#How to Tell the Difference Between an Apparition and a Ghost

[thatsbelievable]

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!simon x f!reader / part 8

previous part

tw: alcohol use, angst, mentions of death

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Waking up the next morning was the biggest slap in the face. It singed your skin with a burning sting, leaving you disoriented and lost. It was as if the brutal force of realization had hit you so hard, it knocked any form of thought right out of your mind except for pain. Irrepressible pain that caused you to feel numb.

Simon had left. All of your worried texts proved futile. What once showed as blue was now a sickening green that glared back at you. Your number was blocked, your messages unable to go through, and you were left an even shattered version than before. You were glass shards left to lay on the floor, you were a broken wind chime that could no longer provide a charming ambience.

You were broken and useless, tossed to the side like a damaged piece of scrap.

Simon had lived up to his name, and disappeared like a ghost. Drifting off into shadows of darkness, seeping into them and becoming one, never to be seen again.

You were hurt. Scratch that, that was a nice way of putting it – you were devastated. The walls you had so graciously taken down for him were now jagged pieces of debris with no mortar to glue them back together one by one. They were unrepairable, crumbling far too much to be saved.

Everything you ever learned about Simon felt like a lie, because that’s what he did – he lied. The glass was too foggy to tell the difference between what was a lie, and what wasn’t. If there were any parts of Simon that were truthful, you didn’t believe it. There was no grace of god to be there to lend a guiding hand to point you in the right direction. All you had was your gut, telling you deranged criticisms.

He lied to you, this was all a game, and you fell for it.

You should’ve known, really. A man like Simon was not one to love and be loved, not when he had an apparition named Ghost to steer him away from any attachment. After all, spirits could not grow devoted to a mere mortal woman who had nothing left to offer. You were stupid to think otherwise.

Graves was a bad enough person. He hurt you, tormented you, claimed you in order to assure your life was a living hell, with or without him. Now, the smallest part of you didn’t think he could be as cruel as Simon at this moment. It was a brainless thought, one you knew was far from true.

Simon never hurt you, nor did he treat you as bad as Graves.

But at least Graves didn’t have the gall to abandon you like an unwanted dog on the street.

Your mind was ping-ponging back and forth between truth and deception. You didn’t know what was real. It hazed over you, muting out every bit of you that was left inside and replacing it with nothing but cracked foundation.

Nothing was real. Nothing was worth it.

You didn’t leave the house for the entirety of the day, nor the next. You stayed in the confinement of your own home, feeling like a caged animal with no way out. You were slowly decaying away, losing the truest part of yourself, no longer able to see her in the reflection. She stared back at you with a ghostly image, whispering about how disappointed she was in you, how hateful she felt towards you.

She whispered about Simon, burdening you with reminders of what could’ve been if you were simply a little less broken. Bringing him up just to dig the knife in more, twisting it under your skin and basking in the bloodshed.

You were spiraling, just like you always did, because it was all you were good for. Simon was another excuse to crumble back into a deeply rooted self hatred. He was just a chess piece, a single card in a stack of dozens, while you picked it up and returned to your old game of reckless entertainment.

Day fourteen came before you know it. And you spent it completely by yourself, pondering why you ever made a deal with the devil in the first place.

It was easy to fall back into old habits when there was nothing there to offer recovery. Relapsing was what you did best, even when Simon was around, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do it again with him gone. It was a part of you, this endless cycle of self abuse, and it wasn’t going anywhere. It was simply on a temporary pause, now returning with more fiery persistence than before.

Alcohol was the only home you ever knew. It warmed you to the bone, engulfing you in a buzzing fervor. It welcomed you back with open arms, holding on to you with no intent of letting go. You were its lovely hostage, and you had grown Stockholm Syndrome.

Weeks passed by of tireless nights filled with the bitter taste that burned in your throat on repeat. Weeks were spent holed up in your apartment, nursing the only friend you had. This time around, you weren’t picky. You took whatever you could get, uncaring of the repercussions

And even in those weeks, Simon never left your mind. It was like a punishment for being good enough to fuck, but not good enough to stick around. It tortured your mind to the point of insanity.

The more alcohol you had, the more the memory of him became cloudy. It was exactly why you drowned yourself in it. You didn’t want to picture Simon’s face. Didn’t want to picture the way his eyes lit up when he saw you, or the way his smile was a bit crooked and off center. You didn’t want to picture him, and the future you grew too eager for, one that consisted of the two of you. Two puzzle pieces fitting together, only to be wretched apart and pressed down in separate corners.

You were completely losing yourself. All over a man who had broken you.

The cycle repeats. And repeats. You let it repeat, until hopefully one day, the alcohol would prove to be enough to give you the death you so greedily wanted.

It wasn’t until nearly four weeks in utter disarray that the cycle began to morph, railing off of the tracks that you worked so hard to have control over.

Deep into your daily routine of excessive drinking and wallowing in your own self-pity, the door knocked. You nearly missed it, brushing it off as your imagination. You didn’t have visitors, and the only one who cared to take that spot until leaving you was Simon.

Glancing around your apartment, you visibly winced at the disheveled sight of it. Bottles were thrown around carelessly, littering the kitchen counters and living room floor, where you were currently residing with a nameless show playing on the television. Hell had flown through your apartment, and it was your fault it had gotten this way again.

Old habits die hard. And you were always its unfortunate victim when those habits needed a host to leech on to once more.

Clambering up from where you sat on the floor, you somehow made your way to the door by the grace of god. It was late, and if you read right from the clock on the stove, it was past midnight. Anybody could be outside – a killer, an intruder, a thief. It was a mix between not caring about dying, and having enough logical sense to know nobody dangerous would knock first, that had you opening the door.

An unfamiliar man stood tall in the frame, bushy facial hair, sunken eyes that barely held a spark, almost as broad and stiff as Simon. But it wasn’t Simon, and this man was a mere stranger.

“Jesus,” the man muttered under his breath at the state of you. You frowned, feeling small and weak in comparison. After a moment, he cleared his throat, speaking again. “Need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

“I don’t even know who you are,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

“M’a friend of Simon’s,” he explained woefully. The sound of Simon’s name coming from somebody else’s lips and not yours had your heart clenching with a dull ache. It sent ice cold chills running through your veins. “The name’s John Price.”

You stared at him with a look of disdain. You never heard Simon mention him before. The more you thought about it, you never heard Simon mention anybody. He was an enigma that you fell into too easily without even knowing a lick of who he was outside of your temporary protector.

“If you’re looking for him, I don’t know where he is,” you replied dryly, gripping a hand on the door and beginning to close it. Before the hinge could click into place, John’s boot stopped it, wedging itself between the door and its frame. He gave you a tight smile, one that had you tensing.

“I know where he is, dove. I said that I need to talk to you.”

The two of you became trapped in a staredown, one that you were too exhausted to fight to be the champion of. Begrudgingly, you opened the door wide enough to allow him to slip in, shutting it behind him. You watched as he took in your apartment, surely judging the whirlwind of it. He wasn’t exactly the type to hide away his distaste, if his mockingly amused expression was any type of indication.

“What do you want?” you asked him, disregarding your own mess and instead focusing on him. He turned to look at you, flashing you another smile. It seemed trusting enough, kind even, but by this time, you knew better.

“Came to offer you a deal, of sorts,” he vocalized. “Might I sit?”

You glanced over at the living room, shame bubbling in you at the sight of the bottle you’d been indulging in before he came around. “Sure.”

You trailed behind him when he took his seat on the couch, letting out an exaggerated sigh, leaning back into it. His display of comfort made you feel uneasy. You made no effort to join him, opting to stand in the middle of the room.

“You were rather close with Simon, weren’t you?” he asked, causing you to scoff to yourself.

“Sure. What’s that got to do with anything?” you asked grimly.

Price hummed to himself, tapping his fingers against his knee. It caused a faint, muted sound of rough, calloused fingertips to chafe against the material of his pants. “Figured so. Allow me to ask you somethin’. You know of Simon’s occupation, right?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Silly me, that’s how you met, isn’t it?” He chuckled to himself. You weren’t sure what was so amusing. “Well, here’s the thing – his performance has been a bit… hindered as of late. I have a strong inkling that it’s because of you.”

The air in the room was tense, nearly suffocating you. Price had such a soft aura that was hiding menacing intentions. You could see through it.

“I need a favor from you, doll.”

“And that is?” you asked carefully.

He smiled at you, cocking his head. “I need you to reject him. Tell him you’re better off, that you don’t need him, whatever you can say to make him get his head back in the fuckin’ game. This job of ours isn’t a joke, you see. I can’t have him slackin’ off. That’s how he’ll end up caught and thrown in jail. Once it reaches that point, I can’t help him out of it. That’s why I need you to help me before that happens.”

Your eyes widened in bewilderment at the sheer nerve of Price. Asking you to tell Simon off, to lie and say you were happy without him? Fuck, the proof was in the pudding – you weren’t, and you could almost guarantee that Simon would know you were lying from one single word. Sure, you were mad at him – pissed – but you also wanted no part in this game Price was playing.

The more you sat on it, the more it became twisted. You were thrown in a tangled web of deception and betrayal, stuck to it like glue, fighting for your way out.

But how much of it was betrayal? How much of it was trickery?

Price’s words echoed in your mind on repeat. They formed together, creating a clear picture.

Price had been the one to have Simon toss you out. He was the reason for your harrowing spiral. He was why Simon had left you, treating you as if you didn’t exist. Just a pawn in his game, and you were too stupid to realize it all sooner.

“You did this?” you snapped. Price raised an eyebrow at you, but said nothing. “You… you’re the reason for all of this, and now you’re asking me for help to lie to him? Are you insane?”

His expression twitched into a flash of annoyance before returning back to a mask. Alarms rang in your head. “I’m doin’ this for Simon. You’re a little bird he fell into when he shouldn’t have, and now I’m tryin’ to fix it before it’s too late.”

“Bullshit. You’re doing this to save your own ass.”

“I’d highly advise watchin’ yourself, doll,” Price muttered in warning, eyes narrowed and expression darkened. “You don’t know anythin’ about what we do. Don’t know how dangerous it is for you to be involved with Simon, and for Simon to be involved with you. I’m savin’ Simon’s ass from fuckin’ up one too many times.”

The atmosphere was even thicker than before. It was hard to breathe. It made you queasy, as if poisoned with a heavy gas that may just kill you if you inhaled it for too long.

Price and you stared at one another, both stubborn and pulled taut. His anger simmered to a low boil once the two of you took that silence to gather your thoughts, but it didn’t entirely vanish. You could still see a flicker of a flame in his eyes.

He was dangerous. Not somebody you wanted to get tangled up in, but you had no choice. You were too deep into this webbed mess, and it was only a matter of time before it came to bite back at you.

“What’s wrong with him?” you finally asked, voice quiet and solemn. You crossed your arms over your chest, turning your gaze away from him so you didn’t have to see his display of weak sympathy and mock judgment.

“He fell in love with you, that’s what’s wrong,” Price bit back, sneering. “Now he’s weak. Can’t do his job correctly, got his head in the fuckin’ clouds, snaps at everybody who tries to talk to him. He’s riskin’ himself, riskin’ us, and I can’t afford losin’ a brother over some girl.”

Price’s words were bitter and cruel. It only irritated you, pricking at your skin until it drove you mad. All calmness that had festered in your brief silence washed away, replaced with the old flame of your anger.

“Losing him?” You laughed bitterly, throwing your head back in disbelief. “Sounds to me like it’s your fault and not mine. Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the reason he’s all fucked up?”

Price stood from where he sat on the couch. There were no longer kind features adorning his face. It was replaced with twisted anger, morphing into something unrecognizable. When he stepped closer to you until you were nearly nose to nose, it was like looking into the eyes of a feral wolf, ready to tear you apart at any given second.

“Wise words comin’ from an alcoholic,” he muttered lowly. It was a hard pill to swallow. “I was tryin’ to be nice, doll. I was givin’ you an option. A choice. You’re just as fucked up as Simon. The difference is that you’re goin’ down a path nobody can save you from. I can save Simon.”

The words slapped you harsh in the face. It was brutal and cruel, and he showed no remorse for the damage he was doing. This was a man who got what he wanted, hurting everybody in the process so long as he achieved it. His goal was to save Simon from his impending doom, and he was willing to take you down to make it happen.

“If you really cared about Simon, you would’ve never let him get to this state in the first place,” you retorted back just as cruelly. “It’s not my fault, and I’m not going to sit here and let you blame me for it. Take a look in the mirror and you’ll get your answer on why he’s being this way.”

Silence. Aching, deafening silence. It tinged the air with a sour smell. The two of you were making no moves of backing down, and it was simply a recipe for disaster.

You didn’t know why you were defending Simon. After what he did, he didn’t deserve your care. He didn’t deserve to have you bandage over his name from the countless wounds he’d inflicted on it by leaving you behind after taking all of you in this very apartment.

However, with a missing puzzle piece being added to the pile, that being Price, you couldn’t help but offer your support from afar. It was clear he had no hand in this game. He was a pawn, just as much as you.

“I’m not helping you toy with his feelings,” you whispered. This time, you sounded defeated rather than angry. Broken, sad, dejected. “He doesn’t deserve that.”

Price sucked in a sharp breath, stepping away but keeping his gaze pointed to you. He said nothing for the first few moments, eyes flickering over the worn out lines on your face. Empty eyes, ones that were surely full of life at some point in your life. Perhaps even lit up with Simon around.

He had taken that away from you, and it was only then he was realizing how cruel he was being. All of it, for the sake of protecting his own, of protecting Simon. He was so consumed by the thought of keeping Simon out of trouble, that he only sought to create more for you. A civilian, one who simply got wrapped up in the wrong crowd.

No outsider had ever cared for Simon like Price, Gaz, and Soap did. They were all each other had, bound together by an unfortunate calling. Nobody was allowed in, or out.

Then you came along, and Ghost had quickly become Simon again.

“You’re not goin’ to make this easy for me, are you?” Price sighed, shoulders deflating, releasing its built up tension.

“No. I’m not,” you agreed grimly.

“Stubborn one, you are,” he hummed, and dare you say it, he sounded amused. “Can see why Simon likes you.”

You glanced up at him, noting the faintest of smiles on his face. It was barely visible, a ghost on his lips, but even through your hazed exhaustion, you could see it.

“Tell you what,” he began, crossing his arms to match your stance. “I’ll talk to him. See what I can do. M’not promisin’ anythin’. This isn’t the type of life I want you wrapped up in, but I can see that you’re only goin’ to wallow here until you drop dead. I don’t want that blood on my hands.”

“What are you saying?” you asked suspiciously.

“I’m sayin’, that I’ll try to see if it could work. Again, m’not promisin’ you anythin’, doll. But if you’re the reason Simon can get his head out of his ass and stop doin’ sloppy work, then I’ll see what I can do.”

It was no guarantee, but Price was trying. One moment, he was begging you to hurt Simon to the point he’d never think of crawling back to you. Now, the story had changed, and he was making a peace offering.

You weren’t sure whether or not to trust him. You shouldn’t. It was a bad idea.

But the thought of seeing Simon again, to mend the broken bond you had formed, caused you to agree.

Simon was fucked. He’d drowned himself in a world of pure guilt ever since he’d blocked your number and called it quits. He was miserable, more than he’d ever been.

He didn’t feel guilt. In fact, he wasn’t supposed to feel anything at all. He was Ghost, after all, and ghosts didn’t feel. Yet with you, the narrative had switched. It was as if the gates of heaven had opened up, offering him a chance at redemption. He felt everything all at once – love, care, affection, longing, heartache.

Everything felt right with you. It was like he had finally found his home, only to have it torn away from the grasp of his hands. No matter how much he tried holding on to it, it proved a fruitless effort. It was gone before he even resided.

Simon’s mind became a jumbled mess. He returned to the empty shell he was before when nothing mattered and he only saw the world through a red-colored lens. It was straining, it was harsh. It hurt to wake up everyday and see a colorless world waiting for him.

His shattered, frail mind affected everything he’d ever known. Work became a chore. He was messy, careless, and the darkest part of him wished he would be caught so he could force himself into punishment for hurting an angel sent from above that was placed in his life to nurture him.

It was what he deserved. Simon was a man who fell in love, and Ghost was the devil that reminded him that he was undeserving. Unworthy.

You deserved better than him. You deserved the world, and Simon was the one who would take from it with greedy hands caked in the blood of God’s creations.

Everyday burned with an itch to see you, to send you a text. He missed you, but he hated himself more. It stopped him from reaching out, caused him to pull back on the reins and pace himself. Nothing could scratch the burning itch except for the brutal reminder that you deserved better.

The weeks were hell without you. He’d grown agitated at everything around him, going as far as to snap at Gaz and Johnny when they attempted to console him, to snap at Price out of unfiltered rage at what he made him do. He was too far gone, and the only foundation he had left was beginning to crumble, all because of him.

Damn Price for taking you away, and damn you for making him fall in love.

Simon didn’t know how much more he could take. It was eating away at him, like a parasite feeding off of its host, draining him of all soul. Even now, as he sat in his own apartment, hidden on his balcony and smoking all of his worries away with hopes of succumbing to the nasty tar that threatened to rise in his throat every time, he was decaying. Withering away, like a fragile flower.

The night was dark. The stars didn’t shine as brightly as they did on your balcony. The air didn’t feel as pure without you to share it with him. The smoke didn’t wisp up into silly, little shapes, and instead, tainted the air with polluted illness.

It was positively suffocating.

As Simon nursed the cigarette to the very end, stubbing it out with his boot and carelessly leaving it littered with the rest of them on his balcony, he heard the faint knock on his door. He silently prayed it was death, here to take him away and rid him of his pain for good.

