#They also fry them up and eat them too if they cannot be chucked | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winsmoke · 4 years ago

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𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐯 𝐚𝐬 disney princesses

↷ ⊹ 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐊𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬

After watching Pink Festa, Kun’s Stepmother feels severely threatened by his blinding beauty, forcing him to flee to a cottage with six dwarves. Since WayV and manual labor are not compatible (have you seen dream plan), they use robots to mine the crystals. Is still called Mom and devoutly hates it. When he sings, nature bends to his will. Even though the birdies and woodland animals help him with cooking and cleaning he redoes it the right way: “PUT THOSE TAILS AWAY THE DYSON IS COMING THROUGH.” Asks if the apple you’re offering him is sugar, gluten, pesticide, and fat-free cuz he’s a healthy bitch.

↷ ⊹ 𝐓𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝

Becomes captivated by Winwin in a waistcoat and doesn’t fall but dives in the rabbit hole after him to escape a nagging Kun. Nibbles on the cake just so he’s taller than Kun and saves the potion so he can make a travel-sized Johnny or Taeyong. Runs into Tweedleji and Tweedlechi and asks them where Win the rabbit hopped off to but all they do is argue about whose head is bigger (Jisung and Chenle - do I even need to explain). Refuses to paint the roses red because it’s so basic and rainbow is obviously the mood. Before Ten finally catches up to Win the rabbit, he wakes up - only he could dream up such an unhinged world.

↷ ⊹ 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

The worst cinderella. So motherfucking lazy. Manipulates the mice and bluebirds with his aegyo prowess to do all the housework. But too nice to rebel against his stepsisters, Lucastasia and Tenzella, and their devious cat Hendery. Kun, his Fairy Godmother, comes with his magical makeup kit but it doesn’t really work cuz Winderella’s skin is already flawless. Only goes to the ball so he can escape chores. Is literally chased around the ballroom by an adoring Yuta, Taeil, Mark, and a flock of NCT princes (though those three are aggressive). But Winderella is a tall bitch, plus the glass slippers, so whoever ends up dancing with him looks awkward as fuck and will have bruises by midnight.

↷ ⊹ 𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐜𝐞

Dotes over his little sister, Hendana, and is horrified when his powers harm her. To occupy himself during his self-isolation, he gets buff. Is intimidated by the growing relationship between Hendana and Xiaojun of the Southern Isles (is also upset about Xiaojun’s superior eyebrows) and runs away to the northern mountains. Completes his ice castle with a 6 monitor gaming setup, a fitness center, and a walk-in cooler just for meat. Didn’t take long for Hendana to track Lucas down, after one run through “Let it Go,” the whole kingdom knew where he went. Only comes back to Arendelle to unfreeze the kingdom when he realizes he cannot eat meat or most foods without heat. And he might have been a little lonely without Hendana (Winwin the snowboi was not cutting it).

↷ ⊹ 𝐗𝐢𝐚𝐨𝐣𝐚𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

The prized princess of the SultaM, Xiaojun is so sheltered, his only friend is Taeyong the tiger. Will order him to attack anyone who shades mint chocolate ice cream (but Xiaojun ripped so he could do it himself). Becomes sick of the SultaM controlling his every move so he escapes with Kun in a jet with his monkey, Yangabu. Eventually, Kun and Yangabu get captured because Kun doesn’t have his pilot license but in reality, the SultaM is just trying to exploit Kun. Realizing Kun could soon be in the same trapped position he’s in, Xiaojun throws his weight around by playing the “well maybe I don’t want to be a princess anymore” card.

↷ ⊹ 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐓𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

Pascal who? As if Hendery would allow an amphibian to reside on his shoulder. Fact check: he didn’t want to leave the tower nor did he have any artistic ability. Hendery is a one-man show that entertained himself by giving himself high-fives, talking to his reflection, and dancing hysterically. Escapes that fucking tower screaming because Ten Rider, his dashing savior, chucked him out the window. First thing they do is knock out the boutique employees with a frying pan to steal new clothes because if it ain’t pink it ain’t shit. When Ten Rider unknowingly eats a poisoned apple, Hendery uses his luscious locks to resurrect him. Plot twist, Ten is the real Snow White.

