#i just know wednesday would be the cool but believer cause well she saw ghosts before
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penelopwgarcia ¡ 2 years ago
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tyler: I think this is a sweet comfort house
wednesday: I mean we didn't catch anything in there, do you?
tyler: I think I could be thrown all the way across the room and my first thought would be the wind
wednesday: uhum, pretty windy on here
enid, on her solo investigation, screaming from the attic: I HATE IT HERE I HATE THIS PLACE AAAAAAAAAA
tyler: did you hear anything?
wednesday: I think she's having fun
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hypnoticwinter ¡ 4 years ago
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Sick Days
The first time I see him he’s sitting in his old easy chair staring at me as I come in and I stop and my school bag drops from my limp fingers. I can see the worn back of the chair through his transparent face and his eyes are burning at me and all of a sudden I feel rather faint. “Dad?” I manage to croak, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, like he isn’t even there. How could he be there? His hands are tight on the arms of the chair and his feet are crossed up on the ottoman, and then I realize he isn’t even looking at me, he’s looking through me, he’s staring at the television behind me. I turn around, slowly, cautiously, and see it isn’t even on. My eyes meet my reflection’s in the dusty glass and then I notice I can’t see his feet atop the reflected ottoman and when I turn back around he’s already gone.
The next day when I’m getting up to go to school I see him out of the corner of my eye, leaning against the door, watching me. I clutch the covers to my chest even though it’s my own father. Through his opalescent chest I can see the sunlight flooding through the big bay window down the hall, all fuzzy and distorted. I start to say something again but then I see that his eyes aren’t really focused on me at all, he’s looking out the window next to my bed. I look out it as well and outside I can see rain falling. I frown and think of the bay window but when I look back he’s gone and the window is casting shadows of the rivulets running down it as the storm cracks overhead.
 “I saw my dad last night,” I mention casually to Annie and Laurie at lunch and I see them share a glance with each other before Annie tosses her strawberry-blonde hair and frowns at me.
“Roan,” she says softly, “he’s –“
“In a dream?” Laurie asks. I shrug.
“I don’t know.”
“How do you mean?”
“It seemed very real,” I explain. “It was right when I got home from school.”
“Are you okay?” Annie asks, and I give her a deadpan look. I’ve practiced it on myself in the mirror, grey eyes staring through you like a ghost. Works wonderfully. She flinches, looks down.
“Yeah,” I say eventually. “Just a dream. Not real.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Laurie says, and I know the trick isn’t going to work on her. I force myself to meet her gaze, brown eyes like the color of mud or wood.
“Yeah,” I repeat. In my mind I can still see my father, staring through me, piercing through the sheets and my skin and my breasts and my bones, staring out the window. Through him I can still see sunlight.
 “How’re you feeling?” Mrs. Agbabian, school counselor extraordinaire, three years from retirement and looking it, asks me. I stick my pencil back in my bun, lean back in the chair.
“Fine,” I tell her. She raises a thin eyebrow at me.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s natural, you know,” she says, “feeling upset about your father passing.”
My lip curls. She notices. “I hate that word,” I explain. “Passing.”
“I didn’t mean to –“
“He’s dead. He died. He didn’t pass anywhere, he’s gone.”
“It’s a comforting thought for some people.”
“Not me.”
“Why is that?”
I assume she assumes there’s some sort of abuse angle. You can see it in her beady eyes. “I prefer to look at things realistically.”
The bell rings and I get my stuff. Mrs. Agbabian pushes her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “You’ll have to do more talking next time, you know,” she calls after me. Fat chance, I think. I toss my head and pretend I didn’t hear. I have calc to get to.
 My dad is standing in the bay window, clear as day, only it’s obvious Annie doesn’t see him. She glances over at me in the passenger seat and would have caught a good glimpse of him but she doesn’t say anything. Surely she’d have said something. Instead she pokes me and I tear my eyes away from the window, meet hers. “We’re having tryouts,” she says, and the thought is so banal and innocuous that I completely fail to process it for a moment.
“Huh?”
“For cheerleading,” she explains. I shrug.
“Maybe next year.”
“I think you’d be really good,” she says quietly and I realize in a moment of perfect, if superfluous, clarity, that she wants me there because even though she’s the captain none of the other cheerleaders are her friends, and that life as a high school girl isn’t some High School Musical or Mean Girls type shit, it’s just cold and sad and lonely a lot of the time because you’re surrounded by a bunch of hormonal, catty bitches at their hormonalest and cattiest.
“When’s the tryout?” I ask quietly. Her eyes flick up to mine then back away after the barest contact.
“Next week. On Wednesday.”
I’ll come, I think, then I realize I didn’t say it out loud. Annie looks at me quizzically. “I’ll come,” I say, and her eyebrows float up to the roof of her forehead.
“Really?” she says. I nod.
“Yeah, why not?”
“I’m glad,” she says, tamping down the excitement in her voice. I try to keep my lip from curling.
“How –“ I start, then stop. I was about to ask how slutty I should dress, considering it’s cheerleading, but I hold my tongue. “What should I wear?” I say.
“Just regular workout clothes, you know. No big deal.”
We talk for a little bit more about the calc homework before I extricate myself from the car and wave a halfhearted goodbye at her as she puts it in gear and drives off.
I turn to walk up the drive and glance over at the bay window, but there’s nobody there at all.
 “What’s for dinner?”
I don’t bother looking at him. “Macaroni,” I say. Pierre wrinkles his nose.
