#as long as its not horribly bitter ill drink it

[135-film]

i love making coffee in my coffee maker, its been years since ive had one. it makes my house smell good, i love the sound, it reminds me that a good thing is coming, & i can make a cup for the special people in my life because i make some good coffee

[corduroyserpent]

if your still doing the 101 whump ask game then maybe 55

i will be honest, at first i did not remember what game you were talking about but i wanted to write some moshangzhu today so i figured what the heck!

“How long has he had a fever?!” Shang Qinghua yelps. He’s just loud enough to make it through the haze of sickness that keeps Zhuzhi-lang in its grasp. 

Zhuzhi-lang manages to crack a single eye open to get a blurry look at his rescuers—the anxious little peak lord and Luo Binghe’s right hand man. Mobei-jun sits on the bed, uncaring of how much of Zhuzhi-lang’s space he takes up. 

“A while,” Mobei-jun says.

“My king, you must tell me these things. I’m the one who will get in trouble if he dies!” Shang Qinghua lowers his voice. “I know you don’t like him—I’m not a huge fan either—but can’t you at least try not to actively kill him?”

Mobei-jun releases a short breath through his nose and unceremoniously slaps his palm across Zhuzhi-lang's forehead. 

Shang Qinghua hisses through his teeth. “Be gentle!” 

The force of the movement stings but the chill is oddly welcome, soothing in ways that cold temperatures have never been for Zhuzhi-lang before. The burning warmth of his healing body is painful. He aches. Not just in his chest, where the skin still hasn't knit together as it should have, but everywhere. He nearly presses closer to Mobei-jun’s hand before coming to his senses.

The other demon hates him. And Mobei-jun’s aggressive hands are half of the reason why Zhuzhi-lang is wracked with fever and sweating out the water he hadn’t managed to cough up after being yanked from the Luo River. To pull any modicum of relief from the same fingers that have snapped his bones…Zhuzhi-lang truly must be ill. He will take his revenge once he has regained his strength. That’s how he lives his life; all slights against him are to be returned tenfold.

All acts of kindness as well. 

But what he is being given by Mobei-jun and Shang Qinghua now is not kindness. It can’t be. It would not make sense. 

“Here we go, okay! Mu-shidi gave me this for emergencies.” Shang Qinghua carefully holds a bowl full of something opaque and faintly steaming. He touches the edge of the bowl to Zhuzhi-lang’s bottom lip. “Come on, it’s not poisoned or anything. Do you want to die and leave your uncle all alone? Drink, drink, drink!”

Zhuzhi-lang slowly parts his lips and allows Shang Qinghua to tilt the warm medicinal liquid into his mouth. It’s horribly bitter but he’s tasted worse. Once he’s swallowed it all down, the bowl is taken away and swiftly replaced with something small and soft. Zhuzhi-lang makes a confused little noise, tongue still holding the aftertaste of medicine.

Shang Qinghua pushes the object past his lips and Zhuzhi-lang discovers, to his complete surprise, that it’s milk candy. Zhuzhi-lang’s eyelids begin to feel heavy as he swirls it in his mouth, sweetness replacing the bitter tang. Whatever they fed him is sure to have a soporific effect. And the pervasive warmth has not yet abated; it’s uncomfortable and overpowering. 

Mobei-jun’s hand still covers his forehead and a chilly thumb has begun to stroke along Zhuzhi-lang’s dampened hairline. Zhuzhi-lang looks up at him, not sure what the gesture means. 

“Go to sleep,” Mobei-jun says. His gaze is far from warm but Zhuzhi-lang thinks, suddenly and without reason, that the light blue of those glacial eyes is a very pretty color.

Then sleep comes to claim him. And if Zhuzhi-lang’s dreams are feverish things, full of swirling blues and the memory of milk candy, there is no one else to know.

also on ao3!

[caluski]

ive made myself hot chocolate wine. hot wine chocolate maybe. its mostly hot chocolate and some wine... i only added a little because i havent made hot wine in a long time now, i was worried id evaporate the alcohol and make it gross. but it turned out fine and its good, maybe next time ill make some with spices. maybe replace oat milk with some other one... i think cashew might be good, maybe if i spot it on sale somewhere. with cinnamon maybe, with slices of orange? orange matches both chocolate and wine, why wouldn't it work with both at the same time. i wish i could spend an hour or so in the kitchen, making different infusions that i could try with someone else. its always so much more fun to try new things with another person.

i dont really mind drinking alone, since i already usually do it while watching something or writing. but i do really really miss drinking coffee or tea with other people. i miss talking to people so very very much. i talk so much.. if one somehow hasnt figured it out yet from the absolute fucking abundance of long posts on my blog, but i really do love talking. my big problem is that i talk so much, that my hot drinks cool down before i get to take a sip or two. im really horrible at keeping that balance between being caught up with the conversation and drinking. although i never really have much to say, i keep repeating the stories ive already told a million times before, and i say silly stuff, and i complain about a lot of things, and i get sidetracked constantly. not really in like, adorable or quirky way, i can imagine it must be annoying for the other people in the conversation, especially when i get too excited and interrupt people and dont listen very well. i think its one of those things i wanna improve about myself.

yesterday, as i was walking home through the centre of the city, i was horribly in need of coffee, it was so cold and i was in a good mood, and i only had weak green tea that morning, and since it was still pretty early in the day, the cafes had some free spots. but i walked in, looked around, and walked out. its like everything reminds me of loneliness these days, and when i got inside, tables were all taken by couples or groups. i dont think it was a sign of anything, but it made me so awfully bitter. i know loneliness doesnt make me special, i know literally everyone experiences it to some degree, but god, it really hurts to look around and see that despite everything, people always have someone out there. a best friend, a significant other, family member, whatever.

theres that stupid thing everyone always repeats, "theres always someone out there who loves you, even if you dont know about it". i used to hold onto that desperately, but its so dumb. unrealistic and dumb. it makes you hope that maybe right now youre alone, but once you'll be at your rock bottom, SOMEONE will magically show up and say, i care for you, and i will be by your side to support you, or whatever. but then you hit the rock bottom and theres nothing, or better yet, someone you had hoped would stay with you suddenly says "i have anxiety and seasonal affective disorder, i cant be around you or ill get worse, too", and you dont want them to get worse because of you, of course you dont. theyre being reasonable, and you know that, and you cant do anything about it. even if you do guilt-trip them into staying, would that even really help, if they resented you for it secretly for the rest of their life.

a week ago or so ive walked into a cafe, as well, but i got so overwhelmed that i had to pretend to look around which tables are free, and left right away. just brought in mud and puddles, probably, since it was such a snowy day. i worry that one day ill be better, but i wont be able to step foot inside a cafe anymore, because it will remind me of nothing but the days when it was just me and self-loathing. not that i can really afford cafes anymore, but i cant think about that now. or worse, that ill never get better, and ill never get to experience it again, the presence of another person by my side, having coffee or tea or desserts, and talking and laughing and maybe even flirting. that thought makes me nauseous, but i know its likely. it kind of sounds like not much to wish for, but it feels almost too perfect to ever be possible - not only to have money for that in the first place, but also a person who cares for you enough to want to be around you, to want to talk to you or listen to you, a person who wont tell you "we can go out, but i have only an hour" and then leave after 20 minutes because it turns out in that hour was included their ride back home.

i keep thinking, one day ill find someone, one day i wont be lonely anymore and then ill let it all out of my system. but i know its silly, because by the time ill find someone, ill forget how to really be a person, how to have a conversation. i talk to myself a lot, in my head, but its not enough, it doesnt really feel like anything. i write a diary, i write short stories, i write posts on this stupid blog, but nothing feels like talking to another person, and its awful. my memory is far worse, i stutter more and more with each passing year, im being more and more awkward in such an uncomfortable and humiliating way, that it only makes my brain scream at me to shut up forever. i know why my family doesnt want to talk to me, im more unpleasant than ive ever been. i know its unfair to be blaming them for not wanting me around; they stopped asking about anything, recently, because i cant stop crying whenever they start the topic of job search. i cry too much these days. i had to stop showing up to my favorite grocery store, because theyve seen me too many times all wet-eyed. and i cant help it anymore! i know im still human, i know im not a victim, i know my suffering isnt greater than anyone else's. but something has changed and i cant imagine getting better, anymore. or at least going back to who i used to be. theres no hope anymore! and if theres no hope for me anymore, what do i do? "just surviving" isnt neutral, its horrible, its painful, its a nightmare. i dont want my life to look like this. i dont know what to do anymore. and ive said it a thousand times, i know, but its the only thing i have floating around in my useless empty head. i miss hope. i miss believing that i could still be happy, one day. and i know that was stupid, too, i can see it now, but at least it was something to hold onto.

i miss being around people. i miss it so much. i miss talking to people so horribly. i miss laughing and i miss being held. i dont need all this cortisol. i dont want to forget what it feels like to not be alone. but the more i want it, the more out of reach everything feels, the more unrealistic even the simplest things seem. i might as well be dreaming of living in alternate universe fanfiction.

[uncomfortablymisspoken]

Feeling uncomfortable.

I don’t know how many people will have an interest in reading my little blog on this space on the internet.

But my intention is literally to write about things to make you feel uncomfortable.

I recently found out I most likely have ADHD.

Along with a million other diagnoses.

But that one just really hit the nail on the head for me.

I found this out just yesterday on my visit to the neurologist and telling her about the not being able to focus much and spacing out. And she told me, “That sounds like ADHD.”

I need to get tested first, but I’m doing research, the difference between women with ADHD, which I found interesting was that we don’t get hyper. Only males get the hyperactivity. Females tend to get depressed, mood swings, anxiety, etc.

So, who knows how long I’ve had it, and how long all of this could have been able to be handled from the start.

I’m actually pretty bitter about it. (Females... We get all the fun stuff. AmIRight?)

My entire life I’ve been distracted. I never wanted to listen to anyone and I wanted to live inside my own little world.

I did horribly in school because I just couldn’t focus, and my family was always frustrated with me because they always thought I was never listening on purpose.

They thought I just purposely wanted to piss them off out of spite, or pretended I was stupid to get out of things.

I have pretty bad depression. And recently I’ve been experiencing some pretty intolerable panic attacks to the point where I feel like I’m dying.

My stress at one point was so bad my brain just decided to click off go into body spasms.

Having seizures changed my life forever.

I don’t remember my seizures personally because each time I would have one it was like a black out. And then I would wake up on the ground and someone would be shaking me, telling me an ambulance was on its way. My mom explained to me how it looked. and from how she explained it, it sounded a lot like I turned into Regan from the exorcist. My arm and jaw distorts, and I make strange noises and everything.

Some people are unfortunate enough to get ten or more seizures a day. And the extremely unlucky ones can have as many as every minute, or every ten seconds.

When I was told I had epilepsy (because I had more than one episode) Doctors pretty much put the fear of God into me about how I was going to hurt people if I tried to get behind a wheel, or even thought about gaining some independence at the age I was supposed to be experiencing things.

Instead, my depression just got worse and worse as I isolated myself for my “protection”.

Your twenties are the time to have fun and sex and drink and have friends.

I just got more emotionally sick by the day, and wondered if I would even make it to my 30’s.

I kept telling myself “If this doesn’t happen by 30 I’m killing myself.”

I made a lot of promises to end my life back then because I just felt like there was no reason to live. I felt like I just took up space and that was it- I am 30 now. And 2 of those promises still haven’t happened yet.

At this point it’s better to have the mindset of “There are much worse things in life than not achieving this. This is a dumb reason to want to completely end your life over.” Especially when there are so many out there who don’t get the choice whether they get to live another day or not.

At one point I accidentally became bulimic.

My anxiety was at a full time high and any time I tried to eat something I would puke so hard my throat stung and bled a little.

I was down to 102lbs. And my height is barely 5’1. (It was extremely uncomfortable when people would compliment me on my new size. And asking me “How I did it!”)

Living off of Gatorade isn’t that much fun- and my heart goes out to all those who suffer with body dysmorphia.

You do NOT have to go to such extreme lengths like starving yourself or making yourself ill in order to feel like you belong in todays beauty standards.

Being that sick was PAINFUL.

At that point I was just kind of in a fog.

Taking whatever meds my doctors gave me.

“Take this for your depression” “Take this gif your seizures” “Take this for your anxiety” “Take this because I say so.”

And I just took whatever was given to me. I didn’t really care because again; I wanted to die and I planned to eat them all at once like a bowl of cereal. I just needed to decide when to do it. Most days I just decided to sleep it off instead. If I wasn’t here, it was just better.

At this time I’d like to remind anyone if you're feeling suicidal please think about your actions and if what you are upset about REALLY IS worth killing yourself over.

I don’t like when people say “Suicide is selfish.” Because it’s not.

If anything, you calling them selfish for contemplating suicidal thoughts or actions will drive them right to it.

Just like every other time, chances are the individual will think “You are right. I’ll leave. You won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

And that is what drives that individual to act.

You are the one who is selfish who is taking your anger out on a mentally ill person who clearly needs help. And instead, you continue to put them down.

Talking about suicide is never something someone jokes about.

If your friend says “it’s my dark humor”, you need to check on them and not let it go.

Being inside the mind of a suicide survivor, (twice) believe me I know this.

Are you uncomfortable yet?

Being mentally unstable and having trouble trying to get help is EXTREMELY common these days.

But so many people still just won’t get help in fear of weakness or what their doctor might have to say to them.

I hope you aren’t too uncomfortable.

And I promise it won’t always be this dark.

I figured it would be good to show you the dark side first before getting into the dark humor; which the audience in my head thinks is hilarious, btw.

I’m off to watch some horror- and in the meantime, I’ll be thinking of other things to include here as well because I like interaction when I write.

Thank you for reading 🌹

[drawlfoy]

the poisoning of draco malfoy

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: draco x fem!reader

request: no haha

summary: y/n is known her her hangover cure and her passion for potion making. something goes slightly wrong when it comes to helping draco malfoy.

warnings: mentions of underage drinking, swearing, getting poisoned lmfao

a/n: hiyo i should be studying rn for one of my exams on monday but i just wanted to post this also big sorrry to anyone’s dm that i have yet to respond to i literally just popped in here to do this and hopefully i will crawl out of my study hole in a few days fjsdka’

word count: 1.2k

tags :) message or send in an ask to be tagged! @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell

“Draco!” Y/N hissed as he flipped through her entire Potions cabinet, his fingers brushing over every bottle. “Be careful!”

“Sheesh, have I ever been anything but careful?” he teased, shooting her a very self-satisfied look before continuing his search. “Why don’t you label yours?”

“It adds spice to the whole hangover curing process, don’t you think?” she joked, sitting on her bed as she watched him. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m fine.” She tried to suppress a smile as his stubborn persona reared its head. “It’s pink, right?”

“Yeah,” she said absentmindedly. Her thoughts were somewhere other than potions--instead thinking of how he’d let her rest her head on his shoulder while they were all talking. It obviously meant nothing--they were just friends--but it still made her heart speed up when she thought about it. 

“Got it.” He shut her cabinet, brandishing a small pink bottle before tossing it into his pocket. “Thanks, Y/N. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Anytime,” she said. If she avoided looking him in the eyes for too long, she could pretend like she didn’t feel disappointment at the fact that his visit to her room would be so brief. When he’d asked the group for Wide-Eye potion, everyone had directed him to her and her signature brew (which was really just Wide-Eye brewed with the essence of mandrake root). She’d let her mind wander to the possibilities of what might happen when they were alone in her room--but that was all drunken fantasy speaking. Just because he let her touch his shoulder didn’t mean he was about to propose.

“I’ll see you around, yeah?” He sent her a grin that made her knees weak, turning to leave.

“See you.” 

With that, he was gone.

~

“Think you’re funny, huh?”

Draco’s voice cut through her own pounding head as she sat at the Ravenclaw table with her other equally hungover friends.

“Excuse me?” She whipped around to see him pink with frustration. “Did you even take it?”

“It doesn’t work,” he told her matter-of-factly. “I don’t know how you managed to con all your friends into thinking that you’re some sort of Potions master at the age of 17, but you’re not. I know you’re a fraud.”

“What are you talking about?” Y/N asked. “That potion works. I’ve used it myself.”

“Yeah, it’s magic,” said her fellow Ravenclaw friend, Rena, from across the table. “I actually stole a vial from your cabinet this morning. Never been better. Maybe you’re just ill.”

“Huh?” Y/N asked. “I gave the last vial to Draco last night. There’s no way you could’ve…” The color drained from her face. “Draco, do you still have the bottle from last night? Can you describe the potion to me?”

The realization seemed to dawn upon him as his eyes widened. “No. I threw it out. It just looked like a regular potions bottle. Pink, like you said. Oh, god, did you poison me?”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” said Y/N, keeping her tone cavalier despite the fact that she was terrified. “There’s nothing...deadly...in there per se. But it’s not all totally legal for someone like me to have, so we can’t let Pomfrey know about it until I figure out what you took. Or Snape. Especially not Snape.” She shivered.

“So what do you suggest we do?” he drawled.

“Come with me. I’m going to try and figure out what’s missing.”

They didn’t talk much on their way to the Ravenclaw dorms apart from Y/N asking him about his symptoms. As far as she could tell, he was perfectly fine apart from a headache and sensitivity to sound and light--a classic hangover. 

She racked her brain, trying to think about what potion could be in her cabinet that wouldn’t cause ANY effects, even with the combination with alcohol. There was nothing. Quite literally nothing.

“Ok,” she told him as they stood in front of her cabinet. “I want you to tell me the general region where you grabbed it.”

Draco squinted at the bottles, running his fingers over them like he had last night. “To be honest, I hardly remember. It was a blur. Maybe this’ll teach you to put labels on them.”

“Normally I don’t have people ransacking my potions!” she snapped, throwing her hands in the air. “Are you sure you don’t feel anything different from a hangover? Like, at all?”

“No.” 

“Did you even take it?”

“Yes, I’m quite certain I drank a potion you gave to me this morning unless I completely imagined the entire thing,” he said, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and sitting down next to her. “How fucked am I? Should I go to the hospital wing?”

“Worst comes to worst we use a bezoar, but it doesn’t look like you’re in any danger.” She chewed her lip as she thought. “Hang on…you’re absolutely positive it was pink, right? Were there any other colors in it?” 

“Gold flecks.” 

She sprung up, digging through her cabinet and ignoring Draco’s questioning. “This doesn’t make any sense. I think you took my love potion.”

“No way,” he scoffed. “I think I would know if I was under the influence of a love potion.”

“I know. That’s why it doesn’t make any sense,” Y/N said. “But there’s only one potion in here that has gold flecks, and that’s a love potion. And it’s gone. Unless Rena took it--and I think everyone would’ve noticed that by now--it had to have been you.”

“But I feel normal!” he protested, running his hands through his hair. 

“Of course you feel normal,” she chastised. “The whole point of love potions is to convince you that what you’re feeling is natural--oh.”

It hit her. 

He gave her a weird look.

“Got anything you want to confess, Malfoy?” she asked, cocking her head and meeting his eyes. 

“What?”

“Do you know how love potions work?”

“Of course I know how love potions work,” he snapped, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not 12.”

“Care to explain?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, but he crossed his legs and continued in a monotone voice as he recited the lesson they’d both heard in 3rd year. “The recipient of a love potion falls into infatuation with the…”

His voice trailed off.

“With the person who gave it to them, yeah?” pushed Y/N. “So if you feel no different, and I was the person who gave it to you..”

Draco just stared.

“Draco, I brewed that potion, and I know that there’s nothing wrong with it,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “You feel normal because--”

“Because I normally feel infatuated with you, yeah,” he cut in, his tone bitter as he rolled his eyes again. “No need to spell it out for me.”

“This is horribly embarrassing for you, huh?” she teased, giving him a shove. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I’ve probably liked you for longer.”

“Well--what?” 

“Yeah,” she said, shrugging as she tucked her legs under her and scooted a little closer. “You don’t honestly think I’d give my last vial to some random classmate, do you?”

“Well, why didn’t you just tell me?” he teased. “I don’t let just anyone fall asleep on my shoulder.”

“I guess we’re both cowards, then,” said Y/N.

“And idiots.”

“I think that’s just you.”

final a/n: i didnt edit this and i wrote this in the middle of what was supposed to be a study session for me whoopsies fdjsa;k 

[wingsofkpop]

Hiraeth - I.X: Was it Worth it in the End? Part Two

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, very heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting and injury, weapons, blood and gore, brief mention of a mutilated animal corpse, minor character death, description of trauma and mental illness, brief mention of suicide, mentions of murder, satanic themes and ritual, etc. 

Trigger Warning: This chapter does contain graphic and explicit themes regarding violence, trauma, and death. Please do not read if this will harm you. This is your final warning.

word count: 10,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

The nighttime is hushed, almost anxious as Minho maneuvers his way past gravestones and overgrown shrubbery. It’s almost like nature itself is too afraid of accidentally provoking the witch, sensing the torpedo of dark magic and violent sorrow stirring through his veins. He peers up at the crimson moon, grateful for the illumination it provides, and continues down his path—ignorant of the cold air bleeding into his flesh. 

Minho knows this is probably not the best time for a visit, aware that his ex-covenmates are likely plotting some sort of mission to overthrow him, but he doesn’t care—he can’t care anymore. A part of him, the shameful, guilty part of his mind. actually hopes they will succeed, at least then, he would no longer have to endure the pain that comes with bearing this black magic. He can feel its poison rushing through his veins, seering his body from the inside out, killing his soul over and over and over again… 

But isn’t this what he wanted? Revenge? Retribution? Minho performed that spell to hurt the very friends that hurt him—to hurt Mark, and he got his wish… so why does it feel like the world is caving in around him, swallowing him whole? 

