#Dont you hate when the mimic mimicks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hnnyoongs · 3 years

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akai shuichi headcanons

shuichi wears a beanie all the time because he's self conscious about hir hairline .... and I mean who can blame him? id be too

shuichi saw gin when he was visiting Japan in the 10 years ago flashback and was like ooh long hair is cool AND it'll piss ka-san off flash forward 5 years later when shuichi infiltrates the BO and is like fUck cool long hair dude is a psycho

shuichi cut his hair off when he heard akemi was killed by gin he kinda went into the whole mental breakdown mode and was like fuck this shit because he started growing his hair out cuz of gin and also akemi really liked his long hair

shuichi used to be a band kid when he lived in England and wanted to pursue a career in music (much to the chagrin of Mary) but after tsutomu disappeared he was like fuck that and stopped playing until he entered the BO

shuichi has a really bad memory about things that dont have to do anything with his job kinda like BBC's Sherlock but not as bad

shuichi used to find dead bodies when he was a kid just like shinichi but it wasn't as often maybe like a dead body once a year or something

shuichi named himself dai because that's what Mary actually wanted to name him when she was giving birth she was screaming die die die and tsutomu wasn't there yet so she was like aight die sounds like the japanese name dai the only reason shuichi wasn't named that was that tsutomu burst in and was like FUCK NO

shuichi was picked on when training for the FBI since compared to 6 foot jock white men shuichi was a 5 foot 7 asian with long hair and dressed like a teenage girl who frequented Starbucks in the toxic environment of the FBI for anyone who doesnt fit the mold shuichi had it cut out for him

shuichi showed signs of multiple mental illnesses but they were all difficult to pin down so he was never diagnosed with anything since he refused to talk at the FBI mandated therapy sessions

shuichi's type is someone who is kind but could wield a gun

he used to dislike kids but being around them as okiya has made SOME kids special in his heart

before tsutomu's disspeareance he taught shuichi how to hunt with a shotgun

shuichi lived off of sports drinks and bars whenever he was single since he couldn't rely on take out due to it being unhealthy which wouldn't help his FBI styled life

shuichi taught akemi simple self defense techniques but refuses to teach her how to shoot a gun saying he didn't want her hands to get dirty

shuichi and shukichi blackmail each other for favors by using the "ill tell ka-san you did that one thing that you blamed dad for when we were kids if u dont help me out"

scotch once told him that bourbon's type was a white milf (in reference to Elena who was white and was a mother) so shuichi was scared as fuck when rei met Mary's adult self for the first time

shuichi hates being compared to his mother but the truth is they're the most similar and they both started mimicking tsutomu after his disappearance

the only thing shuichi knew how to cook before meeting yukiko was plain white rice as that was the only thing tsutomu was able to teach him

shuichi mimics an American accent while talking in America or talking in English unless he's talking to his family or he's mentally shook up and his British accent slips out

he thinks in British accented English as well (idc if the animanga shows him thinking in japanese it makes no sense that western raised people like Jodie and camel think in japanese) but he does use some japanese like ka-san and when he's trying to get deep into his okiya persona

he tries very hard to keep the polite speech patterns of okiya Subaru since as akai shuichi he's very .. rude

shuichi's sniper skills were so good the fbi was willing to overlook his disrespect of authority and his tendency to do everything by himself without consulting everyone

shuichi slips into a British accent around James if he's feeling really comfortable

he felt bad about using shiho since she was only a year older than masumi and she hadn't done anything wrong so he vowed to get her and akemi out of the BO

he had a plan to get akemi and shiho out by convincing the higher ups to grant them immunity if they testified but akemi's death derailed the entire thing

he hates to admit it but his family is the most important thing to him he may not contact them that often but he's going to such lengths to bring his father back because he cares for his family so much

shuichi didnt really know what he wanted to do with his life once he took down his father's pursuers but after akemi and scotch he decided that if he solved his father's disappearance first he'd hunt down the BO next tho once learning that Haneda Koji’s death had something to do with the BO he's back at the thing where he doesn't know what to do with his life without revenge

he promised shukichi that he'd be the one to solve shukichi's death if what happened to Haneda kohji also happens to shukichi

he isn't a fan of dates in amusement parks but if it makes his partner happy and smile he'll have fun

dating Jodie was a quiet thing most likely from an attachment maybe due to a bad case or a loss of a mutual friend depending on the agency they might have been legally allowed to date each other but it is usually looked down upon I dont think they went out together often probably spending time together at home ... doing stuff

he identifies as bisexual it was normal to him in childhood since both Mary and tsutomu talked about their past relationships to their children he never told anyone due to the fact it would affect his FBI status since it was illegal in America shukichi and Mary know he's bi but shuichi has no idea Mary knows

akemi and shuichi would take strolls in parks go shopping and go to cafes

he's very self conscious about his height and whenever he goes to Japan it makes him feel good about himself since he's relatively tall there

Mary was the one who drilled japanese into his head not tsutomu

the last time shuichi talked to Mary was when he called her up to tell her to take masumi and leave Japan for Britain after masumi cornered him and scotch him and Mary had a whole argument and after that they stopped talking to each other, not that they talked to each other much in the first place

shuichi learned jee kun do by watching training videos from vhs tapes/cds/YouTube depending on when you consider detco taking place I personally believe conan shrinks in 2018 meaning that tsutomu disappeared in 2001 and shuichi used a mixture of tapes and cds to learn

shuichi can read people really well but has a hard time manipulating people by being nice he can use people by being a jackass very well but trying to be a normal person is hard for him

Yukiko and yusaku remind shuichi of his parents before tsutomu disappeared but like more upbeat

shuichi dislikes full body hugs

akemi and shiho were both anime and romance drama fans so he knows random things about the shows and uses that info to connect with the DB and especially haibara

he considered himself British first and foremost but when asked about whether he considers himself white or asian he'll always go with asian

he started smoking soon after his father disappeared since his father used to smoke and he needed to cope but didn't wanna fall into drugs like cocaine

smoking is heavily looked down upon in America and is seen as unprofessional which helped shuichi go undercover a bunch due to him being a heavy smoker

akemi would make him stop smoking around her and shiho saying that second hand smoking was dangerous and that shuichi who was smoking constantly was going to get lung cancer but he would tell her that he just couldn't stop smoking he did stop smoking around shiho and akemi tho going outside to do it instead

as okiya it makes him go wild because he desperately needs to smoke to cope but okiya cant smoke it doesnt fit his image so he smokes a shit ton at night during his nightly drives

shuichi forced himself not to smoke during his time visiting Japan when he met masumi because he knew Mary would get even more upset with him

shuichi was terrible driving American styled cars and he got so upset that he perfected his drive-in techiuque over the years just to spite the instructor that said he was barely passing

he likes to go on late night drives and speed on the high way because he's a thrill seeking idiot

he has no social media but he created on as okiya Subaru to keep an eye on haibara's higo stan account

he takes offense to the idea that he's stalking haibara he's just p r o t e c t i n g her

he wants shiho to be happy more than anything so he's an avid coai shipper and is exhausted in Conan's obliviousness

shuichi didnt tell shukichi he wasn't actually dead shukichi just walked up to okiya Subaru one day and was like shuuichi-ni-san right? shuichi has long stopped questioning shukichi's weird ways of knowing shit he shouldn't know

shuichi is a sherlockian but he's not like shinichi or hakuba in that he does not hate BBC's Sherlock and actually enjoys it a bit

one upside to shuichi living in America is that he gets to hoard guns because he's obsessed with them he thinks they're really cool it's like conan with Sherlock he starts yapping his mouth of about them

bourbon once dangled a gun on in front of a sleeping shuichi cuz he didnt believe scotch when he said that rye was obsessed with guns and started saying incorrect shit about the type of gun he was holding and shuichi just shot up and started berating him

shuichi hates that chianti is a killer because she's the only person who's as much as a gun fanatic as he is

he tends to steal Jodie's car a lot

he likes fucking with peoples heads it's very fun to him to watch them get all worked up

shuichi hasn't mourned his father yet because he doesnt believe his father’s dead

deep down he blames his father for his mother going slightly bonkers

he didnt want masumi to be a detective at first but now hes proud of her

he drinks a lot as okiya Subaru since he cant smoke as much

he's willing to go to hell if it means he can rip gin from limp to limp

he really hates gin yall I dont think I can convey how much he hates gin

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justsomebandfanfics · 5 years

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Darkness and Hysteria - Part One - Austin Carlile ft. OM&M

Hey, so I dont know if you’ll write something like this but I really had a shitty day and I thought I try and request something. Maybe where you are austin carliles girlfriend and are on tour with him but then at night the bus gets in a crash...

This is written (as stated further in the above request) in Austin’s P.O.V. - considering making this a two/three parter... thoughts? - 1,531 words - written by Emma.

Austin’s P.O.V.

“This weather is bloody terrible.” You grunt.

This storm has been going on since last night. It’s now 7pm, usually at times like this in the summer it would still be light out. But the sky is covered in dark clouds which just leaves the sky a dull grey. You sigh.

“Only because you live for sun and beaches.” Y/N, your girlfriend, remarks, smiling as she peeps up from her book.

“How can you even read in, in…” You gesture to the window. “This.” You spit the word like it’s venom. Although your words are twined in sarcasm, you do hate shitty weather.

Y/N shrugs as she takes a look out of the window. “I just like reading.” She reopens her book again and her eyes drift.

Her Y/E/C focus on the pages and you watch them follow the lines. She looks up for a split moment and her irises glimmer as she looks at you and you both share a smile. As a grin lances on her crepe pink lips, you lick over your own. She’s so beautiful, even with her hair messily - yet neatly - tied back. You don’t know how you could get so lucky.

