#and its barely used! i might open it up to clean out the dust bc im sure its never ever been cleaned

[sirpeppersto]

btw i have the laptop all set up and even taught myself some powershell commands so i could run the windows 10 debloater scripts :)))) turns out this bad boy, according to its service tag, was purchased in 2013 😳 but it's still so much faster than my 2015 mac air. this thing has an i7 processor tho AND its a 17 inch screen. im going to watch so much youtube on this thing

[joonkorre]

To my love,

@drarrymicrofic prompt: forbidden

read Paper Hearts by @dorthyanndrarry and have been completely obsessed w draco doing little mundane things as a hobby or bc it's therapeutic etc etc. i had to fold these paper cranes for an art project once. it's fucking addictive lmao. ao3

tw: very brief mention of blood

It’s just a thing Draco does when he’s bored. A past-time, or a hobby, even. If it’s past midnight and less tiring to be honest, he’d admit that it’s a coping method. But he never really feels like that as of late, as expected from a permanent resident in what is now the Dark Lord’s lair.

Light, clean air, silence, and Merlin knows what else, are lacking in abundance in the Malfoy Manor these days. However, with owl posts too easily intercepted and words too eagerly etched on skin rather than blank pages, paper is readily available. Draco has a lot of free time, being ‘Lucius’s worthless son’ and all. Thus, he writes.

Are you out there? How do you fare?

I haven’t eaten breakfast today. Perhaps I should’ve, but Nagini never leaves.

Will Harry Potter ever get caught?

I tried to go out today. Do you know how it feels to have blood drained from your feet?

Comments of nonsensical nature like so. They help, though. Draco doesn’t quite know the psychology behind it, but he can’t help writing them. A passing interest, then once every two weeks, then every other day, then any piece of paper he can find. Any piece large enough.

To my love,

That Luna girl cries again.

He doesn’t understand why—he’s never understood much, now that he thinks about it—but he’s taken to writing those three words before every message. It feels nice, he supposes, to pretend there’s someone who looks forward to reading his letters, regardless of how boring or awful they are. No matter, a tiny phrase never hurts anyone. He hopes. How many things (small, insignificant things) did he say that—?

To my love,

The last of Mother’s roses have faded to a dull grey. They used to be the color of lilac.

He’s used his wand as a light tonight, a whispered Lumos scarcely bright enough to write down a sentence and cut a strip of paper away, making a square. Familiar folds and creases give way easily beneath his calloused fingers in the dark. Feeling the precise pleats, he bends the wings, then pulls out the tail and the neck. He runs a finger down the neck’s tip. Its head is formed.

To my love,

Should I have killed him?

Cracking open the dirty window right beside his bed, the cool scent of fog and sleepy meadows wafts against his face. A gentle tap of his wand, and the paper crane floats away into the night with minute flaps of wings. Where is it going? He never knows. To his love?

To my love,

There’s a suitcase hidden inside my mattress, ready to go.

Draco closes the window and slides under the cover. Staring up at the swirling darkness of his canopy, he hopes the crane gets to, say, the nearby valley before descending.

To my love,

Let’s run away together.

The scenery is nice there, at least.

----

There’s an analogy to be made about shackles and penance and father’s sins. Draco wouldn’t know. He’s not in the right state of mind to ponder it.

A shame. It’d be nice if his last thought before the Kiss is something poetic.

“He was but a child,” he hears his mother scream. A deafening crash echoes throughout the vast space as her chains weigh more with each word spoken out of turn, forcing her to the dirty floor. “A child!”

Titters and jeers swell in the overheated courtroom. Draco shifts his neck against his collar, silent. Much herculean effort has to be made to ensure his legs are still, lest he rushes to his mother’s side and. Well. He doesn’t know if moving without permission also results in the same punishment. It’ll be improper to collapse in defeat before he’s supposed to: after the Dementor’s had its way with him.

He stands there, unable to do all but look at the particularly orange tile four paces from his position.

“Before Draco Malfoy is given the Dementor’s Kiss as punishment for his crimes, relatives and loved ones are now allowed to say their last words to him,” the Wizengamot judge whose name Draco has let slipped out of his mind in a daze says with a bored drawl.

“If Mrs. Malfoy had just waited for this announcement, she wouldn’t be in her… predicament,” he says, his ‘but what can I do?’ attitude spurring the courtroom to snickers. Draco asks himself, for a brief, horrid moment, if Fiendfyre can be called forth without a wand.

After the laughter has died down, the judge says, “Is there a relative or loved one here who has something to tell Draco Malfoy before we proceed?”

The only one in the vicinity is his mother, whose sobs are choked off by heavy chains. His father has fled. Probably died, too, bless him.

The judge doesn’t even let Draco finish taking a breath and continues, “Alright. Draco Malfoy, you—”

��Wait.”

All noises cease, leaving behind the squeaking of trainers against tiles. Draco doesn’t look up even as the sounds get closer to where he stands.

“Mr, Mr. Potter,” the judge stammers, “you are not Mr. Malfoy’s relative nor loved one.”

“We have history. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

Ratty trainers come into Draco’s field of vision. It’s already too late.

“I—yes, that should be enough, Mr. Potter.”

“Thought so.”

Potter’s presence covers up the especially orange tile, and now Draco can look nowhere else but at the many pockets of the man's olive green jacket. Lifting his head remains a horrible idea.

Nothing seems to move, then, even dust particles seem to pause mid-air. From what Draco can deduce, Potter is content to just stare at him for a bit.

“Thanks for helping me out that time,” Potter finally says. Draco doesn’t know what he wants him to say. That night was fucking hell on earth, he could barely remember it with how hard he blocks it out of his head. So what if he didn’t turn Potter in? What does it matter?

Draco stays silent, even as Potter rustles in his innumerable pockets and grumbles when he can’t seem to find what he’s searching for. Before Draco knows it, Potter hums in pleasant surprise.

“I want to give you something,” he says, holding the mystery object out in a closed fist. Draco frowns, tempted to let his face shift into something long-past and glare at the man in front of him. “Come, now, don’t be stubborn.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco reaches for the object, wrists aching from the iron bands, pulsating with heat. To his confusion, Potter covers Draco's hand with both of his. The man is a furnace, his palms possibly even warmer than the iron bands, the sensation sending volatile, feverish streaks of lightning up Draco’s arms. Potter then tucks an item into Draco’s hand, keeping his hands close by as Draco peers at what he is gifted. His eyes widen.

A paper crane.

Potter's left forearm shifts a bit, jostling the jacket sleeve and capturing Draco’s eyes. This can’t be right. Draco glances at Potter’s right arm and the visibly holstered wand that he always carries with him. Back to his left arm, where the head of another wand is but a hint in the shadow. Draco would’ve thought so as well, would’ve thought Potter is being cautious, if not for the instant familiarity striking him like an elbow to the throat.

His head whips up so quickly his neck strains within the collar. Knowing emerald eyes meet his gaze. “Potter, no.”

An eyebrow cocks up. “Did you not say you want to run away?” Potter whispers back. His fingers trail to the edge of Draco’s armbands like they’re trying to sneak under and touch bare skin.

Draco gasps. Nothing makes sense anymore, absolutely nothing at all.

But from the way the court is growing evidently agitated, from the way Potter doesn’t let them bother him one bit, from the way he waits, endlessly patient.

Potter might be the only one able to make sense of anything at all.

Draco leans a hair closer, so his voice is clear to no one but the two of them.

“My mother,” he says, watching Potter’s irises get swallowed up by pure black. “Remember what she did for you, Potter, please. She can’t stay here…”

Potter nods, promising a later date, that they will both get her. And Merlin help him, Draco trusts every word.

A chair tumbles onto the ground. Shouts explode into existence, footsteps thumping. Draco grips Potter’s left forearm as Potter’s wand effortlessly slides out of its holster into a waiting hand. The fizzling heat of hastily casted hexes slices through the air. With his mother’s shout of relief in his ears, Draco succumbs to the squeezing suffocation of Apparition.