Once he reaches his destination, Minho collapses to his knees, unable to bear the weight of his burdens. His eyes burn with tears, but he doesn’t allow himself to cry. A silent gust of wind strokes his cheeks, painting his skin red with bitterness and anger. He welcomes the cold air, accepting the punishment, before lifting his hand to splay his fingers against the even colder surface of the headstone. 

“I’m sorry…” Minho whimpers, “It didn’t have to be like this…” 

The silence heightens his anguish—deepens the wounds in his heart. 

If he could take it all back, he would… but he can’t. 

“I wish you were here, noona…” 

His murmur is lost to the wind, but it doesn’t matter. He climbs back to his feet before sparing one final glance at the burial place of his lost friend. After a deep inhale and a wordless goodbye, Minho turns and hastily begins back toward the mausoleum. 

He was allowed this one moment of weakness—now he must get back to the horrible reality he manifested for himself. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Can you be any more obvious…?” 

Mark quickly awakens from his mindless trance, discovering, to his dismay, Dahyun looking down at him with a single raised, all-knowing eyebrow. He fakes a cough into his elbow before shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You’re kidding me, right?... You literally haven’t taken your eyes off of her since we met up in the forest.” 

Heat immediately rises to Mark’s cheeks. As if on instinct, his eyes trail back to his subject of interest, watching as you wipe the sweat from Jaebeom’s girlfriend’s forehead and neck before shifting to do the same to Felix. It’s such a simple action, but you somehow look so ethereal—almost like an angel sent from heaven. 

He curses himself for his own cheesiness, then releases a defeated sigh. 

“We got into a pretty big fight earlier.” 

“Then don’t you think you should—I don’t know—talk to her instead of staring her down like a creep?” 

“I think the last thing she wants to do is talk to me.” Mark drags a hand through his hair. “I… said some really stupid shit in the heat of the moment. She probably hates me.” 

Dahyun scoffs, “God, you are such a fucking idiot.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means you need to get your ass over there and apologize to that girl.” 

Her harsh tone doesn’t falter beneath his glare, nor does her tenacious expression as the two proceed with their silent staring contest. After a minute or two, Dahyun breaks off the competition with a long, heavy sigh. Her eyes are soft when she looks back at him, and suddenly Mark finds the dried mud on his shoes a lot more interesting. 

“Mark, anyone can see how much you care about her—how much she cares about you.” Even when a gentle hand caresses his shoulder, the witch keeps his attention to the floor. “(Y/N) could never hate you—no matter how much stupid shit you pull.” She snickers, “And you pull a lot of stupid shit, so that has to account for something.”

He can’t help the amused chuckle that falls from his own lips. 

“Thanks, Dubu.” Mark says, tilting his head to finally meet the warmth of her gaze. 

“She’s a good one—a really good one, Mark.” The wolf hums, “Don’t let it be your fear that pushes her away.” She doesn’t give him a chance to reply further, pacing to a nearby corner to join a conversing Bang Chan and Yugyeom. 

Sparing the wolf trio one final glance, Mark musters up the remaining courage he has left and pushes from his perch against the kitchen countertop. He forces himself to walk in your direction—each step releasing more butterflies into the confines of his stomach. Once he reaches you, close enough to touch your turned back, he almost chickens out, content with spending the rest of the night watching you like hawk, but the sound of Felix’s breathy voice locks him in place: 

“—Channie-hyung and I have always wanted to go to Chicago… Is-Is it as windy as they say?” 

“Even windier.” You say with a laugh. “I can’t tell you how many scarves I lost, and don’t get me started on how freaking cold the winters are.”

Felix laughs too, although it resonates as more of a wheeze than anything. 

You shrug, “It’s a gorgeous city though—probably my most favorite place I’ve ever lived.” 

“Then why did you leave? If you loved it so much?” 

Mark’s interest piques when he notices how your figure grows tense at the young boy’s croak. He’s heard his fair share of stories of your heartfelt time in the Windy City, but he never quite figured out why you ultimately decided to move to Moon Dye Bay. You’ve always been reluctant to reveal certain details from your past, especially regarding your time in the foster system, but even then Mark has been able to pry the worst memories from your brain. 

This subject, however, has been a brick wall. 

“Because I couldn’t stay.” You finally answer, “It’s complicated, but something happened and basically I—” 

“(Y/N)?” 

He silently cusses as Felix interrupts your explanation, but his annoyance dissipates at the panicked expression etched along the teenager’s sweaty face. 

“What is it, Felix?” You shift your position on his bedside to better face the boy, leaning forward to place a gentle hand on his forehead. Mark can only imagine how hot the skin is to the touch. 

Felix’s words crack as they leave his lips, slicing at the witch’s heart like a dagger: 

“Am… Am I gonna die?”

“Of course not.” You immediately say, but Mark can sense the uneasiness in your tone. “Everyone is doing everything they can to help you, okay?... You’re gonna get through this, and one day you and your brother are gonna go see Chicago yourselves and try not to get blown away into the next century.” 

Felix sleepily chuckles, “Thanks, (Y/N).” 

“You should get some sleep.” The moment the command leaves your lips, Felix is already closing his eyes and diving headfirst into dreamland. Not wanting to startle you, Mark waits a couple seconds—partly to give you time to regain your composure, and partly to give himself time to think of what to say. However, he doesn’t have much of a choice when you suddenly turn, growing aware of his presence. A frown overtakes your face, and he instantly regrets ever leaving his countertop. 

“Did you need something?” 

“No—yes, I mean—shit.” Mark buries a hand in his tresses to tug at his roots, attempting to juggle between putting together the right spoken words and reminding his body to breathe. “(Y/N), I—” 

“If you came to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.” He helplessly watches as you rise from the bed before tossing your used rag on a nearby table. “I think you made yourself pretty clear back at my apartment.” 

“I shouldn’t have said what I said—” Before you can storm away, Mark latches his fingers around your wrist. “—please. Just give me a chance to explain.” 

Your shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh, but you make no move to tear away from his grip and he takes it as a chance to continue: 

“After my mom died, I was so fucking angry…” Mark notices your surprised gaze when you lift your head, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “I was angry at the world, at her, at myself… and when my magic began to show up, things got a whole lot worse.” He shakes his head, “I thought about just ending it—jump into the bay or maybe drink myself to death—but then I met…” 

“Then you met Jackson.” 

“He taught me how to deal with the anger—to use it as a tool, not a weapon.” His eyes begin to burn at the countless memories that reel through his mind. “It was because of him I learned how to control my powers, and I was able to bring the coven together—hell, he was the one who told them to nominate me as Regent, which right now, seemed like the worst fucking decision on the planet.” 

Mark takes a moment to blink away his tears before taking a seat on an empty cot. He still can’t find it in himself to glance at your face, keeping his eyes trained to the wooden flooring. 

“But when Jackson had an idea, there was no stopping him.” He chuckles sarcastically, “The bastard was as stubborn as a goddamn mule.” 

“What happened to Jackson, Mark?” Your voice is both a sweet lullaby and a screeching siren against his ears. “How did he die? Really?” 

“The initial plan was to infuse enough magic into Jackson’s werewolf form so his venom would be lethal to the Primes, or at the very least, to Jinyoung. It all went smoothly in the beginning, I was able to channel enough power to complete the transformation… but something went wrong—

“—Jackson was different when he shifted. He was ruthless… He didn’t want to just kill the Primes—he wanted to slaughter every vampire along with those who protect the secrets of their existence… no matter if they were witch, werewolf, human—they all deserved to die…

“The combination of his determination and the bloodlust drove him fucking mad… If Jaebeom hadn’t ripped out his heart, there’s telling what he would have done—who he would have killed…” 

Mark leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, attempting to hide his shame beneath the curl of his bangs. “—Jaebeom may have dealt the final blow, but Jackson died because the dark magic I used turned him into a monster—he’s dead because of me…” 

Silence encompasses the room like a vice grip to the throat. For a moment, Mark believes you left him, too disgusted and ashamed to even breathe the same air as him, but the entrance of your worn boots into his vision proves otherwise. The image is replaced by your face when you kneel in front of his broken figure, laying your hands over each bicep. He notices your touch is gentle, but not hesitant, and warm—always so warm. 

“You can’t blame yourself for his death, Mark.” Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until you wipe a tear from his cheek. “How could you have known what that spell would do? You couldn’t have—”

“Magic always comes with price—especially dark magic.” He whispers, unable to hold back more liquid sadness as it trails down his skin. “(Y/N), if I ever lost you the same way I lost Jackson, my mom, I—” 

Mark’s voice cuts out into a sob, and once your arms wind around his form, he completely breaks, releasing every ounce of repressed sadness and despair and pain into the crook of your neck. He knows he’s selfish for melting into your embrace—for consuming your comfort like a demon expelled from the heavens—but he doesn’t care. 

When you guide his eyes to meet your own, Mark can spot the glassiness of your own orbs in the artificial light—along with enough compassion and ardor to send another flood of tears down his face. 

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” You affirm, your tone unwavering and stern. “I’m here—and no matter how many times you fall, I’m gonna be here to pick you up…

“I’m here, Mark… Do you understand me?” 

He nods with a sniffle, tightly squeezing your hands between his own. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You smile at his apology. 

“I’m sorry too… for everything.” 

“Just… No more secrets. For real, this time.” 

“For real, this time.” Mark’s heart rate picks up when he suddenly notices how close his face is to yours. From this angle, he can count the constellations glistening within your eyes and map the delicate curves of your facial features. If he were to lean just an inch closer, just one tiny inch, his lips would be on your own—

“Sorry to interrupt, but we have an issue.” At Yugyeom’s statement, you and Mark immediately wrench away from one another, almost as if having been caught engaging in forbidden territory. Mark pretends he doesn’t miss the weight of your hands inside his own as he rises from the cot, making sure to put an appropriate amount of distance between his and your shoulders. 

He clears his throat before humming, “What’s going on?” 

“Chan wants to go and find Chaeyoung’s body.” Although Yugyeom’s face remains neutral, Mark can see the sadness lingering within his eyes at the mention of his fallen packmate. “He doesn’t remember exactly where she was, so him, Dahyun, and I are going to search the forest.” 

You immediately shake your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sunrise isn’t for at least another hour, and we have no way of knowing Youngjae broke the curse yet.” 

“I’m with (Y/N) on this one, Gyeom.” Mark agrees, “We’re safest here in the bunker.” 

“We can’t just leave her out there. I mean, she—” Yugyeom cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, before continuing in a softer tone, “You know how it feels to lose someone, hyung… Chaeyoung is—was… our family.” 

Mark takes a moment of silence to ponder, conflicted between his common sense and Yugyeom’s pleading gaze. As you said, sunrise is an hour away—but Youngjae, the coven and the Primes should have overthrown Minho by now, right? Plus, he literally blew Changbin’s head off with that shotgun. There’s no way his body could regenerate that quickly… 

“We’re all staying together.” He finally says, moving toward the kitchenette to grab his weapon from its perch on the counter. “And if anything seems shady, it’s an immediate retreat.” 

Yugyeom delivers a nod before heading off to gather the other wolves. Mark moves toward the bunker exit, but is stopped by your form. A heavy sigh cascades from his lips—just from your expression, he knows this conversation isn’t going to go his way. 

“(Y/N)—” 

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t go with you, don’t even bother.” 

He shakes his head, “It’s too dangerous…” 

“If someone tells me that one more goddamn time—” He can’t help the tiny smile that spreads across his face at the sassy way you roll your eyes. And he doesn’t protest when you move to follow Dahyun up the ladder. 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Youngjae inhales a deep breath, taking the moment to feel his lungs expand, before releasing the air in an even deeper exhale. Even with the relaxation attempt, his body remains tense and his thoughts disorderly. He can’t help but feel as if Minho is waiting somewhere in the darkness of the crypt, ready to pounce on him like a predator to its prey. 

Would he toy with his catch first? Or would he skip the pleasantries and go right in for the kill? 

A hand appears on his shoulder, wrenching Youngjae from his morbid daydream. He angles his head to meet Lia’s concerned gaze and immediately tries to mask his fear beneath an expression of indifference. Unsurprisingly, the female witch sees right through his facade:

“I’ve known you practically my whole life, Youngjae. Whatever it is, you can’t hide it from me.” 

His shoulders sag in defeat as a sigh blows past his lips. 

“I’m just… worried about Mark-hyung. He’s powerless out there.”

“Mark is smart—he’ll know what to do if he finds himself in trouble.” 

“And if he doesn’t?... I-I mean, what if Minho or Changbin found him before he could warn the pack? He could be dead for all we know—” 

Lia silences his desperate quip with a shake of her head, “You shouldn’t think like that right now—” 

“What else am I supposed to do?” Youngjae runs a frustrated hand through his hair before gesturing toward the main exit of their underground penitentiary. “Even with yours and Jisung’s energy, I don’t have enough power to take down the barrier spell.” 

“Help is on the way—” 

“How do you know that for sure?” 

Lia remains silent, simply continuing to stare at Youngjae. He feels almost uncomfortable beneath her gaze, resisting the urge to shrink back and become one with the shadows. 

“I don’t know… but I have faith.” She murmurs after a brief moment. “We’ve lost a lot, but I still believe that we’ll all somehow manage to come out of this alive. You should try doing the same.” 

With that, Lia leaves to speak with a dangerously quiet Jisung. Youngjae spares the pair a single glance before heading toward the crypt entryway. A single beam of moonlight illuminates the exit stairway, almost as if mocking him about his inability to escape the dingy prison. 

Youngjae knows Lia is right—of course she’s right. Worrying about the possible pitfalls of this plan won’t help him, or Mark, or anyone. He can only pray that his mentor safely found his way out of the cemetery and is sending backup right this very moment. 

He needs to have hope, if nothing else. 

“What if we somehow lure Minho down here?” Youngjae’s thoughts quiet at Lia’s suggestion, angling his head to meet her gaze. “Technically Youngjae just needs to touch him to siphon his magic… so why don’t we bring him to us?” 

“Minho-hyung won’t step past the barrier.” Jisung dissents, dragging his fingers through his already tousled hair. “He probably knows we’re planning something against him, so there’s no way he’ll believe whatever ruse we try to pull.” 

“Then we have no choice. Youngjae, are you sure you can’t take down the spell?” 

Youngjae sullenly shakes his head. 

“Is there something else you can siphon? Maybe the crypt itself?” 

“The crypt was built by humans.” He answers, “I can only draw power from the supernatural—”

“Then it’s a good thing my dear brother and I weren’t turned into superwolf bait.” 

Youngjae, along with the other witches, nearly leaps a foot in the air at the sudden voice. He whirls around to face the stairwell, which to his surprise, is now occupied by the last person he ever expected to see: 

Im Jaebeom. 

Jisung chokes, scurrying backward into the shadows as the hybrid approaches the trio. After taking purchase against the doorway, he offers his signature sly smirk. 

“Evening, Harry Potter and friends… Funny meeting you down here.” 

“Now is not the time for games, hyung.” Youngjae breathes a sigh of relief as Jinyoung’s voice echoes throughout the stone walls. Seconds later, he comes hustling down the staircase before shoving Jaebeom out of the way. The vampire then peers into the crypt, his gaze burning with the determination of a man at war. “Is anyone hurt?” 

“No. We’re okay.” Lia steps forward. “If you’re here, I’m guessing Mark reached the wolf pack?” 

“Your guess is correct.” Jinyoung nods, placing a hand against the invisible doorway. “My brother and I will do everything we can to help disarm the rogue, but I think it’d be best to free you all first.” 

Youngjae joins the conversation. “I can take down the barrier spell, but I’ll need to draw energy from one of you to do so.” 

“Let’s do this quickly then.” Jinyoung goes to roll up the sleeve of his white shirt, but is halted by his immortal companion. Surprise filters through Youngjae’s veins as Jaebeom shrugs the leather jacket from his shoulders with a huff: 

“With my luck, he’ll drain you dry and I’ll have to deal with this voodoo fucker myself. I think it’s best we use my energy—sorry not sorry.” 

“Alright, then.” Youngjae hums, “I’ll need you to push through the barrier just enough that I can touch you… It’s gonna hurt. A lot.” 

“Good thing I’m a sadomasochist.” Jaebeom snickers at his brother’s unamused expression, “Too much?” 

“Move your hand through that goddamn barrier before I throw you to the superwolf myself.” 

The hybrid rolls his eyes, but follows Jinyoung’s instructions and proceeds to force his limb past the invisible blockade. He remains silent, but Youngjae can spy the uncomfortable twitch of his eyebrow and the tension along his stone-cold features. Blood begins to bud along his knuckles like a patch of blooming roses before flowing down his pale skin the more he presses against the barrier.

The siphoner raises his hand in preparation. “Just a bit more.” 

A mere couple seconds later, Youngjae feels Jaebeom’s bloody flesh brush against his own. The skin-to-skin contact is slight, but enough, allowing the hybrid’s energy to spread through his veins like wildfire. Youngjae almost cries in relief as the magic conquers his entire body—a new kind of hope sparking somewhere within his chest. 

“Phasmatos Siprum… Emnis Abortum…” Youngjae murmurs, positioning both hands against the invisible wall. He feels it crumbling beneath his fingertips, unable to withstand the power flowing through his figure. “Fasila Quisa Exilum San… Fasila Quisa Exilum San…”

A proud grin stretches along his features as the barrier buckles, then completely shatters. With Lia and Jisung in tow, Youngjae beelines out of the crypt and into the stairwell where Jaebeom, who’s cleaning the crimson from his knuckles, and Jinyoung reside. The latter nods, which Youngjae is quick to return. 

“‘Kay, they’re free… Now what?” 

“Now we find Minho and end this once and for all.” Lia answers, not sparing the hybrid a glance as she dashes up the stairs. Youngjae and the rest of the group try to keep up with the female witch as best as they can, not faltering until they reach the surface. The cemetery is quiet when they emerge from the crypt, Youngjae notices—almost too quiet. 

He takes a short moment to breathe in the fresh night air before turning to a tense Jinyoung, “I need to get close enough to siphon Minho’s magic to perform the counterspell. You think you and your brother can find me a way in?” 

Jinyoung nods. “You can count on us.” 

“Stay close…” Lia warns with a sigh, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard already knows we’re free—” 

Lightning suddenly strikes a mere few feet from where Lia is standing, earning a chorus of screams and surprised gasps from the witch trio. Youngjae watches as Jinyoung speeds forward, grabbing Lia just in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp by a second bolt. With Jisung at his side, Youngjae quickly takes shelter underneath the overhang of a nearby tomb as even more lightning bombards the earth. He surveys the area, searching for the perpetrator responsible for the weather abnormalities. 

“Minho!...” Lia screeches from behind a large tree, her tone far less than friendly. “Quit being a fucking coward! Come out here and face us goddamnit!...” 

Youngjae huddles closer to Jisung as the wind suddenly picks up, ripping at his hair and clothing like a vengeful spirit. He moves to speak to his younger companion, but his words die on his tongue as the subject of the hour waltzes into view. The heavy gusts don’t seem to affect him, though that’s no surprise since the wretched weather is his doing. 

Minho smirks, “They say lightning never strikes one place twice… You must be really special then, Lia.” 

“Oh fuck off! We’re tired of playing your stupid games!” 

“This only ends one way, Minho—” Jinyoung says, cautiously moving from Lia’s side to approach the powerful witch. His steps, however, are halted by another vicious bolt of electricity. Youngjae attempts to make out Jaebeom’s form through the blurriness of his wind-induced tears, but the hybrid is nowhere to be found. “—so we can do it the easy way, or the hard way! The choice is yours!” 

“Last I checked, this isn’t your fight, Prime.”

“It became my fight the moment you threatened my family and my friends!” 

Minho snickers, “Trust me, I had every intention of ridding this town of you and your brother’s filth.” 

“Was it also your intention to kill an innocent werewolf girl!?” Youngjae’s heart drops at the vampire’s following statement. “Son Chaeyoung is dead because of Changbin—because of you!” 

“Every war has its casualties.” 

“And what of Felix!? Will his death just be another trivial loss in your obsession for revenge!?” 

This time, Youngjae notices the cockiness melt from Minho’s features into something akin to trepidation. The wailing of the wind picks up to a screech, nearly drowning out the dark-haired witch’s weak inquiry, “What are you talking about?”

“Felix was bitten… and is dying as we speak!” Jinyoung shakes his head frantically. “Do you believe he deserves this, Minho!? Do you believe Chaeyoung deserved to die!?... You can fix this—make this right!” 

Minho remains silent, and for a moment, Youngjae wonders if the witch will actually come to his senses and call off this whole ordeal. But just as soon as it appeared, the pained look along his features transitions into something more sinister.   

“We’re all gonna die someday, so what does it even fucking matter!?” 

“Are you hearing yourself!?” Lia screams from behind a nearby tree, “Look what you’ve become, Minho! How would Nayeon see you right now!” 

“Don’t bring her into this!” Minho’s hiss blends with the moans of the wind. Massive raindrops begin to pelt down against the earth, immediately soaking Youngjae to the bone. For the first time, he notices the dark witch’s position in relation to his own. Realistically, Youngjae can be at Minho’s side in mere milliseconds, before he has a chance to blink. If only he can get him to move a bit closer… 

As if reading his thoughts, Jinyoung attempts to coax the witch another step forward. 

“Please, Minho… I don’t wish to hurt you.”

The latter shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s too fucking bad that you think you can.” 

Minho raises his hand, harshly forcing the vampire down against the muddy earth. Youngjae watches in horror as Jinyoung’s limbs begin to contort and rearrange against his own will—the sound of cracking bones and the vampire’s pained groans filling his ears like a haunting melody. He forces his gaze away from the gruesome sight and prepares to advance on the dark witch, but Jisung stops him with a hand to his shoulder: 

“Not yet, hyung.” 