However, the heavy pattering on the bus windows is enough to make you groan again. Your eyes don’t stay focused on Y/N’s face as they settle outside once more where you watch rain endlessly smack against the roads.

“You never stop groaning, do you?” Tino says to you from the opposite seat of Y/N.

Deliberately, you let the moan intensify over a stretched period of time and echo loudly.

“Stop groaning, you grinch.” Jenn answers your annoying ring.

“It’s not even Christmas.” You reply, pulling a mimicking face.

“Either way, nobody likes you because you’re being miserable and irritating.” Tino answers for her, chuckling.

“Ha, ha. So funny.” You roll your eyes and your glance settles at Aaron and Amanda, who are both out cold on the sofa behind Tino and Jen, head against head. “How can they be asleep? It’s like the titanic out there!”

“Stop being so melodramatic, you big baby.” Jen says to you. “It is not the titanic.”

Pointing to the water that’s streaming down the roads, you answer, “You never know, I could drown out there.”

“I wish. Then we could get some peace and quiet.” Phil says loudly from the seats behind Y/N, where he and Anouk are.

“Rude.” You murmur, quieting down, you think of sitting beside Y/N, whose nose is still wedged in her book.

“Stop being such a whiny ass.” Alan calls out as he wanders through from the bunk area, joining the bash-on-Austin parade. Strolling up to you, he sits in the chair that faces Y/N.

“I am not being a whiny ass.” You mumble, before receiving unappreciative looks from everyone – you are being a whiny ass. “Fine, I’ll go bug Terry instead.” Terry is your bus driver.

“You go do that, baby.” Y/N gives you the thumbs up, eyes not leaving her book.

You mimic her in a girly voice. “You go do that, baby.” She looks at you then cocks an eyebrow, you pout at her.

Scrunching her nose, she pouts back before holding her book up to her face again.

"Well, doesn't seem like you've got a better view than us in the other part of the bus." You say, approaching Terry.

He shakes his head. "Definitely not."

"Can't even look straight out there." You say, looking through the windscreen.

Every second the wipers are going back and forth, but a shit tonne of rain just comes hammering back. It's like a river steaming down the windscreen. You're surprised Terry can even see.

"Surely, this isn't safe." You say, gesturing to the window.

It's so dark and cloudy out there you can barely see the road. The fog and mist seem to combine to cloud the roads, making it extremely difficult to even see headlights from other vehicles. You can just about see ten feet in front of the bus.

"It isn't." Terry answers, jaw clenched. "All this heavy wind and gushes of rain smashing down... I don't trust it, it gives me a bad feeling."

As soon as those words leave Terry's mouth, you feel a little uneasy.

"Then, then why are we driving in it?" You ask, that horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach.

"We need to get somewhere decent at least. We can't pull over in the middle of nowhere... Maybe if there's a gas station or something, I'll pull over and we could try waiting it out." Terry says, which makes you feel a little better.

"I hate this weather, it's a real downer." You mutter. "Want anything to drink? I'm grabbing myself a bottle of water." You're happy to change the topic.

"Sure thing." Terry nods. "Grab me a water too?"

"Yep, okay. I'll be a moment." You say, turning around.

"Oh no, he's back." Jenn giggles, seeing you walk back through the section.

"Did Terry get fed up within a few minutes too?" Alan chuckles.

You continue walking to the fridge. "Very funny, guys, ha-ha." You try to keep your tone sarcastic and funny, but you're not sure if it worked.

"You okay, baby?" Y/N asks, looking over her shoulder, book closed in her hands. "You sound a little off."

Walking back through equipped with water, you attempt to smile. "Just feeling ill, that's all." You halt by her's and Alan's seats, resting on it.

"Mhm." Y/N sighs. "You look a little unwell, actually. Is there anything I can do to help?" Her hands touch your lower arm.

"Just, stay beautiful." You smile down at her.

And with that, you bend down, cupping her face. Lightly, you press your lips together, that benevolent feeling pulsing in your heart. Irresistibly, you grin against her mouth, causing her to smile too.

"I love you." She says, gazing up into your eyes.

"And I love you." You answer, resting your head on your shoulder for a moment, adoring her.

Soon enough, you rejoin Terry by the wheel of the bus. The weather has had no improvement, instead, it looks worse in the few minutes you’ve been gone. Handing him a bottle of water, he nods a thanks as he takes a swing, looking out to the road again. Opening your bottle, you drink some too, but still feel nauseous as something inside of you is telling you that something bad is going to happen.

You look at Terry, who is worriedly squinting his eyes trying to picture what’s on the other side of the windscreen.

“Can you do me a favour and look up where the next gas station is?” He grunts over his shoulder to you. “Or.. anywhere,” He adds hastily. “Anywhere we can just pull in and stop, in fact. I’m barely making it around these corners.” He shakes his head, beads of sweat visibly gathering on his forehead.

“Of course, of course.” You say, pulling your phone out of your pocket and opening your maps application. The lack of signal causes your app to glitch as you try to find your current location. “Come on.” You shake your phone in your hands, feeling frustration settle in your head, just wanting to find somewhere to stop.

You sigh when release once the arrow finally locates you on a lonely, long, bland road. “Gas station...” You hum to yourself, clicking the ‘services’ function and hoping somewhere can be found local enough to the bus. The slow function again makes you irritable, you hit your phone against the door frame you’re leaning on.

Once loaded, you click on the nearest services result. “It’s only 5 miles away.” You breathe thankfully, turning your phone to face Terry, showing him the station nearby.

Terry shares the sigh of relief, “thank you, Austin”, he says. Taking one hand off of the wheel, he faces you and takes your phone from your hands to show him the way.

You mosey around a bend of the road, but you spy something again. Something dark, something blocking the driving path, something massive.

The next ten seconds hit you painfully slow.

“Terry! Terry!” You shout in panic, nearly throwing yourself into the windscreen.

It’s a tree. A fallen roadside tree has collapsed over the whole width of the road, it’s roots upturned and everything. Big piles of dirt and stone protecting it.

Terry spins the steering wheel hectically in hope he could try and dodge. Upon realisation that it’s too late, he shouts out in terror, the wheels losing their footing completely, sending the bus into a frenzy.

What happens next happens far too quickly. You can’t even turn, you can’t dash into the main area of the bus to yell for everyone to get down, you can’t even look at Y/N.

The echoing of screeching tyres and others’ screams shatter your ear drums, but before you can throw your hands to cover your ears, the force of the spinning bus sends your head into the frame of the driving compartment. You feel immediate bruising to your temple, before your vision blurs and you topple over in a dizzy hysteria.

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unkooked · 6 years

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absolute.

In which love isn’t your strong suit and Jungkook is a philosophy student who believes in fate for the first time in his life. 6,172 words.

[jk is a cute and smart asshole and u are too tired™ for his shit. but u love him i guess lol]

notes: i started writing this in november and finally finished it. a lil angsty, fluffy, fun, etc. i really tried my best to mimic real emotion, as well as struggle. sometimes it’s not easy to give into love. sometimes love is slow. sometimes people change u for the better. this fic gets better!! dont stop after the first part that’s the worst one lol. it’s long but idk maybe you’ll like it, give it a chance :))

What began as the simplest spark of intrigue was rapidly beginning to warp itself within your thoughts and infiltrate your sense of inner peace, not to mention it was spreading with the intensity and conceit of a wild fire. God, you really hadn’t signed up for this.

***

You had seen him once.

The day had been groggier than ever before; skies that mimicked all that was dull and bland showered the ground beneath with a potency that seemed absolutely endless. The air was damp, and cold, and gut-wrenching, and though the city seemed to be screaming for even the smallest fraction of salvation, you found yourself in a certain sense of tranquility. And perhaps your day would’ve continued its soothing calm, that is, had you not decided to wear flip-flops on your commute to work.

“Mom, why’s that lady wearing pink slippers? She looks like a clown.” The voice of the little boy on the subway could he heard from across the train, and as soft giggles escaped the mouths of those around you, what some people may consider irrationality began to kick in.

You’d woken up at 5am, for God’s sake—you were already running late from the long trial and error you’d suffered through with the new makeup set you’d bought. As simple as it sounded, you were tired. And the flip-flops were comfortable. To wear real shoes meant putting on a pair of socks, and high heels would only result in endless groaning and a marathon of foot cramps. Really, you were just trying to protect yourself. And what was wrong with that? Couldn’t people judge others from the ankles up? Wasn’t this the home of the free? Whatever happened to national security?

You couldn’t imagine what horrid expression was etched upon your face, and quite frankly, you didn’t want to. But it must have been something truly revolutionary as the young man across from you couldn’t seem to control his shameless snickering.

This is when the irrationality seemed to be coming back to you. Maybe if you just ignored him, he’d piss off. Looking at him meant acknowledging his existence. Looking at him meant losing. But then he laughed again—and your eyes couldn’t help but catch a glimpse at his shadowy figure. And as much as you wanted your curiosity to yield just this once, you felt almost at ease that it hadn’t.

He was breathtaking . . . and annoying. Mostly annoying.

His eyes were sultry and dark in colour, the way the corners of his mouth dipped upward slightly was adorable. Had the loud laughter not fallen once again from his lips, perhaps you would have found yourself staring at him for eternity. Or, that is, until your stop. You tried to avert your eyes, but suddenly the details of the whole situation started getting fuzzy, and his laugh might have been annoying, but damn, his smile was adorable. Handsome asshole.

Your mind was screaming at you. Look away. Look away. Look away.

But how could you tear your eyes away from a man that seemingly embodied both the fatality of eloquence and the beauty of self assurance. His presence was admittedly mesmerizing, and you would be lying if you said he didn’t have all your attention.

“Angry?” His voice rang softy.

You looked upward. Did he just say something? The sound overthrew your thoughts. Why were you angry again?

