#idk maybe like ceramic tiles

[lunaia-fr]

Can't figure out what she reminds me of but it's definitely Something

[exoexid]

your girl found and registered her first animal bone today!!!!! ^-^

[karmasloverrr]

fresh out the slammer - rafe cameron

in which y/n realizes the only man she wants isn’t the one standing across from her at the alter

warnings- swearing, angst, kissing, mention of abuse

w/c: idk but a lot

guys this is my first fic so be kind please but like..also leave feedback lmao

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Soaking in a bubble filled tub, wallowing in your sorrows and mind even hazier from your third glass of red wine, the fight you just had with your fiancé- soon to be husband- left you with an insurmountable amount of racing thoughts.

Getting home late was a recurring pattern for Tommy, drunk and tattered with his tie undone as well as an occasional obnoxiously red lipstick stain underneath his jaw, mocking you when he turns his head away from your “incessant nagging and bitching”.

You asking where he had been turned into hands pulling hair from stress, voice cracks of screeching anger, broken shards of glass from being flown into walls and streams of tears when he put his hands around your neck, again.

“Cover that up for tomorrow.” Catching your breath you glared at him with nothing but hate and irritation.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want the town knowing you’re I’m marrying an abuser or anything.”

Tommy whips around with a finger in your face. “Watch your fucking mouth, Y/N. You’d be nothing without me, your last name changing is a blessing to you, appreciate it. Knowing you’ll be associated with my family and reputation isn’t something to take lightly, got it?”

You stood there just taking it. Staring dazedly at the wall in your kitchen, anything to avoid looking at the man you once respected and maybe even loved.

Your father would be so ashamed of you, he never raised you to take shit from anyone, especially a man who didn’t deserve an ounce of your time. He tragically died when you were 15, leaving you with a narcissistic, alcoholic mother. The reason you were even in this situation with Tommy.

Tommy belonged to one of the most prominent and wealthy families in the OBX. The Randolphs have always had a good relationship with your family, with your dad being a loyal accountant associated with their law firm. After your dad passed they treated you and your mother like some charity cases, always baking food and lending money, to which your mother gladly took.

Your mother suggested the idea of marriage to Tommys parents after she caught you blushing too hard and smiling a little to often about “that Cameron boy”. Rafe Cameron had a reputation around Kildare and it wasn’t a good one. Drug addicted, college dropout, psychopath and constantly picking fights were all tied to his name but to you, he was the only reason the sun came up each morning.

Like you, he lost a parent at a young age, his mother. Trauma bonding and sharing hatred with the Randolph family became a stepping stone for you both. You met through Topper at a party in high school and never really looked back, you became inseparable.

Years spent indulging in each other’s company was platonic until a few years ago when he started looking at you a little more intensely, leaving longing glances and stolen stares across crowded rooms. You both knew your feelings but never spoke it into existence, seeing as you were then just freshly engaged.

Now here you stand, with no love in your heart for the man you’re supposed to spend the rest of your life with starting tomorrow, glaring at him stomping up the spiral stairs of your far too perfect and ridiculously gigantic sized “home”.

The drip of the tub faucet echoes throughout the bathroom, your foot thoughtlessly turning the water dial on and off every few seconds. Absently staring off into space, your face is blank but your mind is racing. You are at a true gut wrenching loss at what to do.

The only thing pulling you out of your daze is a text notification buzzing the ceramic tile counter. You snap your head to the phone, looking almost offended that someone could even concur to bother you right now.

Reluctantly, you step out of the bath grabbing a nearby towel to wrap around yourself. You pick up the phone to view the notification, Rafe.

Meet at beach in 10? I know it’s late.

Your lips tip up in a smile, it’s almost as if he knew your mind was off someplace else, the beach brings you both back to your rightful state of inner peace.

You type a few answers out, sounding too excited or desperate, you just delete them and start again. You can see it in your head, he’s probably biting his thumb nail in anticipation seeing the text bubble come and go, it makes you smile and bite your lip.

Yes, want me to pick you up?

He responds before you can even re-read what you said.