It wasn’t death, but it was damn near close.

“Price,” he grumbled at the sight of the older man. It was too late for him to make an appearance, so he wasn’t sure why he did. Maybe Price had truly given up on him and was here to offer mercy.

Price didn’t care for greetings, stepping past Simon and into his apartment. Simon followed after him with his gaze, mentally preparing himself for another lecture. It was bound to happen at this point, seeing as Price was fed up.

Simon knew he was putting their lives on the line by being reckless. He just didn’t have it in him to care.

Closing the door behind him, Simon kept his distance, not uttering a word until Price spoke first. The man in question lingered around his apartment, seeming to stall with time, too choked up for words.

“You need somethin’, sir?” Simon finally asked. Price lifted his eyes to look at Simon. For a moment, they were unreadable. Masking away his thoughts, tucking them far in the back of his mind.

Price let out a deep exhale through his nostrils. He stood there in silence for what felt like eternity. Simon could see the gears shifting in his mind, working overtime.

“Go and get your bird back, Simon,” Price sighed, but to Simon, it sounded like church bells ringing on a Sunday morning, beckoning him home.

so many of y'all thought the last part was the end, but i'm not that cruel ;( i promise

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶On Monday, he was a ghost. By Friday, he was a man. Saturday night? He was the unintentional third wheel to your and Adrie's Trick-or-Treating antics.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, reader wears eddie's jacket, light angst, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 4/20 [wc: 10.8k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 4: Ghost Days

Eddie went through Monday like a ghost.

A spectacle in his youth, now a specter. A phantasm phasing through walls. Not a hello, nor a goodbye. Existing in the corners of the room, watching. No attention on him, just working, and thinking. Tending to his dying garden of thoughts when the sun didn’t shine. Moving around you, and the tug of your gravitational pull, with your gaze firm on the desk in front of you, not on the haunt who brought this upon himself, and hurt you in the process.

“You okay, Eddie?” his uncle asked, running a hand up and down his back. “You’ve been staring at that pot of boiling water for ten minutes.”

Eddie fluttered his lashes at the bubbles bursting on the surface. “Sorry, got a lot on my mind.”

————

Tuesday, Wednesday he was a full-body apparition.

No morning smiles, no afternoon laughter, but a single sentence.

“Oh!” You hugged the files to your chest, not knowing Eddie was passing in the hallway to break room right as you were leaving Mr. Moore’s office. Several of the papers crinkled from running into him. Your eyes were screwed shut, expecting an impact. All signs Eddie was real; a thing of worth, a precious brick wall who cupped your arm when you stumbled, who slotted his thumb in the crease of your inner elbow. A chest to brace your hand against. Fingers grasping his dirty coveralls. He was there. He caught you.

And the next day–

“Eddie?”

Your sudden presence scared him. He slammed his black spiral-bound notebook shut and kept his palm over the devil-horned skull he drew on the front.

Sat alone at the table to eat his lunch, the low drone of the vending machines camouflaged the sound of you approaching, and he was too absorbed bin what he was writing down to notice you had entered the break room. Did not realize how close you had gotten until the heel of your palm pressed into a particularly sore muscle in his back from how you steadied yourself on his chair as you bent over.

You picked your gaze up from the notebook, and landed on his eyes. Even if you didn’t mean to, the knot between your brows relaxed the smallest degree–a nearly imperceptible amount–but with how he drank in your appearance, he detected it.

“You wrote O2 for this part here, did you mean X2?” you asked, referring to the invoice in your hand. He watched you bring the question to life. Voice and lips working together to create a lullaby for the unrest in his head. Breath cooling the wet trace of his tongue on his lips.

He was desperate for interaction. He knew. You were too. You just hid it better.

“Eddie,” you reminded him, keen on the five-o’clock-shadow peppering his cheek from neglecting a shave.

If things were different, would you have caressed your thumb along the grain? Would you have pushed his bangs off his forehead, run your fingers through his hair, and pressed your lips to the delicate curve of his temple? Would you tell him he was a good dad for fixing the water heater again, and getting his daughter to school on time, even when he wanted to do nothing more than lay on the couch and cry?

“X2,” he confirmed, “Yeah, I meant X2. Sorry.”

————

Thursday? He was corporeal.

Carl returned from his stay-cation. Stay-at-home-vacation, also known as his wife’s birthday.

He was taking a break in his story to microwave his lasagna when the fading voice of a customer went out the front door, ringing its chime. There was shuffling in the lobby. A backpack being unzipped.

The microwave beeped, and Carl picked up his container with the tips of his fingers, bringing it over to the table, where he sat in the chair facing the hallway.

You walked in with your lunch container, saw the back of Eddie’s head, and walked out.

Carl watched Eddie’s demeanor wilt at the swift exit, gaze falling to the corner of his eyes in acknowledgement of where you were just standing. Face blank, except for the heavy depression drifting his eyelids half-closed. Posture sagged more than normal.

“Is Adrie excited for Saturday?” Carl asked, keeping the conversation light, because boy, did he know that heartbroken look.

“Mm?” Eddie jerked his head up, attentive. He processed the question, and crowded his packed mish-mash of leftovers to his chest, chewing his horrible attempt at replicating Wayne’s pork chop supper as he talked, “Oh, yeah, yeah. Free candy and seeing her friends? She’s been bouncing off the walls all week.” He stabbed an undercooked carrot and brandished it with the same motion he rolled his eyes. “But,” he drew out for comedic effect, “She wanted to dress up as a bat again. Great! Same as last year. No problem, right? So, I take out her costume from the closet, have her try it on, and you know what she says?”

Carl shook his head with a slow grin stretching across his face.

“It’s not pretty enough!” Eddie ate the carrot. “She never wants to be a princess, but all her friends do, and now she’s gotten it in her head that if her costume doesn’t have the same glitter and pizzazz theirs does, it’s not good enough.”

He laughed, “My boys were easier. When they fought over who got to be Donatello, and who got to be Michaelangelo, all we had to do was switch mask colors and weapons.”

“See, they knew what they were doing with the Ninja Turtles, man. Easiest costumes to reuse.”

“Exactly.”

“Now I gotta figure out how to navigate telling her most of the stores are sold out of everything.”

“It’s a toughie, that’s for sure.”

The conversation ended with two knowing nods, sharing the same shallow gripes about parenthood. Carl finished his meal first, and left the table to return to work, while Eddie picked away at his, submerging himself in his thoughts.

A recent drizzle cast Hawkins in a misty haze. The drink machine clicked, and the steady hum rose to a higher frequency. Footsteps squeaked down the hallway. The nervous hand of a once confident woman gripped the doorframe, and she leaned into the room, speaking in a small voice, “I can help.”

Eddie perked up. Head visibly lifting, shoulders drawn back and down. He didn’t respond. Not until he turned around in his chair, and you persevered through the awkward amount of eye contact; wide and unblinking.

You reiterated, “I can help fix up Adrie’s costume so it’s glittery.. Or whatever you said.” Totally not eavesdropping. You waited for a response. “More her style,” you mumbled, filling the void when he forgot what words were.

“Y-Yeah! That–Uhm.. Yeah, you have that kind of stuff?” He clutched onto the back of his chair, knuckles white, bending the plastic from the weight he leaned on it. His face was of equal intrigue, eyes pleading for more interaction, lips parted for more questions, eyebrows pinched in and upwards to show his humility. His thanks.

In a valiant effort for normalcy, you started with a self-deprecating comment, “I mean, it’s not like I was performing on Broadway with a whole costuming department’s worth of tailors, you know. Bobbie and I had to pull all-nighters to finish our own shitty ensembles, so I’m pretty handy with a glue gun, and my sewing skills are serviceable, if I do say so myself.” You stepped further into the break room to put your unfinished lunch in the fridge. “I have tons of fabric and crafting supplies left over. Seriously, I don’t mind spicing up her costume if you wanna bring it by tomorrow. I think I can make something she likes.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to–”

His mouth sealed itself shut at the incremental smirk sneaking its way across your face.

“Well, you see,” you said, exuding pure charisma, “Now you’ve gone and phrased it in a way which enacts my policy. I have to say ‘yes.’”

Given his current state, Eddie was little more than a mess of nerves; sleeping in uncomfortable positions that had his bones aching due to Adrie’s fear of monsters under her bed sending her to sleep with him on the couch; along with the general up-and-down rush of stress when he passed by your desk, and nothing came of his sad glance in your direction.

Unfiltered relief slipped past his chapped lips as he looked up at you, “Thank you.”

————

By Friday, he was a man.

Eddie skipped his morning cigarette. He wore his lucky Metallica t-shirt under his coveralls. Adrie had to beg him to release her from his powerful hug this morning, flailing her arms and pretending to choke, until the other parents in the carpool lane stared, and he relented.

He walked into the garage’s lobby with sure steps, making a quick stop behind the receptionist desk to drop off a neatly folded pile of black fabric. Then, he looked down the shadowed hallway leading to the lively break room, and he breathed deep.

You were framed by the doorway. Your back was to him, bent over the sink, just beginning to wash the coffee pot.

One thing was for certain.

If anything ever happened between you two and it didn’t pan out, work would be weird. That much he learned this week. And that was just another reason to keep his boundaries up. Another good fucking reason to apologize, turn around, and go back to being cordial work buddies, and have that be the extent of your relationship.

And yet, here he was, flirting with the ring of fire he lit himself.

Crossing his arms, he squeezed his biceps, and leaned his shoulder on the wall outside the room, mind racing as he organized the same speech he rehearsed hundreds of times this morning. “Can we talk?”

Now, the unfortunate thing about rehearsing one-sided speeches was the unpredictability of which you’d follow the script.

“If you’re here to apologize–again–for spending a runtime of 83 minutes with me because it was just that awful, I’ll scream.”

Eddie had to manually force himself to relax out of his wince. “I deserved that,” he exhaled, speaking to himself only. He deserved your stern tone, your angry way of scrubbing the pot. The stiffness between your bunched shoulders. The tight annoyance in your throat from the way he treated you.

Yesterday was a nice break from the tension, but he hadn’t yet made amends, despite the olive branch you extended to him in the form of fixing up his daughter’s costume. “What if I apologized for something else?”

“The jury’s still out on that one.”

“Good enough,” he said. “Listen, ah, I’ve been reflecting on what happened Friday, and I realized I came across like an asshole,” –He shut his eyes, and shook his head– “I was an asshole, whether I meant to be, or not. I mean, yeah, I had a lot on my mind, but that doesn’t justify my behavior in blowing you off like that, especially when you were nothing but nice to me when you saw they set us up together, and you just wanted us to have a good time.. I can tell I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”

You rinsed out the soap suds and filled the pot with water, turning off the sink.

There, he apologized, now he should turn around, and go back to being cordial work buddies.

But he was so fucking stupid.

Committing to something he may come to regret, he entered the break room and stopped when he came to the counter beside the sink, bending sideways to rest his arm there, and kicking out his hip. “I didn’t even get to tell you how pretty you were.”

Immediately, you angled yourself away to pull the coffee machine towards you, and poured water into the reservoir.

Eddie let out a groan as his brain caught up with his mouth. “I meant are. How pretty you are..” he spoke at your back while you still refused to acknowledge him. “I meant to say how pretty you are.”

His stomach seized. None of this was going how he planned, so.. fuck it. “I think you’re really pretty right now, actually.”

Nothing seemed louder than his quick breaths, and heart beating in his throat.

The longer you went silent, he considered getting a new job bagging groceries for the supermarket they built on Cherry Street last year.

You slotted the pot onto the hot plate, and opened the cabinet in front of you, blocking his view of you as you reached for the coffee container. But when you closed the door, he had to clench the tremble of annoyance out of his hands.

Try as you might–lips scrunched to the side, cheeks sucked in, making a big production of counting the spoonfuls of grounds you scooped into the filter basket–your smile was obvious. Obvious, and irritating; leading him on as if his advances were a worse offense than his attitude after your date.

“Fine, fine,” you sighed like you were doing him a favor. “I guess you’ve appealed to my ego enough for me to forgive you.”

“You’re the absolute worst person I’ve ever–”

“Yeah. But you think I’m pretty.”

“Whatever,” Eddie grunted, tugging a strand of hair over his mouth, embarrassed to hear his own honesty repeated back at him. “So we’re good?”

You had a sarcastic statement ready on your tongue–he saw it in how you narrowed your eyes, and tipped your head. A loftiness to the way you regarded him; all pompous and teasing and so sure he was being silly and asking questions for the sake of bothering you.

Then, you witnessed his shy quirk, and were instantly disarmed.

“Yes, Eddie, we’re good. The best of friends.. And are you sure you weren’t disappoint–”

“If you’re about to ask me if I was disappointed that you were my date for the third time, I’ll scream.”

You laughed. You tore your gaze from his fingers playing with his curls, and closed the lid of the coffee machine, but in doing so, you turned away, and you both discovered a subtle truth about him.

Eddie was the type who wanted to witness the full scope of the joy he brought on others. When he made someone laugh, he wanted to drink it all in. He wanted to observe the exact way they smiled, how far back they threw their head, if their eyes closed with mirth, if tears sprang, if they giggled to appease him, or if they were expelling a cathartic release. When he made someone happy, he leaned in to hoard the revelry, collect it, and share it. Seeking out their gaze, mirroring them to experience their pleasure first-hand. It’s what made him happy.

It caused him to encroach on their personal space subconsciously, pursuing the pride, and sense of achievement he felt when he accomplished making someone else feel good.

He stood close to you. Very close to you, studying you unabashedly, basking the pure unadulterated validation of making you smile.

You idly scratched your thumbnail over a stain on the counter. “Pretty, huh?” you mused quietly. “Is the hoodie really doin’ it for ya?” It was once black, now sun-faded and overwashed. There was a logo on the front for a random high school. Your high school, Eddie assumed. Clearly, a beloved item, and one you wore when doing craft projects, as indicated by the layers of glitter, dried paint, and burn marks from a hot glue gun marring the sleeves.

Still leaned over, he dropped his hand from his mouth, and swept his hair to one side, exposing the length of his throat. “Maybe it is.”

“Shut up,” you snorted.

“The frumpy ‘just rolled out of bed at noon and forgot to get milk at the grocery store’ look really gets me going.”

“Frumpy–?” In the middle of pressing the ON button and shoving the coffee machine into its place on the counter, you went to pin Eddie with a glare for laying the teasing remarks on thick today, but your attention drifted. Your focus found his eyes shining with slyness, and dropped your gaze to the crook of his neck, where you spied something dastardly. “How does this keep happening? Do you not look in a mirror?”

As you nagged him, you reached for his coveralls. Somehow, the collar kept managing to tuck itself on the inside, and you were at its beck and call, slipping two fingers underneath to unfurl it, coaxing it out in a long stroke over the peak of his collarbone, and down the slope of his chest, over his heart. Longer than two beats worth. The fabric was quite rolled up today. You had to slide along his lucky shirt to find the pointed end, and pull it out, laying it flat. Smoothing down the edges, and securing his tan work jacket over it. Patting them both to seal the kind gesture.

From his periphery, he watched you tend to him, and his smirk grew.

Fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Guess I don’t look at myself too often,” he said, eyeing your hands lingering on his person–flattening your palms over his pec for a prolonged moment before retreating–and he nodded for you to follow him out of the room to your desk. He needed the extra seconds away from you to rid himself of his smugness.

Talking about the costume, he rounded to the taller side of your desk, while you sat opposite him in your chair, “Luckily it was big on her last year, so it still fits. It’s just a little short in the legs.”

“Gotcha.” You shook out the bat wings and rubbed the fuzzy material of the suit between your fingers. “Does she have room for another layer underneath? Warm pajamas, or something? The temperature’s supposed to drop tonight. I think a cold front is coming in.”

“Yeah, there’s room.”

“Okie dokie.” You cracked your knuckles and looked at him expectantly. He raised his eyebrows. You raised yours higher. You made a more obvious face. He made a confused one back at you. “Dude, leave. I can’t work with you watching me.”

He curled his lip in a mocking sneer, and went to work in the garage, where–ironically–you could watch him.

~~~

Turns out, you were serious about the double standards of your relationship.

Eddie caught you sneaking glances in his direction whenever he’d wheel out from underneath a car, or when he was bent over the engine of a truck, but as soon as he took his sweet time locating his favorite socket wrench from the tool cabinet (that most definitely wasn’t already in his back pocket), you blocked your project with your body and moved your lips like you were telling him off.

And when he knocked on the glass to gesture for more clean rags from the supply closet, you scrambled to hide the felt shapes you were cutting out, and sent a tube of glitter paint rolling across the lobby.

Even as he relaxed into the plush seat of his car after a long day of work, and the rumble of the engine soothed his mind from exterior worries, his eyes traveled from the bright red stop light swaying in the wind, to the custom crimson interior of his Dodge Omni Shelby, to the pile of black fabric next to him.

He drove with one hand on the wheel. He could just.. take a peek at what the hell you were doing all day.

“Don’t even think about peeking! It’s a surprise. I want Adrie to see it first, and then you can look when she’s trying it on.”

He snatched his wandering fingers away from the bat wing and cupped them around his inner thigh–his usual place for resting them.

~~~

When he opened the door to his trailer, the little lady of the hour came running at him full-speed.

“There’s my facehugger!” Eddie announced through his laugh, stepping backwards to soften the blow of her enthusiasm. And yeah, maybe he shouldn’t refer to his daughter as a parasitic alien from a horror franchise, but the clinginess comparison was accurate.

Adrienne made her immediate attempt to climb him known–clutching onto the hem of his work jacket, and shaking it. “Daddy!” she demanded, making grabby hands at him.