“But Jinyoung—” 

“Trust me.” His eyes are wide with determination—Youngjae can’t remember a time he’s ever seen Jisung so fierce. “I have a plan. Wait here until my signal.” 

Though filled with confusion, Youngjae does as the young witch requests and stays in place while Jisung himself carefully maneuvers his way through gravestones and buildings, attempting to remain out of sight. A sudden burst of lightning cracks through the atmosphere, and at first, Youngjae fears Jisung has been caught, but quickly realizes Minho has his sights set on another party: 

“I was wondering when you’d join the fun—I looked forward to tearing your bitch-ass apart.” 

“I would say I’m flattered, but I rather like my ass.” Jaebeom saunters across a nearby rooftop. In the midst of the storm, he almost reminds Youngjae of a superhero—or more likely in his case, the psychotic supervillain. “Look, you’ve had your fun, kid. Now I suggest you release my brother and cut out all this petty-teenage bullshit before I break your body in places you never thought possible.” 

“That’s it?... And here I thought you’d want the antidote?” 

Jaebeom’s face darkens. 

“...So there is a cure?” 

“Of course. Every spell has its loophole.” Minho finally lowers his hand, ceasing the painful reconstruction of Jinyoung’s skeleton. Youngjae watches in confusion as the former retracts something from his pocket—some sort of vial, it seems—and offers it toward the hybrid. “The blood which Changbin drank to turn—it’ll heal anyone fallen victim to his bite.” 

“You better hand that over before I rip your teeth from your skull.” Jaebeom growls darkly, hopping down from his overhead perch.

The witch shakes his head, “Not so fast, Mr. Wolf… See, there was only so much left—enough to heal one lucky soul.” 

“You’re a sick fucking bastard,” Jaebeom spits. “You wanted this to happen—”

“Your little bloodsucking girlfriend is dying, isn’t she?” Minho tosses the vial toward the hybrid, who effortlessly catches it between two trembling fingers. “If you want to save her life, then I suggest you go before the venom does its job.” 

“Jaebeom-hyung, don’t—!” Jinyoung gasps, slithering across the muddy earth like an earthworm lost to the world. 

“You know she doesn’t have much time—” 

“We can’t do this without you—we need you!... I need you, hyung!”  

Jaebeom, staring at the tiny container in his grasp, doesn’t reply to his incapacitated companion. Youngjae curses the smirk that spreads across Minho’s face—a sign of victory—and attempts to spot Jisung and Lia somewhere between the ferocious raindrops. He has no such luck, and instead decides to pray for a miracle instead. 

“If you hadn’t fucked around with the few people I care about, I might have actually liked you.” Jaebeom murmurs with a sigh before tucking the vial into his pocket and sending the dark witch a malicious sneer. “Well isn’t that too fucking bad.” 

Youngjae leaps almost ten feet in the air as lightning strikes for what seems like the millionth time, although this time, it’s inches from where Minho is standing. After searching the area, Youngjae discovers Lia and Jisung across the way, hands clasped, eyes bright with passion, uttering some sort of offensive charm. Minho attempts to sprint in the opposite direction, but Jaebeom easily tackles the witch before he can get far. 

“Now Youngjae-hyung! Do it now!” 

At Jisung’s cue, Youngjae takes off into the rain. The bitter feel of Mother Nature’s tears against his skin quickens his movements, wanting nothing more then to end this hurricane, both literally and figuratively, once and for all. He reaches Minho in what seems like hours and hurries to grab his wrist—but just like the tides during a storm, the tables quickly turn. 

At the wave of Minho’s hand, Jaebeom goes flying across the cemetery, crashing into a stone statue and collapsing into the resulting rumble. White-hot pain spreads through Youngjae’s veins like a poison, freezing his muscles and immobilizing his limbs from any further movement. He collapses to the ground, where mud immediately clings to his clothing.

Minho rises to his feet before stepping on Youngjae’s hand with a cackle, “Don’t you fuckers get it!? I’m untouchable! You can’t fucking win!” 

“That’s where you’re wrong, Minho…” Youngjae chuckles, curling his fingers around the tread of the dark witch’s boot. Minho realizes his mistake as soon as the former’s hand begins to glow, foolishly attempting to squirm from his touch. 

Thunder roars in the distance as Youngjae grins in triumph: 

“Because unlike you… we’re not alone.” 

The last thing Youngjae sees before he loses consciousness is a flash of white and the bewildered face of the dark witch as he collapses beside him.   

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I take it Mark apologized?...” You nearly leap out of your own skin at the sudden inquiry. With a less than agitated frown, you turn to acknowledge the culprit for your almost heart attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear some of these supernaturals have powers of teleportation or something… 

“Goddamnit, Dahyun. Not all of us have superwolf hearing.” 

“Sorry, dearie. Force of habit.” The she-wolf offers an apologetic smile, moving forward to hook her arm with your own. She allows Yugyeom, Chan and Mark to gain a bit of distance ahead before repeating again, “So Mark…?” 

“We both talked it out and apologized… so everything’s okay now.” You hum—the tiny fib leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

Truthfully, your encounter with Mark left you conflicted. Of course, you’re more than glad he finally opened up about his past, and even more glad that he trusts you enough to reveal his lingering feelings of trauma, but there’s still a pretty big fucking elephant in the room—one involving his dead best friend and the fact you can talk to him beyond the grave. 

You should have told him then and there—right after you promised to abolish all secrets—but something inside you couldn’t do it… and you don’t know why. 

“Why are you so interested in Mark and I’s relationship anyway?” You utilize your curiosity as a distraction from the guilt breathing down your neck, angling your neck to peer at Dahyun’s side profile. “Is there… history between you two?” 

“No, no—nothing like that. Mark and I have just known each other since we were kids. Our moms were close friends, so Mark, Yugyeom and I pretty much grew up together.” 

“He never told me that.” 

“Don’t take it personal, sweetheart. Mark doesn’t like to talk about his past—” Dahyun sighs, “—too many bad memories between his dad and the bullshit that happened with his mom. He’ll come around eventually… he just needs more time.” 

“I know his mom passed when he was a teenager, but Mark never actually mentioned how she died…” You bite your lip, sending a curious glance to your wolf companion. “It’s really not fair to ask you, but—” 

“Mark found her in their own kitchen with her entire throat ripped open.” Dahyun’s blunt answer leaves your throat dry, unable to speak another word if you wanted to. “The sheriff ruled it as an animal attack, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out what really happened.” 

Your heart sinks, and you choose not to say anything further. 

“Dahyun! (Y/N)! Don’t get too far behind!” Chan’s voice echoes from somewhere up ahead. With the black of night beginning to fade, you can just make out his, Yugyeom, and Mark’s silhouettes a couple dozen feet away. Dahyun gives your forearm a gentle squeeze before releasing your conjoined limbs to catch up with her packmates. You do the same, meeting an armed Mark about halfway. 

His eyes glitter with concern underneath the fading starlight. 

“Everything okay…?” 

“Yeah, Dahyun and I were just catching up.” You inhale a deep breath before releasing it in an even heavier exhale. “But there is something I need to talk to you about—about Jackson and the whole resurrection thing.” 

Mark shakes his head, “You have every right to make your own decisions, (Y/N), but I wish you and Youngjae would have come to me.” 

“I know that, but it was more complicated than that—” You try to gather your thoughts while also attempting to make sense of your words. “I couldn’t tell you because, well—because Jackson told—” 

“Mark-hyung! We’ve got an issue!” Yugyeom’s warning immediately cuts off your explanation. Mark shoots you an apologetic glance before hurrying the two of you forward to join the wolf trio. It only takes seconds for you to distinguish the cause of the beta’s distress. 

A deer carcass lays precariously on the forest floor, and albeit it’s practically torn to shreds, you can just make out a single word carved into its bloody flesh: 

Die. 

“Shit—we need to go. Now.” 

“We’ve already come this far. Chae should be around here somewhere.” Chan ignores Mark’s directive, stepping over the animal corpse to traverse further through the forest. He barely takes a step before the witch is grabbing his wrist. “Let me go, hyung.” 

“Don’t be an idiot.” 

“Don’t tell me what to—”

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you.” Dahyun quietly hisses, “Listen.” 

You try to do as the she-wolf says, but all that meets your ears is the combination of your own labored breathing and uneven pulse. Judging by the confused expression along Mark’s face, he’s probably dealing with the same situation. 

“What is it?” 

“We’re being watched.” Yugyeom answers Mark’s inquiry in a whisper. “Mark, you and (Y/N) need to find somewhere to hide right now—Chan, Dubu, get ready to fight—”

As soon as the command leaves Yugyeom’s lips, Mark takes you by the arm and drags you behind a broad tree trunk. You fish Jinyoung’s pocket knife from your pocket while Mark cocks his shotgun in preparation. Who knew the day would come that you’d actually be grateful for the presence of two dangerous weapons…  

“If anything goes wrong—you run like hell, got it?” 

You shake your head at Mark’s demand. “I’m not just going to leave you—”  

“Yugyeom! Above you!” At Chan’s warning, you’re suddenly shoved to the ground by the witch, watching in horror as a deranged Changbin descends from the treetops onto the beta himself. His skin is a sickly ashen shade, and his black veins so prominent it would make a nurse weep. There’s no human emotion left inside his dark eyes as he strikes Yugyeom over and over again with his lengthy sharp talons, tearing open his skin like a birthday present—he’s a complete animal. 

“Bin, stop!” Chan throws his arms around Changbin’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him from Yugyeom, winding a tight arm around his throat before thrusting a knee against his spine. “Think about what you’re doing!” 

With Dahyun’s assistance, the two wolves manage to separate the dark wolf from that of Yugyeom’s wounded self. Even so, Changbin clearly does not appreciate being stolen away from his prey. He easily escapes from Chan’s hold, landing a couple heavy hits against the latter’s nose before shoving him to the ground. Dahyun takes the moment to strike, bringing the dark wolf to kneel with a harsh kick to his knee, but the action does minimal damage. Changbin punts the she-wolf a dozen feet away as if she weighs nothing. You wince as Dahyun connects with a nearby tree trunk with a vocal thud before dropping to the ground with no movements of rejoining the fight. 

“Shit…” You curse to yourself, “They won’t be able to take him down by themselves—he’s too fucking strong.” 

“Watch your ears.”  You notice Mark aiming his gun toward the dark wolf, waiting for an opportunity with his finger on the trigger. At his discretion, you cover your ears just in time for him to fire a first and second shot. A ferocious growl echoes through the trees, spreading goosebumps across your flesh like wildfire. 

You watch both Chan and Yugyeom take advantage of Changbin’s distraction. The alpha delivers a swift, yet heavy hit against his wounded shoulder while the beta goes for his legs. Similar to Dahyun, they manage to pin Changbin to the forest floor. For a moment, you almost believe the fight has concluded in your team’s favor—but the tides shift. In the blink of an eye, Chan is impaled with a large jagged branch and sent tumbling into some foliage whereas Yugyeom is dealt punch after strike after kick, unable to escape the barrage of Changbin’s wrath. He eventually, like the former two, collapses to the earth and makes no move to rise. 

Changbin cracks his neck before stalking toward where you and your companion stand. 

“Mark—” 

“I got it!” Mark quickly feeds another couple shells into the shotgun barrel, cocks the weapon, then aims down sight. He manages to sink a bullet into your target’s abdomen, followed by another in his bicep, but Changbin merely releases an annoyed snarl and continues charging forward. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—(Y/N), move!” You leap out of the way just in time to avoid a powerful strike. Changbin’s hand splinters the trunk of the tree, sending pieces of bark in every direction. A particular shard catches the bridge of your nose, causing blood to warmly cascade down your skin. You quickly wipe the liquid from your right eye, ignoring the nausea fluttering inside your gut, before focusing back on the situation at hand. 

You look up in time to watch Mark swing his shotgun harshly against Changbin’s skull. Taking advantage of his disorientation, you rush forward to stab your pocket knife into the wolf’s back. Changbin practically roars in fury, angling backward to land a hit to your face before you have time to react. The force of his strike throws you to the ground, a sharp pain lingering in your left cheek. 

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Mark throws himself against Changbin, delivering hit after hit to anything and anywhere. Still, Mark’s human strength does little to outbeat the dark wolf, and you watch in horror as Changbin effortlessly pins the witch against his chest with a bloody hand around his throat.  You desperately search for something, anything, in hopes of saving Mark from whatever deadly fate awaits Changbin’s bloodlust, but fate doesn’t seem to be on your side.

“Changbin—please don’t do this!” You cry, praying to some type of deity that the wolf is sane enough to understand your words. Even so, your confidence is low, seeing as talking clearly had no effect during your last encounter, but you’re fresh out of options at this point. “You know this isn’t who you are!” 

To your surprise, Changbin actually answers, “You don’t know anything about me.” 

“Maybe not, but I know you don’t actually want to hurt anyone…” You cautiously rise to your feet with a shake of your head, wary of the tight hold Changbin currently has on Mark’s jugular. “Your thoughts are all sorts of fucked up right now because of the dark magic, so why don’t you just let Mark go and we can—” 

“Don’t you fucking get it! This fucker—” He yanks at Mark with more force than necessary, “—took everything from me! He took my pack, my alpha—the only people I ever felt safe with!” 

“I understand you—” 

“No, you don’t!” Changbin wails, “You can’t even imagine how I feel! How fucking hard it is to wake up in a world you know you’ll never belong! How much it fucking hurts just to go on and pretend like everything’s normal when it’s fucking not!” 

“Tell him it’s okay to feel angry—” You whirl your head around to find a seemingly exhausted, yet wild-eyed Jackson Wang at your side. “—but none of this was Mark’s fault.” 

You’re mortified at first, having never encountered the ghost anywhere outside your bedroom—but whether it’s the desperation etched along his features, or the flush of purple that overtakes Mark’s complexion—you quickly transfer back to reality: 

“Changbin, it’s perfectly normal to feel angry and cheated, but this wasn’t Mark’s fault—deep down, I think you know that.”

“What does it fucking matter anymore? I’m all alone anyways.” The pure agony etched along his face has your heart splitting in two. 

You’ve never seen a creature so strong and so powerful look so… vulnerable. 

“You said the exact same thing to me when we first met…” Jackson murmurs softly.

“You told Jackson you were alone at one point too…” 

An obvious wave of tense silence washes through the forest, making the beat of your heart that much more prominent in your ears. 

Changbin’s whisper is dark—dangerous. “How the fuck do you know that?” 

“Because… Because he’s here, Changbin.” You say, your eyes meeting Mark’s as the words leave your tongue. “You’re not alone because Jackson is still here.” 

You don’t know what kind of reaction you expected from your revelation, but it certainly is not the heinous laughter that spills from the dark wolf’s lips. 

“You must have lost your goddamn mind… Jackson-hyung is dead!” 

“Maybe physically, but his spirit still remains.” 

“You mean—” You turn to discover a bewildered Yugyeom unsteadily leaning against a tree, “—his… ghost? You—You can see his ghost?” 

You nod.   

Changbin sneers with a low growl. “I don’t fucking believe you.” 

“There’s a cliffside back along the bay about twenty miles from the lodge,” Jackson begins, his tone a blend of nostalgic and sorrowful. “Changbin and I used to go there to watch the full moon rise before we turned into our wolf forms… I-I’ve missed that so much…” 

“You and Jackson would always watch the full moon rise on a cliff overlooking the bay before you transitioned,” You repeat. “He says he misses those moments with you…”

“Stop it!” Changbin frantically shakes his head, “You’re lying!” 

“He’s here, Changbin… He’s really here.” You move forward again, more confidently this time, and raise your hands in a sympathetic gesture. “And the last thing he wants is for you to make the same mistakes he did, so please—let Mark go and let us help you…” 

It’s as if time freezes for a moment. Changbin seems to fight a battle with himself—countless emotions rushing through his teary eyes. You watch the dark wolf glance toward an unconscious Dahyun and Chan, then to a silent Yugyeom, before finally setting his focus back to you. You can only pray your face reflects the hope swirling throughout your veins—pray that Changbin will do the right thing. 

To your delight, the blackness of his veins gradually begin to fade and the sharp claws protruding from his fingertips recede. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Changbin finally retracts his hold from Mark’s neck. You’re quick to take the unsteady witch in your own arms before sending the now normal wolf a thankful smile. 

“Thank you, Changbin…” 

He nods shyly before wiping a couple tears from his cheeks. You watch as Yugyeom cautiously makes his way toward the younger boy, murmurs something, then tugs the latter into a tight embrace that pulls even more liquid sadness from his eyes. The sight has your heart melting into a puddle of warmth—the emotion doesn’t last though, not when Mark’s dark croak enters your ears:

“You… can see Jackson…” 

You shrug sheepishly, “I wanted to tell you, but he said not to… He didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already had.” 

Mark remains silent. You try to search for his features for some kind of anger or disappointment, but are only awarded with his surface level blank stare. Worry flooding through your veins, you look to Jackson for any possible guidance, but the ghost merely shakes his head. 

After a couple tense seconds or so, Mark finally murmurs, “Jack… I—I’m so sorry. For everything.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jackson says immediately, “If only I had listened to you, then maybe things would have played out different.” 

“He says it wasn’t your fault—he should have listened to you.”

“We both made some pretty shitty mistakes.” Mark hums, “I miss you, man. So fucking much.” 

You don’t wait for Jackson to reply, already knowing his answer. 

“He misses you too, Mark. Just as much.”

“How is this even possible…?” You and Mark turn to find the shocked gaze of Yugyeom, who is closely followed by the despair of that belonging to Changbin. “Supernaturals can’t even see spirits, much less mortals…” 

“We never exactly figured that out. Jackson said he felt drawn to me from the Other Side—he kind of just showed up in my bedroom the night after Mina and Momo died.” 

“Any contact with the dead usually requires some sort of spell or medium.” Mark bites his lip in confusion. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, not even in any of my mother’s grimoires—”

“Jackson!” Your body grows rigid as Jackson suddenly collapses to the ground with a pained groan. You hurry forward, kneeling next to the man, and reach for his shoulder. The realization of his phantom existence hits you like a bag of bricks when your fingers phase through his form. You settle for calling his name again instead, “Jackson—what’s wrong?” 

“What the hell is going on?” You hear Changbin stress from somewhere behind you, but your focus is completely on the ghost in question. 

Jackson lifts his head with a gasp, revealing a line of blood dripping from his nose. “I-It’s the witches!... They know about our plans—they’re trying to force me back to the Other Side—”

“(Y/N)?” 

You shake your head feverishly, “It’s, uh, it’s the witches on the Other Side—they don’t like Jackson crossing over, so they’re trying to bring him back…” 

Mark nods. “Witches, dead or alive, will do anything to maintain the balance of nature.” 

“(Y/N)—shit—I don’t have a lot of time—” Your chest tightens at the urgency behind Jackson’s words. “I know so much just went down, but—” 

“Don’t worry, Jack. I won’t let you disappear again.” You affirm before climbing to your feet to face your new subject of interest. “Mark—I need you to perform the resurrection spell.” 

“Woah, wait—” Mark shakes his head, “(Y/N), I can’ t—” 

“If we don’t resurrect him now, then Jackson is gone forever!” Your warning spreads a new tension across the atmosphere, manifesting in the form of sullen and panicked expressions. “Please, Mark—we have a chance to bring him back!” 

“I can’t do the spell because I don’t have any magic…” Your heart sinks at Mark’s revelation. “Minho absorbed all my magical energy back at the graveyard… I’m so sorry, Jackson…” 

“Hold on, you told me that there’s different types of magic…” You push, “Can’t you draw energy from something? Like the forest, or the moon, or, or—”

“Or me.” You turn, discovering the speaker of the response to be none other than a determined Changbin. “Minho-hyung’s spell may be gone, but I can still feel the magical energy lingering through my body.” 

Mark hesitates, “I-I don’t know if it will work… and if something goes wrong—” 

“Do you want Jackson-hyung back or not?...” 

A moment of silence passes after Changbin’s question. You keep an eye on a repeatedly wincing Jackson, and the other on the witch’s face, attempting to decipher his thoughts inside the glow of his gaze. For a moment, you wonder if Mark will even provide an answer, until the words finally leave his lips: 

“Fuck the balance of nature. I’ll bring you back, Jackson—I promise.” 

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung stares at the sun as it gradually rises past the horizon, bathing his skin in a warm, celebratory light. His gaze wavers across the cemetery to the notorious mausoleum, where he watches Lia and Jisung carefully assist a barely conscious Youngjae past the doorway. After this crazy night, the siphoner definitely deserves a good, long rest. Then again, so does everyone else. 

He releases a heavy sigh before shifting away from the witch trio. After sparing one final glance to the sunrise, Jinyoung allows his feet to carry him through the early morning glow, past countless tombstones and other structures, and settles beside a second figure in front of a particular burial site. He silently reads the engravings along the headstone before addressing his companion without so much as a glimpse: 

“I assumed you would be halfway back to the bunker by now.” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond, not that Jinyoung really expects him to. He peers at the hybrid through the corner of his eye, attempting to seek meaning beyond his blank features. Centuries later, Jinyoung still can’t predict the workings of Jaebeom’s inner thoughts. Especially when it comes to the situation at hand. 

“Mark called. Changbin is no longer affected by Minho’s spell.” He explains, “They’re also preparing a ritual to resurrect Jackson Wang—” 

“Tzuyu…?” 

Jinyoung’s chest tightens as the name falls from Jaebeom’s lips. 

“Their youngest, Ryujin, is looking after both her and Felix.”

“So she’s still alive…?” 

“It seems so.” 

A brief moment of silence passes between the pair. The earth grows brighter and brighter as the seconds roll by, reminding Jinyoung that time is a friend to no one. 

“Hyung, did you… truly switch off your humanity?” 

“I did, at first.” Jaebeom’s answer is quiet, and Jinyoung can detect the subtle hint of vulnerability hidden beneath his gruff tone. “But I guess I can never completely turn it off.” 