I’m already here…

You laugh out loud, covering you mouth knowing Tommy is already asleep in your shared bedroom right outside.

You type out a quick “of course you are, be there soon” before fully starting to dry yourself off. Rafe loves your message, signaling that he saw it.

Quietly entering your bedroom you pick out the easiest things to put on, settling on a crew neck, loose shorts and your birkenstocks.

Somehow you managed to leave your house unscathed but this isn’t the first time you’ve snuck out to meet Rafe and it won’t be the last.

The hidden path that you and Rafe found years ago comes into view, it leads right out to a hidden cove, making it feel like a secret that only you and him know, shutting out the rest of the island.

You take off your sandals and feel the sand enveloping your feet, you can smell his cigarettes and see him scratching the top of his buzzed head.

“Hi sweetheart.” He didn’t need to turn around to know you were there, he could just feel the air getting light around him, or at least he saw it that way.

You walk over and sit down matching his position with knees up to your chest, bumping elbows in the process. “Hi Rafe, what’s going on?” you ask in a hushed tone as if there’s multiple people around.

He looks at you now, taking in your natural hair flowing down to your back and a far out look in your eyes. His chest squeezes at how beautiful you look without even trying. “Shouldn’t I be asking you, Ms. Y/L/N, or should I say soon to be Mrs. Randolph?”

You chuckle with your tongue touching the inside of your cheek, “I don’t want to talk about it or him. Especially here, this is my safe space, our space so just let’s not, please”. You look at him with pleading eyes, he nods with understanding eyes as he blows smoke from the side of his mouth.

You sit in a comfortable silence for 10 minutes, enjoying each other’s company and listening to the sounds of the waves crashing up the sand, with every pull of the current washing away your stress.

Rafe breaks it by flicking his cigarette, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, “You don’t have to, you know that right? It’s obvious you don’t fucking want to so just don-“ You shake your head and let out an unstable sigh.

“It’s tomorrow, Rafe. I can’t just call it all off, it’s too late, I have relatives from all over the country flying in, his family spent so much money I can’t just-“

“Fuck his family and fuck your relatives, respectfully. Do you think your grandparents o-or your aunts and uncles would support this knowing what’s going on in your head and heart? Cause I certainly don’t.”

“It’s not that simple. It doesn’t matter and our families, my mother would be disappointed and his dad would probably have me sent to a fucking asylum saying I went crazy or something” Your cheeks get increasingly hot with anger, so frustrated with your situation.

“Who fucking cares, Y/N/N? This isn’t something small like missing a dinner party or calling in sick to work, this is your future a-and the rest of your life if you don’t make a decision, seriously sweetheart it’s ridiculous.”

The nickname makes your stomach drop in ways Tommy never could. Rafe’s passion and way of words always leaves you feeling giddy.

You bite down on your lip, hard, to stop the fleeting tears building in your eyes and looking away from him to avoid them falling even quicker. He takes his calloused palm and places it on your cheek to turn your face towards his. “You aren’t happy, you know you’re not, I know you’re not and it’s killing me” He punctuates his words, shaking your face a little bit as if to really drill his feelings into your brain.

You look up at him with wet and tired eyes, knowing no matter how much he’s right, there’s just no way to fix this. You bring your hand up to meet his own on your cheek, intertwining your fingers.

“I appreciate your passion Rafe, I really do and I wish I could go back and say no but it’s just- there’s no use. It’s done and I fucked up and that’s on me.” You stare into his eyes, competing with the ocean in front of you.

His eyebrows furrow as if he’s in pain, he licks his lips and scoffs, hand and eyes leaving your face, making you feel cold.

It’s silent again, the air growing thick with tension until he breaks it, again.

“Let’s run away, yeah let’s do it.” He shakes his head in approval like he’s just solved the mystery, “I can buy us ferry tickets and we’ll never come back here again.”

It’s your turn to scoff and shake your head, “Now that’s ridiculous, seriously, Rafe? This isn’t some fairytale, we can’t just fly away to Neverland.”

