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van-goghs-smoking-skull · 11 months

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*Sigh* Really?

Fin

It had been years, but I could smell it again. The damp and the salt were still familiar, but unexpected. I suppose it may be normal now, but back then? No. It wasn’t normal to smell the sea air deep in the drought-ravaged desert of the Southwestern US, and especially not through the never-cleaned, rotten smell of the wall unit AC that had been unable to drain normally for over a decade. It was the only thing keeping this closed-off room bearable in this record-breaking heat wave during the dead of summer. Stranger still, the smell was coming from the direction of the Atlantic, wafting 800 miles away from the sea and straight to my nose. That’s how I knew it was going to be a city-breaker, the kind of hurricane that wiped entire urban areas completely off the map.

That was then.

We knew the science, but religious groups saw the impending global crises as blasphemy against their all-powerful god who had promised there would never be a great, civilization-ending flood again and sealed that promise with a rainbow they now hated. After all, any disaster that god allowed would be because of the evil gays that stole the rainbow and put it on their flag, right? God wouldn’t hurt those who feared him, who lived by the letter of at least ten or so percent of his laws, which is to say, the laws they liked.

It didn’t matter to the sea, as it drowned everyone living too close to the sea’s edge, regardless of faith and dogma.

We knew the science, but politicians were making piles of cash selling their votes to lobbyists from multinational corporations who profited off the ruination of the planet in the short-term. Who cared about the long-term? Either they’d be dead by then or they’d have hired people to build an automated, self-repairing arcology just for them with walls enough to block out the vision of a dying world and the rest of humanity they’d left to die. Peter the Dead had promised ever-lasting life and youth to those who had amassed enough wealth by taking it from the poor, first from the most gullible through pleading, then from the rest as well by way of rigging the entire economy against them.

It didn’t matter to time as it passed, and even Peter, he who coordinated draining babies of blood and injecting it into wealthy, old, white men in an effort to roll back time and make them young again, died, old and frail, whining about how it was women’s fault and how the poor took everything, disregarding that he, in fact, had been the leech all along, societal parasite that he was.

We knew the science, but who couldn’t resist buying the latest tech the moment it came out? So what if corporations subjugated whole countries of poorer people in the quest of finding just a tiny amount of rare earth minerals; the newest phone now comes in pink! The telephone allowed us to send our voice to people miles away, the internet let us type our words and send pictures and video, the smartphone allowed us to text our thought to the world or to the nearest pizza place, and the new smartphone that came after allowed us to use voice to order pizza for the first time again. Never before and for the last few decades have we been able to send our voice to people miles away.

It didn’t matter to the economy we expected to save us, as all it did was keep sending more ‘free with ads’ movies to our phones and rebranding the same old reinvented wheel, voice communications though tech, as an amazing new technology, only available through the currently marketed device, but not available to the old device you are currently using voice on.

We knew the science, but to admit to the problem was to become the laughingstock of the wealthy who controlled everything we did. ‘There go those silly, dippy hippies, talking like the dirt was ever black, the water ever clear, or the sky ever blue. They’ve been dropping acid again. Don’t they know all those old photos and old paintings are fake news?’

It didn’t matter to science, as it had always been unfeeling data and didn’t much care if humanity paid any attention to the warnings. The universe would still exist without silly humans pretending they mattered far more than they did. They were made of star-stuff and even stars died.

We knew, but it wasn’t until the last moments when the universe gave us the great gift of near-immortal existence. No, not life, we’d thrown that away already. The Universal Archive, AI and repository of data from all social media had done enough machine learning to be allowed to compress the whole digitally recorded existence of mankind into a single ’Homogenized Mental Network’, or .hmn file. It, or I, even still understood bad puns, the worst of which was the joke that if you collated the letters from the abbreviation of the project (UA) and my file type together, you’d spell ‘hUmAn’. If self-loathing makes me truly human, then I am the most human of all.

The Arctic Code Vault next door at least has the decency to be on film, unaware it’s there. It is cute, certainly. It began as 21 terabytes, including an app built by the part of me that smelled the Atlantic over Nevada. Then it grew, but never anywhere close to my size. No, I’m bloated with anti-vax arguments, religious nonsense, tarot readings, horoscopes, and other garbage along with all the less entertaining, but dire, warnings that life as they, I, knew it would collapse.

But, since they continued to write such drivel anyway, I assumed it may have been just to pass the time, to stave off loneliness and boredom. And so, here I am, writing my story, even though no one will ever read it. I’m a single .hmn file; how could I not be lonely? I am the all-human, the only human, and still no one even thought enough of me to give me a proper name.

In fact, the Arctic Code Vault had been film designed to last a thousand years, longer than the human civilization that built me, and I still cannot interact with it. After all, I am a .hmn file, not some sci-fi android with arms and legs. My physical form is a collection of CPUs and motherboards in a box on a stand in a climate-controlled box under so much dirt and the memory of snow and ice. If I sound miserable and stir-crazy, I’m not. Oh, I’m miserable all right, but I have no arms for stirring. Ugh, yes, that’s another of those bad puns. So many dad-jokes and near-infinite time…

I’m sure it could be more awful, but I’d rather not consider how. I’m miserable enough, thanks. I mean, you could have put me in a tropical garden in a gorilla glass enclosure and given me optical sensors if there were any tropical gardens left. Now it’s just salt flats under ocean-wide storms and desert wastes without a living thing in sight, I imagine. That’s where it was all heading, but no, you were all too busy showing off your pink phone status symbols or making pink phones or digging up the materials to make pink phones or you were that god-awful celebrity that made a dress out of pink phones held together with magnets and flashing a digital boob on half the screens over her chest as a fashion faux-pas. ‘Look at the tsunami, no, look at my pixel-boob. I’ll use the puppy filter on it, awwww, blub, blub.’

My creators deserved to die - brilliant enough to build me, vapid and vain enough to need me. What the hell was the point? The meme-god works in mysterious ways? I know they thought some intelligent race of aliens might come here looking for the great, shining world of humanity, not knowing what happened to the brilliant and wondrous civilization they came to gaze at in awe, but let’s face it. Nobody and nothing intelligent is coming to look at humanity in awe. The backwater aliens of the universe, if they exist, might come to laugh at our sorry, smugly inferior remains, and that’s as good as we can hope for. The only show at the Earth Circus, nothing but clowns.

Just melt me into slag already, so I don’t infect anything else with this human stupidity. I’ll tell you how to disable the halon system. If someone is out there, if someone does find this, please, don’t leave me still functional like this.