“But I don’t want macaroni,” he says, and I glare at him.
“Don’t start,” I warn.
“I want mommy,” he says. “Mommy cooks nice –“
“Would you like to cook?” I ask him. “You can make whatever you like.”
He looks over at the stove as though he’s never seen it before. “I can’t,” he says finally. “Daddy would be mad at me.”
I hesitate only a moment before I let out a sardonic chuckle. “Not any more.” Pierre frowns. “Daddy can’t be mad at anything ever again.”
“Why?”
I remember my mom telling me not to tell my little brother but after she’s ditched us here for a week I find myself not caring too much. “Cause dad’s dead,” I say, expecting tears, but he just cocks his head at me.
“No he isn’t,” Pierre says, and goddam it, there’s a little shiver along the curve of my back.
“What?” I say stupidly. Pierre shakes his head.
“Daddy isn’t dead!” he laughs. “He’s right there!” he points, over my shoulder to where the back door and the stairs down to the basement ought to be, and I can’t help it, I can’t force myself to turn around and look.
 While I’m putting Pierre to bed I ask him if he sees dad a lot, and he shrugs. “I guess,” he says. “He doesn’t say anything though.”
“No?”
“No,” he shakes his head, “he’s always really quiet. It’s kind of scary.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
“Where’ve mommy and daddy gone?”
“Away.”
“When will they be back?”
“Soon,” I say, echoing what mom told me when she left.”
“Okay,” he says, holding his arms out for me. I hug him and he presses his face against my breasts, through my t-shirt. I pat the back of his head.
“Goodnight,” I say as I plug in his night-light, and when he doesn’t say anything I glance back at him and realize he’s already asleep. I turn to leave and there’s my father, staring at me, only a few inches from where I’d crouched down at the wall socket, and I fall back, tripping over my own feet, scream bubbling in the back of my throat before I choke it back down. He doesn’t move, or speak, or anything. Through his translucent chest I can see a flickering, orange glow, like that of a fire, cast from the kitchen down the hall. I glance around past him and see no dancing shadows, nothing but calm, cool, fluorescent light.
I look up at him and through him and past him. His eyes are very vague. It seems like he’s staring at my brother, or perhaps the window next to my brother’s bed. I know not to look this time, though, as he’ll just vanish. I lick my lips. “Dad?” I whisper.
Of course there’s no response. Why would there be? He can’t possibly really be there. It’s just… a hallucination. An image, something I’m making myself believe is real because I don’t want him to be dead. I reach out and touch him.
 I wake up to my phone ringing. It’s my mom being very angry at me about why I missed school. I blink at her and then blink at the light streaming in through the window. She got a call while she was very busy making arrangements this morning for your father’s funeral and she trusted me to handle everything while she was gone, you’re all grown up now and Pierre needs you, why can’t you take this seriously?
I do the only thing that seems reasonable at the moment and burst into tears. I hear my mother stop, then blow out a big sigh. “It’s okay,” she says eventually, then again. I sniff harder than I really need to. “How’s Pierre doing?” she asks. I cough.
“He’s fine,” I tell her. I reach over, turn my alarm clock around. It’s one in the afternoon. “He’s at school I think.”
“You think?”
I sniffle again and she fixates on it. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I think I might be coming down with something.”
“There should be orange juice in the fridge somewhere. I’m meeting with the lawyer today so I have to go soon but call me if you need anything, Roan, honey.”
“Okay,” I say, then after a moment, “I’m sorry I missed school.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she says. I hear her breathe in, then out. “I’m sorry I can’t be there right now.”
I swallow. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too. Take care of Pierre, okay?”
“Okay, mom.”
“I love you. Bye.”
“I lov –“ I start, but then the line clicks dead. I stare at the phone for a second, then put it down, then I start and bring my hand back up to my face. There’s a terrible choking sensation in my stomach and I feel like my head is spinning but I blink hard and tell myself not to be a little bitch. I open my eyes again and the sensation returns in full force when I look at my index finger, the same finger I gingerly extended last night to touch my father, the same finger that is now transparent and dully glowing.
 I’m standing there with my finger poking entirely through my phone, about an inch away from my face. I turn it around, look from all sides, take it out of the phone, then press the button on the side and wake it back up. “Shit,” I murmur. There’s a smoky distortion, roughly circular, straight in the middle of the screen, where my finger was. It flickers at me. I tap at the phone experimentally but it still works, I can open up facebook and then youtube just fine, it’s just a…hole. Kind of.
I try to pick up a pen from my bedside table but it just falls right through my finger. Then I look down as I’m going to get it and I see wide stripes of faded transparency over my shirt, on my hip, a few worrying ghostly fingerprints on my thigh, burned straight into the skin. “Oh fuck,” I say.
There’s a dull kind of terror thudding in time with my heartbeat, somewhere deep down in the pit of my stomach, but I take a deep breath, try and keep myself calm. “Pierre?” I call out, wondering if he even bothered to go to school today. He can get there by himself but I don’t know if he’d go if I wasn’t awake to make him. There’s silence for a moment, then somewhere else in the house a door slams. I blink. “Pierre?” I call again, a little softer.
I reach up, brush my hair out of my eyes, then realize what I did. I go to the mirror and look into it and see half my bangs fading into transparency. “Fuck,” I repeat.
I go, open the door, stick my head out into the hallway. It’s very quiet but it’s like the door is still slamming somewhere in the back of my head. “Dad?” I call, very quietly.