[wokestraightpuffy]

Hallo, i hope you are alright and that my ask aren’t annoying but I wanted to ask do you have any c!puffy headcannons? —🤡

YOURE NOT ANNOYING AT ALL !!! NEVER THINK THAT ILU VERY MUCH. MUAH /p

as for c!puffy headcanons, i am not the best person to ever organize their thoughts properly but ill try my best >:’D

ahaha. this got. super complex and way too long and more of like an introspective study to puffy now instead of harmless fun headcanons so, uh. under read more <3 (also reminder this is all /rp and /dsmp)

* i like to think that she has a hero complex, but its a bit different since she never really sees herself as an ‘important’ part of the story, not the main character but a support one, hence ‘im fine with being the side character’ or how she’s said she doesnt care what happens to her and would gladly sacrifice(?) herself if there werent other people she had to protect. girl u need therapy urself <3

* though very open with how she feels and never afraid to say when someone/something is upsetting her, ‘opening up’ is still a whole mountain climb for her, apparently. like, she’d rant about the egg, get mad at the eggpire, let off some steam by committing arson or exploding stuff, she’ll rarely ever talk about how much the stuff that upset her actually HURT her. does that make sense? LIKE, she’ll lash out, she’ll get mad, she’ll take NO SHIT thrown at her face, but to show the kinda vulnerability of dealing with that? to cry about it talk about those feelings with someone? I think she’d rather eat her own foot lol

* adding onto the thing above, she doesnt necessarily actually realize this about herself. less of actively doing it and rather growing... used to the ‘cycle of violence’ in the smp as they call it. and the fact that rarely have people really asked, that no one’s actually available for that, w her losing her closest friends, bad and ant, sam being busy w the warden stuff... and niki. yeah. there’s foolish, but i doubt she’d ever see venting to someone she considers her son appealing

* also. puffy is just sometimes... really bad at conveying sadness. i think she’s a rare crier. id go as far to say that shes even more emotionally constipated than dream, lol (but maybe not while the guy’s in his prison arc) and that she’d be the type of person to tell you its okay to cry but beat herself up over something if she let a tear slip in a heated moment

* speaking of sadness. she’ll only ever actually Be Sad if she’s alone or with someone she doesnt necessarily care the opinions of. yknow how she mourned for tommy and blamed herself? those dialogue bits? yeah, those are only times shed actually be vulnerable

* puffy’s go to response to the egg and how its fucked up her relationship w her friends is pure fury. but, going off of her line about ‘failing bad and ant’ i like to think that she probably hates herself the most about it. THAT IS A STRONG WORD LOL BUT YEAH. she yells and curses and gets mad, but sometimes i wonder if the words she had spat before were more directed to herself

* THIS GIRL HAS SELF-IDENTITY PROBLEMS. CAN WE GET A HELL YEAH FOR THAT CHAT? outside of having no goddamn clue about where she came from, how she got here and who she even is, scrounging up a role for herself in a server with a war on the background and traumatized kids got her resignedly coerced into thinking that she is only a Parent. Only good enough when she’s actually doing something Useful for people. SO. when she finds that ship? of having a crew and having a curse? OF FINDING OUT SHE MIGHT HAVE/ HAVE HAD A MOM THATS WAITING FOR HER?  the sense of control she has on herself is absolutely crushed. shattered, and she’s left to pick up the pieces w no one to talk abt it with <3

* adding onto the above, it’s why the line ‘I’m supposed to be mama puffy. me.’ hurts me so much! so yes! please cry with me :D

* also to add more on the fact that she thinks she’s only worth something when she’s being useful, puffy literally contemplated leaving the server, thinking that it wouldnt matter leaving since no one really needs her anyway, since she’s failed so many people. bad and ant, tommy, dream. shes said how foolish can take care of himself on how tubbo and ranboo have each other, how she and niki have drifted so far away from each that it might as well be a break up.

HOOOOOOOOOO OBOY . anon youve really given me the perfect chance to ramble huh? sorry for the rather incomprehensible brainrot, here’s more lighthearted headcanons about puffy asdhfkd

* she cannot stand still sometimes. she always has to be doing something extra, walking when the prime path is right there? shed rather go through tedious little holes or hop and balance onto fences to get where shes going. she’ll mindlessly fix up the path when there are holes or mismatched wood, and one time went on a long, long LONG journey cleaning up the paths tommy purposely DESTROYED near lmanburg and even added cobblestone sidings which werent there before

* puffys a bit of a sentimental person. writing in her log to clear her thoughts sometimes and cared enough to try and preserve lmanburg with the glass sheet and trying to find possible surviving artifacts of history to respect it, even though she’s never been a part of it. its also why, when doomsday happened and lmanburg got permanently poofed, she began to appreciate the buildings that are still standing and began taking more pics 

* she’s not used to being... what do you call it, um, cared for? she’d deflect compliments sometimes, when shes having a particular bad day, like, she’d laugh nervously and change the subject, sometimes she’d outright deny it, most days she’d jokingly say ‘staphhh it’ and add a very genuine thanks. my point being is, do something for puffy that is mildly nice and she’d keep that moment in her heart forever. 

* also funny story regarding the above. u know how karl is notorious for stealing her materials? and how puffy was contemplating doing something in retaliation for them? karl says hi for once when she joins the server and she goes ‘alright fine youre safe for saying hi’ LOL THIS WAS PROBABLY A BIT META WISE but something about this implying that the bare minimum or LESS is enough to make puffy forgive someone is very sad and funny at the same time for me. girl really said ‘oh you said hi to me? thats nice all the crimes youve ever done towards me is now forgiven. <3’ (this is a bit of an exaggeration on my part, ofc, i just think its funny LMAO) 

* ironically, despite being the ‘captain’, whenever riding a boat with someone, she prefers being on the backseat and letting them drive. ig shes just there for the ride i suppose, her and her uber drivers :3

 * she either has a rather unhealthy obsession with baked potatoes or she just doesnt wanna waste eret’s massive potato farm

* idc what cc!puffy says is c!puffy will always and forever be 5′2″ in my HEART. u are the shortest member, u cannot change this <3

* shes really fond of animals/ neutral mobs. she often baby talks to them and they help boost her mood a lot when shes having a bad day :D

* up to this day, the little secret rooms she’s created around the server have all been yet to be discovered, unless the one under bad’s house has been found. she rarely ever really keeps tabs on them, and more often than not they are just collecting dust. she still visits sometimes and cleans them up ofc

* she still genuinely thinks dream can change. cc!puffy’s line about that, ‘i’m his last hope.’ really makes me think about this a lot. 

* ive seen people talk abt it a bit but the headcanon that puffy acts as the server mom to fill the ‘void’ of her missing her mom makes me cry at night /hj

* she really likes her rainbow onesie! i headcanon that eret gave her that along w the sunglasses, but she started wearing that less when she found her old captains uniform. shes never really said why, though, and nobody ever really bothered to ask

* god bless this woman but sometimes the server members get on her nerves sometimes so she goes out of her way to traverse along far away from the main community to maybe commit a few crimes. let off some steam. these take a few days but she always returns

i probably have a lot more hcs but i cant remember them >_> THIS IS A LOT ANYWAY. HOPE U ENJOYED MY BRAIN VOMIT. IF U READ THIS FAR ILU THANK U

if there are mistakes it is bc i am crying and cannot see my keyboard and also i am sleep deprived /hj

[raleighcarrera]

make way

open heart | bryce lahela x mc (casey valentine)

the prompt said: ‘bryce tells mc that he loves her while she's falling asleep and the next morning she just assumes it was a dream bc she was just so tired’

also for @choicesseptemberchallenge20 day 1 which worked out nicely (tired)

tags: @choicesarehard ; @zigtheeortega ; @omgjasminesimone ; @beccadavenport ; @pixeljazzy 💕

~2.3k words | T

she’s coming off of thirty-six hours straight at the hospital when it happens.

it’s been an exceedingly long week. balancing her work on the diagnostics team along with her regular responsibilities and managing her intern would be difficult enough without the added wrench of a bus crash thrown into her day, but, of course, that’s the way life at edenbrook goes: every day has its own new bus crash, in one way or another.

regardless, there’s new injured patients to treat and old ones to check up on and high-profile cases to worry about in the interim, so she can use her strategy to save the hospital and then rub dr. ramsey’s self-righteous nose in her success (in that order).

there’s a lot going on, and not much time to sleep. there’s brief breaks, here and there -- just enough for a quick nap in the on-call rooms -- but then it’s right back to work.

and before she knows it, it’s been thirty-six hours and bryce is forcibly dragging her onto the t in her scrubs, and she’s falling asleep with her head on his shoulder and almost definitely drooling onto his jacket.

because he’s bryce, and he’s perfect, he doesn’t say anything about that. he only runs his fingers through her hair and takes her home to his blessedly quiet, roommate-less apartment, where the pizza delivery’s been timed so perfectly that the driver is actually coming up in the elevator at the same time they are.

casey’s so grateful she could cry. instead, she waits until her mouth is half-full with her third slice to look over at her boyfriend with wide, appreciative eyes and groan, “god, you’re wonderful.”

bryce laughs at her. “please. i’m just glad i found you before you actually collapsed in ramsey’s office.”

she nods, finally chewing and swallowing the bite she’d paused to sing his praises. “i am going to sleep -- all day tomorrow.” her head is throbbing. it’s a massive effort just to remember what day it is, but there’s one thing sticking out to her, a fuzzy memory from when they’d compared schedules last weekend. “wait. you have to work?”

he sighs, dusting off his hands. “yeah.” bryce pulls a face as if to imply that it’s the single worst thing that’s ever happened to him. “sorry, babe. wish i could kick it here with you.”

“it’s okay.” a wide yawn stretches her mouth open. “you don’t mind if i stay here?”

“nah.” bryce’s smile is easygoing and a little excited. “stay as long as you want. knowing you’re here will make my day go by faster.”

maybe, she thinks deliriously, her limbs feeling even heavier now that she’s eaten than they had on their commute home, she can do something nice for him tomorrow. make dinner, or something -- after she’s slept.

casey blinks, realizing all at once that she’s completely zoned out again. “what? sorry. i’m just --”

“i know.” there’s a fondness in his voice and a softness in his eyes when he stands and pulls her to her feet, tugging her in so she can lean against him. she does so immediately, burrowing into the warmth of his chest. “come on. let’s get you to bed.”

she isn’t sure exactly how it happens, but when she yawns at him next, it’s from the lush safety of his mattress and the blankets on his bed; casey cuddles into the pillows and blinks sleepily up at him, waiting for bryce to join her. the only thing in the world that could make going to sleep now, at eight o’clock with a day off ahead of her, is having her boyfriend’s body heat beside her to soak up.

but bryce laughs at her again, shaking his head. “i gotta put the food away. i’ll be in in a minute.”