↷ ⊹ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠

Being a sneakerhead is hard when you don’t have feet. But when Yangyang sees a human, Prince Henderic (who else honestly), for the first time, he knows he’s gotta get a pair of legs. But since Kun, King of the Ocean, forbids him from swimming above water, Yangyang turns to Ten, the Sea Witch. Hoping to usurp King Kun, Ten promises to give Yangyang what he wants if he swipes Kun’s trident. Being a slick mermaid, Yangyang realizes Kun is a prude and Ten is psychotic so he snatches the trident for himself and turns them both into sea urchins. After transforming his tail into legs, a nude Yangyang is found on the beach by Prince Henderic who makes him a part of his world.

#If you thought i was done with the wayv crack think again #I try to focus on school work for one week and this happens #i write real stories too #wayv #wayv princess #wayv crack #kun #ten #winderella #winwin #lucas #xiaojun #Hendery #YangYang #wayv fluff

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asianadjacent · 5 years ago

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麻婆豆腐 aka “Mapo Tofu”

If you’ve eaten Chinese food, whether the white people version of Chinese food, or actual food from Sichuan (it’s a province in China, read a map), you will definitely have come across this famous dish. Despite its popularity on Chinese restaurant menus everywhere, a good version is hard to find as the spice levels are usually toned down to cater for weak palettes (or bowels).

Because this dish is so popular, every household will have their version of how they make it. My mum definitely makes it differently to how I do it and our family isn’t even from the Sichuan province. I can’t even imagine how many versions of this dish and recipes exist.

No matter what the recipe, the core ingredients are Sichuan peppercorns, which gives the dish the numbing sensation and doubanjiang (豆瓣酱), a spicy, fermented broad bean chilli paste that is often used in Sichuan food for seasoning instead of soy sauce. There will be recipes that also include black bean paste but I’ve kept it out of mine for simplicity.

Also, this dish is traditionally cooked with ground pork but I’ve often substituted it with shiitake mushrooms when I want to make it vegetarian or vegan friendly. (You’re welcome)

A good Mapo Tofu dish to me is piping hot, spicy but not kill your grandma spicy, numbing and citrusy, fresh and fragrant - all with a hint of sweetness. It’s not about making it unbearably spicy, it’s about finding the delicate balance between these very dominant ingredients.

To find that balance for your palette, play around with the amounts below to suit your personal taste. If you want more spice, add more chillies or Sichuan peppercorns. Toggle between sweet and savoury with sugar and doubanjiang. If you like it a bit more garlicky, go for it. After all, you’re the one eating the dish at the end of it.

One final note, you must eat this with a bowl (or three) of steamed white rice. You simply cannot enjoy this dish without it. If you serve this with anything else other than rice, you are dead to me.

Good luck.

麻婆豆腐 aka “Mapo Tofu”

Servings: 4-6 Cooking time: 35 minutes

Ingredients

2-3 tablespoons cooking oil (I used rapeseed oil but sunflower or any other neutral oil will do)

2 teaspoons sesame oil

6-8 dried red chillies (ground)

2 tablespoons Sichuan peppercorns (ground)

1 fresh red chilli (finely diced)

3 cloves garlic (finely diced)

4cm piece of ginger (finely diced)

150g minced pork or shiitake mushrooms (remove the stems and dice the caps)

Splash of Shaoxing wine

2 tablespoons doubanjiang (spicy bean paste)

1 cup water or stock

450g silken or regular tofu (cut into 1 inch cubes)

2-3 teaspoons cornstarch (mixed with 50 ml of cold water)

1 tablespoon sugar (or to taste)

Salt (to taste)

1-2 spring onions for garnish (finely diced)

Preparation

Grind the dried red chillies and Sichuan peppercorns into a spice powder. You can use a mortar and pestle or spice grinder. (I used a spice grinder to be lazy and save time)

Finely dice the red chilli, garlic and ginger, set aside.

Heat up a frying pan with cooking and sesame oils. When oil is hot and shimmering, add the dried red chilli and Sichuan peppercorn spice powder. Once the spice powder has bloomed (when you can smell it in the air) after about 30 seconds, add the fresh red chilli, garlic and ginger. Fry for a minute until fragrant.

Add the minced pork or shiitake to the pan, be sure to season with salt to draw out the moisture. This will help brown the meat or mushrooms. Once brown, deglaze pan with Shaoxing wine (or some water if you don’t have any) and add the doubanjiang. Stir it in well and let it cook for a minute.