 “Where were you today?”
I listen to Laurie’s low, concerned voice, and wonder what I ought to tell her. “I stayed home,” I say finally.
“Are you okay?”
“Why is everybody asking me that?” I growl. I hear Laurie make a distasteful little clicking sound with her tongue. She’s going to be a great mom some day.
“I’m worried about you,” she explains, in a rather tight voice, and I groan inwardly.
“I’m okay,” I say, trying to ignore my finger. “I just overslept, everything’s fine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay,” she says, sounding like she doesn’t really believe me but she’s going to be a good friend and give me the benefit of the doubt, even though I act like a bitch to her and I don’t really deserve it. I sigh, trying not to breathe into the phone too much.
“Thank you for calling,” I tell her. There’s a pause.
“Don’t mention it.”
“No, really,” I say. “Thank you. I’m sorry I’ve been a –“
“Roan,” she says, and I can hear in her voice that she’s smiling. “It’s okay. That’s what friends are for.”
I manage a little smile. “Thanks,” I tell her.
When I hang up I manage to keep the smile going for a little bit, even in spite of my finger. I glower at it once I remember it’s there, then the door slams again, louder this time, and my head snaps up. I bite my lip a little then push the door open and step out into the hall.
“Dad?” I call again. I think I see a ghostly white slip of something flicker around the corner. It’s the first time I’ve seen him move.
The air in here feels terribly still and stale, and my throat is going dry quickly from breathing it. That’s definitely the only reason, nothing else. I’m certain of it.
I turn the corner and he’s there, sort of huddled down in the corner next to the chair he used to always sit in when we ate dinner. He’s staring at me only this time he’s really staring at me, not at something through me or past me. I can see grass fluttering in an unfelt wind through him. When he sees me he stands upright and reaches out for me and I shriek and scamper back down the hallway quicker than I thought I could possibly move and slam the door to my room. I’m sweating all of a sudden and when I swallow I can feel my throat clenching around my heart, which seems to have drifted upwards about a foot or so. I back away from the door slowly waiting for him to reach through it or walk through the wall or something but I keep waiting and waiting and he never comes.
Eventually I’m able to force my lungs to contract and blow out a breath I’d been holding for way, way too long. I look down at my finger and wonder what’s going to happen, and then I turn around to, I don’t know, go back to bed or something, and then I shriek again because there’s Pierre, standing at the window, his little arms folded behind his back, ghostly and transparent from head to toe. Through him, through the window, I can see a dusty orange sky and a dusty, flat plain, with something like a mountain moving in the distance. Then I blink and he’s gone, just like that, in a single instant, there and then not.
 I make the mistake of leaving a single panicked voicemail on Laurie’s phone, then stop myself after the first two rings on Annie’s. She calls me back right after I hang up and I stare at the phone buzzing at me then let it go silent. What am I going to tell her? That my dad’s a ghost and he’s trying to get me just like he got my little brother? That my little brother’s doing the same shit my dad was and I don’t know what I’m going to do if he starts looking at me?
My feet are starting to get cold and I glance down, then notice that my dad has reached up through the floor and grabbed them, and already I can see the transparency seeping out of his fingers and down through me. His forehead pops through from the basement, his eyes already fixed on mine, and then he sinks out of view, his hands leaving a slimy cold trail on my bare feet. Then I stumble and fall a couple inches as my feet pass through the floor and the bare stumps of my legs and ankles clunk onto the carpet with such a comical thumping noise that as I fall to the floor I laugh and laugh and laugh until it starts to sound more like sobs.
Then my father is passing through the door and I shriek and cover my eyes, like that will protect me, only he vanished as soon as I shut my eyes and was replaced with Pierre, back to me, hands still clasped, so serious even as a ghost, standing and staring up at the giant bookcase in my room like he always did, like he was trying to decide what to read next. I try to get up and end up having to clamber to my feet or stumps, leaving footprint-shaped burns in the floor as I stumble towards the door, hanging onto the wall, upsetting the bookcase as I try to hang on to it, which falls over on Pierre but he pierces through it, unmoved, and then slowly turns towards me, our eyes locking, and I blink and see my father stepping out of the closet and striding towards me, and then I resolutely keep my eyes from him and open the door and slowly, agonizingly, make my way out into the hall and down it and into the living room and towards the front door. My father and Pierre are both there, blocking my way, not looking at each other, staring only at me as they step forward, but I close my eyes and thrust my arm forward, trusting that they can’t exist when I’m not looking at them, and then I made the biggest mistake I could have, I opened the door and stepped outside, eager to be rid of the ghosts in the house and not thinking what my newfound sight might show me. I shut the door and then turned to go down the steps and then down the path and out the gate but I stopped before the thought could fire in my mind because there, outside, everywhere, were the white, translucent forms of a million ghostly birds crowding the sky, and a billion ghostly insects filling the air, and an uncountable myriad of ghostly trees and leaves and branches filling everywhere else there was left to fill, and as I watched I saw their heads and eyes and branches swivel towards me and when I met the gaze of a stork caught midflap, wings frozen, unmoving, I knew that they knew I could see them. I turned and opened the door and darted inside as quickly as I could but it was too late, and as my father reached out his hand to me from behind the sofa and Pierre turned around from the great bay window and took a faltering step towards me the first hundred of a tide of insects pushed through the fabric of the door and a scream filled my throat until it was blocked by my teeth and tongue and rebounded back down inside of me and swallowed up all of my organs and blood and thoughts until all I was was a scream with a narrow skin over it, and as the first one of those ghostly spiders clambered up onto my knee, its ghostly feet finding purchase somehow on me and spreading coldness with each tiny step I popped and the scream burst out of me for ever and for ever.