“Are you angry?” He repeated with a hint of amusement. “You know, at that kid?”

Right. That’s why. The brat.

“Incredibly.” You weren’t thinking. “This is slander.”

“Slander?” He was incredulous, and you were an idiot. “He’s like 6.”

Great. Now it looked like you hated kids.

“Yeah-Well… maybe he shouldn’t be saying things like that.”

He threw his head back against his seat and let out the smallest of laughs. Was it crazy to say it sounded melodic?

“You’re funny.”

“You’re perfect.” The words had left your mouth before your brain could even register the repercussions. His face had started with confusion, but was quickly twisting into something reminiscent of a smile. Before he could even ask, you leapt out of your seat and rushed toward the subway door. He seemed like he was going to follow, you shouted before he could even try.

“Sorry! This is my stop!” You were lying of course. But you couldn’t let him bother you.

Getting off one stop early and walking the rest of the way to work wasn’t nearly as overwhelming as suffocating in the discomfort of that conversation. For the first time in ten minutes, it felt like you could breathe. The subway was confined embarrassment, an utter death zone. But Manhattan was as Manhattan always is in the fall; filled to the brim and drowning in rain.

If you were lucky, maybe you would drown too.

***

“You’re being dramatic.” Jessie etched mockingly, driving the night forward with a phrase you felt like you had heard for the umpteenth time.

“I’m not, Jess! I’m serious! It was completely embarrassing; I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Professor Frouckner went off on me because I was so late. I ran to class in flip flops. During a torrential downpour. Don’t you understand the pain I just went through? I-I could have frostbite for God sake. Or, or died, even!” At this point, you were flailing your arms in front of her face. There was a point to be made. Jessie just threw her head back laughing and rolled her eyes.

She reached across the table and grabbed your hand.

“Yeah. Okay, so 1. You’re drunk. 2. You’re crazy. And 3, I’m gonna have to ask you to turn it down, sweetheart. Because that’s not at all how frostbite works.”

“I’m a law student; I don’t need to know the nitty gritty details on frostbite, okay? Hop off my dick.”

“Wow. He changed you!” Jess replied in between giggles. You pursed your lips and took another swig of the drink in front of you. “What are you, [Y/N], a twelve year old boy? “Hop off my dick”, who the fuck says stuff like that? Are you okay? I’m concerned.”

The club was new and hot and bustling with students from all over campus, and therefore, the music was so loud, it was credulously easy tuning out Jess’ mom lecture.

“Maybe he drugged you,” her voice droned on. “Did he pass you a mysterious liquid?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and before you could even begin to respond to the utter nonsense she seemed to be spewing, you saw the one person that had left you so mortified to begin with. The exact person you had gone out with Jess to forget about. Irony is a bitch.

A small gasp left your mouth as your throat began to grow dry. Immediately, you averted your gaze to the utensils on the table and pulled her in closer.

“Jess, stop talking. Now!” You whisper shouted, trying to hide your face from the intrusive stranger. Why was he here? Did he want to make your life hell? Did God think this was a funny trick?

“And now you’ve become rude too!” She continued. “Wow. I really hate this guy. Who does he think he is, honestly, he’s completely taken over your persona-,” before she could go on, you grabbed her hand and gestured behind her.

“He’s here!” You groaned aloud.

“He’s what?!” Jessie whipped her head around and gasped. She turned back to you with wide eyes and a wider smile to match. “He’s hot? You didn’t tell me, he was hot! Ohmygod, this is exactly what you need. A cute boy to distract you from your life problems!”

“Jessie, he is my life problem! Now stop looking at him! He’s gonna notice us!” You replied sharply, using your margarita to cover your face.

“I can’t help it. He’s so good looking. Why aren’t you more excited? This is fate, [Y/N]. Did you read your romance horoscope this morning? This is your man! How are you not gawking at him right now?”

“Jessie. Stop. Staring,” you grit through clenched teeth.

His eyes flickered to your table and you nearly felt your heart drop to the pits of your stomach.

“He can tell! He can totally tell! Look somewhere else, you jerk!”

“God, you’re so dramatic! The only way he’d be able to see us right now if I stood up and shouted at him from across the room.”

Her face twisted into a crooked smile and immediately you felt your stomach clench and your eyes widen.

“Jessie,” you tried to reason. Key word, tried. “Please don’t do this.”

“You, my friend, need to face your fears!”

“Jess, please, please don’t, don’t do it plea-,” your pleas had started, only to be ignored and replaced with the loud booming of Jessie’s voice over the music.

“Hey! Subway boy! Look over here! It’s her! From the Subway! This morning?! You remember? You’re cute! Come over here!”

You tried to jump from the chair and make a run for it but Jess grabbed onto your hand a second faster. “You’re unbelievable,” you hissed.

“You’re gonna love me for this one day. The day I introduced you to your husband!” She had a dopey smile on her face. You felt like jumping into a volcano.

“I already met him.” You shot back in frustration. “And it was bad enough the first time!”

“Well, you better shake that off, because he’s coming this way.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” You peered through the hair on your face and knitted your eyebrows in agony.

“And, I, am gonna head towards the bar. I’ll leave you two love birds alone, you know,” she winked. “To . . . get to know each other a little better.”

“Jess. Don’t leave me here. I will kill you. I’m serious. Not an ounce of me is joking right now. I will literally-,”

“Erhhh.” She interrupted. “Wrong answer. I’ll see you later babe! The bar is calling!”

Before the string of curse words were even registered in your brain, you felt the smallest of taps on your shoulder.

Great. Now, this, was going to be an experience.

***

“Hi.”

You gulped before turning around.

As you met eyes, you almost felt your voice catch itself in your throat again. He looked just as beautiful as he had this morning, his hair playfully swayed over his forehead and his eyes continuously peering into your own. While you seemed to be feeling apprehensive and unsure, he seemed to emit the absolute opposite.

In fact, he seemed to be glowing.

His eyes were wide and warm, welcoming even. His lips were turned upwards, adorning that same irritating smirk you had caught a glimpse of earlier in the day. There was nothing to say about his appearance other than the blatant obvious. He was absolutely gorgeous.

“H-hi,” you drew out, slowly. Your stomach was turning in its anxious wake, but also, you realized, excitement.

“I’m Jungkook.” He reached his hand out.

Handshake? Who handshakes? That’s just weir-

“Or perfect. I mean, you can call me that if you like it better.” He quipped with a smug smile stretched across his face. You wanted to punch it off. Or kiss him. Either, or.

“You know,” the confidence in your voice surprised even yourself. “I thought you were handsome for about two seconds just now.”

The small smirk on his lips began to grow larger as he raised a single brow back at you.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You repeated, crossing your arms and leaning back into the loft chair.

“What changed?”

You scrunched up your nose for dramatic effect. Because, clearly, theatrics were always important. You tilted your face slightly to the left. Jungkook waited in obvious anticipation, watching him squirm was almost amusing.

“You opened your mouth.”

Jungkook feigned hurt. He pretended to wince and held a hand to his chest, all whilst trying to shake off his laughter.

“Ouch!” He exclaimed. “You’re really out for blood, here, aren’t you? Are you always this . . .,” he struggled to find the right word.

“Witty?” You posed. “Hilarious? Eccentric? Creative? I think you’re definitely looking for creative.”

“Hmm. I was actually thinking bitchy.” He shrugged. Then he cracked that annoying smirk. God, you were really starting to hate that.

“Me? I’m a bitch? You’re the bitch!”

And that’s when he started laughing hysterically.

“Why are you laughing? You think this is funny, huh? You just call girls over; call them bitches and you feel happy with yourself?”

He put a finger up in his defense. “Actually, babe, you called me over here.”

Now, that, crossed a line.

“Don’t call me babe.” You grit. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

“Chill out,” he rolled his eyes. “It’s a term of endearment. Have you ever heard of that word? You know, love, compassion, empathy? Are you familiar with any of those concepts?”

“Shut up, you asshole! I know love, okay? I’m not a dear person in your life, so-,” hop off my dick? “So just lay off.” You finished.

He nodded. “Yeah, well, not yet anyway.”

You felt like scoffing into oblivion. “Oh, you think you’re smooth, huh? You think you can just walk in here and say some douche-bag line you’ve prepared and it’s just gonna work out and I’m just gonna fall in love with you? Are you insa-,” before the final syllable left your mouth, Jess had already barged herself into the conversation.

“How’s it going lovebirds?” She chirped loudly, glaring at you with an intensity you’ve never quite seen before.

“Amazing.”

“Terrible.”

“Alright,” she clapped. “That’s what I like to hear!”

Jungkook moved toward Jess and put a single hand on her shoulder. He cracked a smile at you then looked back at her. “You know, I think your friend is really falling for me.”

“I’m going to PUNCH YOU-,” Jess clamped a hand over your mouth and began laughing awkwardly, threatening with her gaze alone whilst Jungkook stayed snickering in the corner.

“Don’t worry about her, she gets a little carried away when she’s drunk.” Jess was trying to diffuse the situation as much as she could, an attempt to put Jungkook at ease and save her friend’s reputation.

Little did she know, Jungkook wasn’t in distress. Not at all, quite frankly.

In fact, he was amused. This night had been more eventful than any night he’d had in the past couple weeks, most of which, were being spent preparing for his philosophy final he’d taken this morning. He’d seen a girl this morning on the way to his exam, a girl wearing ridiculously hideous pink flip flops. It had been enough to make him crack a smile and forget the weight on his shoulders that seemingly did not falter. For a few minutes, it had felt like his sole purpose was to sit there and laugh at her, as incredibly moronic as it sounded. But then again, he was taking philosophy. Analyzing life had singlehandedly take over his life. And this, as bizarre as it was, felt something reminiscent of a good omen. Maybe he was dreaming. But then again, dreams were good, weren’t they?

