#I dunno if I’m funny or just sleep deprived

[silk-bullet]

He’s like one of those rabid creatures fluttershy would adopt

No I don’t actually know what the fuck that means but it’s on my mind since hashira training arc manga

[glitch-karma]

Hii! Can you do Vanitas x sleepy reader? They’re kinda just sleep deprived all the time, hehe. Sorry if I’m bothering you, I hope you can do this request! <3

✧Me who started this at 2:35 am:

✧One shot

✧Cw: Gn!Reader, Fluff-ish, Reader is a vampire and Vanitas's assistant, reader struggles with insomnia, maybe ooc Vanitas, complicated relationship (still romantic-ish)

✧ probably not proof read

✧theres always crumbs for vnc so here y'all go

It was a slight chilly night as Vanitas sat on the roof of the Hotel Chouchou. The breeze of the night came through slowly, the wind flowing through his hair lightly. It was funny, how the city of Paris still looked almost alive at night. The soft glow of lights speckled the city.

Vanitas wore a dully melancholic expression as he stated at the city. It was eerily quiet as he numbly stared out.

The sound of soft foot steps approaching notified him someone was near, though he stayed perfectly still. "... It's late y'know?" He said, his face shifting to a light smirk as he looked behind him. There you stood, the eye bags under your eyes evident as you stared down at him, before turning to the city. "You're up too, non?"

He huffed as he looked away, placing his hand to his face. "This is why you're so exhausted all the time y'know?" He scolded you lightly. "It's fine." You nodded.

There was silence as you stood behind him quietly. Vanitas glanced behind him, noticing how you wore the same, dull expression he'd worn not so long ago. What could you be thinking about? Sometimes it was hard to remember that you were also a broken person such as himself. Honestly, he'd rather not think about it.

You let out a light yawn as you finally sat down beside him. Vanitas chuckled at your drowsiness as he looked back out to the city again. You sat there for a long while, just the two of you and the sounds of the dead Paris Streets.

Vanitas could feel you shiver beside him lightly as he sighed. "Why are you out here anyways? You're obviously exhausted." He said annoyed. "I'm always like this." You shook your head. He scoffed out a chuckle as he nodded. "Well duh, stating the obvious."

The eeiry silence once again enraptured the two of you. Vanitas mentally scolded himself as his thoughts couldn't be cleared of you. Your presence beside him somehow managed to break through the barriers he'd carefully constructed. It was exhausting, the way his mind couldn't ever stop thinking about you.

"I don't get it," he muttered, a hint of frustration tainting his words. "Why do you push yourself so hard, running on empty all the time?" His gaze shifted to you, attempting to decipher your expression.

You shrugged with an indifferent expression. "Dunno.." at this Vanitas stared at you more. Your gaze met his, and for a moment, something softened in his eyes. Uncomfortable with the vulnerability, he turned his attention back to the city lights.

"I guess I've been like this for awhile." You mumbled out. Vanitas glanced up at you again. "Sleep just doesn't really come that easily, even if it's all I crave. You know, you're not the only one with demons," you said softly, your gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "We all carry our burdens, Vanitas."

He scoffed, his wall being built within him once more. "I don't need your pity." "It's not pity," your tone was gentle. "It's understanding."

For a moment, Vanitas looked away, not wanting to listen. Then, with a sigh that carried the weight of unspoken emotions, he spoke. "Understanding won't change anything."

"Maybe. But I can hope it helps ease it.. Just being there. Even in the silence of the night." You finished.

Your words hung in the air as another silence engulfed the both of you. Vanitas found himself momentarily at a loss for words.

As Vanitas tried to regain his composure, he stole another glance at you. There was a softness in your worn out eyes that echoed the vulnerability he often tried to bury. It was a vulnerability he couldn't quite comprehend.

Vanitas sighed as he looked away again. "You talk too much." He huffed out. You merely shrugged, a small but genuine smile playing on your lips. "It's a talent, I suppose."

He let out a scoff, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps a hint of gratitude. After a few moments, another yawn escaped your lips. You glanced up at him slightly. "It's weird.. you're one of the most unbearable, scary people I've ever met." "Okay, ouch." He commented, letting you continue.

Your eyes closed for a second before opening again in defiance, "But I feel the most relaxed when I'm with you." You finished.

The contradiction between tonight's conversations and the usual banter between you two left him momentarily speechless. His attempt to mask his surprise with a scoff was futile as he grew embarrassed.

"You're delusional if you think I'm someone you should find relaxing," he retorted. Yet, the subtle tint of pink on his cheeks portrayed the effect of your words. "Probably." You mumbled out, slowly blinking.

Your yawns persisted, and a drowsy smile lingered on your lips as you observed Vanitas's futile attempts to deflect your words. "You're just spouting nonsense because you're half-asleep." He shifted away from you. "Sure, that's what I'm doing."

The silence made him glance up again, noticing you staring into the city lights, closing and reopening your eyes every few seconds. He couldn't help but stare at you for a bit, before jerking his head back to the city himself.

"You should.. Let yourself sleep." He mumbled out. You looked over with slightly surprised eyes, before your face slowly softened. "..thanks, Vanitas."

"yeah, yeah whatever.." he embarrassedly mumbled, looking away from you. You chuckled, continuing to stare at the beautiful pairs sky together.

[thesoulsofthedarned]

TL;Dr : Reverse 1999 is great

So since yesterday I’ve been playing Reverse 1999 because I was interested in the story. Honestly I’d say this game is pretty good overall! The story is cool, the gameplay is fun and interesting, and the characters are really fun, not to mention the character roster has a much more unique and diverse cast than Genshin (sorry Genshin). So for this post, here are some of my highlighted characters:

Sonetto is pretty sweet, plus she has cool attack animations. She’s also a free five star you get in the main story, which is neat :3

Normally i dislike Tsundere characters because they can be annoying, but Matilda is an exception. She also has pretty attacks, plus she’s kinda funny so I like her.

Leilani is currently my favorite, i just love how cute and energetic she is! I’m really glad shes for free, even though she’s a 3 star :,)

Currently one of the MVP’s of my account. Does decent damage plus provides solid healing, an overall comfy unit for me. It helps that she reminds me of Diluc. I dunno why but characters who represent justice/judgement always appeal to me in video games. Maybe it’s because of their strong presence?

Mondlicht is another favorite of mine (even though i have trouble pronouncing her name ;-;). I really like how she’s a balance of cute and stoic, it reminds me of Razor (not 100% sure if they’d get along tbh). She also has an axe gun so she’s easily top tier lol.

Ok so from what I’ve seen on the internet, his name in the English language is spelled “Zima”? I think? Lemme know if I’m wrong. Anyways yeah, I like him a normal amount. He’s just a peaceful, possibly sleep deprived lil guy with an owl, you can’t compete with that! Plus he sounds like he struggles with speaking english, unsure if that was the intent but it’s a very cool detail.

Sweetheart makes me feel a certain way, plus she’s a really nice Dps. Her design reminds me of Betty Boop a little bit. Her voice is nice too, it really sells the kind of character that she is.

Pavia’s interesting to be sure. He reminds me of Childe with his murderous tendencies and unmatched charm. For real though, this guy is a borderline psychopath, the voice lines will tell you that much 0-0

La Source is a decently comfy healer, definitely worthy of the MVP status despite being a 3 star. Plus I love how sassy she is, she can be pretty funny. That being said, she’ll probably be benched as soon as I get my hands on a better healer.

[rottenbrainstuff]

Have I said this before? The way I see some people talk about their kids makes me feel like a lesbian reacting to straight women talking about their shitty relationships.

Like. “My kids are crazy, I can’t wait to get a break from my kids, I hate all these annoying kid shows my kids watch, having kids is such hard work honestly if I knew this I might not have had kids, etc etc etc” that kind of thing. I’m seeing all this and feeling slightly horrified like, you know it doesn’t HAVE to be like this right?

Very very young children are certainly a lot of work, I won’t sugarcoat that. Taking public transit with a baby is definitely no fun, I do NOT miss that, all three of my kids were very fussy babies and I definitely did not enjoy the constant sleep deprivation. But I dunno, I still never RESENTED any of the work, because I loved them all, the same way I don’t resent cleaning up after my senior cat with kidney disease. Does it suck? Sometimes. Do I wish she wasn’t my cat? Fuck no. And once my youngest hit probably around 4ish? They grew out of all of that and now it’s just the best every day. I love my kids. I love spending time with them. I love taking them to places and showing them things and doing things with them. I love talking to them and it is so fucking exciting seeing them learn and grow and remember the things I’ve told them. I miss them when they’re not here. Like any relationship, we certainly have our conflicts once in a while and sometimes I feel tired and grumpy and then I take a little time out. But overall, my kids are the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my life and I honestly have so much fun being a parent.

So when I see these “jokes” I feel like those memes where lesbians react in horror to the insane things that straight women say about their relationships. Like. Why do you guys have kids if you don’t even really seem to like them? You know that it doesn’t have to be like this, right? You know that the relationship can be better than this, right? I wonder if it’s because everyone is pressured to have kids so people who maybe weren’t 100% on board end up having kids anyways, or if it’s because people don’t know how to have fun spending time with their kids because their parents never spent time having fun with them, or what the hell it is, but it’s definitely weird to me. 100% cannot relate. Do not find it funny at all.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

I had intended to post photos from the convention tonight, but honestly I am as too depressed.

To be clear, this was NOT the fault of the convention. It’s a lovely convention full of enthusiastic and friendly people. I’m sure the majority will remember it joyously, as they should.

Now I did go into the convention with several disadvantages. On top of the lack of sleep, the trip began with a flat tire! (What is it with me going to this convention and flat tires?!?!) My money situation was worse than I’d expected and I couldn’t get my blasted ankle brace and boots on without agony.

At the convention I had an extreme excess of pain and serious lack of funds, neither of which makes for a ton of fun when you are spending seven hours walking around in a room full of people selling very nice things they’ve frequently put their heart and souls into. I was walking about with my sleep deprived brain only able to focus on PAIN.

See, my nature is to wander around chatting with everyone I can. I then divide up what money I have and buy some little things from as many people as I can. The more love and enthusiasm they have, the less I worry about whether it’s my thing. Over the years I’ve bought a lot of really bad comics from people I want to encourage to keep creating.

This year I just didn’t have it in me. I didn’t have the energy. I especially didn’t have the money.

When I did I talked the pain was screeching away in the background. And when folks found out I was too broke to spend, they naturally would lose interest in chatting. Sometimes it wasn’t even about the money when they would turn away as I was mid sentence.

The problem is me. Boring, useless, broke me. I’m not interesting or funny or whatever it is people like. I can’t even plug into any fandom deeply enough to be embraced. I like geeky, nerdy stuff, but I don’t have a single passion.

In the past I have been better at this. Maybe it’s like when people starve for weeks they can’t launch into a four course meal. Their bodies can’t take it. I’ve finally gone too long on my, too little human connection. I’ve starved for people, and when thrown into a room of them I’m a wreck.

I dunno. A room full of people, and everyone either with or meeting up with someone. Families. Friends. It reminds me of my being alone.

I did try to call Mom at the con. I struggled to find a place away from all the noise, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t get her.

Somehow I just felt like such a damn freak. I wanted to feel a sense of belonging, amid folks that actually know the things I enjoy and many that actually make things. But even among geeks I’m a weirdo in so many ways. I won’t make a list. I’m too tired and sad. No point in dwelling on it. I belong nowhere. That’s just the nature of being me.

The trouble is a part of me lives in hope. I hope that this time someone will like me. This time I will make a friend. I will find some sense of connection, of belonging, a break from my isolation….

A bit much to ask of just seven hours wandering around a convention center full of strangers. I’m not special enough to pull that off. Weird, odd, but not appealing.

Again, just the nature of being me. All these decades it shouldn’t bother me. It bothers me

On a minor note about the con, my concern my Discworld shirt would inspire people to expect me to know about the subject proved utterly unfounded. I had several people ask me what the shirt was about, never having heard of Discworld or Terry Pratchett. If anyone knew they didn’t say anything. It’s a rather obscure fandom in these parts.

Anyway, this is too long a vent. The con is over for another year. I’m depressed and lonely and am feeling a sense of despair.

The central point is simply I am doomed to be an outsider. I feel a bit like someone that put their hand out as they were falling and failed to catch anything. Maybe I need to finally accept that there isn’t any point in trying anymore?

So back to another year of being alone in my hick town where not a damn person shares a single one of my interests, and 90% of my time is spent alone on the farm, in the woods or whatever.

Oh well. I’m not entirely alone. Maybe some of the animals sorta love me and I can “make friends” by sculpting them badly into being….

[finniestoncrane]

If you don't mind: 6, 49, 52 with Arkham Edward iffin you please 💖

With Lights On

Arkham!Riddler x Female!Reader, word count: 2.1k ok yum??? this was a good pick bb and so much fun to do a silly trope like this and oh my god it was fun to do a kind of flustered eddie, i dunno you picked something i literally would have chosen myself so ty ily request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: leering, sharing a bed (?), handjob

Ed stood next to you in the tiny safe room, both of you staring towards the single twin bed cramped up against the wall.

“In my defence, I hadn’t really thought that I’d have someone tagging along with me.”

“I thought you planned for every eventuality.”

“Yes, but you were an eventuality that I couldn’t have conceived of.”

He had a really strange way of making you feel wanted. His words were often cold at first listen, but when you mulled them over, you could hear a softer sentiment behind them. It was easy for others to mistake your partnership in crime as one of pure business, but you knew, as did Ed though he would deny it at all costs, that you had become friends over the course of your time together.

“It’s ok, I can cope with it. I trust you.” You nudged his side, offering him a quick smile as you glanced to him before setting down your carry load.

Ed’s heart thumped in his chest. The implication that you trusted him meant a lot to him. But that wasn’t why his chest was pounding. No, it was the suggestion that there was a possibility that something could happen, that the unspoken but hinted at intimacy of the situation you had found yourselves in would create a potential reason for you to have to trust him, that’s what had him breaking out in a nervous sweat.

“Besides, it’s freezing in here!”

You rubbed at your arms, turning to face Ed who was staring at you, unblinking and eyes unfocused before snapping back to reality from whatever little plans he was amusing himself with in his head.

“Do you have something I can wear, Ed? This vest is disgusting and look, my arms have goosebumps!” You thrust your forearm into his face, so close to his nose that he flinched. You giggled and prodded his nose with your finger before turning to search through your backpack for your flask.

Ed watched you, trying hard not to consider it leering and more a deep focus on you.

“Um…I think so. There should be a box under the bed, I’m sure I stashed away extra clothing.”

“Perfect!” You shifted focus to the bed, where you knelt and crawled under, rear sticking out much to Ed’s dismay. When you crawled back out you lifted the lid off the box and reached down to lift your vest up over your head.

Ed turned quickly, heading to the small bathroom in the corner of the room to avoid watching you get dressed. Not that he didn’t want to watch, he just knew how inappropriate it was, and around you, it was strange, but he couldn’t trust himself. Perhaps that was why it meant so much that you did. After waiting enough time that you could be finished changing, and that didn’t make it obvious that was why Ed had left, he took a deep breath and re-entered the room, stopped in his tracks as he noticed you pulling blankets out from underneath the bed you were to share.

“Are…are you wearing my shirt?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, you said I could wear something. Is that…ok?”

“No th-that’s fine…it’s just…it’s…we should get some sleep. Big day tomorrow, can’t have our brains depleted or deprived, I mean I can afford to lose a few brain cells, but you might-”

“Ha ha! Very funny, don’t even finish that thought. Let me just get the bed ready and we can get our rest.” You smirked at him as you turned to gather up the sheets and blankets, trying to create as much opportunity for insulation as possible.

From behind, Ed watched as you arranged the bed. The way you bent over, stretching to tuck the sheets under the mattress on the side against the wall, yours his shirt rose up, allowing him a glimpse at your underwear, peeking out, tormenting him. You turned around quickly, and he tried to find something else to look at, aware of the red seeping into his cheeks as he pretended to have been very focused on a crack in the wall.

“Ok, done. So…is it less awkward to face each other or to face away, butt to butt?”

Ed cleared his throat, choking on his own saliva, cheeks no longer tinged but flooding with pink.

“I uh…I think probably facing away.”

Ed opted for the inside, preferring to give you more space to spread your limbs over the edge of the bed if need be. His body was used to being crushed, bruised and pushed up against walls after all.

"I think it might be best to sleep...can you sleep with lights on? In case we need to make a quick escape."

"Actually, I would prefer that. It might seem warmer with some light."

Despite his stress, trying to hold his body still and away from yours, he did manage to fall asleep not long after you had dozed off. He was exhausted. He’d slept maybe a total of 5 hours in the past three days and he was running on empty. Despite how uncomfortable he was, his body needed to shut down.

Ever used to fitful sleep, Ed woke up an hour or so later, warm and comfortable before he realised where he was. In his still half-asleep state, he slowly adjusted to the room, the cold wall against his side, the blankets on his body, and your arm, wrapped around him, leaning on his chest with your fingers touching the skin above the vest he wore. As he shifted in shock, your body moved a little, fingers twitching out and grazing over his chest. Softly, agonisingly slowly, he lifted your arm off of him, watching with baited breath as you rolled over, letting out a little sigh before your breathing regulated. Confident that you were once again asleep, Ed shifted his body into the wall, pressed flat against it, nose bent to get as close to it as possible, and as far away from your warm, soft body as he could.

He hadn’t even realised he’d fallen asleep again. The minutes spent staring at the wall, trying to think of anything but your body, close next to him, had obviously bored him to the point that his brain decided sleep was the better option over anxiety, a first for Ed. Something about sharing a space with you soothed him, clearly, and he’d be foolish not to make note of that. But it was more than just being in close proximity. Ed slowly realised the physical closeness between you, as he became aware that he was spooning you, arms wrapped around your body, head close to your neck, your spine curved against his shape, fitting into him like a puzzle piece. The way the light illuminated your skin, the shadows your body made against his, imprinted on to him in his mind.

Ed lay perfectly still, allowing himself to hold you for a bit longer, admiring the way you seemed to have been made for this, and him for you. As criminal as he might be, you were something he cherished, and he kept his hands still and flat against you, convincing himself that if he didn’t move then it wasn’t creepy. He was sharing warmth and comfort, and he felt he deserved it finally. Admittedly, the risk was also intriguing to him, and fuelled by desire and a compulsion to challenge himself, he leant his head closer to you, inhaling deeply to try and take of much of you in as possible.

You stirred at his slight shift, brushing ever so gently against him and letting out a little moan as you stretched against his body. Ed panicked, a warmth spreading in his core as he felt himself get hard, the way you sigh had vibrated through him with your back against his chest, the way your rear, pressed deep into the curve of his own body, rubbed into him. He panicked, unsure of what to do, as you stretched again, rolling over to face him.

“Ed, you’re awake?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“What, why? What’s wrong? Did something-” you felt Ed’s length, hard, against your thigh as you tried to adjust your body to his in the tight quarters. “Oh…oh that’s ok!”

Ed felt faint, the blood rushing to his cheeks, and his cock, dissipating from the rest of him. He was forever irritated with the way you accepted an apology so quickly, knowing it would eventually be your downfall to be so trusting and so kind, even when it was in his favour.

“No, don’t-”

“Honestly, Ed. You’re a man of science, you know as well as I do that it’s a normal, biological reaction to wake up…like that. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I certainly won’t take it to mean anything, it’s not like you’re harbouring some deep-seated crush or that you find me somehow irresistibly attractive.” You laughed, but Ed stayed stoic.

“Your self-deprecation is really irritating at times. I really hoped I would have rubbed off on you by now.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, a small smirk forming on one side of your mouth.

“No, n-not like that! You know what I mean. I just feel that an inflated ego can never harm oneself, I’ve found it only benefits me. It’s painful to see you not take notice of how you appear to other people.”

“Sorry, I just…of all people, I didn’t think you would find me attractive, that’s all.”

“Of course I think you’re attractive.”

Everything Ed said was so matter of fact. And despite wanting to find a lie in his words, you could tell he spoke with sincerity. Heart fluttering in your chest, threatening to burst out of your throat, you leaned in to Ed, who leaned back ever so slightly against your lunge, but let his hand find your hip as your lips met with his.

It was amazing how quickly you found a rhythm in each other’s touches, given that you had spent your time together so far ignoring the feelings that pushed up just below the surface. Ed was surprisingly receptive to your hands, pushing through and grabbing at his hair, tugging at the front of his vest to deepen the kiss you shared. But even so, he was still restrained, hands staying on your hips, grabbing tighter every so often, only to loosen off when he became aware of them.

But you were in a position of power, given that Ed was enclosed between your body and the wall behind him, and pressing him into it in a passionate embrace, he had no other option but to let himself be touched, sighing at the contact, holding back pleads for more as you kissed his cheek, down his neck, breathing against him as he placed his own lips against your neck, copying your moves in a bid to please you. He finally moved his hands, one around your back and the other holding the back of your neck, tensing his fingers into it and hissing against you as your hands found their way to his length.

“Hng…you…don’t have to…huh…do that…”

“I want to, Ed.” You reached below the band of the underwear he had slept in, pulling him out and stroking up the length of his cock, wrapping your palm around his head and applying the lightest of pressures, jolting in pleasure at the whimpers of pleasure he filled your ear with at the sensation.

“Maybe if you’re not so distracted by this, you’ll be able to get to sleep.”

“That…that might…hmm…work…please. Please.” He grabbed your neck tighter, pulling you in to kiss him again, his teeth taking hold of your lower lip as you stroked his cock, harder and faster than before, find the precipice of his tolerance and keeping up the pace. His tongue forced it’s way into your mouth, and the frantic movements of it against your own, the entirely pornographic sounds of the slobbering and moaning as he all but tried to consume you fuelled his orgasm. As his groans became whines, pitched higher than his natural voice, breathier and choked, you leaned in to him, lips brushing past his ears as you whispered.

“Let go, Ed.”

At the command, a strained whimper was choked out of his throat by his own body tensing up, cock thrusting into your fist as he shuddered under his own orgasm, seed spilling on to the sheets and body, clammy and gently shaking, collapsed from the wall onto yours, holding it tight, fingers dug into your back and face buried into your neck as he breathed slowly in and out.

You unbuttoned your shirt, Ed sinking his face into your chest and reasting his cheek on your breasts, as you used your clothes to clean up some of the mess he had left. Holding him against you, you felt his snake his arms around you, clinging to you and shifting you in closer to him, till it felt like you could fit a third person into the bed. Within minutes, he was asleep, peaceful and comfortable against your body.

[eternal-armin]

brain stew. [vi]

observant vi has noticed you've been doing pretty much anything else but sleeping. drabble series 2/5 proofread.

music pumped through speakers. after hours of silence, you would rather this than any more. you nodded to the beat, mouthing the words, flipping through a book for any semblance of something interesting.

whatever time it was, you didn’t care to know. at this point you were used to the shivers on your skin, the constant fluctuation between hot and cold that either meant you were burning or freezing, the itch to move and exercise even when you felt like a sack of wet sand. the constant drooping of your eyes. and yet, no matter how many times they closed, you never slept.

the song ended. you rewinded it to listen to it again.

“‘m having trouble trying to sleep,” you mumbled along, finding yourself laughing at the lyrics. you closed the book and it landed on your chest. at this point, even the dumbest of things sent you into a fit. that’s just what sleep deprivation-induced delusion was.

“as time ticks by, still i try…”

the music was interrupted by three knocks on your door. you groaned, rolling your eyes. pushing yourself to stand up- and pausing for a moment as your head swam and dizzied- you opened the door.

“[y/n], what the hell are you doing?” vi asked in a slightly pissed whisper.

“uh, nothing?” you chuckled, having to look away. she looked so funny when she was tired and mad at the same time. like an annoyed kitten. “literally i’m doing nothing.”

“you’re doing something. you’re playing music so loud it woke me up.”

“that’s not really hard to do, though. i don’t get it, why are you here.”

“just turn it down so you don’t wake anyone else up. it’s like 3 in the morning.”

“holy shit, it is?” your expression turned especially confusing. shocked, almost horrified, upon learning that fact. time was just a vortex that you couldn’t understand anymore. suddenly you felt like you were a young child, confused at college-level math. your tiny brain couldn’t comprehend it.

vi was quiet for a moment.

“yeah… didn’t you know that? you literally have a clock in your room.”

“can’t… read it anymore…” you mumbled, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut. you didn’t even know when you had last slept at this point. “uhm, yeah, i’ll turn it down.”

vi stopped the door before you could close it, looking at you. her gaze was both intimidating and scrutinizing. even in the shitty light of the hall, and even though she was probably tired herself, it didn’t really take a genius to see the bags under your eyes. or the lack of real recognition they held. how your hair and clothes were frazzled from constantly tossing and turning, even though you had tried to smooth them.

“what’s wrong.”

it wasn’t a question, more of a demand.

“i have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“oh, don’t play dumb with me, cupcake. i know you inside and out, alright? and i know when you’re lying.” she put special emphasis on the last part, looking at you with slightly widened eyes. not that you had the strength to meet her gaze, anyway.

you huffed quietly. “i just- i just can’t sleep. okay? that’s all. you can go now.” you once again tried to shut the door, and once again she stopped it. you rolled your eyes, looking at her, your annoyance plastered plainly over your expression.

vi leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. you groaned. so she was planning to stay, hm? she was worried, but she wouldn’t let you see that. “when’s the last time you slept, darling?” she asked.

“i… i dunno. what does- what does that have to do with anything?”

“you don’t know the last time you slept?” worry alarms went off in her head. “you- you really don’t know?”

“i don’t, okay?!” you took a deep breath, quieting yourself. “leave me alone and maybe i can sleep again.” unlike vi, you didn’t even bother attempting to hide your irritation.

“nope. not happening, cupcake. i’m sorry. but you haven’t slept in like, five nights. sometimes you just pass out in class for like an hour, but i haven’t seen you sleep other than that, what the hell is going on?”