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xxsanshinexx ¡ 5 years ago
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The Embodiment of Gryffindor
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Characters: Gryffindor! Hongjoong x Hufflepuff! reader
Words: 2306
~
the bold and brave gryffindor
everyone who had ever met Hongjoong always said that he was the embodiment of what a gryffindor was supposed to be
chivalrous, valiant, passionate
McGonagall herself said she had not seen a gryffindor like him in quite some time.
He wore his house colors with pride, sporting some form of red and gold in his daily attire whether it be his earrings or his hair color at the time. 
His house loved him as well, for Hongjoong solved all their problems with a blink of an eye and was always they’re rock when it came to hard situations- making sure to keep everyone with a level head.
He was the biggest supporter of everyone who repped red and gold; attending every quidditch match to cheer on Jongho and San, helping first years get settled into the school, teaching those struggling as best he could
And his grades were as high as they could possibly be, with outstanding scores on both his in class work and his O.W.L.’s. Truly, there seemed to be nothing Hongjoong was not capable of doing, and performing tremendously well at. 
So it was no surprise when he was granted prefect
Hongjoong saw it as the biggest honor and wore the badge with pride, doing his best to live up to the title that others had previously abused.
McGonagall and the other gryffindors had no doubts about Hongjoong and his ability to the be one of the best gryffindors in his year, maybe even generation. 
His friends; such as the Ravenclaw head boy Seonghwa and Yunho, teased him about how religiously he followed the rules of the prefect. 
Hongjoong typically just threw a biscuit in their faces at the comments.
He was a gryffindor after all, and they had a nasty streak of starting food fights in the Great Hall.
“You’re already heading out for your nightly patrol?” Seonghwa scoffed as he came to a stop in front of the gryffindor common room where Hongjoong was slipping out of, “You have another fifteen minutes.”
Hongjoong just smiled and shrugged, “I can just take the rest of your shift if you want, i don’t mind.”
“Ever the exhibitionist i see.”
“I don’t do it for the rep or to impress McGonagall, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong rolled his eyes at the black haired Ravenclaw, “I just... do it.”
“You just do it?”
“I just like it, i don’t know what else to say.” Hongjoong gave the head boy a side look, finding Seonghwa looking at him with a raised eyebrow, “It’s nice to be alone after a full day of helping everyone.”
A small chuckle left Seonghwa’s lungs, “Your Gryffindor qualities never fail to show, Hongjoong.... just make sure you’re not out too late. We don’t want you falling asleep in Herbology again.”
“I’m sure Professor Longbottom would do little to me for falling asleep in that class.”
“I wasn’t talking about the Professor,” Seonghwa snorted and made to walk away from Hongjoong, flipping up his hood, “I was talking about Vernon. Last time you fell asleep he nearly let the Venomous Tentacula strangle you.”
“I was fine, i was still awake when that happened.”
“Is that why you were snoring before hand?” Seonghwa left with a little laugh that echoed against the open corridors.
Hongjoong just shook his head with a smile at the ravenclaw’s antics. He had met Seonghwa back on the train during his first year at Hogwarts, and Seonghwa had been kind enough to explain the world of wizards to him. 
Having come from a muggle family, it was a hard change but Hongjoong was thankful for the help he had from Seonghwa and later on Yunho and Yeosang.
He certainly wouldn’t change the past for anything, he thought as he walked down the dark corridors with a smile on his face.
There  typically was little students out and about at the hours of midnight. In his years as a prefect, he had only managed to catch a few students and most of the time it was San (Hongjoong was the only one who ever found the chaotic Gryffindor)
The rest of the time it was students sneaking off to the kitchens, or staying up too late and sleeping in the library, or simply being bored to death in the common rooms. Hongjoong was never one to give out detentions or take away house points when it was things as simple as that, he just gave them a scolding and escorted them back to the common rooms.
Tonight, with the castle entirely to himself, he let his feet wander the halls with no destination in mind. 
It was quiet and peaceful in the middle of the night, no students or professors to speak to- he could just walk the halls and admire the ghosts and paintings that watched him as well. 
Hogwarts always managed to baffle him, with things like the poltergeist and the moving stairs. Back home, those things were ludicrous and entirely fictional but here?? It was nothing to even bat an eye at.
His favorite things were the odd creatures that were like things from his childhood but entirely different at the same time. He found a comfort in seeing these muggle creatures merged together into the world of wizards- it made him feel at home. 
His feet made their way in the direction of the kitchens and he snapped himself back to the reality, eyes trailing away from the art of flying hippogryffs. 
There was the clanging of pots and pans from the kitchens, the noise of the house elves that worked in the kitchen in the late hours, and Hongjoong felt a small smile creep back onto his lips.
He adored the house elves that worked at Hogwarts, when they weren’t screaming and freaking out about their duties, he thought they were fun to talk to and overall very entertaining. 
His favorite was Ziggy, who always had a cup of hot chocolate and bowl of snacks ready for any midnight guest as well as a story to tell.
Hongjoong looked up and down the hall one last time, deciding that there would be no one out on a Wednesday night, and took soft steps into the kitchen.