So when Jess awkwardly tried to mend the pieces of their chaotic conversation, he could only smile. And this time, it wasn’t his cheap and snarky way of making her blood boil. Rather, it was a sentiment of his curiosity. He didn’t know what would become of this, but he was more than willing to find out. This, her, it was something worth his attention. It was something that would blossom: for better or worse, at this point, he couldn’t tell. But he couldn’t help but be invested.

Jungkook wanted nothing more than to burst out laughing at her unfaltering insult slinging and boldly express his admiration for her; he wanted to tell her he liked this. That is, whatever this was. But something told him his growing optimism would be forced to undergo a series of pessimistic trials, i.e., her.

He liked her. He knew it. He didn’t want to believe in heavenly signs from the universe; he didn’t believe in love at first sight or in destiny or even soul mates, for that matter. Those things weren’t real, to him. Those were idealisms, thoughts, beliefs, they could be nurtured and mirrored and amplified, but they weren’t tangible. But this was something different. The quickening of his pulse was real, the escalades in his stomach were real, and the constant scrutinizing of what he said or what he did was real. To Jungkook, this wasn’t just an empty call from the universe meant to send a message. It was like a force of energy that beckoned him to take things a step further and pushed him to take action. He was more sure now than ever, that this, was a brutal awakening for was to come in the near future.

And so, he would wait.

He would play along. He would be the guy he needed to. He would do whatever it took to carry through this relationship and allow it to flourish the way it needed. Because this was deserving. Not to mention, annoying the shit out of her found itself to be an extremely entertaining past time.

Jungkook kept his smile tight. “Don’t worry about it.” He was quick to respond though his thoughts resonated somewhere else, somewhere deeper and distant. “I can’t judge the unstable, can I?” Then he winked.

“Unstable?” She bellowed incredulously. “Do you ever shut up? Were you given love as a child?”

Jungkook wanted to throw his head back and laugh at the girl’s coherently bizarre behaviour, but the thought of getting decked in the face wasn’t so appealing, and so, he decided to take a more cautious route.

“Goodnight, [Y/N].”

He could hear her faint ramblings even as he as he was slowly walking away from the girls, letting lose the smirk that had begged so desperately to reveal itself, and for the time in a long time, he felt a shift of anxiety in his stomach. What, exactly, was this? Was it too soon to set his heart on her? Definitely.

Jungkook hadn’t the smallest clue what was going on. But as much as this circumstance screamed dysfunction, there was an underlying sense of comfort that pulled him toward her, exhilaration, even. He wasn’t poetic or neurotic or an even a romantic, for that matter, and even in his second year of philosophy, Jungkook hadn’t thought of his life objectively, nor did he believe in fate. But this feeling he felt, this rush, this spurt of adrenaline, this beating of his chest, the sweating of his palms, the sheer intensity of his apprehension, this feeling held so much uncertainty—and yet—and yet the worlds fell so freely, and loosely, and smoothly from his mouth. He knew what to say, always. But how? How, when he was feeling somewhere between riding the best roller coaster of his life and walking a tight rope over impending chaos. His mind was blazing, stressing, obsessing; searching for meaning in the midst of the madness that had now become his life. Perhaps there was none.

Perhaps not.

“So you’re just going to ignore me? I am literally sitting right beside you.”

“You don’t exist.”

“I definitely do.”

“Well, if I continue to pretend like you don’t exist, there’s got to be some truth to it, right?”

“No. Literally not at all. Have you heard of science, or-,”

“Shut up. Just shut up. Okay? You… you nerd.” The very little patience you had started your day with immediately began to grow weak. Firstly, thanks to the disgustingly painful hangover you were powering through, and second, well, Jungkook seemed to be making grandiose contributions to the irritability department.

“Wow. I think I’ve finally cracked the case, ha, get it? ‘Cause you’re in law?” Jungkook stifled one of his infamous laughs and regained his composure. “Yeah, anyways, you’re insane.”

“Thank you, Jungkook. You know what? That really pulls together a lot of missing pieces in my life. Thank you for your service. Goodbye.”

Jungkook ignored your attempts at escaping the conversation and averted his attention toward the subway.

“Hey, this is your stop right?”

Shit.

There was no way you were going to resurface the same havoc from getting off a stop early yesterday, not after Mr. Frouckner had torn you a new asshole with his mindless droning about punctuality.

“No, actually. The next stop is,” you coughed awkwardly. “…my stop.” Maybe if you spoke quietly, he wouldn’t catch on. That was your best bet.

“So…you lied yesterday.”

Best bet shot down. Nice to know the universe was on your side.

The blatant delight in Jungkook’s voice made the pits of your stomach churn. He was never going to let go of this. In fact, this is probably exactly what he yearned for: another instance he could mock and chastise you for. This was probably Jungkook’s ultimate dream.

“So I guess I left a stunning impression on you, huh?” You fought the urge to throw your bag at his stupid mouth.

“You know what?” You pursed your lips and looked outside the window. “Actually, this is my stop.”

The corners of Jungkook’s mouth were so often turned upwards, a surge of confusion went through you when you noticed his lips had gone from its usual crooked smile to somewhat of a pressed frown.

For a second, all you could do was look at him.

His eyes were narrowed slightly and he bit the inside of his cheek. His seconds of contemplation were enough to leave your stomach bouncing against itself.

“You can’t just walk away from your feelings.”

Jungkook’s eyes peered into your very own in a way that was utterly intrusive. His hair was tussled and messy, his skin shining behind the beams of fluorescent lights. Even with the simple pessimistic thoughts and urges of aggravation, your heart gravitated toward the soft echo of his voice. In a different world, maybe you could love this. In a different world, maybe you would overcome this constant constriction, this widespread fear that always seemed to manifest itself into every fragment of your life. This was new. He was new. He was different. Maybe you could trust him.

With a single step upward and the swaying of your body, you turned toward the subway doors and gulped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Maybe it wasn’t time to take chances.

“You’re going to this party.”

“Jessie. You’re my love, I love you, okay? But no. Definitely not.”

Jessie rolled her eyes for the thousandth time, and she paced through your room once more, arms folded across her chest with a clear motive on her mind.

“Well, Jungkook’s going to be there,” her voice rang coyly, and she gave you a sideways glance, hoping to lock you in her gaze and use her amazing powers of persuasion.

But your eyes were purposefully glued to the computer screen in front of you.

Jungkook’s name made your fingers tense, and instead of looking at your bestfriend and telling her you might have been feeling your heart shifting for a boy, you kept your eyes straight and kept your words short.

“Not interested, Jess. Next time.”

If human beings could display their emotions based on colour, you swore Jess was blazing and fiery red, as she shrieked in annoyance once again, throwing herself on your bed and screaming into one of your pillows.

“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m not, bitch. I hate you, you’re the worst.”

“Jess—you know I don’t like parties okay? This doesn’t have anything to do with anything else—,”

“Anyone, you mean,” she corrected matter-of-factly.

You were almost compelled to pick up one of the pillows behind your back, and launch it at her face at 800 miles per hour. But, the thought quickly vanished, because you’re a merciful human being that believes in second chances.

“I’m going to ignore that because I think you’re going through a hard time,” you whispered while patting her back, and Jessie hissed into your pillows. Maybe she was going to hit you with a pillow at 800 miles per hour.

“[Y/N], stop playing dumb, okay? You know exactly who I’m talking about.”

God, when was this fucker going to stop being the highlight of all your personal conversations. You threw your head back and groaned.

“When are you going to understand that I don’t have feelings for him?!”

“When you can fucking go somewhere he’s gonna be at, without having a mental break, you shady bitch!”

Fuck it.

“Fine, I’m going!”

“Fine!”

Jessie let out a laugh, and you soon followed, why did boys always make things so difficult?

“I’ll pick you up at 7.”

“I fucking hate you.”

Yup. This was really happening.

“This place smells like fucking paradise.” You marveled at the immense expanse of broadly lit rooms and expensive luxury all around you. So this is what it’s like to get a sports car for your fifteenth birthday.

“Rich people, man.” Jessie shook her head and grabbed a drink off the stretch of wooden table, taking a large sip, and then placing it back down.

The house belonged to a friend’s of a friend’s of a friend’s, and it was by far the biggest house you’d ever stepped into in your entire life. It looked like it was something out of an elaborate Parisian getaway, but the crowds of drunken people swaying anything but rhythmically to Lil Pump made it more than clear that this was the epitome of college parties.

The dress you were wearing was Jess’, and it was itchy, bodycon, and far too thin to keep anybody warm on any winter night. But, it made you feel good, and so you supposed that was the most important thing as you walked across the house’s wide and echoing halls, anxious from the stares of those around you.

“Don’t look now,” Jessie whispered into your ear, and of course, immediately your head whipped around opposite of her direction to see what she was talking about. Or who, rather.

Fuck.

“I told you NOT to look. What part of that did you NOT understand?!”

“I was nervous okay?! Who doesn’t look in that situation?!”

“Well, you don’t have time to freak out, Jungkook’s coming this way right now.” Jess let out the words nonchalantly as she grabbed another drink, and as you felt his shadow approaching, you tried your best not to look like the most constipated and fidgety individual in the world.

Was it working? Definitely not.

“I’m gonna be right over there okay,” Jessie whispered gently and gestured toward the doorway right across from you.

“No, no, no, Jess, don’t leave, don’t leave—,”

“Get off me, I have to, he’s coming—,”

“Don’t leave—,”

“Stop I’m going—,”

You felt a gentle tap on your shoulder, as Jess slyly tottered away in her slightly tipsy state and shot you a not so secret wink. Great.