“Hold on, hold on.” He knelt to her level, and promised to pick her up in a few minutes if she exhibited an ounce of patience. “You remember that nice lady from work you drew pictures with?” Thinking about it, she twisted back and forth with excess energy, and gave a big nod, pressing her fingers along her smile. “Well, she heard your costume wasn’t up to your standards, so she wanted to make your Halloween extra special this year. She worked on this all day..” he said slowly, drawing out the grand reveal.

True to his word, Eddie unfolded the outfit he had clutched under his arm, and held it out in front of him, showing it to her first and watching her reaction.

Uncle Wayne opened the bathroom door in the midst of tidying up his beard, dragging a towel around his neck to wipe away the excess shaving cream. Interested in the commotion, and especially curious as to why the person he referred to as his own granddaughter was currently running around the coffee table screaming at the top of her lungs, he questioned anyone who could hear him, “What’s all this goin’ on?”

“The lady at work made my bat costume pretty–Look!” Adrie tugged on the bottom of Wayne’s flannel.

“I see,” he said, vaguely recalling the young receptionist she was referring to. He raised his eyebrows at Eddie. “She did all that?”

He shrugged. “She’s nice.”

Too excited, Adrie unzipped the back of the jumpsuit and climbed in while Eddie held it open. Still, he did not peep at the finished product. Not until every foot wiggled out of the appropriate amount of leg holes, and every sleeve found a hand.

Adrienne walked backwards into the living room and struck a pose with her arms out, flapping them.

Wayne ‘aww’d and clapped.

Eddie sat back on his calves, mouth slightly agape.

You really were nice.

The costume was magnificent. The black fleece was painted with thin strokes of white paint to give the illusion of hair, with special attention around the turtleneck collar where you glued white faux fur into a short mane. Cleverly, the pants were extended with layers of iridescent tulle that caught the light in shimmery rainbows, disguising how short they were on her.

The wings themselves were works of art. Showstoppers. Instead of hanging limp from under her arms, you had used flexible plastic to create bones, giving them some structure.

They were exactly what Adrie wanted. Silver glitter served as a mere backdrop to the myriad of foil stars glued to the fabric. As one’s attention panned downwards, they grew in size and frequency, until there was a disco ball amount of flash and pizzazz. To top it all off, there were felt clouds and crescent moons dangling on strings from the bottom. The stuffed and stitched celestial motifs swung with Adrie’s grand gestures.

And as if that wasn’t enough, Wayne picked up two little black triangles that bounced onto the carpet when Eddie revealed the costume. “C’mere, Adrie,” he said, holding them up to her head. “You’ve got two little ears on barrettes, too.”

“Jesus,” Eddie exhaled.

His next breath caught in his throat. He discovered why you snipped the fabric where it was previously attached to the suit, and gave it an extra bone structure to wrap around.

It was so he could slip his arms around his daughter, and hug her tight without any impediments. “You like it, yeah?”

She threw her arms around his neck, and imbued all her surprise into her little voice, “Are you kidding me? It’s my favorite–the best costume ever! I love it.”

“We’ll have to find a way to thank her when I see her on Monday.”

The hug lasted until Eddie’s knees ached. Still, he clung to her as one clung to a lifesaver. He passed his palm over her hair. He stroked his thumb on the back of her head. He pressed her into the darkness against his throat. He squeezed her to conceal the way he shook. If anyone were to notice the secret of his actions, it would be the person who raised him as one would raise their own son.

Wayne walked over and ruffled his nephew’s hair.

~~~

Later, after Adrie had gone to bed, Eddie confessed, “That took me so off guard, I almost cried. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me, or Adrie, in years.. I mean, outside of everything you do for us. And Steve, too. I just didn’t expect her to put that much effort into a costume.. Or to care that much.”

“I know, son,” Wayne said, patting him on the knee as they sat on the couch, lit by the muted earthy tones of the local news channel. “She seems real nice.”

————

It was a howling Halloween night.

Eddie pulled off the main road into the nice neighborhood on the west side of Hawkins. Everyone knew you went to the rich houses on Halloween, as evident by the agonizing minutes it took to find a place to park, while Adrie was oblivious and just wanted out of her car seat.

Crowds swarmed the doors handing out the best candy. Groups of friends gathered in the streets. Kids ran down the sidewalk to ogle the elaborate decorations. “Is the entire population here, or somethin’?” Eddie grumbled, shifting the gear stick into park.

Once Adrie was out, he asked her, “Do you wanna stop by a few houses on the way to Steve’s?” She eyed the rowdy bigger kids pushing each other on their way up the driveway next to her, and she held out her hand for Eddie to take as a silent answer.

When she was with her friends, she was outgoing, but in this unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers in the dark, she needed her dad to guide her.

“You’ll feel better once we have some candy in your bucket,” he promised, swinging the orange jack-o-lantern pail back and forth.

In reality, Eddie dreaded this part. Hated it. Going up to houses, knocking on doors, glancing away the second they were answered. He dressed differently. Tried to blend into the back of a big group. Kept his gaze on his daughter shying behind his legs, speaking for her, and hoping her cuteness distracted the adults from taking too close of a look at him. Shuffling away before they could recognize him, remember his last name, and make that same face they always did:

Barely concealed disgust.

Eddie held her hand for several streets until she felt comfortable going up to doors without him, thanks to finding a friend or two from preschool. Those parents were easier. Some he’d gotten to know over the last two years due to birthday parties and school events. Yet, they returned his greeting out of politeness. Waited on the sidewalk like him, but at a distance; in a circle, not inviting him to their grown-up talk.

That’s okay. He felt less alone when Adrie came jogging back to show him her candy. And although she insisted she was a big girl and didn’t need to hold his hand anymore, she walked as if she were glued to his side, three steps to his one stride.

“I don’t need you, Daddy.”

“Yeah, you do.”

On and on, they made their way up the streets, and came upon a white-picket fence dwelling sat modestly between two larger statements, right as the porch light turned off and a group of people left the home.

Fate was a funny thing.

Steve held the gate open for Nancy and whispered something in her ear as she passed, earning a withered glare before she turned and the moon caught the smile flitting across her lips. Behind her, dashing from the shadows, was their son. He held his plastic sword high above his head, and gave a brave battle cry against the person who emerged next.

Robin, also dressed as a pirate, jumped from the top of the stairs and clashed her sword with his. They tussled on their way to the fence, stopping when she feigned a dramatic death, and had to chase down her tricorn hat from rolling into the street.

Eddie’s hand was sweating–Adrie said so with a yuckiness to her words as she ran to join Steve’s son and their group of trick-or-treaters, leaving him behind to stare. And stare. And stare. And try not to burst into a grin.

He wouldn’t have to wait ‘til Monday to thank you.

Step by step, you helped their daughter teeter down the stairs. Patiently holding her hand, encouraging her to the bottom, and brought her to Steve, who was getting out the stroller from the trunk of his car.

“No! I’m–I.. Will walk,” their little girl finished in a disjointed manner, engrossed by the array of bedsheet ghosts, lispy vampires, and corn-syrup-blood-covered werewolves moving around her.

“Yeah, okay, kid,” Steve said sarcastically. “You wanna be a big girl and walk on your own, but we both know after two houses you’re gonna be begging for the stroller.”

Like most girls, she brushed him off, and turned to you for assistance with her jacket. The puffy orange snow suit hindered her movements; her walk was a waddle, and her arms stuck out from her sides helplessly. She was warm, though.

You, on the other hand, were dressed in what Eddie could only call an adult onesie. A fitted one; hugging you in places he shouldn’t notice it hugging you while you were squatting down to zip up her jacket, but a onesie, nonetheless.

“There we go.” He heard you say from where he stood, roughly a car-length away, lurking in the darkness like a creep.

But he’d have to find a way to repent later. His fate tapped you on the shoulder, and his heart set the tempo for his plucky courage’s passion.

“Adrie!” you squealed at her. She greeted you with equal fervor. “Your costume is so, so pretty!” Without a second thought, you bent over, put your hands on your thighs, and asked while waggling your eyebrows, “Wanna fly?”

“Yeah!”

Adrie unveiled her full glittery wingspan, and you clasped her under her arms, instructing her to jump. Up she went. You raised her above you to your full extent and spun in circles. Giggly, messy circles. Showing her off for everyone to see. Parading her for the slew of compliments coming from onlookers. And when your strength tired, you brought her to your hip, and held her tight, still spinning. Dizzy, silly twirls. Savoring the closeness of your foreheads almost touching.

You slowed to stop to scan the scene around you, searching the shapeless night. “Where’s your dad, hmm?”

She pointed behind you.

Over your shoulder, your gazes connected in between a family dressed as Peanuts characters.

Eddie raised his hand, but forgot to move it back and forth.

Your face brightened. The love you showed Adrie reflected in your eyes when you found him. Smiling bigger, somehow, at his stupid wave when he remembered how to perform one.

“Nice costume,” you teased, sauntering up to him with a swagger. “Light-wash blue jeans instead of black. How different.”

“Yeah, and what are you? A cat? So creative.” He meant it as an insult to your gray onesie with a tan belly, but he was the one who followed your quick glance at his stupid hand still waving like an utter moron, and he stuffed his fists in his pockets, wondering if he’d ever recover his dignity after this encounter.

“Uh, I’m clearly a mouse,” you drawled, inclining your head to show off your rounded mouse ears on your headband.

Adrie copied your exact tone and inflection to serve as a gut punch, “Yeah, Daddy, she’s clearly a mouse.”

His greatest fear mocked him. With Adrie on your hip, and your two matching smirks taunting him with your cheeks pressed to one another, he shook his head, and pinched his eyebrows up in worried exasperation. “I don’t need two of you.” A revelation he should take more seriously as you looked at Adrie, and you both giggled. Tips of your noses grazing. Hugging you around your neck. Touching your animal ears and calling you ‘Miss Mouse.’ Thanking you for her costume, and you asked, seeking her genuine approval as you fitted one of her tiny hands in yours to stretch a wing out.

“You like it?”

“I love it!”

You swayed with her in the new position, resembling two people slow dancing despite there being no background music other than shrieks of laughter, and a chorus of “trick-or-treat!”

Yeah, this feeling in his chest was evolving past the boundaries.

Shit.

Eventually you had to support her with two arms again, thus ending your waltz, and you remembered Eddie was there, and Eddie remembered to direct his tender expression at his daughter.

“So, really,” you said, nudging his white tennis shoes and giving him a once-over, “Who’re you supposed to be? A grumpy guy who couldn’t be bothered? A wet blanket?” You leaned in. “Don’t tell me you’re dressed as a stick in the mud for the second week in a row. That’s just gauche, Eddie.”

Adrie latched onto one word specifically. She pointed at him with all her might, and declared, “Grumpy! You’re Grumpy.”

“Great,” he groaned. Yet, there was not a trace of annoyance tugging at his lips–just his tongue poking through as his daughter reduced him to an unpleasant character. “Tell her what movie you watched this morning.”

“I watched Snow White with grandpa,” she said. You gave an understanding ‘ahh.’ “Grandpa is Sneezy. Daddy is Grumpy. You can be..”

“I’ll be Dopey.”

Eddie snorted, “Fitting.” You cut him a soft frown, and he shifted his focus back to his daughter. Eye contact with you was too difficult. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. A single longing look gave away too much, he had to put an end to them. “You think I’m Grumpy, huh?”

She jabbed her finger at him again. “You! Most definitely are.”

The immediate flash of devilry in his eyes was her only warning. “What’d I tell you about pointing at people?” He snatched her wrist in a weak grasp, and lunged at her, snapping his teeth, pretending to bite her finger off with a smile. She scream-laughed and buried her face in your shoulder.

“Aw, it’s okay, Adrie,” you consoled her, “I always knew he was a biter. Lemme count your fingers, ‘nd make sure you have all six.”

“Six?” she cried.

Besotted by your willingness to indulge his humor, Eddie lost track of his inhibitions, and acted on a deep-rooted impulse from his youth, when he was more expressive of his urges. He crept in close while you were busy doting over Adrie, and lowered his face to where he was allowed to whisper in a deeper register, “Hey, no picking on my kid. That’s my job.” To make matters worse, he reached for your side, aimed for your ribs through the single layer of fleece, and prodded. It was a success. You yelped. You were ticklish. Another trait to add to the list of things he shouldn’t know about you.

Steve’s bafflement pierced the rambunctious Jedi fight happening in the middle of the road, “Are you three gonna catch up, or do I need to make you get in the wagon?” he threatened. Sure enough, he was hauling a red wagon of someone else’s kids behind him dressed as various dinosaurs, complete with masks.

More parents had joined the trick-or-treat cavalry, milling about on the sidewalk, waiting for Adrie before they knocked on the next house. You recognized this quicker than Eddie, and offered to take her by, well, simply walking off with her in your arms.

For the first block he was alone with his thoughts. Watching you go from house to house holding his daughter’s hand. Sitting back while you took over for him, and lessened his burdens. When it was you crouched next to Adrie, smiling up at the adults with buckets of candy, they didn’t see Munson. They saw a cute little girl and her supposed mom participating in innocent fun.

“Hey, bud,” Steve said, swinging around to his side, tossing an arm around his shoulders, and shaking him. Eddie could sense the subject he was about to bring up from his consoling squeeze alone. “So, how goes the whole ‘not falling in love’ thing?”

Eddie had his correction at the ready, “I said ‘attached,’ not ‘fall in love.’”

Steve gave him a long, hard stare.

“And I said it was Adrie I was worried about getting attached.”

Steve deepened his stare.

Eddie looked away, then back, then away again. He was quiet for a few strained moments, shuffling his feet while the kids thanked a woman dressed as a witch for her cauldron of candy, and his passing gaze lingered on the Mouse holding his daughter’s hand.

You glanced in his direction, where he stayed on the outskirts of the group, and suppressed a giggle. You were listening to Adrie and her friend’s story about mermaids with full interest, asking questions, and gasping at the information they were disclosing, acting as if they knew the world’s secrets and deemed you worthy of its knowledge.

It was sweet. Endearing, adorable, attractive in the worst ways, and exactly the sort of fun Adrie craved that he couldn’t provide when he was overworked, tired, and stressed to the point of crying frustrated tears.

Except, of course, those bad days had become less and less since you started working at the auto shop..

Eddie surrendered. “How does it look like it’s going?”

“Like you're happier when she’s around,” Steve replied.

“Real good that’s doin’ me.”

They had reached the end of the street, and waited to cross at the stop sign.

Steve shrugged, and said, “I think it’s cute you finally found someone to have a crush on–Ow!” He clutched his side where Eddie elbowed him.

He hissed, “Not so loud,” even though you were several feet away, and talking animatedly with Robin.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s precious.” Lifting his chin, Steve alluded to the way you picked up Adrie and herded the other children across the road like sheep. “Y’know, you were right about her saying ‘yes’ to everything. Her and Robin have some wild stories. Did you know someone came up to them at one of those sleazy hole-in-the-wall bars and asked them to perform on stage–like, obviously meaning you know, stripping–but she accepted his offer, and that’s how they started doing stand up together? Yeah, they just went up there and started shouting jokes at all the drunks. Dodging beer being thrown at them, and whatever. Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, real fun,” Eddie muttered with a horrified expression, wondering how you managed to survive this long with your absurd policy.

“Anyway,” Steve surmised. “I think you should go for it.”

The mood shifted instantly. Eddie’s face went lax, aside from his flared nostrils. He spoke firmly, “I can’t do that, man.”

“Why not?” When Eddie refused to elaborate with a scornful shake of his head, and sudden tenseness to his jaw, Steve softened his nature. He tightened his hold on him in a make-shift hug, and requested, “Talk it out with me. Tell me what you’re going through, and what you want out of this, because you sure do flirt a lot for someone who keeps denying themselves a real relationship.”

“I don’t know what the fuck I want anymore,” he exhaled in mind, body, and spirit. Just a complete depletion of all his anxieties under the weight of Steve’s arm.

Eddie ran his tongue along the back of his bottom teeth while he observed you crouch in someone’s driveway to make a case for Halloween themed pencils, and how they may not be exciting as candy, but there were bats on them, and Adrienne liked bats, therefore, the pencils were cool.

The anxieties were replaced with the blooming realization of how deep his crush went, and the stab of reality pierced the good feelings.

“There’s a million reasons why it’s a bad idea,” Eddie sighed, and gathered his thoughts to list them out as succinctly as possible. “Uh, let’s see. First of all, we’re coworkers, and this week has already been a real glimpse into how this would all pan out if I took the risk and things didn’t work out.”

Steve rocked his head to the side. “Fair, but it’s pretty obvious she likes you too, with how she flirts back.”

“Perfect segue. Okay, so maybe she does like me. But does she like me? And does she like Adrie? Can’t have one without the other. And, man, she made it clear at the movies that she doesn’t even ask if her dates have kids, because there’s never been a second one–a second date, I mean. She’s that casual about it.”

“Why not try something casual, then?”

“When have I ever approached anything casually in my life?”

“You raise a good point there,” Steve answered, shivering at the sudden uptick in frigid gusts biting through his thick jacket.

You and Robin pulled off to the side so your gaggle of kids could take turns stomping on crunchy brown leaves before they blew away.

Ensuring they were at a good distance to watch, but not be overheard, Steve kept his voice low, “What else?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Gee, I dunno, how about the fact she hates this place, and is going to leave eventually? Hate to break it to you, but even if she likes me like that, and even if things worked out for a while, I’m not ready to explain to Adrie why the nice lady she loves so much doesn’t come around anymore.”

“So make her stay around.”

“What?”

Shrugging with that stupid grin of his, Steve explained, nonchalant and lackadaisical, “You said she says ‘yes’ to everything. So just ask her to stay.”

Leaning into it, Eddie pulled an overjoyed face, and threw his arms up, gesticulating overdramatically. “Okay! Yeah, you’re right. I’ll just ask her to marry me, then she’ll be forced to stay in this hellhole with me forever. What a grand idea!”

Steve’s full-bodied laugh sent them both doubling over. “Okay, stud, going straight for marriage. It was just a suggestion that maybe she’s over the crazy party-til-dawn city life, and is looking for.. whatever it is you’ve got.”

“Thanks for the pep talk,” he said with more than a hint of sarcasm. Easing out of his glare, he broke himself out of considering Steve’s validation as anything more than an audible feedback loop of the things he wanted to hear, and not the facts he needed to hear. “Doesn’t matter. She could like me, she could not. She could want kids, she could not. She could stay, she could not. I still have to see her every day, regardless. There’s not a lot of other options out there for me, and even if she didn’t want the city life anymore, I don’t think she’s gunning for the single dad whose biggest aspiration is getting a trailer of his own, so his uncle can have his room back.”

Cynicism, cynicism, cynicism. Denial.

Steve’s mouth twisted, and he became serious. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“It’s true, though.”

Ahead, a guy caught Steve’s attention and signaled that it was his turn again on wagon duty, which was the perfect excuse to make his exit because you were standing on your tip-toes, seeking out Eddie in the sea of Stormtroopers. You spotted him and waved with childlike glee, making your way over.

Steve’s hair fell into his eyes as he drew Eddie in. “One last piece of advice,” he began, gaze set on the side of his friend’s face, accepting not even he could win over his attention when it came to existing in the same universe as you. “If you’re serious about not pursuing her, maybe stop looking like you’re gonna blow your load every time she smiles at you.”

Eddie sputtered, “Jesus Christ, dude.”

With that last remark to recover from, Eddie was forced to rearrange his pale face into anything remotely appropriate while Steve got to stroll away as if nothing happened.

“Uh, hey,” he said, eyes scared wide, and showing too many teeth in his tight smile under your scrutiny.

You brought your hand up, and stepped into him until your chests were nearly together. Cocking your head, you pointed at something over yonder, and slowly, unwillingly, he stopped analyzing the nuances of your face to look at the group of kids at the house across the street. One kid in particular. Dressed in black, and with six additional arms dangling from his two human ones.

You couldn’t keep the sheer triumph out of your voice, “That spider is certainly bigger than your palm.”

He winced as if your joke physically pained him. He curled in on himself, and depleted himself of oxygen to groan a long, contemptuous, “So lame,” stressing both words to exaggerate his misery. Shaking his head as if his grievance was anything other than a ploy to discover what it felt like to reject reality, and satiate the envy he felt when Adrie got to be this close to you. Foreheads almost together. Noses almost grazing.

As if your hand trapped between your bodies was anything other than a ploy to rest the backs of your fingers on his chest as you laughed. As you leaned into him. As you tugged on his sweatshirt underneath his leather jacket, begging him to give in until, at last, he broke.

Eddie laughed with you, recklessly.

“Did you really abandon my kid to run over here and tell me that?”

“She’s safe with Bobbie,” you promised in a whisper. “And yes, I did.”

Leaf-shaped shadows danced across you both, cast from the orange glow of the streetlamp above. Autumnal bare branches, electric wires, swaying in the wind, revealing your faces in quick pieces; a wrinkled forehead here, contours of a nose there. Flashes of a puzzle you both collected and assembled in the scarce seconds before it was time to move on to the next house.

You crossed your arms tight over yourself and walked beside him, smiling at the ground.

“How’ve you enjoyed your Halloween experience?” he asked, swinging his arms wide to gesture at Hawkins in general. “I’m sure it’s a lot different than what you’re used to.”

“Oh, I love it!” you said in earnest, surrounded by all the things you’d only seen on screen before. “It’s just like the movies. Trick-or-treating, little kids running around in costumes, the weather, the decorations. It’s surreal. Usually I’d be drunk in a nightclub by now.”

Furrowing his brow, he looked upwards as if he were reading a nonexistent clock, and asked with a twinge of parental disapproval, “Isn’t it, like, 8PM?”

“Yeah,” you admitted, unperturbed. Too impassive to put him at ease. Like you were lording a secret over him. “Don’t act like you weren’t the same before you had Adrie.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Harrington’s been telling me stories about you,” you informed him, and rolled your bottom lip inward, biting it as he zeroed in on your cheeky grin getting a rise out of him.

He squinted at you. “Calling him Harrington, huh? Well, aren’t you two chummy.” Mentally rolling a Nat 20 for Stealth, he lifted his hand to your side without you noticing. “What’d he tell you?”

You made an ‘X’ over your mouth with your fingers.

The perfect position to leave yourself open for attack. I mean, the opportunity presented itself so splendidly, how could he not? How could he resist the greatest temptation?

His impending threat continued to go undetected. Giving you one last chance, he dipped his face to yours–relishing how the apples of your cheeks intruded on your eyes when you smiled this hard, forcing them to scrunch closed–and he asked, “What did he tell you?”

“I’m not repeating!” you giggled.

Oh, you were giggling all right. And in the next gasp, you were squealing, jerking away from him.

Eddie was merciless. His large hands proved too difficult to escape. He poked, prodded. Tickled you until his every, “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” was met with your, “Stop, stop, stop, please!” You fought him fruitlessly, grappling at his forearms, and failing to do little more than slip against his sleeves. He cackled at you. Mocked you with the tip of his tongue to his teeth each time you thought you got away, only to be caught again. You resisted. Resisted. Persevered in the face of evil–knocking your forehead into his chin on accident. Eddie thought you would’ve caved by now, but it was him who stopped; and not because of the unwanted attention your antics drew.

You pried him away from your ribs.

“You’re freezing!” Eddie’s mood changed on a dime at feeling your frigid fingers on top of his. He shifted so that he was enveloping your hands, encasing you in his warmth in exchange for the cold seeping to his bones.

“Yeah,” you answered sheepishly.

“You made a fuss about reminding me to put Adrie in extra layers, but you’re not wearing a jacket?”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, distorting your grin. “Yeah.”

“You’re irresponsible, you know that?”

“Yeah.”

“A real bad example.”

“Yeah.”

“An absolute pain in my ass.” Eddie grinned with you. Eyelids falling half-closed. Searing your skin with his heat. Enacting the subtle art of asking questions for the sake of prolonging the moment. Not like it was obvious, given you readily accepted his fingers curled around yours with a coy glint to your gaze. Totally discreet as he let go to shrug off his jacket and hand it over.

Obliging him, you raised your eyebrows. “What a gentleman.” You slid your arms into the sleeves, snuggled into his blanketing warmth, and tugged the collar over your mouth, rendering yourself to a pair of pretty eyes.

He was a goner.

“Tell me what Harrington said.”

“Okay,” you indulged him, breath coming out as a fog. “He said..” You were back to giggling behind the collar, remembering the story. “He said one time at a party there was this big watermelon keg he spent all day working on.” Eddie pressed his lips into a line, knowing where this was going. “He scooped out the innards. Spent painstaking hours cutting up fruit to put inside it and soak up all the rum. And then you wandered in. Already hammered, and you, you–” You snickered and peeled back the collar. “You knocked it over within ten seconds of walking in the kitchen, smashing it everywhere like a crime scene.” You hid behind the collar again, then opened it, voice gone high-pitched with suppressed laughter. “And he said you panicked, and tried to scoop it up in your hands and put it in people’s cups!” More laughter. “And when they said ‘no’ because it was fucking gross floor juice, you tried eating all the fruit yourself.” One more hide and seek of the collar as you lost it in a final squeak, “And you cried!”

He waited until you calmed down to show how thrilled he was in a deadpan tone, “Great, great. I’m so glad he told you that one.”

“It certainly conjures an image.”

Thinking the conversation was over, you took a step in the direction of your trick-or-treat group, but something caught your eye. You tilted your head. He mirrored you, tilting it the same way. You shuffled to the side. He turned with you, more, more towards the streetlamp. Curious as to what you were doing, and why you were staring at his chest, mouthing something.

“What’s Corroded Coffin?”

“Uh–It’s–It’s nothing,” Eddie said a bit too loud, wiping at his sweatshirt like the self-printed logo was a crumb he could discard himself of.

Fortunately, a wild Adrienne appeared, interrupting him from making a bigger fool of himself. “My hands are cold. Can I have my gloves?”

Eddie glided his hands over his stomach out of habit, and realized his pockets weren’t there. Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of his jacket, and yanked you to him, spinning you, manhandling you. Forcing you to catch yourself on his braced muscles–shoulder to his chest, hip to a place he’d rather not dwell on. Not gentlemanly at all.

You released a string of flustered remarks, and pushed away from him, making it appear to be a benign accident in front of his daughter.

“Here,” he said to Adrie, holding the black mittens above her head, out of her reach.

She jumped, and jumped, and stomped. “Daddy,” she whined.

Dusting yourself off from the previous encounter, you agreed, “You’re so cruel, bullying your own child.”

“She knows the magic words,” he led on.

“Please!” She jumped higher, huffing and puffing.

“And?”

“And thank you!”

He relented. His evil reign came to an end. First, the tickling, now, the height advantage over a little girl. He gave Adrie the mittens and she stuck her tongue out at him before bolting off faster than lightning.

It was you turn to poke a stern finger into his ribs. “Awful, awful man,” you scolded him. Unlucky for you, he wasn’t ticklish there, nor was he ashamed of any of his actions these past few minutes. He might come to regret them when you move back to New York and these were the memories he was left with, but he wasn’t ashamed.

No, not ashamed to overstep the boundaries he resurrected in pursuit of happiness. If only a little. Enough to feel the thrill of danger, but remain safe inside his walls.

Casual.

You liked casual.

Fuck what he said earlier. He could keep it casual. He could handle innocent flirting without it getting out of hand.

“We should probably catch up with everyone before they send Scooby and the gang to search for us,” you said, walking backwards, throwing your thumb over your shoulder.

He snorted. “Terrible joke. Are you sure you were a comedian?”

You answered him with two middle fingers, which you promptly put away. Adrie came running back after just one house, hunched over, dragging her feet; hair a loose mess, barrettes dangling. Displaying all the theatrics of her father.

She made grabby hands at you. Not him. And before he could voice his hurt, you scooped her into your arms, and she rested her chin on your shoulder.

“Hey,” he complained weakly, walking up to you from behind so he could take the treat bucket before it spilled, and talk to Adrie directly. “You told me you were a big girl who could walk on her own, and didn’t need to be held.” Her refute was a babbling grumble laced with fatigue.

Speaking to you, he said, “You don’t have to carry her.”

“I don’t mind. I think they only want to do a few more houses before we head back. Do you wanna join?”

At first, Eddie was quiet, and you spun in a slow circle to see him, catching the end of his wistful expression at the rich neighborhood and its opulent houses owned by affluent people who heard a rumor or two about Munson, and decided he wasn’t worth more than their wary glances when his kid played with theirs.

“Nah, I’m good over here.” He ran his hand over the back of Adrie’s head, and relaxed his stance, staying put.

“Let me help ya out there, Cool Guy,” you said, motioning for him to bend to you. You picked a narrow, apple-red leaf out of his tangled hair, and flicked it away.

“How long has that been there?”

Shrugging your mouth to disguise your beaming grin, you feigned ignorance while walking away. “Who’s to say?”

To further exacerbate his embarrassment into genuine distress, after two Mummies answered the door, and you were coming down the sidewalk, he saw you pull off the side for Steve to pass with the stroller, and you laid your cheek on the top of Adrie’s head. You whispered something in her ear. Something most intriguing, on account of her coming to life, no longer sleepy. The exchange was short; her asking a question, and you answering. But as you nodded with heavy-lidded eyes, and she pressed her fingers to her smile, you both turned, looked at him, and giggled.

Eddie gulped.

He didn’t like this new feeling of you two sharing secrets about him. Especially ones he couldn’t threaten out of you, no matter how many times he put his hands on your ribs.