“fine,” casey mumbles. the word breaks with another yawn halfway through. her eyelids are already fluttering. “just -- hurry up.”

“of course.” she feels the brush of his lips against her forehead, and then her mouth, bryce’s kiss so gentle it’s almost not there. his fingers slip through her hair again.

the sound she makes is somewhere between a delighted groan and a sigh of pure content. she isn’t sure she’s ever been so comfortable in her life; bryce’s bed is warm and cozy and the sheets are clean -- they smell like him, and so does the shirt she’s wearing. her whole body is heavy with exhaustion and the satisfaction of the work she’s done. she feels cared for. she’s happy.

just before everything goes dark, somewhere, in the space she’s floating in between sleep and wakefulness, she hears bryce’s voice -- one last hesitant murmur of her name. it’s only on the very edge of her conscious, but she’s positive the words he says are, “i love you, casey.”

*

the apartment is predictably silent when she wakes up.

there’s nothing like the peacefulness that comes from waking up in an empty apartment. with so many roommates, it isn’t something that casey’s accustomed to, and she relishes it now, soaking up the stillness of bryce’s bedroom joyfully.

there’s birds chirping outside. she turns her face into the pillows and breathes in slowly, burrowing a little further into the sheets.

there’s nothing on the horizon, for today -- no work, no chores, no responsibilities. it’s the perfect way to start her day, if only her boyfriend was in bed beside her.

speaking of. casey reaches her hand out, fumbling blindly on the nightstand until it closes around her cellphone. she finally blinks her eyes open when she pulls the device under the sheets with her, balking at the time displayed on the home screen.

it’s past two-thirty in the afternoon.

she blinks, knuckling sleep out of her eyes. she really had been exhausted.

there’s a slew of text messages waiting for her, mostly from her roommates. the group chat is abuzz with wondering where she is and if she’s alive; casey holds off on answering them in favor of navigating to her thread with bryce, where he’s texted good morning beautiful and text me when you wake up. getting out of bed this morning was impossible with you in it

her teeth bite at her bottom lip to stifle the smile that’s threatening. eight months of being official with bryce and it still never gets old, to be on the receiving end of those cheesy, over-the-top compliments. no boyfriend of hers before him had ever sent a good morning text message.

hiiiiiiiiii she writes back, spreading out in his bed, just woke up. hope today’s going well for you. can’t wait to get you back in this bed with me

his reply is almost immediate. fuck you, it says, making her grin up at the ceiling, i’m about to go into surgery. you’re evil

casey settles for an onslaught of heart emojis, as she rolls out of said bed and heads for the kitchen. as expected, there’s no food in bryce’s fridge, but there is coffee, and she takes her time enjoying it and flipping through the channels on bryce’s tv -- they don’t have cable, at her place -- before finally making her way into the shower.

she’s in the middle of shampooing her hair when she remembers what happened last night. it comes back to her abruptly, the memory too vivid to be true. bryce’s lips, brushing against hers -- his hands pulling the comforter up to her shoulders -- and then...

i love you, casey.

she frowns, tipping her head back under the water to rinse her hair.

that has to have been a dream, right?

she’d remember it, if it were real. she’d’ve said something to him, last night, or... today. he’d’ve said something about it.

right?

casey marinates on it for the entirety of her shower, waffling back and forth. it both feels like a dream and not, making it difficult to ascertain what really happened. she was exhausted last night -- she barely remembers leaving the hospital, after all. but if bryce had really said... for the first time...

she’d have to remember that, wouldn’t she?

she thinks about it when she gets dressed and heads to the store to find something passable she can make for dinner (though it’s definitely going to be pasta, again). last night was a blur; her memory of everything that happened after bryce found her in the on-call room is in bits and pieces. there’s only the vague outline of their evening flashing in her mind: sleeping on him on the t, eating pizza shoulder-to-shoulder on the couch, stumbling into his bedroom and falling into bed...

and then the same bit she can’t stop thinking about, as clear as day -- his kiss, and the soft, hesitant sound of his voice when he’d said those three words and that reverent utterance of her name.

it plays in her head on a loop in the check-out line. it has to have been a dream, that’s the only explanation for it.

he wouldn’t -- they don’t -- because he’s not...

...except that he might be.

he might be, because she’s pretty sure that she is, and -- if he felt the same way, that would be... life-changing. exceptional. pretty much the greatest thing to ever happen to her, outside of her professional accomplishments.

because bryce is pretty much the greatest thing to ever happen to her. he is everything she’s ever wanted and didn’t know she was looking for -- completely different from her usual ‘type’ in the best way. bryce is smart and thoughtful and funny and witty and devastatingly sexy -- complex and considerate and an amazing listener and a world-class shoulder massager...

someone so easy to fall in love with she hadn’t even realized it was happening until it was too late.

so her stupid, useless brain had probably imagined that he’d said it first to give her something pleasant to dream about. casey glares bitterly at the tomatoes she’s blistering when the realization washes over her.

and that’s how bryce finds her: in the kitchen, stirring spaghetti in sweats she stole out of his closet, her long hair still drying where it’s damp on her shoulders. he’s loud when he crowds in behind her at the stove, talking a mile a minute about his day, how good it smells in the apartment and how much he missed her, all at once.

he buries his face in the crook of her neck and inhales, pressing his lips lightly against the side of her throat. “you sleep okay?”

casey relaxes despite herself and her annoyance, melting a little against his chest. she nods. “yeah. thanks for taking care of me last night.”

bryce’s hands are warm when they slip under the hem of her (his) hoodie. his hands fan out over her hips. “of course,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose at the base of her neck, “anything for you, babe.”

maybe he had said it.

she thinks about it some more as she spoons pasta into two plates and they tumble back onto the couch together. the words bounce around in her brain while he slurps spaghetti beside her, interspersed with more compliments: how good dinner is, how thoughtful she is, how multi-talented she manages to be.

well, there’s only one way to find out.

casey lets him clear the plates away and load the dishwasher because she cooked, and it’s only fair, and waits until he’s back on the couch with her with that inviting space at his side wide open.

then, she slips into it, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning against him. bryce’s arm curls around her shoulders in turn, and his lips press a delicate kiss to the top of her head.

“i love you,” casey sighs. the words leave her lips so easily she’s hardly able to believe that there was once a point in time where she felt nervous to be the first to say so.

it’s true, after all. she’s not sure if she’s ever been in love, before -- she thought she had, but it wasn’t like this (nothing could ever be like this) -- but she’s positive about bryce. with her life constantly in flux, filled with so much chaos, being with bryce is the one thing she feels like she’s actually gotten right.

his hand stills from where he’d been rubbing her shoulder, hesitating for just a moment. then, he says, “i love you, too.”

casey turns her cheek to look up at him, her eyes wide. “really?”

the laugh he gives is low and fond, sending a thrill of happiness straight down her spine and to her toes. “how could i not?”

“so... you did say that last night. i thought it was a dream.” the swarm of butterflies in her stomach beat their wings harder at the very idea.

bryce makes a noncommittal hum into her hair. “i wasn’t sure if you heard me. i meant it, though. i love you, case.”

casey opens her mouth to crack a joke, but her throat feels suspiciously tight. how emotional she is catches her completely off guard, surprising her silent.

so -- she’s loved. by probably the most perfect man on the east coast, if not in the entire united states of america. or the world.

weird. part of her had thought something like this might never happen for her.

“i...” she trails off, shaking her head. it’s overwhelming, just how happy she is. her arms press bryce a little closer, pulling him to her a little tighter. “um, thank you.”

he laughs again, sounding taken aback. “for what?”

“for loving me,” casey answers, as though it should be obvious.

she can feel bryce’s shrug against her side; the movement jostles her against him, a little -- but then he squeezes her back, crushing her into the broad planes of his chest.

“it’s easy,” he promises, and though he’s the first person to ever say so, she believes him.

[interstellix]

full hearts ↳ lee minho (lee know)

genre: angst, fluff

summary: no matter how it’s played, it’s always the same ending - unless a new one is unlocked

word count: 2235

requested: “i would like to request an au with minho please and ummmm well :O IT’S CUTE”

warnings: mentions of blood

a/n: LMFAOO ALLY LOML I’M SO SORRY IDK WHAT THE HELL WENT WRONG HERE I- listen consider this a free coupon for a free request with no expiration date bc this shit went straight to hell LOL but ye ily mwah @walkingonwave​ also why tf did it get so long fjdfdhjdk

you hate it when someone plays your video game. not one that you own, but one that you’re in.

you hate it because, no matter how often it's played and how often you have to experience the same story over and over again, you never get used to the terror and pain lacing it.

there’s more to it than the eye meets, what the screen shows and what the player is served; to you, it’s simply too much.

“I swear, this game ruined my life,” minho sighs before showing you a smug smirk, “good thing I have one more.”

you shoot him a glare but still glance at the digital wristband he wears which, much to your relief, shows a glowing red heart next to two black ones. indeed, one more life.

