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⌠ JEON JUNGKOOK, 22, CISMALE, HE/HIM ⌡ welcome back to gallagher academy, SAMUEL SONG! according to their records, they’re a THIRD year, specializing in WEAPONS TRAINING/PROTECTION & ENFORCEMENT; and they DID NOT go to a spy prep high school. when i see them walking around in the halls, i usually see a flash of (a hand running through messy hair, an eager wave and toothy grin, various small and friendly tattoos). when it’s the (libra)’s birthday on 10/19/1998, they always request their GUACAMOLE BURGER AND PARMESAN FRIES from the school’s chefs. looks like they’re well on their way to graduation.

𝙼𝚈 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴

#this bio isn't even that good why did it take me so long sjdnvkjndf #gallagher:intro #abt #anyway goofy loving boy :)

martinaw:

Sam is only reiterating what Martina already shared with him, but she nods astutely as if they shine with new meaning simply because they left his lips, as he’s teaching her a new way to communicate her truth. Martina cares about Sam in a way that doesn’t drive her to soften her honesty; it feels just as tender as the white lies she tells to protect the feelings of those she cares about. Is that what she wanted? Martina tries to picture what life outside of Gallagher’s walls would look like, but deviating from what she’s known her entire life is just as scary as remaining — what did non-spies even, like, do? She couldn’t imagine it for herself, but then again, what could she imagine while swaying in Sam’s arms? “Don’t worry about me, Samuel Song,” Martina reassures him. The question prods her to stare at a future of possibility that begins to take shape on Sam’s hopeful face. It unfurls like an inviting outstretched hand, and it was up to her to accept it or not. Orion decided for her what she wanted when she was unsure. PJ pushed her away when she decided he was what she wanted. Mamma and Big Momma and Monique — they didn’t give her room to figure out what felt right to her, out of love, out of the bigger l-word. Only Sam touched her now, but it felt as if there were so many hands pressing against the small of her back, urging her in different directions. Martina squeezed the hand that’s tucked safely in hers. “While I’m on break, I’ll have time to figure out what I want. Who knows, I could come back, I could become, like, the best spy of all time, make my Mamma really proud, or I’ll find something I’m better at, or something, but…” She inhales his hope, that the world is as bright as she’s dreamed and ready for her, that it won’t trap her in its jowls like Gallagher has. When she’s ready to exhale, his hope becomes her truth. “It is what I want for now, don’t worry,” she repeats, though she’s learned by now that he’s prone to doing it anyway. “This won’t be the last time you see me.”

She would have hoped that Sam’s last glimpse of her would be picturesque, or, like, sexy, but she fears that he will have to remember her in a state of pure shock. Martina could not have heard him say what she thought he said, and the surprise appears almost comically as parted lips and searching eyes. He doesn’t mean that, but it’s Sam, and he wouldn’t lie to her. He has to mean it. “Sam…” Martina begins to whisper, but she has no idea how to finish that sentence. Where did that come from? Did you see my raccoon eyes? Do you mean that? She could say the same about him, about her friends, about PJ, about Trinity and Monique, that the people she met in Gallagher were the best part about the experience. She wouldn’t trade any of them for the world, and in that moment the contradiction reveals itself. In her mind, she would never, but she is after tonight. She is leaving the best things her life for the past year. But this feels different. Sam’s wish feels brave. Martina tries not to read too much into it, because she wasn’t good at reading books or maybe people, but it crackles against her skin. The music ends but she holds him tighter as the moment suspends her in the air. She’ll float away to the tippy top of the ceiling without him there. He was always there, but: “Why?” Martina wants to hear him say it more than she’s ever wanted anything. “Why should I stay?”

A small, gentle sort of smile parts his lips as a touch of surprise creases his brow. Sam doesn’t expect Martina’s insistence not to worry about her, and he feels a little silly to think that maybe he’d been too apparent in how deeply he was thinking about her. He wonders for a moment if anyone in the ballroom around them could look at him and see the look on his face and know that he’d spend hours thinking about her, caring too much, as clear as the sky that had haloed her very head in the scene he pictures every time he closes his eyes. Sam knows he’ll never be able not to worry, but he takes her at her word, trusting her to believe she’ll be okay. “I’ll try,” he tells her, the best compromise he can offer, and he hopes she believes him too. It feels like when this dance is over he’ll really be letting her go, but there’s a relieved sort of peace to know that when he releases her hand she’ll be steady enough to not need anyone else to hold it. That’s all he wants, isn’t it? To know all she needs is herself, to watch her realize it too and, if she wants it, walk away from all of this without doubts that anyone here was supposed to give her the answer. It’s not her fault that she radiates so beautifully that everyone around her has no other choice but to look and be bathed in sunlight, but just like the sun she has her own path. She leaves when she needs to, and eventually a new dawn will break and she’ll return when she's ready. “You could do anything, I think. I really do,” he says, watching the hope and the wonder dance in her eyes, and god, he thinks that’s all he could need to be happy. “And I can’t wait to see it. I’ll be here, Martina, any time you want to see me. I’ll be here, happy to see you.” Like a soft-petaled flower, Sam will be waiting, face turned towards the light, ready to drink in the sun before the day is over again.

It feels like if he closes his eyes he could feel a summer breeze drift against the soft skin of his cheek, smell warm grass and quiet blossoms, the considerate sounds of nature hushing into a low murmur, waiting for her voice or his thoughts or anything and everything at all. That’s what is feels like to be honest with her, to say aloud the things he’s thought a million times when he looked at her. Sam thinks for a moment that this is a feeling she gave to him, or rather, gave him the courage to give to himself. To be honest. To be heard. To matter. God, of all the things she’s taught him in their time at Gallagher, he can’t believe this is the last, he can’t believe he has just one night here for sunlight to pour in past the moonlight of the night sky outside, to show him a glimpse of something he doesn’t think he’s ever known before. Why should I stay? Her words ring in his head, in that meadow, in that clearing, still and silent in the breath between songs, waiting for the next note. Sam looks at Martina, and knows with certainty that he trusts her, that he has probably protected this feeling from the moment he first saw her, maybe even before then. It’s crazy, it’s nonsensical, it’s unprepared, but he doesn’t think he can go another moment without letting her know it.

Sam, with his delicate hands still wrapped around her, one in her hand, the other at her back, with her angelic features so close to him once again, moves without planning, without thinking or reason. He holds onto her hand, but lets go of her back only to reach down to cup her face instead, closing that final, last, vast distance between them. He is scared, and full of longing, and hopelessly free of anything holding him back. He is honest. Sam leans into her, bringing his lips to hers, kissing her deep and true, like this is the last day on earth, and as far as he knows it, as long as the sun is on the other side of the world, until it comes back to him, it is. But it’s the greatest touch he has ever felt, and even as they come back back for air, the greatest parting.