“Why not, Y/N? You’ve always talked about wanting to live in Massachusetts. I’ll buy us a house on Martha’s Vineyard, we can have our own beach and 2 dogs an-“

You stand up in a fit of rage, sand flying everywhere from the abrupt reaction. “Wake up, Rafe! I’m getting married tomorrow. It’s happening and there’s nothing you or I can do to fix that.” You cross your arms before rolling your eyes and stomping away.

Rafe is quick to match your pace and grabs your forearm, flipping you around so your chests are touching and faces inches apart. “You’re the only one that can fix this. It seems like I want this wedding called off more than you do.” You’re both panting, from proximity and the situation but you’re convinced it’s just because of the heated back and forth.

“Rafe please, you need to let this go, for me please.”

“I can’t just let this go Y/N/N. You’re marrying a piece of shit who doesn’t make you happy and I know you don’t love him, tell me you don’t�� His desperate eyes leaving aches in your heart.

He places both of his hands lightly on your neck but due to Tommy and his previous anger, you wince in pain from the bruises. Rafe notices, of course he does and you see it register in his eyes, pupils dilated turning from passion to pure exasperation.

He swallows heavily, his adams apple bobbing up and down. “Y/N. I’m gonna ask you something and you better tell me the fucking truth. Did he do that? Who did this to you?”

You grab onto his forearms and bore your eyes into his. “Please” you beg, knowing exactly how this is gonna go. He shakes his head, breathing in and out of his nose, bending down slightly to inspect the marks, moving your neck around slowly to examine.

“Baby. I can see where he placed his hands and pressed, so hard that you bruised?” His voice begins to crack, so devastated that anyone could ever imagine putting their hands on your beautiful face.

Tears have started shedding down your face, reaching yours and his conjoined hands. “Rafe. I-“ He lets go of your neck and starts trudging through the sand back towards the path. Your eyes widen and you run after him.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him, wring his neck out so he knows how it feels.” You shake your head and catch up to him, stepping infront of his chest and placing your hands there.

“I’m begging you, Rafe. I’m okay, see I’m perfectly fine. Please don’t do this.” Your patting his chest now, doing anything to relax him.

He looks down at you, eyes going from rage to sadness when your face comes into view. He lets out a whine and pulls your head into his chest. “You’re somethin’ else. Your soon-to-be husband puts his hands on you and you’re still gonna go through with it? So stubborn, always have been”

You laugh through your tears at how messed up it is. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and lean into his touch, rubbing your hand through his buzzed hair at the base of his neck.

“Rafe?” you remove your head from his chest and look up at him which causes him to look down at you as well, he hums in response, eager to hear what you have to say.

“I understand if you say no but, um you being there tomorrow would really help ease my nerves.” You wince, knowing how absurd the question is but it’s true, you need him there to be able to function.

“I cave on a lot of things for you but seeing the girl I’m in love with get married to someone who doesn’t deserve even a glance from you, is where I draw the line”

You widen your eyes and gawk at his confession, neither of you have ever mentioned the feelings that linger between the both of you, a love confession for the ages is the last thing you expected.

“Rafe, W-“ you shake your head, at a loss for words and mind blank.

He kisses his teeth and smiles out of vain. “I just can’t bring myself to witness everything I’ve ever wanted happen to another man”.

A heartbroken sigh leaves your lips, “Rafe, please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

He shrugs smugly, weight lifted off his shoulders at the overdue confession.

“Sorry, sweetheart but it’s true. I just can’t bear it”

You take a deep breath, wiping the stray tears that have fallen off your face. But then something happens, it takes over you, the urge. Fuck it, you place your hands on his cheeks and dive into his lips, standing on your tip toes for leverage.

You both don’t move for a second, not sure what to do, just the feeling of each other’s lips together being overwhelming enough.

Rafe mentally curses himself for not acting faster but as soon as he comes back down to Earth, one hand flys to your face and the other to your back. You use his arm behind you for support as you lean into it causing him to lean down as the kiss intensifies.

Minutes spent like this, expressing every emotion your both feeling into the kiss, breaking away only to catch each other’s breath before diving right back in.

It lasts a few minutes longer before you pull away, leaning your forehead on his, nose’s bumping. Swallowing, you begin “Rafe, I lov-“. He shakes his head and gives you a fleeting peck, “Please don’t.”