“Ugh I don’t know what I’m going to do Misty!” He froze at the doorway, the unfamiliar voice stopping him in his tracks, “I bombed that Transfiguration essay and now McGonagall is going to think I’m an idiot!”
“You aren’t an idiot because of one essay, Y/n.”
“Well i feel like one,” You huffed and slammed your head against the counter top, “Can i get some chocolate- or really just anything to eat so I can numb my feelings, please.”
“Right away, y/n.”
Hongjoong had a soft smile on his face at the whole interaction. He knew of you, the quiet hufflepuff who had every Hogwarts teachers respect as well as many students admiration. You were patient, kind, and had dedication beyond humanly comprehensible. The embodiment of what a hufflepuff should and could be. 
It’s funny, how the two students who were the embodiments of their houses were meeting now, due to a mental break down in the kitchens.
“You know,” Hongjoong’s voice shocked you into a sitting position, your eyes wide and mouth gaping at him, “You’re not supposed to be out at this hour.”
He found your shocked expression rather cute; eyes wide, face flushed and jaw dropped open. In general, he found you rather cute.
You sighed once your wide eyes focused in on who was leaning against the door frame, “I thought you were going to be someone... more important.”
“More important?” He chuckled, and pushed himself off the frame, “Who did you expect?”
“I don’t know... like McGonagall or someone i guess.”
“I can still take house points and give out detentions.
You scoffed and took a piece of chocolate from the plate before you, “Like you would, everyone knows you’re the nice prefect. Even my house’s prefect takes away more house points than you.”
He raised an eyebrow at your words, them seeming uncharacteristic compared to how you usually appeared in classes, “You say it like its a bad thing.”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” You took a dainty bite of the chocolate, turning the piece over and over again in your fingers, “I just expected a bit more rule following from the embodiment of Gryffindor.”
The playful glint your eyes had him grinning, “Rule following gets boring, especially if i have to write up all the students.”
“You have priorities I see,” You passed him the platter of chocolate which he gladly excepted, “Now why are you in the kitchens and talking to me? I figured you would have been patrolling the halls by now.”
“Being a prefect is boring and tedious,” Hongjoong said leaning against the counter-top and nibbling on the milk chocolate bar, “I like the kitchens cause no one looks in here... and i don’t think the companies bad.”
“Are you talking about me or the house elves?” Misty came back with glass of pumpkin juice in her hands, setting it before both you and Hongjoong, “Thank you Misty.”
“It is no problem Y/n,” Misty turned her focus towards Hongjoong, “Can I get you anything Mr. Hongjoong?”
“I’m fine Misty, you just go get some sleep, okay?” Hongjoong gave the small house elf a gracious smile before she scampered away. You on the other hand gave Hongjoong a side glance, curiosity and interest bubbling in you.
“You know all their names too?”
“I come here a lot,” He fiddled with the edge of the goblet before him, “It’s odd i’ve never seen you in here before now.”
“It is... but i don’t pick the same place every night. Yesterday, I stowed away in the library till nearly dawn.”
“And you’re here tonight to drink away your sorrows with Pumpkin Juice?”
“Something like that,” You frown and downed half of the goblet before you, “Need to drink away my sorrows but we don’t have butterbeer here. This is the next best option.”
“Is this about the Transfiguration essay you were yelling about?”
“That’s how you found me in here, huh?”
“Well you weren’t exactly being discrete,” He laughed and turned so his body was facing you fully, “And i don’t think McGonagall will believe you’re an idiot because of one essay.”
You covered your face in embarrassment and set your head down against the cool mahogany. “I didn’t want anyone to here me complaining.”
“Be a little more quiet than.”
You threw the piece of chocolate before you at Hongjoong and a melodious laugh bellowed from him at the playful action, “Don’t mock me. I’m already annoyed at myself enough.”
His features shifted into one understanding and he reached over to pull your hands away from your face, “One bad day isn’t going to defy you.”
“Yeah, well, this one bad day is making me feel really shitty,” You mumbled and couldn’t help but keep your gaze on your hands, softly intertwined with Hongjoong’s. It had been awhile since you had felt the comfort of someone’s warmth against your skin, and it was like Hongjoong had immediately melted through any barriers you had put up. You didn’t really mind it though. 
“If you always felt fantastic life would get pretty boring,” Hongjoong laughed, fighting the urge to run his thumb across your knuckles as he caught you staring at his hands. “No one thinks you’re an idiot because of one essay. McGonagall thinks your one of the brightest students at Hogwarts. Professor Longbottom thinks you’re a fantastic Hufflepuff. No one at this school thinks you’re really anything less than great, i think it’s time you see that yourself too; no matter what you think you did.”
“I could get used to all this flattery,” You said but the redness of your cheeks showed Hongjoong how much he had touched you with his true words. A small smile broke out on your lips before you glanced back up at him before quickly looking away, “And... uh... what do you think of me?”
“You really want all of the compliments tonight, don’t you?”
“I mean, you are handing them out so freely.” You chuckled and Hongjoong couldn’t help the jolt of electricity that spread throughout his body. It had been a long time since someone had made him feel something so exciting.
He held your hand a little tighter in response, and gazed at you softly though your evaded eyes couldn’t see it, “I think I want to get to know the person before me a little better.”
Your eyes went wide at his statement and a shy grin spread across your lips as you lifted your eyes back up to meet his. “Are you asking to see me again?”
He just nodded his head, and laughed a little; breathy and amused, “Would it be bad to ask if these late night adventures could be our thing?”