“how do you know the last time i slept?"

"well, first of all, i'm your fucking girlfriend. second of all, our dorms are right next to each other, so i know you're nonstop playing music and singing to it." vi explained rather curtly. she didn’t care to monitor her voice as much as you did. "you're damn lucky no one else heard it or you'd be having a very bad time with the dean. for the last time, what the hell is going on?"

"i don't know, okay? i don't know! nothin's stressing me out, but my body just- refuses to get tired! okay? you happy?"

vi didn't look annoyed at your barely-restrained volume. you could finally, plainly see the concern she had bubbling up inside. "that's… no, i'm not, honestly. of course i'm not. you don't look good, cupcake."

"thanks. i needed to hear that." you replied, deadpan.

"that's- that’s not what i meant and you know it."

"oh, do i?"

"i'm not gonna argue any more with you on this. move aside, i'm coming in."

your snarky ass didn’t have the opportunity to protest before she pushed past you, standing in the middle of your messy room. you heard her mumble a ‘geez’ beneath her breath. sometimes your living space was a little messy, so was hers so she couldn’t judge, but it looked about as frazzled and disordered as you were.

“seriously? what do you want, vi? i’m tired.”

“that’s the problem, you aren’t tired. you literally haven’t slept in days. i’m worried about you, okay?, this isn’t healthy.”

the door clicked closed. “i can talk to a doctor or something in the morning.”

“why haven’t you done so already?”

“i- i didn’t care to!”

she was quiet. her gaze felt stifling. instead of being angry, you found yourself now too scared to talk. too scared to look her in the eye, even when you hadn’t hesitated to seconds earlier.

“why not?”

“why waste the time of a doctor when i can just down a bottle of melatonin or something? it… it’s fine. i can deal with my own problems.”

“[y/n], this is exactly why we have doctors. when something goes wrong, big or small, they’re there to fix it. they are experts at fixing the human body.” vi’s voice softened. so did her expression, if you looked up to see it. “sometimes you have problems that you can’t solve on your own. that’s okay.”

this time, you were quiet. the more you talked, the less you understood. sounds mixed together in your mind. you walked over to the stereo, shutting it off. suddenly the silence made your head hurt. clutching it with one hand, you sighed. “i don’t… like… asking for help. why do you think i never told you about this? why do you think you found out on your own? i don’t like- i don’t like admitting something is wrong. i hate how it feels.”

“is it okay if i touch you, cupcake?”

after a moment, you nodded slightly. she rested one hand on your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek. you looked up at her, and to your honest surprise, she wasn’t frowning. she looked serious, but still worried. her eyes only seemed to say ‘i love you.’

“i know how it feels, too. i hated it so much, too. i always wanted to be the tough one, figuring out her own shit, being a role model. but there are just… some fights you can’t win on your own. and for those, asking for help isn’t just okay. it’s strong.” she paused for a moment, her thumb gently caressing your cheek. “your health is on the line. sleep is incredibly important. i understand why you didn’t ask sooner, but please, at least come to me next time something goes wrong. next time something doesn’t feel right.”

you leaned forward, resting your head against her chest. “you won’t judge me if i do, will you?”

“i know people say there are no dumb questions, but that’s a little dumb. i’ve never judged you, and i never will. i love you too much. simple as that.”

you snorted, laughing. it was a muffled sound. but vi smiled at the sound, wrapping her arms tight around you. you returned the hug as tight as you could. she swayed back and forth slightly.

“i didn’t hear you say it back, cupcake.”

“shh! lemme enjoy this moment!”

vi laughed softly. “what, i didn’t hear you.”

“vi!”

“i’m sorry, sweetie, i really can’t.”

“i love you too, damnit! now be quiet and hug me tighter!”

[korasonata]

I think this is just what my blog is now. Model streams have taken over. Sorry, not sorry. Favourite moments of Joe and Cleo paper model streams part 5! (Featuring a heavily sleep deprived Joe)

—

Cleo (talking to her cat): Ok. You have had attention. Are you— are you going to go? *pausing* This is the sort of thing I ask Joe. Umm… *laughing*

Joe: Constantly!

Cleo: *laughing* You’ve had your attention, can you go now?

Joe: Can you just not be here. *both laughing*

—

Cleo: Yeah, I have to start gluing things to other things. Badly. And, uh, realizing where I’ve messed up. Which is EVERYWHERE!

Joe: Uh oh.

Cleo (totally not fine): Its fine. It’s fine. I’m fin— how are you Joe?

—

Joe: It makes about as much sense as anything else I do? So…

Cleo: I mean yeah. I mean, I wasn’t gonna say it cause I’m not rude. But, you know.

*both laughing*

Joe: Now you’re just lying to me!

Cleo: *laughing* WOW!! Joe!! My heart is just hurting! Now.

Joe: Mhm.

Cleo: You can tell can’t you, I’m deeply— intensely wounded by that statement that you just made.

—

Joe: I was gonna say, we’re gonna have to call whatever the British version of an ambulance is.

Cleo: Um, I think— and I could be wrong here, the British equivalent of an ambulance is…an ambulance.

Joe: oh, ok that’s really good to know. Cause like, not that I’m planning on getting injured while I’m over there, but like—

Cleo: I mean, if you carry on talking that way you might.

Joe: I mean if I meet you, then there’s a chance that somethings gonna get shoved in my eye or something.

Cleo: Somethings gonna get taken off.

—

Joe: I mean, they say it’s the shotty carpenter that blames his poor tools, but I mean look at this.

—

Cleo (about her bisexual tags on twitch): Hold on, hold on, I need to explain what “visibility” means to bisexuals. Bisexuals are often— um, hidden in the community. They are often, um, not treated as either part of the gay community and the straight community doesn’t really appreciate them either. So, having visibility for bisexuals is very important. As it is for any other place. Also having those tags on your stream show that you are a safe place for those people to go. So, you know, actually labeling those things is important because it shows people that they are not alone. And not being alone? Really important. (To Joe) Sorry, am getting frustrated.

Joe: As somebody who’s been alone for the last year and a half with this stupid isolation, uh, yeah.

Cleo: Yeah! Being alone and not feeling alone is really important.

Joe: If you need to be explained at this point in the pandemic why feeling alone is not good, like I don’t know what to say.

—

Cleo (reading chat): What’s my favourite minecraft mob? Do people have favourite minecraft mobs?

Joe (very tired): Just say whichever mod’s here. Who’s got a sword *scrolling through Cleo’s chat* umm… yeah it’s AnnaBomBanana. Is everyone’s favourite minecraft mod.

Cleo: …moB.

Joe: …MOB! OH!

Cleo: *continuous laughing*

—

Joe: This is gonna go off of the rails further and further. There’s no— there’s no rails anymore! It’s just, somebody has scrawled “here there be dragons” on the ground.

Cleo: I mean, isn’t that pretty much how you live your life anyway?

Joe (high pitched squealing): It kind of is. *laughing continues*

Cleo: You know. Here there be dragons— Sometimes it’s not dragons. Sometimes you might be lucky.

—

Joe: So, like, one thing you can do is after this project you can build tiny dollhouses. And create like a bedroom for each of your tools. And so the knife can just be in the knife room. In the dollhouse. And it can have a knife day.

SILENCE

Cleo: Umm…I’m gonna pretend like what you said made sense.

—

Cleo: I could have said something really nasty then, but I’m not going to. See? I’m growing as a person Joe.

—

Joe: You know what? Hold on, we’re gonna— we’re gonna— at the point where NJ is concerned about my caffeine intake, I’m gonna go get a red bull and I’m gonna take my headphones off before anybody can tell me otherwise, byeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! Be right back!!!! *leaves*

Cleo (calling after him): Well done Joe! I believe in you! *narrating* She did not in fact believe in Joe, and was very concerned.

—

Cleo: I know when there’s a bad idea. It’s when Joe has made it. Joe has suggested it, that’s— that’s when you know it’s bad.

—

Joe: I know that there are ways to have computers automatically send invites, but that’s a good way, like, I know there’s a saying like, to error is human, but to screw up like a hundred thousand things all at once—

Cleo: That’s the Joe Hills Difference.

—

Cleo: Ugh, I feel like poop today.

Joe (genuine): I’m sorry.

Cleo (tiredly): No, that’s ok…(groggy) I’ll torment you…later…it’ll make me feel better…

Joe (equally as tired): Yay!

—

Joe (about Cleo and Xisuma): But Cleo, you’re the responsible adult in this scenario, so yeah you probably should have some answers.

Cleo: X is almost as old as I am.

SILENCE

Joe: …it’s a maturity gap?

Cleo: *laughing* Is that why I’m here with you?

Joe: …no.

Cleo: *laughing*

Joe: I say very confidently.

—

Joe (teacher voice): Quantum mechanics is a fundamental theory in physics that provides a description of the physical properties of nature at the scale of atoms and subatomic particles—

Cleo: *flipping him off*

Joe (blissfully unaware): Now classical physics! The collection of theories that existed before the advent of quantum mechanics—

Cleo: *trying to ignore him*

Joe (carrying on): Quantum mechanics differs from classical physics in that energy, momentum, angular momentum, and other quantities of a bound system are restricted to discreet values—

Cleo: *fingers drumming impatiently*

Joe (still going): Now! Quantum mechanics arose gradually from theories to explain observations which could not be reconciled with classical physics—

Cleo: *physically going through all 5 stages of grief*

Joe: (insert continuously long string of rambling science here)

Cleo: *mutes Joe*

—

Cleo (responding to her partner in chat): You have the movie poster for Dora the Explorer? Cam, I’m suddenly questioning our relationship now.

Joe: Uh oh.

Cleo: *laughing*

Joe: Yeah, I knew I was gonna get blamed for that eventually.

—

Cleo (frustrated): I’m gonna kill someone. And since the person who made and designed this castle isn’t here…(trailing off) Hi Joe.

Joe (accepted his fate): Hello.

—

Joe: Have you ever officiated a wedding?

Cleo: No I haven’t. Why, do you want me to?

—

Joe: Oh! Oh! I found my cross stitch the other day!

Cleo: Oh cool!

Joe: *rummaging in the background* Yeah, so, I don’t know if you’ve seen this before—

Cleo (excitedly): ShowMeShowMeShowMeShowMe!!!

—

Joe (reading chat): Am I excited for Minecraft Live? Umm…

SILENCE

Joe: You know, so much of life is minecraft, but you know, maybe this is just a step too far. You know? Um, I think Mojang asked if they could and never stopped to ask if they should. Um, you know, I think their decision in particular to clone dinosaurs at the event as part of their Jurrassic Park, uh, map thing that they put out— which, also, it’s not even like the Jurrassic Park movies are really for kids, but here’s— here’s Minecraft with Jurrassic Park in it, and also we’re gonna clone a bunch of dinosaurs for this livestream, it’s like *groaning*. I dunno. I’m dubious. I think it’s gonna backfire. Ya know, there’s like 4 cautionary films about why you don’t clone dinosaurs. And they’re just jumping in feet first. So…but, you know, I’d like to be wrong about this. Maybe it’ll go great.

Cleo: …are you having a moment Joe?

—

Cleo (reading chat): “when the arts and crafts streams become Cleo with a scream mask” I am not X. I am not X, I promise you I’m not X. I just don’t have a face.

Joe: Heh

Cleo: And if I was— hang on I’ll be back in a second.

Joe: …wait, did you just realize that you do have a scream mask?

Cleo: No, I have a better mask. *leaves*

SILENCE

Joe: *watching Cleo’s stream intensely*

—

Cleo: Are we seriously doing guillotine jokes right now? I’m not saying I disapprove, but

Joe: yeah, we say “Giatine”

Cleo: That’s ok, you can be wrong.

Joe: …It’s a french word.

Cleo: And? You���re allowed to be wrong.

Joe: …*deep sigh*

—

Joe: It’s funny too. Because people will tell me that I don’t seem like a very— like, mostly my coworkers. Like, would tell me that I didn’t seem like a particularly emotional person.

Cleo: *bursts out laughing*

—

Joe: Yeah, I feel like I didn’t make a lot of…visible progress today…but…it’s fine…

Cleo: I made progress for both of us Joe.

Joe (tiredly): Thank you Cleo… (resting head against the ring light)

SILENCE

Cleo (tenderly): …You’re welcome.

[moonlit-jeno]

evanescence (m.)

pairing: kim jungwoo x fem. reader

genre/warnings: ghost au, explicit sexual content, angst, fluff, mentions of death, some graphic violence/ gore, character death, brief mention of heights, i swear it’s not as bad as it sounds

word count: 7.8k

summary:

evanescence (n.): the quality of being fleeting or vanishing quickly; impermanence; i.e the evanescence of dreams

song to listen to: me & your ghost- blackbear, faded in my last song- nct, trampoline- SHAED, lonely heart- 5  seconds of summer, dreaming with a broken heart- john mayer

notes: evanescence i.e not the band who wrote my immortal <3 part of the almost collab!

The thing about fear is that it’s irrational.

Of course the doll in the corner of your room won’t suddenly come alive and kill you. Of course the spider on your ceiling is actually harmless. Of course nightmares won’t come true and haunt you in your daily life, won’t do more than bother you for a few minutes when you’re asleep. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less scary. Doesn’t stop the shivers from crawling up your spine, doesn’t ease your breathing when you curl into yourself in an attempt to hide.

Some people find comfort in crawling under their blankets, hiding themselves from the rest of the world as if the thick cloth will protect them. You don’t have that luxury. Because the thing you fear isn’t some axe murderer breaking into your house, or some mutant spider wrapping you up in a web. It’s not ghosts or ghouls or demons.

It’s sleep itself.

You used to love sleeping. Naps were considered a favorite hobby of yours, a way to escape from your obligations temporarily or lift your spirits during a bad day. But the line between like and dislike is thin, and the peaceful dreams you were accustomed to transformed into terrors that torture your nights and leave you shaking and sleep deprived when you wake.

Coffee becomes your best friend, the drink becoming a crutch that you use desperately to avoid reliving the nightmare that haunts you every time your eyes fall shut. It’s always the same scene: a basement, a young man being tortured by a masked figure. Punched, strangled, stabbed. It’s always in that order, with the exact same amount of punches and stabbings each time- six. It’s worse than any movie you’ve ever seen, worse than anything that you can imagine. And yet it doesn’t get any less horrifying as time goes on, as you relive the same thing over and over again.

The only thing that changes is the point of view. Sometimes you can see it from his perspective, begging for mercy from an expressionless figure whose ears fall deaf to the boy’s pleas. That’s the worst, you think, because you can feel everything. It leaves you frantically checking yourself for wounds and marks and bruises, the vividness of your dream leaving you shocked when you find your skin unmarred. Sometimes you watch from the corner of the room, able to see everything yet unable to help, your voice stuck in your throat when you attempt to cry for help. And sometimes, you’re the killer, repeatedly delivering blow after blow in a body you can’t control.

Tonight’s different. Instead of the boy strapped to the chair, it’s you.

You shake and cry out, trying desperately to free yourself of the restraints. They aren’t strong, and yet your limbs feel like jelly and you can’t break free of them. A shadow looms over you and you look up, expecting to see the killer, but you don’t. Instead, the boy stands over you.

His features are softer like this, not scrunched in pain or splattered with blood and bruises. He smiles gently at you.

“Hello,” He says, kneeling down in front of you. One hand lands on yours and the restraints fall away, your limbs now free. “I’m Jungwoo.” You just blink at him. “I’ve seen you in my dreams.” Jungwoo’s smile falters a bit, and he huffs a humorless laugh. “That… yeah. That’s less of a dream and more of a…” He trails off, shrugs. “Memory.”

It takes a moment for it to process fully. Memory? If that’s his memory, then that means that he had to go through all of that. “I’m- I’m so sorry. Who put you through that?” He shrugs. “Dunno. But I wouldn’t pity me too much.” There’s a tight lipped smile on his face. “I’m the one that’s made you go through it, too.”

You blink once, twice, and feel the sympathy in your bones turn to fury. “Why?” You ask, tears brimming at your eyes. “I didn’t do anything to you! And you still tortured me, every night. Do you know how terrified I was? I am?”

“I’m sorry.” Jungwoo says, eyes downcast. “I didn’t even know I was projecting onto you at first. I would just get so consumed with what happened that night, and I guess you would relive the scene with me.” He takes a slow step towards you and raises his head. “I never meant to hurt you, I’m sorry.” You nod, because what can you say? Jungwoo doesn’t seem to know either and he stands there, shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at you. “So.” You start, head tilting to the side curiously. “How does this work?” “How does what work?” Jungwoo seems surprised, but whether it’s by your question or by the fact that you’re able to string a coherent sentence together is lost on you.

“I dunno. This. Like are you a ghost? Do you just like, live inside my head now.” “Yeah, I mean I’m dead so I must be a ghost. Haven’t had much time to talk to people and ask.” It’s not meant to be funny, but you can’t stop yourself from laughing. You clear your throat to cover it, trying to focus your energy on your next words. He doesn’t look too hurt at your amusement, though. His eyes are twinkling. 

“Hmm let’s test it. If you live in my head, you should be able to hear my thoughts right?” Jungwoo stares at you, bringing one hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he snaps his fingers. “Got it! You want pizza.” “Nope! I want you out of my head.” Your smile is sickeningly sweet. Jungwoo rolls his eyes, tongue sticking into his cheek briefly before laughing.

“Well, I want to be alive but here we are. Guess we’re at a standstill.”

Guilt fills you and you open your mouth to apologize, but Jungwoo disappears right before your eyes. You try to call out after him but it’s too late, the dream’s over. The annoying beep of your alarm replaces his soft laughter and you groan, fumbling with your phone to turn the sound off.

Classes pass quickly for once, although you’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t register any of the material. You’re done for the day before you know it, finding yourself at a cafe with Johnny. “You’re in a good mood.” He comments, looking at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you get replaced by aliens?” You roll your eyes. “I can be in a good mood, Johnny.” It’s rarely true because you’re normally running off of approximately six minutes of sleep, but hey, it still counts. 

Johnny raises his eyebrows. “Y/n, you’re never in a good mood. Not even when your best friend is here.” 

“My best friend is here? Where?” Johnny gives you a deadpan expression and you laugh, popping a grape into your mouth. “Kidding, you know I love you. But guess what: I actually slept last night!” He gasps so obnoxiously loud that he inhales the chip he was holding and chokes around it, slamming his hand down on the table and hacking his lungs out. You put your head in your hands until he finally recovers. “You slept? You actually slept? Holy fuck, you did get replaced by aliens!”

“No aliens, John. No nightmares either.” Johnny, though he’s your best friend, doesn’t know the details of your dreams. He knows that they’re bad enough to make you cry and curl up in his arms from time to time, knows that you chug energy drinks to avoid sleeping, but that’s about it. No gruesome murders in sight for him.

“Holy shit, that’s great! We should celebrate.” Johnny reaches across the table to high five you, grinning from ear to ear. “Wanna come over and crack open a few cold ones?” He bites his lip and you know that it’s taking all of his effort not to finish that sentence. 

You appreciate it, but you shake your head. “I’ve got a lab report to finish plus like two papers due. I really don’t have time.” That’s only slightly true. Yes, you do have homework, but you normally wouldn’t let that stop you. The itch to see Jungwoo again, however crazy it may sound, is driving you crazy and for once in your life, you can’t wait to fall asleep. Seeing Johnny’s expression drop makes you feel a little bad for bailing on him with a ghost. “Maybe this weekend?” 

“Yeah, for sure.” Johnny grins again. “Hopefully you get to sleep tonight.”

The nightmares seem to go away permanently after that. Your dreams always take place in that one room, but Jungwoo’s always there to greet you. A month passes and you learn a lot about him, almost to the point where you see him as a friend. Almost. Because you can’t really be friends with someone who isn’t alive, right? But he feels real. His spirit is still alive, to the point where you forget he’s a ghost who you can only talk to in your dreams, and that’s what matters. Except tonight when you fall asleep, you open your eyes to sand and salt water, gentle waves calmly lapping at the shore. Strange. Jungwoo sits with his back facing you, knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn’t look up when you sit down next to him, but he does speak when you say his name softly.

“I think I figured out why I came back.” Jungwoo says, eyes concentrated on the water. “My brother’s in danger.” His head drops to rest on his knees and you pat his back, not knowing what to say.

You don’t learn what Jungwoo meant until the next night, the man so distraught that he isn’t able to form words before your time’s up. The scene is different again this time, a playground replacing the beach from the night before. Jungwoo sits on a red plastic swing, his feet dragging on the ground sadly.

“Hey Jungwoo.” You call out the greeting gently, taking a seat next to him. “Are you okay?” He nods, laughs a little. “Yeah, sorry for freaking out last night. It’s just. It’s a lot.” “Sounds like it is. You wanna talk about it?” You pat his knee comfortingly and he stares at your hand for a long moment before covering it with his own. 

He tells you about his brother first, about how much he misses Mark, about how bad he feels for leaving him on his own. Mark’s younger than him, but only by a year, and he was nowhere near as good as him at FIFA. He tells you that he doesn’t remember who killed him, but that as soon as he was transported to the beach, he knew his brother was in danger. There’s no explanation on how the beach told him that, but you have no place questioning the afterlife. You listen patiently throughout the whole story, and it seems to help Jungwoo, his shoulders sagging with relief when he’s done.

“So whoever killed me,” Jungwoo squeezes your hand, stares at the woodchips dragging around. “They’re going to kill my brother next.”

“So we find your killer. Easy.” You squeeze his hand back. “Mark’s going to be okay, Woo. I promise.”

~

Tonight’s dream takes place on a rooftop. There are lights strung up that lead you straight to Jungwoo, the man facing you with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. His arms are outstretched and you walk into them, sighing softly when he wraps you in his embrace. Lips press to your forehead and you swear you’ve reached heaven. “Dance with me.” He whispers it as if you have a choice to disagree with him when he looks this good. You nod and bury your face in his chest, swaying with him under the stars. There’s music playing now, music that you didn’t hear before, and he hums softly to it as you dance. A squeal leaves you when he spins you, dipping you down before pulling you close, your back to his chest. His lips graze your ear and he laughs before spinning you back around and pulling you into a kiss.

It feels so good and you find yourself getting lost in his touch. The warmth of him against you, the solidness of his chest under your palms. It’s so nice, so comforting, so… real. But it can’t be real. Because this is a dream, because Jungwoo is dead. The thought is enough to jolt you out of your haze and you try to pull back, need to pull back, but the hand on the back of your head holds you still and it feels so good that you almost don’t want to pull out of his embrace. “Jungwoo,” you mumble his name against his lips, not wanting to pull away from the kiss but needing to know the answer to your question. “Jungwoo, are you real?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jungwoo chuckles, pulling you back for more. “Don’t I feel real?”

A gasp leaves you when his hand slips lower to your ass, squeezing before slipping between your thighs. He finds little resistance, easily reaching under your dress and past the thin panties you’re wearing to swipe through your folds and enter you, stretching you out deliciously well. You cling to him as if he’s your life line and not the other way around, letting him take you apart with his fingers. His name leaves your lips in a sob and you press your face against his neck, clutch at his shoulders. “Please, Jungwoo, please.”

Both of his hands slide to your ass and he picks you up easily, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He carries you over to the ledge of the roof, setting you down on the cool stone. He barely gives you time to take in what’s happening before he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes dark and so intense that you can’t look away from his gaze as he attaches his lips to your thighs. You slide one hand into his hair and he moans into your skin, the vibrations traveling through you as he kisses his way up your thighs and to your core. A sigh leaves you and you put your other hand behind you for balance, your heart dropping to your stomach when your fingertips wrap around the edge of the balcony. “Jungwoo!” You yelp immediately trying to stand up when you look behind you and see the darkness below you, decorated with lights from buildings so far down that they’re almost as tiny as the stars above you. “Jungwoo, I’m gonna fall. Ohmygod I’m gonna fall, Woo-”

“Shh,” Jungwoo hushes you, rubbing your thigh soothingly. He reaches for your hand and laces your fingers together, taking a moment to press his lips to the back of your hand. “Look at me, y/n. You’re not going to fall, okay? I’ll always be here to catch you if you do.” Something in his eyes looks so honest, so sincere, and you find yourself nodding slowly.

“Okay.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, too scared to raise it any louder and break the moment between you. “I trust you.” Jungwoo smiles up at you one more time before lowering himself down to your core. His free hand lifts the edge of your dress up and he takes his time rubbing slow circles into your clit, sighing out praises about how good you are when you shake from the unbearably intense sensation. His eyes stay on yours the whole time, even as he lowers his mouth to your pussy and eats you out like a man starved. It feels so good that you can barely process it, squirming against him and letting your eyes roll back. 

“Fuck, Jungwoo,” You whimper, feeling your orgasm build up in the pit of your stomach. “Shit, c’mere.” You use the hand buried in his hair to tug him up, pressing his lips to yours for a sloppy kiss that feels way too good for the moment. He rubs messy circles into your clit that have you clutching him tight to your chest, crying out his name so loud that you’re sure the entire city can hear you. “You like that?” Jungwoo asks, although his voice is so cocky that you’re almost entirely sure he knows the answer. “Fucking love it,” You pant out, orgasm so close you can taste. “Love you, ohmygod.” The end of your sentence cuts off with a whine as you come so hard you nearly black out, holding onto him so tightly you’re sure you would’ve broken at least one of his bones if this were real.

If this were real, if he were real. If this wasn’t a dream with a ghost. The realization washes over you like cold water and the dream disappears before you in a flash, leaving you trembling and empty in more ways than one. Your hand is tingling and when you look at it, you realize that Jungwoo didn’t let go the entire time.

You’re not in your bed when you wake up. It takes you a moment to realize it, the weight of your dream still heavy on your mind, but then you open your eyes and process your surroundings and realize that even though you’re awake, you’re back in your nightmares.