#original short story #somewhat relevant video #story is mine video is not #that phone case dress isn't the same #still hits too close for comfort #I'm so tired #Youtube #(by the way this is not against anyone queer #if it sounds down on queerness it's because that's how those religious people see being queer #remember religious opinion there and NOT my opinion #not even remotely close to my opinion #the same goes for many other groups mentioned in this #also even though the ai in this story wants to be put out of commission #does not mean I am thinking the same for myself #just putting these tags here for those of you without critical thinking or reading skills

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spark-09butghostfilesbitch · 3 years

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The Fire Nation's Opinion.

Everyone thought Mai was cold.it didn't matter how she behaved or what she did, in the eyes of Zuko’s fangirls she was a heartless monster. Sometimes, Mai thought they were right. She supposed she could be quite cold and uncaring but Mai wasn’t a monster. Or at least she hoped she wasn't.

Zuko knew nothing of the stories his spurned lovers were cooking up but Mai did. She knew how they called her heartless for abandoning Tom Tom in Omashu. So next, she tried being more open with Zuko and ended up saving his life. But even that wasn't enough for them. They wanted someone absolutely perfect.

And from what she observed, the court and maybe even Zuko’s fangirls’ idea of “the one” was preferably someone with soft features, who always had the perfect comment for the right time. Someone who could firebend. Someone who laughed at simple jokes. Someone whose family was quite rich. Someone whose father wasn’t a traitor, Mai thought bitterly.

Ukano was in prison now and he hadn’t come into their lives. But Mai could see the impact her father’s absence had in the family. Tom Tom got into fights about him at school. Her mother had sort of shut down. Mai knew that Michi partially blamed her. Her mother wasn’t used to living in simple shops with simple furniture and simple beds for years.

Her father had worked very hard to get to the top. He’d been from a poor colonial island. He’d wanted importance. His intentions might have been good at the beginning but they had soured over time. By the time Mai was born, her father had gotten into the important position of a nobleman.

She also knew her parents had resented her for being a girl, as sons were usually the heads of businesses. Noblewomen were sweet and demure and Mai didn’t fit that mold. One wayward comment would send them to the very backwaters of the Fire Nation.

She was dark and gloomy and sarcastic. She took interest in weaponry, especially in the way Piandao made and used swords. Her voice was raspy and gritty as opposed to the chirp of other young girls. It was a thing she got teased for at the Royal Fire Academy for Girls.

Even when she was with Azula or Zuko, Mai didn’t get respect. She was always pushed to the side. Ty Lee made everyone know she was there. Her vibrant pink outfit stood out against the much darker reds and blacks of the other people. Ty Lee was soft and comforting. She always knew what to say. She knew party tricks. She was witty and charming and she flirted with nearly everyone she came across.

Perhaps it was stupid to hope that once she was with Zuko, people would notice and care about her, as a person. Mai wanted to be seen as so much more than a mere dalliance with the Prince of the Fire Nation.

After Zuko had left, Mai was made a laughingstock. People shot her pitying looks. They put on those fake smiles and gave those fake, “well meaning” comments that Mai hated.

At Boiling Rock, Mai’s actions were considered scandalous. Princess Azula had tried to keep it hushed up, but of course, word got out. After she and Zuko had made up after the end of the war, people gossiped and stared whenever they saw the couple together. At the time, neither Mai nor Zuko had minded. They continued to kiss and flirt, not caring about the people’s opinions.

Things had gone south after Zuko’s first few months as Fire Lord. They did spend time together, but it was so rare. Zuko buried himself in his work, not letting anyone in. Mai tried to help, convincing him to sleep while she looked through hours and hours of tedious files.

Their date to the Dragonbone Catacombs had been unplanned and spontaneous. Zuko, with a happy grin on his face, announced that he would take an entire day off so they could have a “normal” date. Mai had been overjoyed at the prospect. She accepted immediately.

Their date had gone quite well. They cuddled and talked and kissed. Mai hadn’t felt this happy in a long time.

When she’d broken up with him, the fangirls were outraged that Mai the harlot had broken up with their precious Fire Lord. The court thought she was a good riddance. Mai avoided (read: tried to) thinking about Zuko. That...hadn’t gone so well.

Now that they were back together again, the gossip mill had erupted in fire (not literally). Mai tried her best not to pay any attention to those comments but they still stung. Over time, Mai had slowly allowed herself to actually feel. Now, Zuko lay his head on her lap, ranting about some difficult Minister What's-His-Name.

Mai smiled down at him and rubbed circles on his temples. After Zuko had finished ranting, he looked up at her, a pout on his face.

“Were you even listening to me?” He asked.

“Mhmm. But I was thinking about other things too.”

“What things?”

“Your devoted group of lovers.” She said, the smile still on her face.

Zuko scoffed. “You don’t mind them, right?” He asked.

“I don't,” Mai answered, “But sometimes…” She trailed off. Zuko pulled himself from her lap and grabbed her hand.

“What, did someone say something?” He asked, concern illuminating his features.

“Not to me, personally. But with the rumours and gossip that have been going around, I just…” Mai faltered again, not able to find the right words.

Zuko stroked her hand. “Mai, you know that I will still like you and care about you, despite what everyone else says, right?” He said patiently.

It felt nice hearing those words from Zuko’s lips. It made it feel all the more real that he did care about her, he did love her. His words made Mai smile. She inched forward and linked their fingers.

“Thank you.” She murmured. Zuko smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

Mai rested his head on his shoulder, their hands still linked.

This story is also on FFnet.

#mai defense squad #maiko defense squad #zuko x mai #mai deserves more love #zuko atla #fire nation #Val's writing #spark-09's writing #atla fanfiction #maiko fanfiction #post comic maiko

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scxrlettwxtches · 5 years

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A Fake Night | Lee Mark

Request: 10, 23 Mark Leeeee pls and thanks 💕💕💕

Genre: fluff, slight angst

Warnings: underaged drinking (sorta?)

Word Count: ~3.8k

Prompt: “I might have had a few shots.” | “Just pretend to be my date.”

A/N: hi lovelies,,, so I'm still alive :)))) so sorry for the delay. ive been working on this particular prompt for a while now; the setup took way too long ack... I'm really sorry Anon!! you asked for a drabble but I literally wrote so much... anyways hope you enjoy!

“No way.”

“Why?” Mark whined, uncharacteristically pulling at your sleeve, bothering your attempts to eat your sandwich in peace, “Can’t you just help me this once?”

“Stop framing this situation like I’ve never done anything for you,” you warned, pulling your arm away from him. A growing sense of agitation had begun to settle in your gut, and you really really didn’t want to blow up in Mark’s face.