“how can you even be joking in this kind of situation?” you ask between heavy breaths and look him up and down. “you’re bleeding from your arm, you just got shot in your leg and there are probably two, three broken ribs as well.”

minho snorts, “can you blame me? the player sucks.”

you can’t argue against that. the player does suck for sure, constantly getting you and the rest of your team in trouble, making you die left and right, using potions and other items like they’re lollipops handed out to children; honestly, you’re surprised they have even made it this far into the game - the final stage and battle. that said,

“yeah but you can still control what’s going on behind the scenes. maybe, maybe you wouldn’t be in the miserable state y-”

you’re cut short by the high-pitched, piping noise you’ve by now come to dread, not fancying the explosion it���s shortly after to be accompanied by; just as it comes, minho wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you up from the shattered pavement you had fallen limp on.

“as if you’re in place to call me miserable,” he sighs and runs away from the spot all while still carrying both his equipment and you. “look at yourself, I’m impressed you even have enough energy to complain so much.”

you remain silent, aware that you can’t deny it. the adrenaline rushing through your body is really the only thing keeping you awake despite you being in a fairly worse state than you had claimed minho to be in.

said one doesn’t slow down but occasionally steals glances at you and upon noting the exhaust slowly but surely taking over your features, he calls out, worry clear in his voice, “god damn it, y/n! keep your eyes open, you still have a full life left, right?”

though not all too pleased by it, minho takes the low hum escaping you as a valid answer and keeps running to the first possible shelter found. you eventually find yourself in a two story building, not in a particularly perfect state with the catastrophe of a final battle going on in the city but enough for shelter.

“minho?” hearing the energy gradually leaving your voice, minho bites his lip to stay relaxed and instead hums, waiting for you to go on. “how can you stay so calm?”

as he enters a bedroom and carefully places you down in the rightful bed inside, he answers simply, “if I show you I’m scared, you’ll start panicking even more, right?” slowly, he removes the heavy equipment from your body, showing you a small smile while wiping a wound on your cheekbone clean from blood. “I don’t really fancy that idea.”

the playful look in his face loosens into a soft one, lips curled up in a small smile and eyes warm, “make sure you get some rest, yeah?”

as soon as you hear this, your eyes widen and fear quickly fills you. tightly grabbing onto the hand now cupping your cheek, you question in a shake breath, “where are you going?”

“I have to find the rest of the team, it’s been a while since we were separated and I still can’t get in touch with them-”

a sharp pain settles itself in your abdomen when you hastily sit up in the bed but at that moment, you can’t seem to care any less about it and hold onto his shoulder instead. “w-wait, you’re just gonna leave me here?!”

minho lightly pushes your hand away and answers with clear confusion, “no, but we can’t just ditch the re-”

the conversation is cut short when the nth explosion erupts in the outside world, followed by a whole chain of more and you look out through the window, the city might as well be considered the hell on earth by now; the sight of dark smoke, fire and more and more buildings getting destroyed only adds to the lump of fear and anxiety in you. you look back at minho and with pleading, glossy eyes, you just barely manage say through your irregular breathing increasing at a ridiculously high pace,

“min, p-please, don’t leave me alone.”

he furrows his eyebrows, not understanding just how desperate you are for him to not find the rest of your friends, to the point where it almost sounds selfish. “what’s wrong with you? we have to find the guys to finish the ga-”

right then, just as he catches a sole tear escaping your eye, realization seems to sink down on him, features once again softening. it’s nothing about selfishness at all, nothing about wanting to ‘ditch’ the rest of your friends. it’s simply the fear and pain of losing the person most dear to you - him.

“y/n...” minho’s hand returns to your cheek, this time to tenderly wipe the corner of your eye dry and as he speaks, his voice is almost comforting even during the definition of war currently going on, “we’ve played this game so, so many times, baby. you already know I’m always right with you.”

eyes shutting close, you lean into the touch of his hand and whisper, “you know that’s a lie, minho; I hate this game so much, we play everything together with the other guys, beat the final stage every, damn, time but we never get a happy ending. that shit just doesn’t exist in this game and I can’t handle it anymore.”

just as your vent of panic comes to an end, your wristband suddenly starts beeping, two quick, disturbing tunes. even more confused, minho looks down at its screen only for his jaw to drop; out of your three hearts, only a half of the last one is still shining and instead of the bright red, it’s a purple.

with a mix of anger and his own panic, minho groans while scanning your body for any possible causes of it, “when the fuck did you get poisoned?!” before going on, he finally finds a dark patch on your upper arm, staining it with the same shade of purple as shown on the screen. “why did you never tell me?”

despite the sobbing you’ve broken out in in the middle of the chaos, you choke out, “wouldn’t matter, player drained it all.”

minho’s jaw clenches and while he himself stays quiet, his mind is screaming, trying to figure out how to solve the situation. reaching out to the sheets under you, he pulls off a strip and hurries to wrap it around your arm in hopes of the poison to not spread as fast anymore. “listen well, alright?” he begins as he ties a tight knot. “don’t move or you’ll only lose even more health points; I don’t care if there’s never a happy ending, I won’t have you dying on me before we’re even done here.”

“but-”

“I can’t have you getting scared either. I won’t be able to focus on the game if I know you’re scared,” minho interrupts. he cups your face, solid eyes locking with your own, words gentle as they’re uttered,

“look at me, y/n. don’t think of anything else, just look at me.”

though staying quiet, you do as told. you do as told, relishing in the warmth radiating from his hands, letting yourself relax at the sight of your boyfriend so close up even though he looks like mess on two legs. you do as told, only for one tear after another to build up in your eyes.

minho leans his forehead against yours. when he whispers, you notice that you’re not the only scared one here, the shakiness in it revealing more than enough. all that said, he still manages to say every word you both need to hear and trust.

“just a little more... I don’t care about a happy story, if the game’s going to end, I want it to end with you next to me so hang on just a little more.”

whether it’s the pain, exhaust from the poison or you simply finding a sense of calm for the first time in a good while, you don’t know but it nevertheless leads you to slowly give into unconsciousness.

the last thing you just barely manage catching is a feather-light kiss to your forehead and a tenderly spoken assurance,

“I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.”

who knows how long it’s been? probably no one, but long enough for the screen of your wristband to meet you with three now full, red hearts as soon as you wake up.

you stare at your hands curled up right in front of your face and even though your vision isn’t clear enough after sleeping, you can still make out how they’re free from bruises, wounds and dusts. furthermore, it’s quiet. uncomfortably quiet, purely because you’re not used to a sound clean from explosions and other rumbling noises. it confuses you for a second and you start wondering if there’s been a restart. however, realizing that you’re still in the same, unknown bedroom as before and remembering that you have yet to go through the ending of the game, you know it’s still not over.

barely daring to look away from your hands even the slightest bit, you think for yourself, “if it’s not over, what’s going o-”

“finally up, sleeping beauty?”

a sharp gasp emits from you as you hear this and within moments, you’re sitting back up in the bed. by the edge of it, he sits; the window invites the morning sun you haven’t seen in what feels like a lifetime, its light illuminating his face in gentle shade of orange; a smile graces his lips and even under strands of hair, the gleam in his eyes is clear, bright upon finally seeing your own open.

four seconds. that’s what it takes for you to process that, as unfamiliar as this scene is after playing the game so many times, it actually is minho sitting right next to you, in person, pure flesh and blood. four seconds is what it takes until you launch yourself at him, arms tightly wrapping around his neck, face digging into the crook of it.

you take a deep breath, inhaling the scent you’ve grown fond of after spending so much time with minho. when you don’t say anything, he asks, “don’t wanna know what happened?”

you shake your head. “I don’t care.”

an airy chuckle escapes minho. his arms wrap around your waist and hold you closer to him and while starting to explain anyway, he unconsciously starts swinging your bodies from side to side. “believe it or not, that stupid player unlocked the secret ending.”

though confused, you don’t bother moving the slightest bit while humming in confusion. he doesn’t either and instead continues, “turns out if you beat the game in critical mode and gather all trophies, you unlock the secret ending.”

“and... what exactly happens in the secret ending?”

“in the secret ending...” minho murmurs, “the whole team survives.” as if on cue, loud yelling and laughters can suddenly be heard outside the bedroom. you’re barely aware of it though as he pulls away, just enough to get a look of your face. “the city can rebuild again...” he momentarily glances to the side where the window shows an unusually peaceful view. you follow his gaze, though only until his index finger and thumb takes a hold of your chin, turning you back to face him. “and you and me...”

with the current being through and through unknown to you, you find yourself growing more nervous than ever. when his thumb just barely grazes your bottom lip, your breath hitches and hands drop down to his shoulders, tightly grabbing onto them.

the time minho spends on leaning closer feels painfully long and yet, you’re barely aware of exactly when the barely existent gap eventually is shut. his lips are soft against your own, slowly moving against them. the feeling of it alters between the one of featherlight, pure pecks and long, passionate kisses and you can swear it’ll drive you insane right there and then.

you don’t though. instead, you can only melt under the touch, the loving hold around you leaving you in a serenity in the finest sense of the word.

when you eventually part, minho’s hand travels upwards to tuck stray hair behind your ear as he looks at you with a smile bigger than you’ve ever seen on him,

“stay together.”

maybe, just maybe, this game isn’t so bad after all.