“But Rafe I-“ He nods.

“I know, sweetheart. I know, but if you say it I’m really taking you to Massachusetts and you won’t have a choice.”

He’s trying to be funny but you don’t laugh, devastated that he’s in so much agony and you caused all of it.

“What are we gonna do?” you plead.

“You made up your mind and I can’t change that, but if you ever do, just know I’m waiting and I’ll wait as long as it takes.” He steps away then, removing his hands and tucking a strand of hair that fell behind your ear.

“I’m sorry, Rafe. I’m so sorry.” You begin to sob now, guilty and just so angry that this is what has happened.

“I know, me too but please don’t cry, Y/N it breaks my heart.” You hug him again, tightly wrapping your arms around his torso.

“It’s getting late and you have a big day tomorrow. Let’s get you home, baby.”

“You’re just tormenting me now.” He laughs, his bright smile on display. “Maybe”, you slap his chest, “You’re an asshole”, which causes you both to laugh now.

He holds you steady by the waist while you put your shoes back on, when you’re done you place your arm around his waist, copying him.

Placing a kiss on your head he leads the way back through the path in the direction of his truck. Silent and reflecting you both have a certain sadness surrounding each other, not knowing how your relationship will change and if you’ll ever see him again but yet there’s a hint of relief and comfort knowing all the built up tension, smitten and blushed cheeks over the years have finally been brought to light.

Looking at your reflection, you don’t recognize yourself. A melancholy, pathetic version of you stares back. With a full face of makeup to cover up hand marks and eye bags from lack of sleep last night, an up-do topped with a vail and a fake smile, you have never seen yourself so miserable, so unrecognizable.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this, Y/N. We tried but you just wouldn’t hear it.” Kie paced the bridal room back and forth, just as frustrated as you, knowing her best friend is about to marry the islands biggest piece of shit.

“Kiara, she doesn’t need to hear this right now, ok?” Sarah is behind you, placing bobby pins in places that are needed.

“I’m aware I’ve fucked up, royally. I heard it from Rafe last night and I don’t need to-“. Both girls gasp, “Rafe?”.

You shut your mouth, cursing yourself for exposing the information, sighing you begin to reluctantly tell the girls what had happened.

Sarah and Kie look at you with remorse as you recall the interaction. Sarah takes your hand and Kie begins to tear up. “This is so bad you guys, I don’t know what to do.”

Kie looks around as she says, “Well nothing, now seeing as you have to be on the altar in 10 minutes.” Sarah shoots her a glare as you begin to sob. The girls come over for a group hug, sushing you and rubbing your back.

A knock at the door interrupts your sobs, causing you all to look up at the door as you nod, signaling that Sarah can let them in.

She announces for the person to enter, it’s JJ and he’s holding flowers. “Hi, uh, Tommy asked me to give these to you”. You take one look at the flowers and begin to sob again, “I don’t even like roses and h-he knows that”. With your head in your hands you just want to bury yourself in the hole you dug.

JJ is standing there white as a ghost, looking to Kiara for some support to which she brushes him off. “What did I do?” He confesses.

You look up slowly, sighing and fanning your face. “It’s not your fault JJ. I just hate my soon to be husband, he doesn’t understand me, never has.”

“Wait, what. You’re literally about to marry him in..” JJ stops to look at his watch, “7 minutes”.

You look around to the girls, feeling a panic attack coming on. “Fuck.”

Kie updates JJ on the “Y/N and Tommy lore” as Sarah rubs your back and makes you count and breathe. In the back you can hear JJ gasping and audibly reacting to Kie catching him all up.

When she’s done, JJ comes over to you and gives you a hug from behind. “As much as I don’t like Rafe, sorry Sarah, I really, really don’t like Tommy.” You look at JJ through the mirror and solemnly nod your head to agree.

“He just told me that when Tommy was handing him the flowers, he tipped him a $20 and thought he was a bartender.”

JJ scoffs, “I told him I was sitting in the row literally right behind your families and he just laughed, so yeah I fucking hate him too.” You realize that not only has Tommy tormented your life but all of your friends who you love so much.