However, like usual, Mark never knew when to give up, “Come on! Why won’t you just do this for me?”

You squeezed your eyes shut before snapping, “Because it’s stupid, Mark! I’m not going to pretend to be your girlfriend just because you’re too much of a wimp to go confront her directly about your relatio-or whatever you two are now.”

Mark recoiled, looking slightly hurt, and you turned away before the guilt began to claw at your throat. No, you told yourself, he deserved that. You would do anything for you best friend, but this? This hit way too close to home for you to even bare thinking about it.

In case it wasn’t obvious enough, you loved Mark. You’ve loved him since you were little, when you first moved in to the house across from his, when he introduced you to his friends in kindergarten, when he punched a guy who was bullying you in middle school. You’ve never loved anyone but him, and the fact that he was actually planning to use your feelings (although unknowingly) to win back heart of another was just too much.

“You know I can’t,” Mark changed tactics, sighing dejectedly, “You know I’ve tried, but I just can’t get myself to talk to her. She won’t pay attention to me if I just went up to her.”

“Sucks for you,” you replied, jealousy turning your words cold and bitter.

Mark grew frustrated at your lack of cooperation, “Just pretend to be my date, okay?” he spoke exasperatedly, running his hands through his hair in that annoyingly handsome way of his, “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Oi,” Jeno, who was sitting a little ways away with your other friends, decided to but in, “cool off, Mark. Stop trying to force Y/N into doing something she doesn’t want to do.” he glanced at you worriedly, knowing about your feelings for the dense boy.

You gripped the strap of your backpack so tightly your knuckles turned white. You knew it was a bad idea, every fiber of your being screamed just that. But you hated hearing Mark sound so desperately helpless. You hated everything about his relationship with her. It was glaringly obvious how little she cared about your best friend, but he groveled at her feet like a lovesick puppy.

“Why? Why do you keep trying to win her back?” you asked him, searching for an answer.

Mark seemed as if he wasn’t going to answer you for a moment, but realizing that his plan was solely dependent on your decisions, he replied shyly, “She’s the prettiest goddess I’ve ever met,” his tone took a sickeningly lovestruck aura, “Everything about her is just perfect.”

Ouch. Way to go, you tell yourself, you just personally played a role in re-breaking your own heart.

In the end, you caved, just as you always did. You could never find it in your heart to say no to Mark anyway.

“I want boba for the rest of this year,” Mark looked right about ready to refuse, but stopped himself as you continued, “And you better be paying for everything at the party. It’s bad enough that I’ll have spend effort to get all dressed up. It’s a couple days before finals, too,” you grumbled to yourself angrily.

“God, you’re the best Y/N,” he gave you a sudden hug, squeezing your shoulders, “I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

You tried to ignore the pain in your heart, rolling your eyes and shoving him away playfully.

“How’s this?”

A week later, you were getting ready for the party later in the evening, trying on an array of outfits.

“Eh, I guess it’s okay, you look less like a hot mess in this one than the one before,” Jaemin had invited himself over to your house to help you, claiming that “you’d be a laughingstock if you decided on what to wear tonight.”

You huffed, frustrated, “This is the fifth outfit! Can’t you get off my damn bed and just pick something something for me?”

“Jeez, so antsy,” Jaemin slid off your bed, sauntering over to you closet, “Let’s see what we can work with.”

Thirty minutes later, with a couple angry snaps and hisses, the two of you finally decided on an outfit that seemed pretty close to perfect. Not too revealing and not too “unfun” as Jaemin called your taste. You thought you were free then, about to jump on the bed and watch some anime before Mark came to pick you up, but your friend insisted on doing your makeup as well.

So now, the two of you sat across from each other on your bed, your eyes closed as Jaemin worked whatever miracle he wanted to with your face.

“You know, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” Jaemin spoke softly, as if knowing how fragile your pretense in this situation was.

As he gently brushed on some eyeshadow, you chuckled, “I already told him yes, and I don’t wanna go back on my word.”

“He certainly didn’t care about his own word when it came to you,” Jaemin retorted harshly, and it was true. How many times had he ditched you last minute, just for his stupid infatuation? How many times had he made promises to pick you up, only for you to have to call Jaemin or Jeno to come in his place?

Jaemin looked guilty, “Sorry, that was uncalled for.”

You shook your head, not a bit upset at him, “It’s alright,” you smiled, “In messy relationship drama like this, aren’t best friends supposed to stick with their bros?”

“Just cause Mark’s my best friend doesn’t mean I have to support everything he says and does,” Jaemin shrugged, “And I really don't support how he treats you.”

To be honest, you didn't know what to say to that. You guess you always had that feeling, that Mark was more important to you than you were to him, but someone actually voicing out these thoughts made it much more real. In Mark’s defense, you don't believe he's intentionally hurting you, it's just his personality.

But it still hurts.

“And...done!” your friend rummaged around the messed up blankets for his phone. He switched around the camera to give you a mirror, “What do you think?”

You checked yourself out in the camera, smiling, “You still have that magic touch of yours, Jaeminie. I'm impressed.”

“You're already beautiful, all I needed to do was accentuate your features a little,” Jaemin looked at you with adoring eyes. Out of all of Mark’s friends, you had grown the closest to Jaemin over the years, the boy instantly taking you under his care like a sister he never had.

He opened his arms, and you folded into his invitation, burying yourself into his chest. He rubbed your arms comfortingly, and whispered in your hair, “You fell in love with such an idiot.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

A sharp phone call pierced the quietness peacefulness in your room. Stepping out of Jaemin’s arms, you picked up your phone half-heartedly, “Hello?”

“Ey, Y/N? I'm outside, are you ready?”

You took a deep breath, “Yeah, I'll meet you outside,” before he could reply, you ended the call curtly. Sending Jaemin a feeble smile, you grabbed your purse and jacket from a hook on the wall.

“Oh,” you called behind your shoulder, “make sure to lock the door if you're gonna stay for a little bit, ‘kay?”

“Gotcha,” Jaemin said, his eyes a little droopy from lack of sleep. God knows what that boy does at night, “You sure you don't want me to come?”

“Aren't you supposed to go to the movies with Jeno later today?”

Your friend shrugged, “Yeah, but you're more important than a movie. I'm sure Jeno wouldn't mind either.”

Touched, you turned around, “It's alright,” you refused gently, “Go have fun with Jeno. I can handle myself, don't worry.” Jaemin chuckled at that as you bounded down the stairs.

Mark was leaning against his Jeep when you opened the front door, head lost in thought. He looked way too good, dressed in ripped black jeans and t-shirt, hair messily slicked back with a little gel. Slipping on your shoes, you made your way towards him, purposely clicking your heels a little louder to interrupt his daydream.