Pour 1 cup water or stock and chuck in the sugar. Now you let it all sit and let it all come together for a minute or two just to let the sugar dissolve and for the flavours to develop. Play around with the sugar and salt levels to taste at this stage. If it’s too salty, add more sugar. If too sweet, add a bit more doubanjiang. Additional note: If you don’t have stock or stock cubes and you’re making the vegetarian version of this, take the shiitake stems you removed during prep and add them to a separate pot with water and a bit of salt before you start the rest of the recipe. Bring that to a boil and let it simmer for an instant mushroom stock!)

When it all tastes right to you, throw in the tofu and stir in the cornstarch mixture. Cook for 3-5 minutes, the cornstarch will thicken up the sauce after a few minutes. If the sauce is looking a bit too thick, add some extra water and cook for slightly longer. When it reaches the consistency you want, add most of the spring onions and toss gently.

Plate it up, garnish with spring onions, extra Sichuan peppercorn powder and sesame oil if you want.

Eat with all the steamed white rice in the world.

Enjoy.

#chinese #recipe #food #homecooking #quarantinelife #tofu #vegan #vegetarian #asian #omnomnomnivore #noms

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chibi-chaos · 4 years ago

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Here’s the issue... We’re not judging the kid. We’re judging the parents and the company. And while I don’t want to say this is entirely a bad thing... but there are elements to be concerned about.

1. The mask indicated this was posted during this fine old pandemic that’s going on in the world. Y’know... the same one that highlight the flaws of cheap labour? You know what Burger King came out with? https://www.dailydot.com/irl/burger-king-teen-worker-sign/

So while companies are targeting disadvantaged groups to lure them in, we have this. Perfect for struggling families. Or parents whose idea of parenting is making and treating their children like adults as soon as glitter of parenting is gone. And as we’ve seen they fail to support their workers, so imagine that for a child.

2. We have a parent here - who by all sighs is approving that the kid is making every living breathing moment of their life is either a. school or b. work. A parents responsibility doesn’t just apply to making sure kids learn responsibilities of being a “respectable young man” but also to learn how to balance things so they can take care of themselves. Might I recommend reading this article with talks about how there is not straight answer to if work is good for a kid?

3. So let’s look at if this is done wrong and the parent is too focused on encouraging working how this can snowball. In a turbulent time with covid19 restrictions kids who are young and still developing can be chucked into the frying pan that is a service job, where they’re treated poorly by the company who sees them as a unit they can pay bare minimum, and by customers who take out anything they have issue on the kid.

How might this impact a kid?

At the minimum you see kids passing out in classes cause they’re going to school, I’ve seen that way too often, then they’re completing a shift, then they’ve got homework, then they’re working on the weekend.

If they fall behind in school means they potentially end up in tutoring, where they are playing catch up. I’ve had kids turn up from similar jobs who are so stressed from work and a incident, 15 minutes is just letting them vent so they clear their head so they can focus on their work for the rest of the time, hopefully.

So let’s do some math - say the kid summer job continues out of the summer holidays and spends about 6 hours in school each day. Times that by five and that means we’re up to 30 hours..

Let’s hypothetically go with the bare minimum 3 hour shift on week days (15 hours), and say 5 hours on a weekend (10 hours.

Our total now is 55 hours (that is more than the 40 hour work week an adult has).

This doesn’t factor in homework, which say is an hour for all subjects each day. So 7 hours.

62 hours.

A teenage child is supposed to get 8-10 hours sleep. So let’s go with the bare minimum of 8 hours time by the 7. 58 hours.

120 hours.

We’re not factoring in time needed to get to places, to eat, to take care of daily hygiene, any additional extra curriculum activities etc etc.

On top of that there is now studies showing that play is important for teenagers just as it is for infants, developing skills in a low-stress environment... compared to oh I don’t know... Working in a burger king job where they’re just another cog in the machine?

If a child cannot cope - especially when the progress in high school to the ‘high risk’ examination and they fail school, where does that leave them? More jobs like this while they try to find a path.

Work certainly has benefits, it does teach responsibilities, develops problem solving and social cognitive skills.

But if pushed too far in the wrong environment, the risks start to appear.

This is presented as a feel good story.