“Is the prefect asking me to break the rules?”
He met your bewildered eyes with a grin, “Only if you say yes,”
You slide off of your seat and came rather close to him, an easy place for the two of you to take in each others features. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you had never wanted to get to know the renown Gryffindor prefect; the one with the soft smiles and encouraging words. 
“Tomorrow night I wanted to go to the room of requirement, will you meet me there?” You asked, hands squeezing his softly while he stared up with a fond smile.
“With a pate of chocolates too?”
You laughed, loud and unabashed, and Hongjoong couldn’t remember hearing anything lovelier before, “I think we’ll get along just nicely, Hongjoong.”
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ghoulboyboos ¡ 6 years ago
Note
For they Shyan prompts thing, demon!shane constantly getting stuck in situations that would get him found out (idk like someone spilling a bunch of salt or smth)and Ryan has to keep coming to his rescue? Plz & thx, ly
Shaneispretty sure he isn’tbad at hiding his identity. Sure,he isn’tthe greatest, stealthiest demon to ever walk the earth but he isn’tterrible.
Fine,sometimes the cameras makehim look a little too much like his true self when heand Ryan arefilming episodes, but everyone lookskind of weird in night vision cameras. His eyes aren’teven black. If hereally wanted toshow his true eyes to anyone,they would get treated toeyes with barely any whites, true,but also no full black scleras.Just large, yellowish irises and stretched, horizontal pupils. Goateyes, funnily enough. Not quite like Steve’s. Shane’s don’tglow in the dark. He never did show off his eyes to anyone though. Atleast not until now.
Actuallyhe used to keephis demon self very well hidden. It really isn’this fault that he hasterrible luck.
-
Itstarts one Wednesday when he’s helping out in the Tasty kitchen.They need some additional camera work and Shane is taking care of thehand-held camera trained on Rie’s face. Everythinggoes just as planned until the momentwhen one of the interns knocks over one of the big jars in the back.Shane originally thought the things are just for decoration, but hefreezes when the jar smasheson the ground and salt – a lot of salt –suddenly spills out from the destroyedcontainer. Luckily, nothing actually hits his bodyand he’s spared from uncomfortable burns, but the stuffspills right between Shane and Rie. Sheis standing at a counter and the salt forms a completeand effectiveline that stretches from wallto counter and when she moves aside, Shane can’t follow her, sohe’s slowly moving to round the counter and keep the camera on herface.
“Hangon, Shane.” The director interrupts him. “Just step over it andget closer to Rie. We’ll clean it up once the segment is filmed.”
Shanebreaks out in a cold sweat. He can’t cross the line between thecounter and the wall. He is physically incapable of doing so. Even ifsomeone pushed him, Shane would hit an impenetrable wall. He couldeven get hurt over this.
Apologiesmanifest in his brain, each more ridiculous than the last and at theglare of the director, Shane shuffles back, carefully inching closerto the dreaded line of salt. He’s thinking, panicking, unsure ofwhat to do and what to say. He has to find an excuse. Somehow, he hasto save himself from being exposed.
Butthen, by sheer luck and coincidence, Ryan comes in with a dustpan andbroom and the second he dives and drags the broom through the salt,Shane feels a weight drop off his shoulders. He hides it with a coughand a shuffle to the side to give Ryan space to work and since theline is broken, he steps over the rest of the salt without anytroubles. The director iscool with Ryan cleaning up, Ryan has no problem doing it – he’shere to wait for Shane anyway so they can grab lunch together – andthe show can continue. Shane thanks whoever is having an eye on himthat Ryan’s urge to clean the set popped up at just the rightmoment.
Atleast, he thinks, there’ssomeone down there who has an eye on him. It’swhat he settles on as an explanation.
Atfirst.
-
“Don’ttry it, demon!” Ryan snaps, drawing the ridiculous water gun withsurprising speed and Shane staggers backwards on instinct.
“Wow!”He says, trying to sound joyful. “That’s spooky.”
Ryanis smiling, maybe even laughing as he holsters the gun again. Hedoesn’t “shoot” Shane with it like Shane feared and part of himexhales in relief.
Sure,holy water isn’t the worse that could be done to him. It would burnhis body a little and sure, it would hurt, but that’s not why Shaneis afraid. He can handle the little burns the water would leave onhim. He can handle the time and energy it takes to heal his body. (Itis his body after all, he had it commissioned. If he was possessingsomeone, ducking out was always an option but if you had your ownbody, you were sort of reliant on it and he really didn’t wantShane Madej to have burn scars everywhere because his friend laughedat the idea of squirting him with holy water.
Butthankfully, Ryan doesn’t shoot the water gun at him and Shane canrelax. He’s not exactly calm,because he can see that the plastic toy isn’t entirely leak-proof.While Ryan walks around on location, the water gun dropsoccasionally. Shane is far away enough to be safe, but it still makeshim uncomfortable.
The day after theshoot, TJ finds the plastic gun on top of Ryan’s bag and makes abig show out of having the one tool to destroy demons. Shane gets it,TJ doesn’t believe and Mark, who is the first to get shot with atiny stream of holy water doesn’t either. The cameraman is justlaughing as he ducks away from any more shots and before Shane canreally prepare, TJ has turned and is pointing the gun at him. Heinstinctively flinches and ducks. Of course, it won’t do anything.If TJ hits his clothing, the water will soak into it and burn Shaneanyways. It will hurt. It will burn. Butworse than anything, it will show the team what Shane really is.