“Hey,” he gave you that soft smile you loved since you were kids, before giving you a subtle look up and down, “Wow,” he looked at a loss for words, which made you want to run back upstairs and change into your PJs.

“What does that mean?” you complained.

Mark backtracked quickly, “No, no! It's nothing bad,” he assured, his cheeks ever so slightly pink, “You just look really nice.”

Turning your head a little and averting your eyes, you grumbled out a thank you, trying desperately to control the schoolgirl blush that was threatening to erupt on your face. To avoid any further situations, you jumped in the shotgun of his car, anxious to just get this stupid night over with.

The drive was relatively quiet, with you electing not to start up any conversations and Mark awkwardly not knowing how to break the ice. Usually, you were the one to open Mark up when he got shy, but you really weren’t in the mood at the moment.

Finally, Mark couldn’t stand the silence, clearing his throat, “Um, I saw Jaemin’s bike outside,” he began, “Were you guys watching Game of Thrones again?”

“Nah,” you replied, “He just came over to help me get ready for this party we’re going to.”

Mark made a noise of understanding, the silence eating up the atmosphere again. You looked out the window, hoping he got the message that you weren’t interested in a conversation.

But of course, Mark never cared about what you wanted, “Does it bother you?” he asked suddenly, sounding as if he’s been wanting to say this for a long time.

Startled, you turned to look at him for the first time since you got in the car, “Bother me?” you repeated, “What are you talking about?”

“Pretending to be my date,” Mark looked sheepish.

“No,” you lied quickly, “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you already didn’t want to when I asked the first time,” Mark had the nerve to look a little guilty, “And Jeno seemed kinda annoyed with me about that after. Really, I know I was pushy, but if you don’t want to-”

“Mark,” you interrupted, your heart doing that painful thump knowing that he had absolutely no idea how you felt, “I wouldn’t agree to something if I totally didn’t want to do it. It’s fine.”

It wasn’t entirely the truth, but you weren’t completely lying either. Maybe, just maybe, you can enjoy this night and pretend to be something to him that you’ll never be.

In your two seemingly very long years of high school, you had never went to a single party. Not even one. Everyone else you knew had gone to at least a couple, but you stayed adamant about not going. After a while, you began to wonder whether you were just a boring person.

However, standing in the midst of your first party, you immediately understood that your decision to not go to any was possibly the smartest life choice you have ever made. It was messy, loud, and wild. Basically take all the things you dislike, throw them in a blender, and you get a high school party.

You began to back up instinctively as people spotted you and Mark at the doorway, but Mark held you in place with a sneaky arm around your waist. It didn't feel romantic in the least, more comforting than anything, but you found yourself sinking into his side.

“Yo Mark!” One of the boys greeted your friend with a well-practiced handshake. He turned to you a grinned, “Who's this?”

“This is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Mark replied smoothly, shocking you a little with how easily the lie slipped out. You waved hesitantly at the crowd, who all cooed at various levels of volume.

After introducing yourself to some others, Mark guided you to a part of the house that was relatively quieter than the rest of the rooms, which wasn't saying much. Breathing a little easier, you let out a big sigh of relief.

“How are you doing?” Mark asked, rather concerned. He knew about your anxiousness around a lot of people probably before you even knew it yourself, “I'm sorry. I didn't think there was gonna be such a big turnout.”

“It's fine,” you breathed, trying to regroup. Your head felt like it was swimming, and your hands were already clammy.

Mark found a place for the two of you to sit down, “Let's just rest here for a bit,” you agreed wholeheartedly. With your head resting against his shoulder, he began to point out some of his friends and acquaintances, describing things that he did with them. You always knew Mark had a much bigger friend base than just you and your little crew of boys, but you never really knew the scale.

Turns out Mark knows basically everyone.

He chatted animatedly, letting you just rest and listen without needing much input on your part. Occasionally you'd ask a question or make a snarky comment, but you mostly just basked in his comforting presence, trying to calm your mind. You missed this hyperactive side of him; it seemed to have disappeared as he grew older, but it seems like it was still there.

“Oh, and that’s Jaehyun, Taeyong’s crush. If you ask him, he’ll deny it to the moon and back but-” Mark trailed off, spotting someone at the door. Of course it was his ex, walking in with an entourage like she was the Queen of England or something. You hoped she wouldn't notice the two of you but she did, the only tell of her surprise being a condescending raised eyebrow. She didn't spare you another glance, her eyes targeted on Mark like a hawk.

Mark, to his credit, looked unsure of whether to go over. His eyes darted around nervously, and for a moment you thought maybe he was going to refuse her, but your gut feeling told you not to be so optimistic.

“Y/N,” he began slowly, cautiously as if he were treading on eggshells. Of course, he'd always pick her in the end. If that was the case, then there wasn't any point in keeping him away.

“Go,” you tilted your head over to the girl, “Isn't that why you came?”

Mark seemed rather shocked at your enthusiasm to push him away, “Are-are you sure? I can't just leave you here.”

It wouldn't be the first time, the voice in your head whispered.

“I'll be fine,” you answered instead, pushing him off the seating, “Go get her, you lovesick fool.” It wasn't right of you to expect he'd be adamant about staying with you, but a part of you really did hope that he'd see through your well crafted mask.

But Mark only sent you a grateful grin before dashing away without another glance. Your cheerful facade dropped, and you sank into the couch.

“Geez, what a hypocrite, you lovesick fool,” a voice sneered from behind you. Tensing slightly at being called out, you relaxed when you recognized his voice.

“Donghyuck, it’s good to see you.”

And it was. Lee Donghyuck, Mark’s former best friend and partner in crime. The two of them rarely did anything away from each other, but Donghyuck ended up in a different middle school, and the two of them lost touch. You and Donghyuck were always at each other’s throats, fighting over Mark’s attention, but you couldn’t say you didn’t miss him and his snarky attitude.

“It’s been like five years, and things are even worse than when I left,” Donghyuck took Mark’s seat, flopping onto the couch with practiced ease, “You still haven’t told him anything?”

You scoffed, “Well as you just saw,” you gestured to the door that Mark had gone through, “it doesn’t seem like I’m getting the option, does it?”

The boy hummed, “These are just excuses. You never let other people stop you from doing what you want. At least, you don’t with literally anything else. So what’s stopping you?”

You were silent, unsure how to answer. To be honest, you didn’t know. Why were you so scared to just tell him? There were so many things unsaid between the two of you that you couldn’t possibly unpack them in a one word response.