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baesketballers · 7 years ago

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Phantom presence

A Halloween special

As commissioned by @haikyuusmiles, posted with permission

Characters: Kuroko Tetsuya, Fem!Reader

He doesn’t know for how long he has been dead—it has probably been so long that he forgets, yet memory is something he finds merely optional, now that he is a wandering spirit. He doesn’t remember his name or how he came to this realm. What he remembers are formed together like a defective ancient tome: some chapters missing, pages torn, cover hardly intact. Sometimes he remembers some of the days when he was alive, only to find that it was not much different than the ‘life’ (if you can even call it that) which he lives presently.

Invisible.

But being a spirit has its perks, he would like to think with optimism. He usually dwells in libraries and book stores where he can spend his time in peace, only mildly inconveniencing the people in charge with the books he leaves open in the haste of him fleeing—he knows nobody can see him, but they can certainly see a book floating back to the shelf on its own, and that would raise a flag. He also likes movie theatres, where he observes and remembers culture through films, though occasionally he would stumble upon lovers amidst their trysts, and it would always remind him of how alone he is.

It isn’t like he is the only spirit floating around Tokyo, though. He met quite a few others, befriended them, even. He would talk to them about being dead, about the purpose of their nomadic souls, about Purgatory. He remembers how it felt like to not be alone, and it was comforting—but then he would look for them at their spot, only to find them gone. Nobody knows or keeps track of where spirits go, so the only conclusion he could draw was that they all somehow found their way to Purgatory.

He doesn’t know how to get there, and neither do the previous spirit friends he has. Yet strangely enough, no fire in him burns at the prospect of the next world, and he decides that looking for it would only be a pointless inconvenience.

Besides, he has always liked observing people.

Hovering in front of an art store, he wonders if it would be too much trouble for the owner if he steals a sketchbook and a pen or two, just so he can doodle in that abandoned warehouse he found—it gets boring at night, and even when he has no physical form, his soul grows weary after using too much energy being active throughout the day. He decides to go in anyway, trailing behind a group of female students seemingly here to buy supplies.

The watercolor aisle is where he first lays his eyes on you, your form squatting to reach for a set of gouache watercolors at the bottom shelf. You look adorable with a pout gracing your face as he watches you compare it with another box of paint in your other hand. His eyes fall on your hair, fluffy, brown, and short, and for the first time in a while he wants to be able to touch again, just so that he can feel the softness of your hair against him.

Spirit or human, he realizes that he begins following you out of curiosity and that it is incredibly rude, but something about you just pulls him in like a magnet, a force invisible even in his realm. He makes sure to give you privacy, though, waiting for you while you go to a restroom or when you eat. He follows the rest of your journey home and finds himself unconsciously whispering “pardon the intrusion” as he enters through your front door. He is exploring the living room when he hears the shower running—it must be you.

He looks at pictures and decorations and wonders how it feels like to be alive: to smell something sizzling in a frying pan, touch a pillow, feel his feet against the solid floor. His senses are warped without his body, reaching extremes where living humans can’t, but diminished when it comes to normal interactions. He can hear the dull thud of a door closing, however, and he follows the sound to find your room.

Not needing to open the door, he passes through it, finding himself in a completely different world—your world. It is colorful, thanks to the drawings strewn across your bed and your soft toys. They are an adorable array of dogs and sharks, and he finds the combination odd yet charming. You have a towel around your neck and shoulders to prevent your damp hair from wetting your shirt. He smiles softly at the display.

That is until he sees you reach into the dresser next to your bed.

Pills—a lot of them, he notes. They don’t seem like they are normal supplements, either. You down them, several at once but not too many, and something cold runs through him. You must be sick. With what, he doesn’t know, but it matters little. He sees you chuck your medicine back into the drawer before plopping onto your bed, grabbing a puppy plushie and hugging it against your chest.

You look tired.

It has been a while since he last felt something akin to sadness, but he realizes that he feels right now for you, even though he doesn’t know your name or what you are going through. If he were human, if he were your friend, he would most certainly reach in for a hug. He knows, though, that he is standing right at the foot of your bed and you don’t even know he exists.

Too close, and his presence brushes over a piece of stray paper on your bed, causing it to slip and fall on to the floor. Your eyes open at the sudden sound, immediately drawn to the paper now resting on the floor.

Then you look at him square in the eyes.

A sensation parallel to a racing heart courses throughout his body and he freezes, gaze locked with yours for a full second before you dismiss it as a coincidence, grabbing your tools from the desk next to your bed to start drawing. He calms down upon knowing that you cannot actually see him, and yet the chance eye contact gives him new sensations he has never felt before—a human acknowledging his presence. A small voice at the back of his mind tells him you know he is there, though he tries to keep hope at bay. He does not want to be attached.