“That’s why,” Sam says softly in the space between them, only inches again, only miles. “That’s all I have,” he chuckles quietly, though every sound feels like it comes out thunderous, echoing. “I won’t convince you— I can’t, I don’t want to. I don’t want you to choose me, or anyone, I want you to choose you,” Sam tells her, his hand squeezing hers and he realizes belatedly that warm tears are filling his eyes and maybe that’s just the relief of acting on something he’s wanted for so long, of maybe choosing himself for once. “You’re going to do what you need, Martina, you’re going to get out of here and think for yourself and make your own future and if I’m even the least bit lucky I’m going to see you again some day. When you let me. But I just... I couldn’t let you get away without that, without being honest with you,” he goes on, and there’s an ache in his throat like the words escaping him are taking their toll too. Being honest can hurt, it seems. “Martina, you are... the singular kindest person I’ve ever met. And I’ve tried so hard to return that kindness and be as impartial as I can with you, but I can’t. Because I want you to stay, because I want you, Martina.” In all his short years of discovering espionage— his family, Blackthorne, the past years at Gallagher— nothing has been more frightening than this moment. But Sam is smiling. “You don’t have to consider me. You just have to know, what I think... That I care— I feel— I... I just... I feel so much for you, Martina.” What a blessing to know her, to know even as she leaves that a sunset can be so beautiful, can be a goodbye and a promise all in one.

#life is so crazy...........#i can NOT believe.........#garnet...........#:')#i am literally honestly crying #martina

martinaw:

Martina holds in the endeared laugh that blooms in her chest as pink sweeps Sam’s cheeks like a tender touch. He might be, like, embarrassed if she pointed it out, so she acknowledges it with a teensy-yet-tastefully-graceful nod. She doesn’t tell him how she’s endeared by the shade; the hue reminds her of the cherry blossom petals that cling to the branches of trees on spring days. A flush of color that surprises you, that you admire for the longest time, that vanishes far too soon. She disappears inside of her marveling, lids drooping slightly as she daydreams about Sam and soft petals floating in the springtime. Martina can usually sustain herself on her glittering dreams, but this image existing only in her head almost spoils the pinkness in the center of Martina’s chest. Sam didn’t even ask her to the dance as friend-dates. Coming to the dance with Trinity did not mean that there was a lack of offers, even as friend-dates, but Martina gently explained to all of them that she was going to the Gala with her cousin. If Sam asked her, would she have said yes? Sam’s reassurance temporarily cleanses Martina of the ickiness, but the weight of her tangled feelings pins her arms to her side, despite the optimistic high-kick that her heart gives. She almost wants to brush past how sweet it is for him to tell her so, even if he is just indulging her, but she wants to be honest more than she wants to be good. “Me too,” she says earnestly. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

Panic arcs through the rose-colored warmth in Martina’s chest, her eyes widen as she tries to find her faux-pas. She said the wrong thing. Sam’s dimming smile made that totally obvious, his flat tone validates her suspicions. Martina’s lips downturn subconsciously as she thinks. Lightening conversation with a joke or another comment undermines both her and Sam’s feelings. There is nothing comforting about Sam reciting something that Martina feels that he doesn’t really want to say. If he’s trying to tell her what she wants to hear, how can she tell him that his attempt is misguided? What she wants is what she knows that she will never get. And, anyway, it isn’t fair of her to want him to ask her to stay. To tell her that he’ll miss her again, and again, and again. Shoulders sinking, Martina nods glumly, the perfect portrait of Sam veiled by falling cherry blossoms growing fainter. “Yeah, it is worth it,” she tries to agree. Martina recently rediscovered her fear of upsetting those around her by letting disagreements explode in her face, and the last thing she wants is to upset Sam during one of their final moments inside Gallagher’s walls. She doesn’t know if that’s what he wants to hear, but she says it in hopes that it will thin the unspoken tension between them. “I’ve never been a good fighter. I mean, I literally got an F in a punching class.” Why did she announce that unprovoked? “I just mean,” she tries to correct herself. “I’ve always, like, tried what everyone wanted me do. But now is a good time to start fighting for what I want, right?” Isn’t that what she’s doing? Fighting for what you want isn’t just punches. Sam means fighting by being confident in her decision and going after what you want, but Martina knows that she fights to please, to be valued, and to be remembered. She is doing all of those things by clasping onto his hand. “Yeah!” Martina brightens when Sam grins, unable to help herself. “You’re always welcome at my house. You don’t even have to call first,” she laughs. “By the way, that’s a joke. Mamma would kill me. But, really, if you ever want to come over…it’s a date.” Martina reciprocates Sam’s squeeze with one of her own that she hopes adds an exclamation point to the core of her point: that distance won’t change their closeness. They will never be further apart than they are right now.

“Yes,” Martina responds, because she can’t imagine Sam having a request that she would deny. Without looking, she sets her unfinished glass on a passing tray, and if it shattered, she wouldn’t notice as Sam pulls her deeper into the crush of dancers. Her back and the hand clinging to Sam’s feel illuminated by light, her steps airy in her heels as she blindly follows his path. “I was hoping you’d ask me,” she blurts out as she molds to him. She’s the perfect height to gaze up at him as he talks. She feels like she’s seen him at almost every angle and all of them are perfect. As she times her steps with his, her sways matching the rhythm of the music swirling around them, Martina hesitates before answering his question. “Not long enough,” she says just as quietly, and it feels like they’re pulling the slowly pulling the veil back on a secret. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“You’re right,” Sam agrees, nodding once with a reassuring smile. “I think you’re a really compassionate person, Martina,” he starts, and it’s easier at least to focus not on the awful reality that he might not see her again for a while, and instead on all the wonderful reasons why it would hurt so much in the first place. “I think you’ve spent plenty of time worrying about what others think, what they need from you. It’s not like that’s a bad thing— you do it because you care about them. And everyone in your life is so lucky that you do. But I’m... really glad that you’re going to focus on caring about you, do the things you want to do,” he tells her. His head tilts slightly, eyes grazing over her expression, hoping to look past the painted features and instead see the canvas of the artist herself. “Moving on from here, that... is what you want, isn’t it?” Sam asks, and he hates the hopeful color that taints his voice. He should know better, know it’s too late, but he has to know for sure. If he can’t be there for her anymore, he just has to know she’ll be happy.

“If it... If it means anything, Martina, you—” Sam’s not sure he should say it, that he should say anything. He doesn’t want to influence her, doesn’t want to make any of this about him when the only thing that matters is her. Her thoughts, her feelings, her desires. He recalls for a moment what he’d said to her just minutes before. What about me? The sentiment hasn’t changed, he doesn’t think he matters here. But if she’s already leaving, if he’s already lost the chance to stay by here side, then it’s done, isn’t it? He won’t change her mind now, and maybe now it’s finally okay to say some of the things he’s always thought, the things he’s always kept close to his chest. They’d been protected there, kept safe where they wouldn’t be heard by anyone, where he’d been too afraid to ever speak them. But as he looks at Martina now, holds her in his arms as they sway on the dance-floor with the terrible relief of knowing she’s already made her choice, it’s suddenly easier to start to let go of those carefully protected feelings. Maybe they’re safe with her too. “You are the best thing about this place.” He supposes in a day it will be were, not are.

Sam’s eyes are soft, but he can’t hide the tender sadness still there. “Thank you. For letting me be in your orbit for however long I could,” he tells her, voice quiet, like this is their secret, like he can allow her and only her into this hidden part of his heart. He wishes he could lead her in further, that he had the courage now or even earlier to ask her to—... God, why is he still keeping it in? It feels like lying— to himself, to her— not to tell her, and Sam has grown far too attached, far too sentimental for the girl in his arms to bear the feeling of something even close to lying to her now. If he can’t allow himself to deserve speaking his feelings, he at least knows she deserves to have the truth. It’s intoxicating and terrifying, the idea that he might give in after months of making sure his heart stayed out of it, terrifying enough to threaten him into losing again. She’s so close now, just like all the other times he’d kept it in, and she looks like the angel he’s known her to be since that moment in the forest. Bare-faced, wide-eyed, sweet and real. Could he ever deserve a person like that? The things that really matter to you, that are right for you… it’s worth fighting for them. He hears his own words in his head. The only thing that matters is her. She matters. His face is leaned in close, his hand in hers, his expression falling in a soft heartache as the music ends and he can’t let go of her, and Sam whispers, “I wish you would stay.”