“Hi,” Jungkook’s breath hit your neck, and you felt your throat become tight. When you turned around to glance at him, you realized he looked a little different. His hair looked longer, darker, shinier, the skin along his cheeks and forehead were glossy and tanned, his complexion was slightly flushed, and yet the golden undertones were enough to bring you back to your summer classes, half spent avoiding Jungkook on the subway. The troubled look in his eyes, the eyes that you had been looking away from for months, was enough to make you feel regret. He looked so happy always, and yet the subtle pain you could feel from his expression made you feel like the wicked enchantress in any cliché fairytale. He was pretty enough to be a prince, you thought.

“Why have you been avoiding me?”

His words broke your trance. And yes, it was a trance. Because just like you remembered it, looking at Jungkook was not simply looking at any kindred spirit looking for a purpose in life, looking at Jungkook felt like a purpose. And as ridiculous as it sounded, you thought it was worth it.

“I-I haven’t.” You spoke as firmly as you could, but he didn’t seem convinced, you could tell. And it was now more than ever that you wished you could lie as well as everybody else, or be as bold as half the kids that were at this stupid party, or flirt as eloquently as Jess. But you couldn’t, and he knew. He knew.

“Are you ever going to give this a chance?” He asked, and you could hear how desperate he was. It burned. You felt your throat closing, more. Was that possible?

“Give what a chance?”

“This, [Y/N]. Us. Are you ever going to stop avoiding me, avoiding your feelings for me, avoiding potential? Y-you’re a part of my life. You’ve been a part of my life for months. Why are you running away?” Jungkook’s eyes bore into yours. He was waiting for an answer. You wanted to give him an answer.

This isn’t what you were used to. This was foreign. This warm feeling that crept up your sides and held you sharply like a paralyzing embrace, this sweep of heat that fell over your cheeks and made your jaw slack, this cloud of beautiful iridescence that made your pupils shake, that stole your gaze, that forced your gaze—upon him. You couldn’t think, and the droning of the voices around you only made the burning sensation in your heart worse.

“I-I need to go,” you mumbled rapidly, grabbing your clutch and shuffling out the veranda door across the hall; refusing to look back at the boy that stole your dreams and made your being quake.

You needed to go.

“[Y/N]!”

“I-I wasn’t meant for relationships, Jungkook. Just drop it.”

“How do you know that? You’ve never given yourself the fucking chance!” Jungkook shot back. The intensity in his eyes ran shivers down your spine. This was breaking him, you were breaking him. This is exactly the reason why you wanted to stay away.

“I’m just not a “love” person, okay?” You pleaded.

“Yeah, I think I’ve picked that up by now.”

“Jungkook don’t make this harder than it already is. Don’t you have something better to be doing right now, something other than harassing me? ”

“Why do you keep pushing me away? Why don’t you trust me?”

“Why can’t you just drop it?!”

Jungkook’s eyes blazed deeply into yours, frustration evident in his face. He must’ve been worn out to the absolute max, and yet there was a still a sense of determination that lingered within him.

He stepped forward and drew a breath.

“Because,” his voice broke. Your heart clenched.

“Because every single time I walk away from you, I get this splitting, fucking avalanche of thoughts, that keep asking over and over and over again: ‘why did you fucking let her go? There’s something here’.”

“I feel this hollowness; because I know you. I’ve seen what life is like with you. And it’s better. It’s so much better than anything I’ve ever had, any relationship I’ve ever made. How am I supposed to just walk away and pretend like you didn't change things? When I know we have something other people wait their whole fucking lives for? When I know there’s something here? Leaving this unresolved like this is eating away at me, [Y/N]. It fucking hurts being around you knowing you don’t want the same thing. But I’m an idiot, alright? Does that make you happy? I stick around, thinking that maybe one day, something will change. That maybe one day, you’ll look at me and admit to yourself that you have feelings. Because I know you do, [Y/N]. Because I don’t think we met for no reason. Because for the time in my fucking life I believe in fate, and it’s not fucking working out and its making me go crazy. So you know what? I am sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I made this mess, but I don’t regret it. And I never fucking will.”

Frozen.

Your body had fallen completely frozen.

The growing discomfort in your stomach had become entirely unbearable, Jungkook let out a staggered breath as your heart beat accelerated; icy chill after icy chill continued to make way down your spine, to the point at which it felt there was a constant outpour of frost at the small of your back. This was sickening. This was torturous. This was gut-wrenching. Though the words felt so soft and easy and comforting in your mouth, the thought of the world they would awaken left you aching to your core. You cared for him. You cared for him so, so much. He was the mirage at the end of a desert of relationships that all seemed to either dry out or suck the life out of you. Though your mind begged for reason and practicality, your heart yearned for the potential of something absolutely breath-taking. Because he, was absolutely breath-taking. And a world without him, well, that wasn’t a life you thought you were prepared for.

Jungkook stood in front of you, running a hand through his hair and catching one last glimpse at the girl he swore was the absolute love of his life. He wasn’t prepared to say goodbye, and yet there he stood, mind flooded with outcomes he couldn’t completely fathom, and most of them, admittedly bad.

He turned around.

If you continued to live your life the way you always had, cautious, safe, you could protect yourself from torment and heartbreak and destruction. If you continued to live your life the way you always had, you’d be able to carry out the rationality of life, the logic, the sensibility.

If you continued to live your life the way you always had, nothing would ever change.

You grabbed his wrist.

“I love you.”

“You—what?” His eyes were almost glossy, and the fleet of stomping elephants in your stomach suddenly felt less overbearing than the pounding in your chest.

You gulped.

“I love you. A-and you, you’re making me go crazy. And I’m not. I’m normal you know! I’m not crazy! It’s you! You’re doing this! You’re making me insane. I-I-you- you-,” your chest heaved. “You’re changing me!”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s all you have to fucking say right now? Really? Are you fucking serious I’m gonna—,”

“Okay.”

His mouth twitched. He looked like he was smiling. God, you wanted to punch that smile off his lip. But God, you couldn’t stop staring.

Jungkook bit his lip, the whiplash of emotions almost making him nauseous. He had just gone from complete frustration and dismay, to utter exhilaration; euphoria. All the while, you couldn’t keep your eyes off the soft pink silhouette of his mouth.

Stop looking at his lips.

God, who fucking cares.

The first thing you did was drop your clutch. Jungkook quipped an eyebrow and his smirk stuck firmly, and you wondered how it would change when you wrapped your arms thickly around his neck and finally attached your chapped and dry lips to his admittedly adorable and absolutely plump lips.

And so you did.

You launched forward and roughly took his lips in yours, and though Jungkook could feel every muscle in his body tensing, the feeling immediately flood away in a single rush of elation that allowed him to smile onto your mouth. Jungkook felt tentative, but the steady pressure of his kiss alongside the gentle caressing of his lips had your fingers shaking. He cupped your cheeks, and squished them endearingly before finally pulling away, lips promiscuously crimson and face flushed. Your noses brushed against each other, and the sheer cliché of the situation made your stomach clench.

Jungkook let out a boisterous laugh as you shut your eyes tightly and then opened them up again.

“So you like me, huh?”

And the smirk sitting on his lips this time filled your heart with the same aggravation that seemed to consume you so naturally, and just as strongly, was the temptation to kiss his annoying lips again just to shut him up.

“Fuck off Jungkook.”

“I’m just asking.”

“I’m just gonna kill you.”

And again he laughed, and you laughed with him. And though the idea of love and relationships and fate and everlasting romance never seemed to rapture your soul the way you often wished it had—though the thought of fate and eternity seemed far away and barely tangible—you ignored your fear of every hurtful past and any spiteful future, and thought now, in this moment, a future with Jungkook was absolute. You hoped.

((if u made it this far, thank u and have a lovely day u beautiful person!!! ily)

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenario #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bangtan #bangtan scenarios #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fic #fanfic #if u dont like it #give me a like anyways #self esteem boost

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snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales · 7 years

Text

No Matter What - Part 2

A/N: Based off of the song “One Call Away” by Charlie Puth, this will be a multichapter fic with a line of lyric being the headers to break down the thought process of the chapter. None of the lyrics are mine, and they are all in bold - Again, I do not claim to own them, all credit where credit is due.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

Word Count: 1,598 (Not including lyrics.)

Warnings: None that I know of. Mild language?

Beautiful people who helped me when I came to them with this crazy idea and said to run with it: @wheresthekillswitch @aworldmadeforme @life-what-life-i-dont-have-one

How to be a Werewolf 101: Getting bitten was the easy part. Controlling the shifts that come after? Not so much. It’d been a long, hard road for you once you were bitten, never quite being able to control the shift even now, almost a year later. You were always told that Beacon Hills would hold a handful of people willing to drop everything to come an help you, no matter the situation, all you had to do was let them know, and they’d be there. So far you hadn’t had to ask a single time.  But when pride becomes a bigger issue, and the war raging inside of you becomes more and more of a losing battle, you find yourself having to let go, and give in, putting your trust in others once again, instead of yourself, and believing they will do what is best for you, no matter what.

Series Masterlist

Xxx

Call me, baby, if you need a friend

Derek groggily rolled over to glance at the phone vibrating violently on his nightstand, letting out a groan as the bright display seemed to want to mimic the sun. Just as it was about to vibrate off the surface it rested on, he reached out and caught it with minimal effort, glaring at the name he saw blindingly displayed at the top of the screen as he held it in his hand for a moment before finally answering with a huff. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” He let out a small yawn.

“Well, hello to you, too, sunshine.” You laughed gently as he softly growled annoyedly. “Nothing, just wanted to talk.”

There was a heavy pause, something that always seemed to happen when they entered into these phone calls. “That’s weird.” His voice was a deadpan, and dry, but he had a smile slowly climbing his face.

“Your face is weird.” You didn’t miss a beat, your tone mimicking his own.