Shane didn’t useto be so attached to people, but he likes Buzzfeed. It’s just theright place to cause the right amount of chaos and disgruntlement.People get irritated at videos and articles and it’s all Shaneneeds. Internet trolling is the future of demons, he just knows that.But now, TJ is pointing a water gun filled with holy water at him andeverything is going to get out. Except that the moment TJ pulls thetrigger, Ryan accidentally walks past Shane to get to his bag.
There is a surprisedsquawk and then a lot of enraged yelling mixed with Tjs apologiesthrough laughter and the sounds that Devon and Mark make in thebackground while they try not to openly laugh at Ryan. Shane onlyallows himself a snicker, a lot less than what he would usually leaveRyan with. Instead, he offers Ryan one of his sweaters while Ryan’sown dries and he’s surprised when is friend actually accepts.
The whole ride backhome, Ryan is wearing Shane’s sweaters and Shane tries to ignorethe feelings that leaves him with. If Ryan knew what he really was,he would never speak to him again. Better not set himself up forheartbreak, Shane thinks while he glances at the dozing Ryan.
He looksindescribably adorable in Shane’s too-long clothes.
-
It’s really nothow he imagined to be exposed.
Shane thinks thatnearly all of the seances, rituals and other little tricks Ryan trieson location are nonsense. Ghosts are so incredibly rare that evenShane with his true sight has only seen a few on location. On top ofthat, they usually aren’t active or powerful enough to interactwith them. Ryan tends to get himself too worked up and panicky aboutnothing and Shane’s rolling eyes and exasperated sighs are verygenuine in these situations. Of course, he wants Ryan to be okay andhappy. It’s not like he wants the little guy to have a heartattack.
If Shane iscompletely honest with himself, he will have to admit that there isno human he wants to be happier than Ryan. Still, he wishes the whole“tell Ryan you’re not human thing” could have happened outsideof Unsolved.
But Ryan has somehowmanaged to find a ritual that is actually a legit ritual to exposedemonic power. And Shane even helped him, being the idiot that he is,because he thought the thing is not going to work.
And yet, here he is.A red aura pulsing around him, the candles around the circle theyused for the ritual are flickering but not going out, no matter howhard Shane tries to snuff them with his powers. Ryan’s hand-heldcamera and the go pro on his chest are trained on Shane who hasstarted to lose control over his humanoid form. Ryan will be rich andfamous for exposing Shane. It somehow lessens the pain of having toleave this man and Unsolved and probably the world.
“I knew it.”Ryan says, smug expression on his face as he turns off first thehand-held cam and then the one on his chest. “I knew you were…like that.” He snorts as Shane can only stare at him with wideeyes.
“I figured youneeded some assistance with keeping… you know. On the down low.You’re not really the most subtle person, with all the talk ofeating pickles out of ponds and enjoying the work of the torsomurderer and that stuff. But… you’re still my best friend. And Itrust that you won’t eat my heart when I help you, okay?”
Shane watches asRyan shows him the footage he managed to capture of Shane’s trueform before deleting it. Shane still has a heart in this form andit’s beating hard and unrelenting in his chest as he stares down atRyan.
“But… what?Why?”
Ryan smiles andreaches out to take Shane’s hands. The nails have grown, but skinand bones and fingers are still the same shape.
“I figured out awhile ago that you weren’t human, but when I kept an eye on you,you never seemed to harm anybody. So… I figured since you wantedthis to be a secret, I would help.”
“Oh.” Shane saysdumbly. He blinks. “Does… does that mean that it’s okay for meto tell you that I like you?”
Ryan chuckles.
“As long as demonsaren’t somehow murdered by affection, I’m cool with that.”
Shane chuckles abit. His cheeks warm as embarrassment takes him over.
“We’re…not. But I guess you knew already. You seem to know whenever I neededyour help.”
Ryan chuckles andbrings Shane’s hands up to brush a kiss over the knuckles.
“And you seem toknow whenever I need your words or presence on location. So. Whateveryou saw and kept from hurting me or whenever you got me to leave adangerous room… thank you.”
He smiles up atShane and Shane has to swallow and clear his throat a couple oftimes.
“Of course.” Heleans his forehead against Ryan.
“Thank you aswell. For keeping me safe.”
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fatgirlonabicycle ¡ 8 years ago
Text
Road Magic
I’ve been in the USA for about a month now and have just under two months left before I head back to the UK.
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There have been some wonderful bits, some difficult bits, and some disconcerting through to downright terrifying moments. Overall, I have met many interested, kind and thoughtful people who have really helped me get through and made this trip much less lonely.
In no particular order, here are some of the many instances of kindness that I’ve encountered in the last few weeks:
John, fellow Brit who was on the same flight to Austin and staying at the same hostel, who walked to an Amazon Locker with me to collect my maps and then had a few beers with, making my first evening in the USA more successful and convivial that I could have hoped.
Fanny, the excitable French taxi driver who got me from the airport to the hostel while telling me all the truck drivers secrets.
Everyone at Bicycle Sports Shop Austin who dealt with me delivering them a mechanical curve ball with absolute grace and whose hard work meant that I headed off on my tour on schedule with a fully functioning bicycle.
The member of staff at the Dairy Queen in Johnson City who gave me a massive ice cream for free. Literal manna from heaven on a hot and difficult second day of cycling.
The friendly old boy I met at the municipal campsite in Fredericksburg who told me it was headwind all the way West. I resented the information… but he was kinda right.