#i literally have no words #martina #garnet i feel psychotic trying not to cry into the mic #i..... they.......

martinaw:

A delicate crease dips between her brows, but a little confusion doesn’t dull the light shining in her eyes. Martina waits patiently for him to find his pace, leaning forward on her tiptoes so she doesn’t miss a word, diving into a guess when he gestures to all of her. “…Mean you like my dress?” she offers, nose scrunching, as she lands back on her heels. Always? It can’t be right for him to think that she looks like this all the time. Even Martina’s exquisite cuteness has a baseline and, like, he’s actually witnessed her at those record lows. However, the kindness to pretend that he hasn’t is totally appreciated and she accepts the compliment with tinged cheeks underneath long tresses of her hair. Holding his gaze flips her stomach — she’s dressed as an angel but for the first time in her life she distinctly doesn’t feel like one. She could never hope to have her halo glow as bright as Sam’s. Martina basks in its warmth, smiling in return, before lowering her eyes to the floor and exhaling out her fresh wave of nerves with a shy laugh. “Oh, hush,” she says simply, and for the first time tonight, she meant it. It’s hard to tell, though, because her smile widens. She can’t help it. “When will you let me compliment you for a change?” Martina teases. “I’m running out of ways to tell you how beautiful you are.”

Consumed by her own thoughts, any trace of red under Martina’s skin should turn green to match the toiling feeling of envy. She doesn’t feel him watching her as she transforms from a saint to a green-eyed goblin internally, but Martina catches the creature that almost masquerades as her, wearing her hair and skin and dress that Sam thinks is beautiful, shoos it back to its cage and drives a key into the lock. Sam doesn’t owe her any explanation for asking someone else to the dance, a lot of her friends arrived to this party with dates. But, like, she doesn’t know, it feels wrong for Sam to ask someone else, to have someone shinier and smarter in the picture when it is supposed to be a portrait of the just two of them. As her hand gently curls a touch tighter on his cuffs for balance, pads of her fingers skimming warm skin, they study each other. For a moment, Martina notices that Sam looks caught, which speeds up how her heart thumps in her chest; the green-eyed goblin inside of her senses an opportunity to escape. Martina blinks rapidly, preparing herself for the inevitable yes, he really likes her, unaware of her advantage being so close to the heart on his sleeve. At least, she reasons, she won’t spend time in the future wondering how Sam looks when he’s in love; she’ll see it for herself before she sees less and less of him. “Friends?” It slips out too eagerly, feathery with disbelief. Relief floods Martina, washing away the green-eyed goblin. Martina almost lets it fill her mouth and spill in a laugh, but she nibbles at her lips so her smile doesn’t budge. It’s totally rude to celebrate two people being just friends, honest. Loudly, anyway. “Oh, like friends!” Said with the same verve of oh, like dates! that she said moments prior. “Right, totally, friends are, like, so important to create memories with. I — I thought you two were, like, a thing. You guys are just so matchy-matchy and would be soooo gorg together,” she rambles, unable to be anything but earnest. Martina stops herself from asking if there’s anyone, preferably in the room, who he isn’t just friends with, because — “It’s totally not my business, you can date who you want, obviously, but….” Her frenzy slows, what’s she even saying? Martina allows herself a cleansing breath, her imagination pausing its projection of fake scenarios and alternate endings and vivid stories, as she lets herself focus on what’s in front of her. “I don’t know, I’m glad I’m not keeping you from someone or anything,” she admits. “That I get to, like, have a moment with you and really see you before…you know, you know?”

Her time at Gallagher is defined with goodbyes, beginning with the most heartbreaking one of taking Big Momma away. Tonight, she’s telling all of her friends goodbye, telling all of people who she thought were her friends goodbye, too, in a different way. Telling Sam goodbye for a long time is something that she planned on crossing off her to-do list but it’s actually going through with it that was going to be hard. Sam’s laughter distracted her from the task, encouraging her to do what she’s good at and keep talking, but it was unavoidable. Time slowly descended over them, moulding around them, like a deep blue blanket. Though he grinned through her confirmation, Martina is an expert in faking smiles for other people. Her eyes linger on his face, the curl of his grin more limp than the sunny smiles he always seems to shine on her. “I know.” Martina says the words so quietly that they may have been swept away by the other sounds surrounding them. In her heart, she knows all of these things — that he’s happy for her, that he’ll always support her choices, and, both best and worst of all, that he’ll miss her. They became so close over the past few months and, well, Sam knew a lot about her that other people didn’t know. So far, he’s one of the two people that she’s faced tonight who know that she’s leaving. Forrealsies. “I’ll miss you too, Sam. I…I don’t think I would have been strong enough to decide to do it without you.” Her hand finally begins to inch down his sleeve, the faintest brush of Martina’s fingertips stroking the plush curve of his palm. She doesn’t break eye contact though she wants to flinch away from the hurt in his expression. There is no way for him to carry it alone when she’s responsible for causing it. “It’s not, like, forever. You can always come visit me in Miami. We can FaceTime. If you give me an address I’ll write you like a thousand letters. Your mailman will get his steps in,” Martina rushes, though her palm drags slowly across Sam’s, as if to distract him from what he’s doing. One finger at a time, Martina intertwines her fingers through his. “And I’ll even come back for your graduation next year.” There’s so much of his life that she’s going to miss. Her own throat begins to close, vision glistening and burning. “Whoever’s in the back cheering for you the loudest — that’s me.”

He lets out a small laugh, both to alleviate some of the nerves buzzing in his chest down to the tips of his fingers that still try not to reach for her, and because it’s just a natural response to seeing that smile on Martina’s face. But when she goes on, Sam finds himself a little frozen in place, the word beautiful ringing in the space between them, causing that buzzing under his skin to electrify, and he has to stuff his hands in his pockets to keep them steady by his side. “I... Thank you, Martina,” he says finally, feeling a warmth begin to touch the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears, but as long as he couldn’t see the pink also beginning to color them, he could pretend it wasn’t there. Instead, he focuses on the way she looks at him, smiling sheepishly in return at her. Sam keeps his gaze on her even when hers shifts, as she looks elsewhere into the crowd and he answers any question she has for him, foolishly and blindly prepared to give her anything. He thinks about how different the night might have gone if he’d had the courage to ask her to the party instead, if the first chance he had gotten to see her tonight hadn’t been with the moon already so high in the night sky. Would it have ensured this wouldn’t be the last chance at all? He continues to think about it as he assures her of his friendship with Kiki, and as Martina goes on to explain that she just thought they’d go well together, it cements the idea in his brain that she’d never entertained the thought of someone like her by his side. And why would she? Sam tries not to let it get him down too much, doesn’t allow the feeling in chest to turn to anything past bittersweet. Instead, he smiles, making her worries his priority over his own. “You’d never keep me from anything,” he says. “I’m right where I need to be.”