“It’s alright to feel, hyung—be it anger… or passion… or fear…” 

Jinyoung notices Jaebeom shift uncomfortably before glancing down at the glass vial in the palm of his hand. For once, he can actually distinguish the emotions present within the hybrid’s dark eyes. The knowledge only jabs at his heart. 

“Everything is taken care of, right?” 

“The night has ended, and Minho is safely sealed away in the crypt.” Jinyoung nods, “We live to see another day.”

He watches his companion tuck the precious vial into the pocket of his jeans before turning away from the headstone. Jinyoung is not sure where the urge comes from, but he abandons his perch, grabbing Jaebeom’s shoulder before he can leave the cemetery. He ignores the hybrid’s confused expression and pulls him into a tight embrace. 

“Thank you for staying, hyung…” Jinyoung’s murmur is slightly muffled against the fabric of his jacket, but he knows his companion heard them loud and clear. 

Jaebeom hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden act, but eventually winds his arms loosely around Jinyoung’s back with a gentle murmur of his own:

“You will always be my family, Jinyoung… Always and forever…”  

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I’ve never used magic like this before, so I can’t promise this will work.” Mark glances to where he assumes Jackson’s spirit is located inside the white circle makeshifted out of a bag of flour Dahyun managed to find in a bunker cabinet, before glancing to the companion at his side. “You sure you’re up for this? It’ll feel like I’m literally sucking the life force out of your body…” 

Changbin nods, “If it means bringing Jackson-hyung back.” 

“Okay, then.” Mark turns to the surrounding crowd next, “In order to do this, I’ll need to lower the veil to the Other Side. This will create a temporary door that Jackson can pass through to physically enter our realm. Once he crosses over, he should become mortal again.” 

“Seems easy enough.” Dahyun snickers, although the sound is dry and forced. “Anything else we need to know?” 

“Whatever happens, do not enter the circle.” His eyes drift from the she-wolf to your silent form. As if sensing the scrutiny, your gaze connects with his own, and knowing he has your attention, Mark continues in a darker tone, “Just as spirits can pass into our realm, we can cross to the Other Side… so for the love of god, don’t do anything stupid.”

Your and Mark’s staring contest ceases when your head snapes toward the circle. Seconds later, you break the tense silence with a soft murmur, “Jackson says it’s getting worse. He can feel the witches trying to drag him back.” 

“Then I guess that’s our cue.” He sighs before nodding toward the circle one last time, “I’m gonna do my best, Jack. Just hold on.” 

With one final glance to the grimoire you gave him earlier, Mark inhales a deep breath and takes Changbin’s outstretched hand into his own. He closes his eyes, focusing every part of his brain on the electrifying sensation of the magical energy coursing through the wolf’s body. Bit by bit, he feels Changbin’s power bleeding into his own veins, awakening the slumbering supernatural nature of his soul. Once he’s sure enough he’s acquired enough magic, Mark opens his eyes and begins the incantation: 

“Vita mortem, mortem vita est… Partis inferioris velum, partis inferioris ante illum vetum…” Almost instantly, the wind picks up while the air grows uncomfortably cold. He ignores the violent shivers wracking through his limbs and proceeds to repeat the words as the temperature continues to drop. With each spoken syllable, Mark’s head becomes dizzy and his flesh feels as if it’s being scorched off, but he continues. 

No amount of pain could ever dull the hope of seeing his best friend alive once more.

“Holy shit—it’s actually working!” 

Mark doesn’t realize he had shut his eyes until he opens them, nearly yelping in delight when he discovers the image of said friend standing in the center of the white circle. Jackson looks no different than the day he last saw him, and he can’t decide if he wants to laugh out of irony or burst into tears. 

“The veil is down! I’m gonna start the spell to cross you over!” Mark yells over the howling of the wind, clutching Changbin’s hand tighter as he transitions to the next phase of the spell. “Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet ohnaz eespalit… Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet—fuck!” 

A brutal force comes down against his head, almost resembling that of a punch, before spreading hot fire down his neck and to the rest of his body. Mark doubles over with a wheeze, attempting to fight against the painful sensations by grounding himself in Changbin’s touch. However, as soon as the first wave concludes, a second, even more excruciating one follows. He feels as if someone is trying to crush his brain—to kill him from the inside out. 

“Mark-hyung! What’s wrong!?” 

“It’s the witches!...” Mark is thankful that Jackson answers Yugyeom’s panicked inquiry, “They’re trying to break the spell!” 

“Like… hell they will…” Mark hisses, righting himself with a pained groan before grabbing Changbin’s other hand. “I’m not going down without a fight—hold on!...” 

He jumps back into the spell, weakening the manipulated pain through the absorption of more of the wolf’s energy. Borderline high off the power, he pushes everything he has into the ritual, determined to see it through to the end. After a minute that passes like a decade, Mark detects a shift in the atmosphere, indicating the near completion of the spell, and shouts: 

“Jackson—get out of the circle! Get out now!” 

As if in slow motion, Mark watches Jackson quickly move to escape the white border. But just as soon as his toe brushes the edge, he is wrenched away and lifted from the ground. 

Dahyun cries, “What the hell is happening!?”

“They won’t let me cross over!” Jackson squirms and writhes, attempting to escape whatever invisible grip is holding him hostage. His efforts are futile, and he continues to rise higher and higher off of the ground. 

“Hang on, Jack!” Mark releases Changbin’s hands and raises his own palms in Jackson’s direction. However, the same torturous pain from before returns once more, hitting his nerves like a sledgehammer to a brick wall, and throws him to the earth. “Shit—no! H-He has to pass through the circle!” 

“(Y/N)! Don’t!” 

Mark raises his gaze at Dahyun’s shriek, only to watch in horror as you rush past the flour boundary and grab hold of Jackson’s hand. A blinding light immediately erupts from your clasped palms, expanding through the area until all Mark can see is white. 

After a long moment, his vision eventually returns, and he finds the forest completely silent. The temperature is no longer frigid, he notices, and the strain within his brain is gone. For a moment, Mark is filled with prowess, victorious at the fact he successfully carried out an ancient resurrection ritual, however, his triumph is temporary, especially when he notices your form laid motionless in Dahyun’s arms. 

“(Y/N)—fuck!” Mark hurries to where you lay, stealing your figure from the she-wolf to cradle you in his own hold. “Shit, shit, shit—she’s not breathing! Fucking goddamnit!” 

His panic only grows tenfold when he hears the murmur cascade from Dahyun’s lips: 

“Mark… where’s Jackson?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jaebeom scales the final rung of the ladder before making his way toward the corner where the snoozing trio resides. He moves cautiously, mindful not to awaken the young werewolf caretaker, yet eventually finds himself perched on the edge of a familiar cot. His heart thunders inside his chest, and he cannot tell if it’s out of anxiety or hope. Though at this moment, Jaebeom can really care less to find out. 

“It’s about time you showed up…” He winces at the broken husk of his companion’s voice, attempting to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “I thought you were actually going to leave me to die in the hands of a neurotic teenage wolf…” 

Jaebeom doesn’t respond to her quip—he can’t find it in himself to do so. 

Tzuyu raises an eyebrow, “What’s with the face? Did you take down the witch or not?” 

“We did.” He hums, “The spell is broken.”

“Good thing—” The vampire pauses to cough, and the sound is like broken glass against his ears. “—you and your brother are safe for the eternity to come.” 

“Tzuyu… I found the cure.” 

“What are you waiting for then? My consent?” She snickers playfully, “We fuck for over a century and this is the most gentlemanly behavior I’ve ever seen from you, Beomie.”

Again, Jaebeom remains silent. 

Recognizing the obvious tension in the room, Tzuyu’s face falls. “But… I guess it’s more complicated than that, hm?” 

“There’s only enough for…” He’s unable to finish his sentence, not when his companion’s eyes are gazing at him with such sullenness and sympathy. Jaebeom has to look away for a moment, though the action does little to relieve the tightness of his chest. 

“Ah, I see.” Tzuyu hums, glancing across the way to a slumbering Felix. Her pale lips twitch, as if attempting to upturn to a smile, but it instead appears as a weak grimace. “You know, I really never meant to hurt (Y/N)… or you.” 

“Tzuyu—”

“I’ve known you for decades… but I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at her.” Another violent cough wracks through her body, expelling a mass of dark blood past her lips. Jaebeom is quick to wipe the splotch from her skin with the blanket, trying not to dwell on the fact that her skin is ice cold. “I’ll admit, I was jealous at first… I’ve always wanted someone to look at me like that… 

“I know you’re afraid to care—to love, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu murmurs sadly, lifting a hand to rest against the hybrid’s cheek. “Especially someone like (Y/N)… and you’re right to. She’s too good… too human. 

“One misstep and you could lose her forever.” 

“I want to be selfish…” Jaebeom whispers, “I want to be selfish so fucking bad—”

“But you can’t be, Beom. Not with her.” 

“Then let me be selfish with you.” 

Tzuyu smiles. 

“I’ve lived over three lifetimes, and he is barely a ways into his one—so you’re going to give the cure to that damn kid, Im Jaebeom.” He leans further into her touch as she caresses the apple of his cheek. “Promise me that you’ll stay away from her—to keep her safe?”

He nods.

“Good… Can you hold me for a moment? I’m cold.” 

“I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.” 

And so Jaebeom takes Tzuyu into his arms. However, it’s not until the vampire grows still does he allow a single tear to cascade from his eye, staining the bloodied bed sheets with the agony of a heart that has been broken too many times to count.

[valatheapprentice]

Random main 6 head cannons because I can?

(My first set of these. Shoukd I do more? Open for suggestions)

Asra

You know people who have no chill? He's the opposite. He stole their chill. Just don't get sick or arrested and he'd be aight.

Until you get sick. Ptsd of the plague will make him so on edge. You both will need to talk about it since you don't remember it and don't want there to be tension

We all knew this, but snake sweaters and little hats

He has a specific tea for gossiping. Nothing magically relevant, just he likes the feeling he gets. Maybe hibiscus and skullcap? Idk ill look at my herbs and think on it

He likes to put temporary/semi permanent color in his hair. Just a couple face framing strands. Maybe on holidays or birthdays or big events

Eats healthy, but his weakness is soda. Loves the carbonation

Julian

Normally will not say no to you if you want something. If he does, you might change his mind through looking at him in a certain way. Or a blowjob

Unpopular opinion: the man is a switch! He has an extremely stressful job. He has days he has to keep it all together and have control of everything and other people. Then he may wanna bottom. There will be days nothing seems to work out and he feels out of control. He may wanna top then.

Has a vague belief system. Since "dating" asra, he realized that magick was real and I have no doubt he tagged along in at least one holiday ritual. He may not be any more than letting whoever is out there, look over MC. He may want to learn more if you are heavily into it

Bitters and butter pecan ice cream for breakfast? You're darn tootin

Malak will steal your food. Jules may not care until you're in a screaming match with a bird. He may find it so freaking cute though.

He pops so much melatonin pills to sleep, please make the man something lavender to drink. He would also have a weighted blanket. Cuddles help wonderfully, but humans are not blankets. Whether he has a heated stuffed animal is up to your imagination. Long story short, its a cute ass sight

Nadia

I think she doesn't have a faith system. She celebrates whatever vesuvias main holidays are for public appearances. But I truly think she may be atheist. The way she felt about family growing up, her husband being the way he was, and whatever else we don't know about? Idk. He heart can change towards people but I dont think she has any faith.

Make the woman lavender and honey cupcakes for her birthday

On her period, she will eat a certain strawberry ice cream and watch Mulan on repeat while in fuzzy pj's.

Modern au nadia. I think her favorite music comes from the Civil wars. No idea why I thought that but im sticking with it

If single, I think she'd use tinder on particularly lonely nights. Not often, but once in a while

Wanna see her blush, surprise her. Especially in public. Confess your love in a restaurant. Whisper what you want her to do to you in a meeting. Send a nude when she's out. Show up at dinner with a gift or 9. Surprises are her weakness

Muriel

I don't think he would ever think of marriage unless you brought it up. Like if your waiting for him to propose on his own? Hope yall live forever bc he is just content just having you with him. Even if you have kids, he'd be so happy. If you want to get married, honestly, I think he'd be proposed to instead.

Put pants on the chickens and wait. When they run he will die of laughter

He clenches his teeth. Ptsd and stress still gets to him. He gets random jaw pains on particularly bad nights. He tries to bite the inside on his cheeks but he really needs some guided meditation

If you get him into condiments, he will use so much, its ungodly. I think he'd like mustard the most

It gets boring in the woods. And he rarely says no to you. Please try out different funky hairstyles on him. Itll be a huge laugh and we love a laughing muriel in this household

Everyday, he leaves you a note when he wakes up before you. Mostly saying he's out doing chores and he loves you. Sometimes it will be so much more emotional. He will blush of he finds out you saved all of them

Portia

Wears workout pants and stained oversized t shirts to bed. And honestly, same

Messy artist. She does her job and everything else in the house so cleanly, but he will get paint in her hair or a rhinestone behind her elbow when it comes to crafts.

Thrift shop queen.

She has an eclectic arrangement of home decor in the cottage. Theres no theme but cute things

She loves setting up scavenger hunts for you and jules. You each take turn being the organizer. Whoever of the two (or three if hes with someone) hunting finishes last, pays for dinner.

You'd think she'd be god tier gift wrapper, but no. You see. She likes getting drunk with jules and having a contest on whos the best gift wrapper drunk. Their both horrible but we don't say anything or risk the spoon

Lucio

Acts like a princess, but has a super high chill to horror or action stuff. During a jump scare, he will gasp, cuss, and laugh at himself

While redeeming himself, he will battle his demons until the day he does for real. Anger and a thirst for power will always be a think with him so I see him taking up martial arts to release some of it

Hes dumb in the way he doesn't think through everything. He is wicked smart in the way that he can assess a room or person almost immediately. Being a mercenary really helped with deduction and quick assessing for survival

Which is why I dont think there would be as many fights as one might think. He does dumb shit. But immediately sees in you where he fucked up and tries to fix it.

He will 10000% help you dress up camio, Mercedes, and melchior. They will hate you both until its time to be fed

Favorite food is fair food. Get him the meaty cheese fries and watch him melt faster than the cheese did

[polarishymn-blog]

I'm bored so here is another theory. Be warned HERE BE SPOILERS!

Tacking on to the Elgar'nan theory here:

I discussed how I think the Evanuris were originally spirits. Well folks I have a personal head canon for my Inquisitor. Let me make this clear MY LAVELLAN INQUISITOR. NOT SAYING ANYONE HAS TO AGREE. I JUST USE THIS WHEN I PLAY THROUGH.

Ok? Ok.

Get your tinfoil hats on. This one is a doozy.

Lavellan is the spirit of sacrifice.

I hear people now like "that's ridiculous." Give me a chance to explain before you scroll on.

The Inquisitor is in the fade after being part of an explosion that kills EVERYONE ELSE. Even Corypheus takes a big ol L on this one.

Everyone is dead. What happens to Divine Justinia? A spirit that identifies with her so much it takes on her persona and memories. As does Compassion who becomes Cole. So we have a precedence for this.

Cole shows us that a spirit can take physical form. Justinia shows us that a spirit can fully believe they are that person. And the ancient elves just...these guys...looking at you Solas.

Var lath vir suledin!

I digress. So a spirit can not only retain the thoughts and memories of a person but take physical form.

"Then how come she doesn't know she is a spirit?" You ask?

Simple the spirit doesn't want to remember. It was a traumatic event. The person they identified with, quite possibly has been watching for some time, died a horrible death trying to save Justinia from that red lyrium blight infused ballsack. They basically ran into a situation any of us would have noped out of. All to try and save (for Lavellan) a woman that made no nevermind to them.

Instead our intrepid little elf is like "nah I should definitely fuck with that big scary guy and grab this clearly magical item."

In the immortal words of Sandal "BOOM!"

Everything goes to shit. Our lady elf wakes in the Fade with no memory how she got there. She recovers her memory later but not all of it. After the explosion there isn't shit until she wakes up.

Sus.

So she wakes up and spends the rest of her time throwing herself into one hellscape after another. Putting herself in constant danger and giving up whatever life they had before to save the world. Spoiler: and her fucking arm. Thank Solas. You lying manipulative beautiful bastard you.

Var lath vir suledin!

Speaking of that wolfish sex pistol...he has some...odd dialouge.

Solas: spirit wish to join then living. Demons are that wish gone wrong.

Interesting. He doesn't say they can't. Cole is proof they can. So lets look at some Cole and Solas exchanges:

Solas: The rifts draw spirits through, and the shock makes demons of them.

Cole: Pushing through makes you be yourself. You can hold onto the you.

Cole: Being pulled through means you don't have enough you. You become what batters you, bruises your being.

Solas: Yes, exactly. Deliberately crossing the Veil requires that a spirit form will, personality.

Solas: That concept of self gives a spirit the chance to maintain its nature.

So according to Cole a spirit that comes through willingly doesn't necessarily become a demon. Solas follows up with a spirit needs the will to do so and to form a personality. If the spirit has a blueprint...say...a person they identify with...they could assume that person's personality and indomitable will and focus.

His voice....sigh.

Let's move on to:

Solas: You may well become fully human, after all. I never thought to see it.

Cole: When did you see it before?

Solas: I did not say that I had.

Cole: No, you didn't. It's harder to hear, sometimes. Sorry.

Solas: Good luck, Cole. You have taken a difficult road.

Ya'll Cole can see/sense that Solas has seen this before. And he also knows who and what Solas is. Our murder bebe all but outs him several times. After Tresspasser you see the breadcrumbs clearly. This exchange could on the surface just be about them but as Solas is also a spirit taken form I find it interesting he doesn't say "You where once like me Solas." If he doesn't out him here he may not out the Inquisitor.

Next! Ah...the balcony scene. WHY MUST YOU BE SO DAMN CHARMING!

Solas: Has it affected you? Changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your... spirit?"

Lavellan: If it had do you really think I'd have notice?

Solas: No. That's an excellent point.

Lavellan: Why do you ask?

Solas: You show a wisdom I have not seen since... since my deepest journies into the ancient memories of the Fade.

Solas: If the Dailsh could raise someone with a spirit like yours. Have I misjudged them?

Ok...why is he emphasizing her spirit. Not soul. Not you. SPIRIT! He asks if the mark has affected her. But it could be his way of prying information without "hey bitch are you aware you are a spirit. I know crazy, right?" Js he does this "I like your spirit" talk more than once.

I enter into evidence a snippet from the heart shattering breakup conversation:

Solas: You have a rare and marvelous spirit.

I'm not crying. You're crying. DRINK MY TEARS PATRICK WEEKES YOU BEAUTIFUL BEING!

A rare and marvelous spirit huh...Cole what was it he said to you?

Cole: I didn't know there were spirits of wisdom.

Solas: There are few. Spirits form as a reflection of this world and its passions.

Solas: We will never lack for spirits of rage, or hunger, or desire. The world gives them plenty to mirror.

Solas: The gentler spirits are far more rare. We can ill afford the loss of even one spirit of wisdom, or faith...

Solas: Or compassion.

Or sacrifice! If compassion and wisdom are rare. How rare would sacrifice be?

Solas says the Inquisitor changed everything for him. He is someone who is ready to do whatever it takes to restore his people. Surly he would value sacrifice. If he came across a rare and marvelous spirit of sacrifice would he not at least be intrigued? Or inspired?

Let's face it he is an artist. His lady would definitely be his muse. Especially after she accidentally gives him permission to destroy the world.

...Dammit Lavellan.

Finally, why didn't our precious lying egg not mention this? When the Inquisitor is having the very terse elven conversation and the city elves are brought up this is the dialogue:

Solas: Why? What would it benefit some poor man in a Ferelden alieanage to learn his ancestors strode the land like gods? It would only make him bitter. Or inspire him to take a foolish risk and get himself killed.

Lavellan: You have decided his reaction for him.

Solas: Perhaps I have.

Clearly wolf boy has no problem keeping information from someone he thinks will only serve to harm them. If the Inquisitor knew they were a spirit perhaps Solas would think their reaction would be troublesome. Or even dangerous.

There is more but this is already ridiculously long. All this is to say my Lavellan was a real elf. She was killed during the explosion and a spirit of sacrifice identified with her so much she became her. The elf Solas falls in love with is (in my rp) like him. A rare spirit that became flesh and blood. She chose to be real like Cole can. Her lack of memory of the moment it happened is both self serving and part of the effects of becoming real. I know it is most likely all bs but it makes for an interesting thought.

Solas is the force that will end Thedas. Lavellan may be the sacrifice needed to stop it.

I hope you enjoyed this rant nobody asked for.

Oh and:

SOLAS! VAR LATH VIR SULEDIN!

