#waveofstars

So I'm bringing back the appreciation post. Fuck it.

@savagecuhnt , @reevezs , @emmaxmeyer , @abysmxls , @lunarruled , @twdgdeadmanwalking , @lostxones , @thatwritingjuju , @renegadetulis , @ruinedsoulsrp , @waveofstars , @huntrcssqueen , @cupxofxstars , @townshaped , @lithiumwolff

"It's not bad, right?" There's an expectant look on her face, equal parts hopeful and wary. Isabella could perform heart surgery, assess the most ambiguous of medical cases. She has a mind for arithmetic and spatial reasoning. But cooking? Well, there's a reason why she and Luke spent the first three months in their new apartment living off of take-out and a meal delivery service. But it's Valentine's Day, Luke's favorite holiday. And though she's not the King of Romantic Gestures that he is, she knows a gesture is only as good as effort.

Which is why she's devoted the last two weeks trying to get a recipe of carbonara, caprese salad, and a simple chocolate glazed cake just right. There were some mishaps; like using mint instead of basil for the salad, or burning her first two tries of the cake. But eventually, she likes to think it's somewhere near good. "I mean, I know it's not great..." She backpedals, as she pours them both a sparkling water (no drink in sight, obviously). Sliding into her seat on the dining table, she bites her lip.

"If it's really bad, we can order a pizza?" Insecurity isn't normal for her. Like Luke, she's cocksure and bordering on egoistic. But love, she finally admits, is an experiment in letting go of the ego. At least a little bit.

Having a one night stand and then meeting the guy again at an AA meeting wasn’t exactly in her plans, but it just happened. Ophelia was a heavy drinker for sure, but she wasn’t one to drag others down her path. There was a reason why people went to those meetings so when they’d arranged to meet each other again, the blonde found herself at odds. She’d suggest they go out to a bar but that was out of the picture, a restaurant felt too serious and so on, she was running out of options. That was when she texted Luke inviting him over to her place where she’d prepared a drinking game, except she bought all kinds of sweets to replace the alcohol with. Loser would be getting a good dose of sugar in their blood. A fun harmless night, she promised to herself before opening the door to her guest. “Hi, hello!” She greeted him, quickly pulling him into a hug and inviting him in. “Please tell me you’re not diabetic?” Ophelia wondered, fixing her top, a mischievous smile forming on her lips. “Cause I got us candy, lots of candy.”

Andrew didn't like the idea of Chey sitting in a tub full of water depressed, so he was relieved when she didn't say she was shooing him off. Even if he was still in there, he still would've preferred she chose a shower. A knot formed in his chest when she wouldn't even look at him, undressing slowly despite it looking like she was trying to move through quicksand. He's spent years raising his goddaughter and as a firefighter, this was nothing uncommon for him other than the fact that he cared a whole hell of a lot for the woman in front of him. His arm held hers and when she finally met his gaze Drew met it right back, "Chey, you're strong and stubborn, you're beautiful and kind, and I wouldn't be here if I didn't care about you and I wouldn't be staying if I didn't believe you could get through this."

His free hand caressed her cheek and he nodded toward her bathroom, "Let's get that bath going." The walk was slow and Drew stepped in to help whenever she let him, but it wasn't until she was in the warm soapy water that he took a slow, steady breath, "Will you let me wash your hair? I'll be able to see everything better than you can. I promise I'm only rough around the edges. Being Nora's proxy-father sort of made me a master at this part of bath time." It was the truth, gone were the days of accidental soapy eyes. Now he could braid, twist, and curl like he was a part-time cosmetologist.

@waveofstars // julian x chey

A big ole black eye.

That's what Julian remembered of the blonde sitting beside him, the two of them driving in his truck at 3 a.m. on Monday morning, no sight of life on the road apart from his headlights. He wanted to pretend like he needed to try hard to gather all the details, but really, his memory was crystal clear. They were kids at someone's birthday party, him a lot more older than her but not too old that he couldn't jump around in the bounce house too. But the thing was, they shouldn't have been in there at the same time...