~~~

As the evening came to a close, Eddie carried Adrie on his hip while you lugged her bucket of sweets. The plastic handle bowed from the weight of the candy, and your fingertips went numb from the burden. And maybe for your troubles, you took a piece. Or two.

The group petered out until it was left to the core of you returning to Steve’s house. The goodbyes were truncated due to the three sleepy kids in tow. You handed off the bucket to Eddie, first asking if he was sure he didn’t need help getting to his car, and when he assured you he was fine, you squeezed Adrie’s ankle and whispered a goodbye she didn’t hear, too lost in Dreamland and drooling on her dad’s shoulder to know the night was over.

He said he’d see you Monday and parted ways, walking in the opposite direction, and you waited at the white-picket fence gate for Robin to stop swapping sneaky peeks at Steve and Nancy to join you.

“Bobbie, I know you don’t want me driving.”

She made eyes at Nancy one last time, and descended the porch stairs at a leisurely pace. “Yeah, we can leave.”

~~~

The drive home was a welcomed respite after the constant overstimulation. The radio was set to low, the heater caressed warmth along your wind-burnt cheeks, the headlights spotlighted deer grazing on the sides of the lonely road. Robin kept lofting soft smiles in your direction, which you returned.

Parking at her parent’s house, you closed the car door behind you, hearing it echo off the forest. The rocky driveway crunched under your shoes on your way to the door. The porch light was on, elongating your shadows across the ground, following you step by step.

“So, you and Eddie, huh?” Robin asked, turning the key in the lock.

You snapped to attention, schooling your features from giving you away. “Just friends,” you reiterated at her suggestive tone. “Just friends and coworkers. He’s dropped more than enough hints that he’s not looking for more.” You finished in more of a sigh, “Not with me, anyway.”

“Is that so?”

Her lopsided smirk struck undesired hope in your heart.

Robin pushed open the door, and curled in her forefinger to tap her knuckle on her upper lip. She dropped her gaze to your general upper body, and hummed, “You, uh.. forget something?”

You looked down at yourself. “Oh–”

————

Eddie dropped his shoulders back expecting to feel something slide down his arms. Then, he patted his chest, and realized. “–Shit.” He stared at his coat hook next to the front door where his leather jacket usually hung, and reprimanded himself in a soft laugh. “Guess I’ll have to get it back on Monday.”

“How much candy can I have?” Adrienne asked, dumping out her bucket on the coffee table, and scrambling to pick up the Tootsie Rolls that fell on the floor. She began sorting into piles of most favorite to least favorite.

“One,” Eddie stated sternly.

He turned on the TV and sat on the couch, decompressing while Adrie cackled over her hoard like Smaug. He should’ve known something was up when she wouldn’t stop giggling to herself.

His suspicions were answered when she turned around to show him the one piece she picked out–perfectly following his rules.

“Uh, absolutely not!” Eddie swiped it from her. “Seriously, who gives out full size Snickers bars on Halloween?”

“But, Daddy, you said!”

Leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs, he demanded her attention before the pitiful crocodile tears started. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, and reached past her for a mini Musketeers to compare. “You can have the Snickers, but you have to share half with me. See, half is still bigger than one of these little ones, so you’ll still be coming out of this a winner. ‘Kay?” She nodded and went to grab it. “But! I don’t want any tantrums when I tell you it’s bath time.” Again, she agreed and he reeled the candybar back into himself, away from her quick fingers. “And! You have to brush your teeth after.”

“I will,” she promised with a deep frown.

“And you still have to go to bed at the normal time.”

Pushing her hair out of her face, she dropped her head in another big nod.

Eddie was satisfied and went to give it to her. But another thought crossed his mind–one of true luxury–and the allure of the idea proved too good to ignore.

Much to her dismay, he snatched the candybar away before she could get a good grasp on it, and he deepened his voice to show he was serious, “And I want to shower. Ten minutes. Uninterrupted.”

She groaned at the ceiling at his never ending list of rules. “Fine!”

~~~

Riding his tingly feel-good high, Eddie opened the bathroom door to let the steam out, and toweled off the fog on the medicine cabinet mirror. He took out his comb and scissors, and sectioned out his bangs.

Brunette snips of wet hair fell in triangles onto his white tank top and around the sink. It wasn’t a noticeable trim, just enough to get them off his eyebrows when dried.

With some amount of clarity, he looked his reflection in the eye as he evened out the cut, and didn’t know if he should be wearing the faint smile he did, or if he should listen to his better judgment, and stop making modifications to his barriers.

He knew you deserved a better life than what Hawkins could offer, but he could enjoy the innocent workplace flirtations, right? They were harmless. Little compliments here and there to boost his confidence. That’s all it was. It’s not like you actually found him attractive, right? You’d been on enough dates to know what to say to a guy. That’s all.

Though, he did need to remember to have a talk with Adrie about setting her expectations and understanding Daddy could have friends without it leading anywhere, and that was okay.

“–some.”

Jumping, Eddie said a prayer that was not righteous, and thanked the stars he was not trimming closer to his eyes when his daughter scared him. “Jesus Christ, kid,” he exhaled.

“Handsome,” she said again.

Taken aback, he let the flattery sink in. Besides last week at the movies, he didn’t get compliments often, or at all, and to receive one now while his thoughts circled back to that familiar sting of ugliness with the way other parents looked at him tonight, Adrie’s kindness matured his grin into a real smile.

“You think I’m handsome?” he asked in a mild, quick laugh. “That’s sweet.” He leaned over the sink and worked on his bangs again, snipping up into the strands between his fingers.

“Miss–ouse does.”

“What–?” Her words were incoherent from her fingers stuffed in her mouth. “Did you say..?” He dropped the comb and scissors, and spun around, eyes set on her. Adrie released a high-pitched shriek and ran from the doorway. “Wait! Adrie! She said that? She said that about me?” He chased her into the living room, dodging back and forth around the coffee table. Duping left, right. Catching her as she made a quick escape to her bedroom. “Tell me what you said? Did Miss Mouse say that about me? Did she call me handsome?”