“Hey!” He let the laugh he felt bubbling in his chest finally tumble out with the word.

“See? Conversing.” You said as if it were obvious. “We’re making strides, Derek. This is progress.”

“Strides toward what?” His eyebrows couldn’t decide if they wanted to be up in question or knit together in confusion, so he just let his free hand drag down his face, scrubbing any attempted emotion away.

“You becoming less of a hermit.”

“I am not-”

“You are and you know it.”

He huffed, not bothering to debate it. “Goodnight.” He chuckled, not waiting for a response before he hung up.

I just wanna give you love

You jumped slightly, letting out a small yelp of surprise when Derek stepped out of the shadows in the alley next to the restaurant you had just exited. Granted, you had done so by climbing out of the bathroom window which led into said alley, but still, the fact that he was there should not have surprised you.

“Bad date, huh?” He was making fun of you just like when you were teenagers, making you roll your eyes.

“Oh, back off, Derek,” you huffed, rising to your feet as you finally made it completely out of the window, dusting the front of your dress off. “It wasn’t anything serious, anyway, I wasn’t expecting to leave through the front door to begin with-”

“Y/N-”

“I mean,” you babbled on, “it’s not like I ever get to go on a date where hunters don’t show up somehow, and blind dates in general just suck, so-”

“Y/N, you don’t deserve someone like that.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft, and made you snap your eyes up to his. He only ever let a few people see this side of him, and you didn’t take it for granted that you got to be one of them.

Lost in thought, you finally shook your head to find your way back to the topic at hand, eyes closed tightly to avoid distractions. “I know, he was way out of my league-”

“Bull shit.” You opened your eyes wide, looking back into his. He hardly ever swore, he was blunt, yes, but hardly ever did that bluntness include language. It was his way of being emphatic, you had learned over the years, so you knew to pay attention to his next words. “He wasn’t even a rookie player in the kindergarten version of the league you are in.”

You scoffed, averting your eyes to the walls of the alleyway behind him. “Derek, stop complimenting me, you’re only nice because you’re my friend.”

“No. You know me. Since when am I nice to anyone, especially my friends?” You looked back to his face to try and gauge whether he was joking or not, and despite the broad, playful smile he wore, his eyes were sincere, and his heartbeat was steady.

You sighed, letting a small grin come out to meet his. “Point taken. You are a grouchy old man hermit.”

“Hey!”

“You know it’s true.”

“We’re nearly the same age, so if I’m an old man, what does that make you?”

Walking alongside him to exit the alley, you stared straight ahead with a smirk. “Dead, if you ever question the state of my age again.”

C'mon, c'mon, c'mon

You were about to settle into a night filled with nothing when Derek’s face lit up your phone screen. “Yes, Hale?”

“Come over.” Two words. So many meanings. Too many possibilities. Endless opportunities.

“I have a ton of paperwork to sift through to help Stiles.” You glanced guiltily over to the neatly stacked pile you had already gone through and organized.

“Come over.” Two words. So many meanings. Too many possibilities.

“Derek, I said I am busy! I also have to clean my kitchen.” Lies.

“Come over.” Two words. So many meanings.

“My freezer needs defrosting.” More lies.

“I’m coming over.” Two words.

“Okay.” One word.

Reaching out to you, so take a chance

Deciding you probably actually had things to accomplish that night, you set out to do some laundry, on your way to the washing machine when your doorbell rang.

Opening it wide, you couldn’t help the grin as you took in the scene before you. “Derek Hale at my doorstep with cookies. Never thought I’d live to see the day-”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Reaching over the threshold and taking a tiny step, you leaned the rest of the way in a ridiculous and over the top manner to slyly take one of the cookies from off of the plate Derek held tightly in his hands, looking up to see he had one eyebrow raised curiously your way, before taking a small bite as you stepped backwards, back into your home.

“Now why would I ever do that?” You smirked, sending him a wink before you turned around to head to the washing machine, hearing his groan of annoyance behind you only making your smile grow.

No matter where you go

Werewolf 101 - if you need help, howl. So that is what you had done, glancing down at your cracked and now nonfunctional phone screen in annoyance. You really hated Omegas.

“What the hell are you doing in these woods?”

You spun around at the voice, wide eyed until it melted into a glare when you saw his smirk at realizing he caught you off guard again. “Surviving!” You flailed your arms dramatically with with word, spinning around in a slow circle to see if the wild man that broke your phone had decided to come back.

“Well, that’s not what I was expecting.”

The glare leveled on him again. “What’s that supposed to mean, Derek?”

“You’re not much of the outdoors type….” His hands were deep in his leather jacket pockets, and he was almost bouncing on the balls of his feet like an excited child.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m a werewolf, Derek.”

“Yeah, but, I always pictured you as the type to take a run on a treadmill instead of romping through the woods.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“Already did.” He had such a shit eating grin, and his eyes sparkled in the moonlight, you took a moment to just let it sink in that you were getting these small little glimpses of his softer side more and more often. It’s been too long, since way before the fire. He used to be like this almost everyday.

“Well, then….” You tried to think of a comeback, but after a moment simply groaned, turning your back to him and stomping off deeper into the woods to try and track the asshole who broke your phone. “Then don’t do it again. I guess…. Ugh! Just help me find someone then you can go back home to your precious hermit hole loft, you grouchy old man hermit.”

You know you're not alone

Standing up and letting out a puff of air, you grimaced as you wiped some dirt from your cheek, whimpering gently as you pulled twigs from your hair.

“Who were those guys?”

Looking to Derek as he spoke, it irked you that he still looked flawless, hands once again in his jacket pockets. How was he not even dirty? You couldn’t get in and out of your car without getting some form of something on your clothes, and that was just a day to day basis, not including supernatural smack downs. Both of you made your way to a large boulder a few feet away and sat down, a few inches between the two of you. Letting out an annoyed snarl, you turned your gaze to the two unconscious Omegas where you had bound them to a tree while you waited on Scott and Stiles with the Jeep.

“Assholes.”

Derek chuckled, and you rolled your eyes. “Well, that much was obvious, please elaborate.” You glanced at him in annoyance at the remark.

“Omega assholes.”

“There. Was that so hard?”

“Derek, I will drop you.”

“See?” You cast a sideways glance at him. He wore the widest grin you had seen yet. “Conversing.” You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing he was mimicking your conversation from earlier in the week. “We’re making strides, Y/N. This is progress.”

“This is annoying, is what it is,” you mumbled, resuming your task of pulling twigs out of your hair, ignoring Derek’s deep belly laugh that made your shoulders touch with it’s movement.

Silence settled between the two of you, but you noticed his shoulder now stayed in contact with yours, him not bothering to create the distance that existed before.

“But seriously, this is a big step in the right direction-”

“Derek, so help me, I will push you off this rock if you so much as try to continue that sentence.”

Xxx

Tags: @evyiione @mayahart02 @palaiasaurus64 @shydinosaurcandy @lucyqueenofthestars @storytelling-reader @jazzrivera27 @c-breanne1999 What’s this?

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troglobite · 5 years

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thing i realized that really bothers me for some reason

my taste in music is really just what happens to work with my sensory needs in that moment

that sounds like a fucking given for literally everyone but

my sensory needs are different in that i’m autistic and i don’t even like actively listening to music most of the time

ppl who listen to music while studying, hanging out, writing, or chilling or reading or anything? i don’t get it, i cannot do that, it’s way too much

and that’s why i dont’ listen to music anywhere but in the car, bc i have to be Doing Something while i listen, bc listening doesn’t qualify as Doing Something for me

so i never really explore new music or listen to much of it anyway

but the music i like most often is

1. repetitive but in groups of like 10-30 seconds that gets repeated

2. within a certain tonal or pitch range (idk fuck shit abt music so idk how to phrase this)

3. can easily be sung along to by me for that Extra Sensory and Activity Element

or for music outside of that

4. is chockfull of patterns and pleasant mouth sounds to make and mimic

5. still manages to not be overwhelming bc the beat/bass/instrumentals do not overwhelm that overwhelming vocals

in other words, swelling grandiose instrumentals are great and i enjoy them. so long as the vocals that are in the same song don’t try to match them too much.

i like dancey stuff so long as there’s not too much happening all at once and i am, in fact, dancing, and the beat is something i can physically keep up with

and i LOATHE bass-y songs

i hate the sensation of deep bass notes in my body it’s the worst feeling in the world

also loud trumpet sounds make me wanna explode out of this plane of existence it’s terrible

anything deliberately unpleasant or off-kilter or challenging is Upsetting to me bc it’s Wrong and my brain can’t anticipate it, and they’re often sensorily overwhelming as well which like Fuck That Shit

so hiphop that i listen to? very little if any and it’s mostly stuff like flobots bc their stuff is incredibly chill. i haven’t really extended beyond that bc going through music is a lot of incredibly taxing WORK.

experiencing music and deciding if i like it or not is A FUCKING LOT. bc i have to get through all of the stuff that’s viscerally hurting or upsetting me which fucking sucks

so i just don’t listen to new music very often

and when i do i feel like a goddamn idiot bc it sounds just like all the other music i listen to

and i feel ignorant and childish for having that be my music taste

but the fact is that anything outside of that literally hurts and overwhelms me and i’m just not into it

and so what i’m saying, ultimately, is that i don’t really Like things in music, if that makes sense.

i just tolerate things in music or find things soothing or inoffensive.

and then i enjoy mimicking their sounds on my own and creating that sensory experience is enjoyable.

i don’t have taste in music, i have a very limited experience with music that i merely tolerate and occasionally can get enjoyment out of.

for instance, stuff like hatari from eurovision? they really excellently toe that sensory line for me. the music backing the aggressive screaming/singing/shouting is actually pretty chill and doesn’t have a lot of invasive bass sounds. and then you get melodic and calm singing with slightly more melodic, but same decibel level, drums and backing music. so it’s never really overwhelming.

anyway it’s just me over here having a crisis bc music is not an inherently enjoyable thing for me and that bums me out

anyway i love the amelie soundtrack and if that’s not the most basic shit i’ve ever said idk what is but it makes me emotional every time

also the irrepressibles/jamie mcdermott/jamie irrepressible is great bc very particular choices w instruments that flow perfectly with the vocals

ANYWAY

this has been a useless meditation on me and music that literally no one else will read or give a single fuck about as is the nature of my existence in this life. alas.