The pang of sadness as she alludes to her departure breaks through that bittersweet haze enough to make his smile falter, but he nods in understanding. The atmosphere around them shifts seamlessly, though he wishes it wouldn’t, but even Sam understands that not every moment can be as glitteringly blithe and happy as Martina’s presence usually is. The harder parts are necessary, he just wishes it didn’t have to come so soon. His hand inches even closer for a moment, in some way trying to keep her close to him, and then she goes on to explain his part in all this, and his movement stops. It’s supposed to be a kind sentiment— it is— so then why does his heart sink? Why does his chest seem to tighten, his breath slow, to hear that it had been his own help that had guided her to this decision. But he remembers in the next instant that it’s just that, her decision. “I’m honored, then,” Sam tells her, his voice sentimental and composed though it kills him, lower and quieter now so only she could hear it, and it feels like they exist in a bubble outside of the rest of the ballroom, like a picture frame he’d be able to look back to when he wanted, a perfect moment in his memory he’d never get back. “I know this wasn’t easy for you, that it probably won’t be easy for a while, but if this is what you want, Martina, then it’s worth it, right?” he asks. “The things that really matter to you, that are right for you... it’s worth fighting for them.” He says it to her, and though he means every word, they echo in his own ears for a moment, and he can’t help but feel like a hypocrite. He can’t stop wondering if she’s leaving because she doesn’t believe in herself, if he’s not asking her to stay because he feels the same way about himself. That pang reverberates in his chest again, and a tight-lipped smile grows on his face to keep from feeling it any further, though it’s hard not to think about how much he wants to fight for her as her touch glides against his skin again. “Of course. Even if you go, we’ll still talk. I’ll call you all the time and... we’ll do our best to visit,” he grins, but even then he knows it’s not the same, that without her in his life every day, his world would grow a little bit dimmer. Her promise to return for graduation makes his heart squeeze, and imagining her cheering earns a blissful laugh, merciful in cutting up the somber feeling weighing him down, and before he even registers it, his hand responds too, no longer holding back and instead reaching for the rest of her palm until her hand fits perfectly against his. Sam glances at them once, then squeezes her hand as he looks back to her.

“Dance with me,” he says, eyes gleaming again, feeling some sort hope prepare to take flight in him again as he leads them further into the dance-floor, one hand still gentle and firm in its hold on hers, as the other wraps around her waist, settling on the small of her back to bring their bodies together. God, she’s so close again, and for once it’s his own doing. For once, it’s him taking the step to be only inches apart, and the view of her angelic face this near is beginning to become so wonderfully familiar that Sam hates to think about what he’ll feel when he starts to forget the details. But he wont go any closer now, feet only moving to lead them in this slow dance, feeling a warm glow on every part of his body where her touch meets his. “How long do we have?” Sam asks quietly. “How long until you have to go?”

#I FEEL INSANE #AND YOU KNOW WHY #god #martina #:')

martinaw:

“I know so! We clean up so well, don’t we?” Martina sang. Her mascara stuck faithfully to her falsies and neither her nor Sam were in their gym clothes. This was how she wanted to remember him, like the perfect angel who appeared by her side at her darkest moments, and she prayed that he’d remember her like this, like the dream came true. However, she wouldn’t in a gazillion years recant any moment that they shared, but she wasn’t so bold as to assume they carried the same weight for him as they did to her. Martina’s feet haven’t touched the ground since she floated to him; her bones poofed into thin air, clouds forming under her skin in their place, and the boost of her heels added to her airy feeling. She was closer to his lips, closer to scrutinize the tiniest sliver of emotion that caressed his face. Martina wouldn’t know suspicion if it cuddled with her in bed every night, but his shy smile hid something that she hadn’t uncovered just yet. She resolved to figure it out before she lost the opportunity to be this close to him for a long, long time. An infinite conversation passed through their silent regard of each other, but if Sam were trying to tell her something, she wouldn’t have heard any of it. The ground reappeared under her feet, catching her before she plummeted out of the air as a sadness curled its weight around her ankles. She told him that she’d miss him the last time they spoke, but she hadn’t expected it to start so quick.

Martina wished that she never interrupted to ask for clarification. It was a different kind of agony that she wasn’t equipped for. For every word that leapt from her lips, hundreds more sprouted in its place until her head filled with a field of questions that she didn’t really want answered. She pushed through the thought of how she could have done him a solid if he had asked, shoulders drooping from the exertion. Her eyes whisked away to Kiki again, a ribbon of guilt pulled taut around her chest, because she knew that she wasn’t being fair — Martina already kissed PJ, and she was so sure of her love for him even if he didn’t want it. But she couldn’t explain how she felt when she was with Sam, the ache for more than innocent friendship, something that wasn’t love yet but it was going to be. Her gaze returned to him, soft and wet, but she smiled. “Well, she struck gold. Who wouldn’t want you as their angel date?” Her smile gradually became sweeter with each sentiment, her fondness unable to be contained by the flimsy self-restraint that she has. “She’s so lucky that you asked her.” As Sam continued, her nods were slightly off-beat, lagging behind his tempo, before she realized. The epiphany rewinded to that part, then sped forward in time to meet him at the question mark. Her searching fingers curled around his cuffs, close to the soft landing pad of his hand, tips of her fingers grazing the underside of his wrist. “Just friends?” she asked. Her head leaned almost imperceptibly in Kiki’s direction. “Does she know…?” Martina didn’t know how she stumbled upon this conclusion, but the mention of memories made her assume that he waited for the perfect moment to tell her how he felt. What better moment than the saints and sinners gala? “You really like her, huh?” she pressed anyway, too tipsy for reading of any kind, much less reading between the lines.

“I meant — never mind. It’s silly,” she dismissed with a shake of her head and a light laugh to relieve some of the pressure. It pushed down from outside of her body but she hoped that it would evaporate all together if she flattened herself. “Where were you hiding? I haven’t seen you all night,” she accused in what she hoped would come across as playful. Of course she noticed that they seemed to miss each other until now, and she almost questioned if he came at all, if he thought that she was worth seeing. But the breathless look on his face when they first made eye contact cleared her head of any doubts that he didn’t want to see her. Her hand still warmed his sleeve, tempted to travel downward and latch onto his palm, but it stayed in place. Though Martina didn’t make an effort to lift her hand, either. He wasn’t her date but she didn’t want him to disappear after she just found him. “By Gallagher standards, it’s not, like, too insane. No missions, just Beyoncé and tons of dancing.” Her smile teased an encore as she reminisced. “Just how I like it,” she added. “Yeah, I love how everyone popped off with their costumes.” She nudged him with her shoulder, her grip on him tightening when she swayed a little once she bounced off. “Oops,” she laughed, a splash of embarrassment running through it, as she steadied. “But, um, everyone looks so beautiful and so happy. And did I mention Beyoncé?” she emphasized with widened eyes. “I don’t really want it to end.” Her attention drifted for a fraction of a second, reveling in the glowing faces, the contrast of red and white and gold, and the clinking glasses. Drinking it all in, just in case it was for the last time, forrealsies. “What about you?” she repeated his question absently, automatically, when Sam caught her attention again. Martina whipped her head around, their surroundings a blur of warm tones, and nearly winced at the forlorn look that stifled the light in his eyes. Something crinkled in her chest like crepe paper. On its own accord, her head moved up and down. Martina almost raised a hand to cup his cheek but she didn’t permit herself to do so, she wouldn’t want to offend anyone on one of her last nights of all nights. “I…I think so, Sam,” Martina decided in a whisper. He deserved for her to tell him in person, to not be so coy about it, but he couldn’t have waited until later to ask?