A scream leaves you and you jolt out of the chair, falling flat on your ass. You scramble backwards a good few feet before relaxing, realizing that your mind was just playing tricks on you. This is no nightmare place, it’s just your basement. Except…

That chair is definitely the chair from your nightmares- or well, Jungwoo’s murder. You’ve never seen it down here before, but then again, you never go into the basement. It’s been years since you’ve been down here, the room always giving you the creeps. And you’ve never sleepwalked- you can’t fathom why you’d be down here.

“Jungwoo?” You whisper, not even flinching at the gust of cold air as he materializes next to you. “Why am I down here?” “This is where I was murdered.” Jungwoo murmurs, his gaze distant, cloudy. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Here? Are you sure?” He nods strongly, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. You get to your feet and watch him pace around, tentatively poking at objects. A violent shudder runs through him when he touches the chair. “Jungwoo, this is my house.” He freezes. “This is your house? Then you must know who murdered me.” 

There’s a long second where you just stare at him, not knowing what to say. Thoughts abandon you and your mind goes blank, leaving you to shake your head and stutter out objections. “W- No, Jungwoo, I can’t-” A deep breath, a heavy exhale. “No one ever comes down here, and I can’t remember the last time I even had people here.”

“Well someone had to come down here!” Jungwoo presses, motioning at himself. “Y/n, I’m dead. You could help me find who killed me.”

You spend hours thinking through every person you know, mulling over all of your friends and anyone else who has ever been to your house. Parents are ruled out immediately- they live across the country, first off, and your mom nearly cries whenever she so much as swats a fly. Jungwoo tries to help, but he doesn’t know anyone the way that you do, and he’s a tad bit negative.

“Okay, but how do you know they’re not killers.” He asks, tone flat. “I mean, do you have hard evidence? Because somehow none of them are killers, and yet…” He smiles humorlessly and holds his arms out, doing a twirl for you. “I’m dead.” “I’m trying.” You say tiredly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s just hard. Literally no one ever comes over, and I can’t picture my friends as killers. Plus, no one has access to my house except for me.” You purse your lips, staring at your sad little notepaper list with dozens of names scratched out. “Is it possible this happened before I lived here?” Jungwoo shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” He doesn’t look convinced.

You purse your lips, groaning in defeat when your mind stays blank. “I’m sorry, Woo. We’ll figure it out eventually, I promise. I just can’t think right now.” “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for helping and not like, I don’t know, calling an exorcist.” Jungwoo presses himself to your side, poking your cheek when you laugh, and his presence is so comforting that it’s easy to forget that he’s not really there. You swat at him good naturedly, your laugh cutting off early when you realize that he’s disappeared. You call for him a few times, panic racing through your mind, until he manifests again a few feet away from you. 

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! Did that hurt you? I didn’t know that would happen!” You jump to your feet, reaching out to him on impulse before thinking better of it. 

Jungwoo laughs softly, but his form flickers. “It’s okay. I guess you can only touch me in dreams.” He smiles, but it’s with his mouth closed tight. The chair becomes visible through his form as he flickers again. 

The mention of touch jolts your memories and you scratch the back of your neck nervously. “Wait, Woo, I meant to ask.” He looks at you expectantly, humming for you to go on. “Last night, in the dream. Was that like, was that really you?” “Hm? Are you asking if it was real or not?” Jungwoo asks. You nod, unable to look away from his gaze. “It was me, y/n. I’m real.”

You nod, lips pursed as you think it over. Jungwoo smiles though it’s hollow, hard to see the usual light in him when he’s nearly translucent again. “I’ll see you tonight?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer before vanishing, leaving you alone in the cold basement.

“Yeah.” You whisper softly, a dark cloud hanging over your head.

~

“What’s in the bag?” Johnny asks you, nodding towards your bookbag. It’s normally empty, save for a notebook or wallet, but today it’s stuffed full of newspaper clippings and binders. 

“Nothing.” You shrug. “Just some old articles.” 

Johnny thumbs through a stack of the papers before looking up at you, his forehead creased. “On murders?”

“Yeah. They’re interesting. Figured I should know the history of the town I live in, right?” You take a sip of your coffee, hoping you don’t look as insane as you feel. It’d taken you hours of searching to find those articles, digging through the library archives and reading murder after murder to find ones that seemed similar to Jungwoo’s case. They were unsettling, to say the least, and the fact that someone had taken a life under your own roof left you jittery. “I mean, I guess?” Johnny shakes his head and thumbs through a few more, hesitating at one of the clippings before shoving them back in your bag. “Kind of an appetite killer.” He says, pausing after a second and laughing. “Hah, get it? Killer…” The cold stare you give him has him sobering up quickly. He clears his throat. “Anyways. What else have you been up to? You’ve been kinda distant lately.” Have you been? Probably. “Sorry.” You shrug. “Caught up in my work, you know how it is.” Johnny wiggles his eyebrows. “Seeing a new man?” You shoot him a withering look. He throws his hands up innocently. “Woman? Person?”

The word ‘ghost’ is on the tip of your tongue, but that sounds insane even to you. You can’t be seeing someone whose body fades out of existence when you so much as blow air on him too strongly. “No, Johnny. I’d tell you if I was dating someone.” “Promise?” He asks. You hold your pinky out to him, interlocking the digits and offering him a smile. He grins back. “Good. You wanna come over tonight? Play some video games, order some pizza?” 

It sounds good, and you really don’t want to be alone at your house after discovering it was the site of a murder, but you don’t want to leave Jungwoo. He’s kind of counting on you for something big, plus you have all those articles to show him… 

At your hesitation, Johnny pouts. “Come on, I feel like I’ve barely seen you for like, a month. Please? It’ll be just like old times.” The promise of old times has your resolve fading, and you give into his whining. He cheers and knocks your coffees together, dramatically complaining when the liquid splashes onto his sleeve.

~

Taking a nap had seemed like a great idea when you had gotten home from lunch, but it’s the first time you’ve dreamt without Jungwoo in your dreams, and all of the nightmares were so genuinely disturbing that you wake up sobbing. Every room seems so foreboding that you can’t bring yourself to sit in the house any longer and you run out the door without any further thought. The rain soaks through your thin sleep clothes and you find that you have three missed calls from Johnny, but you don’t bother to call him back. You’ll be at his place soon enough, and the rain is starting to blue the screen too much for you to see. Or maybe it’s your tears, you can’t be sure, and you really don’t care.

You knock on Johnny’s door, stepping back and impatiently shifting from foot to foot before stepping forward and knocking again. Exhaling harshly, you raise your fist to knock again. The door opens.

A very disgruntled Johnny stands before you, one hand wiping at his face. His hair is disheveled and you have the conscious thought that he must have just woken up, but your brain is flying a million miles a second and you don’t have time to spend worrying about if you’ve interrupted his beauty sleep. “Y/n?” Johnny yawns out, opening the door wider. “You were supposed to come over like 3 hours ago.” His sentence goes unfinished as you push past him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the living room. With your hands on his shoulders, you push him down to sit on the couch. He looks less tired and more confused now, which makes sense considering he’s never seen you act like this- you’re not even sure that you’ve ever acted like this- but he keeps silent, trusting you enough to tell him what the fuck is going on. He patiently puts his hands on his knees, watching you pace around the area.

It takes you a while to formulate exactly what to say to him. How exactly do you tell your best friend that you’ve been helping a ghost solve his own murder without him attempting to send you to a psych ward? After a few moments of pacing, in which you accidentally leave a trail of muddy footprints on Johnny’s carpet, you pause.

“This is going to sound insane.” You start, facing Johnny. He nods encouragingly, motioning for you to go on. “I need you to believe me. Promise me that you’ll hear me out until the very end.” Johnny nods. “No, I need you to promise me.” Maybe it’s how frantic your voice sounds, or the fact that you’re soaking wet and still breathing heavily from your run, but Johnny promises without hesitation. His voice is soft and his eyes are wide and you thank God for giving you such a good best friend. You search his eyes with your own, and finding nothing but encouragement and trust, you begin.

“Okay, so. You know those nightmares I’ve been having?” A nod. “Okay, so apparently there’s a ghost living in my house that’s been like, projecting their memories onto me.” Johnny blinks, not even trying to hide the skeptical look on his face. “Before you say anything, I know it sounds crazy. But ghosts are real. Jungwoo- Jungwoo’s real.” Johnny inhales sharply. “His name is Jungwoo?” 

“Yeah. He was murdered 4 years ago in my basement. My basement, Johnny.” You take a deep breath, shuddering. “Whoever did it is still out there, and Jungwoo thinks that his brother might be in danger.” You shift anxiously from foot to foot, hands wringing together in front of you until Johnny takes them into his own, thumbs rubbing over the backs of your hands to calm you. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you help me find him? I just need to make sure that he’s okay, and I know it’s silly that I promised a ghost but-” “I’ll help.” There’s a reassuring smile on Johnny’s face when he interrupts you, and you breath out in relief. “It’s okay, y/n. I believe you.”

You launch yourself forward into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t deserve you.” Johnny laughs. “Yeah, you don’t.” He pulls back from the hug long enough to look you in the eyes. “For right now, let's go to bed, yeah? You really look like you need some rest.”

~

“Okay, so here’s his address. I mean, I think it’s his address.” Johnny looks over your shoulder at the satellite image of Mark’s house, nodding. “We can get there in about two hours.” Johnny hums, stepping away from the computer. “I can get us there faster than that, don’t worry. C’mon, let’s have some coffee and then we can go.” He makes sure you eat something that actually has nutritional value before you go, even going as far as to pack a bag before you hit the road. Johnny does his best to reassure you throughout the drive, but you’re a nervous mess. You compulsively take sips from the water bottle Johnny had forced you to take with and it’s empty in no time, leaving you to drum your fingers along your thighs and squirm with a full bladder.

The house looks so much bigger, so much more foreboding in person. Johnny gives you a reassuring look and after a deep breath, you knock on the door. It takes a few seconds before it creaks open to reveal a man around your age peering at you through black-rimmed glasses that sit crookedly on his face. “Hello?” “Hi, Mark?” he nods, looking you up and down. “Do you have a moment to talk? I just have a few questions, it w-” He’s already moving to close the door before the sentence is even out of your mouth. “Wait, Mark!” You manage to wedge your foot in the door before it closes and he groans, rolling his eyes.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood to buy anything, so if you could just please-” He tries again. “It’s about your brother!” You exclaim, finally succeeding in getting Mark to listen. He freezes and stares down at you dumbly. His eyes stay on you for a little too long before lifting to look behind you. 

“Johnny?” Mark asks, eyes widening. “Is that you?” You look over to find Johnny standing behind you, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah, it’s me. How you doin, kid?”

Mark lets you into the house after tackling Johnny into a hug, offering you tea and a seat on the couch. “I didn’t know you knew Jungwoo,” You whisper to Johnny, watching Mark grab cups from the kitchen. 

Johnny shrugs. “Never had a reason to bring him up.” He definitely could’ve brought him up earlier, like when you mentioned you were seeing his ghost, but you brush it off as nothing. Maybe he didn’t want to upset you.

Mark returns, offering you each a cup of tea before taking a seat on the couch opposite you. “Wow, it’s been so long.” Mark laughs, clutching his tea for dear life. “It’s so good to see friends of Jungwoo’s again. It’s like, it’s not the same as seeing him but. It’s nice.”

“Good to see you too, Mark.” Johnny smiles. “I looked all over for you after Jungwoo’s death, but I couldn’t find you. When did you move?” Mark sniffs. “Um, I think like a month after it happened. They arrested the guy that killed him and I dipped. It was too painful to see all those little reminders of him everywhere.” Mark sniffs again, and wipes harshly at his eye. It makes you tear up a little too, thinking about how fondly Jungwoo talked about his brother, how unfair it is that they got ripped apart so soon. One phrase sticks out to you and you manage to reel yourself back in before you start crying too hard.

“Wait, they caught the guy? Do you know who killed him?” You side eye Johnny because he must have known that the killer was caught already, and it doesn’t make sense that he didn’t tell you considering that was the sole reason for this trip. 

“Um, well. Jungwoo uh, he had a sort of accident.” His hands are shaking, you notice. Some tea spills onto his leg. “He used to go out to all these parties and he swore he’d be safe but I guess he slipped up this one time.” Mark takes a deep breath and his voice cracks. “He was driving home from a party and he probably thought he was fine but he was way too drunk and he hit a pedestrian. He drove away but her boyfriend saw the whole thing and followed him.” Mark drops his head down and sobs a little.

Johnny moves to comfort him and Mark calms down after a few moments, skillfully changing the topic away from his dead brother. All the water that you drank in the car finally catches up to you and you excuse yourself for a second. Mark’s laughter rings clearly from the living room and you can’t help but to laugh too, smiling at Johnny’s ability to make everyone happy. You fix your hair in the mirror, a little spring in your step at the thought of being able to fulfill your promise to Jungwoo. 

You wish he was with you right now as you walk down the hallway back to the living room. There are so many pictures on the walls, Mark’s accomplishments framed proudly. It sends an ache through your heart that you’re here to see all of this by yourself. It’s only then, when you’re picturing Jungwoo exploring the house with you, that you realize how quiet it’s gotten. 

Frowning, you call out Johnny’s name. You get no response and call out again, finally catching movement out of the corner of your eye. “Johnny, why’d you sneak up on me?” A laugh leaves you when you turn to fully face him, cutting off only at the flash of color that slowly fades to black.

~

Your head is throbbing when you come to, vision taking a few seconds to clear up. A groan leaves you and you shake your head softly, coming face to face with Mark. A Mark whose mouth is covered with duct tape. You freeze, eyes widening, then look down to find that the rest of him is bound, too. “What-” 

Panic surges through you when you realize that your hands and ankles are bound too, and you jerk your head to the side, frantically searching to make sure that Johnny’s okay. You don’t find him. It’s only you and Mark in the room. “Johnny? Hey, whoever the fuck has us down here better leave Johnny the fuck alone!” You might currently be tied up, but the fact that your best friend is missing and potentially hurt overtakes any concern you may have for yourself. Mark’s eyes widen and he shakes his head frantically. You furrow your eyebrows and go to ask what he means, but you don’t get the chance.

“Oh, don’t worry. Johnny’s just fine.” The sentence comes from the man himself, standing right in front of the door. Relief fills you, turning to dread the second he closes the door and flips the lock. “You however…” “Johnny? What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he rolls his sleeves up to the elbow. 

He tips his head to the side, looking at you with confusion. “Isn’t it obvious?” The glint in his eyes matches the knife he picks up, the dim light catching on the shine of the blade. “For someone who apparently experienced Jungwoo’s death dozens of times, you should be able to figure it out.”

You blink once, twice, and then your eyes bug so far out of your head you worry they might fall out. A soft wheeze leaves you as your chest constricts, panic blooming in your gut. Johnny wheezes too, but his is a wheeze of laughter. He’s amused.

His eyes slide down to Mark, whose eyes are glimmering with fresh tears. “Did you know it was me Mark? Did you know it was me who killed your brother?” The boy shakes his head frantically, tears free-falling down his cheeks now. There’s some muffled cries that you think sound like no, but the tape traps them and makes him incomprehensible. “Really?” Johnny asks, stepping forward until he reaches Mark and then squatting down in front of him.

“Liar.” Johnny whispers, dragging the syllables out. The point of the knife presses into the boys throat, and while the noise Mark makes is barely audible, you can feel his suffering. There’s a tense moment as Johnny increases the pressure, Mark leaning backwards as far as he can to get away, before Johnny pulls it away. Mark exhales strongly, relaxing a little bit. He’s still crying. “It doesn’t matter, though.”

Tears would probably be rolling down your cheeks if you could process what was happening. But shock has taken ahold of you, and you can only watch helplessly as Johnny turns to glance back at you. “Thanks to y/n, now you’ll never get the chance to tell anyone.”

Johnny whips back around in record speed and slices the knife right through Mark’s throat. 

A scream leaves you and you fall forward, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the line in Mark’s neck wells with blood, the poor boy convulsing in horror. A wretched gurgling noise leaves him as he chokes and frantically gasps for air, made even worse by the duct tape over his mouth. Johnny sets the knife down delicately and uses that hand to pinch his fingers over Mark’s nose, effectively shutting off his air-flow. The fight drains out of Mark’s body along with his life, and it’s just a few more seconds before he stills completely. 

You can’t think of anything to say, can just gape at Mark’s body as Johnny lets go of him and the boy hits the floor. Johnny turns to you next, picking the knife back up. 

“It’s a shame you’re always so curious, y/n.” Johnny sighs, shaking his head. “You’re my best friend, I’m going to miss you.”

There’s the faintest breeze against your cheek bone, your hair blowing to tickle the back of your neck. You try your best not to shiver when it starts blowing against your wrists. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s not a draft from an open window, but it’s Jungwoo. He’s not visible, probably because he’s focusing his energy on freeing you. If Johnny notices anything wrong, he doesn’t say anything. Your wrists aren’t free yet, but you can feel the rope loosening. If you can buy yourself some more time…

“Why are you doing this? Why did you kill Jungwoo in the first place?” Your question obviously catches Johnny off guard and he stops walking, glancing off to the side and sighing softly. He seems to have an internal debate but then he shrugs, settling down on the floor across from you. It calms you a little to have him seated instead of looming over you, and you try your best to stay absolutely still.

When Johnny speaks, there’s a hint of regret in his voice. It’s hard to tell if it’s manufactured or not. “Jungwoo and I were best friends. We always had each others backs, always told each other everything. Ride or dies.” His eyes lower to his knife and he smears the blood around the blade with his thumb. “I was the one who hit the girl. I was drunk and it was stupid, but when I called Jungwoo to help me get rid of the body, he refused. He wanted to call the police, y/n. The police.” His eyes are brimming with tears now, and he looks up at you with an urgency that tells you to believe him. You don’t of course, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to convince you of his innocence, or himself. “My own best friend wanted to turn me in, y/n. I couldn’t let him do it.”

“How did you even get into my basement?” 

“You were at a training retreat in the mountains for that job you ended up hating that weekend. I knew that your house was empty and where the spare key was, plus I knew that no one ever went into your basement.” Johnny shrugs. “His body’s in the backyard, in case you were wondering. Buried him under the dahlias.” The red dahlias, your mothers favorite plant. How many times had she gone out to water and tend to the flowers, unknowing of the poor boy who lay beneath? Your breath catches in your throat and you finally can feel tears pricking the back of your eyelids. 

“You’re sick.” The sentence is barely above a whisper, but it carries enough weight with it. Johnny’s entire demeanor changes, his face twisting into an ugly scowl.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one that was going to betray my best friend by letting him rot in jail! How fucking dare you.” The ropes fall off of your wrists and you grab onto them to prevent them from hitting the ground and alerting Johnny. All that’s left is the rope on your ankle, and then you can make your move. “Yeah? Aren’t you betraying your best friend right now? Just like you did last time?” “I should’ve used the duct tape on you.” He murmurs, tightening his hold on the knife.

There’s enough give in the ropes that you can wiggle your ankles. You just need a few more seconds. “Why didn’t you?” “Ran out.” Johnny breathes, lunging at you. You squeak and roll to the side, groaning when your legs refuse to function. Sitting on them for so long made them feel like jelly and they tingle as the blood rushes back to your limbs. “What the- you little bitch.”

Johnny attacks again and you dodge yet again, doing nothing but rolling around and avoiding him. You definitely can’t beat him in a physical fight, but you can probably beat him in other ways.

Johnny’s breath catches in his throat. “J-Jungwoo?” He stops moving, obviously trying to process how someone who is clearly dead can stand in front of him. Unfortunately, his body doesn’t quite get the memo, and he trips over Mark’s form. A sickly thud resonates through the room as he falls, followed by a deafening silence. 

When Johnny doesn’t move for a few seconds, you step closer to examine him. The first thing you notice is that there’s a little stain under his chest that’s steadily getting bigger, contrasting starkly against the wooden floor. The second thing you notice is the acrid stench of blood, too strong for the small room you’re in. Third is the tip of the blade sticking out of his back. After checking his pulse and finding nothing, you roll him over. You find the hilt of his knife sticking out of his chest and your breath catches in your throat. He must’ve landed on it when he tripped. You slump against the wall and try to catch your breath, staring at Johnny’s limp body and waiting for him to lunge at you. 

He never does. You look up to say thank you to Jungwoo, but you don’t get a chance. He looks right at his brother’s limp body and disappears, leaving you alone in the room.

You sleep as much as you can, hoping that Jungwoo will pop up in your dreams again. You cry when you sleep and you cry when you wake, until you get to the point where your eyes burn and your face swells and you can’t physically cry anymore. You cry until you’re exhausted and yet you can’t sleep, can only frustratingly toss and turn and scream silently through your raw throat, praying to a god that you don’t believe in to let you see Jungwoo, just one more time. That’s all you need. Just one more time to say goodbye.

Promises are mumbled into your pillow and chanted in your mind but there’s only so much you can do to keep them. You swear to never forget Jungwoo but the words are meaningless and do nothing to stop his face from fading. Slowly, his features become less clear in your mind, his laugh blending with countless others until you can’t differentiate them. You get him a proper grave in a cemetery, and you go from visiting his grave every day to going every few days, until weeks pass before you remember you wanted to leave flowers for him. The flowers last even less than your promises, wilting and rotting on the stone, becoming a sadly unrecognizable mess. You do your best to clean it, and you cry so hard the first time you see the mess that you almost black out, but it’s now a sight that doesn’t even phase you.

Time doesn’t stop to wait for you. It’s not long before you finish grad school and get a job offer in a city 1500 miles away, much different from this one. Your sister drives down to help you pack, easily helping you throw things that you need into a suitcase and counteracting your hoarding tendencies. Something catches your eye just as you’re leaving and you pick it up, frowning at the little resin flower. 

“What’s that?” your sister asks, leaning in over your shoulder. “Is that a dahlia?”

“I don’t know.” you furrow your eyebrows, trying to place why it seems so familiar, before shrugging. It makes a hollow sound when you toss it into the trash that seems to echo much too loud for such a tiny object.

She heaves your suitcase into your arms. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

You don’t look back.

[mishacollinsthighsss]

Warning: includes smut

Pairing: Jensen/Misha

Words: ~2,8k

Unbeta'd (and I'm sleep deprived so, sorry for any mistakes) 

He dropped the script onto the table and leaned back on the couch in his trailer, covering his face with both hands. Slowly, he took a deep breath, already planning how to escape, he didn't even like the guy that much,- at least he felt this way, according to Daneel, he was head over heels for him- but suddenly, there was a quiet knock on the door.

Jensen stared at the script in front of him, not sure what to think. His jaw was hanging open and his eyes widened more and more with every sentence he'd read. They couldn't be serious, could they? A little bit more than one Season with Misha, and now he was supposed to kiss him? 

"It's open," he said, loud enough for whoever was out there to be audible, before he grabbed his beer and took a long sip. As always, he was expecting Jared, but when the door opened and he heard no footsteps, he turned his head, just to see Misha standing there.

"Hey… uh, guess you've seen the script?"

Misha nodded to the script on the table, the page with the kissing scene still visible. Jensen groaned and leaned back again, his head dropping against the couch.

"Yeah, yeah, I've seen it."

Silence filled the trailer after that, long enough that Jensen raised his head again to look at Misha. This was the first time the other man was in his trailer, and even though he didn't like the guy,- he didn't, thank you very much- he managed a small smile and a nod to the other side of the couch.

"Come on in, you wanna drink something?"

"I don't want to interrupt you, I just wanted to tell you that if you don't want to do it, it's fine. We can talk to the crew."

Jensen stared for some seconds, tried to find out if the older man was joking, but all he could see was a genuine offering, so he shook his head before he could even think about it.

"Nah it's fine, it's just a kiss, right?"

With a nervous laughter, Jensen stood up and walked over to Misha, just to push him into the direction of the couch, while he closed the door.

"So, what do you want? I have water, orange juice, beer-"

"A beer would be nice, thanks."

With a nod, Jensen disappeared into the kitchen. As soon as he was sure Misha couldn't see him anymore, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. What the fuck was he thinking? He could've gotten out so easily, and yet, he didn't jump at the chance. Shaking his head, he opened the fridge and grabbed the beer, before he headed back to the living room, dropping down on the other end of the couch.

"So…"

"Do you wanna, you know, try it? Before, I mean, not right now. Just so you're sure you can do it."

Misha took the beer and raised an eyebrow, which made Jensen's stomach flip in a funny way, but he was sure that it was just because he hasn't had dinner yet, no other reason.

"You mean, the uh…"

"The kiss, yes."

"I don't know man, maybe? To be honest, I've never kissed another dude before."

Again, silence filled the room, and Misha didn't move a single muscle, he was just looking at Jensen, but the younger man had to look away, because all this staring made his cheeks go pink.

"I have. It's not that different from kissing a woman," Misha answered after a while, and even though Jensen was staring at the wall, he could still feel the other man's gaze on him. Slowly he turned his head, his eyes wide.

"You have?" he asked, now actually curious.

"Yes. Actually, I did it quite often already."

A small smile appeared on Misha's lips, and Jensen couldn't help but smile back.

"For a role? I mean even if it wasn't for a role, I'm cool with it, I'm just, uh… curious, I guess."

Misha's smile grew wider as he leaned back, turning his body a bit so that he could look at Jensen properly. Slowly, he took a long sip of his beer, his eyes on the younger man the whole time, before he finally answered.

"No, not for a role. You really haven't noticed yet that I don't like women only, have you?"

Jensen's face turned dark red in a second, and he had to look down to breathe, not even sure why.

"No, I- I mean, you're… you're weird, but… not- not in a bad way, I mean. Cool, but… weird. I dunno."

Misha sighed then, before a soft chuckle escaped his mouth. Jensen watched as he shook his head, and somehow he couldn't tear his gaze away.

"Yeah, I've been told," Misha mumbled, before he sat up straight again and nodded to the script.

"So, you're actually okay with that. I'd understand if you weren't, especially after what I've just told you."

"No, yeah, I'm fine with it. We could… rehearse the lines if you wanna?"

Jensen couldn't hide his grin when he saw Misha's expression change from controlled to totally shocked, followed by laughter.