[tirednotflirting]

you're a sky full of stars

hi this fic was actually the combination of like three different ideas but i think it works out okay.

it’s more soft jalex bc we love soft jalex in this house

here it is on ao3 !

Alex’s flight is delayed.

It makes sense. He had sent Jack a picture of the snow-dusted pasture outside his window when he was getting ready to head for the airport so Jack had expected his early afternoon flight might be delayed by a little bit so the plane could be prepared to fly through the cold air. But a five hour delay was much longer than he originally anticipated.

All afternoon Jack had tried to busy himself with cleaning up a little more and a trip to the grocery store in between getting sad selfies from his boy in an airport Dunkin with updates on his flight time. Each one brought a bittersweet smile to his face because while he was sad he had to wait longer to have Alex in front of him, it was impossible to not smile at his pouty puppy dog eyes. Jack was certain he was sending the dramatic look on purpose, always trying to do something to make Jack smile. It was just one of the many reasons he was entirely head over heels.

The sun set a couple hours ago though and now Jack is camping out on his couch, staring out the big window in his living room, watching tiny blinking lights cross the sky and waiting for Alex’s flight to be one that catches his eye. It’s the closest he can get to stargazing in Los Angeles (the irony of the City of Stars being too bright to see the real ones isn’t lost on him) but it’ll have to do for now. The activity reminds him of Alex, as do most good and soft things in the world, and he can’t help but think about the last time he was at the farm.

It had been Alex’s idea to bundle up a bit and lay out a couple blankets in the front yard to watch the stars one night in October (Mars and Jupiter are going to be visible tonight. Jack, come on, this is important). He requests hot chocolate before they go out, which Alex happily makes and pours into a Thermos that Jack jokes he remembers from the high school lunch room. He lets Alex lay out all the blankets once they’re out there and after moving to sit, he pats the spot between his legs. Alex laughs but moves to take a seat, his back immediately relaxing to rest against Jack’s chest as his eyes drift up to the clear, cold skies. 

He points up into different spots across the night sky to provide direction on how to spot the planets and some constellations he looked up the stories for. Alex tells Jack the stories as well in his typical dramatic fashion while his fingers play with the strings of Jack’s hoodie. Something about the simple action feels so fond, Jack thinks, as one of his own hands lifts to pull Alex’s beanie back over his ear.

He’s just finished telling Jack a story about a guy called Orion, when Alex reaches for Jack’s hand and holds it against his chest. Jack can feel him sigh from the way his chest lifts below his hand. “I’m glad I did this.”

“What this are you referring to?” Jack questions as he slips his fingers into the spaces between Alex’s where they rest against his heart.

“Lots of stuff, I guess,” Alex says, his eyes still trained on the sky. “Decided on this place and the animals, agreed to the hot chocolate for tonight, fell for you. I’m just thankful the universe allowed for all of it, you know?”

Jack smiles easily at his words. He’s always been grateful to have Alex’s perspective on things be such a constant in his life. The world feels way too big and scary and it’s easy for Jack to feel like he’s getting lost in it. It’s his own reason for being so thankful to have the farm to visit from time to time. Jack likes the activity and pace of LA but he’s glad he has a place to head to where the rest of the world aside from his boy and a few goats and horses disappears. “Yeah, I think I do know.”

Alex turns then and resituates himself in Jack’s lap and Jack’s smile grows as he just barely makes out Alex’s in the minimal light provided from the porch light they left on when heading out. Alex leans forward to press his lips to Jack’s, the action obviously intended to be a short one and Jack finds himself laughing against his lips at the gasp Alex lets out as he lies back fully against the blanket. Alex pulls back but only far enough that their foreheads still rest together. “Excuse me, sir, that was not very safe.”

“I live on the edge, baby.” Jack teases back before pulling a giggling Alex closer against his chest to bring their lips back together.

* 

The stars that night had appeared in Jack’s dreams for weeks after that trip. The simple joys of the farm and the sky and Alex lived on a loop in Jack’s brain pretty much always until he could get back to the clean, brisk Maryland air. He sighs now as his eyes strain against the LA sky, searching pointlessly for even the tiniest glittering of a star. 

He could go to sleep, Jack tells himself, as another yawn leaves his lips. He’s been sat on the couch that faces the window for a few hours now, his fingers absent-mindedly strumming his guitar while he waits for a text with a selfie containing one of the LAX filters to tell him the plane has landed. 

He wills himself to get up and wander toward the kitchen to set out Alex’s favorite tea on the counter. He fills the kettle and leaves it on the stove so that way it’ll be ready for when he gets the notification so he can make a mug for Alex to have while he fills in Jack on the day and the writing session he had yesterday. A mug of tea will be the only thing Jack can use to get Alex to stay awake long enough to let him just listen to him for awhile, the sound of his voice, live and in person, always being something to warm Jack’s soul after they’ve been apart. 

Jack heads back to the couch then, determined to watch the sky until his phone buzzes. He blinks the spots away from his eyes as he takes a seat and pulls the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his cold hands. He’s not used to getting tired this early. He used to live in some kind of nocturnal state, he’s pretty sure. It’s as he’s sitting there, lounging against the back of the plush couch and thinking on what could have caused this change in his lifestyle (he’s got an idea of a who rather than a what that has him wanting to settle down), that Jack’s eyes finally drop shut.

*

“Hey there, sunshine.” 

Jack’s eyes flutter open at the sound of Alex’s voice and he feels his heart melt a little at the view in front of his still open window. A beanie covers Alex’s head, pulled down over his ears to fight the rare cold night they were meant to be having in LA. He has yet to take off his jacket, evidence that he must have immediately come to find Jack after stepping through the front door. Alex is always an absolute vision to Jack but there’s something special about his first look at him after they’ve been away from one another for a while.

“You lost all rights to call me that after the last album,” Jack jokes lazily, his hand reaching up to cup Alex’s jaw, the familiar stubble against his palm making a blush and tired grin paint its way across his face. “I was gonna try to stay up for you. Was gonna try to figure out exactly when you would get up here so I could have a tea ready for you and everything.”

“It’s the thought that counts, my love,” Alex smiles, his face turning in Jack’s hand to press a kiss to his palm. “You can make me my tea in the morning if that’ll make you feel better?”

“Mmm, maybe.”

Alex laughs and his eyes light up some in the dull light coming from the entryway and that alone lets Jack consider this night a win, regardless of his tired mind not allowing him a better welcome home for his boy. (If he wasn’t so tired he probably would question how easily he called this place home for the both of them but it’ll have to wait until he’s had more and better sleep.) Alex leans closer and tucks a finger below Jack’s chin before brushing their lips together. “I need to shower off all the plane air but why don’t we go head upstairs and I’ll meet you in bed, yeah? We can catch up in the morning.”

Jack sighs because his tired brain knows that it’s a good plan but he was really looking forward to a catch up. He’s also not all that certain he’ll be able to fall asleep again that easily. “If I’m still awake when you’re done will you tell me more constellation stories?”

He watches Alex’s features soften impossibly more. “You want to hear more of my useless star stories?”

Jack shakes his head as he moves to stand, his hand reaching down for Alex’s so he can walk them in the direction of the bedroom. “They aren’t useless. Always love listening to you talk about your love for everything going on up above us. You always sound so excited.”

They stumble up the stairs, hands loosely linked together as Alex walks behind Jack, his free hand providing a guiding, comforting touch as Alex steers them down the hall. After entering the room, Jack falls into the mattress and behind him he can hear Alex laugh, the sound even more of a comfort than his favorite song. “Well in that case,” Alex starts and Jack lifts his head to watch a tired smirk pull at his lips. “On the plane, I read this really cool article about some of the zodiac constellations that I would love to share with the class.”

“I’m all ears, babe.”

Alex bites his lip as his eyes meet Jack’s from his spot leaning against the bathroom door frame. “Get ready for sleep then and I’ll be back in a few. Happy to be back. I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” Jack says back, his face half-smushed into a pillow. Alex winks and turns to close the door.

And though completely exhausted, Jack finds himself making the mental note that maybe the whole naming a star after Alex would actually be a good birthday present after all. Then maybe Jack can be the one to tell Alex a story. One about a boy who loved another boy enough that every night he filled the sky full of stars and their stories.

[xmarksthescott]

ULTIMATE SHIP MEME @psifyre​ sent: Scott/Jean :O

General:

Rate the Ship -   Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | They Have My Fuckin Heart

How long will they last? - lol. scott/jean have been together so on and off but i do think they have the potential to last. i think they can get it right.

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - NJISDF very very fast. scott was like striking feelings on day 1.

How was their first kiss? - probably a little awkward but very sweet. they waited 2 years for it lol

Wedding:

Who proposed? - LMAO scott proposed twice but the time they actually did get married jean proposed

Who is the best man/men? - alex for best man. hank, warren, bobby, cable, etc. for groomsmen

Who is the bridesmaid(s)? - ororo, rachel, rogue, lorna

Who did the most planning? - they def did equal planning together because they’re that couple who did everything together.

Who stressed the most? - scott asdijnfkm. scott was really stressed but also just Stoked

How fancy was the ceremony? -  Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? -  at that time? definitely erik. but literally all the x-men were invited 

Sex:

Who is on top? - they’re p verse

Who is the one to instigate things? - jean usually. but sometimes scott. like 60/40 here.