Try as he might, threatening to tickle her until she repeated herself, Adrienne refused to tell him the secret you whispered in her ear.

[hanakou-often]

I just happened to stumble upon your blog.. and I never really thought about HanaKou before, but these posts are very compelling. I love seeing other people’s ships in things and would love to be convinced into them.. heh. I’ve sort of fallen out of tbhk recently because the most recent arc hasn’t been compelling to me PARTLY BECAYSE KOU AND NENE AND HANAKO DONT KNOW EACH OTHWR?!?!? Which is really depressing, because I like them a lot. Ermm idk where I’m going with this I just was scrolling through the blog like “heh.. they’re cute I want to know more..” and now here I am. Please excuse my nonsense blabber idek if this makes sense 😔

Oh boy. Despite Hanakou being my hyperfixation for around 3 years, I still don't feel equipped to salesman my way into convincing someone 😭 most of my love for them has just come from PURE brainrot so I'll try my best to actually formulate more logical reasons why I like this sinking ship as much as I do. Long ass spoiler-filled rant incoming!!

1. Narrative Foils

A narrative foil is a character that contrasts another character, often the protagonist, to highlight certain aspects of their characters. Think Kabru and Laios from Dungeon Meshi, Sayaka and Kyoko from Madoka Magica, Draco and Harry from Harry Potter, etc.

To begin, Kou is a 'weak,' naive exorcist who always fights for justice and to protect the people he loves out of his own volition. Since he is the underdog of his family clan, the mediocre middle child next to his eldest exorcist extraordinaire brother, Kou is willing to do anything to prove his worth. This is primarily exhibited by his first meeting with Hanako as he recklessly plunges into a battle with the most powerful ghost in Kagome despite his inexperience with his weapon. When he's confronted about such, Kou states, "I don't care what happens to me as long as I can protect everyone!" and if that doesn't sum up his ideology, I don't know what does. He is shown to be the type of person to put everyone's safety, happiness and livelihood above his own, ultimately leading his selflessness to be his own detriment.

Contrarily, Hanako is a strong, knowledgable apparition who is given the role to protect students of Kamome, regardless of his detachment from the student body, as a way of atonement. As the long standing executive leader of the seven mysteries, Hanako has grown largely apathetic towards everyone, easily taking the cold, calculated and unconventional routes to reach the outcome he deems best no matter who it would hurt in the process. This is exemplified many times in the manga but to pick a lighter one: The time Hanako confessed to Nene under the kodama tree without telling her before hand that it wasn't real, leading him to hurt her feelings. It's clear that Hanako is the type of person to value his own goals and interests above everyone else's input, making him the more selfish antithesis to Kou's "selflessness."

Their differences in philosophy are really striking at times. Kou is endlessly optimistic while Hanako is more pessimistic, seeing the grimmer aspects of reality that Kou usually neglects. For example, Nene's lifespan has been a divisive topic between them for a while. Hanako had known about it from the start, originally intending to keep the poor girl in ignorant bliss for how much time she had left. At the point of the reveal in the clock keeper arc, he had no plans on trying to change her fate, solemnly stating that "there are things in this world that must not be changed...It's better for Yashiro this way." This is a direct contrast to Kou's more 'human' perspective as he immediately protests Hanako's claim of "There is nothing you can do," passionately asserting that he won't give up, he'll do whatever it takes save her and that is final. In the face of a dark reality, Kou completely rejects it, choosing to believe there's hope, like the naive son of a gun Hanako knows he is. From personal experience, Hanako knows it's stupid, it's idiotic, it's downright suicidal to go up against fate but somehow he ends up hoping Kou is right, trailing "I'm counting on you" as they settle back into a world that will never be the same after this revelation between them. (Something something Their differences are key to propelling the plot forward since Kou is the one to inspire Hanako not to just let Nene's life go by!!)

All of this is not to say they don't have anything in common. In fact, they are united by their desire to save the people they care about, grounded in their ruthless determination to see out their goals and are self sacrificing to an extent. I would love to go deeper on this topic but I'm afraid my brain is already starting to fry lol. In short, their differences are what make them interesting as a duo!! Each of their qualities can compliment the other's contrasting attributes and as people say, opposites attract!!!

2. Pivotal Roles in each other's Narrative

Hanakou are very important to each other's story since they are a key player in both their humble beginnings and tragic ends. Respectively, they are each other's gateway to a new life. Much like Nene, Kou is a symbol of hope for Hanako, his spunky attitude and determined nature igniting a humanitarian spark that Hanako lacked in the sixty years he lingered Kamome. For Kou, Hanako is the first apparition he meets, the one that sets off his rocky journey with navigating the world of supernaturals as a lackluster exorcist, and the second person to fuel his fire by believing in him. Specifically, Hanako tells Kou he looks forward to the day he can expel him with ease, a statement that foreshadows their distant future. In order to complete their whole character arcs (Hanako going from stubbornly clinging to the near shore to repent to accepting he's done every to atone and ready to pass on; Kou starting off weak and naive then ending as a stronger exorcist capable of understanding both the supernatural world and humanity) they'll have to do exactly what Hanako anticipated: Exorcise him once and for all. This aspect of their relationship is something intricately intertwined with their fates and while AidaIro may have forgotten about it, I can only hope they'll deliver so that they can bring their narratives full circle.

Now in the context of a romantic relationship, there are some absolutely soul crushing implications here. The hands Hanako loves to admire, intertwine his fingers with and adore are the same ones that will ultimately be his demise. Kou is Hanako's deathbed. That’s what they’ve known all along. It’s something that looms over their heads with a lingering heaviness neither boy wants address: Kou wanting to silently avoid his crushing responsibility while Hanako is just trying to savor whatever time he has with Kou. It's doomed just like everything else in TBHK <3

3. Young Exorcist arc

This one goes hand and hand with the second point but I felt that this needed to be discussed on its own since it's where many Hanakouers (ME) really took interest in their relationship. The arc begins with Kou being pulled aside by Teru, the two having a conversation about how Kou was supposed to immediately exorcise any seven mysteries he encounters. When Kou fumbles around him, insisting that he can't find it in himself to see Hanako as a bad supernatural, Teru is quick to remind him that "There is no such thing as a 'good supernatural'" and promptly takes him off the case. He was going to take matters into his own hands but the moment Kou looks at him with pleading eyes, Teru decides to give him more time to carry the duty out.

This is where Kou sets off to find Hanako, get some irrefutable proof that he's not evil like the generalization Teru makes. The effort he puts here into defending Hanako is absolutely adorable, if not a testament to their potential then a testament to Kou's sweet character. The suspicion he's built as he spies on Hanako who saunters around with a sack of stolen items is broken once the ghost explains that he's gathering them to return to their rightful owners. As stated previously, Hanako’s noble deeds are done more as a way to atone rather than out of his own good will so to see that he went out of his way to return stolen items to students, one of which being Kou’s safety earring, without being obligated to do so is great evidence to support Kou's idea that supernaturals can be good. Given this, Kou decides right then and there that he won’t exorcise Hanako after all. Now, Hanako here could have reveled in this decision, his kind act successfully manipulating Kou into compliance with his schemes, but instead, Hanako shows him exactly why he shouldn’t give up.

He cares for the kid. He does. Which is why he has to show how wrong he can be. It’s a downright dangerous thought because it lures Kou into a false sense of security that all supernaturals can be “good” like Hanako.

Cue Teru's dramatic entrance where he immediately apprehends the offending apparition and tries to execute him (for good reason). Blah blah blah Teru is condescending towards Kou because he made the wrong call again, something something Kou is trapped in Teru's bead bracelet and question his view of Hanako once more. For a moment, Kou almost gives into despair, letting Teru exorcise him without another word. After all, what does Kou know about the supernatural world? He's a weak link to Teru's infinite knowledge, power and experience. Maybe he should just let him do what he deems best.

However, as Hanako objects to his sentencing, screaming that “death would only be a release” and he still has so much to do here, it reminds Kou that Hanako is here for a reason. Sure, he’s an apparition, something that’s synonymous with evil, but all that time they spent together has to mean something, right? Hanako indulges Nene and Kou, joking around, Hanako has indulged Kou when no one else believed in him, he's saved them when he easily could’ve left them to their own devices. That definitely means something. Suddenly, Kou breaks free from the beaded prison, charges in the middle of the battle field and grips Teru's blade with an iron fist, all to save Hanako.

Just look at that. Kou slit his own palm trying to protect Hanako, someone he vowed to erase just weeks ago, because he's willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He defies his brother, someone he highly admired for the past fourteen years of his life, for Hanako’s sake. Kou’s change in attitude towards his exorcist duties is largely attributed to Hanako. The sole notion of Hanako, the not so evil supernatural, has turned Kou’s world completely upside down.

I'll never forgive the anime for omitting this arc, not only because it excludes a pivotal moment in their relationship but also because it deprived an enriching detail to their development!!! Oh my god. Kou finally stands up for himself and owns up to his naivety. He knows he’s stupid for jumping from one extreme conclusion to the other before he has fully understood everything Hanako has to offer but he can no longer side with Teru’s one note view of him or supernaturals in general, lest more decent apparitions be erased without cause. He brings a level of nuance to the function that Teru does not appreciate!! When Kou decides to vouch for Hanako, undertaking the massive responsibility to watch over him all on his own, it shows a lot of growth in his maturity and his perspective of the ghost.

So yeah. A lot to say about the young exorcist arc. Not only has it deeply impacted the Minamoto brothers relationship, but it has brought a significant change within Kou’s mindset. He’s no longer trying to label Hanako as a definitive good or bad but trying to deepen his understanding of him and decide what to do from there. As for Hanako, he seems to respect Kou more now, giving credit where credit is due, and feels as though their bond is strengthened by the vulnerable state they saw each other in. He even acknowledges this in the first chapter of ASHK when Teru comes in to “help clean" by immediately taking cover behind Kou and questioning the commitment he made to keep Teru at bay. It's also weirdly sweet to see Hanako taking cover behind Kou here!! It really goes to show how much trust they've built for each other and how safe Hanako feels around the exorcist C:

To sum it all up, the young exorcist arc was an important part of showing how Hanakou work together and cement how their views of humanity/supernatural world are shifting because of each other!! I didn't get to talk about it too much but they also have a bunch of cute moments here which sorta feeds to the next point.

4. Classic Bromance to Romance

A bromance is defined as a quote en quote "close, friendly but non-sexual relationship between two men" and that's more or less what Hanakou brings to the table!!! First and foremost, they are complete opposites in a lot of their personality traits which makes it fun to see how they interact. Hanako's pervyness to Kou's disciplined innocence, Hanako's mischief to Kou's gullibility, Hanako's love of teasing to Kou's fiery denials, it's all just so entertaining to watch!!! They bounce off each other sorta like a coke and mentos relationship where on their own, they're absolutely fine but when they're together BOOM explosions, dumb arguments, rough housing 24/7, etc, etc. Just take a look at the shenanigans they get up to in this panel.

How? Just how did they get here? They used to be enemies, they're still supposed to be enemies but here they are, a hopeful descendent of a powerful exorcist clan and an executive leader of a important supernatural group, just play fighting with a mop and broom like they're no better than two clumsy best friends goofing off on their free time. I love their little bromance so much because it's the result of their growth during the many adventures they've had together. URUGHH After they've been through, it's deeply endearing to realize that they really are just boys being boys at their core!! C:

Now moving onto the romance part, I want to preface this with how I do believe men should be allowed to have intimate platonic relationships with each other without having to get accused of being gay but alas, I fear Hanakou's closeness as friends can easily pave the way for something more as they blur the line between friendly and flirty banter.

It's already been established that Hanako feels safe enough to be his usual self around the exorcist, knowing that no matter how mischievous, touchy and downright despicable Hanako can be, Kou won't ever hurt him. It's a sweet sort of trust that can be explored further with some typical bromance shenanigans, IE Hanako gets bored and decides to test Kou's boundaries just for the hell of it. At first, it's only joke flirting and some harmless teasing here and there. Maybe a lingering touch or two (only to push some buttons of course). Most of the time, Hanako finds this endeavor to be deeply rewarding since Kou reacts in a way that Nene doesn’t, his responses leaning into his more physical, boyish volatility as he either bashfully pushes Hanako away, chases him off or just straight up punches him in the arm, visibly flustered. The reactiveness encourages Hanako to keep upping the ante to the point where it's more unusual for him not to mess with Kou. It's grown into a bad habit of his: snaking his arms around Kou's shoulders, fiddling with his fingers with reverent fascination, sneaking glances at the boy and making funny faces in the hopes he'll look back and laugh, etc, etc. As Kou gets used to Hanako's antics overtime, his extreme reactions gradually diminish and it's becoming increasingly clearer that Hanako isn't (wasn't?) just doing it because "he's bored" anymore. No, it's something worse. With a sinking clarity, Hanako realizes boredom isn't the driving reason for being around Kou anymore, it's fondness of the cute (flustered) expressions he makes, it's the giddiness that swells in his chest when Hanako manages to make him smile, the electricity that floods his system when Kou flirts back, it's...something else he does not want to dissect. And so, Hanako will bury this revelation under the belief it's due to his unfamiliarity of friendship. Fifty years of isolation has to do a number to your perception of romance vs friendship, right???

Meanwhile, Kou is committed to the promise he made in the young exorcist arc so he's usually admiring from afar watching over Hanako to make sure he's in line and keeping an eye on Hanako isn't hard as of late; they're spending more time together before, during and after school and as much as he doesn't want to admit it, he genuinely enjoys the company. Kou likes what they have, it's good that they can rely on each other and still leave room to joke around but to be honest, Kou has some...weird feelings towards Hanako. Every time their eyes meet his heart skips a beat, whenever he lets his mind wander it usually finds its way back to Hanako, their friendly banter stuck in his head, and for whatever reason, Kou's body can't seem to forget the ghost's touch, even long after he's fucked off to who knows where. There's something different about it. It's not the detestation he had when he first met Hanako, nor is it the quaint glee he had when he decided to not exorcise him. It's something completely new, something foreign that has his stomach doing flips every time he sees Hanako's bright smile or hears his stupid laugh. Kou tries not to think about it too much, lest he gives Hanako exactly what he wants, so he just chalks it up to his view of supernaturals being challenged. After all, going from believing all supernaturals are dangerous, evil vermin that need to be exterminated to voluntarily hanging out with such a friendly one is bound to stir up some mixed feelings, right?

Do you see my vision now? The bromance to romance pipeline would be unreal with these two confused idiots!! There's so much room for the internalized homophobia, the confusion of trying to differentiate friendly feelings from the clusterfuck of emotions the other boy evokes and the funny fumblings of two teenage boys letting the joke flirting go a bit too far like a game of gay chicken gone wrong. Their relationship speaks to me in a way that can only be described as the entertainment you get from mixing two reactive substances and waiting for the inevitable chaos that proceeds. Even if you don't ship Hanakou romantically, you gotta admit their dynamic is super fun to explore!! C:

5. Other characters reactions

I swear I’m taking this somewhat seriously but I really enjoy the more wholesome aspects of this ship!! Nene being the third wheel to her two guy best friends, the LEAST romantic people she knows, is something that is deeply entertaining to me <3 She came into Hanako's life wishing for a boyfriend, failed to get one and then had to watch him get one himself. She would be so happy for them but at the same time, she'd be fighting demons trying to figure out how these two IDIOTS got more rizz than she does. (How much aura do you lose for this LMAOOOO)

Then you got Teru which if you liked this aspect of Mitsukou where Teru disapproves of his brother dating a school mystery then hooo boy YOU’LL LOVE HANAKOU!! Whatever apprehension he has towards Mitsukou it's increased tenfold because it’s one thing to date a school mystery, it’s a whole other thing to date not only the ghost of a murder but the LEADER of the seven mysteries??? Teru would absolutely flip his shit, wasting no time to charge into Hanako’s bathroom and expel him right then and there the SECOND he finds out (AND I DON'T BLAME HIM!! he just doing his job fr). I’ve been told it’s sorta like a Romeo and Juliet situation where two star crossed lovers are kept apart by a long-standing feud between their opposing houses (Montagues and Capulets WHO? I only know the Minamoto clan and Seven Mysteries) and I think that can just about sum it up!!

6. Hanako-San (ASHK)

This post is already as long as it is so I’ll save you the trouble of attempting an analysis and copy and paste my ramble from another post: “In regards to HanaKou discourse, I've always seen people say 'Kou's into Mitsuba!!' or 'they're just platonic besties! Plus Kou rejected Hanako!!!' and sure, maybe Kou doesn't have a thing for Hanako but has anyone REALLY stopped to consider Hanako has a thing for Kou??? And just. Didn't process it because of internalized homophobia AND his crush on Nene overshadowing his feelings for Kou??? Because THIS chapter had NO RIGHT to be so fruity on Hanako's part” and yeah why is the first thing Hanako decides to do when he turns into a girl is flirt with Kou??? And an even better question is why did he genuinely sulk when Kou rejected him??? If you didn't mean it why were you so butt hurt then huh??? Hanako really is the type of guy to passively think "if Kou was a girl or if I was a girl, I'd date him 100%" and it definitely shows!!!