"Sure, with out without-"

"With the kiss."

The younger man's mouth was faster than his brain, and he slapped himself internally. On the other hand, a little practice would be great, right? That way, he had no reason to be nervous on set, because he'd already know how it felt.

"Okay then."

Misha picked up the script and read over the lines a few times, before he handed it to Jensen. As soon as their fingers touched, Jensen's mouth went dry and he quickly lowered his head to look at the script. They were actually doing this, shit. He read his own lines a few times, some endverse bullshit,- actually, the script was quite good- and nodded after, while taking a deep breath.

"Okay, I'm ready."

Misha just nodded and stared at him, raising an eyebrow after some moments.

"Your turn," he said, a smile appearing on his lips, but disappearing again almost immediately as he slipped into Castiel's character.

"Oh, uh, sorry."

Jensen looked at the script again, took another deep breath and started to talk. His voice was a bit off, but it was enough for the rehearsal, so he kept going. They delivered their lines back and forth, both of them perfectly. Jensen was surprised about how great it felt to work with someone who didn't fuck their lines up every five minutes, but felt bad immediately, thinking like that. The closer they came to the kissing scene, the closer Misha moved, until their legs were touching. Jensen knew that he'd have to make the move, and even though he tried to stay calm, his heartbeat picked up and his hands began to shake a little.

"...Jensen."

"Huh?"

"You're supposed to kiss me now."

"Oh, right, yeah. Sorry, blacked out for a second."

They just stared at each other then, neither moving a single muscle. Jensen wanted to do it, wanted to push himself to just lean forward and do this shit, but his body felt heavy and he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"We don't have to if you don't want to."

Misha looked at him, eyebrows drawn together, and Jensen couldn't help but think that his worried expression seemed genuine. His gaze dropped to the other man's lips, just in time to see his tongue darting out to wet them. Apparently, this was all Jensen needed, because with a sudden move, he leaned forward and caught the other man's lips with his own. It was a chaste kiss, closed mouths and dry lips, but still, Jensen couldn't hold back the shiver that rushed through his whole body. 

Misha sat completely still, didn't even move his lips, waiting for Jensen to get used to it. As Jensen lifted his hand to cup the other man's cheek and started to move his lips, just a little, Misha kissed back, just as hesitant. A whimper escaped the younger man then, quiet, but still there, and he leaned even closer, while he deepened the kiss. As soon as Jensen stopped thinking, he could feel his lips burning, his skin tingling, his heart racing. He could feel every single movement the other man made, taking in his unique smell. 

Misha was the one who ended the kiss, slowly pushing Jensen back, but just a little.

"That uh, was good," Misha mumbled, but his voice didn't sound normal, no, he almost sounded like Castiel by now. As soon as Jensen opened his eyes,- he didn't close them on purpose, okay, it just happened- his gaze landed on Misha's lips once again, which were dark red by now and a little swollen.

He wasn't able to speak, wasn't even able to breathe anymore, all he could think of was the feeling of Misha's lips pressed against his. He couldn't stop staring, and even though he knew the other man was talking, could see how his lips were moving, he wasn't able to hear the words. His mind was spinning and his body was aching for more, and even though he'd never thought about Misha like that before, it was the only goddamn thing he could think about now.

"W-what?" he croaked out, but his voice was way too hoarse, his throat felt way too dry.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, warm and firm, and Jensen raised his head, just to drown in a deep, endless sea of blue. 

"I asked if you're okay," Misha said, his voice still a little hoarse, but he definitely sounded much calmer than Jensen felt.

"I'm, uh… y-yeah, I'm…"

Right in that moment, the older man licked his lips once again and Jensen's breath was caught in his throat all of a sudden. Without any further warning, he surged forward again, capturing Misha's lips once more, but this time, it was different. It wasn't chaste or innocent, no, it was heated and full of want. Misha made a surprised noise, followed by a gasp, and Jensen used the chance to trace the other man's bottom lip with his tongue, teasing it just a little.

It was Misha's time to whimper when his back hit the couch and Jensen landed right on top of him. Jensen didn't even notice at first, but when he tried to move to get more comfortable, he was held in a tight grip by Misha's legs, which made him groan quietly. He could feel something growing in his pants, but he was too far gone to care, or even to think about what that meant. All he knew was that kissing Misha was one of the hottest experiences he's had in a while, and he sure as hell wouldn't just stop, not if Misha was okay with it, too.

Jensen let his hand trail down from Misha's cheek to his neck, brushing his fingers over the soft skin there, and he couldn't hold back his grin when the other man shivered beneath him. What made his smile drop immediately though, was Misha rolling his hips just a little. When he felt that the older one was hard as well, a full on moan escaped Jensen and he pushed back with his hips, until their lengths aligned. Misha's hands found its way into his hair and tugged gently, which made Jensen pull his head back just a little. He took a deep breath, his eyes still closed, but he was more than aware of the soft rumble of Misha's voice.

"You okay?"

Jensen didn't open his eyes, but he could hear the concern in Misha's voice, which was all he needed. Before he leaned down to kiss the other man again, he nodded shortly, a smile lifting up the corners of his mouth just a little.

When their lips met again, it was even better than before. It wasn't as desperate anymore, but still just as intimate. With slow movements, Jensen explored the other man's mouth, first he was tracing his lightly chapped lips with his tongue, waiting for Misha to open up, before he pushed his tongue inside carefully. As soon as their tongues met for the first time, Jensen couldn't hold back another moan, but Misha wasn't better, because he immediately thrust his hips up. Just then, Jensen noticed that he was moving his hips steadily, thrusting against Misha like a horny teenager, but even that didn't bother him. He could feel heat coiling low in his stomach, growing bigger and bigger by the second.

"Mish, I-"

Another moan broke out of him when Misha grabbed his ass. His grip was firm and maybe even a little too hard, but in this situation, Jensen couldn't imagine anything better. His hips stuttered and he leaned against Misha's shoulder with his forehead, but the other man pushed him back.

"Wanna see you, Jensen," he rasped, and hearing his name like that, hoarse and deep, pushed Jensen over the edge and he came with a cry. His dick was shooting load after load into his pants, but he couldn't care less, because this was definitely the hardest he came in a long time. His whole body spasmed with every thrust, and he started to see stars, but he desperately tried to keep his eyes open. Misha came not long after, looking right into Jensen's eyes the whole time, while his jaw went slack and a dark, rough rumble vibrated through his chest and out of his throat. 

When the last waves of pleasure faded, Jensen couldn't hold his body up anymore and slumped down right where he was, figuring that Misha would say something if he got too heavy. They were lying there like that for a while, panting and slowly coming down, before Jensen was able to move again. With half closed eyes, he lifted his head to look at the other man, but suddenly, his eyes went wide.

"Shit, your- your wife-"

"She knows."

"She- what?"

"Vicki and I share a special relationship, we tell each other when we find someone attractive. I'm more worried about your wife."

Jensen's heartbeat picked up for a second, but when he remembered how happy Daneel sounded when she was trying to convince him to be into Misha, he figured she'd be okay with it.

"She uh- kinda knows too, I think. I uh- still have to talk to her though, we've never- I mean, not that I planned anything like that, but uh-"

"Jensen, it's fine. Talk to her."

Misha lifted his hand and cupped the younger man's cheek, who immediately was leaning into the touch, without even meaning to. His eyes fell shut once again and before he could think about it, he lowered his head and pressed another soft kiss onto Misha's lips. As soon as he moved, he could feel the slowly cooling come in his pants and made a grimace.

"I definitely need a shower. Uh… do you- do you need fresh clothes, or-"

"Don't worry about me, just make sure you're alright."

Misha gave Jensen a soft smile and brushed his thumb over his cheek once, before he pushed him back so he could get up.

"I'll leave you alone for now. I'm sorry, I didn't plan to go that far, I really just wanted to-"

"Hey, Mish, wait a minute. You weren't the one who uh- lost control. T'was on me, so… sorry for that."

Jensen felt how his cheeks heated up once more, but somehow, he felt strangely calm about the whole situation. He'd never thought he'd do something like that with another man, but for now, it didn't bother him.

"Call your wife, Jensen. I'll see you later?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. Hey, I uh- I never asked you for your number…"

Misha chuckled, but shook his head at the same time, while he was walking to the door.

"Call her. I'll see you."

Then, without another word, he left the trailer. Jensen leaned back then, staring at the wall once again, and tried to understand what just happened, but his brain didn't seem capable of working. He also couldn't get rid of the dopey smile that was practically glued to his face, because somehow he knew, this was the start of something new, something good.

He picked up his phone from the table, determined to call Daneel first before he took a shower, but all he could think about for now was that maybe, just maybe, the new guy wasn't that bad after all.

***

Tag list: @sam--ships--it @green-blue-heller @foolsdreamhigh @jmjlover @spnmrvlshrlck @melly-the-crazy-coconut @professorerudite @lulu-zodiac

If you want to get added to the tag list, please let me know, also let me know if you wanna get tagged for Destiel, Cockles, or both 💙😊

[whatthefuckisasweep]

Grif

For the character ask! Sorry this took me a while, I can't copy and paste on mobile, so I waited till I got on desktop tumblr! Thank you so much for asking about him, I could go on forever lol so this is gonna be fucking LONG. Please, anyone, feel free to ask about any other character, too. These are fun.

Why I like them: Grif is, for lack of a better word, complex. On one hand, it's like, okay he's just a funny comedy character. But on the other hand, he's like every all of my favorite archetypes of a character. He's crafty but stupid, selfish but selfless, antisocial but friendly, the straight man but the dramatic guy, he's snarky but oddly caring: the reluctant hero. It's kind of paradoxical, and I feel like not only do I relate to him, but I just really enjoy him overall. Whether it's because he's a good brother, being a complete dickbag because he doesn't know how to handle emotions, being a complete cynic on the battlefield, or being hyperactive and snappy, it's just... ah. He. Everything in his life just happens, and he has to deal with it, and yeah he'll kick and pout and probably eat everything but in the end, he's gonna choose his family and he cares deeply... even when he can't really show it.

Why I don’t: I see this a lot in myself too - the fact that he's impulsive and inherently negative when he speaks specifically. his words don't match his actions. He often doesn't hesitate when it comes to making negative comments because they are easier than saying something nice, but what his intentions are are completely different. in other words, he's a jerk, lol. Especially in season 15. I know people felt bad for him because he was partially right and went insane on Iris, but he lowkey deserved it. He said he hated his friends, and even his closest friend. He didn't want to admit that he was a good person just because he didn't want to help. yeah, it was valid, but he needs to learn how to make a case without fucking everyone emotionally and being so clammed up. >:/ sometimes it feels like he regresses in character, as much as he's matured. i guess that's realistic and just the writers making comedy, but also the way he handles Doc specifically irks me. so mean spirited for no reason, as funny as it is.

Favorite episode (scene if movie): OH MY GOD, okay, literally, every single episode with Grif starring as a main is fucking gold. I think for this I'm going to say, uh, This One Goes to Eleven. Even though it's not Grif-centric, it's the episode that's my favorite overall because it introduced me to RvB and made me like Grif right away, simply because he was attacked so much and I felt so bad for him. Another great one that sticks out right now in my sleep deprived state, is Grif does a Rescue. Augh. And the episode where Grif and Simmons get stuck underground in the caves.

Favorite season/movie: Season 8 (shotgun!!!, hyperactive ai grif), Season 11 (hanging in the canyon with simmons), Season 4 (the tank and blue simmons w/ grif), Season 5/6 (kai and rat's nest), Season 12/13 (the recruits, grif building the snowmen), Season 14 (backstory with simmons, Room Zero), Season 15 (you know why)

Favorite line: OK, don't make me choose. There are SO many that are good!!! I think one of my most favorite things that Grif says is "yoink!" It's so adorable! I also really enjoy "BLUEEE TEAAAAM SUCKKKKKS" with his epsilon double, the whole "invisible nap" scene, "what are we, on a date?"/"I can tell you what we weren't doing", "no one made me, I made me", "WERE GONNA FUCKING DIE" when charging at the meta, "that's a figure of speech?" [when carolina says im so hungry i could eat a horse is a figure of speech], "dexta grif he who shall not be messed with!"... I'm sure I'm missing a lot, he has SO many snarky funny lines, but these are some off the top of my head.

Favorite outfit: LOL THIS IS SUCH A FUNNY QUESTION BECAUSE THIS IS RVB. HAHAHA. Uh. Season 6 probably. I just like Halo 3 Graphics. Also s14 Room Zero because THEY DREW HIM FAT CANONICALLY. THANK YOU.

OTP: I'm with the majority of people in the fandom who like Grimmons! I think Grimmons is the only ship that I really vocally ship with my whole heart besides OC ships. I just very much enjoy their dynamic -- it's very angsty, dialogue full, intimate yet so unspoken. It's just a really good pair to write about and see the development of through canon. And, not to mention... season 15... hrk...

Brotp: I really REALLY want grif/tucker, grif/church, grif/locus BROTP. SO SO SO BAD. I've always seen grif and tucker as bros, grif and church are HILARIOUS together and we were ROBBED of more time together, and grif and locus are fucking adorable.

Head Canon: I have a lot of headcanons about Grif, but one of my favorite ones is that he has half-lidded eyes, like he's always sleepy. I also headcanon him as bisexual, though I think that is a popular headcanon!

Unpopular opinion: I dunno if I have super unpopular opinions about Grif... maybe that I think that his labryinth wasn't as bad as it seems at first? A lot of people seemed to think that though, yknow. Like if you look deeply into it, it's actually kinda fucked. But I feel like we should have gotten the Hawaii scene anyways. Hm. I also didn't like how they altered the canon so that Grif wasn't drafted. I think it does add something to his char that he chose to go, but I always really liked the aspect that Grif didn't control that, and yet he still did this on purpose. He was good on purpose.

A wish: A badass Grif carchase scene for the love of FUCK. We need to have him drive more stuff !!!!!!!!

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: Have him betray the reds -- i think every other red has betrayed the team at some point. please god for the love of god dont do this to grif. it really adds and says something about his character that he doesn't ever betray his team.

5 words to best describe them: (eye roll) eh. fuck it.

My nickname for them: this isn't really my nickname, since I mostly just call him grif -- but 'gif'. It's cute, and my QPP came up with it! I also really like dex. augh

[hiptoff]

The beach case

Find chapter 7 in AO3.

Chapter 7

She was tremendously small, and, every time our arms accidentally collided while we washed and dried the dishes after eating, I had the feeling that I would push her against some wall, yet she only looked up and gave me the brightest of the smiles.

“Your cell is ringing.”

“Uh?”

“Your phone! Can't you hear it?!”

No, I hadn't heard it. My whole brain was being belonging to that smile for a while.

“Ah! I’m coming!”

I quickly dried my hands and ran to pick up my cell phone without even looking who was calling.

“Hello?”

“Kristoff! You've been slow! Did I catch you at a bad time?”

I didn't like a bit what the mischievous tone of her voice seemed to imply.

“Sam! No, I was just washing the dishes.”

Anna continued drying as if she hadn't heard anything, but it didn't go unnoticed how she slowed down as put all her senses into learning about the ongoing conversation. Inevitably, a silly grin crossed my face.

“What’s up? Is it a work issue?”

“Kinda. I'd like to have a little chat with you this afternoon. It's okay with you at four in my office?”

“I guess I can make an opening, yeah. Why? It is something serious?”

“I'll only say one thing: I've spoken with Cecilia.”

“What?! Why?!”

“You know she adores me as much as I adore her.”

“Hey, Sam…”

“Nope. I have no time right now. We'll talk later. Ciaooooo.”

‘Cecilia, I’m gonna kill you.’

“Everything okay?” Anna asked turning to me when she heard me drop the phone on the table with perhaps a little less care than recommended.

“I dunno. Sam’s talked to Cecilia and wants to talk to me this afternoon.”

Anna's face paled slightly.

“But… did you get to talk to her about whether all this is…?”

“Not yet.”

“I see…”

“Sorry. I don't know if I haven’t put you in trouble”.

“No! Nor in the least. If I have problems I will have looked for them myself. If I hadn't accepted, you wouldn't be here.”

“I'll try to make sure none of this affects you, okay?”

“Hey, whatever the consequences are, they'll be up to both of us.”

No matter how noble her words were, I wasn’t willing to risk her job for lodging. I preferred to sleep on the beach. But... if it was just a lodging matter… why did the idea of leaving make me feel a knot in my stomach? Anyway, there was no use thinking about it anymore. In the afternoon, I would discover the truth.

Somewhat uneasy about what was to come, I hurried to get ready for the meeting and arrived a little early. A time that, of course, I had to spend waiting at her door because Samantha is never free.

“Hey, boss. You don't look well,” Olaf said friendly clapping on my back with a smile that made me tense even more. “Were you sleep-deprived last night?”

‘I knew it. Maybe his lips are sealed, but, in the meantime, he is going to make sure to torture us as much as he can.’

“Do not worry, Olaf. I had an excellent night.”

Maybe I didn't choose the best words.

“I bet you did.”

A brief laugh later, Olaf continued on his way and Samantha's door opened to let out a woman who smiled politely at me and gave way.

“Hey, Sam. What is this all about?”

“Easy, blondie. Take a seat.”

I took a deep breath and sat down as I was told.

“I'm sorry. I didn't intend to speak to you like that.”

“So… are you in love?”

“What?”

“The redhead. Anna, right? Your sister has seen it quite clearly; she says that you have a huge crush on her; that you are her puppy.”

“Puppy?”

“Yeah, I don't know what correspondence to a story she wrote for the magazine.”

“Oh… so that was it.”

“So, you admit it?”

“I'm not in love, okay? She just… seems to me a very capable and intelligent woman, funny, attentive, sweet, weird to an unimaginable point, cheerful, optimistic… And gorgeous.”

“Wow… It is more serious than I thought.”

“It is not serious. It is nothing. There is nothing between us. She is only allowing me to live in her apartment while I find something else.”

“Are you looking for something else?”

“Uh… well… I've been really busy lately, you know.”

“Sure…”

So that's how things were, huh?

“Well,” she said taking a sip of the coffee that always kept her ongoing the whole day. “I suppose it is my duty to inform you that company policy does not prohibit extra-work relationships between colleagues of the same rank, buuuut…”

“But I am her superior.”

“Exactly. A relationship between superior and subordinate could lead to special treatment that cannot be consented to.”

“But I wouldn’t…!”

“I know. I know you. You are a great professional and you wouldn't get carried away that way. However, the rules are what they are.”

“Got it.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Obviously, leave her house and get away from her. I'm not willing to make her lose her job: she loves it.”

“That's just what I wanted to hear.”

“Oh, yeah? Good for you.”

“Knowing that… I have no choice but to tell you that I really enjoyed talking with your little sister about the hot bricklayer that you have as a roommate. Too bad he's not a sweet young lady instead, don't you think?”

“Sam?”

“I can turn a blind eye, but be very careful with Yelena. She wouldn't let a beautiful love story jeopardize her magazine.”

“Sam, I…”

“And, now, get out of here! Don't you see I'm busy?”

“You are the best friend ever.”

I gave Samantha a quick hug and turned to the door, ready to leave her with her busy schedule.

“You know she likes you, don't you?”

“At least, I think she doesn't dislike me.”

“I knew it… You’ve always been sooo slow… Cecilia told me the face she had when she saw her and how she left hurt. You didn't even notice, did you? Little angel...”

“She… You think so?”

“Get out of my sight at once, moron!”

I dodged the paper ball that Sam threw straight at my face and left her office with a strange feeling of vulnerability and determination mixed within me.

By the time I got home that afternoon, Anna was on the couch in a huge hoodie, eating popcorn, and watching Wall-E. Hearing me come in, she paused the movie, looked at me with an uncertain smile, and patted the sofa inviting me to sit next to her. I obeyed and gave her a resigned smile.

“So I really am your pet, aren't I?”

“What? What was that?”

“It was nothing. I've already talked to Sam.”

“And?”

“As you well supposed, any extra-work relationship is prohibited between employees of different ranks.”

The popcorn that was waiting in her hand to be eaten, fell on the couch accompanied by a tear.

“Anna?”

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry! Don't worry about me! It's just that I got sensitive with the movie, you know?”

I nodded not wanting to uncover her poor lie.

“And… what do you plan to do, then?” she asked fixing those huge beautiful blue eyes into mine.

“Well…”

I stared into that look without quite believing what I was about to say.

“If…, and only if, you agree with that… I think the time has come for me to break some rule.”

[beelspillowpet]

The only thing I can imagine i have done was talk about Aloïde and luke growing up together but that was long after the conversation of Aloïde and Luke even existed, and even still we never elaborated or went further than “maybe he gets his wings and he finally gets to go flying WITH HER instead of being carried like a toddler” which I thought was cute and funny.

So I’m not a creep?

The CEO of Racism joke is because of tired typing coming out to accidentally look... well.... you know. But it’s not genuine hatred. It’s typos made while sleep deprived that I have made little jabs at because I am among friends. (AND CONSTANT STRANGERS MIND YOU SO THIS ISNT A MATTER OF “oh he does this because hes in a private space with friends so we can’t trust him” NO)

So I’m not r*cist.

I’m literally trans and have gotten so understandably aggravated by the slightest mention of transphobia and I adore and support trans people. I’m still new to my own identity and I don’t plan to be perfect with it. I don’t plan to claim I am. I am, despite what everyone would think, a very clumsy person. But I do my research where it counts. I face my struggles at home, and I’m sure to apologize if I offend someone.

But I don’t apologize to ghosts. I can’t say sorry to you if I didn’t know I upset you. And you going around with secrets, rubbing your hands together thinking you got the next juicy topic and this is going to turns o many heads is very childish and goofy. Why not talk to me? Or Mint? Or anyone else in the server? If you can’t talk publicly, DMing us is recommended. I wouldn’t get snappy with someone who is only trying to tell me I’ve upset them. Sure I’ve been heated in the vent channel but that’s just how I blow off steam. After literally... anything that happens. No one asked or cares, but I have anger issues. And this is how I cope lol.

So unless you’re willing to talk, then I just... dunno what to say? Or apologize for. 🤷🏾

[deepdisireslonging]

Just Save One

A nightmare wakes up the Reader. Dean helps them talk through what’s on their mind. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (no gender specified)

Warnings/Promises: nightmare, morning fluff, characters actually talking about things!, tw depression-like vibes, more fluff, food mention

Word Count: 930

Note: While I frequently do and don’t recommend writing while sleep deprived, sometimes that’s the best way to kick the junk out of your head. The only thing that belongs in your mind is you. Not the worries, not the fear. You. Your light, your hope, your plans for the future, no matter how short or long term they may be. Had to get this out. My world is about to change and I’m a little stressed. Hopefully this might help you too. Enjoy.

With that, you walked into the rain and never looked back. 

That was the last time anyone saw you.

***

At least, anyone from your family. 

Dean tightened his arm around your waist as you startled awake. “ ‘S okay,’ he mumbled. “Safe. Home. Bunker.”

While your heart raced in your chest, you worked on slowing your breathing. It didn’t matter how long you hunted with the Winchesters, or how many horrors you saw. The first monster you met was the most memorable. Life changing. Funny thing about memories. They forget the things you want and need to remember, and remember the things you’d rather forget. 

Comfort eased back into your spine as Dean rubbed his thumb up and down on your stomach. “Sleep?”

“Probably not.”

He rolled on his back, cracking one eye to look at the clock on his nightstand. “Is there ever going to be a morning where you don’t wake up ten minutes before Sam busts in here with a case?”

A smile cracked across your face. “Would you rather he burst in here while you’re still asleep?” You turned to face him. “Didn’t you fall off the bed the last time he did that?” You bit your lip to keep from grinning at his glare. The turmoil still twisting in your stomach made you gasp. You leaned into Dean’s hand as he smoothed it across your cheek. 

“Which one?”

“The first one. It’s always the first one.” Biting your lip again, you curled deeper into his chest. Sleep deprived and feeling your pain, his chest didn’t inflate as much as it usually did. But the slow rise and fall of it, combined with the tiny puffs of Dean’s breath against your hair, slowly pushed the nightmare out of your mind. 

“You know you did everything you could.” His eyes were bright. Awake and clear when you looked at him. “None of it is your fault.”

“I know. It’s just- it’s- Do you ever lose that sense that this is all worth it? The loss, the sacrifice. I feel like every case we take, every monster we take out, it’s just me trying to make up for the times when I failed. Which has been plenty.”

Silence stretched between you. 

Dean exhaled deeply. “Yes.”

You dipped your head, hopping to hide the icy tear under your eyelid. He slid in close enough to almost touch your noses together. 

“Yeah, I lose hope every once in a while. But that’s why we gotta keep going. This life… we didn’t choose it. And it’s hard. Sometimes it feels like there are more losses than wins. But then… we save someone. They get to live their life. Maybe a little bit wiser of what’s out there in the dark, but life goes on. And each life we save is more than one. Because then they save people. Maybe not from monsters, but from whatever else Chuck throws at them. Bad days and nine to five jobs, and flat tires. We keep alive people who can smile and make each other laugh, and keep a spare in their trunk.” He took your hand, giving it a squeeze. 

Your throat hurt. “What if that’s- if that’s not enough? What if I don’t feel enough?” Part of you was scared that you’d break Dean’s fingers, squeezing back so hard. But he never made a peep of pain. 

“You know that’s okay, right?” Nosing you to look at him, he added, “it’s okay to be scared. I’m telling you: you are enough. It’s been a tough several months. But we’re gonna make it. I promise.”

He rested his forehead on yours, letting you cry in soft gasps and hiccups. His strong grip and even breathing eventually brought you back down from the terrified high you’d woken up with. When you’d recovered, he kissed the tip of your nose. Then he glanced at the door with a glare. 

“Sam should have interrupted our moment by now.”

Like magic, a slip of paper slid under the door. 

