: angst/slight fluff

synopsis: The days wither away with every shed tear and Chan isn’t there to watch the chaos

author’s note: written in letters ^^ I’m obsessed with lee chan as you can see

Day 1, Letter 1

Dear Chan, 

This is probably the dumbest idea I’ve ever had (worse than the time we decided to jump the neighbor’s fence), but I’m going to do this. I can’t sleep at night. I can’t breathe either. But it’s okay. As long as you’re still alive and smiling and laughing. Without me. Yeah. It’s okay. 

Day 1, Letter 2

Dear Chan,

The first letter might go in the trash because I sound so desperate and gosh, I hate sounding needy but then I realized you’ll never read any of these anyway. Why am I writing these? Why.

I miss you.

Day 2, Letter 3

Dear Chan,

It’s been a number of days since we broke up. It stings and my tears are making the ink run on the page, but there’s more tears on my pillow than anywhere else. Did I do something wrong?

I still remember the day you broke up with me. You were wearing that yellow flannel I hated. We were on the couch and I could tell something was wrong because you barely looked at me. The summer heat was deadly that day and sweat dripped down the sides of our bronze faces. 

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” was your conversation starter. Lame. But I didn’t care because it was you. I replied with a smile and a “Yeah, it is”, but you were too distracted by how to break up with me. 

Your hands easily found mine and our fingers knew where to go. I wanted to kiss you on the cheek, but I hesitated. I wish I hadn’t. I wish I told you “I love you” more often. I wish I hugged you more and kissed you more and held your hands more. 

It’s really sad when someone wishes for the impossible.

You broke up with me with a deep breath that made your cheeks puff out. I felt my heart rip a little inside my chest, but I couldn’t mend it. I still can’t. Shoot.

Day 3, Letter 4

Dear Chan,

My mom forced me to go to the supermarket with her. I didn’t care what I wore, so I threw on a worn grey hoodie and running shorts. The supermarket was a nightmare; I swear, everyone was staring at me, pitying me. Why did you leave me? Did I really screw up this time? I want you back…

When I got home, I slammed my bedroom door and threw myself against it. It stung, but I thought it was numbing. I started to cry quietly. I’m a mess without you. 

I thought of your smile and the way you would hug me with your chin on my shoulder and your arms tight around my torso. I only cried harder. 

When I went to shower, I realized I was wearing your grey hoodie. 

Day 5, Letter 5

Dear Chan, 

I slept the whole day yesterday. I didn’t write a letter to you on the fourth day, but I could barely pick up the pen without crying. I’m such an idiot, crying all the time like a blubbering fool. I want someone to save me. 

I was going through my drawers and I found all of your stuff. All of it. The mixed CDs you used to give me every Saturday after lunch were stacked neatly in the corner. Your favorite hair gel was still there, half empty. The instant film camera we bought together with our saved allowance still works. Next to it was our little blue photo album with a dozen different photos. 

I need to stop making wishes, but I wish I hadn’t went through that album. I wanted to rip apart and cut up every single picture, but when my fingers slid over your face, I couldn’t. I stared at your pictures. There’s a lot of you, but more of me. 

I looked so happy. I had no idea you took so many. What was the point, though? It’s not like we were going to last. 

Day 6, Letter 6

Dear Chan,

My friends won’t stop texting me. They keep telling me that it was your loss and that I deserve better. What the heck does that even mean? I can’t even think about you without shutting down and curling up. You were everything to me and now…I guess I didn’t mean much to you.

I want to give back all of your things, but I don’t want to let go of you. I want to go back to those happy times. But it’s over. The curtains are drawn, the show is over, and the actors have gone their separate ways. It’s done. 

My mom is worried about me. She wants to send me to a psychologist and it’s driving me crazy. She doesn’t get it. I get angry just looking at her and I hate it because she didn’t even do anything. She’s just trying to help. Why am I fighting the people who love me and loving the people who don’t want me?

She forced me to put your things in a box. “For when you’re ready to give them back. Maybe not now, but later.” She said. She said it like I was returning a book to a classmate. But you’re not just a classmate. You’re Lee Chan. 