7. Fanfiction. So. Much. Fanfiction.

This one doesn't have much to do with canon but it's more than likely why some people (ME) began to ship Hanakou!! My personal experience was I thought they were sorta interesting and I checked on ao3 to see if there were any others who thought the same. To my surprise, there were a bunch of fics lovingly written for them already and out of curiosity I started reading one. One became two, two became three, then suddenly I was tumbling down the rabbit hole feverishly consuming whatever I could get my grubby little hands on. As you've stated, seeing others' passion can be pretty compelling reason to start shipping something and I totally agree!!! Exploring the dynamics in such a freeing medium like Fanfiction can be much more invigorating than just reinterpreting canon so do give it a try if you're interested!! I promise Hanakou nation is a welcoming space and we'd be delighted to see more people on board with these two idiots C:

END

AUGHHHH I struggled to find the right words to express my thoughts but I hope it gave you a better understanding of Hanakou!! These two really are my Roman Empire and despite how much I floundered around this post, I am genuinely grateful for the opportunity to share my visions!!! Thank you so much for asking C:

[imagionationstation]

Hiya mate. I'm here back again with another insanity.

Donatello can see ghost.

That's the whole take-away of the AU— a universe where Donnie was able to see ghosts, communicate even interracting with them. Hands down the best psychic the family had.

What's funny is how Donnie was initially a skeptic, never quite believeing the concept of ghouls and spirits roaming the planet Earth after they died, because they have to go somewhere, right? Eventually. Hell, heaven, purgatory— anywhere but what used to be the plane of their existence.

It didn't quite dawn on the poor boy that he was literally seeing dead people during one of his earliest encounter; he saw a humanoid figure in one of his hideout and immediately cower, opting to inform his family that there's a bystander led astray, somehow, to the deepest depth of the NYC sewer tunner system. It wasn't until when his family told him that whoever that he saw must've left while he was still seeing them, right there.

And it was truly a horrifying sight.

Donnie quickly understands the ghost and ghouls and spirits or whatever manifested the form they took during their final moments. The apparitions that materialised seemingly out of nowhere resembling humanities at its worst— and thus Donatello had always been familiar with death.

I thought it'd be a fun concept to make how Donnie was so genuinely horrified when he first had to now share his life with beings outside of the mortal realm— outside of his own understanding— that he'd hide behind his brothers in seeking shelter. It doesn't work, of course. But he'd do it regardless.

- Ellestrade

Leo knows Donnie’s special.

He’s known since the first time that he’d tried playing with something that wasn’t there, chittering feelings of friend with all the content vibrations of safety, trying to get his bale to play too.

Raph and Mikey ignored him, more content to wrestle each other than talk about friends that they can’t see.

Leo doesn’t remember the surface well. Only vague memories of new places and broken objects, keeping his brothers together and waiting for their papa. He knows Donnie met a new friend almost every time they moved, and that the friends stopped when they went below ground. He knows it made Donnie sad, for a while.

Then Donnie and Mikey and Raph forgot.

Leo didn’t. And the next time that he dreamt that these friends weren’t so friendly, he cuddled up in strong arms and used his new, broken words to tell their papa. He cried and papa rocked him.

Papa said, it was a phase. He said, many children go through it.

Splinter promised, it’s nothing to worry about.

Leo learned about invisible friends as he got older. And how Donnie was adapting and maturing quicker than most kids their age.

He watched Mikey make an invisible friend and pretended he couldn’t tell the difference between the confidence in Donnie’s eyes and the silliness in Mikey’s smile.

He decided it was the same, because papa said it was.

They went out into the sewers sometimes. There was this really big area, one with a bunch of pipes in the wall and a large hole in the floor to collect the water that dripped out. It was their favorite place, and papa let them swim and play when it was full.

Leo stood in front of papa, him and Raph pulling on his hands to drag him forward. It was really hot in the sewers and his scales felt all itchy. They were moving so slow and he was certain that they’d never get there if papa didn’t move a little faster.

Mikey and Donnie had ran ahead, ignoring papa’s calls to return. Papa was smiling and Leo could still hear their giggling, bare feet padding down the tunnels. Raph released papa’s hand, beginning to announce that he was going to leave the slow-pokes behind to join their brothers, when someone shrieked.

Raph froze, Leo stumbled, and papa was down the tunnel before the tots even realized that he was gone.

They ran after him, bursting into the water room, and found their papa cradling a shell. They ran up to Mikey, full of questions and fear and bubbling words, but papa shushed them all, sharp gaze bringing the expected silence.

It took some time, but he finally managed to coax Donnie out of his shell. Leo’s little brother buried his face in his robe and told them that there was a human, that his head was hurt and he saw them, that he looked right at Donnie.

Mikey, pale and small under their gazes, whispered that he hadn’t seen any humans. Papa assured him that there was no one there, urging him to see for himself. Donnie had looked up, screamed, and then curled up in papa’s arms to sob about bad eyes.

They went home and Donnie refused to leave his room.

They huddled behind the cracked door, watching Donnie glare at the wall with glassy eyes, arms crossed. Papa remain unfazed, talking in his calm, knowing Sensei voice.

Papa told him that this person wasn’t real. He assured him that nothing had been there. He would have sensed a human in the tunnels; he would have smelled the wounds that Donnie described. He promised that he was always safe.

Donnie’s shoulders slumped, head bowed.

Mikey and Raph left the doorway, whispering their relief.

Leo looked between his papa and his brother, and frowned.

Papa convinced Donnie to come out. He trained and watched tv and played games. Donnie didn’t want to talk about the man anymore, but Raph did. Raph wanted him to say he wasn’t real. Donnie said that he was. They got into a fight and papa had to separate them.

Papa patted Leo’s head and said Donnie was confused. Raph glared at Donnie’s back and said he was a liar. Mikey cried and said everyone should stop being angry. Donnie didn’t say anything.

Leo didn’t know what to say, and so he listened.

He was still listening when Donnie came into his room in the middle of the day and woke him out of his dreamless sleep.

“I’m not a liar.” He whispered when Leo sat up and let him cuddle into his arms. His little brother’s face was wet as it pressed against Leo’s skin. “I saw him. I did, Leo, I did. He looked at me. He looked right at me. He was right there. Why didn’t you see him?”

Leo had shrugged, petting his carapace.

“He was real.” Donnie sniffled, small in his arms. “I saw him. He was real. He was hurt. He looked at me. I saw him. No one believes me. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

And finally, Leo stops listening. “I believe you.”

But that’s not enough for Donnie, because nothing ever is. “Why?”

“Because you’re special.” Leo says with as much logic as his six-year-old mind can muster. “And next time you see him, you tell me. You tell me and when I’m big, I’ll punch him for scaring you.”

“You can’t see him.” Donnie reminds, defeated. Leo hugs him closer. “You just point and I’ll get him. Promise.”

“But papa said…” Donnie hesitates, meek, snuggling in his arms.

Leo lays down, looking at the roof as his younger brother gets comfortable on his chest. He frowns, thoughtful. “Papas can be wrong sometimes. He was human too, and they don’t know special. Special is scary.”

“I’m scared,” Donnie smooshes his cheeks on his plastron, looking at him with the light from the cracked door. “Are you scared?”

“No,” Leo decides. “Biggest brothers don’t get scared.”

“Oh.” Donnie thinks, like he always does. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.” Leo agrees, sleepy. “It is.”

And he meant it.

Even if the whole world was scared of Donnie being special, Leo wasn’t. Not when he saw more hurt people in the sewer, people that Leo couldn’t see. Now when Splinter told him that he was hurting him, and that he needs to stop supporting Donnie being special. Not when Raph got mad and Mikey asked them to stop because he didn’t want to know about the girl without a hand.

Not even on their fifteenth mutation day, when they went on the surface filled with awe and wonder, and Donnie grabbed his hand, pale as death, staring at something that Leo couldn’t see.

Leo wasn’t scared of Donnie. And Leo always believed him.

Even if that belief came with night terrors and more sleepless days than he can count, he believed him.

Donnie was special, but he wasn’t alone.

And Leo would spend every night reminding him of it.

So, UHM-

I know I’m constantly sticking my trope in people’s AUs and for that I apologize with no intention of stopping, so sorry.

I debated how this would work and I don’t think Splinter would understand that he’s seeing ghosts immediately. Maybe something happens over the next few years that brings him around, but I don’t believe he’d jump to conclusion of, “Ah, yes, one of my children possesses the power to see ghosts.”

More like, “Oh, dear, one of my boys is mentally ill.”

If the situation was reversed and he was correct- Leo being supportive would be incredibly bad for Donnie’s psyche.

Thankfully, he’s exactly what Donnie needs.

I’d imagine that Raph just sees it as Donnie taking his attention. Being a genius isn’t enough for him. First, it’s just Splinter trying to help him separate reality from his delusions, but then Leo starts defending Donnie. It creates tension, but Splinter doesn’t know how to address it. How do you scold a child for standing up for his brother? Or punish him for trying to do what’s right by another?

Since no one gets violent or harmed because of it, Splinter simply lets them bond and tries to keep the topic out of common talk.

Raph only sees favoritism directed at Leo and Donnie.

The hothead only gets less and less tolerant to the topic as the years go by. Even when Splinter assures them that Donnie’s not sick in the head, the jealousy still lingers and flares at the worst times.

It takes a while for these two to rebuild their bond.

Mikey doesn’t know what to make of the situation. He gets really close to Raph over the years, but he still enjoys spending time with his brothers. He pretends not to hear them whisper about Donnie’s hallucinations every now and then, and their relationship continues as normal in the show. He has to reevaluate some things when it turns out that Donnie is actually telling the truth, but he’s ecstatic to have a brother with- essentially- superpowers. His relationship with Raph gets rocky when he starts spending more time with Donnie, but they patch it up once Raph gets over his issues.

Leo is Donnie’s anchor and the unreasonable, unwavering stance is the only thing that keeps Donnie from thinking that he’s insane. He can see and speak and touch the ghosts, but he still has a hard time coping with the idea that they exist. He knows they’re real, but almost everyone else says that they’re not. Even when everyone finally believes, he still questions his sanity. It still feels like a lucid nightmare that he’s constantly waiting to wake up from.

He leans more and more on Leo as the years go by, and it’s not until they’ve been on the surface for a while that he learns how his dependence has been effecting his older brother. It’s around this time that he draws back and his mental health drops hard.

Despite everything, it’s Raph who ends up bringing him back.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Delta anon here again and I have a LOT of ideas based on the headcanon that the Epic Sanses would go visit haunted places.

- Delta has a list of things that he needs to do before and during the trips. He has rules made for himself based on past experiences they don't want to repeat, such as not unveiling any covered mirrors and not to mess with the demonic aspects of it. He does not force his friends to go along with his rules and rituals but it is VERY much encouraged.

- If the group hears or reports certain noises, they leave. Immediately. This can go from sirens (if they break in to investigate) to physical screams from the ghosts/creatures haunting the place.

- When they split up to explore, they all have walkie-talkies they take with along with extra batteries if the ghosts sap all the energy out.

- Beta and Color's chat can speak and interact with the other ghosts of the haunting. Unfortunately not all of the other ghosts are nice.

- Speaking of that, if the ghosts are cruel or violent, they will first attack Beta and Color's Chat because they're 'different' ghosts. If attacked, Delta and Color will quickly protect them (and the Souls will protect each other obv).

- They do NOT fuck with demons or demonic activity. Since the majority of them can see the apparitions, I'd imagine that they'd also be able to tell if it's a regular ghost or if it's a demonic entity. If one shows up and it's clear it's a demon, they leave and cleanse themselves properly.

- But on the topic of that. Delta got possessed once by a malevolent spirit. Color and Epic freaked out trying to get him back (he got violent and then went full-on crazy). Meanwhile in Delta's head it was a combination of Sans trying to regain control and Beta trying to chase the demon off. It worked, but Delta had to go to the hospital because they almost hurt themselves and others.

- Going off the idea that they never thought to verify with Epic about being able to talk to the other(s) in your Soul(s), sometimes Delta and Color will just start speaking directly with the ghosts that are there aside from their own. Sometimes they will see or call put to one before the equipment they use can recognize it. Eventually Epic would just ask what they're on about and they'd get confused, because can't you see it? And he'd have to say no, I have no clue what you're talking about. (I would pay good money to see how that conversation would go down between them lmao.)

- Delta actually has a lot of knowledge with this kind of stuff. He does his research whenever they go to a new spot. They know the different classes and names of anything they could possibly encounter, including the folklore and entities such as fey or skinwalkers.

- Mannequins inside a haunted building are never a good sign. They had one bad encounter and Never Again. Delta/Beta will straight up leave if they encounter one, reguardless of if there's an attachment to it or not. Color dislikes the idea of them being in anywhere haunted, but as long as he doesn't see a connection to a ghost with it, he'll be okay - just on edge. Epic would make jokes and probably try to bring the mannequin around like a prop. He would 100% try to scare his friends with it and most likely already has.

- They are all somewhat on edge during the explorations due to not knowing what they'll encounter. Epic does his best to keep the mood light, but even he gets freaked out sometimes.

- Delta makes absolute SURE that they don't go into the portals between the current world and the ghost world. Color can see the portals better than he can (due to having more Souls), but Delta has a proper fear of them.

- If something ever scares them during the exploration, they will agree to run. Anything they leave behind belongs to the house (or wherever they were exploring) now.

- However, if Epic decides to play around and scare them, he knows his limits. Don't scare Delta with mannequins (Delta will immediately destroy the mannequin and then RUN), and don't scare Color by straying from the group and going quiet (Color will have a panic attack because he has no idea where Epic is). Unfortunately, Epic learned these things the hard way.

- If they bring Zorox with, that poor puppy will be so busy. Both in keeping Delta/Beta ok and forcing them to take breaks when they need to, and in seeing tons of new people/ghosts. He'd also probably have to help Color or Epic, too.

- Killer is not allowed to come. They (Color) invited him ONCE and never again. He decided to 'prank' Delta during the investigation (because why wouldn't he) and used the mannequins against him by pretending that the mannequin got possessed and was coming for him. It scared the absolute shit out of him. Killer was never invited back again and Delta personally made sure of that. He was also allowed to punch Killer for this, much to his joy. He was unable to sleep for weeks after that one.

- All of their neurodivergence can play with them. They're all hyper-aware of every new noise or thing they see and make sure to take notes. If one of them starts to get overstimulated (most likely Delta or Color, because they can see the other ghosts), then the other two will immediately help and take them somewhere safe. Or if Color's hyper-empathy starts to get too bad, Delta will focus on taking care of the ghosts while Epic calms him down and reassures him.

- If Epic gets scared or startled by something, his immediate reaction is to scream and jump on the nearest person or object. They have a game made out of how many tally's they can get with being the one to catch him.

- Cross is allowed and invited to come along. Delta was very hesitant to let someone else come after the whole Killer incident, but Epic had a talk with Cross and Cross proved himself trustworthy. Unfortunately he got the shit scared out of him by one of the ghosts. But he is always welcome on the adventures.

- They found a cat when they were exploring once. They took it home. They have a cat now.

- Delta is ALWAYS armed when they go exploring somewhere new. They never know what they'll encounter and want to guarantee protection. Color and Epic are aware of this, and whoever else comes along is made aware. They found a live person once. The person tried to attack them. That person was not alive for much longer.

- You know those old "[insert place] gothic" stories that went around on Tumblr for a bit? That's basically what they experience. Delta has learned many lessons from these things and it is the main reason he has rules and rituals in place to keep them all safe.

- If you've ever watched Sam and Colby or The Boys, that's kind of how I'd imagine their investigations to go.

- If a ghost is ready to be freed and let go of what's chaining them to their death place, Delta actually knows how to set them free. It takes up the majority of his energy though and afterwards, he has to rest immediately or else he'll faint.

- If there are children ghosts in where they're exploring, Delta and Color will know. They will get incredibly upset, but Delta will immediately seek to free them of their chains. Delta will not allow himself to show too much emotion, he knows the kids can sense it and doesn't want to upset them, but they will be incredibly quiet. Color would be able to keep himself calm, enough to be able to explain to Epic why Delta is suddenly quiet or acting as if they're interacting with someone. Once they're away from the place, they'll both allow themselves to feel what they need to and get through it.

- They have all been physically attacked by ghosts/demons before. Scratches, bite marks, bruises. All the like.

- Delta has fought both ghosts and demons before on these trips. Epic thinks it's hilarious because he can't see them and all he sees is Delta swinging at air. Color does not know what to think of it but if it's justified, he let's Delta do it and basically narrates it for Epic, which makes it even funnier.

- One time Color snapped at a ghost that was messing with them a little too much. Epic recorded while Delta and Beta quietly debated about whether they should stop Color and when. The ghost decided to get aggressive and Color didn't even hesitate before smacking the shit out of it. Delta/Beta and Epic agreed to not stop him until it was necessary.

And that's all I have for now! Also, happy birthday!!!

Thoughts?

Thank you for the birthday wishes! This was a wonderful gift too 💕.

And i love this Epic Sanses go Ghost Hunting thingy. I like to imagine they do it as like a bonding experience every other weekend, whenever their work or color and deltas responsibilities to beta/souls/killer allow some free time.

The thought of Color smacking the shit out of a ghost and delta squaring up with mannequins is hilarious to me. And of course Killer would try to play a prank, ghosts and demons very likely aren’t anything scary or interesting to him lmao. Especially if it scared delta.

the cat they brought home was probably the best thing about having to deal with color going on somewhere killer cant follow—if he gets cats he’s probably content about it all. (Wonder what he thinks about color showing up with bruises, scratches and marks.

Obviously stage 1 would probably be worried, especially if he doesn’t quite trust epic and delta yet, but stage 2 might have a different view on it. Sadistic little fuck would probably think color would look prettier with his bite marks and scratches.)

And I love that delta is so knowledgeable about these things, taking it all very seriously—I wonder if he always believed in supernatural things even before the events of Ultra/Vitaltale. Maybe he’s always been sensitive to that type of stuff. And i cant help but imagine Delta and Beta jumping and ganging up on the spirit that possessed them, and basically tossing bro out. It’s hilarious to me.