Chuckling, Dean wiped a stray from your tear and retrieved it. “Sick. Find your own case,” he read. He slipped back under the covers with you. “I dunno. I feel like I need a few days to recharge. Unless you want to find a case.” His green eyes glowed with whatever energy you needed. “Wouldn’t take much.”

Silently you shook your head. 

He nodded. “Probably right. Hey, how about this: save Sam. He’ll drink himself into a spinach smoothie coma if we leave.”

That made you giggle. “Sounds good. Someone’s gotta keep him stocked on organic fruits. Can’t have him contaminating the farmer’s market.”

Dean scrunched up his nose. “Fine. You’re on fruit duty. I’ll do laundry… and keep us stocked with bacon.”

“Hmm, bacon and laundry.” You kissed him deeply. “You are a catch.”

He kissed back. Then murmured against your lips, “think Sam will heal faster if we have wild, loud sex?”

You slapped his shoulder and laughed. “Get dressed, laundry boy. We’ve got a sick patient to save.”

***

[[We’ve all got a little “want to save the world” in us. If you can save just one person in your lifetime, it’s okay if the one person is you. Take care of yourselves. If Supernatural has taught us anything, it’s that the Apocalypse doesn’t last forever. No matter how many of them hit. Find a small moment to thrive in the chaos. Start a new Pinterest board. Dethrone the government. Read that book that’s been sitting on your shelf for an eternity. Do whatever will save you. 

We can do this.]]

***

Masterlist 

Forever Tags: @blondekel77​ @brianaraydean​ @chwehansol98​ @fireflyfunhousetrash​ @laochbaineann​ @ramblingsofabourbondrinker​ @savmontreal​ @shieldgirl18 @tinyelfperson​ @writtingrose​ @xladyxfatex​ @gold--gucciempress​  

Supernatural Tags: @emoryhemsworth​ @quixoticcat​ @smandrews3​ @supernatural-jackles​ @tamtamlov​ @vvinch3st3r​

Dean Winchester Tags: @19mmallory​ @akshi8278​ @ashmonet​ @bits-n-bowz​ @bringmesomepie56​ @castielsbecky​ @cookie-dough-lova​ @dancingalone21​ @gabbyrogers094​ @idontknow-canyou​ @its--killing--me @juanitadiann​ @kaemarie23​ @kittenofdoomage​ @lauriz67​ @millie67​ @mrspeacem1nusone​ @mylostsoul28​ @peaceloveandplumbots​ @releitable​ @sassy-losechester​ @sissysalvatore​ @theriumking​ @uzum4k1-uch1h4​ @vutdidyousay​ @windeango67​

[hooved]

GODDD sorry i’m dr*nk but i’m just reminiscing about when me and my friends used to roadtrip to fanime every year and every single time we’d meet up at little tokyo and one of our friends would pick us up in their big van and we’d immediately blast some hardstyle to get us pumped for the trip and like halfway through when we got to this mountain with a really winding road we’d put on some eurobeat because it felt like an initial D stage and. i dunno i can’t think rn but god it was so great. literally just the trip there was half the fun of the whole experience. i miss conventions SO much i’m just remembering one year fuckin. forever ago when weed was still illegal here. i had a bunch in my bag and me and my friends were just chillin on the 2nd floor of the uh. that one mall or whatever in dtla little tokyo just sniffing the inside of my bag lmao. i brought it to my friend’s lingerie party and GOD it was so fucking cold that night i had to walk like 2 miles to the hotel my friend was staying at in nothing but lingerie and my then-partner’s coat it was AWFUL but i got the satisfaction of supplying my friends with weed so like. it was worth it at the time lmao there was one year where we had like. i don’t remember, 12-14 ppl i think ?? crammed into a van that was meant for 8 ppl at most (AND there was a separate car for the rest of our group) and of course it was uncomfortable but god it was so fun. i think i still have videos from that trip (and the one mentioned above). we would stop at a sonic like halfway through for some hotdogs and whatever and honestly that was one of my favorite parts of the trip. just stopping at restaurants / gas stops / etc. especially when we’re sleep deprived and laughing at shit that isn’t even funny. there was one year where we managed to take a friend’s dad’s shuttle with a fucking tv in it (that we played snes f-zero on during the trip !!) and at one point we stopped in the middle of fucking nowhere and one of my friends was pretending to flirt with the truckers from afar. sorry i can like barely comprehend what i’m typing rn so this is mostly just stream of consciousness or whatever but !!! GOD I MISS CONVENTIONS. AND ROADTRIPS there was this guy who always brought his hookah set and set it up in the like, outside balcony area ?? at the san jose convention center and i swear this dude was a fucking saint. there were times where i’d be exhausted walking around all day and i’d find this dude and just sit down and smoke with him and literally cry because it was the first time all weekend that i felt truly relaxed. he had a custom hose with a dragon on it that he let me smoke from and i felt so honored lmao. like yeah we’re just smoking flavored tobacco but thanks dude for letting me use your dragon hose lmao. okay i’m just rambling at this point but. really these are important moments to me. like this dude got me bringing my own hookah set to cons (when i still had one ? i dunno where it is now) and being the reason ppl felt relaxed when they were having a stressful day UH anyway. i miss conventions. i have like a million stories i can tell since i’ve been going to cons for like. god. 15 years or something ??? but fanime was truly something special

[heckyeahitsnick]

Her Soul is Like Magnolia

Written By: @heckyeahitsnick​

Pairing: Harry Styles/OC

Word Count: 20,979

Warnings: Some explicit/foul language

Summary: 

Magnolia “Mags” Rahman believes in hard science, has a tendency to stick her foot in her mouth, and is a lover of all things horror and Halloween. Harry Styles likes to toe the line between fact and fiction, strangers and friends, and normal and paranormal.  

Harry Styles has a ghost problem.

Mags has a Harry Styles problem.

An au where seeing is believing and everyone is trying their best to treat each other with kindness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 1: October 24th, a week from Halloween

“You’re stepping on my foot.”

Mags broke herself out of her stupor, visibly shaking her head. She stared at the person the voice belonged to, trying to orient herself and gather her bearings, and saw that it was her coworker, Liam. “Oh,” she murmured apologetically, “Sorry.” She was so exhausted at work, counting down the minutes until her shift was over at the campus bookstore so she could go home and curl up with Pumpkin, the adorable black cat she adopted only a month ago when it was love at first sight. Grad school was a vicious beast that she had yet learned how to slay. She probably hadn’t slept in the last 48 hours, busy with school, work, and occasionally binging B-rated horror movies on Netflix with Pumpkin. In her drowsy state, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions, like accidentally charging the last customer the wrong price, shelfing the Twilight series under the Biography section, and stepping on her coworker’s foot. She was just so tired.

“Okay? Thanks for apologizing? But you literally haven’t moved. You’re still stepping on my foot!” He pointed at her white sneakers atop his (knock-off) Timberlands.

She gave him a playful glare and replied, “You’re so high-maintenance,” before shifting away from him.

“Okay, well, I just came to tell you I’m headed home a little early,” he paused to eye her with vague concern, “Are you sure you’re okay to close up?”

She snorted, “Does my answer even matter? It’s not like you’re gonna offer to close up for me.”

He grinned good-naturedly, “Yeah you’re right. Makes me feel like less of a dick though.” Putting on his coat and gathering his backpack, he quickly headed for the door as if the devil was chasing him, ignoring the peace sign Mags threw at his retreating figure. Probably eager to go home and chug some beer, or like start a fire, or whatever it was that boys like to do. Mags wouldn’t know. She couldn’t possibly even attempt to understand the male psyche.

Like for example, Mags looked at the only customer in the bookstore, frantically pacing through the aisles and muttering incomprehensibly to himself. His curly hair was tussled and frayed, not in the intentional bedhead way that some people, like her ex-boyfriend, styled it in an attempt to look good but actually coming off as a douche, but in a way that indicated he’s probably been constantly running his hand through it. Probably exam stress, she mused, considering the boy’s current state. He was tall too, she observed, but that was overshadowed by his hunched shoulders, head facing down, and of course the frantic pacing.

“Dude. Are you okay?” Mags called out in a voice slightly louder than usual.

No answer, as if he didn’t even hear her. She realized she should probably be a bit more cautious. The customer honestly was acting very strange. He could probably be planning to rob the bookstore. She was the only employee left, her slight build and big brown eyes (which her friends called doe-eyed but Mags herself considered to look more like a fish) weren’t enough to intimidate anyone. She laughed softly to herself. Like anyone would rob this bookstore. College students never paid with cash and Mags probably had negative three dollars to her name and an even lower will to live. If someone held her at gunpoint asking her to hand over her wallet, she’d probably wouldn’t be able to stop herself from bursting into laughter. Besides, he looked like a college student himself. An English major, she guessed, considering his pretentious wool coat and heeled boots. She did a double take. Glittery, heeled boots apparently. She would know, she’s dated her fair share of them.

You’re being so foolish, Maggie-Girl, she scolded herself with the affectionate nickname she gave herself and that no one (read: especially Niall, her roommate’s, Marisol’s, boyfriend) was ever allowed to address her as.

The draft Liam let in earlier caused her to shudder. Wrapping her yellow cardigan tightly across her chest, she longingly gazed out the window. The weather was the perfect crispy fall weather, with orange leaves littering the sidewalks and she sighed, wistfully thinking about the brisk air sure to greet her as she biked home. If only the boy would leave, she could be on her way!

She glanced at her watch and decided, screw her self-preservation. She stepped out from behind the check-out counter and headed towards the boy. He barely noticed her, continuing to drag his fingers frantically through the spines of the books on the shelf. Mags just now realized they were standing under the horror section of the store. Weird.

“Hey, um, dude. Are you okay?” She asked with a voice that she hoped sounded professional and confident but probably came across as a mix of “wow-I-don’t-get-paid-enough for this” and “maybe I don’t wanna die?”

Her presence seems to finally break him out of whatever trance he was in. He looked up at her, taking Mags aback. He’s kind of cute, she thought, if she ignored the bluish-purple bags under his green eyes and his pink lips twisted into a frown. Potentially a robber, possibly a murderer who likes to creep out female employees in bookstore by having a near breakdown in the horror section, sure, but at least he was nice to look at.

“What?”

Mags gave him an ironic smile in return. “Ah, you speak! Thank god. I was beginning to think your only talents were to burn a hole through the carpet.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “What?” he repeated in frustration.

Maybe I gave him more credit than he deserved she thought to herself. Out loud, she said, “Look. Technically, we’re closing in 5 minutes. You looked like you needed help. What’re you looking for? Maybe then we can both get out of here.”

His eyes darted nervously to the side. “A book,” is his brilliant reply.

“Yeah? I figured?” She said, stretching out her word because at this point, who cared if the boy could tell she thought he was ridiculous. This was definitely a strange scenario and she wondered if her own sleep-deprivation caused her to dream up this handsome boy with vague answers and possibly three functioning braincells. She briefly had a thought that this was like a reverse You situation, where he was the Joe to her Beck, but she quickly stopped her overactive imagination “Any book in particular?”

“Yeah, um,” the boy quickly straightened up and looked her in the eyes, as if he finally came to the realization that he was coming off a little odd, “I’m looking for a horror book. Obviously. But like, something non-fiction? Like about, y’know. Ghosts.“

“Ghosts?” She cautiously prodded, “but non-fiction? Like…paranormal accounts?”

“Yes! Like, I dunno, spooky shit. Stuff, sorry. Paranormal stuff about like haunted houses,” His eyes brightened, and his word tumbled out faster with a tinge of hope. “Hey! You wouldn’t happen to have a How-To book about how to cleanse a house that’s haunted?”

Mags tried. She really did try. Not the fake trying like when she tries to make it to her 8 am class every Tuesday morning and ‘accidentally’ snoozes her alarm. Not even the fake trying she does when Marisol makes her do sit-ups at the gym for their weekly (read: monthly) workout and she taps out after 5. But even trying her hardest meant she could not stop the laughter that escaped her mouth.

“Haha, I’m sorry, what?” She laughed, her face in disbelief and amusement, clutching her stomach, “You want what? What is this? Did you end up watching too many episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved ‘cuz honestly, I’m not sure you got the right bone structure to be Shane. You’re funny though, I’ll give you that!”

The laughter and words began to trail off because the boy, his face completely changed. The hopeful, pleading gleam that was in his eyes suddenly hardened in anger. Mags quickly tried to reign herself in, registering that he was not amused, and she’d accidentally offended him.

“I –“ She began, ready to start apologizing because she realized she completely read the room wrong.  “Forget it!” He cut her off, quickly stuffing the book he had in his hands back into the bookshelf.

“Whatever.” He peered at her nametag disdainfully, “Don’t offer to help if you don’t intend to, Magnolia,” spewing her name out like it was poison in his mouth.

“Wait! I’m sor – “

“Forget it. Sorry I asked!” He exclaimed, abruptly walking past her, his shoulders jostling hers and she whipped around to try and apologize once more.

But he left just as quickly as Liam did. Like the devil was chasing him.

Mags turned around and pulled out the book he had in his hands (and totally shelfed in the wrong place), trailing her fingers across the blue leather bound and golden imprinted letters. “Exorcism: Encounters with the Paranormal and Occult,” she muttered to herself, and then looked up at the door that the boy had exited from. “Nonfiction.”

She slumped against the bookshelf, mentally kicking herself. Why don’t you ever think before you speak?! She berated herself morosely. Had she taken a second to assess the situation, she would’ve registered his worried eyes and another emotion that she couldn’t quite place. Could it have been…fear? She eyed the book in her hand. What could that boy possibly be afraid of?

Her phone dinged with a text message. She pulled it out of her pocket and immediately groaned reading the message from Marisol.

Pumpkin just shat (shitted? shatted?) on the living room carpet J  Can’t wait ‘till ur home.

If Mags was an English major, she’d probably see an irony in this. Or like a metaphor, because she shat all over that boy’s concerns and like the shit was representative of like…. being a dick? But she wasn’t an English major. Obviously.

The only thing her soon-to-be-chemist brain could come up with was: well, fuck, isn’t karma a bitch.

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 3: October 26th - 5 days until Halloween

“Be honest with me. Am I gonna die?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Niall!” Mags exclaimed, shifting her backpack onto her other shoulder, “For the last time! I. Don’t. Know.”

“But look closely!” He pestered, shoving his arm into her face, whining. “Tell me this rash doesn’t look bad. It’s red! And like, rashy! And it itches, Mags, it itches so bad! I think it’s infected!”

She backed away from him and shoved the offending arm away, quickly muttering an apology to the guy in a suit and tie behind her, before facing Niall again with widened eyes (well, wider than usually because Fish Eyes, remember?). “Seriously, Niall, I really can’t deal with you before I’ve had my morning tea.”

“But I – “

She cut him off. “And rashes can’t be infected! Now can we puh-lease talk about something else? Anything else. I’ll literally discuss your sex life with Marisol right now if it means we can stop talking about your nasty-ass rash!” This time, she ignored the glare from the man in the business suit; she can’t be blamed for his eavesdropping.

While Niall, in typical Niall fashion (taking everything literally), began to recount a tale about his midnight rendezvous with Marisol, Mags let her mind wander. She impatiently tapped her foot against the floor, sparing another glance at her watch, while also giving her own mental nod of approval at the store’s festive decorations (fake spider webs and caution tapes that adorned the doors and counter). For a chain that had a slew of ridiculous redundant names for their drinks (she will always bemoan the fact that people don’t realize that a chai tea is literally translated to tea tea), they sure knew how to get into the Halloween spirit. The line at Starbucks was long she noted, and with four people ahead of them, she and Niall would be late for their lecture if things didn’t speed up. Mags just knew she should’ve made her own cup of chai this morning, but it never tasted the same as when her mom made it, and all it would do is make her more homesick.

Niall briefly interrupted her train of thought with a quick interjection, “Yo, Maggie are you listening to me,” to which she responded with a quick lie, “Yes!” followed by a “And don’t call me that!” with a soft jab to his ribs.

The gears in her mind shifted, wandering to the boy from the bookstore last night. She couldn’t stop thinking about him last night on her bike ride home, during her stern lecture with Pumpkin about the importance of using the litter box, all the way until she finally went to bed. What was he so scared of? She pondered while also still scolding herself for handling the situation absolutely in the worst way. Though she didn’t mean to, she doesn’t ever intend to come across as so rude and aggressive. She just had a knack for blurting out the wrong thing that made it hard for people to see that she actually had a heart of gold.

Well, maybe not gold, she thought. That was giving herself too much credit. To be sure, she interrupted Niall’s ramblings with a quick interjection, “Hey quick question. Would you say I have a heart of gold or like…a heart of bronze?”

He was used to her antics; his blue eyes didn’t even hesitate before meeting hers. “Are we using an Olympic scale? Like gold would be first place and like the kindest person ever?” Acknowledging her nod, he held his fingers to his chin, making the universal thinking face as he mulled over her question.

She barely heard his answer (“Maybe a happy medium, like a silver heart? You suck at first impressions but once ya get to know ya, you’re super sweet,” the blonde mused in the background) because something, or more like someone, caught her eye. She watched him walk past her, exiting the Starbucks. Her eyes locked in on a pair of glittery boots and trailed up a pair of black jeans, a burgundy hoodie, and finally, green eyes that looked even more sleep-deprived than last night if that was possible, until she stopped at the black beanie that did little to contain the escaping brown curls.

It was the boy! The boy from last night!

“It’s him!” She shouted to Niall, dragging him by the arm so she could catch the boy before he left, ignoring Niall’s cries (“Wait, we were next in line!”)

“Hey!” Mags shouted, ignoring the grimace of the man in the suit, as she chased after the boy with a disgruntled Niall slowly trailing behind. She followed the boy outside, desperate to get his attention. “Ghost boy!” she shouted, somewhat hysterically, “Wait!”

Finally, he turned around, just registering that the crazy girl running on the sidewalk was trying to get his attention. His eyes widened in surprised and then narrowed with recognition, as he frowned.

“I - What did you just call me?” He said, his voice huskier than Mags recalled.

“Um, I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name last night. I needed to get your attention! I needed to apologize.” Her eyes took in his appearance. He looked even more haggard than yesterday. His face seemed sunken in and his skin dull. He was still really handsome, if her heartrate was any indicator, but he looked worse for wear.

“Look,” she continued, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to like, laugh at you or anything. Let me make it up to you! I can probably help you find the book you’re looking for! My conscious is like, really annoying, and I couldn’t sleep last night ‘cuz I felt so bad and I looked up a shit ton of books about hauntings. Nonfiction ones! For whatever mysterious reason you need them for.”

His brows furrowed and his frown deepened, “What?” He shook his head from side to side, as if to shake away his confusion, “Look s’all good. It’s fine. I’ll figure it out on my own,” He turned as if to walk away before adding as an afterthought, “You curse a lot, y’know?”

Before she could even respond, she was interrupted again (which was probably a good thing because her knee-jerk response was to say “No shit sherlock”) by Niall coming to a stop beside her.

“Mags, what the actual fuck? We were next in line!” He bent over slightly, resting his hands against his knees as he paused to catch his breath from the strenuous five steps he took from the Starbucks door to where she and the boy were standing. He looked up and nodded, “What’s up, Harry?”

“Hey Niall,” the boy, Harry, said as he eyed the pair of them cautiously, like he didn’t want anyone to think he could be associated with them. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Wait, Harry!” Magnolia cried out, making immediate use of his name, “Seriously, tell me what’s wrong! I can help!” But her cries fell to deaf ears as she watched Harry walk off, his shoulders in his seemingly perpetual slump, one hand jammed into his pocket and the other holding his coffee cup as he crossed the street.

“So,” Niall began, “Couple of things to unpack here. We don’t have coffee, I’m a little more out of shape that I thought I was, and we’re definitely late for class so I suggest we should just skip it and grab some food.” He finally straightened up and looked at Mags, as if was an afterthought, “Wait. How d’you know Harry? Did you sleep with him?”

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 4: October 27th, 4 days until Halloween

On days like this, Mags truly does take a second to appreciate the finer things in life. The fall foliage that lined the paved pebble pathways on the university’s campus only contributed to the magical spell of October. As maple leaves fluttered downwind and the cool wind blew against her skin, she embraced the enchanting atmosphere of the autumnal weather, taking in the beauty as college students hurried past her, a colorful, warm blend of red scarves, brown coats, olive sweaters, and all. The breeze that blew through her dark hair didn’t even bother her, when usually she’d be grumpy considering how long it takes her to tame the thick, wavy locks into an acceptable amount of frizz. Despite having an o-chem midterm waiting for her, she slowed her pace to truly enjoy the bliss she was in. Mags paused on the cobblestone to close her eyes and breathe in the cold air, a small smile slowly forming on her face. Nothing could ruin the feeling of contentment that she was feeling right now and –

“What’re you doin’?”

A deep baritone disrupted her. She stands corrected. Maybe she could be bothered. She took a longer second to herself, keeping her eyes closed and steadying her breathing before planning to huffily face whomever (whoever? Whomstever? Times like this really made Mags rejoice at the fact she wasn’t an English major) decided to ruin her moment of peace.

The same voice let out a chuckle. “Hey, are you planning to open your eyes anytime soon?”

It took her a second, but Mags recognized that voice. Ghost Boy! Harry! She whipped around towards the voice, her hair following along and sharply striking her face and shoulders as she settled her brown eyes on Harry. She was so happy to see him, even if he did ruin the coming-of-age, dramatic introspective Bollywood moment she was having to herself. Magnolia gazed at him, taking the surprisingly peaceful silence between them to truly assess him. His green eyes peered back at her, glistening from the cold breeze, pronounced by the dark purple bags that seemed to have worsened overnight. His cheekbones jutted out just below, and lower, his pink lips settled in an expression she couldn’t quite decipher, but she’d guess wistful if she had to. He seemed to be in better spirits, dressed in a chunky caramel cable-knit sweater. Maybe it was how cozily he was dressed or perhaps it was the softness enhanced by his sleepy demeanor, but Mags was hit by a sudden wave of endearment for him. For a boy she hardly knew! She shook off the weird feelings that washed over her and broke the silence.

“Harry!” She quickly recalled all their past encounters and decided to approach this conversation with a little less well-meaning aggression and exuberance. “Harry,” she calmly tried again, “I’m so glad you’re here. I really, really need you to listen to me. I am really and truly sorry I laughed at you the other day.” He opened his mouth to respond, but Mags bulldozed on, not wanting to lose her chance. “I – look, I have knack for saying the wrong thing but I promise that I really want to help you with –“ She paused as she realized she never knew what exactly seemed to be plaguing him, but persevered nevertheless, “with whatever it is that’s bugging you. I pinky promise I can help - somehow!”

He broke into an amused smile, one that Mags couldn’t help notice was a very nice smile at that. “Pinky promise, huh?” He prodded, “That’s pretty serious for someone who quite literally just met me and doesn’t even know what my problem is.”

“Well, whatever it is, just tell me! I won’t laugh!” Mags pleaded.

“Do you promise not to laugh?”

“I promise!” She said solemnly, her face somber, nodding with earnestness.

“Do you,” he paused, inhaling a deep breath, as Mags leaned in closer to listen, breath baited, eyes unwavering, “do you pinky promise?”

“Oh!” She swatted at him with a free hand as she realized he was teasing her, as he stepped away laughing.

“Sorry,” he smiled, not looking the least bit apologetic, “Couldn’t help m’self.”

They shared a small moment, each looking at the other with their own, soft smiles before

Harry suddenly straightened up, his smile vanishing just as Mags began to welcome the sight. His tone sobered, “I did wanna say m’sorry for being kinda a dick to you. I’m dealing with…something right now and I really didn’t mean to take it out on you, Magnolia.”

“Mags,” she instinctively corrected, “Magnolia is reserved for customers that I don’t insult.”

“Mags,” he repeated wryly, “I like that. Well anyways, just happen to pass you and wanted to say that.” He gestured to the papers she had forgotten were clutched in her hands, “Anyways, looks like you’ve got a test on…” He trailed off, squinting at her neat penmanship of carefully copied formulas and calculations, “rocket science or quantum physics or whatever those horrible numbers mean. Just looking at it is giving me a headache. I’m sure you’ll do well though.  G’luck!” He said, turning to leave.

“No wait!” She was not going to lose another chance. Truly, she did feel awful about how she treated Harry, but also, she didn’t want him to go for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. She liked his presence and didn’t want the conversation to end just yet. “Will you seriously tell me what’s wrong? Please?”

He considered her, his guarded eyes boring into hers for what felt like eternity, not even breaking contact when a boy with rounded hipster coke-bottle glasses and a plaid coat bumped against her shoulder without so much as an apology (friggin’ English majors she briefly lamented).

“Yeah, okay,” he conceded, running his hands roughly through his brown curls, “You think I’m crazy anyways and it’s not like my life can get any weirder.” He pursed his lips as he formulated his thoughts. Mags tried to be patient, resisting the urge to check her watch because she did actually care about her grades and she did have a midterm to get to after all and Niall was such a push-over he wouldn’t be able to save her a seat for much longer, but she had to hear what he had to say. Just as she was going to (gently, she swears) prompt Harry, he broke his contemplative silence.

“Um. Okay so basically,” he stalled, scratching at his hairline before spewing out in anxious, bullet-fast speech, “I um, pretty-sure-I-accidentally-summoned-like-a-demon-or-ghost-or-some-evil-otherwordly-spirit-in-my-house-and-now-I’m-being-haunted.

Brown eyes blinked in his directions. To her credit, Mags remained composed despite her thoughts that ranged from what the actual fuck, this boy is psychotic to my minority ass is not equipped for this situation to aww he looks kinda cute when he’s nervous.

“Yes,” in reality is how she responded, trying to maintain neutral as she organized her thoughts, her voice robotic, “I understand.”

“Yeah, see, I knew this was a mistake. I didn’t really expect you to believe me,” his hopeful expression fading to disappointment, belying his words.