Not wanting to disturb you further, he leaves, but not without remembering where you live.

Throughout the course of the next few days, he visits you every so often as if he were an acquaintance. He knows your name now, your sickness (though vaguely), but most importantly your passion. Sometimes he perches on the headboard of your bed just to watch your draw the day away. Despite his inhibitions, he finds you interesting, and to his dismay, he is getting attached. He knows this by the sense of want that is boiling in his core—the want to exist just so he can talk to you and make you laugh, to be with you.

He passes through your bedroom walls one day to find your face as hard as stone, empty eyes staring into your computer screen. He hovers close, already distraught by your expression, eager to know what it is that bothers you, and he turns cold almost immediately.

Reading has always been his strong suit, especially after spending so much time in the library and book stores, and his clear azure eyes run through digital strings of text on your monitor: it isn’t a long message, merely a paragraph, but the venom lacing each seemingly sweet word is potent. He wonders how someone could mask themselves of their rottenness so wonderfully behind a simple text, and it seems like you think the same. Claiming to be your ‘friend’, no less—he could search for this person and haunt them for life, but that would mean leaving your side. Judging by the look on your face, you aren’t taking it so well. Perhaps you know their concealed intentions, and he is thankful for that.

When you begin to cry, he knows he can do nothing to help, yet he doesn’t stop himself from stroking your shoulders gently as your tears turn into big droplets streaming down your cheeks. Your eyes redden within minutes and he feels a stab where his heart should be at—he doesn’t know if it is caused by the sight of you being so broken or the fact that he can’t help you through the pain.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, his own voice foreign to his ears from having not spoken for so long, “I’m here. Everything will be fine.” He hugs you, arms encircling your shoulders, though when he presses too hard it goes through your body. A few moments after his embrace, he watches as you calm down, cries reduced into sobs and then sniffles, before the waterworks finally stop.

You wonder why it has gotten slightly warm in your room despite the cool fall air outside.

Exactly three days later he feels fear. It shakes with his every thought that has to do with you, which is seemingly all he can think of recently. He fears Purgatory when it comes for him, as it knows no day nor night, taking everyone as it goes—because promises of the next world are nothing, especially when compared to being with you. He fears an eternity of being an audience, observing you as time runs through your life, leaving him to watch you age and die.

He fears insanity from not being able to exist next to you, but it doesn’t stop him from staying close.

The days have been slightly rougher for you, but somehow amidst the medication, manipulation, and malicious harassment, you feel a strange calm wash over you immediately after each tribulation, wrapping around you like a thin blanket. You are convinced that it is just a fragment of your imagination, something you made up to make yourself feel better after going through so much. Just a self-defense system, nothing special, you say to yourself.

But as the leaves turn brown and trees stand bare, whatever it is that has you tranquil feels stronger. You should be scared, but somehow that emotion escapes you even when your rational mind tells you to—the unseen force now has a temperature, after all, and though it is only the slightest bit cooler than your skin, you notice. You are terrified yet instead of having your blood run cold, it courses through your body faster and warmer than it has ever been.

If you were honest with yourself, you would call it excitement.

After your bullies somehow stopped harassing you, you knew something supernatural is in the works. Is your house haunted? You are never really the superstitious type, but that might be the only explanation.

Your Ouija board was delivered to your house in the morning and you waited until dusk to use it (perhaps there is something about the night that makes ghosts stronger?), making sure not to attract the unwanted attention of your parents. The board is surprisingly well-designed, clean and sleek save for the classic rosewood lettering done in dark brown. You have never used one before, you realize before observing the board.

“Yes”. “No”. Letters and numbers. “Goodbye”. It has everything you need to communicate to whoever or whatever it is that has been hanging around you.

While a thousand thoughts run through your mind, he feels a magnificent amount of strength leave his body at the sight of the board. You noticed his presence? How come? It is not as if he dreaded the attention—he does dread, but only for the fact that you might actually see him as a hindrance, which is why you are trying to talk to him. He is scared that you might hate him and ask him to leave.

“Um, spirit…s?” You squeak, eyes darting around the room as you aren’t sure of where to look. You have not done this before and could not be bothered to look it up on the internet. “If it’s alright with you, I would like to t-talk to you. Please.” You have to take a deep breath before continuing.