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foodieworldmelbourne · 5 years

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Why Bianca Spender is skipping Australian fashion week

I dont think I can capture everything I want to in a traditional show format, she explains. My runways are never straight.

Cut from the same cloth ... Bianca Spender (right) with her mother, designer Carla Zampatti. Last year, Spender staged one of the standout shows at Fashion Week, featuring a diagonal series of catwalks that snaked through the crowd. The critics loved it but photographers hated not being able to capture the perfect front-on shot. Over a shared meal of grilled whiting fillets, a dish of fregola with seafood that is like a more chewy risotto, and salads, we discuss the front, back and sides view of fashion, as more people explore fashion through two-dimensional images, often on their smartphones. Spender believes social media, specifically Instagram, has had a huge change on the way people can market ideas. I feel lucky because my clothes are better in movement. When online shopping first came out and everyone was straight front, back, sides, I was like, You dont have any idea how that skirt floats or feels, and I was really struggling with working out how to translate my ideas. Movement is at the core of how Spender designs and produces her clothes, joking that skirts must pass the Martin Place test, named after the notorious wind tunnel in the Sydney CBD. Since becoming a mother to two sons, now aged seven and 10, those tests have expanded to include the carrying the baby test to determine dress lengths (Spender doesnt own a pair of jeans).

Costume collaborators ... Spender with Sydney Dance Company's Rafael Bonachela.Credit:Louise Kennerley Spenders obsession with movement was put to the ultimate test recently, when she designed the costumes for the Sydney Dance Companys 50th-anniversary production of Cinco, under artistic director Rafael Bonachela. Some of the dance movements were so physical that three costumes ripped during rehearsals, and there were many repairs required. Each [costume] fitting, the scope of movement was amazing and even if I had mimicked it I couldnt mimic what would happen to the costume when it was on [the dancers], she says.

Fregola, calamari and mussels at Totti's.Credit:Wolter Peeters Spender said the project, even if it has forced her to sacrifice other work this year, was a dream come true for the one-time ballet student. Every family photo from the age of five to 11, I am in my ballet costume. I loved it so much I wouldnt take [my costume] off, she says. I call myself the tortoise. My mum loves running fast and loves winning. Bianca Spender Spender's gazelle-like physique and flowing strawberry blonde hair means she could easily pass as a professional dancer, although she admits age and the way she moves has taken its toll on her body. I only recently realised at the physio when he asked how I move everything is always very extended, I am not holding my core very much," she says while demonstrating how she would pick up a vase off a table, arm outstretched. "I love how everything looks when its long but then you dont protect your body.

Grilled whiting fillets at Totti's.Credit:Wolter Peeters Spender grew up in Sydney the middle of three children to fashion icon Carla Zampatti and John Spender (her parents separated in 2010). She recalls living in big, spacious houses where classical music was often playing and small talk was non-existent, the family preferring to tackle politics or business at the dinner table, sometimes to the bemusement of Spenders classmates. At school she would demonstrate her eccentric fashion taste on mufti days, but it wasnt until Spender reached adulthood that she truly understood her familys notoriety in Sydney's cultural scene.

Bianca Spender has formed a reputation at fashion week for her non-linear catwalks.Credit:AAP Only years after I left school and I [reflected on] certain conflicts with certain kids that Id never understood. People would say, Well your mum is Carla Zampatti, and I was just like, Oh.

The Zampatti-Spender family on the steps of their Sydney home in 1986. Clockwise from left: John Spender, Carla Zampatti, Alex Schuman, Allegra Spender, Bianca Spender. Credit:Ian Charles Cugley/SMH My mum is pretty normal, shes a postwar immigrant. What that means to me is you have to finish all your food, you live in a beautiful house but you understand the value of money. For a pre-teen Spender, that meant school holidays spent working at her mothers inner-city office, doing every job from tea lady to banking clerk. I am the most ridiculous jaywalker because I have been walking around the city since I was eight, Spender jokes. A firsthand apprenticeship in the Carla Zampatti offices, coupled with her familys work and social ethic, meant Spender had quite a feminist upbringing. I never felt the need to answer to a man, dress for a man, or been dependent on a man for anything. They dont have to approve of how I talk, what I wear, what I earn, what I spend my money on. Last year, Spender reached another milestone when she and Zampatti divided their businesses into separate entities, including a new head office in Rushcutters Bay for Spender. The pair are clearly close, often travelling together overseas or to fashion shows in Australia (both brands are carried at David Jones, for example). But when it comes to their work practices, Spender admits they are quite different. Loading I call myself the tortoise. My mum loves running fast and loves winning. She has racing car blood in her family (both Zampattis brothers were race-car drivers) but I am about the journey. Its not that I dont want the end result to look great. You can get a good result and have a terrible journey but that doesnt mean the same to me. I am [about] the long game. Which comes back to Spenders Fashion Week dilemma. She has a big vision of a project involving 10 women who have influenced her, dressing 10 other women, using her carefully archived collections. Its still morphing but she knows it wont be ready by mid-May, when fashion week takes place. I am probably being too ambitious in what I want to achieve out of it. But at least if I am pushing myself to strive for something. I wont do what I expect and Ill find that new form. (A week after our lunch, Spender phones to say she has decided to sit out of Fashion Week and will instead stage a solo, more intimate event in early May.) Recently, Spender has experimented with salon-style showings, where she revels in getting up close with the clothing and the customer. As someone whos more comfortable at a dinner party for 10 than a cocktail function for 300, Spenders aversion to big-production shows is understandable. At least if I am pushing myself to strive for something. I wont do what I expect - and Ill find that new form. Bianca Spender At a big party, my partners wings will get bigger. Whereas if you have me at a dinner party, I am passionate put me around lots of people and they are asking, Whats wrong with you? I am so not a show pony I find shows an incredible creative process but the way you only get eight to 10 minutes to present your world I remember once saying 12 [seconds] to [stylist] Mark Vassallo and he said, No, 12 is way too long. And I said, That dress took 12 weeks to get right and I cant have it on stage for eight seconds. I want to challenge that.

The bill at Totti's. One point on which Spender and her mother are in lockstep is on the retention of Australian fashion talent (Zampatti funds a scholarship for a UTS graduate to study overseas, with the intention of them returning home). Unlike some of her peers, Spender, who worked in France and Italy in fashion for four years after completing a commerce degree, has resisted aggressively chasing sales or the limelight overseas. We know we [Australia] are leaders in sport compared to our population ... in fashion theres still a, Whats everyone else doing? attitude. New Zealand has a very strong vision for its fashion with a small population but Australia is often very outward looking. We need to find a bit more confidence in ourselves and our own vision and our own style. Our need to be revered by overseas comes from our lack of supporting ourselves and our culture Whenever [a journalist] writes on a designer, its X is stocked on [e-tailer] Net-a-Porter. Do they need to be stocked there for you to love them? A lot of people go bankrupt trying to catch the overseas dollar. I am focused on building my Australianmarket. If my international market comes quicker, great, but I am not running after it. I dont need it to prove to myself that what I do is unique and has a strong vision. THE BILL, PLEASE Totti's 283 Bondi Road, Bondi 02 9114 7371 Open: Mon-Sat 11.30am-10pm, Sun 11.30am-9pm Melissa Singer is National Fashion Editor of The Sydney Morning Herald and The Age. Most Viewed in Lifestyle Loading https://www.theage.com.au/lifestyle/fashion/why-bianca-spender-is-skipping-australian-fashion-week-20190410-p51csm.html?ref=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_source=rss_lifestyle

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imfuxingdone · 4 years

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Just FYI I talk about 💩 in this vent. I have to in order to get the best advice because you’ll get the full picture.

Ok so, I had just taken a dump and the bathroom I use and it’s in a hallway. So unfortunately, anyone who walks by in my house has to smell stuff. I hate it so much. Anyway, I guess my mom must have smelled my dump and she comes walking into the kitchen to tell me about the stain on the toilet seat that’s really old but she didn’t know that.

So she walks in, and I’m making my dinner. And she says, “Hey, when you (insert discussion about #2 I’m not going make you or myself suffer through typing out.)” Keep in mind, I’ve been up since 4:00 AM, I haven’t had enough food today, and I’m finally eating something after being starving for hours. And anyone else out there who knows what it’s like to be hangry, you know how I felt. So when she tells me about the stain, I get irritated with her and tell her “omg it’s old, I’ve tried it get it out and it won’t. I know.” And she was like “So now what?” And I just told her idk. And she got mad that I was short with her and said that she’s going to be a bitch to me because I’ve said fucked up things to her in the past.

When she said this, I just deadass ignored her because I didn’t know what else to do and she ended up walking away. Buttttt, it doesn’t stop there.

When I came back out after changing out of my nice work clothes, she was sitting at the kitchen table and said (actually nicely), “When I say something that you don’t like, I would like it if you worked on not getting mad.” And I asked back “Why wouldn’t I get mad if I heard something I didn’t like?” I’m autistic and as a result very very very literal so I was legit trying to get clarification. We go back and forth a couple more times until I finally tell her I don’t want to talk to her. She again accused me of being unable to see reality.