How healthy is their sex life? -  Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | might try some toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - yeah they’re considerate ok 😔

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - well i guess they have rachel and nate grey.

How many children will they adopt? - does cable count because jean adopted him. 

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - scott

Who is the stricter parent? - scott

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - aijndf both. they tag team parent.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - jean

Who is the more loved parent? - jean lowkey except cable who has a scott bias

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? jean

Who cried the most at graduation? - ashdjf jean. its jean

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - jean

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? -  jean bc scott can’t cook

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - scott....

Who does the grocery shopping? - scott

How often do they bake desserts? - they bake sometimes but they’re like gross about it where they put flour on the other person’s nose bc they think they’re cute

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - meat

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - scott!

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - jean because she knows scott hauled himself up in the study all day. time 2 air out her workaholic husband.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? - HNJAMSD SCOTT

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - jean only because she has tk and its easy. scott tries to be useful and is like “i can dust!”

Who is really against chores? - neither

Who cleans up after the pets? - scott probably

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - neither

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - scott

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - scott

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - jean. scott’s typically too impatient for leisure

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - scott

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - they have matching sweaters and are gross and go all out

What are their goals for the relationship? - to make it work this time around. be open and honest, enjoy the moment now and assume they do have tomorrow. not to put the pedal to the metal and rush everything and just enjoy each other’s company.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - jean

Who plays the most pranks? - jean

[furiousgoldfish]

It is true that abusive parents do a lot of sabotage and growth stunt and mental abuse in order to keep you incapable of running away, refusing to teach you anything about surviving on your own, about finances, banks, contracts, cooking, nutrition, maintaining living space, your human rights and laws about them, they refuse to point out what you already do well, and make sure you don't get vital information. Also they stunt your mental growth and social skills, and berate you for not being active enough or capable enough in a social circle. So as a result, you end up feeling like you're way behind on everyone else, like you're late in learning everything and have huge gaps in your knowledge how to survive, making you helpless and hopeless to reach independence.

However!

Once you're freed from abusive parents you can catch up so quickly within a few months, or a year, nobody will be able to tell the difference. I mean it, what they've stunted and sabotaged can be obtained, very quickly. One thing you can't have that easily is emotional stability, but! Everything else you can have. (unless they've done excessive torture to fuck up your learning abilities in which case fuck them but also can be healed and you will be able to gain will to learn new things again).

I'll try to go thru some basics of what I was missing in my knowledge, and learned right upon running away, or afterwards.

about finances and banks, there's few ways to learn, first thing I did about it was when I was 19 or so, I went to a bank and made an account and asked a person opening it all I needed to know, and read all the papers I got with it, and that is still the account I'm using now to survive, and all I had to do was fill a few papers, and it worked out. Other ways I managed to learn about finances was about asking other people than my parents, tho they were a bit surprised I didn't know all this already, they didn't mind telling me, and how I actually learned the most was extensive research on the internet. First look at the websites of official sites, like the government, taxes, retirement, they will usually list all the things you have to know, but don't listen to all that, just read it and then go to the forums and read what actual people are discussing, that's how you will learn what problems are people are having with this, and how many of these laws are actually reinforced (people are always ignoring a few laws). Doing my own research actually taught me more than I would know if I had just listened what other people explained to me, and made me capable of making financial decisions. Since I was already living with barely anything, by the time I escaped from parents I was okay with only rent and food money, and I didn't have to buy anything than a bit of second-hand clothing. So I didn't have to think that much about managing finances, other than to make sure I'm buying cheap food ingredients.

Cooking and nutrition, so I actually learned to cook from a roommate who was really good at it, I was a bit abashed that I didn't know as much as they did, but when you show slight admiration of someone's skills and show eagerness to learn from them people are actually happy to help you out! I gained a bit of cooking knowledge from every roommate who knew how to cook, and of course the internet. Everything I learned about nutrition came from use of this site: cronometer.com. This information was vital to me because I was feeding myself so badly I was often experiencing fatigue, losing my appetite, or even seeing black because I just didn't know what I had to eat or how much. (its worth mentioning I became vegan too so I was super confused) But after figuring out how much of what I had to eat to meet all calory and nutrition requirements, I started feeling very good and fulfilled, and I now know more about nutrition than my parents could have ever told me. This is also vital knowledge if you want to not get sick just from lack of care for your body, I for instance, have no money for hospitals and doctors so I have to keep eating very responsibly to avoid health issues.

I learned about proper cleaning and maintaining a living space from a neighbour who wanted me to help her clean. Of course I cleaned tons for my parents but all I would get is a hard brush, soap and water, I had no idea how to use any cleaning product. And it turns out you just have to mix a bit of product in a half of bucket of water, and you use it with your rug, and wash the rug in it until the water turns too dirty, then you replace it. And if you're cleaning wooden surfaces and floor you don't even have to wash it out with clean water, just let it dry! If all of you already knew that I hate you all. I knew nothing of it. Also I managed to pick up some basic living-space maintaining facts like, windows and frames and curtains need to be washed twice a year, otherwise the air inside will get very dusty and unpleasant to breathe, buildup of dust on the top of closets and under beds is also making the air bad, vinegar can remove any mineral layers that built up from water and is great for cleaning sinks and stove tops. Turns out cleaning is more easy than rubbing everything with soap for hours, I'm very bitter about not knowing it.

Figuring out what's the best way for you to socialize becomes more easy as you realize people don't already have thousand prejudices about you that they got from your parents, and aren't eager to maintain your parent's illusions about you. I used to socialize with a goal to make everyone happy, but that's just waste of time. It's better to say whatever you feel like and get people either to leave you alone and get away from you, or relate to you and try to connect with you. It's okay to hate people right away when you see them, and to subtly let them know you don't like them so they go away. All the pretending and creating a picture of you that others should like and feel comfortable with isn't worth anything really, I make people uncomfortable wherever I go and most of people are very turned off and they leave me alone, as I want them to, while others decide that getting uncomfortable might be what some situations really need. Anyway, if you're all on your own, you will gain your true self back, and if you're socializing with people, you'll eventually learn all the tricks and decide what you want to get out of socializing, just don't make it "being helpful to everyone and having everyone like you" because thats impossible.

The last thing I have to say about this, is even though I believed every single person was way ahead of me in their survival skills, I couldn't have been more wrong. I had roommates who were irresponsible, completely refused to socialize or were really annoying when they did, had no idea and no desire to learn about cooking or cleaning, didn't care about how much money they were wasting (i don't mean buying stuff, I mean buying food that they just let to rot bc they weren't paying attention), didn't seem to know much about banks or contracts or anything, and had completely normal jobs like a cook, cleaner, waiter, and so on. And they were doing it, they were independent still. It didn't take that much growth or adult skills for them to achieve this.  

So in conclusion, if you can cover rent, you can make it on your own. This can mean having a job or finding a way to get money from working freelance online, or having any source of income that could cover rent and a bit of food. It's not that complicated, you don't have to know everything right away, and you will learn everything by doing it. I know parents make it seem like you'll have to deal with impossible, like you will have a crisis every day and be out of your mind worried about what will you eat or where will you sleep every day but nah. I'm not saying life will be worry-free, but after living in abuse, to only have to worry about rent and few other things? Peanuts.

[welovekpopscenarios]

Quietus (Ghost!Hoshi x Reader)

Admin: Mimi

When Hoshi died, he thought that was the end of everything as he knew it, and that he would be doomed to a life of isolation for the rest of his miserable existence. That was until the day you walked into his abandoned house and made him feel a little less lonely.

Fandom: Seventeen

Genre: Angst, fluff

Pairing: Hoshi x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of death/blood/violence, Ouija boards, alcohol

Word Count: 4413

A/N: Hoshi is (one of) my bias and I never wrote for him before. I got inspired after the Lilili Yabbay video bc he looked like a ghost in that video, and since the spoopy festivities of Halloween are upon us, I was in the mood to write for the occasion! I put up the warnings for those who aren’t comfortable with it (obviously lol) but honestly, it isn’t that graphic or scary. It might seem a bit grizzly at the beginning, but that’s the worst of it, I promise you. That being said, I hope everyone likes this and that you have a good October/Halloween!

Soonyoung doesn’t remember the day he died. At least, not perfectly.

He remembers the unease he felt, the hairs on the nape of his neck standing up much like a cat’s when it arches its back in fright, preparing for attack, ready to strike. He remembers a large black mass entering his vision, a shadow of doom coming to swallow him whole and make him disappear from the world forever, cursed to the darkness for no reason at all other than being at home when he shouldn’t have been. Lastly, he remembers the pain, the sharp edge of a demon’s blade as it pierced the pure tissue of his heart, the searing pain crawling across his body like maggots and tearing at his skin as he struggled to fight it, fighting until he took his last breath and his body gave in to the desire of being in a painless state, turning paler and stiffer than the coldest of snows in winter.

Soonyoung doesn’t remember the day he died other than that.