“No! Okay, yeah I don’t believe you,” she confessed, “but,” brandishing her speech with wild gestures, “I can help you prove that your house isn’t haunted! That’ll like give both you and I peace of mind! Not right now, because I really do have to go kick some o-chem ass but like, later tonight? Take my number, text me your address, and we can like ghostbust the fuck out of your non-haunted home!”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Harry nodded in agreement, albeit reluctantly but hey, she’d take it, Mags quickly gushed out her cellphone number as Harry’s thumb clumsily attempting to enter each digit and keep up.

Mags raced away, peeking at her watch and sparing a parting glance at Harry and calling out, “I’m serious Harry, if I don’t get a text, I will haunt you myself! And I am way more annoying than a ghost!” He smiled fondly in response, “I don’t doubt that. I swear I’ll text you,”

“Promise?” she shouted, as she retreated further away from him to her awaiting exam.

“Pinky promise.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Same day, later that evening

Mags leans against the bay window in the living room, watching the rain drops splatter against the window. A cup of chai in one hand, a worn murder-mystery novel in the other, with Pumpkin curled up against her feet hidden under thick socks, she truly felt content. Marisol had thrown a quilt over Mags legs earlier as the former left for work. Mags was so immersed in the book’s plot she barely gave the other girl an appreciative smile but she was sure Marisol knew.

She was pretty sure she aced her midterm exam earlier that day (and Niall was fairly confident that he didn’t fail so it was a win-win for all) and she was able to make some progress with Harry. The curly haired boy, whom she met for the first time a mere three days ago, seemed to consume a lot of her free time and thoughts.

He was just so curious, and skittish, and he genuinely did seem scared of something. Mags was a firm believer in science, statistics, hard, factual data. Give her an equation to solve or a statistical analysis to decipher over an essay any day. Even if she wasn’t a believer, she knew better than to laugh at others, even if her actions didn’t always reflect that. She had never believed in Santa Claus, being Muslim and all, but she’d been the one to comfort Kevin Vo in the first grade when the classroom bully had tried to convince others that Santa was fictitious. Likewise, even though she didn’t truly know Harry, she did believe that something was scaring him, and she was determined to figure out what it was. But one thing was sure, she positively knew it was not a ghost.

Her phone rang out with a small chime, alerting her of a text message.

Hey, It’s Harry. Harry Styles.

Before she could respond, her phone dinged again.

Or as you like to call me, Ghost Boy.

harry!! im so glad u txted!!!

I keep my promises. Are you sure you want to come to my house that is DEFINITELY haunted?

yes i do wanna come to ur house that is definitely NOTT(!!) haunted. send me ur addy.

Once receiving his address, Mags began to root through her closet for a warmer coat and umbrella. She grabbed her keys, gave Pumpkin an affectionate kiss on her furry little forehead, and gave herself one last look at the mirror. She almost found herself reapplying her mascara and running a brush through her hair, but she fought the urge. This is what she always looks like, and she wasn’t sure why she cared so much about her appearance for this friendly little demonic (but not really) excursion she was about to partake in. Certainly, she’s looked worse before. Liam has seem her adorned in her older brother’s shapeless, oversized sweaters as she hastily arrived seconds before her shift and Niall had seen her when she hadn’t showered in days, bra forgotten, her clothes stained, and remnants of last night’s dinner on her face (although, granted it had been Finals week).

As her blonde companion came to mind, as an afterthought, she shot one more text to Harry; just as a precaution because as attractive as he was, she didn’t know him that well yet. Though she doubted his heart was anything but sincere and good, she had to be safe.

also im bringin niall. the more the merrier rite?? (((:

Niall and Mags stood side by side on the property, their sneakers and boots respectively crunching the orange leaves that littered the lawn, as they gazed up. The house was huge, intricate, a stark contrast against the cloudy gray sky, and beautiful. Hauntingly so. If she believed in ghosts, Mags could envision how one would think this particular house was haunted. The brown and orange wood that made the exterior seemed to indicate that this house could creak when it wasn’t supposed to, the broken shutters revealing that the house holds secrets from its past, the surrounding black iron gates emitting a foreboding sense of doom.

But, she knew how to deal with facts. And the facts were that this house was old as shit and old houses liked to creak. She was sure that Harry probably just had an overactive imagination, which she was here to quell.

“Holy hell, you’re tellin’ me that Harry lives here? In this friggin’ place?” Niall let out a low appreciative whistle, “I’m definitely gonna have to convince him to host a house party here.”

She snorted in response, “Right? He couldn’t have lived in shitty student housing like the rest of us?”

They made their way to the porch, carefully side-stepping planks of rotting wood and loose nails. As Niall knocked, Mags sent a quick text to Harry alerting him of their presence. She’d filled Niall in when she picked him up for this adventure, letting him know that Harry was scared that this house was haunted and that they, soon to be scientists, were going to prove that it was all just hodgepodge. Blasphemous.  A figment of his imagination. And of course, Niall was game, as he always was, his laidback and flexible personality among the many traits that Mags loved about the Irishman. The door creaked open, groaning under the movement of shifting wood, as Harry greeted them with an appreciative smile.

“Hey. Come in. Thanks for doing this, honestly,” he ushered them inside, into the house, “though I’m not sure how smart this idea is, or why you’d be more equipped to tell if this house is haunted more than me, considering one of ya have literally drank yourself into a drunken stupor and became convinced that Big Bird was a part of a larger conspiracy theory.”

“Falsifications!” Niall boasted, while Mags yelled in her defense, “Hey that was literally ONE time!”

Both Harry and Niall shot her a concerned look. “Right,” she realized, “You were referring to Niall because we just met and how could you possibly know that about me? Haha. Moooving on.”

Niall and Harry amicably bickered in the background and Mags wandered off to take in her surroundings. She had every intention of taking off her heavy coat as she surveyed the house, taking in the wood floors, antique furniture, mosaic windows, and high ceilings, but there was a chill in the air, despite the burning fire crackling in fireplace. She turned to question Harry about the temperature, and his eyes were already on her, watching her take everything in with an unidentifiable emotion. Recovering from his unexpected gaze, she questioned, “Why’s it so cold in here? Trying to save money on bills?”

Harry seemed validated by her question, “See! So you notice that too! No matter how much I crank the thermostat or feed wood to the fireplace, it is always chilly in here.”

Niall nodded sagely, “Ah yes. A very common indicator that a house is haunted,” which caused Harry to nod enthusiastically in agreement in having found his kindred spirit and Mags to shoot Niall a look of annoyance.

“Or,” she interjected, “It could mean literally anything else. Climate change can be linked to more severe, harsher winters and this has certainly been a record-breaking cold October.” This, in turn, prompted Niall and Harry to shoot each other a look, as if to fondly say they found her adorable. Huffing slightly, she continued, “Okay, Harry, let’s get down to business. What else is making you think you’re haunted? Tell me everything.”

Harry nodded, “It’s a long story. Let’s get settled on the couch, I’ll grab us some drinks. This is going to be an interesting evening.”

Wine in hand (and a beer for Niall), bodies settled, and fire crackling, the trio sat on the rug and couch, eyes on Harry. He cleared his throat, an odd hush falling over them as he began his tale, “Well, let’s start from the beginning. The reason I even can afford to live in this house is because Bertha, the old widow who owns the place. She used to live here and took a liking to me, so she charges me cheap rent after her granddaughter took her to another state to live with her.”

“Gilf,” Niall responded nodding, as Mags inquired, “Wait, how did you even know Bertha?”

“We played Bingo together,” Harry clarified, which raised more questions, but he didn’t elaborate, “Anyways, I lived here for about a month, no problems other than the usually leaky faucets and the sorts. But one evening,” he broke off, lowering his head to focus on the arms of his sweater stretched over his palm, his fingers twiddling anxiously.

He looks so sad and worried. Mags instinctively reached out and placed a comforting hand on his knee, the warmth of his skin felt through his jeans, causing Harry to look up as she smiled in reassurance.

“Right,” he persisted, “Well, one evening, about a week ago, my friend Louis and I were having drinks and watching horror movies, as a little farewell celebration because he was going to study abroad the next day. Getting into the Halloween spirit y’know? We were drunk and shootin’ the piss, and Louis suggested we hold a séance as he had a Ouija board in his car.”

“He just happened to have a Ouija board in his car?” Mags questioned in disbelief.

“He’s odd like that,” Harry explained, coinciding with Niall’s comment “Yeah, that checks out. Sounds like Louis!” Once again, reminding Mags that Niall was such a social person, and of course he somehow knew this Louis character.

“So we were just being stupid, lighting candles and asking the Ouija board silly questions and really just goofing off,” the sound of the rain grew louder, the droplets slapping against the wooden house and glass windows, prompting Harry to raise his voice to be heard, “And off Louis went to Brazil the next day to study abroad. And over the next few days, things kept happening.”

“Things?” Mags encouraged.

“Things like…I would hear sounds in the night. The wood creaks like someone is walking through the house and I hear strange sounds like scratching on the walls. The lights randomly flicker,” He takes in a shuddering breath, his hands absentmindedly pulling at a loose thread form his sweater in apprehension, “and I dunno, a painting literally fell off the wall in the dead of the night. That is not normal! Sometimes, there’s a weird smell in here, like rotten eggs, and it doesn’t go away no matter how hard I clean or how much air freshener I buy. It is always so cold in here and I haven’t been able to sleep in days, because I feel like something is just…watching me. If I can sleep, it’s only for a little because I’ll have nightmares, or I find myself waking up in the middle of the night.” Harry’s voice gets louder and louder, becoming more agitated and fearful as he recounts, “I can’t take it anymore, but I’m stuck here until the next semester but I’m not sure how much longer I can last.”

A quietness overtakes them, as everyone processes the story. Once again, Harry breaks the silence, “I dunno what we did that night, but I think. I think we definitely woke something.”

Mags stared at him, her heart feeling for him and she so desperately wished she could just give him the answers. Her brain was in overdrive, considering what could be source causing all the strangeness. Sleep deprivation can cause a lot of symptoms, her mind raced, delirium, hallucinations, your cognitive functions skewed because of being loopy. Because she believed, that while he may believe everything he said to be genuine, there were other plausible explanations. Ones that didn’t include the paranormal.

“Well, we’re here for ya mate,” Niall promised as Mags murmured in agreement. “We ain’t leaving ya alone tonight and we’ll be here to hear anything strange.”

Harry exhaled in obvious relief, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. “Thanks mate,” he said, as Niall cheered and went off to grab himself another beer, leaving the pair alone, “And thank you, Mags. I just, can’t explain it, but I feel better just having you here.” Mags looked at him, the fire dancing in the reflection of his eyes. His words were sincere and made her feel warm despite the chill, alighting her nerves. “Of course,” was all she could muster in response, her voice thick with emotion.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Day 5: October 28th, 3 days until Halloween

The rest of last night had passed in a similar fashion. They watched a B-rated cult classic on the Sy-Fy channel, played a rousing game of scrabble in which Niall of all people emerged victorious (the winning word with triple points: craic), and just swapping stories about their lives. It was fun, and Harry had looked the most relaxed that she had ever seen him. But when they woke in the morning, the mood was somber. Niall and Mags hadn’t heard a single peep the entire night, sleeping peacefully until morning, leaving Harry to fret over two options: the fear that he had gone crazy or that they wouldn’t believe him.

Mags was quick to dissipate both fears, assuring him that she would go home, shower, pack herself a bag, and come back again after work. If anything, she knew just having someone there with him helped Harry sleep better than he had in days, and although Niall wouldn’t be able to make it as he had a date night planned with Marisol, Mags wanted to be there for Harry. Harry was kind, Mags discerned, the way he had draped a blanket over her snoring figure last night and had given Niall his extra pillow. And the way she felt when he looked at her? She couldn’t describe. It was unlike any feeling that not even her past boyfriends made her feel, and it was simply small touches and gazes. She felt like a Victorian woman in the early ages, having to fan herself at the slightest contact, becoming undone and exhilarated when Harry had reached to embrace her in a hug earlier that day, his sweater rising to revealing his tanned, taut stomach and a peek of tattoos.

She drifted through work in a haze. She barely could recall any of the customers and she wouldn’t be able to you what she and Liam chatted about throughout her shift. She would get off in the evening, since she was closing again, and Harry insisted on coming to pick her up so they could walk back together to his home. Pumpkin lazily stalked through the aisles of the store, darting between the shelves and under tables as Mags watched in amusement. Mags wanted to bring Pumpkin along for their sleepover, and Harry thought it was a great idea because in his words, “A black cat would totally be able to sense if something was off.” Her bosses were never in the store and she knew Liam didn’t mind Pumpkin’s presence, if the fact that he had spent the latter half of the day cooing at her pink nose and soft paws, giving her belly rubs and half his lunch to share was any indicator.

Though she knew she was being silly, she mused as she kneeled on the worn carpet and shelved a stack of books, she couldn’t help feeling the anticipation and nervousness that usually precedes a date. But it wasn’t a date. She was just feeling this way because Niall wouldn’t be there and it would be just her and Harry in that big old house, alone together. If she was being honest, she would admit that she did wish it was a date. She found herself drawn to Harry, his caring personality and really taken by his dimples and all. His husky, low voice stirred something deep in her stomach, and when she heard the baritone in his throaty voice, coated with sleepiness earlier in the morning? She felt flush and wonderstruck, all at once.

But it wasn’t a date. Facing facts is what she did best. It was just two people on their way to becoming friends, working to prove that his house was not being inhabited by any spirits, that’s all. Completely platonic, normal stuff.

When it was 8 minutes to closing, Mags began to make sure that everything was put away so she could leave on time considering there probably wouldn’t be any last-minute customers, noting that Pumpkin was now currently snoozing near the cash register. She was deep in thought, dusting a particularly dusty shelf, secretly becoming more and more excited at the thought of spending more time with Harry.

“Boo!”

“Holy shit!” Mags’ heart jumped out of her chest, as she whirled around in fear, only to be met with a laughing Harry, one hand outstretched and grasping the bookshelf, the other across his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.

“You’re an idiot!” She declared, without malice, shoving her shoulders against his. “Absolutely awful.”

“Y’know, for a girl who says she isn’t afraid of ghosts, you sure are quite jumpy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m a girl, Harry. I have real things to fear. Like creepy men that come in here to harass me!”

His eyes flashed with amusement as he leaned against the shelf. “If you want me to leave, just say the word.”

Mags just smiled to herself in response, choosing to ignore his comment. “I’m almost finished up here and then I’ll be ready to go.”

“Y’know,” said Harry, his tone become dramatic and teasing, “This is where we first met. When you first accosted me here, in this very aisle – “

“I did NOT accost you! You have to admit you were acting so suspicious!” Mags exclaimed indignantly. She straightened out one of the books and wondered aloud, “But it’s a bit crazy innit? That we just came into each other’s lives a mere four days ago?”

“Crazy,” Harry agreed, his sudden low and husky tone causing Mags to look up at him. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.” His eyes caught her with an unrecognizable expression, and Mags stared back, unable to look away. It’s like she was in a trance. Harry takes a step towards her, closing the small gap between them, standing so close that she could feel the warmth exuding from his chest, could see the freckles that dotted his green eyes, could practically hear his heart beating in his chest. Now was it just her or was his heart beating very, very fast?

Another second passes between them and Harry brings up his hand, placing it affectionally against her cheek, as Mags impulsively nuzzles against his palm. He leans in, closing the virtually non-existence gap between, his eyes focused on her lips, and all she could think was Is he going to – Is this really happening?

“Please tell me you guys are still open!” An unfamiliar voice shouts, as a male college student races in, eyes frantic and voice desperate.

Harry and Mags spring apart, their bodies separating as they turned to face the newcomer.

“I’ve got a paper due tonight on a book that I haven’t read. Please tell me you’re open and that you have Shakespeare!”

“Y-yes,” Mags answered, her voice a little shaky as she avoids looking at Harry, “Technically, we’re still open for another 2 minutes. You said Shakespeare? Which one?”

The boy looks around, scanning the books in the aisle before answering, “William, I think.”

She lets out a huge sigh before finally looking at Harry. “I’m just gonna help this last customer and then we can lock up and head out.” “I’ll be waiting.”

She guides the customer to the classic literature section; On the outside, she was explaining how prolific of an author Shakespeare was but internally, she was still thinking about her interaction with Harry. They were already becoming so close. When people get close, Mags discovered from her 23 years on Earth, they find the things they like and appreciate about you. But it’s a double-edge sword. That kind of intimacy also reveals the unpleasant things, it gives the other an opportunity to see the all the little things that makes a person real. Real was messy and not always pleasant. What if Harry saw all the little things that made Mags real – her tendency to ramble, her need to always have opinions about everything that she often loudly expressed, her struggle to be emotionally vulnerable with others – and decided that she’s easier to admire from afar. It was always a fear of hers, one of those doubts deep within her heart that she’d never expressed, never spoken into existence, but that still dwelled profoundly within; the fear that the more you got to know her, the harder she’d become to love.

In the middle of asking the customer probing questions, and finally being able to deduce he was looking for Othello, she turned to look at Harry who was across the shop. Just like countless times before, she found that his eyes were already on her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Okay,” Mags twisted the key into the lock and pulled the door of the bookstore before turning to face Harry, “We are good to go.”

It took Mags seemingly forever to get the last customer checked out and out of the store. She and Harry seemed to have an unspoken agreement to not speak of whatever it was that almost happened between them.

Harry lifted the cat carrier up into his arms as Pumpkin let out an adorable little mewl, begging for attention. Harry stuck his finger between the bars, laughing as Pumpkin’s pink tongue darted out to lick his finger. “Well, how about this? We go drop Pumpkin off at my house and let her get settled. And then how about you and I go grab some dinner. There’s a diner nearby and I’m sure you’re famished,” Harry suggested, all the while playing with Pumpkin and not meeting her eye.

On the outside, Mags was cool, calm, and collected and she offhandedly remarked, “Sure” in agreement. But on the inside, she was a whirlwind of emotions. Dinner? Like a date? I’m not ready for this. I mean, I know I was just wishing this was a date but maybe I should have wished that I’d have the foresight to have changed into a top that didn’t have a coffee stain on it or to have applied some gloss before coming to work today. She felt so unprepared.

But then Harry’s looked at her when she responded affirmatively, his eyes shining happily and a broad grin overtook his face, and suddenly, she didn’t quite feel so panicked. It was as if he was nervous that she’d shoot his idea down. Anew with confidence, she stated, “Lead the way.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The diner that Harry had chosen was very kitschy, decorated in a way that heavy handedly embraced the retro 80’s vibe, with neon signs and polyester covers on the booths. The diner even got into the Halloween spirit, as evident by the fake bats that were hung all around the place, and the jack-o-lantern tablecloths covering each tabletop. Harry and Mags were seated across from each other, staring at the menu, as a male artist’s voice crooned from the juke box, singing about holding hands.

“So,” Mags began as she finished assessing the menu, “My options are either a hamburger or a cheeseburger. How ever will I decide?”

Harry laughed at her reaction to the limited food options. “What can I say? Don’t need really need too many options when everything tastes amazing.” Ordering a cheeseburger and coke for herself, Harry followed suit, and Mags inquired, “You come here often?” “Yeah,” Harry admitted, his fingers interlocked and resting atop the table, “I just really like the vibes. It’s also a 24-hour diner and I’ve been coming here more often within the past week, since I’ve been having trouble sleeping.”

Right. Harry’s haunting problem. She’d almost completely forgotten, but she wasn’t really to blame. Was she really supposed to stay focused when she and Harry had walked to the diner, their arms intertwined, chatting about anything and everything? When he sat only a few feet across from her, trying to catch her eye but also nervously looking away?

“Hopefully, you can finally start getting some rest soon enough. Maybe we’ll finally be able to put this whole ghost business to rest tonight,” she suggested optimistically.

He gave her a sad smile in return. “Hopefully,” he said, his voice betraying the fact that he didn’t really believe that to be true.  

Her heart ached for him once more, so she decided to change the subject. “What song is this anyway? I kinda like it. It’s cute and – what?”

Harry regarded her strangely. “What’d ya mean who is this? It’s the Beatles.”

“Like the bug?” she joked, before quickly admitting, “I’m kidding, I know of the Beatles. I just don’t usually listen to this kind of music, now don’t go and have a heart attack,” she explained as Harry eyes had initially widened at her statement.

“So, what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

“I’m definitely a top 40’s kind of girl,” Mags responded, shifting in her seat. She thanked the waitress, who adorned a festive witch’s hat, as she set down their cokes and began to work on unwrapping her straw, planning to blow the wrapper at an unsuspecting Harry’s face.

“Top 40’s? What’s that?”

“Y’know,” she responded, “Like, the top 40 songs that are most popular on the charts. The songs that are always playing on the radio.” Harry held his hand against his chest, as if he couldn’t fathom anything worse. “You are so pretentious!” She laughed, “Those songs are popular for a reason!”

Harry laughed too, making sure to let Mags know that he was really just teasing her, no malice behind his mockery. “And just when I thought there was absolutely nothing wrong with you, you go ahead and admit to that.”

Mags couldn’t help her own smile from creeping across her face. “I’m far from perfect Harry.”

There’s a look of affection that seems to flash in Harry’s eyes and Mags flushes, not really sure how to deal with it. “Yeah?” he responds, looking down to swirl the condensation pooling at the bottom of his glass of coke, “Could’ve fooled me.”

The rest of their dinner passed by in a similar fashion. Comfortable jokes, casual conversations, and longing looks passing between them. It was the first time that Mags had ever seen Harry look truly happy. She decided it was a good look on him, and right then and there, she made a silent vow to herself that she would do everything in her power to keep that happiness. Even if it meant she’d have to face the devil himself.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Although Harry’s house was cold, it was still much warmer than the bitter icy wind howling outside. Entering his home, Mags immediately took off her shoes and coat, with Harry following suit. She looked to him to see where she should place her coat, and when he removed his dark peacoat and tossed it over an armchair, so did she. He was wearing a cranberry colored crew neck sweater, and he wore it well, leading Mags to ponder if his closets were just an endless supply of comfy clothes, each cozier than the last. Not wanting to be caught eyeing him, she shuffled into the living room, pausing to scratch Pumpkin under her chin, just like she liked it, and to drop her duffle bag onto the floor.

“There a bathroom just down the hall, if you’d like to change into your pajamas there,” Harry offered. He scratched the back of his neck, “I’m just gonna, um, go in my room and change into mine to give you some privacy. I’ll meet you back out here and maybe we can watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” she replied, somewhat amused. In the bathroom, she changed into her pajamas, which consisted of an old Maroon 5 shirt she had from years ago and a pair of soft fleece pajamas. When packing earlier that day, she had briefly considered wearing something a bit more flattering, but she realized it was futile because she liked to be comfortable when she slept, let alone the fact she didn’t actually own any proper sleepover, her pajama wardrobe made of oversized promotional t-shirts unsuitable for public wear. She washed her face and turned to face her reflection in the mirror. She gazed at her big, brown eyes, droplets of water tinting the tips of her lashes. Her warm tawny brown skin seemed dull and washed out under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lighting. Her dark hair was due for a haircut, and in its windswept state, wasn’t doing her any favors. She swept back her hair into a high ponytail, the stubborn baby hairs quickly reclaiming their rightful spot by framing her face.

Mags was never one of those girls that couldn’t acknowledge that she was pretty (not that girls who struggled with their beauty were less than, everyone had their own struggles. Mags was a large supporter of girls and wouldn’t speak ill of her sisters). She found that she did quite well with the male population, garnering attention when she so desired, and sometimes unwanted attention as well (looking at you, creepy Walmart man that had the audacity to comment on her big boobs just because she wasn’t wearing a bra). But then men she usually gave the time of day weren’t men of substance. Usually, she sought them out for something physical sans the intimacy. But something about Harry had her feeling self-conscious, unnerved. Raw. It was like he was appreciating her outer beauty but also truly seeing her, erratic enthusiasm and all. And even more baffling? He seemed to like what he saw.

Mags broke out of her reverie and found Harry lounging on the couch, remoted aimed at the tv as he flipped through channels. He looked up and automatically offered her one of his signature smiles, “You look lovely,” he commented nonchalantly.

“Thanks,” she responded reservedly. She joined him, careful to sit on the other end of the couch and looked around. “Where’s Pumpkin?”

“I put her on my bed,” Harry confessed, “Figured it’d be more comfortable than the hardwood floor.” “You’re gonna spoil her,” Mags snickered, “She’s used to sleeping atop the rusty radiator in my apartment.”

Harry and Mags quickly decided they should watch a movie, both wanting to stay in each other’s presence for a little while longer but struggling to find the words to express as such. Picking a movie, however, was a more difficult challenge as Harry felt that he’d had enough horror in his life to last a lifetime and couldn’t bear to suffer through another horror film, prompting Mags to put on “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before,” partially because she wanted to annoy Harry and partially because she just thought the move was really cute, okay? The joke was on her, because apparently Harry loved romance films and was really into the movie.

As entertaining as the movie was, both found their eyes wandering from the screen, looking at each other and quickly glancing away. Mags was very hyperaware of Harry’s presence on the couch, aware of his every movement. It was like her body was in tune with his. Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t help himself. He automatically gravitated to her, like he was seeking out warmth that only she could give. Mid-movie, they found themselves to be sitting side by side, practically no space between them. If Harry wanted to, he could reach out and enclose her hand with his.

And he wants to. And so he does.

And she doesn’t pull away.

They don’t speak, just hold hands, the only source of light illuminating from the television. Neither saying a word in fear of breaking the moment. Harry finds that for the first time in a while, he feels safe. Safe and happy. He hopes she feels the same way. 

Needing to hear her voice, to get some reassurance, Harry breaks the silence once again, his eyes never leaving the scene playing out on the television. “I don’t get this part. Why is Lara Jean so scared to be with Peter? She’s so hesitant when he obviously cares for her and she does too.”