“I’m so sorry guys, I’m so sorry you have to be here and I’m so sorry that I didn’t stand up for myself way back when our families arranged this but I just have to deal with it, just have to deal.”

They all nodded and the girls fixed your makeup, getting you ready to meet your wicked mother at the double doors, which led to the guest filled lawn of people who are unknowingly supporting your nightmare.

JJ gave you one last hug and words of encouragement before going to take his seat on the golf green. Sarah and Kie all gave you tight hugs and kisses on the cheek before leading you out of the room. Your mother waited at the end of the country club, beaming with pride and showering you with compliments as your manicured nails dug into your palms.

“Honey, your eye bags look terrible, I’m gonna go ask the makeup lady if she can add some more concealer or something-“ You huffed and slapped her hand away.

“I’m fine, Mom. Please, I just want to get out there.”

She changes her shocked expression of you swatting her hand away to instant radiation of happiness. “Oh, you’re so excited to just be married already, aren’t you?”.

You try your best to make your fake smile believable as she places both hands on your cheeks and nods in approval.

You take the biggest breath as the violins begin to play the bridal entrance, the guests all stand turning their attention towards you and the doors open. This is it, your mother grips your arm and begins to walk you down the flower petal covered isle.

All eyes on you, can they tell how close to breaking down you are? Some people are wiping their eyes with tissues, some stare at you like you’re the prophecy and all you can do is look around, where’s Rafe?

Hands shaking as you see Tommy at the alter, so smug falsely wiping his nose and eyes to put on a show for the Figure Eight mothers, who mourn for their daughters that never got the chance to have his last name.

Before stepping up to meet him, you make quick pleading eye contact with Sarah, she knows exactly what you’re thinking and she shakes her head solemnly and mouths a quiet “no”. He’s not here and you knew he wouldn’t be, in the back of your sick mind you had hope that he’d maybe show up just to be your support but he’s nowhere to be seen, not even lurking a few feet behind the whole ceremony.

Your mother turns to face you, before giving you off to Tommy she places a quick kiss on your cheek then slides her mouth up to your ear, “Don’t embarrass me” she snaps in a sharp whisper.

You pull back with wide eyes but she doesn’t give you time to react before she’s giving you a small shove to meet Tommy’s outstretched hand to guide you up.

In your mind, you hoped you’d be here one day, surrounded by your loved ones on a beautiful North Carolina day to celebrate the marriage of you and your husband. Except the man in front of you would be about 4 inches taller, brown eyes traded for blue and a dimple engraved in his cheek as his bright smile makes your head spin.

Rafe. Rafe. Rafe. Even before you ever realized it, swirled into all of your poems he’s always been the man in your dreams, all your manifestations come to life, everything and all you’ve ever wanted.

Tommy begins declaring that he will love and cherish you through sickness and in health. Looking at you so cynically, you can see everything in his eyes. He’s got you trapped now and there’s nothing you can do.

Now, it’s your turn. With a deep breath and slight pause you begin. “I, Y/N, promise Tommy” Rafe “to love him” Rafe “through sickness and in health” Rafe. It all comes out in a whimper but only you seem to notice.

Tommy turns to the officiant, eager to hear him give the speech that seals this whole thing. “Do you, Tommy Randolph, take Y/N Y/L/N, to be your wife?”

“I do.”

Your heart is racing, feeling as though your whole world is about to come crashing down on you. Rafe, you can see him in your head, handsome face and charming smile, you think back to your encounter last night, promises of fleeing the island and a white picket, blue shuddered house far away from here is all you can focus on, it’s all waiting for you and so is he.

“He’s waiting for me.” the sentence leaves your mouth before you can even help it. Tommy looks up from the ring he’s about to place on your finger. “What?”.

You slightly step back from his body, moving your arm away from the gold 20 carat diamond about to bind you to 40+ years of hell. The officiant doesn’t seem to notice as he asks you the same question he just repeated to the man standing across from you, now looking flustered.

“Do you, Y/N Y/L/N, take Tommy Randolph to be your husband?”