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Weird one but it’s 1:30AM and my shame at being a strange creature has evaporated as we enter my internet roaming hours

I really really really love God Games from Epic and the instrumental right before Athena rises against Zeus got me thinking! What if that was the tributes? But like- make it realm hopping.

The games are over and all the kids are dead except for Lucy Gray. It’s been a couple of weeks when suddenly spectral apparitions of the deceased tributes start showing up around the city. They seem to keep to their general area and don’t really interact with anyone, almost like they’re not even aware anyone’s there. Brandy’s found in a park, Treech is in and around the Academy, Circ’s near the university, etc. Then suddenly Dill comes across Felix, and for the first time a specter has looked aware. She recognizes him. Some strange science shenanigans later and a few tributes can become corporeal for long enough to explain they gave no clue what happened but remember everything until their death and a vague lab with a snake tank.

Guess whose lab it is :)

Nobody’s really sure how to fix this because opinions on what “fixing this” means are divided. The ghosts occasionally become aware of their surroundings which gives Capitol citizens the chance to talk to them and soon enough a few mobilize to sneak into Gaul’s lab and try to find clues as to what has happened. Turns out Gaul experimented on the bodies of the tributes and when things started going supernatural she burned the bodies and scattered the ashes in different parts of the city. A bad idea for her, because this released their spirits into the area their ashes were spread through and the fact that they no longer have a physical, decaying body they’re tied to makes what happens next possible. Turns out? The kids are stuck between the realms of life and death and are kept in limbo due to Gaul’s experimentation, and they’re basically trapped behind a thin layer of reality keeping them from interacting with the world of the living. The tributes becoming aware and capable of communicating? That’s them starting to break through that layer.

Epic comes in when Gaul and her small squad of fanatics go after the mentors who managed to get the support necessary to break into her lab and thus expose her, which caused her to lose her career. They storm the Capitol Academy to take revenge. One of the mentors in the crosshairs is Vipsania. Treech’s ghost appears between her and the guy attacking her in an attempt to stop them but since he’s incorporeal he’s a visual impairment more than anything else. He manages to make rough sounds, the first ones he’s made so far, but he can’t quite talk. Until a strike hits him and his spectral form goes up into smoke for a second (the “is she dead” line from Ares). The instrumental bit is Treech thinking back to his time in the Capitol and the games, figuring out Vipsania was trying to help him towards the end, and the way the other tributes cared for their mentors. Then he flashes back to his life in District 7 and all the people he left behind, at which point a surge of determination overcomes him as the music motif goes from Warrior Of The Mind to Legendary.

Just as Vipsania’s about to get her skull split in two, Treech reforms in front of her and catches the weapon. Only the top half of his body is solid, his legs and lower torso are still translucent, but he can touch things now. As he stops the attacker again and again, making his way forward towards Gaul’s group, he becomes more and more real as he breaks through into the world of the living. Finally he disarms the guy and tells him to leave, voice rough and brittle but real. He’s real.

Vipsania stumbles towards him, hesitantly touching him like it might accidentally make him disappear again. But he’s a real, physical being again. They hug and have their reunion, Treech coughs out the leftover snake poison stuck in his throat from the bite that kept him from actually talking before, and then he helps the other tributes figure out how to essentially bring themselves back to life.

[gatheredfates]

For the NPC ask - as the WoL, did Kor go the First? Was there anyone special there for them?

Have your followers send you NPCs and you describe your OC's feelings/relationship to that NPC! I feel like there are lot of NPC's I could talk about, because SHB is hands-down my favourite expansion and where I have the most lore developed for Kor, but on the back of my Minfilia ask I thought I'd talk about Mini!filia. Or, more appropriately, Ryne.

A haunting can be a lovely thing if you let it.

Kor always felt haunted, but not like this; not by an apparition that stood among her companions and felt solid in her hands; not by one who seldom smiled, who shrunk back — who felt herself to be the crudest simulacrum, a mockery of the woman they loved — and their actions, whether intentional or not, reinforced it.

What was it like being a machination of fate? A dozen little girls over a hundred years trained, mentored and dying for a doomed world; the spark of a ghost instilling itself in the babe for the threadbare hope that she would be different. Her soul was bruised before she left the womb, divots made by dozens of fingerprints pulling her in a thousand directions (to obliteration and inaction; to war or strife).

"Something called out to me. Someone I had to meet. You."

For fuck sake, she knew Minfilia's faith in Hydaelyn was unwavering, but to what end? How much could light proclaim sanctity while it drenched itself in the blood of children?

The answer, Kor would come to know, was that light waded through the mire like all the rest; not holy, not sacred, not divine. It was orderly in its machinations, but it was not good. A body in its ocean could still drown in it. When she coughed up its ichor, she was reminded of all the times Llymlaen thought it prudent she take a mouthful of brine — it all burned in her throat all the same.

"She's a fucking child," she chastised Thancred in the night. They'd had their oppositions as companions, but never like this — not for a haunting, a sister reimagined. She knew he loathed her concept and how she pantomimed a ghost. She knew he pitied her, sacrificial lamb to fate none of them signed up for. She knew there was a part of him, however small, that hoped his Minfilia would emerge bright and whole and alive again.

"Tell me." It was the silent question between them, the one he refused to ask and the one she'd never answer, "If this was your sister, what would you do?"

Koret was never a perfect sister. In fact, she wasn't a great sister at all. She wasn't any better than him and she knew it. Rational and a degree of separation could easily persuade her that it was not this Minfilia's fault for the accident of her birth. If it were Lily, however?

Well, they both knew her for a hypocrite.

But Minfilia? Oh, this was one was a lot like Lily. When she came out of her shell Kor saw how spirited she was; how she laughed with Alisae and comforted Alphinaud; how she brightened at Urianger's presence and admired Y'shtola's resolve. She was young and naïve, but she was no pushover. For the fright of her gift and the sacrifices before her, she was determined to be of use. She wanted to save her world and the people in it, even when everyone she'd grown up around preferred her in her cage — a songbird from another time.

When it came to it, the final choice of who should live (to laugh, to love!), her little heart beat so loudly as she declared "Me. I want to live. I want to fight."

From Minfilia to Ryne. How liberating it must have felt to finally have your identity. How relieving it must be to be loved for who you are. A lovely haunting to a beautiful, breathing sister.

Because that's what Ryne is to Kor. Half daughter, half sister. Try as she might, that maternal thread always found itself tangling in the youngest of their groups — ensnaring whether she wanted it or not — and it was so easy to envelop her in a family when she never had the opportunity to hold one. They were certainly not nuclear, and hardly ideal, but they were hers. They were hers and they were good.

Kor loves Ryne. It breaks her heart that she had to be left behind, but she is also comforted in the fact that she is one of the strongest girls she knows. She took her fate in both hands and charged, knowing her place but not letting her be defined by it. She has faced adversity and kept her sweetness, a trait admired by the Captain — even if she can't personally fathom it.

Yes, a haunting can be a lovely thing if you let it. A living thing, however? Well, that's even lovelier.

[hastalavistabyebye]

Hi Hasta! Please tell me all about your OCs, Marcia and the Cantina Ghosts. I know absolutely nothing about them but I would like to!

Hi Thirsty !! Thank you very much for the ask <3

You can find Marcia's presentation here (there's add info on him in his tag, including a ficlet I've written for trans clone week) and the Cantina Ghosts' lore here + their picrews

Marcia is my (french) 80s music inspired baby ! She's an engineer of the 327th and the exact definition of a party boy. Gender is just glitter they use as makeup and xey collect pronouns like pretty rocks. He's a bleeding heart chewing bumble gum and drinking the most colorful cocktails available.

I adore zir. She's always in my mind xD

They're loud but care with their entire heart. Vae can be brought into tinkering prank material, vae's a very talented engineer (but she's very expensive). And zir engineer siblings always keep strawberry and chocolate ice cream around because it's the heartbreak comfort food (Marcia falls in love very very easily. Alas she's not always lucky)

I want to write a meeting between her and some of our favorite Torrent troopers. Because there is no way she didn't hit it off with at least Fives. And I'm also thinking of finding Marcia a Corrie partner 🤔🤔

I sadly didn't found a satisfying picrew that was at the same time cute, with 80's vibes outfits, and having both a haircut similar to the one Marcia has and a moustache option :( I might be asking for too much, I know x'D (the closest I did for now was a cute picrew I shared here but it doesn't have Marcia's hair)

~

The Cantina Ghosts are a music band composed of Whistler (banjo and harmonica + "percussions", deployed with the Wolfpack, more country music, he/him), Ivory (medic in the 41st, pianist, more classic music, she/her), Lydian (Ivory's batchmate, was under Mace Windu's battalion but was the first of the three to desert, trumpet plus some others instruments, jazz music) and Hadil Ziveri, the orphaned Mirilian-Twi'lek girl that Lydian adopt.

During the Empire, they are a very mysterious and famous band that appears in various cantinas and bars across the Galaxy before disappearing again. Every spacer knew about them. Or at least knew the name of the band. Some even tell tales of the time they had been lucky enough to see them perform. An entire section of the holonet is dedicated at following their apparitions. The legends are very thick around them. Nobody knows their name, nobody knows who they are (especially not Lydian who even their pronouns are a complete mystery).

But back into the safety of their ship ? They're a family simply going through the days little by little. Hadil and Lydian learn to cook together, and both are pretty good at it. They love to test recipes from Hadil's different cultures and recreate as much as possible the flavors of her childhood. Sometimes Whistler or Ivory will try to learn too, but it's mostly their quiet moments for just the two of them.

Whistler took a liking to engineering while learning how to repair their pretty ship who's also their home. He's also the one that had created Lydian's earring aid. But regarding the prosthetics of his little siblings he doesn't really have much to do, Lydian doesn't really like to wear their aid (the sounds are all wrong, better to barely hear anything than hear robotic, flat sounds only), and Ivory can tuned her leg prosthetic herself, thank you very much.

And Ivory took a liking to piloting. It's more because she like the sight of the stars from the cockpit than she like piloting in itself (even if it feels meditative too). None of them end up really passionate about piloting really. Especially not when they have to swiftly escape from imperial patrols, but it doesn't happen often (they stay carefully out of the most troublesome areas).

[thenarrativefoil]

Walk with me for a while.

ghost /ɡōst/ noun

an apparition of a dead person which is believed to appear or become manifest to the living, typically as a nebulous image."the building is haunted by the ghost of a monk" [oxford languages via google]

epigenetics /ˌepəjənˈediks/ noun

the study of changes in organisms caused by modification of gene expression rather than alteration of the genetic code itself. [oxford languages via google]

"Epigenetics can be thought of as a very specific sort of memory." "-most memories involve the [nervous system] storing experiences by altering connections between cells" [1]

"In a post mortem study on humans, Individuals [who died of natural causes] showed [altered] methylation in key areas of the hippocampus than those who died by suicide and those who died by suicide with a history of child abuse." [1]

"decreased levels of glucocorticoid receptor mRNA, as well as mRNA transcripts bearing the glucocorticoid receptor 1F splice variant and increased cytosine methylation of an NR3C1 promoter. Patch-methylated NR3C1 promoter constructs that mimicked the methylation state in samples from abused suicide victims showed decreased NGFI-A transcription factor binding and NGFI-A–inducible gene transcription" [2]

"muliebrity

if you’re raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. you will find him even when he is not there. and if one day you find that there is no angry man in your house— well, you will go find one and invite him in!" [3]

I don't know what to say about all this other than that it feels true. I've recently discovered that I don't feel things the way other people do. I have been slowly poking at what that means- feelings are something physical, a sensation in the body, like hot or cold. Some people actually get hot from emotion!

"Sympathy: I know how you feel Empathy: I feel how you feel Compassion: is there anything I can do to help?" [4]

I've leaned on compassion hard- to the point of annoyance, until I learned to ask questions before offering to help them solve the problem. But back to ghosts. Experiences change a person like a sculptor shapes clay. The creation of life from clay is a popular theme that appears throughout multiple cultures.[5]

Clay, before it is fired, can be mixed, shaped, dried, rewet, and formed again completely. It can be a hundred different things with no evidence of that in the final, fired version. Ceramics are "fired" (heated in a kiln) to different levels. Bisque means that bone-dry clay (greenware) has been fired once,at Cone 4-8, most commonly 6. Have you ever tried to exorcise a cup? Once fired, the ceramics can never return to its original state. You can smash it, you can grind it up into a fine powder. You can use ceramic powder as a metal coating, in filters;

"crushed fired clay ceramic-lime mortars are considered to be ideal for use in the restoration and conservation of ancient monuments and historic structures since they are fully compatible with the weak and porous traditional building materials" [6]

The jump from "fucked up cup" to ideal material for restoring historic structures seems too on the nose for me, as a ceramics artist who went on to restore monuments for a while. So we've got dna/clay and methylation/firing/trauma/memory/ghosts. There are ghosts of shitty cups in the cracks of restored buildings. I think of the tourists walking through, rubbing their hands on the walls and slowly corroding the monument with their acidic hand oils. Do some of the ghosts haunting me, that held my hands as I formed the wet clay, linger on their fingers when they leave? Can I put this down? Can someone else help me carry it? What is an artist but a ghost factory? I am making the ghosts, the ghosts are making me. It's an oroborous situation. I have GOT to get that snake some proper nutrition.

I had something else to say, but I forgot. My therapist tells me it's a way our nervous system protects itself from painful activation unable to be resolved.

Trauma changes the way our body functions, past emotional reactions, down to individual gene function. The war, the concentration camp, the abusive abused man, the abused child, like stacks of rocks placed on a grave in hopes of keeping the entombed inside. And yet, the undead rise! Moving strangely, covered in dirt, and stinking up the whole bus, we shuffle among the living. Some of us undetected! Most of us, well, we've got limbs falling off. We don't act right. So you're dead, but you really want to live. You go find yourself an exorcist, a physical therapist, a specialist who thinks they know what your problem is and has a strict regimen on how to fix you. Some things work, some things don't. You're still dead, but your skin is rotting less these days. Some days you wish Victor Frankenstein was real, someone with enough hubris to cut you up and zap you to life. But, you have to be what you want to see in the world. You're used to playing all the parts. You search for any information that can help you patch the function of your genes, behaviors and beliefs that will loch and dam the waterfall of your experience. You start believing in ghosts, and it's about time, since you've been haunted all your life. Try not to let it progress to possession, exorcists are really expensive.

[1] Transgenerational Trauma: The Role of Epigenetics

[2] Epigenetic regulation of the glucocorticoid receptor in human brain associates with childhood abuse

[3] Cut

[4] Quote from seananmcguire's dad

[5] Wikipedia: Creation of life from clay

[6] Use of crushed fired clay ceramics in the production of mortars

[empires-s2-headcanons]

similarly to how lizzie is Definitely A Human and the sheriff is Not A Toy, oli is Totally Not A Ghost- but the thing is, it's unclear if he himself actually knows that or not. fwip brings up how pale he is and he huffs and goes off about how "i don't tan, dude, i just burn! i get all crispy! nobody likes a crispy oli, least of all me! and it's not like i'm getting much sun anyway when i'm in the bloody CAGE!". gem says that his voice sounded "all distant and echoey, like you were far away..." and he just pulls out a mic (which he didn't have and wasn't using before?) and goes "huh. did i turn on some sorta effect without noticing? let's see- ECHO! ... nope? no echo? alright then. y'know i bet it's just feeling spicy today. god knows i am. it's a spicy mic kinda night, y'know what i mean? yeeeaaah you know what i mean.". sausage says he looked almost transparent for a moment, and he just laughs and says "that long in the cage and you end up a very pasty boy. i'm like danny phantom if danny phantom was way hotter and also got stuck in a cage!" and sausage is almost distracted enough trying to figure out who danny phantom is to think too hard about the apparition he saw at the campfire and it's striking resemblance to oli.

oli walks into chromia one day, and scott glances at him and suddenly he's looking through galaxies and universes and timelines all connected by little threads made of ones and zeroes, and he sees dragons and sheep and songs and homes and circles and birds and water and people, and he sees a million instances in one person who's existence is statistically impossible and if he looks closer, too close, he sees himself and he sees lights and flowers and antlers and wings and stars and crowns and he is overwhelmed with the sudden knowledge that he is dead, that he is dying and being reborn constantly in a million simultaneous universes, that every cell in his body will be replaced and he will be completely new one day, and the knowledge is terrifying and freeing and unavoidable, and he sees a form kept together by sheer determination and stubbornness and he wonders if the difference between a ghost and a person is that a ghost has reclaimed every single cell that was once in their body, and he knows, beyond anything else, that he is looking at a ghost. and then he blinks and the millions of years that he was looking at are only a moment long, and he's left staring at a man who flickers through colors of magic and past lives like flipping through a book. "woah scott, cool place you've got!" the man remarks, "not as cool as the olipoligo, but y'know, that's kind of a given." and scott has so, so many questions- what are you what did i just see what are you doing here what ARE you what do you want with me- but all he can stutter out is "how do you know my name?"

oli laughs and tells him not to worry about it, and scott wonders when he learned that the man's name was oli.

[...ignore the fact that c!sausage feasibly could and probably does know who danny phantom is since he, in character, is naming axolotls after spider mans. i uh. i forgot about that]

WAIT THIS IS SO COOL???? AND TOTALLY POSSIBLE

[biblioklept-writes]

Aemond x GOTEra!Reader

reposting this again because tumblr hates me and refuses to show up in the tags

HOTD Masterlist

With the word of King Joffrey's wedding, you have been invited to the Red Keep with your husband Lord Dayne. It has been a bit over two years since you had departed from King's Landing, and you now had a beautiful son. He is the most adorable baby you have ever seen with his father's pretty brown eyes and dark curls. With another one on the way, you feel very happy with your little family.