“I think it makes sense. It’s pretty accurate,” Mags responds, shrugging slightly. “Yeah? Why’s that?” “Because,” Mags bites her cheek in contemplation, “Love is scary, y’know? And letting yourself fall for someone? That’s…well, it’s terrifying.” “Not if it’s the right person,” Harry said with all the sincerity of an honest man, before quickly adding as an afterthought, “And obviously, Peter is the right person for Lara-Jean.” “Right, for Lara-Jean,” Mags agreed a little too quickly, “But it’s still scary nonetheless. Some guys aren’t all that great. It’s hard. To trust someone else, to trust them with your vulnerability, to let them know every part of you, and trust them not to hurt you.”

Harry broke the spell. He no longer referred to the characters and implicated himself. “Y’know I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you, right? I…I care about you. You do know that, don’t you?”

As she peers up at him through her lashes and meets his widened eyes, she becomes mindful of how close they had leaned towards each other. She fidgets under his intense gaze, his green eyes piercing through her own. She feels the warmth of his hand on her thigh as he inches closer until his forehead rests against her. A loose stray curl tickles her cheek and his lips just barely brush against hers. She hesitates for only a moment before deepening the kiss, pressing her lips against his forcefully. He pulls away, his pupils blown and the smallest of smiles playing on his lips, and his eyes scan her face for reassurance. Whatever he’s looking for, he must find because he rushes to close the gap and his soft lips captures hers again. She responds eagerly and her hand cups the nape of his neck. His tongue lightly sweeps across her bottom lips before slipping into her mouth, making her hum in approval.

He gently pushes her back until she’s lying on the couch. He breaks the kiss for only a moment to pull off his t-shirt and toss it carelessly across the room before swinging his legs over her until he’s practically straddling her. One hand flies to his head, pulling at his curls as the other rakes it’s fingernails into his shoulder. She angles her head back and lets out a sharp intake of breath as he leaves a trail of wet kisses down her neck. She feels the hand resting on her lower back slide up and swiftly unclasp her bra. His hands explore her body until he’s palming her breast, grazing her nipple and rolling it between his fingers, making her gasp. Harry always thought of himself as an ass man, but now, in this moment, he has a newfound appreciation for breasts. Her tongue darts between his lips hungrily and he pulls his body closer to hers, grinding steadily. She can feel her whole body on fire, the tingling sensation spreading to the pit of her stomach. Her hands immediately go for the band of his pants, but she breaks away suddenly, and he outwardly moans at the loss of contact.

“What – What is it? Are we moving too fast?” Harry questions, panting rapidly.

Mags places a hand against his chest, as Harry allows her to push him upright and she follows suit, both now sitting up.

He would never forgive himself if he had pushed her and scared her away. “We can slow down. I didn’t mean to –“ “No, shhhhh,” Mags harshly shushed him. “Don’t you hear that?” And suddenly, they’re still, unmoving like stone. The house just as quiet as the two, the only sound filling the air is their own ragged breathing stabilizing. In the silence, just as suddenly, another loud creaking resounded against the wooden interior.

“Okay,” Harry said anxiously, his eyes wandering upwards from where the sound was seemingly coming from, “I heard that.” “Do you think it’s Pumpkin?”

“I’m gonna go with no, considering Pumpkin’s right there by the fireplace.” And sure enough, Mags turned to see her kitten had at some point, bounded into the room and found comfort beside the warm flames.

Then an even more frightening sound could be heard. Mags would describe it as heavy, a hefty thumping sound that was very different from something that could be explained away, like the light scurrying of a rat.

Harry would describe it as footsteps.

It was irrational. Mags couldn’t explain it. She didn’t know what making that sound, but she did know that the sound was frightening her. She couldn’t rationally chalk it up to the characteristic creaking of an old house or wood settling, the thumps were too loud, too sporadic. Logically, she knew she should use the flashlight on her phone and go straight to the sound source. But the fact of the matter is, she’s scared. 

Just when she began to steady her racing heart rate and begin to think she could work up the nerve to go investigate the sound, a sudden crash came from the other side of the room, causing her to yelp in surprise and clutch Harry’s arm in fear. One of the picture frames that Harry had hung on the wall fell on to the ground, the glass shattered from the impact. It just fell. Nothing to cause it, as if the material had literally leaped from the wall to its untimely death. “Fat load of good you are,” Mags glared at Pumpkin who, unbeknownst to the danger, was playing with a discarded bottle cap.

Harry put in quick work to shrug his sweater over his shoulders, and then taking care to ensure that Mags wasn’t too frightened. “Well, at least now you believe me?”

“Believe you?” Mags asked in disbelief, facing him “I more than believe you. I think, I think we should get outta here. Let’s just go stay at my place.” She frantically stood up, brushing her stray hairs from her face, trying to clear her mind so she could form rational thoughts. Harry stood up just as suddenly, standing next to her, holding her elbow and shoulder, pulling her towards him in a comforting hug. 

“We need to come up with a game plan,” she said, her breath slightly muffled as she nuzzles her face against his sweater clad chest. “I think it’s best if we just spend the night at my apartment. And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Harry questioned encouragingly. 

“We’re going to do whatever it takes. A cleansing. Research. Anything to un-haunt this house, because this shit? It’s scary.”

They both spared one last glance upwards, to where the sound was coming from, an array of emotions filling the room; frightened (Mags, because ghosts can’t exist, they just can’t. It transcends the rules of physical science!), agitated (Harry because how could he be so dense as to put Mags in danger, though he figures that once she sets her mind to something, there’s no stopping her), and confused (Pumpkin, wondering why the humans were looking up when she was right here, as she softly mewls from the lack of attention).

_______________________________________________________________________

Day 6, October 29th, 1 day until Halloween.

The sun filtered in through the linen curtains, illuminating the white sheets beside her, warming her skin and giving her a bronze glow. Mags slowly peeled her eyes open, immediately noticing Harry’s absence. His side of the bed was empty, and Mags wasn’t sure how to feel. Was it really just a few hours ago that her world was shook by the presence of ghosts? If science wasn’t solid, then what else was there to rely on?

Once they got to her place, they were both too strung-out and tired to do anything. They shuffled under the covers and slept in her small bed, sleeping together in the most innocent way possible. The only touching was the hand holding that occurred under the bed, which although much less risqué than what happened last night had it not been for the potential ghost encounter, the thought of which still made Mags warm and blush. Stretching out her limbs and gathering her relentless hair into a manageable bun, she created an itinerary for herself. Bathroom first. Find Harry, second. Figure out what happened last night, third. Although she wasn’t so sure about the last one. Did she want to figure out the ominous sound they heard or figure out exactly what happened between her and Harry last night? All she knew was, it was way too early for this.

Once emerging from the bathroom, she tuned into the sounds of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen, immediately deducing Harry’s whereabouts. She knew it couldn’t possibly be Marisol, because she’d never be up this early, and she knew she had spent the night at Niall’s place.

His back was facing her, his shoulders moving as he poured batter into a frying pan, Pumpkin nuzzling against his ankles. Mags didn’t even know they owned a frying pan. Marisol and Mags mainly lived off of frozen dinners, take-outs, and Niall’s generous discounts at the café where he occasionally moonlights as a waiter.

“G’morning,” she croaked, alerting Harry to her presence. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Mornin’, Harry. What’s all this?” “I’m making pancakes,” He turned, greeting her drowsy appearance, his voice thickened with lack of use, guttural and raw. “Ran out to the convenience store this morning and grabbed some ingredients. Figured we could both use a hearty breakfast.”

Mags hummed in appreciation, rubbing a sweater-clad fist over her dreary eyes, sleepily offering help which Harry firmly denied and directed her to sit at the small kitchen table. “Are the pancakes chocolate chip?” “Is there any other way?” Harry responds, smiling warmly at her sleepy antics. He sets a plate of scrambled eggs and chocolate chip pancakes in front of her, placing a bottle of syrup within her reach without her having to ask.

Mags suddenly felt out her element. She wasn’t used to this kind of treatment with any guy she had ever been with, and she technically hadn’t even been with Harry. Was she meant to kiss him in appreciation? He was so tender in everything he did, always putting her needs and comfort first. The situation was foreign to her, so domestic and comfortable that it made her feel uncomfortable. “Um, thank you – It all looks delicious,” she finally managed to stammer out.

Harry carried his own plate of food in one hand, his other opening the fridge to grab a carton of orange juice. Witnessing how comfortable he seemed to be in her small apartment made her unnerved, but it was also exciting. Thrilling.

As he sat across from her, their eyes met once again. “I figure,” Harry began, “I mean, I think that we should probably talk about what happened last night. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mags agreed, nervously wringing her fingers, “Good idea. It…scared me. Um, I didn’t like it.”

Harry’s face blanched for a moment before he smoothed his features into an expressionless façade. “You didn’t?”

“Of course, I didn’t, it was just so…I don’t know how to put it. It all happened so fast, one thing after the other. It’s a lot to process.

Harry nodded slowly, gently, as if Mags was fragile and he was handling the situation delicately, although she couldn’t figure why. “It is a lot. And it was a bit fast. Maybe we need to just slow down and figure out what it meant?” He suggested nervously.

Mags eyed him in confusion, his apprehensive demeanor puzzling her, as she continued speaking. “It was just so unexpected. I didn’t think that was going to happen when I went to your place last night. It was so awful.” Harry’s brows furrowed together, looking wounded, as he murmured, “I mean, well me neither but I don’t think it was necessarily a bad th-“ “What do you mean you weren’t expecting it?” Mags probed, pausing to chew her scrambled eggs, “it certainly seems like you were positive that it would happen.”

Harry’s face, despite his efforts, flashed with hurt. “Well, I mean, I hoped it would happen but of course I wasn’t expecting anything. I just –” Abandoning his food, he rubbed his hands over his curls, then dropped them to rest against his knees, palms up as if pleading, “Look, I really, really like you and obviously it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way but I really thought - ”

“Who says I don’t feel the same way?” Mags questioned in confusion, wondering if perhaps Harry, as cute as he was, might’ve been a few screws short. Guess people truly can’t have it all.  

Meanwhile, Harry’s own face contorted in confusion, his voice borderline hysterical. “What do you mean who says, you says! I mean, you just said that you didn’t like what happened last night.”

“Right,” Mags nodded empathetically, “The noise we heard really scared me and I think it’s quite normal to not like the fact you have an actual fucking ghost in your house.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Did you think I was talking about, whatever happened between us?” Mags clarified, gesturing at their bodies. When Harry offered a sheepish look in response, Mags smiled with fondness, putting her fork down on her plate. “You’re silly. Let me be clear. Ghosts? Bad. Harry and Mags? Good. I’m not sure exactly what happened between us last night, but I like you. I think it should happen again, minus the paranormal encounter. Not just the, erm, the touching part. The diner part. The talking part too. We can table that for now and come back to it when we aren’t in fear of lurking ghosts. We can figure that part out together.” The relief that washed over Harry couldn’t have been more evident. “Oh thank god, I’m so happy to hear you say that,” and when Harry was happy, Mags couldn’t help but think that the sun was trapped within him, warmth, comfort, and blinding brightness and all. “And um, what about the other thing? The ghost thing?” Mags beamed at him, at the 6-foot boy that towers in her small apartment but looks over at all five feet of her with concern and care, before replying, “We can figure that part out together too. I have a game plan.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

After the tenderness and confusion of their morning breakfast, Harry and Mags got dressed for the day, each renewed with a determination to solve this ghost problem of theirs once and for all. It wasn’t just Harry’s problem anymore. Harry’s safety and happiness were now Mags’ priority as well. Cleaning up and getting dressed took a little longer than usual, as they spared moments to steal glances and accidental touches. By the time they made it out of her apartment, the sun was brilliantly shining in the sky, for once the skies clear of any clouds, and it was noon.

Mags truly did have an anti-ghost plan. And she intended to put it to use before tomorrow. It was as she explained to Harry, that tomorrow was Halloween, and everyone knows that on All Hallows Eve, the world between the paranormal and normal collided. Her extensive repertoire of horror movies led her to confidently assert that the if the dead were to roam the earth, then Halloween would be the best night to so do. She figured that now since science and everything she’s ever known has changed; she might as well rely on literature to guide them through this ordeal.

“So, first on our agenda is to seek out a priest,” Harry commented, eyes squinting at the sun, hand firmly holding hers. “Which church should we go to?” “Askin’ the wrong person here,” Mags chuckled while gesturing to herself, “Nearest mosque, I could help ya with. But church?” “Right,” he said, blushing despite her obvious joking tone, “Well, I guess we’ll have to trust google?”

Finding the church was easy enough. Getting the minister to believe that they weren’t pulling a prank was a little trickier. After much clarification and pleading, they left the church armed with some information.

“I dunno about you, but this bottle of holy water has me feeling a bit indestructible,” Harry joked, wagging the holy water tauntingly. Mags owns hands clutched the pewter candlestick holders and candles the church had generously donated to them. Though they had initially hoped for the church to interfere with their dilemma, the resources and tips they provided would just have to do. “Although,” Harry said, raising his eyebrows, “I must say, I’m surprised.” “Why? ‘Cuz I thought of such a brilliant plan?” “No. I’m shocked that you were able to last that entire trip to the church without swearing even once.” Mags opened her mouth, feigning offence, before shoving him. “So, what’s next?” Harry questions, after composing his laughter, “A psychic?”

“A medium,” Mags corrected.

“Oh, I didn’t know there was a difference,” Harry admitted good-naturedly.

“Me neither,” Mags confessed, but google sure did.

As they followed the GPS directions to the location of where the medium was located, Harry had another question. “How’d you pick this medium? Does she specialize in ghosts and exorcisms?” “Hmm?” She said, looking up, “Oh no, she just had the best Yelp rating.” She scrolls through her phone, thumbing through the device before presenting it to Harry. “And, she’s got a Halloween special going on right now. 50% off for her services. Pretty crafty of me, huh?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The medium, a woman named Clair LeMadeline, had looked relatively normal. Her red hair curled into define ringlets and her eyes were a piercing blue. She was wearing a simple pea blouse and black slacks. The only thing that was even considerably odd about her appearance was her green eyeshadow, bold and unnaturally glittery. She was a stark contrast from what Mags was expecting, which was a woman, possibly raven haired, with a crystal ball in a dark room with thick purple drapes.

Even more so, she had hoped the woman would be able to help them out a bit more. For someone who claimed to have a unique ability to hover between two worlds and a connection with spirits without a physical body, she wasn’t really helpful.

Mags recalled the only bit of information that was slightly useful. Clair had taken Harry’s hands into her own, hoping to get a ‘read’ on his aura.

“Ah yes,” she had said, her sharp nails outlining the lines on Harry’s palm, “I’m sensing something here. I see that recently in your life, you’ve come upon some suffering.”

“Yes!” Harry fervently nodded, with Mags reservedly watching from his side.

“Your future,” Clair continued melodramatically, her eyes tightly shut as she focused, “it’s blurry. Unclear. I see, red liquid. Lots and lots of red. It’s staining your shirt, dripping onto your shoes, there’s so much red.”

Harry’s face pales, dread overcoming him, as he frantically tightens his hold on the medium’s own hands. “Is it blood?”

“Hard to say, but my best guess is that it is indeed blood. Yes, I can see that. And, you’ve suffered a great loss. I also see here that you’re a widower.”

“Erm, no,” Harry confessed, pulling his hands back slightly, “I’ve never even been married. Way off base.”

The medium had looked slightly put out with that comment, “Well, I never. Surely you must’ve been married. With those dimples and a body like that, you’ve probably had your fair share of wives. You don’t have to lie to impress your little girly over here,” she harrumphed, gesturing towards Mags.

“Okaaay,” Mags announced, offering the medium a tight polite smile, “I think we’re done here.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“That was a waste of time,” Harry groaned. “She was obviously a scam artist. Also, I’m pretty sure she was hitting on me.” He glanced at his watch and groaned even more audibly, “And we’re running out of daylight. Halloween is tomorrow. What are we gonna do?”

“That woman certainly was…a lot of things,” Mags said, carefully choosing her words, “But she was surprisingly helpful.” Harry brows furrowed, his face distorting in disbelief. “Think about what she called you,” Mags explained, answering his unasked question. “She said that you were a widower.” “And you believed her?” He explained, “Mags, I’ve never – “ Huffing slightly, she interrupted his speech, “Okay, no. Obviously, I’m not an idiot. But that just got me thinking. Didn’t you say Bertha was a widow? Do you know anything about her husband? Maybe we can look into his death. Maybe his spirit was awoken by the Ouija board and it’s restless for some reason and unless we help him with his unfinished business, he can’t pass over to the other side.” “You’re a genius,” Harry commented, which prompted Mags to thank him and inform him with sincerity that it was all because she watched a lot of Buzzfeed Unsolved. “I don’t know much about her husband, but I know how we can find out more.”

And that’s how Harry and Mags found themselves standing on the steps outside the town’s public library. Harry’s idea was brilliant, Mags had to admit. The town newspaper always printed the obituaries for residents that passed. Older editions of the newspaper could be accessed using the microfiche. Even more promising was that if Bertha’s late husband had passed under unusual circumstances, the paper was sure to have done a story over it. But even with a great idea put into action, and their hopes and spirits renewed, Mags couldn’t help the nauseous pit growing in her stomach.

As they embarked up the steps, Harry looked over at Mags in concern. “You okay there? You look a little green.”

“Hmm?” She feigned ignorance, “No, I’m fine.” Harry opened the door, ushering her inside before stepping into the heated building. “Must’ve been something I ate.” “My pancakes have you feeling nauseous?” Harry exclaimed in concern.

Oops. Right, Mags had forgotten that the only thing she’d eaten today was Harry’s cooking. This was why she hated lying – she was bad at it.

“Hush, Harry,” is the route she decided to go with, “We’re in a library. We don’t wanna disturb the other patrons.” She gestured to the room, mentally groaning when she saw that the library was jam-packed with three other people, a young girl and her mother were fiddling on the computers, and an old man that was sleeping on one of the armchairs. Or, at least Mags hoped he was sleeping. One would think the library would be more popular on a Friday night.

Harry shot her another concerning look but chose to drop the matter, for now. In fear of being shushed again, he gestured to the circulation help desk, indicating that they should ask one of the library assistants where they could find the catalogued newspapers. As they approached the desk, Mags legs felt like they were heavy lead as she dragged them across the carpeted floor. She just needed an excuse to slip away for five minutes and then this upcoming crisis could be averted.

She stopped in her tracks, spinning around to face Harry. “I, um, need to go to the bathroom. It’s an emergency. Not that you asked,” She nervously chuckled. “Anyways,” she pushed Harry’s back towards the help desk, “Why don’t you ask where we can find the newspapers while I’m gone and I’ll just meet you there and – ” “Magnolia?” The voice came from behind her, just as smoky and honeyed as she remembered.

She froze in her tracks. This cannot be happening. I’m a good person she thought, I fast during Ramadan. I try to be nice to others. I’m fairly sure that I pay all my taxes. Why is this happening to me? Would it be too late for her to make a run for it? She could just tell Harry it was an emergency and then meet him back at his house once he acquired the information.

Just as she began to inch towards the exit, the voice called out again. “Magnolia, that is you! I thought it was. I’d recognize you anywhere. ” Ignoring Harry’s look of confusion, she turned around reluctantly. She looked at the other boy, his dark hair perfectly styled atop his head, not a strand out of place. His cheekbones sharp and proudly protruding, his lips slightly turned into a familiar smile. Unlike her, his brown skin didn’t seem to have a problem with dulling under florescent lights, as he was golden and glowing. One tatted arm reached out to embrace her in a hug, pulling her softly against his chest, before pulling back to get a look at her. “You look good,” he professed, looking at her intently form head to toe, “Beautiful like always.” From her peripheral, she could see that Harry certainly didn’t like that, if his body language was any indicator as he crossed his arms and shifted his stance to stand closers to Mags.

“Zayn,” she greeted, trying to modulate her voice and stifle her feelings of panic. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” “At the library?” Zayn questioned, “Where I work?”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” She nervously answered. Just as she was going to grab Harry’s arm and steer them away from the upcoming train wreck, Harry himself piped up. “I’m sorry. Mags hasn’t introduced us. Who are you?”

Zayn looked at Harry, as if he just registered that Mags wasn’t alone. “This is Zayn,” Mags answered quickly, “He’s my –”

“I’m Magnolia’s ex-boyfriend,” Zayn interrupted, reaching over to shake Harry’s hand, muscles tightening, jaw clenched, “She and I used to date.”

“He knows what ex means,” Mags hissed.

“Oh really?” Harry responded, his face unreadable, “Funny. Mags actually hasn’t even mentioned you.” His emphasis on her preferred nickname was evident to both Zayn and Mags, because Harry was as subtle as horse. “I’m Harry.”

Mags, despite the train wreck happening before her very eyes, was relieved that Harry introduced himself. She didn’t know what title she would’ve given him. She didn’t even know what they were. They were in some weird limbo until this ghost mess was past them. What would she have said? Harry piping up saved her from the verbal onslaught that would’ve been sure to follow. Hi, yes Zayn, my ex-boyfriend who broke my heart, this is Harry, a boy that I almost slept with and really want to sleep with but haven’t yet because I was cock-blocked by a ghost. Anyways, can you point us to the non-fiction section?

“Um,” Mags spoke, breaking the palpable tension, “While we have you here Zayn, we could actually use your help with some questions.”

Ignoring Harry’s disgruntled expression and Zayn’s self-satisfied smirk, she continued on. “Aren’t you doing your senior thesis on like witchcraft or something of that nature?”

“It’s on magical realism and occult fiction,” He clarified, before giving her a sly smile, warmer and more comfortable than his smirk, looking more like the Zayn she knew. “Y’know, all that haram and Jinn stories that used to bother the hell out of ya.”

Despite not wanting to, she couldn’t help but smile in return. “Right,” she warmed at the mention of their insider, “Well, we could use your help. For your research, did you come across anything about how to perform an exorcism on a house that’s possessed by a ghost?”

Zayn, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye at her odd question. He was used to Mags’ antics. “Yeah, from what I’ve read, the best bet is to light some sage. Ask the ghosts what they want and try to get them what they need, and they’ll leave.” He paused as if he truly registered what he just asked her, and then eyed Harry suspiciously. “But I know you. You don’t believe in that kinda stuff.”

“It’s nothing,” Mags lied, wanting to end this conversation, like, five minutes ago. “Can you tell us where the newspaper archives are? Ones from like 10 years ago?”

Heading towards the corner of the library that Zayn pointed them to, Harry and Mags walked in silence. Unable to take it anymore, Mags spoke up. “So, that was Zayn. My ex-boyfriend. But you already know that.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Harry assured her. And it seemed like he truly meant that sentiment, his voice unwavering and genuine He didn’t seem the slightest bit accusatory, no hint of sarcasm lining his tone, which was so unlike what she was used to when she was dating Zayn. Not that she was dating Harry, but she and Zayn had a knack for being able to get under each other’s skin. Had the roles been reversed, Zayn wouldn’t have let that interaction go, hounding Mags for more answers to impossible questions until they’d inevitably get into another one of their infamous fights. Zayn was an English major, through and through, envious and passionate. He felt deeply as an artist and fought just as dramatically too.

It was the fact that Harry was nothing like Zayn that encouraged her to share. “No, I want to explain,” She insisted, as they carried a stack of newspapers to a table, ready to dive into their town’s obituaries. “Zayn and I, well, he and I dated for a good while. It was one of those things where, when it was good, it was really good, y’know? But when it was bad? It was awful.”

Harry encouragingly nodded, his green eyes looking to her in sincerity, letting her tell the story at her own pace. “Well,” Mags exhaled, “It was serious. One of the most serious relationships I’ve ever had. But it didn’t work out. Obviously. We were just too different. We both retreated when we were hurt and angry instead of talking things out. And it wasn’t just his fault, it was both of ours. It wasn’t anything dramatic or serious. We just broke up because we never really tried our best, never gave our best effort to fix our problems.” She recalled the months after the end of their relationship, Mags tried her best to hold it together, but it really did wound her. “The break-up still sucked though,” she admitted. She may act collected and composed, but when she does let someone into her heart, it’s different. If it wasn’t for Niall and Marisol, she wasn’t sure if she’d have gotten through it.

Harry placed his hand atop of hers, taking care to look into her eyes. “He’s the guy that broke your heart, isn’t he? The reason that you’re scared to be vulnerable with someone.”

Mags kept her gaze on the stack of newspaper, unable to meet his eyes, wordlessly nodding in affirmation.

“Well, thank you for sharing that with me,” Harry said earnestly, reaching over to put a finger under Mags chin, turning her face so they were looking at each other. “Thanks for being vulnerable with me.” Mags raised her gaze, smiling at the kindness of the boy who sat across from her, unsure how to respond.

She needn’t worry though because she didn’t have to reply. “Anyways,” he continued, “We have a ghost to get rid of. Let’s get to looking through this decade’s worth of obituaries.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As they started to head back to the house, Mags was a ball of nerves, filled with anticipation. The trip to the library had been a success. Mags was able to find Bertha’s late husband, Tom’s, obituary. It simply stated that he passed due to a head contusion, with no information on how it occurred. News must’ve been slow that week because Harry then found the real treasure: an investigative article that revealed more information about Tom’s death. They discovered that Tom and Bertha had gotten into an argument, over something silly as she had to remind him multiple times to check the circuit breaker in the basement. Tom had begrudgingly gone to do so when one the wires in the breakers shocked him with a small current of electricity. The electrical shock didn’t kill him, but it did surprise him enough so that he stepped back, falling over and hitting his head on the edge of his workbench. The death was quick and painless, the article assured readers, but Mags still felt awful while reading it. Poor Tom, she thought, and poor Bertha. Even more so, it was a bit unsettling to Harry that a death had occurred in the house in which he was currently living.

As they had prepared to leave the library earlier, armed with knowledge and a secure plan to conduct their exorcism, Zayn had caught up with them, giving Mags a bottle of sage that he had lying around in his office that he acquired during his thesis research.