You look back and forth between Tommy and the officiant, beginning to shake your head. “I- I don’t.”

The ceremony comes to a hushed stop, the wind blowing from the coast can be the only thing heard. “I don’t, and I can’t and I won’t.” The guests look around in awe, not sure of what to do or say.

Your mother and Tommy’s father stand up quickly, both seething with anger, overlapping each other with protests of this “erroneous behavior”. You look at Tommy and begin to smile at his expression, face red with embarrassment and loathe.

“I just can’t.” You begin to look around at all the guests before turning to your right, looking at the faces of your 9 bridesmaids, 2 whom aren’t even trying to hide their shit eating grins. Kiara nods frantically, giving you the ok and Sarah begins to giggle.

With all the approval you need, you take your gown in your hands and begin to flee down the steps. Tommy grips your arm before you can get far and whips you around to face him, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Y/N. Do you have any idea what this is gonna cause?” He seethes in your face, teeth clenched together and progressively pressing harder into your skin.

You use all your force and rip yourself away from his grip while walking backwards down the steps. “I’m getting the fuck out of here and far away from you.” Guests are gasping as your mother and Tommy are screaming at you to “get back here” all while Sarah and Kie are giving each other a subtle fist pump.

All you can hear as your running is the sound of your heartbeat and what sounds like JJ, John B and Pope whistling and clapping in approval. “Go get your man, Y/N!”

It all turns into forgotten noise when you finally exit the Island Club and soon all your thoughts are consumed by him. Summers taking cover, splintered back in winters and silent, bitter dinners are all over now. You’re at the starting line, fresh out of the slammer and you did your time.

Breaking out into a sprint, your bridal heels are digging into your feet and your train is tattered, none of it matters when you start the familiar path to Tannyhill. The promise of Rafe at home is the one thing keeping you from collapsing in the Carolina heat with all your extra layers on.

You weren’t much of a runner but 10 minutes doesn’t seem too far when it leads to forever. You can’t help but break into a fit of laughter at the pure chaos of it all, some people passing by in cars honking at you but you just throw your hand up in a fleeting wave.

Rafe is on the second story deck when he sees you stop at the entrance gates, put the passcode in and push through when they open. He squints his eyes in disbelief, knowing this has to be some figment of his imagination, not until he hears you yell his name.

He rushes through his bedroom, down the hallway, stairs and to the front door. Swinging it open not bothering to shut it, he runs out to greet you. You’re both laughing hysterically in disbelief at the sights in front of you.

When you finally reach his grasp, you jump up and he catches you, gripping his hands against your back and thigh. “What did you do?” He exclaims, both out of breath from the adrenaline and running.

You pull back from the embrace and confess it all. “I love you, not him, never him. I- I just couldn’t fathom doing it, not when all I kept thinking about was you standing there at the alter and our house on the Vineyard and dogs and just everything, with you. I want to do everything with you for the rest of my life.”

Rafe eyes become misty and he just nods. “It’s me and you, Y/N. It always has been, I just- wow- you’ve got some nerve running away from your own wedding.” He places a harsh kiss on your forehead and settles you down on the ground but never letting go of your back.

“Are you complaining?” He shakes his head viscerally.“Fuck, no.”

He grabs your face and puts his lips against yours, smiling through the intense kiss you both can’t help but giggle into each other. Pulling away, you both just stare into each other’s eyes, nothing but immense adoration and love.

“How did everyone take it?” He asked still beaming.

You start laughing, throwing your head back “Oh my god, you should’ve seen their faces.” You begin to recount the reactions of Tommy, your mother and his father which makes Rafe smugly hum in approval.

“As much as I wish I could’ve seen that, this is..” You look at him in anticipation.

“This is everything I was hoping would happen.” You laugh at his wishful thinking of this whole wedding becoming a disaster.

“I just couldn’t do it, Rafe. This is my place, right here with you and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.” Rafe nods and places another kiss to your head.

“You’re here now, with me, and that’s all that matters. I’m not letting you go anytime soon.” You smile and lean in to give him another kiss.