You have been given your old rooms, which you now share with your husband and your little boy, and reminisce the old days, the days before you met your husband and your ghost companion.

As heavy as your heart was on seeing him go, it was the best for Aemond and you could not deny your friend the opportunity of finally resting with him family, his lover and his dragon.

Your husband is gone for the afternoon attending court shenanigans and you get to spend the afternoon with your baby and his two nannies. You are in the early stage of pregnancy with another bundle of joy - but right now the only thing the babe gives you is sickness. It is unreasonable, you are embarrassed when the sickness hits and you dismiss the nannies so you could be sick in peace with just your baby boy.

You hand him his toys before leaving him unattended momentarily to throw up your hearty breakfast, mentally noting to send for your husband to get you some of the spicy pancakes (sorry for my desi readers out there) that the ship had served you. Lord Dayne must love me deeply to put up with my foolish cravings, you think, chuckling.

The sound of your toddler happily babbling away fills your ears and you smile - wiping the puke off your lips and putting a sugar cube in your mouth to wash off the acidic taste - and stay by the door for a moment to watch your little boy raise his fat little arms in the air and mimic a roar. You are pleasantly surprised - perhaps your tales about the Targaryens and their might dragons was rubbing off on him.

"Our child will be just as fond of history of the world as you are my darling," Your husband gives you his infamous dimpled smile. "A walking encyclopedia about the Targaryens by the time he learns to speak. Maybe he will even get a chance to meet your friendly ghost."

You had shrugged it off then, sighing heavily. Now you aren't so sure - your fat toddler raises his arms and stands up, giggling at something. Forcing the hope into the deepest parts of your heart, you enter your room.

"Aemond!" You gasp at the glowing apparition of the only friend you had had in the Red Keep - as sad as it was, your only friend here was a ghost. "How-?"

You noticed the difference from then and now - as opposed to the encounters a bit over two years ago his apparition is glowing and his solemn eye is glowing brighter than the moon - he has also gotten the opportunity to change, apparently, for now he is dressed in combat clothes and not in his leathers, his silky hair tied in a braid. He is joyous too.

"My Lady Dayne," your sapphire-eyed friend smiles brightly at you, and you are amazed by his smile. Aemond, too, has dimples. "It's a pleasure to see you again. Your son is the most charming babe I have ever seen."

Your son giggled at the compliment, and slowly strutted to you, pulling at your skirts and you carry your toddler in your arms, as he looks between you and the ghost. "He takes from his father," you softly say, your cheeks heating.

"I'd say he gets his charm from you, My Lady," Aemond says. "I hope you are happy to see me,"

"You have no idea!" You squeal before taking a seat on your bed. Even with the early stage of your pregnancy, your feet have already started to bother you and the heavy toddler in your arms does not help. "Come, have a seat. Tell me everything! Did you get to see your family? How is your mother, your sister? How are your brothers? Please tell me you saw Vhagar..."

You abruptly stopped on realizing that you kept asking him questions without even giving a break to answer. He is floating on the mattress, just like two years ago, watching you with a secretive smile on his hauntingly beautiful face. "I have been doing very well, my Lady." He softly answers. "To answer your questions, yes I did meet everyone. Vhagar was overjoyed to see me. I even got to meet her first rider - Visenya. That old woman is quite a force to be reckoned with. Aegon is doing well now, in afterlife. It's not as scary as it seems... Mother is just happy to be able to see all her children and grandchildren again - she suffered the most, among us."

There are tears in your eyes and you don't realize that you are crying until your baby boy starts wiping away your tears, holding your cheeks in his little hands. "Do my answers upset you, sweet Lady?" Aemond politely asks.

"Oh these are happy tears, I am happy you found your peace." You confess, quickly wiping away your tears. "It's just... well..."

"You are positively glowing with the child that grows in you," Aemond remarks. "This babe will look just like you, the loveliest of all."

Your cheeks heat up again, but this time you don't look away. "Have you been watching over me, Prince Aemond?"

"Oh, here and there." He shrugs. "I keep my ears open for any word that comes about you. I heard you were going to be present for the bastard's wedding so I came by to see you."

"You can't be calling the King such names," You whisper. "Even if they are whispered to be true."

"What are they going to do?" Aemond chuckled. "Execute me?"

"Wel..." you exhale with a foolish smile. "What do you do in your ghostly free time?"

"Oh, the usual," He says. "Spending time with Mother, and Ser Cole. My nephews are still so little, Maelor is only a little older than little Lord Dayne here."

"I am sorry," You softly said, reaching for the ghost out of instinct. Again, your hand passes right through him and you retract your hand, absently playing with your toddler's Dornish black curls.

"I'll tell you a secret," Aemond is conspiratorial. "Don't stay for the wedding feast. There's a not-so-sweet surprise planned."

"What?" You ask, confused.

"You'll hear plenty about it," Aemond assures. "I don't think you should witness that - given your delicate condition."

"...Okay?" you mumble. "I have always wanted to attend a king's wedding, but I will not."

"Just trust me this once." Aemond says. "You will not regrets skipping this one."

"If you insist," You absently play with your baby boy's hair.

"I must take my leave now," Aemond says. "It was great to see you again, my sweet Lady Dayne."

"I missed you, my friendly ghost." You giggle, and your son giggles with you, looking intently at the ghost. "Did you see your lady?"

"My lady has chosen rebirth," He sighs. "Not much to do there." He can see the question in your eyes and he does not hesitate to say, "My son has chosen rebirth too, apparently."

"They could not bear your absence." You softly said. "I certainly missed you dearly."

"You are too kind, my Lady." Aemond says. "I wish the best for you and your family. May we meet again someday. Farewell."

"Farewell, Aemond."

Aemond Tags:

@astrumark @depressedperson88

[myhauntedsalem]

Friends and family do not and in many cases will not believe you or your claims of a paranormal activity or haunting occurring to you unless they have the experience with you simultaneously. Though some might be taken for their word.

Ghost and spirits especially evil or demonic forces will play tricks on you and those around you. Something’s might be a subtle as making small objects go missing and putting right back in front of you.

A revenant is a deceased person returning from the dead to haunt the living, either as a disembodied ghost or alternatively as an animated (“undead”) corpse. Also related is the concept of a fetch, the visible ghost or spirit of a person yet alive, a notion widespread in shamanistic cultures.

No two hauntings are ever the same. No mater if you experience chills and thrills to the same degree at every investigation you undertake. Each real ghost has different motives and personal agendas to why they haunt a specific haunted house location, public place, person or thing. The real question I am often asked is why do ghosts really haunt us?

Many believe that a real ghost haunts the living because they have unfinished business. In many cases this might be correct. But ghost also haunt the living for more assorted in depth reasons then that. It might be to protect property that they believe they still own. Some ghost want to protect their earthly treasures from those that might take it exploit it or misuse it. While still others haunt us and act out because they seek revenge or just might be plain bored wit the afterlife.

Earth Bound spirits or ghosts as they are often referred to as, often stay around fearing their final end. Many have stated to me they are afraid they might just end up in Hell. Others who travel between our world tell of the fact that they do not believe that there is anymore levels of the afterlife other then what they actually experience.

There is often the belief that many ghosts do not believe they are dead and keep living out their lives as if alive. In a lf very few conversations I have found this to be true but not the rule. Those that do not know they are dead or often freshly deceased individuals who catch on real quick to their circumstance by the things they witness. Changes in family reactions as well as witnessing their own autopsies and funerals.

Some ghosts often speak of their own personal Heavens filled with the living and the dead. The fact that they state that they have made a new life or after life in the spirit world filled with the beautiful home they always wanted.

A ghost has been often defined as the disembodied spirit or soul of a deceased person, But it can also refer to the spirit forms of animals and our beloved deceased pets. Although in popular usage the term refers only to the apparition of such a person. Many have reported seeing or experiencing hauntings from their dogs, cats and even pet reptiles coming back to visit them from beyond the grave.

Often described as immaterial and partly transparent, real ghosts are reported to haunt particular locations or people that they were associated with in life or at time of death. They even go and visit those that have not seen or spoken to for many years just to check up on them and see how their lives have paned out. Phantom armies, ghost-animals, ghost trains and phantom ships have also been reported.

Ghost are often said to haunt particular items such as furniture like haunted beds, chairs and even are said to be locked into bottles, boxes, and mirrors. Haunted dolls seems to be all the rage today as are the many reports of haunted cars, jewelry such as rings and pendants, earrings, clothes and shoes. Nothing inanimate seems to be safe from becoming haunted and even computers, cell phones and other electronic devices seem to not be immune.

[ashrifts]

›› @deathfavor asked:

Orchid eyes meet Ran's, and Izana offers a smile as leans back against the spot he'd once often enjoyed standing in the field of the prison, watching the guards and people with an unrivaled aura. But of course he isn't there. He isn't there, because his body had been on the cold ground in a pool of blood, so he can't be here. Certainly not in his signature red coat. "The new guards changed rotations between you and the others for who gets to be out in outdoor time." He quiets for a brief second before finishing. " It'll be changed. " A statement, not a question or suggestion. It will be. Certainly something he'd have said, if he was there to bend reality to his will. His head tilts slightly, as if observing Ran in kind (even if the look seems to show he knows the answer) " Are you going to just stare? " [places ghost izana in your care]

izana appears to him, sometimesㅤ—ㅤin dreams, in memories, in the nooks and crannies of the prison field where they had once huddled over their smuggled chips and cigarrettes that the guards would soon come to confiscate but end up with broken wrists instead, as flashes of light in the corner of ran's eye, as the jingle of a bell very much like hanafuda earrings swaying in the wind.  

his (  late, now  ) captain had always had this way about him, where he spoke and you'd listen, where he'd stand and you'd look at him, where he'd exist and you'd take notice of him, like it was written in the natural order of the world that izana kurokawa must be seen, but not touched.  

it's not much different here, where ran leans his back against the fence wire, hands dug snugly inside his uniform pockets and ankles loosely crossed in front of the other, a stolen lit cigarrete between his lips, and the ghost of his captain by his side.

and ran does stare. he stares, and stares, and stares, and thinks:ㅤthis is how i want to keep remembering you.ㅤwith that smile on his face, enigmatic and forebonding, red coat flowing behind him like a king's mantleㅤ—ㅤnot in an abandoned warehouse, bodies and childhood dreams alike buried beneath falling snow through an open ceiling and an unforgiving sky. not at both ends of a gun's barrel, killer and protector both. not with the words "i've only ever had you, kakucho." not with the bullet hole in his chest where his heart had only just begun to beat again.

(ㅤand maybe that's what ghosts are: forgotten memories one desperately wished to hold on to, misplaced recollections of a person who was once here but all that remained of them now was an empty space. what will haunt ran the most was not the death of a could've-been-friend, but the undeniable fact that the passage of time will wear the memory of him like an old faded photograph, and ran will remember the sound of a gunshot more than the sound of his voice.ㅤ)

ㅤㅤㅤ‘ㅤmhm. they learned not to keep us all together at once, after all.ㅤ’ㅤan apparition could not tell ran something that he did not already know, so the statement is less news and moreso of an affirmation. he's not too worried about it. it's not their first time playing at inmates, even if this return had been voluntary.

ran exhales, deep and slow. the smoke clears out of his lungs, but not out of his mind. 

ㅤㅤㅤ‘ㅤbut what keeps you here?ㅤyour regretsㅤ—ㅤor mine?ㅤ’

[buzzdixonwriter]

The Wraith Of God [FICTOID]

The exorcist made her way up the battlements to where the ghost awaited her.

“They tell me you kidnapped the duke,” she said.

“Aye.”

“Care to tell me why?”

“Nay.”

“May I at least know the category of your reason?” she asked.  “Revenge?  Justice?  Third party curse?”

“’Tis a holy mission,” said the ghost.

The exorcist pursed her mouth, pondering her next move.  “Typically when someone is kidnapped, the kidnapper wants something in exchange for the victim.  Do you want something in exchange for the duke?”

“Aye.”

Several moments passed, the wind whistling through the semi-translucent apparition hovering before her.

“It would help if you told me so I can see what can be done to get it for you.”

“Kites,” said the ghost.

The exorcist blinked.  In all her years in her profession, this was a first.

“Kites?” she said.

“Kites.”

“Not the bird, correct?  The toy?  Paper stretched on a light wooden frame, a tail of rags, held by a strong?  That sort of kite?”

“Aye.”

“Why do you -- no, never mind, I’m sure you have your reasons.  Any special kind of kite?  Made of silk?  Gold leaf lettering?  Dipped in sheep’s blood?  Anything like that?”

“Nay.”

“Just plain, garden variety kites, the type children buy on market day?”

“Aye.”

The exorcist sighed.  She could easily banish he ghost to the realms beyond beyond, but she needed to recover the duke first.  “You say kites plural.  How many?”

“Four and twenty...”

“Two dozen?”

“Nay.  Four and twenty…thousand.”

“Are you procreating kidding me?” the exorcist asked.  “You want twenty-four thousand kites?”

“Aye.”

“I presume the whole thing, correct?  Not just the kite itself but the tail, the string, right?”

“Aye.”

The exorcist sighed, mentally calculating how big a pile twenty-four thousand kites would make.  “It will take some time,” she said.  “I doubt if more than a hundred kites are sold even on a major festival day, and the merchants who sell them usually start making them weeks before the festival itself.”

“Not my problem.”

“I beg to differ!  This is very much your problem!  You are the one who kidnapped the duke, you are the one demanding a ridiculous ransom.  If you really wanted twenty-four thousand kites you should have anticipated this and planned for it.”

“No kites, no duke.”

The exorcist frowned.  “It will take time to assemble that many kites.  We need to know the duke is safe.”

“The duke is safe.”

“Where is he?”

“Someplace between this world and the next.”

“Has he food? Water?”

The exorcist sensed the ghost’s hesitancy.  “If he dies, you get no kites,” she said.  “I need to verify he’s still alive before telling the duchess to order twenty-four thousand kites.”

Another long pause then the ghost said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

The ghost vanished from view.  The exorcist rolled her eyes, not knowing how long it would take for the spirit to return.

. . .

The answer was three hours, forty-five minutes, and seventeen seconds.  The ghost reappeared before her, an ectoplasm drenched figure hovering beside it.

“Here,” the ghost said.  “Talk to him.  Feed him, give him drink.  Then I will take him back while you assemble he four and -- “

That’s as far as the ghost got before the exorcist made a mystical gesture and shouted the mystical command:  “Am-scray ost-ghay!”

She thought she heard the ghost start to scream in spectral agony but then it swirled up like water running down a drain and disappeared.

The ectoplasm drenched figure fell to the rough stone battlement, shivering uncontrollably as the supernatural goo evaporated off him. 

The exorcist knelt to help him up.  “My lord, you have been gone many days without food and water,” said the exorcist.  “Do you need drink or sustenance?”

“I need to go to the bathroom,” the duke said.

  © Buzz Dixon

[denimbex1986]

'Andrew Haigh’s newest film All of Us Strangers is a haunting, beautiful rumination on grief, loneliness, and the power of love.

Andrew Scott stars as Adam, a lonely middle-aged man who returns to his childhood home and finds the house and his parents, exactly as they were 30 years ago before they died suddenly in a car accident. As Adam attempts to understand the situation he grows closer with Harry, played by Paul Mescal, a mysterious younger man who lives in the same near-empty London apartment complex.

The film is a loose adaptation of Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel Strangers as writer and director Andrew Haigh strays away from the original novel and tells a much more personal story. For most of the film, Haigh creates beautiful and rather unadorned visual compositions with the use of naturalistic lighting. His use of long dissolves evokes Scott’s character floating from scene to scene like a ghost which adds to the supernatural tone of the movie.

All of Us Strangers grapples with how social landscapes have changed astronomically for queer people over the past decades. The generational difference between Adam and Harry at first feels negligible, but as the characters discuss their family relationships, the feeling of isolation they felt from growing up “different”, and the pain those feelings caused, creates a shared moment of emotional clarity. This monumental moment comes from them just addressing casual homophobia and HIV-associated anxiety as two characters who experienced those very differently.

With that being said, the film offers more than an insight into the ways queer identity affects romantic and familial relationships. It works to reconcile the past with the present and the profound ability we have to heal pain with love, no matter how fleeting those connections may be. The supernatural nature of the plot is superseded by Haigh’s deeper desire to explore these very real characters and their relationships in the face of an incredibly lonely and sterile world.

Andrew Scott’s ability to breathe so much life and vulnerability into his character, while also capturing immense grief and loneliness with a remarkable honesty, gives the film its heart and soul. Mescal, who was nominated for both a BAFTA and an Academy Award for his role as a troubled father in “Aftersun” last year, gives a heart-wrenching performance that is both melancholic and seductive. Even supporting performances from Claire Foy and Jamie Bell as Adam’s parents were just as breathtaking.

The soundtrack features staple Britpop groups of the 1980s and does much more than capture the essence of Adam’s nostalgia — it deconstructs it. The songs are familiar, but often distorted in a faded-out, spectral way.

Music is a conduit between Scott’s character and the apparitions of his parents, as well between him and Harry. In their first conversation, Harry drunkenly tells Adam, “there are vampires at my door” as he seeks companionship, echoes the lyrics from the film’s definitive anthem, “The Power of Love” by Frankie Goes to Hollywood, “I’ll protect you from the hooded claw, keep the vampires from your door” showcasing the promise we make to those we love.

Devastating and deeply intimate, All of Us Strangers pushes its central character and audiences to not live on the sidelines of our own lives, to not be strangers to the world, but to persevere and forge human connections despite the risk.'