But what he does remember, is waking up sometime later from that horrible, dull slumber and watching as paramedics placed his body on a stretcher and wheeled him out of his bedroom as hard men in suits held onto his weeping mother. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen his father as broken in his life as he had then, his father’s eyes red rimmed and bloodshot, trying to listen to the policemen as they rambled on about possible reasons why poor Soonyoung’s life was taken so suddenly from him. But as he looked around his room that fateful night, examining the wooden floor that was now stained darker than before, examining just like the detectives that invaded his personal space, he thought it was painfully clear what had happened. He was murdered in the confines of his bedroom as his parents were out of the house late at night.

Everything after that was just a rapid blur of watching his parents cry deep into the night at the loss of their only child to standing over the shoulders of the police as they took notes, screaming at them, wondering why no one could see him despite being right in front of their eyes. But he wasn’t, was he? He might think he’s standing, breathing, but he knows that’s not the case when he watches as he’s- his body, is put into a casket in his Sunday best and lowered into his grave on a dull and wet Wednesday afternoon. He knows that he is, essentially, gone from the land of the living, no longer able to hug his parents, to wave at his friends as they walked mournfully to school, to dance as was always his passion. Yes, everything in the days following his death was a blur of sadness, regret and confusion.

But what he does remember, clear as the crystal vase his mother polished religiously and never let him touch as a child, was the day he stood behind his parents’ small forms and gazed upon the detectives as they detained the dreaded black mass that stole his life and threw him into the backseat of the police car to be locked up for the remainder of his pathetic life. He supposes it was some sort of consolidation for his parents: they had caught the man that ruined their life forever. But it still doesn’t erase the grief of his parents discovering that it was a simple robbery, that Soonyoung had just been in the way and the man panicked when he was caught, doesn’t erase the heavy hearts caused by this terrible accident, a community shocked by the loss of the brightest boy its ever seen.

But now Soonyoung is terribly alone in crowded places, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He stays at home, lies in the bed he’ll never sleep in again, guards the parents he’ll never talk to again, walks beside the friends he’ll never laugh with again. It frustrates him to no end, this isolation, the unhappiness he feels settling deep into his gut and causing him to sob tears that will never fall down his chubby cheeks. He’s never been this alone, this quiet, and it’s such a drastic change from the boy he once was that if anyone were to see him (he prays they do) they’d ask if that really was Soonyoung. Soonyoung, who was once so vibrant and enthusiastic, was now just a dull shell of his former self. And there was never a sadder sight.

He’s met a few of his kind before; other ‘spirits’, or ‘souls’ as they’d call themselves, wandering aimlessly on the streets of his hometown before moving off. Some knew how they died, others didn’t, completely in the dark and confused, afraid. It was a slight burden off his shoulders, knowing he wasn’t the only one out there. But he was still on his own, no spirit ever staying long enough to acquaint, moving on in search of the great beyond that might never come.

Soonyoung spends his days roaming the halls of his home until he overhears the dreaded words slip free from his parents’ mouths. “Let’s move away.” He doesn’t blame them for wanting to leave – he would too if his child was killed in his home. But he still feels like a little boy, even more so now, and he needs his parents by his side, needs that constant to keep him strong. But in what feels like the blink of an eye the house is emptied and his parents have left a few months after his death. Now he guards an empty home, eyes trained on the dust gathering on the kitchen counter tops his mother would prepare his favourite chicken dinners, watches the insects crawl from the cracks in the corners of the living room where his father would read the newspaper in the cushioned chair by the window.

The house looks unbearably bigger now that it’s just Soonyoung and his thoughts. Too big, he thinks, even if he’d hear his mother complaining it was too small when he was a child. Much too big for just himself. Too quiet yet the howling of the wind was too loud for his pale ears. He barely registered the strangers visiting the house that was now on the market, too busy actively ignoring the truth blaring in his face that he was slowly losing whatever life he had, piece by piece, and yet he refused to give up on this house. His home. His home that no longer felt like a home.

Except for the day you walked through the front door, freshly cut keys jingling in your hand as the other struggled to drag your packed suitcase behind you, small grin on your face as you basked in the glory of finally finding somewhere to live close to your college near five years later.

He doesn’t recall seeing you in the house before, figures he would have remembered a face as mesmerising as yours, so utterly entranced he was at your soft visage that he felt as if his scarred, dead heart has started beating again. At first, he had somewhat hated you for stepping into his home and making it your own, changing it from the safe haven he once knew and he despised that. But as you settled in, buried your head in your textbooks, sang the sweetest notes as you cooked in the kitchen, danced foolishly throughout the house in a ratty t-shirt and shorts as you cleaned the house, hoovering up that wretched dust that covered his memories, he found he didn’t mind you as much.

The company was indeed welcomed after years of silence, the house a little less lonely now that he had someone new to watch over, and you were certainly an interesting one. He’d laugh whenever you’d bang your head on the open cupboard door in the kitchen (which was always, you never seemed to learn from that) and swore under your breath as you rubbed the bump on your head. He’d raise a brow at when you went on one of your ‘creative sprees’, and you’d ruin the floor of his parents’ bedroom (your bedroom, he needs to remember that), various assortments of glitter and paints and stickers covering the dark wood in whatever creation you had in mind that day. And he’d join you as you turned up the music to prance around the room as you got ready for the day, both dancing to your hearts delight, and for once, Soonyoung felt a sliver of the happiness he’s been deprived of.

But things got even more interesting when you walked straight through Soonyoung’s ethereal form. And you shivered. And Soonyoung nearly dropped dead (if he could).

It was the first time since becoming a spirit that anybody had any sort of response to walking through him despite having done so unknowingly on numerous occasions. And Soonyoung almost, almost missed it, if not for the little sound of discomfort you made that drew his eyes back towards you once more. He watched as your body gave a slight shudder, your face contorting into a miniscule scowl before shrugging and continuing about your day as if nothing happened. But something did happen. Soonyoung saw it with his own eyes, heard it with his own ears, and it sparked the tiniest of flames inside his soul of a body, a spark of hope, something he had not had in the longest time, hope that for the first time, he would be seen.

And since that day, Soonyoung has been nothing but a pest throughout your house; moving your letters from one place to another, pots mysteriously falling from their spot on the counter to clang on the floor, random taps resounding through your walls in the middle of the dead of night. At first you were frightened, who wouldn’t be? All these strange paranormal happenings in your house would scare anyone, and while that wasn’t Soonyoung’s original intent, he was still determined to make his presence known, to make you notice him. After weeks of observation he was ecstatic to find that you no longer feared the unknown presence in your home, and instead, with your strange quirkiness and caring side that he’s come to love, you’ve accepted him, even calling out to him if he fiddles with something in your line of vision. You’ve even given him a nickname, called after the little star decoration hanging over your mirror that he pays special attention to when you’re getting ready for the day. Hoshi, you named him, and he was sure his smile could have cracked his face if he wasn’t dead, was sure that the brightest of blushes would wash over his face. Hoshi was perfect, and it was beautiful, like you, and he was proud to wear the name.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and it felt like Hoshi was stuck in the same spot; forever fiddling with things to get your attention, walking through you to earn a reaction. The flame inside his heart was beginning to dull the more time went by, losing hope that he would ever get to talk to you, to be acknowledged for once since his untimely end. He was hopeless, until one October night you held a small party with your closest friends and someone had the bright idea to bring a Ouija board to play with while you were all drunk. Hoshi thought it bizarre at first, do people just carry these sorts of things around with them like it’s nothing? But then he heard the light tone of your voice, albeit slightly slurred from the fruity drinks you’ve had, saying that you wanted to meet Hoshi, and he nearly melted. You should have been more careful, he thought momentarily, Ouija boards were dangerous and not something for drunk college students to be messing around with, but soon enough he heard your voice calling out to him, and he stood in shock for a brief second.

This was his chance, for him to finally have some way of actually speaking to you, for you to know he’s been here all along, to know what happened to him, to know how he feels, and suddenly he’s scared. After living in silence for so long he finally gets the opportunity to speak to the one person who’s brought him an ounce of joy and now he’s hesitant, his feet unwilling to move from their spot. He doesn’t understand why, his mind screams at him to make a move, but his fear stops him. But, one look at your dejected face from your friends mocking remarks about him being fake, suddenly Hoshi’s moving towards the board and placing his pointer finger upon the planchette.

“My Hoshi, are you there?” you inquire, a drunken lilt to your voice as you look aimlessly around the room, your eyes meeting his unknowingly for a few seconds before moving off. Hoshi could almost laugh at the ominous setting of the room; dark except for the few faintly lit fairy lights scattered throughout the room, fake store-bought cobwebs lining the table you and your friends sat around and bottles of drink pushed to the side to be dealt with tomorrow morning. He stared at your face, your pretty eyes wide in what looked to be slight apprehension, nibbling softly on the skin of your lower lip as you awaited his answer, and he was soon pushing his finger towards the ‘yes’ that sat in the corner of the board.

You all gasped aloud when the planchette moved, some friends quick to question each other which one of you moved it to freak the others out, but when all of them firmly denied ever even pressing hard on the planchette, it soon dawned up on you all that there was another presence in the room and it was met with mixed reactions. Some reacted in fear, wanting to put away the board altogether and go home, others in shock and awe, but you, you were the only one smiling, stretching from ear to ear and your eyes twinkling brighter than any of the lights littering the space in the room. Hoshi’s face matched your own, a heart once so dead and cold now full and bursting with warmth, so overjoyed that he could experience this moment with you, the moment he actually made contact with you. Part of him wishes to not have the intrusion of your friends on what he considers an intimate moment, but he wasn’t able to think on it too long before you were asking more questions.