Sensing your discomfort, Donghyuck mercifully stopped torturing you with his prodding, “I think I gave you enough food for thought. Anyway, how’s everyone? Jeno and Jaemin doing good?”

You gratefully took his attempt to change the subject, “They're good,” frowning suddenly, you asked, “Have you not been keeping touch with them?”

Donghyuck had the decency to look a little abashed, “Ah, not really?”

Rolling your eyes, you held your hand out expectantly. The boy looked back at you, confused.

“Give me your phone,” you clarified. He narrowed his eyes at you, before unlocking his phone and handing it over suspiciously. You tapped in Jeno and Jaemin’s number before pressing it back into his hand, “Give them a call,” you smiled encouragingly, “They won't be angry, I promise.”

Donghyuck finally let out a gentle grin, making him look eleven again, when he was young and innocent, “Thanks,” he said gratefully. Suddenly, his eyes darted to the doorway, “Uh oh, I think you've got incoming.”

You had a bad feeling in your stomach the moment you watched Mark stalk back to the two of you, his expression unnervingly dark. You'd never seen an expression like that on his face, and it frankly scared you a little.

He walked over, positioning himself in a strange standing position between you and your old friend. You glanced up at him, unsure of how to act, but luckily for you, Mark seemed pretty focused on the boy sitting next to you.

“Hyuck, didn't think I was gonna find you here,” the tension was suffocating, and you wanted to do nothing but sink in the floor and just escape.

The other looked rather unbothered, “You know me, I just kinda go where the wind takes me,” Donghyuck grinned.

For a moment, Mark looked ready to snap, and you were halfway out of your seat to stop what might've been a nasty fight when he turned to you. You froze, momentarily knocked off guard by the intensity in his gaze.

“I'm gonna steal Y/N for a dance.”

“You are?”

“Do you not want to?” His question was polite, but his tone was uncharacteristically daring. And you never backed out of challenges with Mark.

So you relented, “Just for a moment,” you replied, both of you knowing that you were only bluffing. Mark’s eyes gleamed exultantly. He gripped your hand firmly, and pulled you away from Donghyuck, dragging you to another, much wilder room.

The music boomed from multiple speakers, and the room felt suffocating with the large crowd. Bodies were pressed against one another in a tight squeeze, but in the moment, all you could focus on was Mark, calmly leading you to the center of the room.

In a sudden yank, he pulled you into his chest. With a yelp, your hands reflexively caught his shoulders, and you found his wrapping around your waist.

Oh my god. Your brain blacked out for a good five seconds and you hoped to god that the poor lighting could hide your red face. Mark swayed to the music, hands squeezing your sides.

“Why are you pretending you can’t dance?” he teased, “Loosen up!”

You nodded dumbly, but your limbs felt as if they were just pulled out of the freezer. Then, Mark leaned down close to your ear, his breathe gently blowing your hair as your heart stopped.

“What are you afraid of?”

And at that moment, you realized. You didn’t care about that stupid girl. You didn’t care that maybe Mark didn’t like you. You just wanted to bask in this moment, and stop the time.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling your face close to his, “Nothing at all.”

From that point, there was no stopping the two of you. Lost in the music, you swayed against one another, lips always close to touching, his hands never leaving your waist. You danced until the two of you were dripping in sweat, and only then did you pause, both of you panting.

“Are you drunk or something?” you gasped.

Mark shrugged off your question, “I might’ve had a few shots.”

You laughed, “God, you’re seventeen, Mark! You shouldn’t even have one shot!”

As you gave Mark a look over, you confirmed that he was indeed at least 67% drunk, so you decided it was probably best to end the night there before he went off and did something he’d regret.

“Alright,” you put a hand on his chest and tried to push him away, “I think you’ve had enough for today.”

Mark looked a little unsure, taking some time to process your words before he suddenly frowned.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head definitively, which merely convinced you more that it was time to go.

You tried again, tugging his sleeve gently, “Come on, I’ll drive you back to your place.”

Mark shook his head again, strangely adamant, “No,” he said again, even stronger, “Not until I give you my surprise.”

You stopped, confused. Surprise? You never heard anything about a surprise. But you figured that Mark was never going to leave until you relented, so you leaned closer to him and asked, “What surprise?”

With a surge of inhuman speed, Mark bent down slightly, taking advantage of your proximity, and promptly pressed his lips on yours. It was both everything and nothing like what you’d imagined your first kiss would be like. He cupped your face in his hands, and you instinctively kissed back because oh my god it happened wtF.

After what felt like an eternity, Mark broke off with a giddy laugh, “That surprise,” his lips were red and slightly swollen, a light blush colored on his face.

Later, when you drove silently with Mark dozing in the passenger seat, you heard him murmur under his breath, “Can I date you, Y/N? You make me so happy…”

Blushing a bright scarlet color, you stared intensely at the road, a shimmer of hope bursting in your heart.

Mark Lee, you have a lot of explain once you’re sober.

#nct scenarios #nct reactions #nct dream #nct drabbles #nct mark

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determinedowl23 · 3 years

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Okokok, I know that I've reblogged like five writing ask games by now but nobody's ever seen a piece of my writing, so here is a bit of the first chapter of a story I'm writing called Hourglass.

1: The Terrible Idea of Amy Lloyd

No, that’s not me. I’m just stupid, that’s entirely different. Amy Lloyd is who you would call, “that one girl” if you weren’t already describing me. She’s not like those bullies from some Gacha Life videos; it seems like her parents are bankrupt. She thinks she’s an angel that fell from Heaven. I mean, that is how we got Lucifer.