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [4]

Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 4.5 OR Chapter 5

➜ Words: 4k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

You miss Seokjin.   You know that you shouldn’t, but in the middle of the night while you’re unable to sleep, you pick up your phone again. And you send him a text.   2:03 am. Y/N: hey   The bright screen stares back at you, illuminating your face and blinding your vision in the darkness of your quiet dorm room. Your messages are lined up in a row, the same exact text left unanswered. Ones you sent from a week ago to two days ago.   The radio silence makes the realization sink in — he broke it off. Jin really has no plans of communicating with you again, of giving you an explanation other than telling you that it’s run its course and that you’re not the one at fault.   It doesn’t sit well with you, so your thumb moves, quicker than you can list the consequences for. You call his number. It dials. But instead of hearing the tone ring, you hear an automated message.   Seokjin changed his number.   //   It’s morning while on the way to class with you hiding beneath the hood of Jin’s sweater that you end up catching sight of someone familiar walking towards your direction. It’s your only strand of hope, but you step forward before the opportunity is lost. “Hani?”   “Y/N?” Hani stops and greets you with a smile. She’s a friend — well, Seokjin’s friend. But she still regards you with the same warmth as she gave to you for the past two years, albeit the atmosphere is awkward.    The both of you know what happened, know it’s looming over your heads. But no one speaks about it, no one dares to broach the subject. “Hey, how are you?” And her question is asked at a higher pitch, cautious as if you were a wounded animal that she was afraid of scaring.   “I’m...fine, how are you?”   “I’m okay.” Hani nods and gathers the courage to approach the issue that you’re skirting around. “I...heard about what happened. It’s a real shame. I hope you’re holding up well.”   “Trying.” You muster a smile, shrugging your shoulders.   Yet in spite of her friendliness, you can still feel it — the distance.    Like you thought, they sided with him. They’ve chosen him with no plans of getting between you two and involving themselves in the conflict. “Well, I should go. I might be late. I’ll see you around, Y/N.”   You nod and she brushes past you. But then you twist on your heel. “Hani?”   “Yeah?” She spins around.   “Did,” you hesitate, “Jin say anything about me?”   “No, he didn’t,” she says, quietly and sadly.   You bob your head again, meeting her eye. “How is he?”   “He’s okay.”   You wonder what that means — if he never really cared, if he’s already over this. But you’re also glad that he’s okay. You’ll never have any ill wishes against Jin. You still love him.

Jungkook and his friends have a system, if one could call it that — a shitty system of crashing each other’s dorms. Sometimes they’re crowding around Taehyung’s gaming consoles, other times it’s Jimin’s computer. Or Jungkook’s flat screen that he spent his entire summer job’s savings for. Or even going to Hoseok and Yoongi’s apartment to raid the fridge and be as loud as they want without getting noise complaints.   Hoseok and Yoongi didn’t like the dorm life, so they were willing to raise their living expenses and pool their money together for an apartment off campus. And that’s where Jungkook finds himself this evening.   They’re watching a soccer game, but the only person invested is Taehyung who actually knows the teams and who is who. Hoseok is preoccupied pigging out on the snacks, Yoongi sipping his drink, and Jimin is playing a game on his phone.   “Can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks out of the blue, smacking his lips after taking a swig of the beer. He can’t wait till Taehyung gets curious and drinks some — he’d probably gag from the taste.   Yoongi looks up. “What?”   “It’s not about me, but I have a friend of a friend and this friend of theirs was...dumped pretty badly and now they’re depressed and not talking...at all….and they don’t really have friends anymore because all their friends were my friend’s friends, so it really sucks for them.”   “Uh-huh.”   “So what would you hypothetically say to my friend’s friend to make them feel better or like what would you do?”   “Well, for one, I’d take Y/N out,” Hoseok pipes up while chuckling.   Jimin lifts his head and Taehyung looks over. The two of them exchange expressions and burst out laughing. Jungkook sighs in irritation. “Who said this was about Y/N?!”   “We’re not total idiots, dude.” Jimin grins. “Sometimes.”   In the meanwhile, Taehyung leans down to give a punch to Jungkook’s arm and winks. “Trying to slide into her DMs now that she’s single, huh? I see you, Kook. Still got game. Can’t say I’m not impressed. Go get that puss—”   “As if.” Jungkook scoffs. “I just feel bad, alright? Forget I asked. Whatever.”   But Yoongi isn’t ready to drop the subject quite yet. His cat-like eyes narrow in on him as he sips on his drink. He puts the bottle down on the coffee table with a clank. “Since when did you start caring about her?”   “I don’t—”   “You don’t have to get defensive,” Yoongi deadpans boredly. He isn’t that interested, merely stating a fact. “I’m just surprised.”   “She’s going to be my internship partner whether I like it or not in a few months.” The youngest sighs. “I don’t want to make it awkward. And I thought it would be better in the long run if we become friends now. It would be nice to have each other’s backs. Or at least be civil enough where she’s not trying to rip my head off every other second.”   Yoongi appears mildly understanding and nods. “So it’s a diplomatic thing.”   “Yeah.”   “Invite her to our game night,” Hoseok says from the kitchen.   “Don’t do that.” Yoongi scoffs, expression wrinkled like he bit into a lemon. “It’s our thing.”   “Are we ten? Boys only?” Hoseok argues, “We already have our thing every single night anyway. Plus, it might be a nice change since Jungkook always wins.”   “Fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Do whatever you want.”   “That actually sounds kind of fun!” Taehyung grins, tearing his eyes away from the soccer game. Jungkook’s amazed that he had half a mind to pay attention to the conversation. “But I wonder if Y/N is any good at board games or if she even plays.”   “Is everyone cool with me asking?” Jungkook looks around — Hoseok and Taehyung are enthusiastic about the prospect while Yoongi is passive aggressive at worst and apathetic at best.   It’s Jimin who looks uncertain.   “She’s….intimidating,” he mutters. “But….I think you’re right. Y/N looks like she’s having a tough time and if we can help, then we should. At least then we know we tried.”   He nods. There’s only one issue left. “I don’t even know if she’ll even accept…”   Knowing you, you might just laugh in his face and then spit at him for even making such a suggestion. Then again, with how you’ve been acting lately, you might just start crying from gratefulness and freak him out. Both scenarios are equally horrible.

The pair of you bake alongside each other as the teacher watches for technique and the order of the procedures done. Jungkook works on the dough while you focus on the custard filling. It’s surprisingly perfect teamwork — you’re in sync with one another and assemble the final cake together.   And when the teacher returns to eat it, he’s astounded that it’s been exactly replicated. From the taste to the presentation.   You leave the room with a ninety percent grade, having absolutely aced the midterm.   “That was pretty good, huh?!” Jungkook grins, putting his hand out. You muster a small smile, and high-five him back.   “Yeah.”   “Man, all our hard work paid off! Did you see the look on Mr. Chu’s face?”   He was over the moon, especially considering that napoleon cake isn’t all that easy to make under strict time constraints. But when Jungkook glances at you, you don’t seem very happy over it. Your eyes are on the floor with your downcast head.   “Hey.” The doe-eyed boy pokes your shoulder until you look up at him. “Do you wanna…”   “Pardon?” Your brows furrow. His voice became so quiet, you couldn’t hear him.   Jungkook clears his throat noisily. “I asked how you were holding up?”   You shrug. “Fine. I don’t know. Do you really want to hear about it?”    You doubt he would trouble himself with your problem, but what catches you off guard is that he stops in the middle of the hallway and nods. You stop with him too. “Sure. Shoot.”   “Really?”   “Yeah, I don’t see why not. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”   You inhale a deep breath. It catches in your throat. Your fist tightens, nails digging into your skin. You swear you wouldn’t cry again. “I texted Jin, even though I know it wasn’t a good idea and yeah, it wasn’t. He changed his number.”   “Oh….shit.”   “And I talked to one of his friends yesterday and she said he’s doing fine. He hasn’t really talked about me. And I don’t really know what any of that means. I haven’t seen him around either. I think he’s avoiding me and I can’t help thinking about what I did that was so wrong for me to be treated this way. I don’t….I don’t think I deserve this.” You exhale a shallow breath, eyes stinging painfully.   Jungkook suddenly plops his hand on the top of your head. You frown at him and he realizes what he’s doing and withdraws his hand awkwardly. “That really...sucks.”   “Yeah, thanks, I know.”   “Sorry, I don’t really know what to say.”   “You don’t have to say anything,” you tell. “Thanks for not laughing, I guess.”   “Why would I laugh?” Jungkook asks, genuinely confused. You shrug.    You always thought Jungkook would be the first to applaud your misery — he’d goad you and cheer you when you’d cry. You guess you severely misjudged him. “Are you free tonight?”   “Why?”   “My friends and I are doing this thing.” Jungkook scratches the back of his neck and diverts his vision elsewhere. “We meet up to play games sometimes. It’s really Taehyung’s thing cause he’s the one who likes games, but if you’re free, then you should come along. We’re in need of new players actually, cause it gets boring when it’s the same people over and over again….”   “Would they mind?”   He swallows hard, taking in the way your head is quirked to the side, your eyes big and glimmering with hope. It seems like you’re taking him up on the offer or at least considering it and he’s pleasantly surprised. “No, no, they wouldn’t.”   “I don’t want to make it weird or anything…”   “No, you wouldn’t. Trust me. They’re just a bunch of lame dorks, and you kind of already know Taehyung and Jimin. They’re nice guys. So if you wanna come, you should. No pressure whatsoever though.”   “Sure.” The corners of your mouth lifts.   “Really?”   “Yeah. That’s….okay, right?”   “Totally. Yep. I’ll text you where and what time.”   You never knew one day you’d be going off campus to some random apartment for a night of game boards, much less with Jeon Jungkook. Part of you is skeptical about his offer, envisioning that he’s catfishing you somehow, that there isn’t actually anything happening and he’ll text you ‘sike’ after making you wait hours.    But then you remind yourself that he hasn’t been exactly an asshole lately and that you’re not in the cruel world of High School anymore. Jungkook would have to be sick to prank you in this state.   You can already hear the boisterous noise on the other side of the door before you even knock. But after some hesitation, the sounds taper off when you do.    The door swings open and Jungkook greets you with his doe eyes and messy dark hair flopping in different directions. He’s in a black shirt and loose, gray sweatpants, casual unlike how he usually dresses for class and the kitchen.   “Hey!” He reaches in to give you a quick hug. You stiffen and he lets go. “Come in!”   “Finally, she’s here!” Hoseok stands from the couch with his beer and moves to the table Taehyung’s setting up.   “Sorry, am I late?”   “Right on time actually,” Jimin says with a gentle smile.   “Beer or cooler or wine?” Yoongi suddenly asks, twisting around from the fridge.   “A-Any.” It’s fast paced, but they’re welcoming. There’s not a moment for awkwardness to settle in. Yoongi comes over with a beer can, tosses it, and you catch it with both hands. “Thanks.”   “We usually start with a game of good ol’ Janga.” Taehyung grins from his spot at the table. “Usually the person who goes before the loser gets to pick the next game, but since you’re our guest of honour, you can pick. There’s a whole shelf of them over there.”   He gestures towards the living room and you head over to look at the boxes that are accumulating. There’s a ton of boxes stack on each other on the shelf — The Game of Life, Risk, Twister, Battleship, Monopoly, Connect Four, Snakes and Ladders, and even CandyLand.   “What’s this?” you ask, pointing at the bottom shelf with a huge bin. There seems to be small bags inside, place mats, and books too.   “It’s stuff for D&D,” Jungkook clarifies with a sigh, popping a can of beer open to drink. “Dungeons and Dragons.”   “Taehyung’s been wanting to get us to play,” Jimin tells with a smile.   “I’m a great DM,” Taehyung chirps, “It would be so much fun, but we don’t really have time for a whole campaign. Otherwise I’d pull together official content and stuff from Unearthed Arcana and run a module from Wizards of the Coast—”   “Alright, nerd.” Yoongi sighs after a swig. “I’m not trying to re-virgin myself and remain abstinent for the rest of my life, alright? You can do that by yourself.”   “Don’t hate on my game, bitch,” Taehyung spits as Jimin and Jungkook laugh. A smile comes to your face and it isn’t one you have to muster for once. “Wait till the day you come to me and ask me advice on what kind of spells a halfling bard should have at level six.”   “Over my dead body.”   “Okay, can we not argue for once? We have a guest.” Hoseok intercepts with his hands out, literally standing between them. “Let’s try to not scare her off?”   You go back to looking, but you can’t seem to decide what game to play. “There’s a lot.”   “It’s not ours,” Yoongi pipes up again, wearing a friendly smile that is more like a smirk. “This is Hoseok and I’s place. Taehyung just always finds a way to put his shit here too.”   “Hey! That’s cause no one else has a big table like this at their dorm, plus my place is too messy to store my precious games there. They’re expensive, you know.”   “All I know is that somehow I always come home to furniture and clothes on my bed that I swear I didn’t purchase….”   “Alright, alright.” Hoseok intervenes for the second time, having enough of this nonsense. “Is the game done being set up or what? Y/N come sit, you can choose the game later.”   You gather around the table with Jungkook beside you. He leans in while the others are figuring out who gets to start and what direction to go in. “Sorry about that.”   “No, it’s okay,” you say and mean it too. “Your friends are a lot of fun.”   Yet the moment the game begins, there’s a shift in the atmosphere. It goes quieter, less fooling around as it intensely dials down. There are half-lidded stares across the table, snarky remarks exchanged. They’re a competitive group and you feel a lot of pressure to perform well.   Jimin seems to go for the easy blocks. Hoseok tries to make it more difficult for the next person. Yoongi is the designated asshole, going for the second top layer while Taehyung argues that it isn’t even allowed. On the other hand, Jungkook somehow flicks the Jenga block with his middle finger and thumb. He’s cocky about his technique, leaning back as his arm drapes over the back of your chair. He runs his tongue on the inside of his cheek with his brow lifted.    You remember why you fucking hated him now. He’s so unbearable sometimes.   “What?” He looks at you when he finds you staring.   You frown at him. And for a second Jungkook gets a glimpse of the bitch he remembers — the one he misses. “Why do you have to be so extra about it? Who are you trying to impress?”   “Right?!” Taehyung stands up and the entire stack of blocks nearly topples over. “I keep trying to tell him that! It’s so goddamn annoying! You won’t even believe it!”   “Watch it,” Hoseok shouts, “You’re going to make it tip over.”   That’s when you become fired up. You’ve never felt this kind of motivation surging between your veins before. But it’s not a thirst to win — it’s a ravenous hunger to beat Jeon Jungkook.   And you do.   After playing to Hoseok’s tactic and being an asshole, you risk it all to remove an important block and it collapses on Jungkook right as he tries to remove another.   Then there are screams — hoots, hollers, like your country won the damn world cup. You stand up and everyone cheers. Hoseok chest bumps you. Taehyung lifts you up and spins you in a circle. Jimin starts to record the moment on his phone and even Yoongi pats you on the back.   “God, why are you guys making such a big deal,” Jungkook moans, still seated at the table, embarrassed from all the teasing.   “Maybe because you’ve never lost anything in your life!” Taehyung laughs in his face, rubbing his loss where it hurts.   “Say something for the camera.” Jimin sticks his phone right between Jungkook’s eyes, and dodges with giggles when Jungkook tries to slap it away.   “Hey, send me that.” Yoongi points. “I’m going to post it on facebook for my grandma to see.”   “Has Jungkook really not lost any game we’ve played before?” Hoseok questions, the realization finally hitting him and the gravity of the situation sinking down onto his shoulders.   “I don’t think so,” Jimin says after sincerely contemplating for a long moment.   “Oh shit. You’re our lucky charm!” Hoseok slings his arm over your shoulder, giving you finger guns and winking.   It’s ridiculous but you’re beginning to believe it too — especially when the game you pick is Uno and it ends up with a similar outcome.   Somehow, someway, Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok and Yoongi finish their cards and the only people who are left are you and Jungkook. The tensions are high and you see the sweat accumulating at his hairline. It’s apparent that he’s never even been second last in a game before.   You’re so close to victory, you can taste it. You’re down to a single card while he has three more.   Jungkook slowly places down a wild card. “What colour do you want, Y/N?”   “Hmmmm.” You rest your chin in your palm, arm propped up on the table. You glance at your card before looking straight at him, locking your gaze together. “Would you even choose the colour I pick?”   “I just want to hear what you want.”   “Fine. I want yellow. Please?” You bat your lashes. “Pretty please, JK?”   The ass smirks. “Red.”   “I knew you’d say that,” you sigh. Your fingers reach down to the pile to grab another card, but then your other hand slaps down — slamming a red four onto the pile. Your arms shoot in the air. Again, it triggers cheers. “I win!”   Jungkook throws back his head and groans. He tosses his one red and one blue card left onto the table. What’s worse is the way you gather with all his friends — the five of you huddled together with arms around one another, like you’re preparing for a football game. But instead, you’re all hopping and cheering while belting out the national anthem.   You’ve stolen his own friends from right under his nose.   But despite how the loss is rubbed in his face, Jungkook’s happy that it seems like for a moment, you’ve returned to yourself again.   Eventually, the games go so much into the night that you have to bid your goodbyes. You didn’t know Jungkook’s group of friends were so easy to get along and get comfortable with. You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but the time passed so quickly and you’re sad to leave.   Hoseok and Taehyung hug you until Yoongi has to help you pry them off.   “I’ll miss you so much,” Taehyung fake cries. “You and the way you absolutely demolish Jungkook.”   “Oh please.” Jungkook rolls his eyes.   “I’ll come back...if you’ll have me again.”   “Are you kidding? Of course!”   “You have to come back,” Jimin insists with a sheepish smile like it should be obvious. “You’re good at Monopoly, right?”   You shrug. “I’ve been told I’m decent.”   “You better be.” Yoongi grins. “I’ll expect you to win against Kook.”   “I’ll try my best.”   “Let me walk you back,” Jungkook says as you grab your coat. You look at him and he elaborates, “It’s a long way back to the dorm and I’m tired too. Gonna call it an early night.”   “Oh, okay.”   The two of you get ready to leave, and at the doorway, you turn around one last time. “Thanks for having me.”   “No problem.” Hoseok smiles. “Come back soon.”   You think this is the longest time you’ve been without crying for the past month. It went by too quickly — you wish you could do it all over again. But you consider how lucky Jungkook is. He has great friends and surrounds himself with great people. You’re jealous.   The night is silent except for the sound of your shoes against the cement of the sidewalk. You’re illuminated by the lamp posts above you and you watch your shadows alongside Jungkook’s.   The air is cold enough that you can see your breath as you exhale. Jungkook’s own hands are dug into his pockets, but the chill makes you feel alive.   “Sorry about them. I know they can get a bit much.”   “It’s okay. They’re really nice actually.”   “Yeah, they are.”   “I had a lot of fun.” You steal a glance at him.   Jungkook’s doe eyes widen, the corners of his mouth quirking. “Really? I’m glad.”   “It was a lot of fun destroying you.”   “Wow.” He laughs. “Okay.”   It makes you giggle too.    You know what he’s been doing. From him listening to everything you have to say and doing more than necessary during the midterms. From that time he called you over in the dining hall to sit with him to tonight, bringing you over to play games with his friends….   “Thanks, Jungkook.”   “Hm?”   “Thanks,” you repeat, looking at him, and he meets your eye. “For helping me. I don’t think I’ve said it yet. But I really appreciate it.”   “Yeah, it’s not a big deal, really.”   “It’s a big deal to me.” Your gaze softens. At the moment you had no one, he was there. You didn’t know you would find such an unlikely friendship during such a hard time, but you don’t mind at all.   Jeon Jungkook is your friend.

[writingismyhappytime]

Coffee Shop Crush

Warnings: None! :)

Intro: You own a small coffee shop in the city, known for its warm atmosphere and excellent coffee. Your favorite customer is Ricky, a musician and aspiring horror novelist, who likes to bounce his ideas off of you while you cater to his caffeine addiction. 

It's the slowest time of day in the little coffee shop you run on the corner, and you're grateful for the break in customers. You appreciate their business, and the ad that the local paper did for you that really brought the influx of business, but it's also been a little overwhelming and tiring too.

It's a small cafe, but your coffee is to die for and you make sure there's a warm, friendly atmosphere for everyone who enters. A lot of people like to find a nice booth or table and enjoy the free internet, which is fine so long as they order from the menu or request something to drink.

You're especially fond of the musician that's also an aspiring horror novelist. You know he has a book of short stories out, and you enjoy taking his order when he's in the mood to bounce his ideas off of you. You find him interesting, and he always orders large coffees that are mostly cream and sugar.

You've gotten into the habit of writing little optimistic notes on the side of his to-go cups, which at first you thought was cute but when you really thought about it, might be embarassing.

Still, you've kept it up, and he's never commented on it, so you don't think he minds. Maybe it's a nice pick up when he's getting stressed, you just hope it makes his day a little better.

Your eyes flick to the glass door as the bell tings, brightening as the familiar dark haired man steps inside. He has his bag at his side where you know his laptop is, and his black hair frames his face as he heads towards the counter where you stand, returning your welcoming smile.

"Hey, Waverly," he greets you easily, coming to a stop in front of the brown bar, his eyes flicking to the menu highlighted above you as if he doesn't already know what he wants. "How's business today?"

"Busy as usual." You reply, your painted nails poised above the cash register keys, prepared to type in his normal order. He comes in just about every other day, ordering the same pot of coffee or sometimes he'll surprise you by getting an espresso, although you think it's just to keep you on your toes.

"I'll have the usual," he says after a moment, already sliding you his card.

"A pot or cup?"

"A pot."

"Intend on doing a little writing then?" You ask lightly as you swipe his card on the register before handing it back, noticing the coldness of his fingers as they brush yours; you know it's chilly outside, but he's bundled up in a black hoodie and matching beanie pulled almost so low you can't see his blue eyes.

"A little." he tucks his card in his wallet. "I've hit a bit of a block, so I'm hoping the caffeine will help."

"Well, I'll have it right up for you," you smile at him, a genuine one that he always appreciates. Ricky found this little cafe by accident, but he adored it the moment he stepped inside.

You're an independent woman, who opened her own shop and is no doubt doing well. You're nice, and the smile you give everyone seems sincere, like you're actually happy to see them and want them to feel at ease; it's why it's his favorite place to visit when he wants to write, he always feels like he can focus and you have a wonderful habit of refilling his pot of coffee when it's getting low without his even asking.

You're so attentive.

You're always working, so he's not sure if you're married or seeing anyone, you don't wear a wedding ring --- not that he's looked or anything. He likes talking to you when you have time, when you visit his table to make sure all is well or just to chat. Your input is appreciated when he bounces his morbid ideas off of you, and you don't seem phased by them either. He's been tempted to bring you his book as just a gift, so you can read it and give him some feedback.