I hid your grey hoodie. She didn’t notice. 

Day 9, Letter 7

Dear Chan, 

My friend came over a few days ago and found my letters to you. She took away all my pens, my journal, my notebooks; everything that I could turn into a “desperate cry for help” as she kindly pointed out. I missed three days of writing because she dragged me out of my room and threw me into the world again. 

We went out to see a movie, but I just sat there like a lifeless doll. I don’t even remember the title or the main actor. The velvet seats felt so familiar because we used to go to the movies a lot. Do you remember those days? The days of throwing popcorn at each other and making up fake backstories for the characters? Maybe only I care about those things. 

When the movie ended, I almost choked when I thought I saw you outside the theater. I got dizzy because of all the blood rushing to my head, but when the person turned around, it wasn’t you. Of course it wasn’t. 

When we went to the mall, I secretly bought a stationary set while my friend was at a boutique. I’m writing this letter to you on a discounted Valentine’s Day card set. Ironic.

Day 11, Letter 8

Dear Chan, 

I skipped a few days again. I couldn’t get out of bed and I didn’t want to think about you anymore. I want to get out of this. But you always come back to me in a fading memory, from triggers like seeing your favorite color or hearing our song or just. Whenever. 

I guess it hurts a little less. I can cry without quivering or hiding under my blankets. I try to go for a walk in the early hours of the morning. It makes me feel better when I can’t see people. No one wakes up at 4 am to go for a walk. 

Today I went around the old dirt trail we used to go to. I felt empty walking down that nostalgic, winding path, but it didn’t…sting. I guess this means a small stitch has been made in my heart. 

The creek still has crystal clear water. It’s freezing in the morning, but I smiled for the first time in a while when I touched it. I’m so glad I decided to walk there. 

Day 15, Letter 9

Dear Chan,

It’s been almost a week since I last wrote to you. The past four days have been uneventful, but I’m slowly getting my life back. Kind of. Whenever the sun touches my skin, I still think about the summer days we spent together and how long we would be outside, just enjoying each other’s company. I only cry when I dream about you, which used to be every other night, but now, it’s dwindled to twice or three times a week. I think I’m making progress.

I still walk at 4 am. I can’t bring myself to sleep in past that hour. It’s okay though, because the walks are helping me forget.

I still miss you. The feeling is a little less desperate, but it’s still there, tugging on the side of my mind. 

Do you ever think about me? I always wondered this, even while we were dating. Am I ever in your dreams? Do little things, like the smell of morning tea or the feeling of sticky ice cream on your hands, ever remind you of me? Or am I in this loop alone, stuck for as long as I still feel some way about you?

I actually asked my friend to go out to lunch. I walked past our favorite cafe on the way to the diner. I didn’t know what to do, but my feet stopped moving and I found myself staring in through the window. The sweet old lady still runs the place, flashing the same smile and nursing the same injured leg. I wanted to walk in and buy a slice of cheesecake, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. 

I hadn’t cried yet this week, but after that, I did. I guess my wounds aren’t stitched all the way yet. I fell asleep with wet cheeks, but the relentless waves that crashed in my mind every night were calm. 

Day 19, Letter 10

Dear Chan,

I saw you today. Outside of the ice cream parlor. 

All that went through my mind was your name. Written in messy pencil, printed in black ink, scrawled in your stupid handwriting. Lee Chan. Chan. 

Do you believe in fate? Do you believe in things happening for a reason and the universe and the planets aligning for one, special moment? Because I didn’t and I never did, but when I woke up this morning and decided to go get ice cream, and you happened to be there, it hit me that maybe fate does exist.

Gosh, you looked. Amazing? Handsome? I don’t even have the right words to describe you, but you looked nice. Let’s go with that. Really nice. You were wearing a black graphic t-shirt and your Converse, with your hair all tousled and gorgeous. I saw you laugh and smile with your friends and I just. I wanted to go over there and smile and laugh with you, but it would be so inappropriate.