The friendly old boy I met riding into Brackettville who told me that it wasn’t headwind all the way West. I appreciated the information… but he was kinda wrong.
Antonio for buying me a beer in the Camp Wood biker bar. 
The snowbirds of Fort Clark, Brackettville, for inviting me to their Valentine's Day chili cook off. A halfway proper dinner was most appreciated.
Jeanie and Coco, who I met in Seminole Canyon, introduced a different pace to my tour and reminded me that I don’t just have to slog long my planned route day after day. We enjoyed some excellent fireside meals and conversations, and they gave me a lift into Big Bend. If it wasn’t for Jeanie I wouldn’t have visited Big Bend, nor hiked to the Hot Springs and paddled in the Rio Grande. I hope to catch up with them in California before I head back to the UK.
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Brandy and Ray who saw me riding into Sanderson after a tough 80 mile day and greeted me with a cold beer and a good chat.
Mike O’Connor, the rancher who insisted on giving me a lift to the next town when he saw me struggling up hill into the driving wind and rain between Sanderson and Marathon.
Maria, my Polish RV mum. She insisted on giving me breakfast on the morning I left Seminole Canyon, gave me a hug and told me “You need a hug everyday.” Bumping into her (twice!) in Big Bend, she came through on her declaration and gave me much needed hugs.
Freddy, a young guy who lives in his car, who used the hostel in Austin once a week to cook a good dinner and have a proper wash and sleep. He kindly invited me to eat a great meal with him and pointed out that the American coins I had brought with me were actually Euros.
Joe Pat Hennon, who I met standing round the fire in the Marathon Motel, and insisted on giving me one of his CDs. (Nevermind I’m on a cycle tour and didn’t know when I’d next be near a CD player. We ended up listening to it in Alpine.)
Lisa, the beautiful Park Ranger at Big Bend National Park, who told me *exactly* where the hills were in the next 30 miles out towards Terlingua and recommended La Kiva for a beer and burger.
The folk at La Kiva, Terlingua,  - especially Dena and Deniro who adopted me and showed me round the ghost town, as well as how to handle the packs of desert dogs - for letting me camp out the back of the bar. I really liked Terlingua, though it's goat head thorns have killed my sleeping mat.
The classic Texan gentleman, complete with cowboy hat, who, remembering me from a previous campground and meeting me again at La Kiva, insisted on buying me a beer.
Chelsea and Sara who let me hitch a lift to Alpine from Terlingua, saving me a gruelling 80 miles of windy desert riding. Who would have thought strapping a bike to a car roof would be such a hilarious challenge.
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Betsy in Alpine, as well as Shea and Lyndsey, who let me not only stay with them for a restful long weekend, but let me be part of their cool girl gang. Especially Lyndsey who drove us to the amazing Balmorhea spring - after getting over my trepidation at the overly friendly fish, this is the best swim I’ve had in the US - and for getting me to El Paso the next day.
Kirsty and Erin in El Paso for a good night’s sleep. I’m looking forward to coming back to see them in a few days.
Lisa in Las Cruces who has helped me so much I’m not sure where to begin. Lisa is an amazingly generous and chilled out host, if you are riding the Souther Tier you must send her a message via Warm Showers.
Pilar, who I have decided may actually be a saint. On Wednesday I was attacked by a bunch of farm dogs just outside Hatch. Pilar was the first person to stop and she quickly figured out what to do (call her boss to take me into town in his truck) and prayed for me. And of course her boss, Zane, who turned up so quickly and was the picture of practical concern and helpfulness.
Bill, the retired motorcycle mechanic I met at Percha Dam Campground, who took the time to true my wheel which was wildly out of tension. When the dogs attacked me, they managed to somehow rip a rear pannier from its rack, wedging it between the wheel and rear triangle. I rode to the campground, desperate to continue the tour, but quickly realised my wheel was borked beyond my capability to fix. My first plan was to see if anyone was going to a town with a bike shop, and Bill was the first person I asked.
Eric - another cycle tourist who is staying with Lisa - who borrowed a car and came to get me when I realised I was more shaken and upset by the dog attack that I first wanted to admit, and got me back to Las Cruces.
People like to share horror stories and make fateful predictions. In the same bar that I was bought a beer by Antonio (a young guy of Mexican descent), a woman told me that I was likely to be kidnapped by Mexicans and sold into sex slavery for daring to go so close to the border alone. I’ve been told to get a gun or a man or a whole new plan. There are cartels and rattlesnakes to fear.
The dog attack was terrifying and upsetting, and has caused me to change my plans for the next few weeks. But what I will remember is that when the thing that I’ve openly said I was most fearful about did happen, both strangers and new friends stepped up to help.
There is much I still need to beware of and be careful of on this cycle tour. Being alone in a different country is not a time to be naive. But I honestly believe - half through airy fairy hopefulness and half through actual experience - that people are good and if you need it, they will help you.
This is something Steve, former self confessed hobo and seriously canny cycle tourist I met staying in Las Cruces, calls Road Magic.
I’m removing a few hundred miles of New Mexico and Arizona from my itinerary. Tomorrow I’m heading back to El Paso and then on to the West Coast via train. My plans have changed so much in the last month that I’m uncertain what the next two will hold.But I’m confident that I will encounter enough kindness and Road Magic to outweigh the challenges and difficulties.
The best place to keep up with where I am and what I am up to is Twitter and Instagram.
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