“If you are here, please answer me.”

The pointer that is resting in the middle of the board on your lap stays still as you stare at it. His breath, though meaningless, turns short and frequent, as if he still needs air to function. His hand extends toward the plastic item, nervously trying to move it. Surprisingly enough, his finger doesn’t go through it, and he can almost hold it in his hand like any living person would. He shudders at the sensation on the tip of his fingers. Perhaps he is becoming more powerful as winter comes nearer?

Yes.

You let out a large exhale, almost unable to process the fact that a ghost just replied you. Something is here, you think, and you should be afraid, but instead you feel the urge to sputter gratitude and questions. Was it watching over you, and why? You swallow the words, though, and instead decide to take it slow while you attempt to calm your rabbit heart.

“…do you have a name I can call you?”

He hesitates. He doesn’t remember his own name.

No.

This surprises you slightly, but you are quick to think.

“I heard that names can be a powerful thing in the mystical realm,” you whisper, “is that why you won’t give me your name?”

The pointer doesn’t move, no matter how long you stare. You are almost convinced that the spirit or whatever it is has left, but you can still feel a presence in front of you. It hasn’t gone, not yet, and somehow the thought helps regulate your breath.

“So that’s a no,” you say again, “may I know why? It’s that—I need to know who I’m talking to… and if I’m going to talk to you again, I need to make sure you’re the same person,” you blurt out, “s-sorry! I mean spirit!”

He lets out a chuckle that goes unheard in your ears while he tries his best to move the pointer around. Thankfully it does not take too much energy, though it does take time.

I don’t know.

You look at the board, stunned. “You mean, you don’t know your name? You… don’t remember?”

The pointer slowly moves across the board. Yes.

“Um, m-maybe I can give you a nickname? Just so that I know I’m talking to you, I mean! I hope you don’t mind…” You trail off.

OK.

You crack a small smile. It appears that the ghost you are communicating with does not come from the 18th century speaking Ye Olde England, and for that you are thankful.

“What do you want to be called?”

The pointer doesn’t move because he is thinking—he feels like he has no name to begin with, and to have someone suddenly ask for one is a little bit overwhelming. He thinks of something short, yet memorable, something that is a piece of him. He doesn’t want you to call him by something that is not him.

Exhaling when the pointer stops, you unintentionally nod.

“Kuro… ‘black’, right?”

Yes.

“Well, I suppose it’s nice to meet you, Kuro,” you say, after offering your own name. You mentally admit at how befitting the name is—if this spirit really does follow you around, it would be almost as if it were shadowing you, hence black. Maybe it is its way of letting you know it has a sense of humor as well?

“I—The reason why I bought this board in the first place is so that I can properly talk to you,” you continue, “to say thanks, I mean. I don’t have to say this because you already know, but… these days have been pretty rough,” you murmur, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I noticed that whenever I felt down, there’s a comfortable sense of peace that washes over me. I assume it was you.”

“It means a lot to me to know that you are there for me. So… thank you.”

The pointer doesn’t move. You suppose it is too energy-consuming for Kuro to say ‘you’re welcome’, it is over ten characters after all. You sigh.

“So yeah. That’s all I want to say. A-Also, you don’t have to always hang around if I’m being too troublesome. I can take care of myself, I promise.”

No.

“No?”

I’ll stay.

“Alright,” you nod, “so that’s settled. Unless you’re busy, of course!” You curse yourself mentally—how would you know if spirits had business to attend to or not?

No.

You can’t see him chuckle at your relieved exhale—perhaps you are scared of offending him, and he finds it very endearing. Throughout the night, you try to ask simple questions to get to know him better and he feels light-headed from the happiness of being able to talk to you. You have acknowledged his presence, and that alone is more than enough for him.

You talk almost every night since then, and he notices a change in him as the end of the month draws near. The Ouija board pointer is a light item for living beings, but it gets noticeably lighter as each night passes. He is able to wander around the whole day without growing too tired. To you, however, nothing seems to be different except for the fact that Halloween is close, and everybody is getting ready to celebrate the frightful night.

Everybody except you, that is—you have jobs that need to be finished, and the parties they go to are never really your style anyway. After a cozy dinner with your family, you saunter back to your room, eager to finish what you need to finish before probably watching Corpse Bride to end the night. You hum, content with what seems like a solid plan.