You know what? I’m so frustrated. I’m tired of this. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, I still can’t, and then you reappear into my life again, magically, as if the planets had aligned and the universe decided it was the right idea. I’m struggling and trying to escape, but why did you have to come back? 

I’m stuck between screaming and insanely laughing because this is a joke. This is a joke and I’m terrified because I love you. I love you. Oh god, why am I…

Day 21, Letter 11

Dear Chan,

I always thought of my mind as a rough ocean, with pounding waves and dark, sharp crests. So many thoughts are swimming in the wreckage of our breakup, clinging onto the broken pieces, but today, it’s different. Something is changing. 

My mother took my box. She found your grey hoodie and trapped it in those four cardboard walls. “This is unhealthy. It’s been more than two weeks and all you’re thinking about is this boy.” She said. I tuned her out and she decided it was time for me to return your things. 

Cold, sweaty hands. I sat in the shotgun seat, head resting against the window, trembling inside. My head felt strange, as if someone had held it and shook it as hard as they could. There was that feeling, that odd sensation of being hit a thousand times and being woozy. 

Something stabbed me in the chest when we parked outside of your house. It was the same two story home, with a porch swing and white windows. My eyes drifted over every part of your house and collected all the memories we had left. I stopped at your bedroom window. The curtains were drawn. 

It took some coaxing for me to get out of the car, but I did. A heat wave swept by me and hot air breathed down my neck. It left me dizzy for a second, but I kept walking to the trunk to get the box. I thought about how stupid it was, to feel so attached to a cardboard box, when all that was in there were another human being’s belongings. 

My footsteps to your front door were slow and dramatic, just like in the movies. The box got heavier and heavier with each foot closer. I wanted to vomit and run home so bad, but I knew I would never come out and do this again. 

My stomach had twisted itself into a tight knot by the time I worked up the nerve to even knock on your door. The anticipation welled up inside of me and threatened to spill out when I heard the sound of clothed footsteps. 

And there you were. Like a glowing mirage, your eyes met mine and I swear, my blood ran cold. The heat of the sun seemed to be strengthened and maybe I was just delusional or overwhelmed, but your eyes were screaming some emotion close to depression.

“Hey.” Your voice was so soft.

I could barely contain myself. Could you tell? Could you see the frustration and pain? 

I barely said anything. I fumbled up a hello and stuttered a goodbye before shoving the box at you and sprinting down your driveway, allowing those memories and that two story house to fade in the background. Maybe you shouted my name. Maybe. I don’t know. 

Day 35, Letter 12

Dear Chan,

Two weeks felt like a year, but I’m happy to say the rips in my soft heart have been carefully mended. Of course, that doesn’t stop the dull pain I feel whenever I hear someone accidentally let your name slip, or when I hear our song on the radio, but it’s just that. A dull pain and nothing else. 

I went for a walk again, just like any other day. Four in the morning, with the early rays of the sun, is when for a brief period of time, the world forgets all the bad memories and fears. It’s when for a second, everyone is reborn again in clean, white light. 

This morning, I saw you. You were standing by the edge of the woods, staring up at the huge trees bathed in pale sunlight. I stopped walking then, and was tempted to turn around, but I ended up walking up to you. 

“Hi.” was what I said.

“Hey.” was what you replied.

“So,” I continued. “how have you been?” I let the last word trail.

I didn’t want to know. It hit me after the words left my tongue. I didn’t want to know that you’ve been doing great and that you brushed off our breakup like it was some lint on your shoulder. 

“I’ve been…okay.” You said. I nodded, feeling my heart squeeze. 

“Well…I guess I’ll just…keep walking.” I said this quickly before I walked past you, further into the forest.

You were a speck in the distance when my phone vibrated. You texted me. I miss you. Three words, quiet but firm, formed a sentence that ended in a period. A statement. 

I turned around.

Day ??, Letter 13

Dear Chan,

This is it. If you’re confused, since I gave you no context whatsoever, enclosed in this package is something I wrote while we were separated. I decided to give all of these letters to you in this cardboard box. 