“You always look like that,” Sam answered naturally with a dreamy sort of look in his smiling eyes, not even thinking before the words left his mouth, and then he paused for half of a second to shake his head slightly once he’d realized what he’d said. “I mean— Not to say that you don’t look really nice tonight, or that your effort isn’t noticed, I just mean—” he stumbled for a bit, an awkward hand gesturing to her extravagant gown and perfect makeup and glimmering flowers adorning her hair. After a moment, he seemed to regain some composure, anxious expression softening as he came back to gaze at her own face, as lovely as he’d ever seen it. “You look beautiful tonight, I just mean that... I don’t know, I think you’ve always looked that way,” he finished, and he knew the words were going to come out anyway, that he couldn’t help it though he’d tried. He only hoped she wouldn’t read too much into them, that she’d allow a friend to call her beautiful and not think too hard on the way he couldn’t say it without staring perfectly into her eyes, without a gentle smile, without his hand inching towards her before bringing it back to his side. She was as beautiful to him now as she had been every day walking Gallagher’s halls, or caught off guard in the sunlight of the forest, or even with heartbreaking tears glinting off of her cheeks. Sam told himself to commit this image of her to his memory, too, scared it would be one of his last chances.

That unrecognizable sort of expression on her face seemed to fade, replaced by the more typical Martina style of blithe eyes and angelic smile and while he answered her, he tried to watch her face as her head turned in Kiki’s direction, more interested in her thoughts behind her expression, looking at her to make sure everything was alright, or catch what maybe wasn’t. He was just making conversation with her, prepared to say anything to keep her in his company longer, but he noticed belatedly that she seemed pretty hung up on his answers, he just wasn’t sure why. It was harder to focus and figure it out when he felt the slight tug of pressure of Martina’s delicate grasp on the edge of his cuffs, her hand so close to his, so easy to turn his own palm into hers, but he kept it where it was, devastatingly polite. His attention came back to the conversation when she spoke up again, peculiar questions on her lips, his brow creasing a bit as he tried to understand, studying her face again. You really like her, huh? Sam’s heart skipped a painfully nervous beat, fearing for a millisecond that she’d figured it out, that he couldn’t hide the heart he always wore on his sleeve, and it was all too obvious the way he felt about her. He almost said it just then— Yes. He wanted to blurt it as he looked at her, at Martina Washington. But then he noticed how she was still looking at Kiki and he finally put the pieces together, a contradicting sigh of relief and disappointment leaving him. “Kiki? No, no, I mean. I like her as a friend just fine, but it’s not... like that,” Sam answered with a sheepish sort of chuckle, “Just friends, honest.” He didn’t know why he would try so hard to make sure Martina knew when he didn’t think it would make a difference between them, but a part of him had to anyway.

She gave him that light-hearted air again, but Sam seemed pick up on the way she just wasn’t herself, not fully. She was lovely, and cheerful, and bright, but she wasn’t shining the same way she did before, like she was dulling some part of herself, only he didn’t know why. He tried to hide his concern, and wondered if he was imagining it, if it was okay to ask whether or not she was alright, if it was even his place anymore. “I guess we’ve just been missing each other all night,” he said with a slight laugh, and couldn’t help but think of the way he might be missing her for even longer, and how maybe he could change that if he just took her hand that still lingered by his. His laugh bubbled into a brighter one as she went on, nodding in agreement about the party, sharing in the happiness at everyone else’s happiness, and when her stance faltered even just that little bit, it was instinct for him to reach for her, that same hand now steadied at her elbow, soft touch against her smooth skin. He now more in tune with her expression, her somber mood as she looked around the ballroom. Sam only smiled in return at her question, feeling like that was enough. What about you? What about him, what did he matter when all he cared about now was her, when something in his chest longed for her, wanting nothing more than to pull her close to him, to tell her? But with that desire came apprehension, a foreboding sadness that slipped in just in time, just as she finally answered him too, first with that slow nod, and then the confirmation of the words he was dreading. Sam could feel his heart sink in his ribcage. It hung in the air between them for a moment before he nodded with a sad smile, eyes wistful, but he mustered up that grin just for her. “That’s... that’s really too bad,” Sam said finally, finding it hard to get words out when a tight hand seemed to squeeze at his chest and his throat, but he tried to remind himself that this wasn’t about him, and he couldn’t let her feel regret or guilt on his behalf. He would have to carry those on his own. “I’m happy for you, you know. Anything you choose, I’ll always be happy for you, I hope you know that,” he told her, voice quiet, sentimental as he looked at her. “But I really...” He felt himself falter, throat ache again as he blinked a few times and tried again. “I really will miss you, Martina,” Sam said. If Martina gave him years or days, he’d relish in every last second, grateful for every moment she gifted him.

#hey garnet <3 #martina #i think that i will die for martina washington i am as smitten as sam is im screaming #i want to cry #i truly truly went into this thinking i was going to shorten it and then......#garnet ur turn to try to shorten this now

martinaw:

“I live to make a lasting impression.” Impressing certain someones was high on her list of priorities. A smile warmed her face, or it could have just been her cheeks flushing at his smile. Martina’s gaze trailed along a gold-embellished sleeve, following the scenic trail of the curve of his arm as Sam carded a hand through his hair. He obviously knew to use shampoo and conditioner, caring for the gift that the hair gods and goddesses blessed him with. It looked so soft, too, softer than the patch of grass that caught them in Gallagher forest. “Seriously, though, like, wow.” Martina shrank the distance between them to smooth down a flyaway that went askew. Perfect again. “I’m impressed.” Her palm gently brushed against the top of his ear as it floated down to her side. “She did a good job! I’m starting to think there’s nothing she can’t do.” Video games, reading, cutting hair, general spyness…Martina wondered if Ingrid found time to get an eight hours of beauty rest. “Short hair suits you, easier to see your face. Not that you looked bad with, like, long hair. Your face is totally…versatile!” Lord. “In a good way.” Martina tipped her head up, because she didn’t take a step back, standing close that she could feel his presence in front of her, could close the distance if she really, really wanted to, rest her head on his chest to hear his heartbeat or lean her head on his shoulder or….