Your heart nearly fails as you open the door to your room.

There at the edge of your bed sits a boy with light-colored hair and eyes, staring blankly at one of your drawings as if admiring it. If it weren’t for his complete translucence and a slight glow surrounding him, you would think that he is just another regular boy that somehow found his way into your room and panicked, but you know better. The door behind you closes with a quiet click, and he turns around, looking straight into your eyes.

You look right back at him and he feels like his stomach drops.

“…Kuro?”

He whispers back your name in disbelief: you can see him? How? He hasn’t done anything different in his day to day life to make this happen. He looks down at his own two palms and then back to you—why is it that now he is visible to the human eye? He realizes then that this leaves him little option but to stay within the safety of your room. Who knows what people are going to do to him if they can see him?

“You…” Your first thought is how cute he really looks, though you can’t see everything too clearly thanks to the translucence. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” he replies, still a bit stunned. “I don’t know what happened.” And then a switch flips in your head.

“Do you think this could be because of Halloween?” You say, voice low and wary, but only because you don’t want your family to accidentally hear you talking to him. It makes you wonder if other people can hear him too, but Kuro seems to know what you’re doing and makes sure to keep it down as well. “It is a ghastly night, after all.”

“Is it that time of the year?”

“Yes, it’s the end of the month.”

He nods, accepting your assumptions.

“I—have you ever looked at yourself?” You ask, “you look very… normal. In a good way, I mean! If you weren’t, well, see-through, I would think that you’re alive and well.”

“Come to think of it, no,” he answers before floating mindlessly towards your mirror out of curiosity. He sees himself for the first time and there is a strange tug in his chest—you are right, he looks exactly like a living human, and the deeper the realization sinks under him the more painful it becomes. If only he were alive…

“Kuro?”

He snaps out of his thoughts and turn to look at you.

“Are you alright? It looks like you spaced out a bit,” you continue, the worry laced in your voice prominent. He doesn’t answer.

He’s not alright. He wants to cry, but you would think it’s stupid—he wants to be human so that he can be with you. Even worse, you would think it is disturbing, like he is some sort of obsessive ghost, and that is the least he wants: for you to hate him, that is.

“You know you can always talk to me if you want to,” you say, moving to stand next to him. He looks at you with something unreadable in his eyes that makes you want to reach in for a hug, but you don’t even know if it is physically possible. He looks like he is about to say something.

He remembers the spirits he used to know that disappear at random—just like how Death can show up anytime and take any living being back with him, Purgatory seems to be the same. He wonders if he will disappear too. Tomorrow night, or tomorrow morning, or right now. He won’t know until it comes. He wonders if those souls had no regrets before passing on, but by thinking about it, he realizes how he will have one big regret should he be taken, too.

His regret of not telling you how much you mean to him.

“__________-san,” he begins, not quite bold to meet your concerned gaze just yet, “I’m afraid I need to tell you something.”

You stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt him, instead looking hopefully at his face.

“I believe that you are a good person, and you are truly beautiful, inside and out,” he begins, “but while I have watched your daily life it hurts that other people don’t see the same. But what hurts even more is that no matter how much I adore you, I can never really be with you.”

“Kuro…”

“What I really mean to say is, __________-san, I—”

Right before the next word rolls of his lips his vision tunnels and he feels a strong tug at his core, dragging him away from you as the world around him shifts and warps unnaturally. To you, he has disappeared in the blink of an eye, but he can still see you with your concerned and confused face as he travels further and further away, a hand hopelessly stretched out at you as you grow smaller and smaller, until all he can see is white.

“—love you,” he whispers, a tear falling down his cheek.

It’s white, but then everything turns dark before a blinding light flashes again. White, black, white, black is all he sees while a strange, dull sensation encapsulates his whole body. Perhaps he is being transferred to Purgatory, he thinks. He blinks a few times, trying to recognize his surroundings, only to find that the flashing lights dies down to reveal a dimly lit room and the sight of a lamp attached to a ceiling greets his sensitive vision—he registers the pulsing of his head and wonders where he is, until he sees a blurry face hovering above him.

“You’re awake,” the face whispers before dashing away.

That night, in a hospital several miles away from your house, a patient named Kuroko Tetsuya finally regains consciousness after a three-week coma. The first thing he requests from the nurse is a pen and paper.

He writes down the name of a street… and a girl.

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