Honestly, I don’t remember how we even got back together. It wasn’t immediately after you sent that text, since I was hesitant, but you were persistent and so after a few months, we were attached at the hip again. 

This is the last letter ever (hopefully). You can burn them if you want? Anyway, I guess I love you….maybe. Okay, I’m gonna stop. 

Preferences #68 Wedding Planning

Louis: “White or Eggshell?” you held up two napkins to him.
    “Their white” he shrugged his shoulders slumping down on to the chair.
    “Humor me and pick one.” you rolled your eyes holding them up next to him. The wedding was two months away you were still figuring out things, such as color of napkins.
    “I don’t know why we can’t just get married in Vegas” he whined pointing randomly at a napkin. 
    “Cause” you dropped your hands. “I already paid the preacher” you laughed kneeling in front of him. “How about we take a break” you smiled suggestively wiggling your eyebrows. Louis smiled rolling his eyes.
    “No” he looked away, “we have to pick out white napkins.” he stood up smiling down at you.
    “Jerk” you laugh throwing the napkins at him.

Zayn: “This place is amazing.” you looked around the open space your footsteps echoing across the room. “Do you like it?” you smiled hopeful at Zayn. He looked around the room shoving his hands into his pockets.
    “If you like it, I like it.” he finally smiled grabbing your hands. You smile rolling your eyes, he’s been saying that about everything.
    “Zayn, you can’t say that about everything you know.” you laughed as he swung you around pulling you closer to him.
     “And why not?” he hummed suddenly causing the two of you to sway.
     “Because, it’s your wedding too” you laughed as he spun you around.
    “I’m marrying the women I love, what more can I ask for?” he stopped looking down at you. “No matter where we get married at or what kind of flowers we have, that is and will only be the thing that is important to me.” he dipped you down winking.
    “You’re so cheesy” you laughed, but loving every single word he said.

Liam: “We’re going to be late.” you smiled against his lips.
     “It’s our rehearsal dinner, they really can’t start without us love.” he laughed pushing your up against the door. “Besides, after tonight we are being forced to be away from each other. So we got to get it out of your system.”
    “Your system” you smiled pulling away. He licked his lips his eyes growing a shade darker.
    “Is that so?” he growled into your neck leaving small kisses. You tried your hardest not to let him see you slowly giving in.
    “Liam” you groaned pushing him back. “We have to go.” you regretted the saying so, but you didn’t want to keep people waiting.
    “Fine” he pulled back grabbing his jacket, “But we still got the whole night” he winked before opening the door.

Niall: “Do you think it’s real?” you whisper to Niall trying hard not to laugh as you watched it flip back and forth as he walked down the small pebbled path. He tilted his head smiling slightly.
    “Wait for a breeze” he whispered back. You guys followed closely behind the owner of the garden you were hoping to book for your wedding in a few months.
    “And over here we have the rose bushes” he turned around his mustache twitching slightly and his toupee flopping a little.
    “Right, can’t forget about those.” Niall bit his lip turning red holding back the fits of giggles. You coughed loudly hoping to cover up your laughter.
    “Their beautiful” you agreed just as a breeze lifted his hair up. “Oh god” you covered your mouth turning around quickly laughing hard.
   “Please still love me when I have fake hair.” Niall whispered laughing loudly.

Harry: “You are not wearing that to the wedding” you hid your smile as you watched him spin around in the mirror.
    “But babe it looks good” he turned around smiling cheekily. You shook your head no looking the powder blue tux up and down.
    “Harry, seriously my dad wore something like this in the 80s. You are not wearing it” you laughed. He turned back to his reflections in the floor length mirror his brow wrinkling a little as he thought about it.
    “What about if I just wore the vest?” he turned around running his hand up the ruffled vest peeking out behind the jacket.
   “Oh god!” you laughed loudly. “No” he laughed walking over to you taking your hands into his.
   “Come on I look sexy” he joked.
   “You’re insane Styles” you tried pulling away laughing loudly.