He likes writing, about dark and dangerous, morbid and chilling, something to really give someone a shiver down their spine. His newest short story is set in a cafe much like this one, with a mysterious barista that has enchanting coffee that's so good no one can help but keep coming back.

That's all he has so far, he's not quite sure how to spin it to make it darker, but that's what he's determined to work on today.

He makes his way to his favorite round table near the back, out of the way of typical traffic and normally unnoticed. He sits down easily in his chair, pulling out his laptop, settling down and searching for his earbuds. You don't play horrible music, but he just has his own preferences; plus, people don't normally approach if you're listening to music, or at least they think you are.

Half the time he doesn't turn them on.

He glances up from the table, watching as you make his coffee. He's never tasted anything so good, so perfectly balanced that it's not bitter or weak, but perfect. Once he gets a taste of the brew, he knows he's in for a good day, and he misses it when he's on tour or not in town.

It's a few minutes before you bring his pot over, and he notices a little heavier stream of customers compared to usual. You've hired another barista too, and you let them take the orders as you make your way to his table.

"Here you go," you say brightly, sitting the pot on an electric warmer as you place a white cup beside it.

"Thanks. You seem busier than usual," he gestures at the line growing at the counter as you pour his cup full, adding a few cubes of sugar and half the cup full of cream, just like how he likes it; he didn't realize you knew him that well, or he was that predictable.

"Oh, yes. The newspaper did an article on the cafe, so we've been getting some good business. I've had to hire a few more people to help out." You say, glancing over your shoulder, strands of your soft hair falling from the messy bun at your nape. "Do you have anything nice planned for the day?"

"Not really, just to try to work on this some." Ricky shrugs his black clad shoulders, propping his pale chin on his hand. You know your other customers steer clear of him most times, considering he's also covered in tattoos from neck to fingertips. You don't mind, it works well for him, and being in a band you suppose they also have an aesthetic to keep as well.

You yourself only have one tattoo, and it's of the planets running up your forearm. You love astrology, anything to do with the planets and the stars --- your dad even bought you a telescope as a child and you two would always look up every night, trying to find a shooting star or a new constellation.

He's gone now, but it was his love of coffee that made you want to open your own shop, and so far it's been working out.

"Hey, let me ask you something." Ricky says, getting your attention. You look at him, seeing his focus is on his computer screen. "If you were to put a secret ingredient in your drinks, what would it be? I mean, that makes the customers keep coming back?"

You blink at him, not quite sure how to answer. "Oh, I don't know. Extra pumps of vanilla chai maybe?"

Ricky chuckles. "Let's say you were a witch, and you have to do something to make your coffee taste so good. What would it be?"

You purse your lips thoughtfully, crossing your arms across your plain blue shirt, a black apron tied around your waist.

"Well, I imagine I would brew the coffee in the back in a big cauldron and chant over it," you say jokingly, shrugging your shoulders. "Maybe with a pointy hat and everything."

Interesting.

He can make that work.

He just nods his head, his fingers suddenly moving swiftly across his keyboard, so you take that as a sign to leave. You shake your head as you make your way back to the counter, seeing your new girl starting to look a little panicked.

You take over, quickly ringing up orders and giving smiles. An hour passes and your favorite customer is still furiously typing away at his work, not even noticing when you bring him a new pot of coffee and a bagel on the house; you figure he has to be getting snacky at this point.

It's another thirty minutes before he decides he's done as much work as he can, ordering a to go cup for the rest of his drink. You slip the lid off of the plastic cup, writing your favorite quote on the rim in black pen before heading to his table, hoping he leaves before he even notices the note you leave him.

"Here you go," you pour what's left of his coffee into the cup, making sure to top it off and add the cream and sugar how he likes. "I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow?"

You don't mean to end it on a question, but you like seeing him come in. Your heart sort of jitters, and it's not due to the fact you're around caffeine all day, either. You have a silly little coffee shop crush on him, your favorite regular, and it's not just because he's good looking in a sort of dark and exhausted type of way, either.

He seems nice, and he's friendly to you and your staff, leaves them good tips. You've never seen him be ill towards anyone, and though he has a more serious demeanor, it's nice to not be around someone silly and draining all the time.

"You know it." Ricky closes his laptop, stifling a yawn behind his tattooed hand. "I'll be here. I have tour coming up in a few weeks, so I'm going to be missing this place."

"Oh really? Where are you going now?"

"Europe, I think. We'll be there for a month or more, I can't remember."

"Do you want me to airmail you some coffee care packages?" You tease him lightly as he stands, your hands going to your hips. "I'm sure my coffee will still be warm when it makes it's way to you."

"I would drink it cold, it's that good. It's like you pour magic in it."

"Just a lot of love and sleepless nights," you reply with utmost honesty, reminded of how hard it was opening up a coffee shop in a city with so much competition. You were just determined to do well, and your positivety kept you moving forward until you were successful before you knew it. Words have power, and if you'd been negative, you're sure you wouldn't have done well --- people don't realize the heaviness of their own words, so you always try to be careful in what you say, despite when you might be feeling down.

"Oh I understand that. Artists never sleep." Ricky shuffles his things together, his hands closing around the warm cup as he turns to face you. "I'll see you tomorrow, Waverly. Save my table for me?"

"Only if you're here early enough." You give him a smile as he leaves, lacing your fingers together in front of you as you lean back on your heels. You wonder if he's noticed the little notes you leave him, if he pays them any attention before tossing the cup away.

He does.

At first, Ricky was a little confused at the black ink staining his fingers, but he quickly found the little notes you were leaving him and loved them. He's a little curious if you do that for all your customers, but you can't possibly have the time for that.

It warms him a little you'd do it for him, though.

Stay faithful to the stories in your head, he reads, and his lips twist into a halfsmile as he walks down the crowded city street. He looks forward to finding out what you're going to write him next, and his eyes flick back to your little coffee shop.

Waverly's Cafe glows above the doors in bright red letters, a coffee cup with steam wafting upwards decorating the wall. It's quaint, kind of small, but that's what he likes about it. It has an intimate atmosphere, but it's not dark, and you even have a free book section in the corner for the customers to browse through if they like.

You understand the important part of life is when you can just be comfortable, just relax with a good book and something warm in your hand.

He's going to miss the coffee on his trip, but he's kind of going to miss seeing your smiling face every day too. He's been coming here for a few months now, on a regular basis, and he's been debating on seeing if you'd want to go out sometime --- maybe not to get coffee, but to a movie or dinner or... just something.

He knows you like cats, you live above the shop in the brick apartments above, and you talk about the feline sometimes. He knows your dad inspired you to open your own place, and that you're allergic to bee stings --- mainly because a bee got in once and you wouldn't go near it.

Your favorite color is pastel blue, you could care less about politics and sports, and you're not interested in fame and fortune; you're happy where you are, serving smiles and hot drinks to people who need them.

He's even seen you give out paper bags to the homeless people meandering by, their grateful looks as you give them something warm to eat and drink for the night. You're a caring person, sweet, kind, pretty to look at, and he wouldn't mind dating someone who smells like a coffee shop.