Because being in there together meant a weight difference, and she was just a pipsqueak who climbed on everyone. And he was an asshole little kid who hated being climbed on, so he accidentally kicked her in the face and gave her a black eye.

Other than that, Julian didn't know too much about Amanda Chey Johnson. Whatever other memories they'd had together were faded to him, and likely aging in old Trujillo photo albums. All he knew now was that this might make it into his memory repository of her. It wasn't going to be the most fun reunion, but years from now, she could tell a funny story. At least she had that; Julian didn't have the greatest bailout stories. And yes—plural.

Luckily, he'd been around when her brother Cameron called him to pick her up. Cameron had always had Julian's back for other shit; it was only natural that he did the same. He'd take a bullet for Cameron, and he knew exactly what he was gambling when he said stuff like that because he'd taken real ones before.

As Birthday by Kings of Leon played underneath a layer of static from his old radio, he tapped his hand on the wheel, approaching a red light. If there was anything about the troublemaker that Julian was, he could at least make conversation with anybody, and the girl he once gave a black eye to was no exception. He imagined them catching up: How ya doin', how's school, why'd you end up in jail? Quintessential Julian small talk.

Once he hit the light, he glanced over at Chey with a stupid grin. It was crazy to have last processed her as a little kid ('processed' because he was sure they'd seen each other more recently, but how much attention did they really pay to each other?), and now she was an adult. He was decades into adulthood. Time flew. "Soooo, uh. Isn't this so cool?" he asked. "You and I, catchin' up again.

"And it's pretty funny, too, how I picked you up from jail and everything. What are the odds, right?"

malia: hey.

malia: i know i'm kind of the last person you were hoping to pop up on your phone, but i just wanted to reach out and apologize again.

malia: and i also wasn't sure if your venmo was still the same? so i can pay you.

malia: unless you want cash. i can do cash too.

malia: that just means, well, you'd have to see me again. and i'm not sure if that's something you'd want.

malia: anyway...

43. irish exit by eliza mclamb

He didn't know why he did it. It was almost out of defense, like it was an instinct in him. He always opted for the Irish exit when he got too close to someone. Most would just let it happen and that brought Connor some solace. He'd convince himself he was never important to them, anyway. However, this was a rare occurrence where someone seemed to be calling him out on his disappearing act. He stood there not knowing what to say or how to explain himself. Why did he stop texting and calling? Why did he stop showing up? He became a ghost. With a shrug of his shoulders, he finally spoke. "I know that I'm the safest when I'm alone."

—

She was exhausted. She shouldn’t have been there, shouldn’t have bothered with him when he so clearly wished to no longer bother with her, but whether it was the few small bottles of liquor she’d had on the plane ride home, or the fact that she had not been able to stop thinking about him even while thousands of miles away, or just her sheer refusal to lie down and take it while he on whim decided that everything between them had suddenly meant nothing...Mira was there, at his door. 

She’d had months and a six hour plane ride to think of what to say, to imagine the moment where she and Connor were finally in the same zip code, let alone the same room, but the words that’d left her mouth were a blur the moment the door opened and the small hope she’d clung to that maybe, just maybe, he’d be happy to see her were dashed by the look on his face. Disappointment. He wasn’t the only one feeling it.

“You know what else you are when you’re alone, Connor? Lonely.” Not Mira’s strongest point (that was the mini liquors talking, surely), but it remained. “So, what? That’s just it? You can’t return my calls or text me back or--fuck, be happy to see me after months because--you’re, what? Scared? Of me?” What danger had she ever posed to him? What had she ever done but love--Mira was quick to cut off that thought, head shaking as if to knock it loose. “...I never took you for a coward, Connor.” Disappointing, to say the least. Heartbreaking, to say more.