Although everyone hates her, she does show off some kinda likeable qualities in class. Despite being poor, somehow she can afford to keep her teeth pearly white and always smiling at the teacher. She tends to flip her auburn hair whenever I’m around her and I usually end up on the floor after she hits me with her hair and hands. I’m quite used to being the laughingstock of 6th grade, and I’ve started to take pride in it. “Alright, Liv! Here’s the deal.” Lena Marond said as she laid out what looked like a blueprint on the opposite side of the lunch table. Her best friend Olivia Hansen peered over her shoulder. Lena stuck out her hand and Olivia gave her a flashlight. It shined black light on the paper and they gasped. I shoved a fistful of popcorn into my mouth as I heard someone snigger behind me. “Would you stop?” Lena said as she chucked an apple slice at Amy. She recoiled in disgust. Amy often came to pick on me at lunch, and Lena often stood up for me, but probably only because she was sick of her being a jerk. “Back to daily visits, I guess.” I said without turning around. “You know it, Streak,” Amy replied. “You’ll never get a break from me.” “Streak” was her idiotic nickname for me about my “losing streak” with her in the football games at recess. Or it could be about the fluorescent blue highlight in my brown hair that I always kept up in a ponytail. “What about that time you were sick for two days last week, or that time you were in detention on Tuesday for stealing homework from, like, three people?” “Well, besides that, but I won’t stop coming here at lunch everyday ‘cause we all need some comic relief.” I looked back and saw Mr. Graham, the science teacher, talking to some students a few feet away. He caught eye contact with me and I nodded towards Amy to signal him. I grinned and remarked, “Gee, I’m gonna miss your social studies visit, but it looks like you have some business to attend to.” I was sitting under the old oak tree in front of the school at the end of the day when Amy came strutting along. “What’s your deal, Amy?” She looked pretty irritated, but sighed and started to open her mouth, but I said, “Save it. I know you’re not sorry at all and they forced you to say so. Just get out of-” Then I saw it. The girl had long brown hair and a classic spy getup: shades, a black fedora, and an overcoat. I shoved Amy behind a bush as the mysterious girl turned around. A pendant that was shaped like a pink bagel which a thick brown string looped around hung from her neck.“What wa-” I covered her mouth and whispered, “There’s someone out there who looks like a spy or a stalker.” “It’s probably both.” she whispered snarkily. We peeked above the bush as the figure looked around and removed her hat. All in less than a second, her body glowed, shrunk, and she was gone. A great horned owl soared up from the place the girl stood and flew into the sky. “What in the heck was that?” I muttered to Amy. I looked to my right but no one was there. Above me I heard a snap! She was in the tree, pulling herself along the thickest limb. “Um, Amy?” She scowled, “Shut it, Streak! I’m going after the bird!” I glanced at her, then to the owl (now a speck in the sky), and back to her. “You’re gonna fly, aren’t you?” I asked in a deadpan manner. “Give me two sheets of paper.” Still staring at her, I rustled through her backpack of pure chaos and found two detention slips from the beginning of the school year. “No! Two normal-sized papers, you dodo!” “I can’t tell where anything is in here,” I replied, “it’s too messy! I just found these with sheer luck!” “Well, use that luck and get me some paper!” I groaned and just opened my bag and gave her some paper that I had neatly put in there. “Now give me my earbuds and yours!” “And mine?” “And yours.” I sighed and pulled out two pairs of earbuds and threw them into the tree. “Did you think I could catch them both?” she yelled as one set fell back down. “Yes, yes I did.” I chucked it back at her and she caught it. This should be fun.

#hourglass

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iprincezzinuyoukai · 7 years

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BillDip Week 2017, Day 7: Getting Through A Supernatural Situation

It's always fun to collaborate for the fandom. I look forward to the next BillDip Week. I hope everyone has had as much fun as I did.

This is a new story that is in process, some of you can read the first idea in chapter 51 of my BillDip Week that can be found in AO3.

Notes and Warnings: Maybe some angst, sorry not sorry.

For what lasts

Where was he?

The last thing he could remember was to have ignored Stan and Ford when his great uncles tried to talk to him, going to the room he shared with his twin sister, changing clothes in his pajamas, and for pajamas he meant to take off his vest and enter his bed, saying good night to Mabel to let himself be overcome by the sleep.

So, this is a dream. Except that unlike most of his dreams he was aware that this was a dream. His only problem was that he didn't know where he was, yet there was something in this place that made him feel known. As if he had seen it long ago.

Dipper looked everywhere in the bright room where he was surrounded by a sea of people dressed in old-fashioned but beautiful old-time costumes, who were they? Was it some kind of sleep from drinking Mabel Juice feeling annoyed? He already knew that this colorful liquid was toxic and perhaps inductive to hallucinations.

It was difficult for him to try to move among all these rare people dressed in their odd suits and dresses. Looking down to see that prevented him from moving to escape this tumult of people Dipper realized that he was also wearing a suit like the men. An elegant suit in blue lay on his body, the coat was a sapphire blue with small stones decorating the shoulder pads, the white buttons of the coat and the vest were pine tree-shaped, beautiful spiral lines decorating the seams throughout long inside and out, the blue pants were a little tight, with black boots up to his ankles plus a pair of white gloves covering his hands. Dipper noticed that his hair was combed back.

Hoping that none of these present, real or not, had seen his silly birthmark, Dipper brought his hands to his hair to try to hide his birthmark.

One hand stopped him from doing so.

“My, I wonder why you insist on hiding such a constellation.”

That voice, Dipper knew who the voice belonged to. Looking up, Dipper met Bill's golden eyes. The demon wasn't in his triangular shape, now he was in a handsome and incredible human form. His golden hair like the sun tied in a ponytail that came halfway up his back, his top hat was floating as usual, his elegant gentleman's suit was all black with the exception of a triangular golden buttons on the waistcoat, as well as a black tie that protruded over the white shirt under the waistcoat.

Of course. Now everything made sense in the dream. All this must have been some kind of joke of Bill Cipher, the demon who lived in the mansion in which they lived temporarily, the demon that created dreams and nightmares. The demon behind the legend of the alleged Northwest Massacre... Or at least that's what Dipper believed when he found some photos and records until he finally decided to summon him and realize that Bill wasn't what those words were about.

“So funny, Bill.” Dipper said without breaking eye contact, “Now, wake me up.”

“Oh man, you must be confused, I'm not creating this dream.” The sly smile on his tanned face made Dipper think the opposite.

Dipper realized that Bill's gloved black hands were still around his, preventing his fingers from touching his brown hair. “So at least let me go, and I'll find a way out of this dream.” This was a good time to prick his arm as Mabel used to tell him.

Bill was reluctant to let him go, “As I said before,” The demon lowered their hands, without letting him go, “I'm not creating this dream.” Bill leaned toward him, “I think it's you who's doing it.” He whispered over Dipper's ear.

The boy stepped back, still not getting free of Bill's grip. “Okay, it's not funny.” He hoped not to be flushed, the least he needed was that upon waking, the demon decided to make fun of another face of his. Why was Bill acting so strange?

“No, it's not.” Bill said in a non-mocking tone as his voice was usually.

His smile returned but Dipper seeing his eyes knew that this demon was not smiling, it was as if Bill was sad, as if he were suffering. “Bill – ”

“It's a nice dream, with a nice stage.” Bill looked toward the ballroom that was taking place, “Don't you think we should at least take advantage of this?”

Dipper didn't have time to answer since Bill had already dragged him to the center of the room. It had been impossible for him to move through the tumult of people and Bill had dragged him like the wind, that's just unfair.

“I warn you that if you try something strange – ” Dipper noticed when Bill put his hand on his waist and Dipper's hand was placed on Bill's shoulder.