You're a dream, really.

~~~~~~~~~

You so tired, but you're determined to get the coffee shop opened on time today, despite being short staffed. You're a bit miffed two people called out this morning, but you suppose it'll just be like old times, you and one other barista doing your best.

It's still early, you've only been open for a few minutes and half the chairs aren't off the tables just yet. The warm scent of espresso is wafting throughout the small store, soft music playing over the speakers you find yourself humming too.

You hear the door open, and you greet the customer without turning around, trying to take care of the chairs. You glance over in surprise as someone lifts one down for you, and you smile at Ricky automatically.

He's come in quite frequently lately, more so since you know he's about to leave for tour; you're not quite sure when, but you suppose when he doesn't show up, you'll know.

"Good morning! You're here early," you comment, watching as he starts helping you with the chairs. "You don't have to do that, that's alright."

"Oh, it's fine, you've got your hands full." Ricky doesn't mind helping. You notice he doesn't have his bag with him today, and he's dressed a little more together, not in a slouchy hoodie and jeans.

"Do you want your usual?"

"Times six, actually."

Six?

"In need of that much of a pick up?" You ask lightly as you head for the counter, seeing your employee busy making an older couple some macha tea. Ricky joins you after another minute, already holding his card out.

"I'm leaving for tour today, thought I'd bring the guys some of your coffee." He replies as he hands the plastic card over, seeing you hesitate for just a moment before swiping it.

"Oh, well, I hope they enjoy them." You say, a little put out he's leaving today. You expected it, but you'll miss seeing him and bantering back and forth. "You're not gone too long, are you?"

"No. Worried your business won't survive without me?"

"You do drink a lot of coffee," you chuckle, starting on his drinks.

"Just a month or so is as long as I'll be gone." He offers, crossing his arms as he leans on the counter; it's early enough there's not a lot of people, so he's not holding up anyone. He watches patiently as you swiftly start making his order, impressed. "Didn't you mention one time you'd send me care packages?"

"I'm not sure I could get one to you quick enough."

"I'll pay for express mail."

You send him a look, your hair loose and framing your face today. You look tired this morning, but it's early, so maybe you just haven't caught your wind just yet. He hopes you leave him a little note on his cup like you usually do.

"Are you excited about tour?" You ask, trying to make a little conversation as you work. You've never heard any of his music, you think it's probably a little more hardcore than what your taste is. Still, he must do well.

"Not really. I'd rather stay at home with my cats." Ricky says honestly with a shrug. "It's tiring. When I was younger, I enjoyed it more."

"You say that like you're ninety."

"Might as well be. I'll still be coming here for my addiction, though." He adds, earning a smile from you.

"Oh really? You sure you won't find somewhere else in all that time?"

"Nothing beats coming here to see you." He shakes his head, and you blink, glancing at him under your lashes as you start putting lids on the coffees.

Coming to see you?

Didn't he mean for your drinks?

"Keep my table reserved for me while I'm gone. Don't give it away to some other poor sap with a coffee addiction." He says as you start putting the coffees in a carrying tray. "I've staked claim."

"You can have your table back when you come back in." You tell him, disappearing behind some of the espresso machines, where he could only see your pretty eyes as you look down. "So I expect to see you the moment you're off tour."

"You can count on it." He slowly walks down the counter, keeping pace with you until you reach the curve where you normally set the to go drinks. He waits there, watching you work. "Are you guys staying pretty busy now?"

"Only when my employees don't show up."

He thought there was some missing. "I'm sure they'll show up."

Ricky lingers at the counter, trying to figure out how he can ask you out. At least if you tell him no, he'll be gone for a month and maybe you'll forget about him --- but what if you say yes, too? Will being gone a month make you change your mind?

He supposes he just has to ask and find out.

"So, I'm back in town next month," he hedges as you turn around to face him, sliding his coffee across the smooth counter in his direction, "would you want to, uh, grab dinner or something?"

You blink at him.

"Dinner?"

"Well, I didn't think you'd want to grab coffee."

Your cheeks grown pink, and you look down a moment, twisting the lid of one cup between your nervous fingers. Is he asking you out? to dinner? Oh, you should say something!

"I --- well, I don't see why we couldn't." You decide, biting your lower lip. "If you want too, that is. I mean, I'm pretty busy with the shop until six or seven most days, and ---."

"I don't mind." He says hastily, instantly pleased; you do want to get dinner! He likes how you blush, your eyes suddenly focused on the drinks in front of you. "It can be a late dinner. Or not even dinner, if you just want to grab something quick, or maybe a movie --- just anything. We can really make up our minds when I'm back."

"Okay." You hate that he's leaving now! Not only because you like his business, but --- oh, should you really agree to this with a customer? None of them have ever asked you out before though, and you do like him... "We can do that, there's no rush."

"Exactly." Ricky replies, glancing over his shoulder as he hears the door ding, noticing your other regulars are starting to line up. He turns his head just as you cap your black sharpie, tucking it back into your apron pocket. "You're busy, I'll let you get back to it. I'll see you later."

"Have a safe trip!" You tell him, lacing your fingers together as the black haired man starts to leave. You wait until he's gone, the door closing behind him before you exhale heavily, unaware you'd been holding your breath.

Ricky walks down the sidewalk, holding the drink tray in his hands, pleased with himself. You said yes! He has an entire month to figure out where to take you on your first date together, and he's going to make sure it's good.

He wonders what your favorite food is, maybe he should have asked. He could just text you and --- oh man. He didn't even get your number, he just sort of grabbed his drinks and left.

Maaaan.

He sighs, but it's not like he doesn't know where you work. When he gets back, he can just immediately drop by and correct that mistake.

He glances down at the cups, finagling one of them out of the carrier, starting to take a sip before he notices the black ink against the lid.

He hesitates, his lips curving.

Clever girl.

Your number, he assumes, is written neatly across the rim of his cup.

You really do think of everything, don't you?

You're smart, pretty, you own a coffee shop --- you're perfect.

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[lokidrabbles]

Bitter-sweetness (Loki x Reader)

Loki comes to visit the reader after they send out a drunk text

A/N: Another part of my Loki x Reader Winter Series! This is also an AU after Ragnarok where the Asgardians have settled on Earth. As always, Gender Neutral Reader! Warnings: Language, Alcohol Use, Angst, Implied smut

You considered yourself to be a responsible person to a certain degree. In fact, you prided in your ability to make rational decisions about your day to day adult musings. Yet here you were, alone in your home, a whole bottle of red wine downed, complete inhibited from making sure you didn’t make a terrible decision.

This was your first holiday away from home. Living in the big apple had its perk, especially since you managed to land a job working at Stark Industries but living alone, while your closest relative lived three states away was not as glamorous as the shows made it out to be. You swore you would be able to handle it, after all, this had been quite a successful year for you career wise. And yet, the horrible emptiness expanded the moment you finished speaking with your sibling over the phone.

Reality hit. You were here alone, and that was just scratching the surface of it all. You had gotten along well with your co-workers and the supers you would run into often but it wasn’t the same. There was no way you would budge and plea for them to spend this ‘merry’ time with you, humiliating. And so, while not the healthiest of coping skills, you drowned your depression away with a little lady known as Lambrusco.

Being a lightweight, the red wine quickly put you in an inebriated state, fixated on feeling sorry for yourself and the impeccable loneliness.  You cried, you laughed, and you sang depressing melodies in effort to bring your spirits up, but to no avail. You eventually ended up surfing on social media through your phone, twisting your mouth at the cloy pictures of families and friends celebrating together in their homes. What a bunch of bullshit. You resisted the temptation to instant message your old friends, knowing it would just be filled with a myriad of cuss words.

Your mind then wandered on texting your co-workers, clinging onto a childish hope of maybe one of them coming to your rescue and joining you in drinks and sobs. You flipped through your contact list and came across your most recently added. It was a 5 digit number, but that wasn’t weird for you. Tony would often have these weirdly set up numbers for some of the team members to maintain contact without having calls traced by ill intending foes, and you ended up with some of them through exchanges and other occasions. You weren’t really sure how it worked, but it was kind of like a trading card game you had with your co-workers. Obtain Thor’s number, Caps’ number, Dr. Banner’s number, Romanov’s number. It was stupid but it passed the time.

You squinted your eyes, attempting to decipher which Avenger’s number this was. However with the room spinning and your happy-go-lucky state, you didn’t bother to figure out who it was, and you began to text the unknown number with the best of your ability.

Helloo,,,,this is (y/n) and....comeover I have fun stuff to do...:) :) :)

Perfect. And with much gusto, you tapped on that send button, throwing your phone casually on the side of your couch. It wasn’t like you really expected anyone to answer or to come over, and it wasn’t like you really cared at the moment. Without any hesitation, you reached for the wine bottled and took a last swig, with only drops remaining of the sweet warm nectar. You felt the relief in your throat and closed your eyes, slowly drifting into a quick nap, completely disheveled on your couch.

Not ten minutes would pass before you heard a loud and obnoxious pounding on your door. The loud rapping sent you flying off your couch and in a frenzy. You cleared your throat and scurried over to your front door.

“I’m going, I’m going!” You yelled, not having a moment to sort  out what was actually happening. But the room continued to spin, and you figured you were still heavily drunk.

You undid your locks and open the door wide open, only to be greeted by the cold winter wind and the last person you had expected at the moment.

“What in the seven realms are you trying to prove here?” It was Loki, standing tall and menacing over you. He held a small cellular phone between his thumb and index finger, showing you the drunk text you had sent him.

It was Loki’s number. You had completely forgotten that your coworker had given you the number after laughing about Tony giving Loki a method of communication and how Loki was entirely clueless on how to use the device or what it’s purpose even was. Your coworker had a know in with the security manager who programmed Loki’s phone and got his contact number through suggestive means. Again, part of the stupid little game, and you had mindlessly added the number onto your contacts.

Fuck. You guessed he had figured out how to use it.

“Ah, shit.” You sputtered casually. “I didn’t think anyone would have come!”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at you incredulously. “You’re wobbling.”

Wobbling. Loki’s accent was distracting enough most of the time. But hearing him say a silly world like wobbling sent you in a laughing spree. It was uncontrollable laughter, where the more you stared at him the funnier it would become. It was apparent that Loki didn’t find this funny in the slightest.

“Wobbling, pfft. Woooosh.” You retorted, making fluttering movements with your fingers.

“Wait.” He began, his mind beginning to calculate and process. And finally it hit him. “You’re drunk. Are you foolish or just this stupid?”

“Both maybe.”

Loki groaned, shoving you inside your living room and closing the door behind him. Immediately he began to smell the heavy scent of alcohol coming from you, as well as quickly taking notice of the empty wine bottle and wine juices leaked on your coffee table. Also you wouldn’t stop laughing, continuing to giggle until you fell backwards onto you couch.

Loki narrowed his eyes at you. “Having a good time here? I see you’ve laid waste to that wine bottle.”

“Oh yeah.” You responded proudly, throwing your arms up in the air. “Nothing else to do here, but to see just how much I can drink till I stop making sense. Which is...now!”

“Really now?” He responded sardonically. “You look like an absolute mess.”

“Screw you.” You dejected at him knowing full well that wouldn’t offend him in the slightest. “Why are you even here if you’re just gonna be like this.”

“Would you rather I leave then?” His arms were crossed over his chest now, long legs and feet firmly planted on the ground. He looked very intimidating, but perhaps because of your state, he also looked extremely masculine and handsome. You never noticed how broad his shoulders actually were, or how defined his jawline was. You imagined being held in those strong arms and hummed pleasantly.

“No, I like you being here.” You said in a sing song manner, swinging your head back and forth.

“Are you sure that’s not the alcohol talking for you? I wouldn’t imagine you meant to send that message directly to me.”

Loki took a seat across from you on the couch, continuing to shoot you looks of improvement, but concern as well. You continued to fixate on his looks despite this, suddenly wanting to see how his skin would feel on your hands.

“It wasn’t really meant for anyone. But I actually feel a lot better knowing it was you.” Even through your mashed up words, this was actually true. If it was Tony or a coworker or, lord forbid, anyone of the Avengers receiving this and coming over to lecture you about your substance use, your humiliation would have no bounds. There was still a sense of a professional relationship to maintain with them and if those boundaries were broken, maybe that would mean your job as well.

However, the moment you saw Loki standing at your door, you worry had instantly vanished. It was funny, but Loki was the only person who you could be yourself with. There wasn’t any authoritative nature to him, and you felt you didn’t need to prove anything while he was in your vicinity. He was just as lost as you were during this year in dealing with Stark Industries and the team. Also you both had bonded a bit with having a natural disdain for large crowds and ‘stupid’ people in general. You weren’t proud to be shit talking about others, but it made some work days bearable for you.

“Perhaps this is the moment where I as why you’ve drunk an entire bottle of red wine on your own. Even I can tell your natural tolerance isn’t very good.” Loki said, motioning for you to begin describing whatever had tormented you for this evening.

You sputtered again. “It’s stupid. I didn’t even mean to drink the whole thing. It just happened. Stupid bottle.” You really didn’t want to talk about, fearing how much control you would lose. You couldn’t put Loki in an awkward position, with you bawling over the fact that you miss your family or that you feel completely alone in such a large city. You knew Loki’s situation, you knew how much conflict he had experienced during the past year, what with settling down on Earth after Asgard was destroyed. Your human woes paled in comparison to what both him and Thor had encountered, why minimize that?

“Are you not comfortable with discussing this with me?” He asked, his voice firm. There was no malice in it but some sense of ease.

You shook your head. “I am sooo comfortable with you. I’m just not really comfortable with myself.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” He continued, but you remained quiet mostly because you began to feel sick. “But I do know, even in Asgard, we drank for both our victories and for our losses.”

You pondered on this for a bit and then sniggered. “I suppose a loss for myself. Because lord knows no one wants to be around me.” Here we go. You were beginning to be dramatic once more, drowning in your melancholy. “But noooo I have a lot of friends and people who like me right? Because that’s what everyone expects right? For me to be content with everything?”

Loki remained quiet but not for a loss at words, but simply because he knew listening would be the best way to tackle this situation. His body language changed and he turned his body to face you, full attention and focus. But of course, you were far too deep in your downward spiral to have noticed.

“I’m supposed to be this independent, responsible adult who knows what they want or want to do.” You continued, your voice beginning to break. “But I still feel lost. And stupid. And wobbly.” You sniggered again, not being able to hold back to stupidity of the word.

Loki rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why humans always enjoy over complicating their own personal matters when the solution is staring them right at the face.”

You stopped giggling and furrowed your brows. “How am I over complicating things? I feel like shit because it’s been a whole year of me living in this city and I haven’t made one single valuable connection with anyone. Don’t be telling me that is an easy thing to solve.”

It was as if you had completely forgotten you were still tipsy.

“You do realize you could have just contacted me.” His words seemed to have echoed across your living room, sending a strong pang of guilt into your chest.

“What are you talking about?” You words meshed with one another, unable to articulate your frustration.

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “I really do have to hold your hand for everything don’t I? As long as I am here in this forsaken city working for that piece of human garbage that is Stark, you don’t have to spend your evenings alone.”

You blink in total bewilderment, not really buying into his intentions or his words. “Don’t do that. Don’t just do that because you feel sorry for my pathetic ass.”

“Are you daft?” Loki responded with an elevated voice.  “What indication of pity have I presented for you? What you need to realize is you have absolutely no reason to have this display of misery if companionship is what you seek.”

Your eyes widened as your focused in on the details of his face. Even though he had become quite angered by your stubbornness, he continued to be beautiful and ridiculously attractive to you. A strand of his dark locks fell over his face, making him even more desirable than you could have imagined. His piercing blue-green eyes were just as captivating as the last time you saw them. What would you have sacrificed for the opportunity to absolutely melt into him? To take in his scent or his heat. Maybe to even dig your face into the crook of his neck, providing you with much security.

Evidently your body began to move on its own as you leaned forwards to him, plopping yourself ungainly between his arms and his chest. Loki instinctively pulled backwards only causing you to fall further onto him until you were completely laid down upon his chest. He kept his arms slightly above you, unsure whether you’d be fine with him placing them on your back or on your waist. You sighed contently, nuzzling your face and fists into his chest. He was very warm, and you could hear the thumping of a heart deep within him.

“This...is not the best position to be in.” He said, a minute after laying there awkwardly with you.

“Heeey Loki.” You began, some mischief in your tone. “Let’s do it.”

You swore you heard him gulp heavily. “No. Especially with your inebriated state.”

You chuckled, your best attempt at being sly. “I’m sorry I didn’t think about you at first. I guess it didn’t cross my mind that you’d want to do anything with me.”

You finally felt his hands gently rest on your back, fully trusting of your total comfort with him.

“I’m going to reveal something to you but I don’t want you to tell anyone else. This is solely for your ears.” He began, piquing at you interest.

You plopped your head upwards to have a better look at him. “Oh?”

“I don’t come to New York solely for Stark. In fact, he’s become quite disdainful of me as you know. I go out of my way to come here because of you.”

An uncontrollable smile formed over your face. But again, that could have been the alcohol.

“You’re a foolish human. But...you are my foolish human. And you don’t need to be alone as long as I am here. I know how much this time of the year means for you, and I wouldn’t want to see you like this again.”

Before he could continue, you lifted your upper body to plant a much desired kiss on Loki’s lips. You didn’t care if you still reeked of cheap wine or if it was an impulse of your needs, but you deeply desired to still feel him skin on yours. You became even more eager once you felt him return your kiss, aggressively and longingly. His lips were so soft and tasteful and you pleaded mentally for him to explore your tongue with his. You pulled back briefly, your eyes watery and full of drunken bliss.

“I love you so much.” You said without much thought or meaning. You knew you didn’t fully convey those emotions yet, but the timing felt right.

He stared at you with his mouth slightly agape, his eyes also full of bliss and desire. “Don’t say that just yet. But I do too.”

The remainder of the evening was spent quietly as Loki adjusted himself to a much more comfortable position where he could fully encircle his arms around your frame. You melted into him, greedily closing your eyes and drifting away into a peaceful slumber inside his hold. You continued to be lulled by the thumping on his chest, your own matching his in full connection.

[mcsplaced]

𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖓𝖎 𝖉𝖆𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 . . .

Not everyone can say they’ve been to the Big Apple, but  [SUNNI DAE], a [FORTY] year-old [CIS WOMAN] has lived in [FLATIRON DISTRICT, MANHATTAN] for [TWENTY-TWO YEARS]. This is the city of dreams and [SHE/HER] knows it, because they came to NYC to be an [ACTRESS]. Living in the city means they meet all kinds of people, but everyone always seems to think they look like [SON YE-JIN]. They even got away with free cab fare once because of it!

hey, everyone ! here’s sunni. her about is listed here, her statistics are listed here, and her plotting page is listed here. if you’d like to claim any of the plots on that page or do some other plotting, shoot me a message ! i prefer discord, but i’m open to messaging on tumblr. my discord is limes#6826. give this a like and i will come to you for plots !

TRIGGER WARNING — child abuse ( mental ), mention of bullying, drug dependency issues ( namely alcoholism ), infidelity, abusive marriage, terminal illness

sunni born under the name dae eun-ha to an aspiring artist and a mother suffering from depression. sunni’s parents met in songpa-gu, seoul, south korea, where sunni would later be born, and quickly fell into a whirlwind romance. they would eventually marry a year before sunni’s birth. 

her father’s family had money thanks to his father’s possession of a chain business for restaurants and not long after the birth of sunni, her father was pressured by his wife to get a gig with the help of his own father. he landed in marketing after some training and the promise of an eventual degree. this pretty much drained the life out of him and he stopped painting, deteriorating into a shell of a man. 

( tw mental child abuse ) growing up was difficult for sunni, as her mother blamed her depression on the birth of sunni. she was a stay at home mother who was perpetually disappointed in anything sunni did and was neglectful due to her own dysfunctional marriage, mental illness, and trauma from an abusive childhood. as for her father, he never acted poorly toward her, but he simply wasn’t around. on the off chance that he did speak to sunni, he would spew hateful speech at her about society and the steady destruction of his life force.  ( end tw )

by the time sunni was four, the family was set up to move to los angeles, california, with the prospect of a higher paying job. this ended up being for naught as sunni’s father never really obtained a super successful job, only managing a small pay bump after years of working in los angeles.

childhood was rough for sunni as her parents would fight constantly over their class difference, financial issues, her mother’s general dissatisfaction with how their lives turned out, and her father’s infidelities. as a means of escaping her home troubles, sunni dove straight into the world of cinema. she found it easy to idolize specific actors and viewed a couple of them as her rightful parental figures. 

in school, sunni felt out of place. her parents had spent their money on tutors for a couple years ensuring sunni could skate by with her english, but she had difficulty communicating with others after a long summer with little practice or when it came to more difficult concepts. it wasn’t until junior high that sunni felt 100% confident in her english speaking abilities.

( tw mention of bullying ) sunni was timid and had extremely low confidence, and this caused her to be preyed on at times. the only time sunni was outspoken was in her theater club, where she landed relatively large roles within the production thanks to her passion for acting and persistent practice. as she grew into her adolescence, she finally began to see the flaws in her substitute parental figures. scandal after scandal followed the celebrities she idolized, and sunni couldn’t help but feel betrayed. ( end tw )

when sunni was sixteen, she began waitressing to save money for when she was able to move out. this paid off, and she moved into a small studio apartment in tribeca, manhattan, when she was eighteen. when sunni wasn’t working, she was performing in local theater productions. her confidence grew as she avoided exposure to a toxic environment and made a small group of likeminded friends. by the time she turned 21, she began bartending and made enough money to move into a two bedroom with a friend.

sunni’s life as a young adult was relatively uneventful until she was discovered by an agent at a show when she turned 23. in 2004, under the stage name “sunni dae”, she scored an audition for a pg family sitcom named the campbells. it wasn’t mean to be a big project, and after a couple auditions, sunni scored the lead role. 

( tw drug addiction ) not long after its introduction to television, it completely blew up. the show is likened to full house both in popularity and general vibe. though she started as a humble actress, the fame quickly got to sunni. her drug dependency issues began quickly after exposure to various substances at a party.

her drug of choice was alcohol, much like her father, and she began frequently drinking on set. sunni’s ego grew to be massive and she began treating others poorly because of it, unable to understand the woes of others if they didn’t pertain to her own life. ( end tw )

moving out of her two bedroom in 2005, sunni moved from tribeca to the flatiron district and top ( seventeenth ) floor luxury penthouse. this penthouse would later be what sunni calls the best thing she got from the campbells. in 2006, sunni officially changed her name from dae eun-ha to sunni dae. 

( tw depression, drug addiction ) sunni saw her celebrity idols smiling and happy in their fame, and wondered why she didn’t feel that same happiness. in fact, she felt isolated, bitter, and cynical; these feelings fed into her drug addiction. it didn’t help that her friendships began to fall apart thanks to her selfish behaviors and narcissistic tendencies. her parents were unresponsive to her fame, with her mother even expressing disappointment in the fact that she was a part of a show with cheap comedy and simple plot lines. ( end tw )

her career took a turn for the worse in 2007. toward the end of 2006, sunni began a relationship that would later turn into a highly publicized toxic marriage a little over half a year later. the marriage had multiple scandals and each news story plagued sunni’s reputation. this stain would follow her even into her forties, as she was considered a high risk individual to act as the face of a project.

it was also released at one point that sunni allegedly gave drugs to a younger cast member, though it wasn’t publicized which one it was. however, sunni wasn’t the only cast member who had public controversies. by 2011, the cast had racked up so many controversies that the show was cancelled, though it was given a proper ( rushed ) finale. in the same year, sunni got divorced, and thanked her lucky stars for the prenup.

after the campbells, sunni hired an skilled freelance investor to expertly invest her money for her; she would later be thankful for this as the few projects she did take after the campbells completely flopped. a frustrated agent would watch as looper’s inevitable “what happened to sunni dae?” video popped up after years of inactivity, though they did choose to stick by her side, as they had confidence in her potential. 

( tw drug addiction ) others did not see her potential, however, as she was simply “the lady from that old sitcom” in the acting world. to those who knew sunni, she was viewed as a destructive force with drug dependency issues and horrible interpersonal skills. she has had a couple relationships, but nothing serious as sunni’s partners eventually grow to acknowledge her toxic behaviors. ( end tw )

( tw terminal illness ) at the age of thirty-seven, sunni’s father passed away from acute liver failure. sunni thought she would feel something from this inevitability, but no out of place feelings came to her. ( end tw )

( tw assumed depression ) now forty, sunni spends most of her time inebriated and getting into shenanigans with new york locals. occasionally, she’ll still have a scandal that hits the news. she takes part in small projects, such as being the face of a bourbon or starring in commercials, but she’s actively looking for something to revitalize her career and give her life meaning again ( at least, that’s what she thinks ). ( end tw )

in the interest of learning more about things i may have cut out, feel free to check out her about page, listed above. you can also find more about her personality there.

[gothiccwhore]

13 reasons why season 4 review

THERE WILL BE SPOILERS IN THIS!! if you haven’t finished the season yet i suggest you skip this!! :)

also this will be super long because i tend to ramble and i’ll give reviews for each character/most of the storylines! ((half way through reading this i read @jessica-acholas and @analuciacortez reviews and i agreed with a lot of it so you guys should all read their reviews as well!!))

over all ranking:

as a whole, i would give this season a 7/10. i originally was gonna give it a 6 but they get an extra point for all the zalex scenes we got, and i also was thinking of the mess that was s3 so i had to give them that extra point too

storylines/the season as a whole:

my biggest concern/annoyance with this season was how rushed or repetitive it was

every storyline this season was either super rushed or super dragged out- no in between. the fact that we only had 10 episodes as opposed to the normal 13 probably had a part in this, which idk why they cut the episodes short. let’s start off with the dragged out storylines, one of them being clay’s nightmare sequences. i honestly did like his therapy scenes because it was good to see him get help and he was a much better narrator than ani, but his nightmare scenes were so long i literally had to skip all of them i got so bored. another dragged out storyline was jesstin, which i probably will get complains about. i think they have their cute scenes and i do love both characters, especially jess being tied with alex for #1 and justin being in my top 5. but my god their storyline/relationship is beyond repetitive, its been the exact same thing for 4 whole seasons. they break up, have a long speech about how they’re not right for each other, spend the whole season pining after each other, make up in the end and then have another speech about how in love they are. like writers please make up your mind- do you want them together or not?? we also had another repetitive love triangle this season just like every other with justin jess and diego as opposed to the justin jess and alex one for like 2 seasons.

now for the rushed storylines, one of them being alex’s relationship with charlie. i love charlie ever since we saw him in s3, he’s so pure and a lovable guy and i love how he loves alex. however they happened like out of nowhere?? alex went from being in love with jess for 3 seasons to being in love with 2 people in 4 episodes. if you blinked you would’ve missed the “build up” to their relationship, and honestly it felt like they just randomly threw in some relationship for alex because they didn’t wanna have zalex happen. i’m not saying this to be bitter (maybe i am lol) but zalex had 3 seasons worth of build up and could’ve been an amazing slow burn relationship for the whole season, instead they rushed another relationship. zach is also another character who had a rushed storyline with his drinking problem, which literally happened out of nowhere too?? he just showed up this season drunk in the first scene and drunk in literally every single scene we saw him in. this storyline also never got resolved, it just stuck there like the writers didn’t even care to end or resolve it. just like how zalex could’ve worked better for alex, it could’ve worked better for zach too since his drinking problem could’ve been helped by alex. i swear the writers just hate us at this point

characters review:

clay: one of my favorites honestly, he’s in my top 5. sure clay has had his moments where he’s been annoying and extra but so has literally every single character in this show- besides tony lol. like i stated above my main concern was how dragged out his sequences were this season, like i couldn’t watch all of them. also another huge problem i had with him this season was how big of a jerk he was to justin??? for like half of the season he was rude to him and would give snarky remarks/hints like when he was surprised colleges would even want justin, which i don’t blame justin for thinking that clay expected him to just relapse again and throw his life away. the same can be said for when clay said all those awful things to him at the party- his parents not being his and not trusting him like wtf? i felt SO BAD for justin there i was expecting clay to apologize to him. on the topic of the party episode, he literally crashed zach’s car and sent them flying 30 ft in the air just to leave zach all alone to literally die?? then there’s also the part where he and ani outed alex before he was ready to fully come out which sucks, that’s something you should never do but i know he was just worried about alex and didn’t want him to get heartbroken over winston - but why didn’t you tell him sooner??