Now, she and Harry trekked back to the house, loaded with goodies that would hopefully guarantee an end to the paranormal activities; bottle of holy water, pewter candlesticks, and a bottle of sage, not to mention everything that they learned throughout the day. As she mentally recounted the day’s hectic and odd events, she voiced her thoughts. “Wasn’t that medium funny? The things she so-called predicted about you were so wild.” Mags laughed, brandishing her speech with air quotes.

“Heh, yeah,” Harry said, uncharacteristically without elaboration. There was a small pause, and then, “Actually, she wasn’t all wrong.” “How’s that?” Mags inquired, wondering how much longer their walk would take. She was so ready to deal with the ghost. Especially now since she knew it was Tom and he probably didn’t mean them any harm.

“I actually, uh, well you know how she said I suffered a great loss?” Harry reached over to rub the back of his neck before continuing, “Well. She wasn’t wrong about that. My uh, my dad passed away. Not too long ago really.” “Harry,” Mags said, concern and sympathy and sadness all intertwined in her voice, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“We don’t,” Harry agreed, but then he looked at her. And if Mags had to guess, the look in his eyes showed that he felt comfortable with her. Safe. “But I want to. My dad was an okay guy, not the best husband but a good father. He passed quickly – cancer, but not painlessly. It was tough for my sister and mom. Tough for me too.” He cleared his throat, sneaking a peek at Mags before looking down at his feet. “I just, I wanted you to know that about me. I like sharing things with you. You’re easy to talk to.”

Usually, Mags was quick to stick her foot in her mouth. Her special talent of saying the wrong thing reared its ugly head when it was most unwanted and in the most awkward situations. But surprisingly, that didn’t happen this time. Mags took one look at how exposed and open Harry was, how he shared his sorrow and confided in her, and she knew exactly what she wanted to say. “He must’ve been a great father,” Mags noted, “To have helped raise someone as wonderful like you.”

They shared a smile. A small one that meant that whatever this was, whatever was happening between them, it was going to be big. The shared smile revealed that there were wonders and adventures yet to come between them. But it would all have to wait until after tonight, when they would finally leave Harry with a ghost-free home.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Harry unlocked the door to his house, they didn’t waste time in removing their shoes or coats and got straight to work. Harry began to burn the sage and Mags set the candle around the room, lighting the wicks and igniting flames. They worked in silence, the magnitude of what’s to come weighing heavily on their shoulders. When finished with their respective duties, they met back at the center.

Harry’s grip on the bottle of holy water tightened. “You don’t have to do this, y’know? I won’t hold it against you.” He was offering her an out, not wanting to put her in any unnecessary danger.

Mags rolled her eyes, before reaching over to grasp his free hand. “I’m not that easy to get rid of. I’m not going anywhere.”

Just then, the awful thudding and heavy footsteps could be heard from above. It was loud, the steps so heavy that it caused bits of wood shavings to fall from the ceiling. It was now or never.

“Hello?” Mags called out, her voice trembling at the unknown. “Is that you Tom? I mean Mr – “ “Bleakman,” Harry helpfully supplied.

Mags gulped, “Mr. Bleakman. If that’s you, can you give us a sign?”

Was it her imagination, or had the room suddenly gotten colder? The inside of the house seemed to be even more freezing that the harsh winds outside. It was chilling. Goosebumps began to dot her arms and an uneasy feeling settling around her.  She held her coat closer to her exposed neck, her grip tightening in Harry’s intertwined hand.

“Mr. Bleakman?” Now it was Harry giving it a go. “If you can hear me, I just want you to know. I’m Harry. Your wife, Bertha, rented this house to me. She’s a real sweet woman.” “They play Bingo together,” Mags offered.

“We did. We played a lot of Bingo together and – “ “Which isn’t a euphemism by the way!” Mags exclaimed, before mouthing an apology to Harry when he shot her an exasperated look.

“Right. Well, Mr. Bleakman. Tom. I was hoping that you could stop haunting this house. The thing with the Ouija board the other day? It wasn’t very cool of me and I won’t do it again.” The thudding didn’t stop. The cold air didn’t seem to warm. In fact, things began to worsen. Mags and Harry looked around just as the lights began to flicker, casting an ominous lighting around the room. Just as suddenly, the lights went out all together and everything was dead silent. In the dim lighting, with the candles their only source of light, Mags eyes struggled to adjust. A chill ran down her spine, causing her to tremble. She clumsily reached out for Harry, having let go of his hand earlier, and then let out an audible sigh of relief when his hand found hers instead, squeezing it once as reassurance.

The thumping sound stopped. The only sound that could be heard was their shallow breathing that seemed deafening in an otherwise silent room. They waited, breath baited, for something to happen. It couldn’t be that easy Mags thought. There’s no way.

And though she didn’t want to be, she was right. No sooner has she mentally expressed that sentiment that there was a loud smashing sound that came from the right of her, followed by a loud bang of something crashing to the ground. She screamed, backing up into Harry, who immediately pulled her behind him, trying to shield her from whatever danger that lurked. Before they could even question what caused that smashing sound, a sudden gust of cold air could be felt, causing Mags to shudder and simultaneously, and all the flames in the candles went out. They were trapped in pitch darkness.

The front door slammed open, and the pair whirled around to look at the entrance. A hooded figure could be seen, face hidden, a blunt object in his hand.

This time, both Mags and Harry screamed bloody murder.

The figure screamed back.

A voice thick with an Irish accent resounded in the room. “Why’re ya screaming?! It’s just me!”

“Niall?” Mags questioned desperately, while Harry shouted, “What’s wrong with you? You don’t just bust into someone’s home like that!” The latter’s voice sounding suspiciously scared in a falsetto.

As if this was a playwright and not reality, the lights flickered back on, almost on cue. The lights revealed that it was indeed Niall, as he pulled down the hood from his jacket and stepped into the room. The large object in his hand was just a scroll of paper, rolled up into a tight cylindrical shape.

Mags took long strides to cross the room and stand before Niall before not so lightly pounding him on the arm repeatedly. “What is the matter with you?” “Ouch!” The Irishman exclaimed, wincing and rubbing him tender arm. “I’m here because I’ve found the answer to Harry’s problem.” He was met with unimpressed stares. “Yikes, tough crowd. Look, why don’t you guys take a seat?”

Mags and Harry shared a look, and then walked over to the couch, sitting close to each other, practically on the same cushion, not wanting to be apart after what they’d just witnessed. Once settled, all eyes were on Niall, who physically claimed the center of the room.

“I have found the solution to this haunting,” Niall began. Mags noticed that he was using the same rambunctious, haughty voice he employed when he had to present a subject in class over something that he hadn’t done the reading on, but she ignored calling him out as he actually had piqued her interest. Could he truly have the answer to stop all this madness?

Harry hunched over and ran his palms across his face, and Mags instinctively reached out to rub his shoulders comfortingly. “Oooh! When’d this happen?” Niall asked excitedly, pointing at them.

Mags eyes just flashed in irritation.

“Right!” Niall exclaimed, as if he suddenly remembered he was in the middle of something important. “The solution.”

He began to pace the length of the living room rug, his hands tied behind his back, the rain droplets from his jacket dripping onto the floor. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about everything that Harry had said about this house. All the things that spooked him. I didn’t know what to make of it, so I did some digging of my own.”

He bent over and unfolded the roll of paper, and Mags and Harry reached out to hold opposite edges to keep it straightened.

“Erm, what exactly are we looking at here?” Harry questioned, his head cocked to the side trying to make sense of the white lines and measurements adorning the navy-blue page.

“I went to the town hall and asked for a copy of this house’s floorplan. You mentioned it was old, Harry, something in Bertha’s family for a while so I figured they would have it. If you look closely, right about here,” he pointed to a section on the paper of what Mags deduced was the living room that they were currently in, “that’s the room we are in right now. And if you follow the measurements of the floorboards, you’ll see that they don’t quite align.”

From Harry’s squinted eyes, it was clear he hadn’t caught on yet. But Mags had. The paper showed the square footage, measurements, and scales; Numbers! She was back in familiar territory! She excitedly traced the area that Niall pointed out. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered, “This bitch is built crooked.”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, exasperated at being out of the loop. “What is this even showing me?” Niall seemed gleeful at Mag’s realization, validating his findings. “The house, while structurally sound, was built crooked. The plot of land it’s on is uneven. The left dipping lower than the right. Which is why sometimes,” Niall threw his arm out to point at the right wall, splattering Mags and Harry’s faces with more water droplets that flew off his sleeve, “the painting from that wall falls off periodically.” They all looked to where he pointed. The sound Mags and Harry had heard moments ago, the loud banging in the darkness, had been a picture frame that fell off the wall. That’s all it was. Mags felt just the tiniest bit of air fill back into her lungs in relief.

“B-but,” Harry nodded his head side to side in apparent puzzlement, “But how does that explain the lights? We – “He nodded his head at Mags, “We found out that Tom, Bertha’s husband, had died while messing with the breaker in the basement. The flickering lights has to be his ghost.” Niall only patted Harry’s head in response. “Oh, you silly lad! If only that were true. In actuality, Bertha forgot to tell you that in the winter months, the house needs a scheduled appointment with the town’s electrician. The house is old, the wiring is faulty, and it needs a nice tweak now and then in the cold weather.”

Niall stood up once again with a flourish, one finger raised and poised in the air, “And how would I know that? Fret not Harry,” to which Harry deeply exhaled in frustration. “I looked up Bertha, found her granddaughter on Instagram. She’s a fittie by the way, has a boyfriend though. Real shame.” A swift kick to his shins from Mags got him to stop his harmless flirting and get back on track. “Right, so I reached out to her. She relayed that information to me. She also pointed out something else that she thought we’d ought to know.”

He treads to the other side of the room, to the wall that has four large windowpanes covered by thick, velvet drapes. Grabbing the curtain from one corner, he peels it back, loudly exclaiming “Ta-daa!”, his hands outstretched as if he was presenting something fascinating to them, a magician in front of an audience.

Eyes blinked back at him. “There’s nothing even there!” Harry exasperatedly noted.

“What?” Niall did a double take, and then chuckled to himself. “Oops, wrong window.” He repeated his same dramatic motions, this time uncovering a window with a large, crack on it. On the corner, was a missing shard of glass. “Bertha had been meaning to get this fixed. The neighbor’s kid accidentally threw a baseball through the window. She got really forgetful towards the end, according to her granddaughter, which is why she whisked her away.”

Mags nodded excitedly, “That’s what’s been causing the drafts.” She turned to Harry, eyes glowing with relief, “That’s why it always so damn cold in here. Your thermostat can’t compete with that.”

“Hopefully the flickering lights will offset how high your electivity bill is going to be,” Niall joked.

Harry seemed unconvinced. “What about that smell then, huh? It smells something dreadful in the kitchen and I’ve cleaned the place spic and span.”

Mags turned to Niall in wonder, looking at him in a whole new light, as if he was an all knowing being that held all the answers.

“Follow me,” Niall said, leading the trio into the kitchen while continuing his monologue. “I called up our dear friend Louis. Hard guy to keep track of, that lad, with the time zones and all. I told him about the smell, and wouldn’t you know it? Our friend remembered the fact that when he was here, he had drunkenly tried to make himself scrambled eggs for breakfast when you,” he pointed accusingly at Harry, “were passed out on the couch. What he actually did was drop an egg on the ground. In his drunken state, he simply just kicked the egg yolk under the fridge, like ice, and promised to clean it later.”

Niall leaned against the fridge, arms crossed dramatically. “As we know, no follow-through that one. He forgot to clean his mess. So that smell you smelt? The scent of rotten eggs? It actually was a rotten egg. Disgusting but true.”

“I –” Harry couldn’t believe it. Gently pushing Niall away from the fridge, he knelt down on one knee, sinking onto the cool tile. Sliding his phone out of his front pocket, he turned on his flashlight app and shined in under the fridge. Niall and Mags also leaned in to get a closer look. Audible gasps could be heard from all three of them. There, under the dusty and sticky tile bottom of the fridge, wedged between a dust ball and an expired coupon, was a broken, rotten egg.

Mags pinched her nose, unable to take the scent anymore. “Niall, you’re an absolute genius,” she complimented nasally.

Before Niall could bask in his glory for long, Harry interrupted once again. “You’ve explained the lights. The painting falling off. The cold. The smell. But,” his eyes bleary and red, his arms flailing in frustration “what about the sounds coming from the ceiling? The footsteps?”

He turned around and looked at Mags frantically for support. “Mags heard it too! The night that she stayed over and we – um, she just heard it too!” while Mags nodded feverishly in the background.

Niall looked away, breaking eye contact. “That’s the only part I can’t explain,” the blonde confessed, scratching his scalp. “But the blueprints show this house has an attic. Let’s all go search up there together.”

Emboldened by Niall’s other explanations, everyone geared up for their excursion, which really meant that everyone had their phones in hand, flashlights shining. Once again, Niall lead the way, stopping in the middle of the hallway. It was no wonder Harry had never noticed it before. There, on the ceiling, was a subtle outline of an attic door and a very small chain dangling. It was so high up that Niall and Harry took turns hopping and trying to reach the latch, while Mags didn’t even try, watching the boys struggle because she know her attempts would be futile. Eventually Harry was able to grab ahold of the chain and pull the attic door open, as the wooden steps fell along with it. Harry looked back at Mags, feeling a surge of affection for this girl that was willing to risk everything for him, and then looked at Niall, the friend who jumped through hoops to help a friend. Inspired by the love and support around him, Harry took the lead, climbing up the steps as Niall and Mags respectively followed.

“Please don’t be a creepy man that’s been hoarding and hiding in Harry’s attic for shelter,” Mags whispered, climbing the last steps “Because I WILL die of shock, and that’s a promise.”

Niall and Harry helped her up, and she stood upright. They each flashed their lights at different corners of the attic, trying to find something amiss among the dusty boxes of forgotten belongings and storage.

“Wait,” Harry whispered, pointing in the opposite corner. “Look over there. Something’s glowing.”

And sure enough, Mags saw it too. Something was glowing and moving. Two little round balls of light.

“I think,” Harry began, taking a step closer to the source when all Mags wanted to do was drag him back to safety, “Oh wow, it is.” “Is what?” Niall exclaimed, unable to handle the suspense.

“It’s a family of possums!” Harry cried in relief, “It’s just a mama possum and her babies. It’s not a ghost!”

“Awww,” Niall cooed.

The release that everyone felt was almost palpable, the relief tangible. There was no ghost after all! No otherworldly being! All of this was caused by a forgetful old woman, a drunk friend, and a family of critters.

Mags could almost cry tears of joy. Science was valid. Her whole wasn’t flipped upside down. Numbers were important, her beliefs restored. Rationale could explain everything unusual that had occurred within the confines of this house. Without being too dramatic, she could firmly declare that once again, her life had meaning.

She took a few minutes to herself to truly appreciate that there was no haunting before finally speaking up. “I hate to ruin the moment,” Mags said as Harry and Niall admired the critters, “but mama possums are very territorial and will attack if she feels threatened.” When neither Harry nor Niall made any intentions to move, she added, “And possums are at high risk to carry strains of rabies.”

“And that’s our cue!” Harry quipped, as Niall vehemently added, “Yup!”

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Day 7: October 31st, Halloween!!!

Mags beamed with content, relaxing every muscle in her body as she laid on the bookshop’s couch, her head resting on Harry’s warm thigh, his face partially obscured by a book, reading snippets from the murder-mystery novel she had started but never got to finish given how hectic the past few days had been. His other free hand was draped across her shoulder and chest, and Mags divided her attention, taking turns to hold his hand and running her fingers across his forearm, despite Harry’s constant claim that it tickled.

It was Halloween, the day that she had first anticipated because she loved all things horror and it was her favorite holiday, and then the day that she had started to dread when she believed that Harry’s house was being haunted by a ghost. Now, she was back to loving her favorite holiday again, the world was ruled by science, and everything felt right. And it truly did. Ever since last night, when Niall was able to demystify all of the strange occurrences, Mags felt lighter than she had ever before. She let out an exhale as she relaxed into her position, nuzzling closer to Harry as his low voice rumbled, reading aloud to her, and embraced the pleasant sound.

She was so comfortable, so relaxed, she felt could fall asleep right here and now. A little nap was well-deserved at this point, she decided as she closed her eyes contently, considering the hell she’d been through this past week.

“Do not fall asleep,” a voice demanded.

She inhaled deeply in frustration, peeling one eye open to see Liam passing by. He eyed her, irritated, though Mags knew he wasn’t truly annoyed. “You’re still on the clock, y’know?” Liam said, “Just checking in to make sure you’re all set to close up.” He paused to nod at Harry in greeting, because apparently it was really a small world and Mags had found out that Liam and Harry actually knew each from freshman year history class.

Mags sat up, running her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to tame it. “I don’t understand why you always ask me that when you never offer to actually help close up.”

Liam laughed in response. “I’m nothing if not consistent.” He reached over to give Harry one of those boy handshakes that would always elude Mags. Why couldn’t boys just say goodbye normally? “Anyways, I’ll see you at Harry’s place tonight. I’ve got a wicked costume planned,” he concluded as a farewell.

It wasn’t hard for Niall to convince Harry that he should host a Halloween party at his house, to celebrate the fact that he wasn’t haunted, but also because it was a great excuse to bring everyone together and get drunk. Mags, always eager to wear costumes, agreed with his sentiments and thus, they were hosting a last-minute Halloween party with no invitations spared.

Mags twisted her body to face Harry, his eyes already on her. “I probably should get up and start to close up.” She straightens herself up, ready to check inventory and cash out the register. “Before another student comes rushing in last minute again. Or God forbid, an English major,” she jokes.

“Um,” Harry treaded cautiously, “You know I’m an English major, right?” “You’re a what?” Mags eyes widen in shock. “Nope. No way.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Absolutely not.”

Harry smirks in amusement. “Unfortunately, yes. Sorry to break it to you, hon.”

Mags froze, flabbergasted. She guessed she really did have a type. Karma really was a bitch. “I’m so glad you decided to reveal your major after the fact,” she joked, “Or else it might’ve been a deal breaker.”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, changing the subject, “Don’t forget! I’ll need to rush home and put on my costume before meeting you at the house.” “Ooh,” Harry resounded in excitement, “Can you pretty please bring Pumpkin with you? I haven’t seen her all day.” She rolled her eyes in response. “I’m beginning to think you’re only dating me for my cat,” she joked amicably.

And that is what they were doing. Dating. As soon as all the ghost nonsense was put to rest, she and Harry finally had the opportunity to address everything that happened between them. Though their coming together was unconventional, the feelings were real and strong, and they decided to give their relationship a try. Mags felt good about it. They way Harry made her feel made her think they were in it for the long haul and she was excited about their future holds.

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Adjusting her halo that fell askew when she threw her head back to take a shot, Mags looked around the kitchen in happiness, the kind that fills your heart when you’re in a party, surrounded by close friends and loved ones, loud music thumping from a distance and filled with good vibes. Alcohol definitely plays a part too.

Suddenly, two tattooed arms reached out to envelop her, careful to avoid smushing her wings. She leaned her weight against Harry’s chest, allowing him to support her, as she turned her face slightly towards him. He lowered his head to her ears, his breath tickling her skin and making her blood rush. “You look so good,” Harry murmured, “I’ve got half a mind to call the cops on my own party so they can kick everyone out. Want you all to myself.”

Despite rolling her eyes, Mags couldn’t help the pleased smile that snaked across her face. “Easy there, I’m spending the night anyway.” She turned around so that her wings were no longer a barrier between them, wrapping her arms around Harry from the front, her face against his chest, as he placed his head affectionally atop hers, the wisps on her Halo tickling his cheeks.

Mags had chosen an angel as her last-minute Halloween costume, mainly because it was an easy outfit, but also because the white contrasted well with her golden-brown skin and this particular outfit did wonders for her boobs. A fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Harry, if the look he gave her when she first made her entrance was any indication. On the other hand, Harry had chosen to dress as a devil. Or at least, a very lackluster devil. He had a red sweater on earlier, but the warmth from the house crowded with bodies caused him to abandon that hours ago, and he was left with a white t-shirt, dark jeans, and a pair of devil horns hastily placed atop his mass of curly hair. It was mysterious the way the world worked. Just a week ago, she imagined that on Halloween she would be at home, watching the Scream movie series with Niall, Marisol, and Pumpkin, with a bag of Halloween candy to pass out to trick or treaters. And now, she was celebrating her favorite holiday with her friends and her boyfriend with a fun party.

As the Monster Mash played deafeningly in the background, and they were jostled from people entering and exiting the kitchen to get punch, they swayed to their own silent music, content to be lost in their world for just a moment.

A moment that was interrupted by Niall. “Seriously Harry? You were supposed to grab Mags so we could play charades!” To which Harry muttered an insincere apology. Niall turned to Mags, “It’s a Halloween version of charades. I know how competitive you get. You and Harry can be on the same team. It’ll be a true test of your love!” He declared, his speech slow and slurred.

Mags was game. “Oh, we are so gonna win!” She declared, already leaning into her competitive streak.

“Great!” Niall declared enthusiastically, his arms sloppily flailing in excitement. Unfortunately for him, and for Harry, Niall had forgotten about the cup he was holding and just emptied its entire content onto Harry. His white shirt was completely stained with red punch.

Niall avoided Harry’s harsh glare as Mags slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. “Oops! I’ll just let ya take care of that before our game,” he announced, adjusting his fake leprechaun beard before hurriedly making his exit.

“Great,” Harry groaned, dabbing his shirt with a paper towel in vain, “I have to go change my shirt.” Unexpectedly, Mags was hit with a sudden realization. “Oh my gosh!” She exclaimed in a tone of wonder. “You’re completely covered in red liquid.”

It took Harry a moment, but then his eyes flashed with recognition. “That crazy old psychic was right!”

Mags laughed at the absurdity of it all. “I wonder,” she began, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, “If she was right about two things so far, I’m starting to suspect that she was right to warn me. I’ll bet you are a widower! How do I know I’m not dating a married man?” She teased.

Harry just looked at her fondly in response, at the crazy girl that he called his girlfriend.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Buzz! The electronic buzzer resounded, indicating that Mags and Harry’s turn was over. She threw her arm up in frustration. “Seriously Harry? The word was Leatherface! It’s the killer in Texas Chainsaw Massacre!” “How was I supposed to get that?” He howled with laughter.

“I was pointing at Zayn’s leather jacket!” She explained, pointing at the boy dressed as a Greaser, “And I was miming a chainsaw!”

“A chainsaw?” Harry questioned, as Niall guffawed, “I thought you were chopping vegetables!”

Mags sat back next to Harry, arms crossed, and lips pouted in pretending to sulk. “It’s okay baby,” he comforted her, “We’ll get them next round.”

“You promise?” She teased.

His pinky reached out to capture hers. “Pinky promise.”

Mags had chosen a seat next to Marisol and Niall, her main competition in this game. She had squeezed Liam’s shoulder as she passed to get to her seat and shot Zayn a smile in greeting, noticing other familiar faces in the room. It seems that the people that she was the closest with had chosen to join the game.

Niall observed Mags and Harry tangled within one another, as she sat close to Harry, her back to his chest, his arm slung around her shoulders as they waited for their next turn. “You guys are so cute. We should go on a double-date!” He exclaimed, the alcohol causing his enthusiasm to increase ten-fold, “Marisol,” he called, turning to his girlfriend, “Let’s all get brunch tomorrow morning!” Marisol shared a knowing look with Mags, to say Gosh my boyfriend is so cute but such an adorable handful when he’s drunk. “Sweetie,” she began understandingly, as if she was speaking to a toddler, “Y’know I have church in the morning. The church on 3rd street holds their sermons really early on Sunday mornings.”

“Oh, the one with Pastor Mike?” Mags questioned, “He’s super nice!” Marisol looked over at her roommate in concern. “Why do you know that?” She questioned in exasperated confusion, the synthetic hair from her blue Coraline wig slipping over her eyes as she narrowed them at Harry suspiciously, who was busy playing with the ends of Mags hair, the long strands skirting against the small of her back. Marisol lowering her voice in a drunken whisper that wasn’t actually that quiet, “Is he trying to convert you?”

Harry looked offended at the accusation and Mags bubbled over in laughter, unable to explain to Marisol. She didn’t even know what’d she say. Yes, I know Pastor Mike is really kind because he helped Harry and I with an exorcism.

As Marisol and Niall got distracted because it was their turn, Mags turned to admire the mantle above the fireplace. When rooting through the basement for Halloween decorations, she and Harry had found a beautiful picture of Bertha and Tom. They felt it was appropriate to have it up, as a reminder of the love that once filled this house, instead of the horror they previously feared. “I guess I’ll have to go out and buy another frame,” Harry commented, following Mags eyes to see what got her attention. “Why’s that?” Mags asked curiously.

“For a picture of us, of course!” Mags shoved his arm playfully. “Harry, we’ve literally been officially dating for one day, why are you like this?” In turn, he dropped all pretenses of joking, carefully looking into her eyes. “When you know, you know,” he explained, his words firm and laced with adoration. He reached out to tuck a strand of her dark hair behind her ears, his actions tender and careful, his gaze unwavering. This time, Mags didn’t have to guess what expression was on his face, wasn’t confused about the look in his eye. As he ducked forward, dipping down to touch his nose against hers, she recognizes the emotion that all the signs point to: love.

Just as Harry’s lips are about to make contact with hers, Liam speaks up boisterously, gathering the attention of everyone in the room. “After this,” he boldly proclaims, his once carefully applied zombie makeup now smudged and his speech imprecise due to the effects of the punch, “we should all get into the true Halloween spirit by playing the ultimate spooky game.”

His proclamation is meet with cheerful jeers of encouragement and questions about what the game was.

“Great!” He all but shouts in enthusiasm, “I’ll just go and find us a Ouijia board.”

Time stood still. Everything seemed to move in slow-motion.

Completely in sync, their motions fluid and graceful, contradicting the amount of alcohol consumed between the three of them, Niall, Harry, and Mags jumped up from the couch in harmony, bellowing a resounding chorus of “NO!”

The End. (or isss iiiiiit?)

(Just kidding, it is.)