Then she mocks me going, “OmG I DoNt WaNt tO TaLK aT ALL!” And she tells me that being short with her is inflammatory, so I mimic what she just did and tell her it’s not okay and that it’s also inflammatory. And then, she pins me mimicking her on me saying that I again am doing something inflammatory and claims that she didn’t do that at all. I repeatedly try to explain that I mimicked her to show her what she did to help her realize what she did is not ok. She doesn’t want to her it so I just keep telling her that I don’t want to talk to her if she can’t acknowledge her flaws while acknowledging mine at the same time. And I kept telling while going back and forth that I don’t want to talk about it because I’ve had a long day and I tired and hungry, etc. We just kept going back and forth until I just said stop, walked away with my food, and locked myself in the bathroom.

#vent blog #vent tw #shitty #i feel like shit #personal shit

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viralhottopics · 7 years

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YA author Mindy McGinnis returns to the book world with new epic fantasy novel ‘Given to the Sea’

Image: Penguin Young Readers

Sometimes the best way to follow a hit novel is to switch things up and try something completely different.

Or at least that’s the case with YA author Mindy McGinnis and her latest book, epic fantasy novel Given to the Sea.

SEE ALSO: ‘All Our Wrong Todays’ is your next fast-reading, mind-expanding, science fiction romance

The novel follows four intertwined characters Khosa, Vincent, Donil and Witt as each struggles to confront fate and loyalty in the warring kingdom of Stille. At the center of the story is Khosa, a girl destined to sacrifice herself to the sea to save her village. After surviving an attack on her village, Khosa is taken to safety at the royal palace in Stille where she finds herself enmeshed in a love triangle or probably more apt, love square that could alter not only her own fate but the fate of her kingdom.

“I had this idea that writing fantasy would be easy because I get to make up all the rules, no research required. Not true,” explains McGinnis. “In fantasy, nothing is a given, nothing is assumed. I have to do a lot of explaining… and keep that interesting. I’ve written post-apocalyptic, historical, contemporary, and now fantasy. Fantasy is by far the hardest.”

The book comes fresh off the heels of McGinnis’ 2016 contemporary YA novel Female of the Species. The novel followed Alex, a teenage girl who seeks vigilante justice on the sexual abusers in her town. Female of the Species was much acclaimed at the time of its release for its exploration of feminism, sexual violence and justice. (The MashReads Podcast actually recommended it. Twice.)

It’s this juxtaposition contemporary YA to fantasy that may shock McGinnis’ fans picking up her latest book. Yet McGinnis teases that Given to the Sea contains something for all types of readers.

“There’s something for everyone here – romance, gruesome deaths, magic, sword fights, scary animals, and inevitable death.”

Given to the Sea doesn’t come out until April 11. In the meantime, check out a sneak peek of the book’s first two chapters below.

Image: Penguin Young Readers

Chapter 1Khosa

It is in my blood.

It is in my bone.

It is in my brain.

One day my body will betray me, dancing into the sea, my mind a passenger only. The water will close over my head and I will drown, my death bringing a reprieve for those who are not me. This is what Ive been born and bred for. The food passing into my mouth, the clothes covering my body, every breath I drawthese are smaller offerings, each a promise that I will endure, bear my own cursed daughter, and then succumb.

How that will happen I do not know. My mother suffered the touch of another at least once, long enough to fulfill her duties and bring me about. I know it was badly done. I see it in the faces of my Keepers, these people who care for me without caring. I hear the small things in their voices. They worry I will not be pleasing to the sea, that my mother and her chosen mate created something less than perfect. I understand their concern, but cannot share it. Why should I care if the tides rise again, if I am only a corpse riding the waves?

To live aware of your own doom is no easy thing. I spend my days at lessons, my body fulfilling the expected duties, though my mind is elsewhere. The Keepers are worried that I have not prepared well, have not set my face in the appropriate response to their commands. Happy, for instance, is an emotion I cannot be expected to parade, but they tell me it is necessary. Melancholy I excel at.

My mother and grandmother had other lessons, ones to please at table and dancing. Proper chewing, proper speaking, proper walkingonly expected, of course, when we are in control of our limbs. My lessons have taken a different course, my other instructors quietly dismissed once I learned all that was expected.

All except how to contort my stone face appropriately.

The Keepers have tried, their emotions chasing through their faces so quickly I cant keep up, my own trying to mirror what I see. They say to me, Pleased, but look nothing like it themselves, and I am easily confused on this point. So I often retreat, my mind escaping the room where I learn to mimic emotion, returning itself to some well-ordered facts absorbed from a musty book, its scent still lingering on my fingers, a source of comfort.

Their pages follow me through the day, their words imprinted on my mind. I know the history of my land better than the Scribes, better than the royals who rule it. I can recite the names of my predecessors, from the woman who gave birth to me all the way to Medalli, one of the Three Sisters whom the sea gave back after the wave that took nearly all. Seaweed was pulled from their hair, their locks drying as they worked alongside other survivors to rebuild what had washed away, not knowing they would be taken again, the first of the Given.

The sea waited until the sisters had married and had children of their own before it called for them, the price of its leniency the blood of their line. For the children went too, and their children after them, the first twitches of their childhood pulling them toward the water, the final coordinated movements driving them deep into the waves, the dance of death one their kingdom deemed the will of the sea. And so it continues. Their footprints in the sand not returning, my feet now itching to follow. Medallis linemineremains strong, the other two Sisters falling short, the last names in their column females who did not produce heirs, the ink that wrote them now faded with time.

I rub my fingers together, drawing the scent of the book pages from them as my male Keeper says, Sad. Sad I can perform, closing my eyes and picturing my name, Khosa, the ink slightly darker than my mothers name before me, Sona.

Dont close your eyes, he says.

I open them again to see my Keepers, their faces so easily read.

Disappointment.

Chapter 2Vincent

Im sorry you have to wait, my lord.

Not a concern, I answer the guard, but my eyes are on my hands, the clean nails freshly clipped, the smoothness of my palms interrupted by the lines that Madda insists hold my future.

In any kingdom other than Stille, the future of a prince wouldnt need to be read in his hands. It would be clear in his actions, the preparations taken to ensure he sits the throne well, does his duty, leads his country. Somewhere else I would be wed already, the announcement of my own child eagerly anticipated, the girl I keep on the side politely excused, with her pockets lined for her trouble. Instead I sit outside the throne room at the age of seventeen, awaiting my turn to speak to King Gammalmy grandfatherhealthy, hearty, capable. At his side, my father Prince Varrick, already gray and lined, but still sitting in the lower throne.

I shift on the wooden bench, and the trapman next to me slides farther away, the smell of sea salt rising from his clothes. Im sorry, my lord. Do you need more room?

More than enough room, I insist, patting the space between us.

Hes quiet for a moment, and the lady on the bench next to ours fills the hall with the clicking of her wooden knitting needles. One foot rests casually on the ball of coarse wool beneath her feet to keep it from rolling away as she works. Shes assured, content. As a citizen of Stille, she is entitled to speak to the king, and her turn will come. Eventually.

I look back at my empty hands and the lines that Madda the Seer wrinkles her brow at. Her answers to my questions are always vague and muttered.

Am I right to say my lord? the trapman asks. Is that what youre called?

The words it doesnt matter are half formed in my throat, but I choke them back.

The womans needles continue to click. Her hands are gnarled and work-worn, but her color is good, and the hat she is knitting small. For a grandchild. Or great-grandchild. They are lucky to have her. I tell myself these things every day: Stille is fortunate. Stille is healthy. Stille is strong. Years of peace and prosperity mean that the old linger and the middle-aged flourish, while the young inherit only boredom and aimlessness.

Just Vincent, I say, finally answering the trapmans question. No title necessary.

Youre of royal blood, the woman says, not glancing up from her work. It should not be taken lightly.

No… My voice fades away. I have no words to explain succinctly, only memories from my childhood when I was called the baby prince, and then the young prince, and now theres a hesitation, a slight pause before acknowledging my rank. There is no name for the third in line, one whose hands will wither with age long before they hold the scepter.

Ive come to hate the blank space before my given name, the deferential glance of the servants as they search for a title that represents nothing. So I make it easier for them, and for myself.

Just Vincent, I reassert. The old woman makes a disapproving noise in her throat and keeps knitting. The trapman smiles at me, his teeth even, strong, and white in a face lined with wrinkles.

Im Agga. He holds out a bent hand, gnarled from years of pulling in the crab traps, the lengthy ropes rubbing it raw. Even the trapmen dont go into the water, letting the tides carry out the traps. His skin feels of age and the scars of work, years of absorbed salt water pressing back against the softness of my own hands.

How is the sea, Agga? I ask.

He shakes his head. Eating the beach with hunger. Well be needing her thats given to the sea, and soon.

I will pass that along, I say. I dont add that my voice doesnt carry in the great hall, only echoes back into my ears.

Here to do it myself, Agga says, and I wonder if he followed my thought.

I saw when the last one was given, the woman says. She danced beautifully.

They all have, Agga says.

But their faces, they do… twist, the woman adds, her own mimicking the memory, a brief mask of horror that slides off easily as she counts her stitches.

Do they want to go? I ask.

Agga shrugs. Its their own feet taking them. No one in Stille makes them go. Were not the Pietra, feeding sea monsters with the flesh of their aged.

No. The woman shudders, dropping the first stitch since Ive sat here. Were not the Pietra.

Theres laughter in the throne room. It reverberates under the closed doors, my grandfathers hearty one underscored by my fathers, which has never ceased to produce goose bumps on my skin, even in a lifetime of hearing it.

Im sorry you have to wait, my lord, the guard says again.

Not a concern, I repeat, looking back at my hands, where lifelines extend forever, marching right off the palm.

Waiting is what Im good at.

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