“Date?” Martina repeated, voice squeaky. Her expression was perplexed like there was a mistranslation, like the word could hold a plethora of different meanings. “Oh, like a date!” That seemed to be the theme of the night, everyone bringing dates. It made her skin itch, as if specked with flecks of old glitter, and she blinked a few times to fan herself without using her hands. Why wouldn’t Sam have a date? There were some people whose light couldn’t be ignored, and, as someone who liked to think of herself as one of those people, that was also something she could see in Sam. Her following his line of vision was almost reluctant, a slow rotation of her body to wherever Kiki’s lighting up the room. She already knew of Kiki from their brief interaction a week or so ago, and she was every bit of charmed as Sam seemed to be by her. Kiki had everything Martina possessed and more. Sweeping her eyes over her outfit, the other girl resembled fairy from a story book brought to life. A smart fairy, the kind who could invent different phones, who generously gave them out like candy to unsuspecting students at a spy school. Envy like greek fire singed Martina’s fingertips, because of course Sam’s type was everything that she wasn’t. Brainy and beautiful and creative enough to actually craft things instead of fantasize about them. Martina would guess that she would have wore her expectations of being a legacy better than her, if she’s a legacy, but even if she wasn’t, she already had the makings of being a good spy. From where she was standing, without really even knowing her, Kiki was perfect, like Sam. They deserved each other. “Oh, that’s so nice of her! Haha.” Her lips thinned to a tight smile as Martina focused on steadying her breathing. She wasn’t going to cry or anything but the emotions swirling were unpleasant, difficult to cup in jars and compartmentalize. Blame it on the alcohol or the night that she’s having or the indecision that she could no longer afford, wallet of time emptied. “She’s pretty.” To admit that they’d make an unearthly gorgeous couple required too much maturity that Martina didn’t want to have right now. “The wings are a nice touch.” A gulp, but whatever she’s drinking lost its sweetness, and she could taste ever hard drop of alcohol. Martina returned her attention to Sam once he spoke, realizing she was staring at Kiki absently that she didn’t notice that he shined his attention back on her. “She’s not around…the powder room, I think?” Martina shrugged. Memory’s extra slippery. “Oh, I’d never put you in harm’s way like that. She’s the sinner to my saint, so we’re in, like, two different leagues anyway.” Can’t compare if they didn’t compete. Unlike her and Kiki, apparently. “Did you and Kiki just get here? Together?” As far as she understood, that’s how dates work, but she needed more deets.

He didn’t know how he kept earning the grace of her close proximity, words halting in the tender moment of Martina bringing her gentle hand to his face as she smoothed down a lock of his hair. Her angel eyes were looking up past his forehead, but all he could do was stare down at the deep mauve coloring her dark brown cheeks, eyes lingering for just a moment on her lips again. It was so easy, entirely too easy to get lost in the same old thoughts of how often he could find himself so close to her smile and not be able to do something to close the rest of the distance. He felt the warmth of her hand graze his ear, and it seemed to leave heat in its place, though he prayed she couldn’t see the slight pink beginning to tint them. “Oh, you think so? Thanks, that, ah, means a lot coming from you,” Sam smiled sheepishly, unable to voice some of his thoughts when her words made him feel so light and grounded at the same time. He’d have to work harder to keep the deeper truths at bay. She was Martina, perfect in her imperfections, a marvelous warmth dancing in his life that would soon take her final bow and exit the stage, and he’d be selfish to ask her to stay in the lights she’d created in his life. But she wasn’t leaving right now, in fact she wasn’t moving back to her place before, chin still lifted up towards him as the two just gazed for a moment, and Sam wished for all the things he was good at, that telling her how he felt could be one of them.

But she was the one to speak up again, and it seemed like they’d broken whatever quiet partnership had been between them for a moment, voice high and airy again like this was just another casual, funny conversation, and not one of the last ones Sam might get. He hated the way that idea stayed in the back of his head, but tried to grin through it anyway. “Yeah— yeah, I mean, she’s just doing me a solid,” he insisted with a chuckle, repeating the same sentiment he’d given Anya, and even though Anya had told him anyone would be lucky, he still held on to the fact that he was the lucky one here. “Besides, it’s fun to go to these things with friends, you make a lot of good memories, you know?” Sam continued on, and he was sure that Martina would understand, because her night was probably filled with various hearts wanting time with her bright presence, burning memories into their own lives with the light she provided. Sam was just one of the many, he knew that. Martina was so innately good and kind to so many, that he couldn’t dare to claim that he had any special place in her heart. But strangely, his brow furrowed ever so slightly at the odd tone in Martina’s voice, something he couldn’t quite place, though it definitely differed from her usually sweet and melodic timbre, turning legato into staccato. He let out a breathy laugh at her comments on Trinity, and though he’d never held too long of a conversation with her cousin, even he knew she was telling the truth. But he wouldn’t care to fact check or dawdle too long on questions about Trinity when Martina was really the only cousin he cared about, and the only one who could consume his thoughts every day. But at her question, he got the sinking feeling that it didn’t go both ways, that while he could spend too long thinking about her, he was only a passing thought in her life, only just having noticed him this late in the night. “Ah, no, we’ve been... around for a bit,” Sam answered, trying to keep the dejected feeling in his heart out of his voice, eyes crinkling with the best version he could muster of his classic smile. “Enjoying everything, having fun. It’s a pretty insane party, after all,” he chuckled, gaze shifting back to her. “What about you? You’re having a good time, right?” Sam could mope all he wanted later, but with Martina still so close to him now, suddenly all he could think to care about was how she was feeling, and if she’d made her decision of her own happiness yet. Trying again, he did his best to keep his voice even, but he couldn’t help the somber look in his eyes. “Is it... one of your last here?”

#hey bestie :)#this is all you you did this for us <3 made me cry in the dms and i simply had to get back on this <3 #this is healing to me #martina #i wish i had shortened it but i did not <3

gukgi

still with you ♡

#sam's new haircut for the party btw bc i never did graphics :)#hahaha how crazy would it be if i still tried to make one hahaha.....#anyway he looked so good with this new hairstyle i lost my mind #vis

reignregine:

Rei’s open mouth closes from prematurely prepping to speak, Sam answering her almost question. They’re spending too much time together. “Kiki is cool.” She barely knows her. Normally seeing someone in angel wings would get an eye roll out of Rei, finding it ridiculous, but Sam pulls it off in that sweet, wholesome way he manages to get her to change her mind about most things. She merely half-smiles despite herself, won’t compliment him on them. “Yeah, sure.” Actually agreeing to group photos…what is Satomi putting in these drinks? “They’re playing bartender right now, but I know you’ll ask again later.” Her brows knit, can’t even reject his question before he asks it. “Wait, huh?” Rei doesn’t care about Beyoncé. “Kiki has a crush on two other people and she’s here with you?” Her voice is a little defensive on his behalf.

“I know, right? Though, not nearly as cool as you, don’t worry,” Sam grins, knocking his elbow into her arm. His smile grows wider at the idea of eventually getting some snapshots of him with Rei and Satomi before his eyebrows shoot up at her conclusion. “What? No, no, no, not Kiki,” he answers quickly, shaking a hand in front of him as if he could wipe away the idea from Rei’s brain that quickly. “She’s just a friend, she’s not—” Sam stops himself, throwing his head back as he lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his now shorter hair. “It’s someone else, and she... She’s got a big heart but I think I missed a chance to have a place in it,” he mumbles, pink starting to warm his cheeks, sheepishly looking back over to his best friend. “Do you... know Martina Washington?”

#chels thank you for this so i love rei so much #rei #sam goin thru it sdkfjnvjksd

emmettblack:

“You say that but I can’t help it.” He was the older cousin, he had to worry. And having Sam and Ingrid was as close as he was getting to siblings, so he had to look over them. Emmett frowned at that. “And she’s alright, correct?” He would hope so. “I’m sorry about your friends, hopefully they’re doing better now.”

“I know, I know, and that’s what makes you a great cousin,” Sam grins, nudging him playfully on the shoulder. “That and great hair, I guess,” he adds, nodding to Emmett’s new hairstyle, which is definitely working for him. “She’s good, too, I promise,” Sam assures, then sighs just a little bit, like it’s been a long day— more like semester. “They are, better, I mean. I think everyone’s just ready to let go a little bit. What about you, how are you?”