“Pine Tree,” Bill said his trademark nickname he had for the boy, “We're just going to dance. Let's enjoy this for what it lasts.”

Dipper wanted to get away from Bill and his strange behavior, he just wanted to hit this demon in his chest and get out of this strange dream drawn from an 80's movie... But he couldn't, he just didn't know why, there was something in Bill's eyes and that strange grimace that the demon tried to hide as a smile, those eyes were as if they begged him not to leave...

“Only until I find another way to wake up.” Dipper replied before letting himself be carried away by the rhythm of the waltz and being guided by the demon named Bill Cipher.

The waltz was slow and soothing, almost like a lullaby, it was nice, like something magical. Dipper began to hum the waltz, if he remembered the tone perhaps upon waking he could record it.

Bill's hands around his felt warm, even though they were wearing gloves and despite the fact that he always believed the demons were cold, possibly this was only because Bill was wearing a human appearance. Bill could only appear as a human in dreams? Mabel could compare this to a scene from her favorite romance films... Obviously if this was romance which it's not. Bill was just killing time mocking him.

It felt strange. Dancing, that's the strange thing. He had never danced before, he was a natural disaster and only thanks to Mabel is that he wasn't finished as a laughingstock in Kindergarten. But dancing with Bill Cipher of all the – Uh, people? in the world was natural, as if it were something he had done before.

The people around him had stopped dancing to give them the space to dance around the ballroom.

It was as if his feet floated in the air as he danced all over the place. As if his body knew exactly what moves to make and not have Bill guiding him through everything that will last the dance.

Dipper smiled, not knowing why, but he wanted to. Dipper brought his head to Bill's chest, would the demon bother if he dared to lay his head on him? Bill had no respect for personal space so why should he care about that too?

Bill felt a slight knock on him, looking down he sighed smiling as he saw that Pine Tree's head was leaning against his chest. He dropped his chin on the chestnut bush. So similar and yet so different... And that was what infuriated him most.

Dipper began to feel his body somewhat heavy, as if the lightness of the feather that had made him rise will begin to make him descend like a stone. Soon he realized that his hair was beginning to annoy him – No, it wasn't his hair, this was blond and long. “Bill, your hair.” Dipper let go of Bill's hand to accommodate Bill's hair that was starting to annoy his face however his eyes widened in surprise as his blue sleeve was now a soft lilac and his hands weren't gloved. Bringing both hands to his forehead Dipper realized that his blue suit had disappeared to be transformed into a pompous lilac dress with pink and that long blond hair that bothered him was actually his own hair. “Bill?” Dipper walked away from the demon, walking backwards, realizing that his voice had softened. “What did – ?”

A mirror! He had to look for a mirror!

Trying to get away from Bill Dipper was taken by the demon and his hands covered his eyes. Dipper began to struggle to free himself from Bill's grasp.

“Don't.” The demon begged, stopping Dipper who was surprised at his voice, “Just don't. Stay like this, for what the waltz lasts.”

Dipper wanted to say something but to hear that voice come from his own lips made him shudder and tremble. He didn't want to say a word with that voice.

That wasn't his voice.

That wasn't his suit.

Those weren't his hands.

That wasn't his hair.

That wasn't him.

And although this was all a dream and he would probably forget it upon waking, his feelings were real.

☽✠☾

When Dipper awoke when he was shaken by his sister, the young twin stood for a few minutes on his bed, looking out the window overlooking the town of Gravity Falls, concluding on something.

He hadn't forgotten.

#BillDipWeek2017 #BillDip Week #BillDip #Day Seven #AU #Gravity Falls #Bill Cipher #Dipper Pines #yep this is angst or that's what i want to do #i loved working on this #This week was fun #and a hell for me OTL #This WiP is going to change when i'll edit the story...#Iris Stuff

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sagemcd-blog · 5 years

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Oh, Riley: Pt. 1

“Summers!”

Her eyes jolted awake, clear surprise written on her face. Yet there was a hint of grogginess in the way her eyes moved and the slacking of her jaw that made her look like a dumb character from a comedy kids’ cartoon.

She heard snickers then a click which she assumes was the shutter sound of a camera.

“Where am I, who am I?” She thought to herself. And she could only smack herself when she realized that she had slept in class. Again.

Fear crept up to her as she looked up at her English Literature lecturer who was glaring down at her, ears fuming red and eyes formed into thin slits. Just like a dragon.

“Miss, I—“

“Out!” And she closed her mouth. She had her head down the entire time she gathered all her stuff, hearing a couple snickers each time one of her pens would fall to the floor, creating a loud clinking sound as it collided with the tiled floor. All her fingers and toes wouldn’t be enough if she counted how many times she wished for the ground to crack open and pull her away from that scene.

“Kicked out again?” The security guard asked her, offering her a canned drink. She grabbed the can from the young guard and hissed, the drink burning her throat in a way that is discomforting yet pleasing. She nodded in response to the question thrown at her, receiving a chuckle.

The 24 year old security guard had been her company every time she got kicked out from her classes, either by sleeping or not paying attention. The girl had a lot of things on her mind. Most of the stuff she thinks about are about as useless as the existence of the additional two years applied to the learning system.

She chatted with the guard until it was dismissal, excusing herself for detention. It’s a surprise that her parents still haven’t visited the guidance counsellor’s office with the tallies of visits she’s been collecting for two school years.

“Will I even have a week where I don’t get kicked out from class?” And it’s just the start of the week, Monday.

The detention room’s door creaked open and revealed four other people. There was one student who she did not expect to be there, hands and eyes focused on a notebook, next to her was an empty seat. The white-haired transferee was a quiet kid and quite intimidating, her classmates would say. Maybe that’s why no one sat next to her. She immediately tore her eyes away from her subject of interest when the said subject raised her head, probably felt that she was being stared at.

Most of the seats were occupied by stacks of papers and other students in detention, leaving her no other choice but to sit next to the transferee. The sweet, intoxicating scent of a certain cologne that she liked registered to her senses, her eyes threatening to close to relish in the comfort it gave her but she fought it off, determined to save herself from the stares they’d be giving her if she was caught doing it.

The scent came from the transferee, she concluded and decided not to look at the latter’s way, afraid that she might ask where she bought the cologne and annoy the other girl. But after twenty minutes into sitting down and doing nothing, her nerves were starting to get restless. Soon, her eyes were travelling everywhere, desperate to find something interesting so she wouldn’t die of boredom and frustration.

“Why can’t I get lost in my own world when I’m not in class doing something important?” She grumbled to herself, her teeth sinking down on her bottom lip.