“What’s your real name?”

Hoshi’s fingers moved the planchette to the respective letters of his name, spelling out S-O-O-N-Y-O-U-N-G while one of your friends wrote down the letters. Someone recognised his name, a dark tale that drifted throughout the town and city years ago, and recalled what they knew of him: a boy killed unjustly, taken too early, someone who had so much to live for be it in dancing, school or simply being the bright person he was. Hoshi’s heart deflated when your face fell the more his story was revealed to you, sorrow marring every inch of your graceful features and causing his stomach to do uncomfortable twists as if it were still a functioning organ in his body. You took a deep breath before speaking again, but this time no question was asked.

“I’m sorry that happened to you. You didn’t deserve it, and I hope the person who killed you rots wherever they are,” you said, poison lacing your honey-like voice, and once more Hoshi was shocked. He never thought he’d have those words directed at him before, never thought he’d hear it for himself than told to his parents. He didn’t know how to reply, so he said the first thing he thought was right.

T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U

You smiled again, the lightest of blushes spreading across your cheeks and your nose scrunching momentarily in delight. Another question came to your mind, your features taking on an inquisitive look again. “Do you want me to call you Soonyoung instead?”

Hoshi chose to ignore how your name made him feel weak-kneed for a second, and answered you quickly.

I-L-I-K-E-H-O-S-H-I

It was a bit tedious, having to spell out everything while your friends freaked out beside you, filling the room with squeals and shrieks, but his focus was only on you and your reactions. You giggled at his answer, and he laughed alongside you, a giddiness coming over him that he couldn’t control. He gave a frown of annoyance when your friends elected to take over the questioning for the night, endless dreary questions like ‘have you seen other ghosts?’, ‘have you ever met a demon?’, or the most baffling one that they spent some time talking about, ‘could ghosts have sex?’ Both you and Hoshi balked at the question, whether it be for the same or completely different reasons, but you were coughing into your hand when your friend sent an obvious wink in your direction. When it seemed like they would never shut up with their curious questioning, they eventually grew bored on Hoshi’s deliberate bland answers in the hopes that they’d turn the questioning back to you. But to his horror, everyone began to announce they were going to go home before putting an end to the connection. In his panic, Hoshi’s fingers sped over the ‘no’ in the opposite corner, subsequently stopping the group from saying goodbye. Everyone paused, staring at the bold letters silently and then looking towards you who wilted underneath their gazes.

“It’s dangerous to break the circle, isn’t it?” one said, eyes flickering uncertainly around the others who returned the hesitance to mess up the circle.

“Well,” another perked up after a beat of silence, “he doesn’t seem like an evil spirit. I guess we could take our hands off and end it there, but I say we should keep talking to him for a bit, at least until he’s satisfied.”

“What do you want to talk about?” someone asked, and Hoshi pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Y/N he spelled, and your jaw dropped.

“You want to talk about me?” you asked, a waver of nervousness in your voice as you furrowed your brows. His fingers flew across the letters again, your friend struggling to keep up with the letters as she wrote them down on the page.

I-W-A-N-T-T-O-T-A-L-K-T-O-Y-O-U-O-N-L-Y

“Oh.”

Your friends shared looks of bewilderment, looking to you for guidance on what to do. You thought for a moment, staring at your fingers that were accidently touching the tips of Hoshi’s spectral ones. “Lift your fingers off the planchette,” you announced, and slowly, one by one, your friends obeyed, their hold on the spirit world evaporating until it was just you and him left. They packed up their things and called cabs, not that you payed them much attention, keeping your focus on the board despite not saying anything, and wishing you good luck before they left, they bid their goodbyes and closed the door behind them.

The silence that filled the room was almost deafening, Hoshi waiting in anticipation of your next move, eyes trained on your face that was softly illuminated, as perfect as the day he first saw it. Licking your lips, painted a blood red hue in the spirit of Halloween, you began to speak.

“What do you look like?” you asked, and Hoshi should have expected a question like that but it still made his eyebrows raise in surprise. He thought for a moment on how he would show you, his parents long having packed up every picture you could possibly find of Soonyoung in the house. Then it came to him.

I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T. Surely the news would have put his pictures in the papers or on the article online. You made a soft ‘ah’ sound and grabbed your phone from its place beside you on the ground, searching his name as quick as you could with one hand to type. Within seconds the results popped up on screen, page upon page of his tragedy, all telling the same sad story. You ignored them in favour of heading to the images page, and your eyes widened at what came up. Multiple pictures of the same boy – no, man would be the better term, dark haired and smiling the cutest grin you’ve ever seen, causing his wonderful eyes to squint in the most unique way you’ve ever seen. Without realising, the words “he’s so pretty” slipped ever so quietly out of your mouth but it was not lost on Hoshi’s ears, who was positive said ears would be burning right to the tips if you could see him, the goofiest, love-struck smile overtaking his face. You smiled softly as you looked through the pictures, wondering how such a gorgeous and bright young man like him could ever have been so brutally murdered as he was. Life was truly cruel.

“How long have you been here?” you questioned, phone placed on the ground once more.

F-I-V-E

“Five years, wow…did you ever think about moving off? Can ghosts explore the world or are they tied to the place they, you know…died…?” you mumbled, afraid of offending him somehow. Hoshi chuckled sadly.

D-I-D-N-O-T-W-A-N-T

“Oh, you wanted to stay here? Makes sense, it was your home after all. I’m sorry I took it,” you said sheepishly, scratching your head with your free hand. “Are you angry at me because of that?”

The planchette was immediately moved to ‘no’, followed by I-L-I-K-E-Y-O-U.

He watched as you ducked your head shyly, a giggle of disbelief escaping you, all the while shaking your head. Hoshi smirked, pleased that he was able to elicit that kind of response like it was one of the old romance movies his mother used to play when he was young. He was also pleased he could relieve some of his feelings to you, despite you probably not taking it for face value, for Hoshi did like you, he really did. Probably more than someone in his situation should, what with being dead and near invisible and all, but he couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t. After seeing you every day for the past few months, learning all your quirks, joys and insecurities, Hoshi felt more a part of your life than he thinks anyone has been since you moved here. It was just an unfortunate nightmare that he would never get to treat you as well as you deserved to be, to hold you when college got too tough or laugh when you bump your head on the cupboard door again, never learning your lesson.

He sighed wearily, biting at the inside of his cheek. An unfortunate nightmare indeed, he thinks as he gets lost looking into your eyes, the colours of which he’d know as well as any dance routine he learned as a teenager.

“I like you too, Hoshi,” you gushed, and his lifeless heart felt like it skipped a beat, warming his body from head to toe. “Tell me more about yourself,” you asked, and for the next while, he did to the best of his ability. He told you about his old life and his new one, his hobbies as well as his dreams, and he learned about yours too, your wishes for when you leave college, your job, your friends and family. It felt like a date, almost – a very strange one, couples normally don’t talk through a Ouija board, but Hoshi was never as content as he was now, the one girl who made him smile in his miserable and dull world talking to him as if he were an old friend, an old lover. He never wanted it to end, but as life seemed to hate him, luck was never on his side. You yawned into your free hand, rubbing at your eyes cutely that made Hoshi ‘aww’ out loud and a smile of adoration tug at his lips.

“I’m tired, I think I’m going to go to bed now,” you explained, and Hoshi elected to ignore the disappointment sinking into his bones, favouring your wellbeing more than his. “I better lock up and stuff, make sure no burglar gets in and steals what little stuff I have,” you laughed softly, fatigue washing over you in waves like a lazy river. Hoshi began moving the planchette again, and you dragged your eyes to the letters, sleepy mind scrambling to keep up and make sense of what he is saying.

I-P-R-O-T-E-C-T-Y-O-U

You smiled a gentle, lazy smile once you realised what he had said, heart beating faster than usual for a person. “Thank you, my Hoshi. I feel better knowing you keep me safe every day,” you breathed out a sigh of content, one that made Hoshi feel lighter than a feather that fell from a dove, a sense of pride swelling his chest to the brim. He was glad he could make you feel good for such a simple act, but he does it diligently, from simple things like moving your closer to the centre of the table so it doesn’t fall off the edge to turning off hot appliances that you left on in a rush to leave the house. Anything to make your life just that bit easier and more enjoyable, he’d do it.

“I think I should buy a board for myself so I can talk to you more, I like talking to you,” you murmured, eyelids drooping as the drink from earlier in the night made you feel drowsy. Yawning once more, you stretched your back, heaving a satisfied sigh at the pops and cracks that left you feeling like a noodle. “Goodnight, Hoshi,” you said quietly, and Hoshi swallowed his sigh of disappointment, bitterness welling up in his mouth and tasting like a copper coin. There’s always tomorrow, he thinks, as he moves his pale fingers on the planchette for the final time that night. He’ll talk to you again tomorrow. And maybe, someday, he’ll get his wish and hold you tightly as he rocked you to sleep, whispering only loving things into your ears.

Hoshi moved the planchette over the letters G-O-O-D-N-I-G-H-T before hovering over ‘Goodbye’, and he was alone once more as sleep dragged you into its sweet clutches.