#emmett #thin ice <3 #but boy do i love him

ingridsong:

Not the censor. “You…and…Steve?! What in tarnation…” She mumbles to herself, because who is trying to see Steve of all people dance! “Then she’d have to choose a specific group of people and they’d have to all choose from only each other which sounds like a lot of effort considering how many people are here.” Ingrid doesn’t plan on drinking at all, not least because it’s illegal. “Yeah, but…what if I wanna see them over the summer? Am I supposed to just invite them to come stay at our house?” There’s plenty of room! “Yours or mine?”

i wasn’t gonna put him on blast on the public internet! “Listen, I’m as surprised as you are, but Kiki can be very convincing. Oh, maybe that one where you announce who you’re passing the phone to? She’s got a lot of ideas,” Sam chuckles, slipping his hands into his pockets, long since gotten used to Kiki’s antics. “Why not? I mean, you’d have to run it by Mom and Dad, but that’s pretty much exactly what you do,” he says with a simple smile and shrug of his shoulders, hoping she knows that getting to have a fun summer can and should be that easy for her. “Well, we already discussed Kiki so I think it’s clear I’m referring to Soren,” Sam says, his smile growing.

#NSDVKJNDSKVJNDS itll be a little once in a while helpful tool!#ingrid

ingridsong:

I keep reading it as condescending to his sister because I want to fight. Even though her dress is a bit short, Ingrid is classy so Sam doesn’t need to concern himself with her attire! “Wait, what kind of TikTok?” Ingrid has internet clout and would like to be involved. She makes a face. “It’s going great, dad. I’m sort of scared for the summer break. I don’t want to lose touch with people and stuff be weird next semester.”

once again that is not sam’s fault and i’m blaming it on e***. “Uh, earlier it was a dancing one, but Steve and I already filmed that one for her,” Sam answers, glancing up and over to the left to recollect the memory. “Oh, she might be doing that trend where everyone tries to guess who’s gonna get the drunkest tonight,” he chuckles. Sam’s face morphs into a small frown at that nickname, but he lets it slide. He thinks their dad is cool, anyway. “I get that, but I doubt you’ll let the people you really wanna keep relationships with slip away. Speaking of relationships... Cool date, huh?” God, he really does sound like dad.

#it is!! i immediately saved it hehe #also omg ps please #she does kinda when she looks up #i see it #ingrid #omg i went and used that site to slow this gif too hehehe i feel so powerful

ofanya:

– “OKAY, FINE, JUST A FRIEND. how many dates is it before someone becomes not just a friend ? ” she’ll ask to clarify – also, probably good to know for future reference ! anya falls into step with sam as they dance, though her eyes will try and seek out stella’s red dress as he brings up her date. “ absolutely, ” she smiles softly, “ you know stella, right ? ” sam must, at least vaguely, because stella’s been by their room enough times to hang out with anya.

“You can hang out with a friend on friend dates however many times you want,” he informs her with the air of a tutor. "Boys and girls can be friends, you know this. Like, look at us! We’re friends,” Sam grins, teasing her now because of course she gets that. “Manchesi, right? She seems really cool— hey are you taller than her?” he asks, joking about Anya’s height, but he also notes that her petite frame makes her a great dance partner, lithe and delicate.

#do i know how tall anya is? no but she has baby energy so <3 #anya

ingridsong:

“Then why are you trying to get rid of your jacket?!” She looks him over, then offers a shrug. “You look fine.” All Blackthornes are sinners, facts are facts. This is false propaganda. “What would Kiki think if she saw me wearing her hard work?! I’m not even a saint.” She could be a fallen angel, perhaps. “You’re so needy! But fine. Where’s your date, then?”

“Alright, fine, fine!” he says with a laugh, pulling his jacket back on and conceding to his baby sister like usual. There’s no winning this one, but Sam doesn’t really mind it, because he’s still having a good time with his sister and that had been the biggest reason he’d come up to talk to her anyway. “She’s hanging out, I think she’s trying to get people to film a TikTok with her,” he chuckles. “How’s your night going, kiddo?”

#well i knew and im glad u were on the right page w me :)#KSJVNSD so tru #ingrid #THANK YOU FOR HELPING ME GET THE PERF GIF LOL #u can barely tell since its a black jacket but EYE know and thats what counts

ofanya:

– “OH, WOAH! YOUR VALENTINE?” anya’s eyes widen, “ don’t say it like that, anyone would be LUCKY to be your date. ” she tells him this sincerely, she won’t let him undercut his worth : “ though two dates…it’s just as a friend ? ” her eyebrows will rise suggestively, like she’s trying to pull some secret out of him as subtly as she can – not very subtly though. “ perfect ! ” she beams, extending her hand out to him.

“Yeah, her!” he laughs, endeared at the one thing Anya does remember. Sam looks back at her with a bashful smile, if only because he knows her, and he knows she believes that to be true. “Just a friend, I promise,” he assures her, smile not leaving him as he takes her hand and begins to lead her out to the dance-floor. “What about yourself? Hot date tonight, Anya?” Sam asks, turning the conversation back on her, though he knows he’ll relent pretty soon if she pushes it.

#anya #me knowing anya wants to talk about martina so i will allow her <3

martinaw:

Almost every person who occupied a house in her heart flooded the ballroom. Martina constantly excused herself from conversations because she recognized someone else or wanted to dance with someone else or wanted a drink with someone else, citing that she wouldn’t see some of them again after tonight. It distracted her from the dwindling time that remained to make her own decision about whether she would stay or go. Martina had flitted across every meter of the room, and she hadn’t seen him yet. Until she finally looked over her shoulder to find Sam dressed as a vision she already believed in. His hair was shorter. That was the first thing Martina noticed. Tapered on the sides and in the back, longer strands on top falling perfectly into place. The new haircut accentuated his cherubic high cheekbones and strong jaw, but his soft eyes remained unchanged. Their hold on her gaze drew her in, and Martina floated on a fluffy white cloud rather than crossed the ballroom in white heels. She met him halfway, startled her that those wings weren’t real. “So do you,” she breathed. There was never enough oxygen between them. She’d exhale to watch him inhale. “Wow, Sam, you…so….” Lovely, like a dream. “Stunning.” Why aren’t more guys told that they’re stunning? “We’re lucky to have you. Here, at the gala. The PPC, I mean. And me, too.” Martina sipped to smooth over her words. “Did you grow those wings yourself?”

He had to kick himself now for trying not to think about her. He’d done it in an effort to preserve his heart, to not fall farther down this lovely rabbit hole, because he’d known once he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about her all evening. But now, with her in front of him, a vision of every precious thing in the world, Sam knew he’d have gladly spent his night dreaming of her, lost in turmoil over his feelings, blissful in watching her like she’s the angel she is. He would have taken the bad along with the good, he should have, he could have happily spent all night absolutely smitten, sinner or saint, no matter if it had given him heaven or hell. She was kind for complimenting him, but he held on to it anyway, as if he could ever look half-way as lovely as her. “That’s a unique choice of words,” he chuckled, unable to keep from smiling wide at it, and he ran a hand nervously through his hair, surprising himself again when he could feel the difference in length. “Oh, uh, Ingrid cut my hair for the party,” he blurted, like he needed to explain himself for the change, or maybe he just wanted to fill the space with words that weren’t all his jumbled feelings for her. He held on to the way she said ‘me too’, turning the words over in his to head to wish them into something they weren’t. “No, no,” he laughed. “Actually, Kiki made them for me. She said we had to match if we were going to be dates,” Sam explained with an innocent chuckle, gaze shifting to Kiki and her own wings somewhere farther down the ballroom, and to her credit, silly as she was, Kiki looked like an image of effortless beauty, soft features accentuated by her smokey makeup, flowing white dress, and golden halo in her hair. Sam was just lucky she was a good enough friend to let him come along with her. “Hey, where’s Trinity? I bet she cleaned up well, too. Though, don’t tell her I said this, but I doubt she’d be able to look as nice as you,” he grinned, his attention fully back to her so quickly, because with her in front of him, nothing could pull his focus for longer than a moment.