ani: like i said with clay, i hated how she outed alex before he was ready to come out. i don’t understand how her and clay both didn’t think to tell everyone - especially ALEX who literally killed bryce and would’ve gotten hurt the most about winston?? they both knew that winston and alex both knew each other and met at the hillcrest party, so why not tell him winston is gonna be looking for information to clear monty’s name?? alex is literally the only person you guys SHOULDVE told first?? however i did enjoy her this season as opposed to s3, she had a great redemption and i liked that she finally apologized to jess for sleeping with bryce. she also wasn’t up everyone’s business this season and i loved all her scenes with jess, especially the prom ones

alex: HAAAAAA BI KING WHO GOT HIS HAPPY ENDING AND DIDNT GO TO JAIL FOR FLOORING THAT RAPIST!!! HOW DO YOU BRYCE AND MONTY STANS FEEL THAT BOTH OF THEM ARE 6FT UNDER WHILE ALEX IS FREE 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳 i’m so happy he got his happy ending and became secure in his sexuality, that’s all i ever wanted for him since s1. i’m not saying this because i’m biased and he’s my favorite character, but he truly was one of the only characters who didn’t annoy me this season. he had a great arc even if it was super rushed, we finally got a zalex mutual love confession (i’m still bitter that we didn’t get our endgame but in my head we did), and i love how even if he and justin had their differences in the past seasons he was there for him in the end. i don’t really have any complaints about him besides the whole charlie thing being super rushed and so random?? why did the show put 2 bottoms together like we wouldn’t notice 🤨🤨

jessica: jess is my favorite character tied with alex, both of them have been since s1. i loved how she continued to be her badass self this season but a lot of the things she did/said kinda rubbed me the wrong way?? like i applauded her for calling out ani for judging who she was sleeping with after ani slept with bryce, but when you think about it diego literally is a rape apologist too?? jess tyler is literally your friend why would you date the guy who’s defending his rapist?? also don’t get me started how diego treated clay horribly this season, he was suffering with his mental illness and he played pranks on him and called him a psycho??? clay has always been there for you jess and he’s also one of your friends why would you still hang out with diego?? also in the first episode where justin breaks up with her and she got mad at him i got upset with her, justin made valid points he’s a recovering drug addict who needs to focus on himself not a relationship. i don’t understand why she got so mad at that, it was lowkey ooc for her? overall i still loved her i just hate how the writers reduce her to only a guy each season, but she still was amazing over all and looked beautiful!! her scenes with ani were great and i cried so much at her scenes with justin at the end.

zach: another one of my favorite characters who the writers did so dirty this season. i’ve loved zach since s1 as well, he’s in my top 5 and i’ve always loved how even if he was a jock he was still good hearted and there for everyone. i hated how in this season the writers forgot all of his traits and basically wrote him as a new person?? his drinking storyline was beyond random and had no build up/not even a resolution in the end. where even was his mother or sister this entire season. the show always paid him dirt and never focused on his home life when it was clear he didn’t have the best relationship with his mom. i’m so annoyed at how they wrote him as a “drunk” all season and didn’t even acknowledge his struggles. his scenes with alex were great, and i loved every single one of them. i’m still dying on the zalex hill and saying that they missed the perfect opportunity to make them a couple, it would’ve helped his storyline just like alex’s.

justin: oh my god, when i say my heart broke in the last episode it really did. i remember hating justin in s1, and then loving him in s2 with him being in my top 5 favorite characters. he had the best redemption arc, and i loved his portrayal of a recovering drug addict. i’m thinking now and he also didn’t annoy me this season just like alex, he was great and i’m so sad how they basically stomped all over his arc by killing him. it’s clear the show only killed him off because clay started the show by losing someone he loved, and ended it the same way. him dying by aids was so random and made 0 sense, i honestly thought he was gonna die from an overdose when discussing theories because i had a feeling it was either him or alex who were gonna die. they didn’t have a buildup for his hiv/aids- only added scars/bruises throughout the season which no one noticed if they weren’t closely examining him. i’m so saddened by his death and i will be planning a funeral for him along with zalex’s 💔.

tony: honestly a great character throughout the whole show, never was annoying and always was there for literally everyone. tony has always been a fighter and has been through so much without showing it, and i’m glad he got to go to college at the end and see his sister. i’m also so happy we got more scenes between tony and caleb this season because they are one of my favorite couples and are so underrated in the show and with fans ❤️ i was upset when he didn’t believe tyler, but i understood where he was coming from because he just wanted to be safe.

tyler: he’s so pure and i also loved his arc throughout the show, i’m so happy he has friends who love him and him and estela were so cute! i wish they explored more about him and the sheriffs working together because i honestly was confused about that before rewatching scenes. i also hate how they made him feel bad about monty dying when it literally was not his fault a rapist got killed in prison- monty’s rotting 6 ft under hello let’s celebrate to that!! i also loved how he was so supportive when he found out about winston and alex on the camping trip, he seemed worried about alex when winston said they broke up. i also love how alex was the only one who truly believed in him the entire show.

bryce: good riddance!! when i say i yelled when jess saw him when she was burning the tape why did he smile like pennywise?2@/@20so glad we saw no flashbacks of him this season and that he was just an annoying ghost, but even that annoyed me

monty: just like bryce good riddance!!! thank god we didn’t get that much of a redemption arc because i would’ve lost it- even though i literally rolled my eyes every time his ghost tried to say something that was supposed to make us feel bad for him. he’s rotting with bryce 🧚🏻‍♀️🤩

charlie: i loved him, he was so nice to everyone and so pure. i just wish they let him and alex be just friends because that came out of nowhere. i hope he’s baking more cookies and being happy

caleb: such a supportive bf i love him and tony, wish we saw more of him but i hope he’s living his best life <3

winston: he gave me joe from you vibes the entire season why was he creepy lowkey s:@:&;&!392&-03@3&4 nobody @ me but for a second i thought him and alex were cute during the bowling scene then i remembered who he was. he was a rape apologist which i hated, like dude he’s dead get over it i promise that dick probably wasn’t that good that you have to do a whole fbi investigation for him. the fact that he fell in love with monty and alex after like a week is sending me oddjdkckdkdj but i too am in love with alex standall so i see where he’s coming from, he gets points for not turning alex in at the end but i expected him to be a bigger villain this season but thank god he wasn’t because i would’ve floored him

chloe: my best girl who i wish we saw more of we only saw her for like 3 scenes?? the show did her dirty even in s3 she should’ve had more scenes her storyline was amazing :/ i did enjoy her and zach’s friendship it was so refreshing to see a m/f friendship and i’m glad they didn’t make them romantic. i didn’t expect her and scott to date but go girl!!

diego: literally came out of nowhere where were you for the other 3 seasons? i literally laughed every time he would talk about missing monty like who cares if he got you into football he was a rapist no one cares. i hated how he made clay go literally insane by pulling those pranks on him and calling him psycho?? “why’d you bring a knife” MF YOU GAVE IT TO HIM???? he was nice at the end so i guess i’ll give him some points and he also wasn’t a HUGE jerk i liked how him and justin helped each other when the cop was being racist/a dick and that he seemed upset at justin’s funeral

estela: her and tyler were super cute together and i loved how she acknowledged what monty did and didn’t try to make excuses to defend him. also loved how she wanted to join HO and was completely different from monty

so overall that was my review of the season, i will miss the characters so much and zalex will continue to haunt me every night i cannot escape 💔 jess and alex are my emotional support characters who would’ve thought. selena gomez and the 13rw writers you will pay for your crimes this season!

[stardancerluv]

Past and Present the Bookends of Life

Part 7

Summary: Things ago awry when trying to plan for the rest.

You were glad that you and Veronika had hit it off. The two of you were having a small chat about shopping when you two thought why not! The boys were consumed with what to do for their next step. The two of you didn’t want to just stay in the pub.

“Where are you parked?”

“Simon has me park it out back.”

“I left my purse in the car.” Veronika gave you a playful look. “What? Mark, spoils me.” You giggled. “I’ll be right back.”

Mark was leaning against the bar slowly sipping at his beer when you came over. The voices hushed as you neared but a smile spread across his face.

“Yes, baby.”

“Can I have the keys? I need to grab my purse.”

He smirked, “They’re in my pocket. Come ‘ere and get them.” Drawing closer you reached in his back pocket and grabbed the keys.

He put his hand over yours in his pocket. “Tell him, I’m grabbing your drinks.”

You smiled. “Oh, he knows. I am grabbing my purse because Veronika and I are gonna go shopping.”

Simon, chuckled. “Let her grab her purse, going with Veronika and they might buy an entire store. Why do you think I am trying to build a spa?”

You saw Veronika playfully push him.

“Hey lass, its true.” Veronika, rose an eyebrow. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” He chuckled, then looked over at Mark. “Alright, half a store.”

Mark smiled broader. “Have fun baby. If you buy something nice.” He gave you a playful smile. “You will have to model it for me later.”

You giggled and flushed. “I will keep that in mind.” You looked at Veronika. “I’ll be right back.”

“Great, I will go warm the car.”

You pulled the keys from his back pocket. Mark, turned to you rubbed your arm. “Be safe. Don’t talk to any strange men alright. We don’t know where he is.”

You looked up at him and gave him a brave smile. “I promise. And I will buy something nice.” You whispered the last part.

He chuckled. “Good, you deserve it.” Leaning, in close, he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Can’t wait for the show.” He whispered.

You smiled, sighing. “Alright, I’ll be right back with the keys.”

You swished away. Distantly, you could hear as Simon clapped Mark on the back. “I’ll say it again, Rentboy, you got a good lass there.”

“I certainly do.” You heard Mark reply and couldn’t resist looking back and smiling. You both shared a smile since he looked after you.

The door, clanked behind you as you made your way over to the car. You were about to beep it, when someone came out of the shadows and pushed you up against the car. Before you could scream or call out. A rough hand closed over your mouth and squeezed.

“Don’t fuuuucking scream or you’ll pay. I need information and you’re gonna give it to me.” The voice rasped, as fear like a cold blanket wrapped around you, making you shake. “Nod, if you understand.”

You nodded.

The owner of the voice, whipped you around.

“What’s your name doll?”

“Y/N.” You continued to shake. You immediately cast your eyes down.

“Y/N, well that’s lovely.” He leaned in close, you could hear as he inhaled. “Don’t you smell pretty.” He smelled sale, rancid. It made your stomach which was already churning to only churn harder, making you ill.

“What...what do you want?”

He grabbed you by the mouth again and squeezed. “I’m the asking the questions doll. Alright?”

You nodded, tears from fear slid down your cheeks.

“And, how do you know Mr. Renton?” His hand moved down your throat. Your phone buzzed to life. “Get that.” He rasped but didn’t loosen his hand on you.

Reaching, blindly you grabbed your phone. You held it up.

A bitter chuckle came from him.

“See....he’s...he’s my...my boyfriend.”

“Tell, him you are still looking for something in the car.” He demanded.

With your hand shaking you did as he told you. “Always, the lady man.” He remarked as he looked you over.

“Ok, put that away.” His squeezed your throat. “Tell me, had he poked you yet?”

Your eyes flared indignantly, despite being terrified.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.”

A crooked smile broke his face. “Good. Deserves to get laid before I kill him.” He smirked. “Now, tell me how long is he gonna be here?”

“I...I don’t know.”

He squeezed hard, making you gasp. “Don’t you lie to me.”

You tried to plead with your eyes. “I, I really don’t know.”

“Alright. Well you tell him, I am ready to kill him.” He paused and tilted his head to one side. “You tell him, if he runs,” He drew closer, you could feel his breath. It smelled strongly of gin. “Believe, me I know how much he likes to run, he ran before. I will follow him to Amsterdam, and I will end this.”

“Ok.” You whimpered.

He patted your cheek. “That’s a good girl.”

Just as fast as he appeared, he disappeared into the shadows and you saw nothing.

Shaking, you wrapped your arms around yourselves and shook. You slid down the side of the car and just whimpered. You could not move.

*****

Mark, looked up as Veronika walked up.

Veronkia, put an arm around Simon’s shoulders. “Mark’s where are you keeping your girl?”

Confusion, filled him. “I figured in the excitement the two of you ran off and got to shopping.”

She shook her head. “No, I was out back warming the car up.”

“Oh no!”

Mark immediately, clamored out of his chair which fell backwards.

“Y/N, are you out here?” He called once he tore open the door. He ran over to the car. His heart dropped as he saw you crumpled by the car. “Oh, my sweet lass.”

He went over and kneeling beside you, he put a reassuring hand on you. He watched as you practically jumped out of your skin and screamed.

Your tear streaked face turned to him and you leapt at him. He wavered but managed to hold you steady. You shook hard and cried.

All he could do was hold you and rub your back. “I am so sorry. I am so sorry.” He said softly. He felt as you moved, held onto him tighter.

“Mark? Y/N, are you two out here?” Simon called out.

He turned his head. “Over here, Simon.”

His footsteps grew close, before he stopped nearby. “Oh, fuck is she alright.”

You looked up and nodded. You laid your head back onto “It was Begbie.” You whispered.

“Fuck.” Mark exhaled. He looked at Simon, “Give us a moment, we’ll come back in.”

“Alright. Y/N, I promise it will be ok.” He turned and headed back into the pub.

You lifted your head and looked at Mark. “He is so scary.”

Mark nodded. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s ok. You didn’t know.” You shook your head. “Mark, he wants to kill you. You, we have to do something.”

“Oh my beautiful lass, I feel so horrible.” He pulled back at you. Your tear stain cheeks, the little trembles he could still feel, killed him.

“Don’t its not your fault, he is psychotic.”

“But...but....”

“No, buts.” You kissed him. Your lips still shook but were so wonderfully warm and soft.

“I can’t let this happen again.” He finally said. “We’ll get some things from your flat tonight. You are staying in the hotel with me. I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Ok.” You nodded.

He gave you the smile, that had made you fall so hard for him. “Let’s get you back on there, warm you up with a pint. Alright?”

“Yes, but just hold me a little longer.”

“Of course, my sweet girl.”

Hold you, he did. He would make this up to you. He could not believe that Begbie would scare a simple girl, all just to get to him. Anger burned in his stomach.

@rentskenobi @mac-n-cheesie @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @king-trash-goblin @pooshnulooshnu @the-mandalorian-clone-lover

[prophetrick]

RP Loot-Edible Fruit/Veggies, Part 1

Continuing from the other loot page. Here’s the source link, should anyone need it for their own purposes: X These may be found in a demon/goblin market, or in the spirit world. Yasuhiro may have some familiarity with these. Not all of them, of course.

Bloodroot: A  fruit-like root that, when infused like tea, produces a narcotic effect  on vampire-like beings. Headcanon: Also works on parasitic-like beings. Sold at high prices at black markets internationally. Cocorange:  One fruit has massive seeds are about the same size and shape as a football, with a hard outer shell. They grow in tropical and subtropical climes and contain pulpy, fibrous, citrus flesh that can be eaten raw, squeezed  for its juice or cooked. When consumed, it produces a mild  intoxication, equivalent to about one shot of liquor. Coralscalp: Harvested from under the waves where a portal to the spirit  realm and the ocean meet, one fruit resembles kelp from a distance. Only close inspection reveals  it to be made up of long, fine, hair-like fibers. When dried and smoked, this kelp-like fruit bolsters charisma and self-esteem for 12 hours. Afterward, the consumer suffers terrible hallucinations.  Headcanon: This can be abated by “appeasing” the plant, but the method for doing so isn’t clearly known. Jarmyn Fruit:  A fruit that temporarily negates the effects of fatigue. This can be stacked with each dose, but each dose increases the number of days the consumer will need to shake off the effects. The leaves can be used for the same purpose. Headcanon: “Dose”=small, candy-sized blue, bulbous berries.  Jennyapple: Twisted, dark-spotted fruits which grow from a large shrub. When the  skin is pierced, it reveals a jennystone inside and produces a foul-smelling liquid that lingers for 24 hours. Jennystones are the hard  seeds, incredibly bitter to the taste. Their smell is so foul and so pervasive that anyone capable of smelling within a  five-yard diameter is rendered incapable of smell. Headcanon: Highly sought-after for their medicinal properties, rumored to cure maladies  related to the stomach, liver, and damage done by supernatural forces. Sells for a high price. Nightcap:  Makes the consumer lethargic and halves their speed. Botanists and those with similar experiences can tell the difference between it and its “cousin”, buglewart. Slumberberries:  These small, dark green berries are extremely sour, growing on parasitic  vines in clumps of 5 or 6. Eaten raw, they cause drowsiness. If the consumer was sleepy to begin with, they will fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Boiled, however, they produce a tea that will cause  horrible, vivid nightmares often involving torture or other grievous  physical harm. Trenchmint:  This cross-breed of coupnettle and pitmoss is a highly invasive, rapidly  spreading weed which appears as a delicate-stemmed plant with curling  violet leaves. Walking through it releases a sharp, minty odor which  will cost the consumer some willpower but will grant them an increase in  a mental skill the consumer was thinking about at the time, or a  random mental skill of the mun’s choosing. When the effects  of the trenchmint wear off, the muse is lethargic. Doubly so if sloth is  one of the muse’s vices. Bloodbane:  A pale yellow lichen that tends to grow in damp conditions, it can be  dried and ground and then mixed in with other foods. Bloodbane prevents  the blood from clotting as it should, a single dose causing stomach  cramps or minor internal bleeding for 24 hours. Consumed more than once,  it prevents bone marrow from producing new blood and will cause massive  internal hemorrhaging. Flour-Of-One-Hour/Tiger Mallow:  Appearing in hot, humid areas of the hedge, this tropical-looking flower  looks first like a thistle before unfolding into a black,  trumpet-shaped bloom with a fiery center. It blooms for only one hour  each day, but not on any sort of a predictable schedule. Those with at least some skill in botany may brew it into a tea during its  blooming time that has a fiery quality that makes the skin feel  sunburned  and inflames passions and, when drunk, allows the character to  proficiency to physical strength or stamina for an hour. If more is  consumed they feel drained and suffer lethargy until they have slept for 8 full hours. If drunk after the hour has passed, it has a  chilling effect and tastes of anise. Fuguespores:  These brown spores grow on the briars of the hedge and when ingested  they grow inside the intestines, pushing through internal walls and  releasing toxins into the blood. Over time, the target develops  hallucinations and/or dizzy spells. The fungus is capable of spreading into the body, and if it takes root in the brain it will destroy the  character's memories and leave him in a fugue state, sometimes leading  to a coma or permanent brain damage. Serpent Gourd:  A long gourd with a shiny black exterior, serpent gourd grows high up on  tangled, woody vines spiked with cruel thorns as long as a man's finger  and is thus extremely difficult to harvest. When split open, its white  flesh comes apart in ropy-strands. If boiled with a fistful of its own  thorns, then strained, it produces a clear, syrupy fluid with a bitter  taste which affords the consumer some skill in dream divination.  Headcanon: While the effects are temporary, continued exposure may leave  the consumer unable to distinguish between reality, the spirit realm  and their visions. Can become addictive. Not recommended in large  quantities. Amaranthine: Small, red eggplant-like plant. Used to deal damage dealt by supernatural forces. Chu Chu Clum: Growing in grassland areas of the the spirit world, the stalks of this bamboo-like grass are filled with a blood-red liquid that tastes of sour  limes. Potently intoxicating, a half a teaspoon is enough to cause extreme intoxication, making the consumer happily drunk. For the next  hour the consumer is more adept in social settings, but suffers a noticeable detriment to their dexterity and intelligence. Cousin's Trumpet: A scentless, yellow, trumpet-shaped flower growing in jungle-like  areas of the spirit world, when steeped as a tea in the human world it has a  potent hallucinogenic effect. The consumer who partakes of such tea  experiences powerful hallucinations that extend to most all the senses  for an hour, generally (but not always) feeling euphoric and one with  universe, during which the consumer is subject to their physical skills being diminished; when the effect  ends,the consumer recovers some small measure of resolve. Consuming the tea within the spirit world does not cause hallucinations, but instead increases their psychoactive control of the supernatural and astral. Fear Gortach ("Hungry Grass"): Makes the consumer famished, but will only only crave the fruit. Glutinous characters will be have a harder time shaking off the effects of this fruit. Headcanon: Effects typically last for an hour. Judas Yew Berries: Growing in spirit deserts, the small red berries of the Judas Yew tree  are poisonous, causing a some lethal damage which cannot be avoided. However, this allows the consumer to go three times as  long without food or drink with no further ill effect. Nevernip: A hybrid of blushberries and Fear Gortach and appearing as purple berries, they heal but cause the same insatiable hunger for them that  Hungry Grass does. If the consumer has eaten Nevernip or Hungry Grass in the past, they will have to hold themselves back from eating more nevernip. Glutinous characters will be have a harder time shaking off the effects of this fruit.  Pitt Moss: Resembles rubbed sage and has a pungent taste. When consumed in large quantities, it causes overwhelming sloth. When consumed fresh from the field, it causes crippling boredom in the consumer. Babel Gum: A lichen-like growth in urban areas of the hedge, babel gum tastes of anise and has the texture of a dried-out marshmallow. Chewing on babel gum prevents the character from reading or making heads or tails of any written word, but allows them to understand any language spoken around  them. The effects last for one day.. Bloodapple: Shaped like a slightly distorted apple of deep crimson splotched with reddish-purple, its tough skin hides cloyingly sweet, juicy flesh the color of fresh blood with a tight, pit-like cluster of seeds at its center. Consuming a bloodapple changes one point of supernatural damage to lethal damage, though the consumer may only benefit from this once per day.

[memoirsofabasicbitch]

The thing is, I’m not entirely sure I remember how to dream. How to write. How to imagine anything independently of a world created by someone else, in their mind.

I’ve grown so used to hanging my dreams on what other people have created for me that I don’t know if that person is still in there.

That weird little girl, who peeled acorns for squirrels, and walked in circles over and over and over again on the roots of the big oak tree. She had a big imagination. She told herself all sorts of stories.

Was it just because I couldn’t play the other games? Too slow - reflexes and running. Too weak - climbing, throwing, running, playing.

(Or was it because I wasn’t allowed to — couldn’t — play those games? I have a few dim memories of trying to play and being sent away. They’re dim though. I stopped asking.)

Or was it simply that I was filling time? Waiting until I could go back into a world I could navigate a little better than the playground?

Sometimes, though, I was waiting. Hoping, really.

More than a few times.

A lot.

I hoped, I thought, maybe - maybe if I walk in the right way, I’ll hear the trees laughing, like Anne told Diana about. Maybe they’ll talk to me. Maybe a faerie will come creeping out from a little crevice and wave, winking. Maybe a squirrel will come crawling down the wrinkled bark while I watch, and take the little heap of acorn meat I’d left for him. Maybe there’s a tiny scrap of magic somewhere in the world that I just haven’t found yet.

I haven’t had dreams for a long time. That’s what happens when your dreams have expiration dates. I’ve already missed most of mine.

Never really even came close.

I had a “schedule” that makes me want to cry to think of it. Meet someone in college or shortly after. Get married by 25, so we would have a few years together after college. Have our first child by 27, because mom always said I should start having babies by 30 if I really wanted to have more than one and space them out.

I’m 28. I’ve never had a real relationship with anyone, romantic or platonic. I’ve never had a best friend who would place me on the same importance as I would them.

I have borderline personality disorder. I have adhd. I am on the autism spectrum. I have depression and anxiety so severe they cripple me. More than one of these things may be false. The symptoms are nearly indistinguishable once you have more than 2. No one will give me a straight answer, and no two doctors can agree.

Added onto years of emotional and mental abuse - which is what it was, wasn’t it. Maybe because I’m autistic, maybe it really was that bad. Neglect, sure. Public humiliation, that happened too, I’m pretty sure. Being told flat out that I was stupid and fat and ugly and I was lucky to have any friends at all so maybe I should just shut up and sit down before I ended up with none.

I’m pretty sure that happened. I don’t really remember it though. I don’t really have any memories at all.

Supposedly that’s something that happens with “complex post traumatic stress disorder,” which generally crops up when a person is systematically ground down for a long time until there is nothing left but the stories they told themselves when they tried to explain to the fake audience in their head who they were. How they got that way.

I don’t know who I was, who I could have been if I hadn’t had the life I did. Maybe my memories are skewed.

My therapist didn’t seem to think so, but she also sometimes seemed to think I was full of shit. That’s probably me reading too much into things again. That’s what I do.

Was it really that bad? I remember a lot of screaming, and crying, and hiding, and wishing I was dead or that someone would just hit me already so I would have something to say, to tell people other than “they yell at me and make me cry and sometimes they grab my arms and shake me and sometimes they tell me they’ll throw me out onto the street to fend for myself and sometimes they tell me they love me so much they’re so sorry and then sometimes they cry”.

But how much of that was me? How much was that my perception of things? Am I really that crazy, or have I really been gaslit that much? Is it gaslighting if they didn’t even realize how much pain they caused you, which is why they say “it wasn’t that bad stop exaggerating”?

Did I imagine all of it?

If I did, if I didn’t, what was real? What had the weight I felt it carry? What should have been a minor blip in my life but instead metastasized into a catastrophe?

I don’t know. Maybe I never knew. Reality hasn’t ever been my friend.

Fantasy is so much better.

It’s painful now, though. To read some of these stories, these books I used to adore.

Stories about Mature Adult Women of 25! Whole! Years! Going on adventures and meeting their soulmates and having wonderful happy lives.

I’m spiraling. It’s late. I’m tired and a little high, wishing I was higher and maybe I wouldn’t be so bored.

Bilbo was middle aged, wasn’t he? When he went on his adventure? He had an adventure, and then he came home and had a long, rich, happy, lonely, bitter life. Hmm. Perhaps the one ring is not the best foundation for a guiding principle.

I went to law school because I’d come to the end of every plan I actually had. (You don’t really plan for a future when you’ve been suicidal since before puberty.) I figured I’d get to read and write at least reasonably interesting things, make good money, maybe even make a difference.

I’ve been a paralegal for the same law firm I worked for right out of college for two years now and I have never felt more like a shambling corpse.

When I graduated from college, I couldn’t get a job. Could I have tried harder? Sure. Is executive dysfunction a bitch? You bet.

So I worked for a family friend’s law firm. Personal injury and medical malpractice. She’s the mother of my older sister’s oldest best friend and has employed all of my mother’s three daughters.

She’s also a heinous bitch and a terrible boss. Her employees have a shelf life of about 2 years. I’ve hit my expiration date. Once you’ve audibly cried during a phone conference, you’re really near the bottom. Once she decides you suck at your job, there’s no coming back. Either you quit or you get fired. She prefers when people quit so she can blame them and not feel guilty. So she just increasingly treats people worse and worse until they quit in self defense.

I worked for her for a year. It was awful. I became an alcoholic and gained 25+ lbs.

I decided to go to law school.

I moved to New Orleans.

I made friends. I had an apartment all to myself. I had a life I actually enjoyed.

Then I graduated.

And I couldn’t get a job again.

(Of course, all of this is underpinned with my cyclical periods of intense illness, often accompanied by being hospitalized and missing long periods of school. In college and in law school, actually.)

(All the cocaine and drinking didn’t help either.)

(Ah, New Orleans. How I miss thee.)

So I ended up at the same firm again. Living with my parents. Again.

Then I passed the bar.

Now I’m doing the same work as my younger sister, for the same amount of money. (When she graduated from her masters program and was unemployed for 6 months, I convinced my boss to hire my younger sister again, and my sister to work for my boss again after a semi-disastrous summer job.)

(To be fair, while I’m technically a licensed attorney, she has a masters in education, so it’s not like there’s a massive education disparity here.)

(It doesn’t help that I’m barred in a different jurisdiction than the one my firm typically works in, so there aren’t any cases I can really work on as an attorney, and then on top of that my bosses don’t want to pay for malpractice insurance for me so I’m not allowed to practice as an attorney or put that I’m an attorney or call myself an attorney or even put in my letterhead that I’m licensed in the District of Columbia.)

Then there was a pandemic, and I decided I probably shouldn’t try to make a huge life change during a pandemic.

The pandemic is still fucking here. Nearly. Two. Years. Later.

So I guess I have to make a new plan.

Can I be a lawyer? I guess we’ll see.

I don’t really want to, though. I’m burned out and I wasn’t even practicing.

I want to move to a beach and write a novel and actually have a life I enjoy.

The problems with this plan are numerous. Not only is inertia an incredibly powerful enemy of mine, but I’ve lost all imagination.

I cannot imagine a future in which I am happy. Will I kill myself? Probably not, at least not for a long while. I’ve thought too long and hard about the long-lasting, far-reaching repercussions it would have. (Say what I will about my family, at least it’s always been clear that my death is NOT an acceptable outcome.)

I want to find my imagination again. I want to be able to imagine not only a future in which I am happy, but other futures, other worlds. I want to be able to dream, not only for me, not only for reality, but for unreality. I want to create worlds in my mind again, and allow them to take whatever shapes they wish.

I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if all those horrible teachers, all those “peer editors” in fucking elementary school were right, and my story ideas are hackneyed and overwrought.

Wouldn’t it be nice, though, if they were wrong. Wouldn’t it be nice, to start writing, and to find that my imagination didn’t go so very far.

It’s been hiding in the intertwined branches of a birch grove, slim and tall and ringing with laughter. In the space between stars. Down the path shaded with wisteria and jasmine and honeysuckle, where the scent and the heat and the humidity are so thick you can feel the heavy perfume coating your lungs. Tucked away, safe, waiting to peek out. Waiting to creep down the wrinkled bark of a huge old oak and wink at the little girl playing among its roots.

I hope it is there. I hope I can find it.

I’ll keep you posted.

This is my own personal void to yell into, after all.