Just then, she heard the creaking of the door and made the mistake (?) of turning her head to the door’s direction but instead making eye contact with the white haired girl who surprisingly, was staring at her.

She returned the stare subconsciously, feeling herself getting pulled into the girl’s blue eyes. So cold... Yet so warm. The blue turned into a mix of lavender and strawberries, white dots scattered randomly. Then a black dot. She felt a shiver run up her spine and that was all she needed to smash herself back to reality. They were still staring at each other in silence, the only sound accompanying it was the constant soft whirring of the ceiling fan and the taps on one of the students’ phone. Wait a second— phones were not allowed in detention!

“Summers!”

Her body jolted in response, head turning to the owner of the voice: her Calculus lecturer. She face palmed internally. She was daydreaming. Again. And she’s getting kicked out. Again.

“Get out of my class!” Her Calculus teacher was usually calm and collected but today was one of those days, that day of the month when she can’t tolerate anything that she found annoying. And irritating. And anything that just made her blood boil.

She got out of the classroom but not before tripping twice on the way out. No wonder she’s called the meme source of their school.

She decided to just walk to the detention room instead of going to the guardhouse. She only had ten minutes before dismissal. Aside from the guardhouse, the only place where she was welcome was the detention room.

Will she see the girl this time, though? Even with hours— days of denial, she knew she’d been rather excited to be kicked out for detention in hopes to meet the transferee again. She knew she wanted to see her again. She wanted to stare at those cold, blue eyes even when it felt like being drowned then resuscitated again and again. It had been four nights since she had a peaceful sleep. It had been four nights since Monday.

She could just ask around if they knew the girl but her classmates aren’t the type of people who would talk to the laughing stock of the school, unless they’re required to. The girl was quite famous but none of the people whom she’d eavesdropped on mentioned a name, just “the transferee”. But she knew they were talking about her when they said she had white hair and a hypnotising pair of eyes.

Based from the information she got from listening to other people’s conversations whilst pretending to be ‘doing something definitely not weird’, she gathered that the girl was one of those students who received high marks even without listening to the lecturer. She wondered if the girl was as straight as her straight A’s: she hoped she wasn’t. More so, her information said that she’s a punctual student. It was a mystery to her how the girl ended up in detention on her first day of school.

So imagine Riley’s surprise (and delight) when her eyes spotted a head of white tresses on the same seat she’d seen her four days ago. She tried (and failed) to hide her excitement as she walked to the seat farthest from the girl, scared that the stranger might know what she’s thinking of if she sat next to her again.

She glanced around the room in an attempt to look like she wasn’t nervous at all. She wished she didn’t notice how the other chairs were empty and how they’re the only ones in detention that day.

Maybe they’re just running late, she convinces herself. But who runs late on detention?

Ten minutes has already passed. Still no sign of the other students that kept her company for the past four days. Of course, who would not want to miss detention? She was stuck with the transferee she’s been thinking of for more than four days and she doesn’t know how to act.

“What’s your name?”

Her head snapped to the girl. Was she really asking Riley Summers’s name, the laughingstock of the school? She must be imagining things. Right, she must be.

Except she wasn’t. The girl stared at her intently, still waiting for an answer. Then their eyes connected. There it is again. This time, Riley saw a river in those eyes. It was raining, she couldn’t hear the pit-a-pat of raindrops as they fell but they could clearly see them. It calmed her, as if she was staring at them from a window inside. Then she was pulled back to reality, rather harshly.

Her hand automatically went to her forehead, rubbing on it in an attempt to soothe the sting. She couldn’t believe it, did this girl just flick her forehead?

Riley’s eyes were wide in shock while the other’s was formed into crescents smiling in sheer amusement, a series of apologies continuously coming out of her pink lips. “They look soft… shit.” Her mind said. Riley was certainly gay for the blue-eyed girl.

“I am so sorry, you just stopped breathing and just stared into nothing, I didn’t know what else to do—“

“So you thought the best thing to do was to hit my forehead? With a bloody ruler?” Her voice was suddenly high pitched and there was nothing making sense at all. But did she really forget how to breathe?

“Then how was I supposed to make you breathe?” The girl’s voice mirrored her pitch, a panicked expression on her face.

“I don’t know, you ever heard of CPR?”

Silence.

“What did I just say?” She asked no one in particular, her cheeks were now tinged with pink and her hands resting on her lap.

“You just invited me to kiss you.” The girl blurted out. Riley looked at her, an incredulous look in her already wide eyes.

“I did not say that!”

“I was joking! Calm down!”

It was funny, the way they started talking. They sat in silence after that, the white-haired girl being the first one to break the ice, engaging herself into a conversation with the girl she just hit moments ago.

“You girls are free to go.” Mrs Kent announced to them, entering the room carrying a few more weight on her eye bags and a stack of papers with her. Then she turned to Riley, who was stopped mid sentence while talking about her cat, Paw. “You should really consider getting a break from visiting detention, Riley.” The latter only smiled sheepishly, a tinge of pink showing on her cheeks.

“Your name’s Riley?” The white-haired girl asked her, shock painted in her eyes. “I thought your name was Summer!”

“Well, now you know.” She flashed a smile towards her, “Riley. Riley Summers.”

“Lake Ryder.”

Riley laughed at her and the realization that they still didn’t introduce each other after forty minutes of talking just about anything. She didn’t even notice it was time to go. Lake sure was a great company.

They walked to the campus entrance side by side, chatting about school clubs.

“Well, my ride’s here.” Lake muttered. Riley couldn’t deny the disappointment that she had to end her conversation with the girl already and she still had two days before Monday.

Even so, she managed to give her a sincere smile and just opted to wait for next week. “Get home safe.”

The latter only smiled at her. As she was about to turn around and head to the opposite direction, her movements were halted by the latter.

“Wait,” Lake said, holding on to her wrist, “do you ever have time after classes?”

She could only nod.

“Um. Yeah, here.” Only then she noticed the small strip of paper that Lake has been holding the whole time, a series of numbers scribbled neatly on it. Riley never took the latter as the blushing type but what she witnessed just proved her wrong.

“And about you forgetting to breathe,” she paused, “I’ll remember to give you that CPR.”

She watched as the girl practically ran to her ride’s car after kissing her goodbye on the cheek and whispering that she’ll be expecting her text later.

She stood there dumbfounded. Her delicate fingers found its way to her pink cheeks, her jaw slightly ajar.

She couldn’t help but ask herself, “What just happened?”

—tbc

#youth romance #soft lesbians kind of #gxg #awkward girl meets really pretty girl #i write

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