#trinity dont kill him #also me talking abt how pretty kiki is just to get a reaction out of martina bc im toxic :/#anyway martina is everything to me #martina

martinaw:

She wore her vulnerability as an outermost layer. As she watched his features twist in pain as she recounted her woes, as if he shared her woes, Martina realized that Sam did too. Martina did not resist falling into his arms, and Sam did not resist believing her words without questioning nor qualification. It was unnaturally natural, how well they fit together. “I’m sorry if that hurt you.” His presence alone was so healing that she wished he didn’t feel the pain, even if it originated from caring about her. To be treated with such gentleness was a welcome reprieve from the grueling year she had, and she wondered who Sam himself confided in. He was so optimistic and bright that she couldn’t imagine anyone else not gravitating toward him. At the same time, she was selfishly grateful that he was here with her, not because he had to be, but because he chose to be. Forget about her, he was the perfect one. He was the one who deserved more than what Martina could offer, a measly heart shattered in millions of pieces, one for each and every person she has ever met.

Her arms curled around his waist, pressing him close. She didn’t want to fall into being too self-conscious when she had no reason to be. This was Sam, and they were good friends. At least good friends. Martina’s roaring thoughts finally quieted, encircled in a steady warmth that matched whatever glowed inside of her chest. “Your heart’s racing,” she commented softly. Mine, too, it fluttered up in her throat but she caught it in time. Martina wondered what he was feeling. Her chin skimmed the soft cotton of his shirt as she lifted her head to look at him, her long braids raining down her back. “Do you really think that?” she asked, tone matching the curiosity on her face. “That I could just…throw it all away? What about my legacy?” Was it really as simple as he made it sound? The word home simmered on her skin. Her home was people, instead of a specific coordinate that she could point to on a map, but even her tribe started to feel foreign. And she was at least partially at fault. “Would you stay, if you were me?” It was a fair question. But maybe her asking had nothing to do with her and influencing her answer, maybe it had to do with wanting to know more about him, if he was as human as she was. Perfection was an illusion or a concealment, depending on who was doing the admiring. And, like, okay, she could admit to purposefully concealing some ugly truths about herself, but she never did it with the intention to deceive.

Martina released a sigh of contentment at the last happy tear, feeling the bottomless well emptying, and she could see Sam clearer now that they pulled out of the hug, Martina’s arms floating down to her sides. Her fingers twitched before she tentatively lifted her hand to press against the back of his, holding it to her cheek. “You’re good at that,” she laughed again. “You know just what to say. It’s like your superpower.” Martina leaned her head against his hand that she held to her face, her stare unwavering, drowning in the sunlit pools of his kind eyes, a new meaning to killing with kindness. “You’re a good friend, Sam.” And Martina wanted to be a better one. However, she didn’t want to necessarily be a better friend to Sam at that moment; no, in that moment, she wanted to be more. Where were you hiding all this time?

He feared for a moment, when she apologized, that she could sense his jealousy despite his best efforts to ignore it. Was he that obvious? Could she tell from the way his eyes looked at her that she’d been on his mind constantly, that he hadn’t been able to get the image of her sunlit eyes out of his head since that moment in the forest, when her lips had been just one ounce of courage away? But after a moment, he realized that wasn’t the case, and Martina in her endless compassion, was apologizing for making him concerned for her. “Don’t worry about me,” Sam responded, pulling together a sympathetic smile for her, anything for her, to get her to feel lighter and happier in turn. If he could ease her pain even the slightest bit, it would be enough for him.

With her arms held tighter around him, and her warm body pressed close against him, he felt the tips of his ears start to heat up, and he was glad they were outside, where he could chalk it up to the spring sun coming down on them. How often was he going to find himself in this position? With Martina so close, and every desire in his heart at the forefront of his mind, but unable to do anything about it? Your heart’s racing. The moment stilled to just that sentence, Sam frozen with his arms around her, Martina’s soft whisper in the air revealing the way she had his heart. She isn’t for you, he thought to himself, trying to bring his heart-rate down again. She belongs to herself, and she’s vulnerable, he repeated. Just be her friend. It would be so far past foolish to tell her why she could hear his thrumming heartbeat in his chest, so Sam did his best to take an even breath, and summon a polite smile. “I just care about making sure you’re okay,” he said softly, and thanked every god in the sky that by the time she raised her face to him again, he’d regained most of his composure. Despite so much of him wanting to tell her to stay, Sam only smiled brighter for her, nodding his head. “I really think that. You wouldn’t be throwing it away, you’d be moving on,” he told her confidently. “You’d be exploring new things, making your mark in more places in any way you want. Your legacy doesn’t live and die here, Martina,” Sam said, fully believing these words he gave her. “You will always be a Washington, and every good thing you do will make that legacy shine brighter, but it won’t be because of your last name. It’ll be because that’s who you are.” There was contentment in his heart as he told her this, knowing that it was true, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if she chose to leave, she would still find ways to be happy. And that was enough for him.

Her question made him pause, unsure how he felt if he’d put himself in her shoes. Sam had his own worries about his legacy and his place in this world, but he always knew that at the end of day, he was happy to keep working toward it, that this was his calling no matter how hard he had to struggle for it. “I think I could, if I wanted to. I wouldn’t think myself any less for it, if I knew it was the right decision for me. But I want to be here, and I can’t make that decision for you, Martina,” Sam said, softer this time, trying to let her know that whatever choice she made, he would support her. Just like before, he missed the feel of her body so close to his as soon as it was gone, but he concealed that feeling too. It was harder, though, when her soft hand caressed his, and she let his hand cup the side of her face, causing a feeling in his chest like waves crashing against the inside of his ribs. Her words nestled in a tender place in his heart, and despite the way he wanted more from her than friendship, it brought a blithe light to his eyes. “I’m glad. That’s all I want,” he lied with a smile on his face. That had to be enough.

#im gonna shorten this for our sanity #martina #i will never get 'Your heart's racing.' our of my head #HAHAHAHA I DID NOT SHORTEN IT...... JESUS......#posting this now bc garnets at work and i know i wont get an instant reply

jjamppong:

❝ i did ! but don’t worry , bestie , i have one for you too of course . i’ll trade you the phone for that drink , ❞ she pulled out the one she saved for him and handed it over , hoping he’ll like it . ❝ aw , sam ! you’re getting soft on me . you look great too and i love your wings ! who designed them ?? ❞

“Wait, you did?” he asked, honestly surprised. “But I didn’t even play the game— Kiki, you totally don’t have to,” Sam chuckled, but it was hard to stop her from handing it over and he passed along the drink if only so it wouldn’t spill. “Jeez, this thing looks so fancy,” he breathed, turning it over, then looked back up to her with a knowing grin. “You like ‘em? My super cool friend made them for me so we could match, you know her?”

#uwu anything for u queen #kiki

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