Rafe hums and pulls away. “Now, as much as I enjoy seeing you in a wedding dress, let’s get you into something more comfortable, my bed, maybe?” You laugh and take his hand, guiding him up the front steps of Tannyhill.

“How about you pour us two glasses of celebratory wine and I’ll pull up my “dream home” Pinterest board, just so we can start to brainstorm or something” you shrug coyly, fearing your enthusiasm and excitement got the best of you.

Rafe brings your intertwined hands up to his mouth and places a kiss on your knuckles. “You and your beautiful mind. That sounds perfect to me, sweetheart.”

You enter the doors together, shutting the rest of the world out, just you and him. No way either of you are gonna screw up knowing what’s at stake. Years of labor, locks and ceilings all mean nothing when you look at him, the man of your dreams now escorting you into his room with nothing but you on his mind, even back then, even now and forever.

——————————————

“Now, pretty baby, I’m running back home to you. Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to”

[restricted-on-13th]

How to Train Your Ghost (still trying to find an appropriate title)

Low-key inspired by a lot of fanarts and highkey inspired by areaper au I found that's pitch pearl in the fanfiction.net. This is my 2nd time writing this idea (since ive been thinking of it for the.....past 18 hours), my draft got accidentally deleted and I am mad (wrote the first draft sleep deprived and running on 30 minutes of sleep, still is running on 30 minutes of sleep, I'll visit this idea back after I get at least 4 hours of sleep and not low-key delirious, yes I still am low-key delirious) forgive me if i dont explain well or my horrendous punctation and grammas, i know. ill just word vomit/narrate/write my prompt/story/thoughts. ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿

Tags: Human Danny (more like liminal but hes not a halfa, he does have powers though but much more altered and weaker for his squishy human body but if its a more ghost power, well, he doesnt have it), Danny Fenton is a ghost hunter, Danny Fenton has a scythe, No trio trio-ing here (Sorry, Sam, Tucker and Danny aren't friends, maybe yet), Pitch Pearl (minor, slight, if you squint, platonic, Idk) Phantom is a dork, Phantom is a sin-ammon roll (.....), Phantom is learning all about Life and Humans (mostly humans), Secret Identities, No One Knows

I found the fic I took inspo from! Do mind that while it may look very similar (probably at the first) I have different plans for mine (ques the clues I left behind and the glaring title) but still feel free to check out their work!

Just Like the Story by Kitsune's Dark Shadow

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Danny probably didn't die in his parent's portal last week on Wednesday, he thinks. He was pretty sure that he was still breathing when he crawled out of the portal, feeling the warm breathe he feels his lungs exhale on the cold ceramic tiles of the lab's floor bringing no comfort to his charred flesh as he stares at the swirling green of the portal, feeling hollow inside as he felt that something was taken from him.

Even though he could feel phantom pain on every nerve of his body all the way to Monday, the first day of school, he chalked it up to being electrocuted by at least a million volts in his body when he unwittingly slipped and press the on button inside the machine. Why there's an on button inside a portal? Danny unfortunately knows how it was mistakingly built inside.

But aside from the near death painpainI'mscaredhelpHelpMe, it stands to reason that for a teenager, such triffling matters were thrown into the metaphorical trash bin for more important matters. Like the A-listers, his studies, space and finding friends cause he's so terribly lonely, just wanting to not be seen as a freak. So it really isn't Danny's fault that he forgot about that one Wednesday noon, he was and still is busy trying to find his place in Casper High, determined to find one friend who would like him. Who wouldn't leave him due to him being Danny Fenton, son of deranged scientists believing ghost exists, the local freak of Amity and the lonely loser of Casper High.

He would have forgotten about it until he woke up floating from his bed, face first in the ceiling. Doing the approximate of a reverse dive into his week and remembering that one Wednesday brought the memories fresh, clear and crisp back to his newly (already) traumatised teenaged brain.

___________________________________________

Soft moonlight streamed down from the covered moon as the dewy grass below is disturbed, a floating glow of a silhouette dashes through the forest. Panting as blobs of green dripped from its wounds, gripping its sluggishly bleeding arm. It muttered "No...No...No.....No" as it ran for its afterlife, scared at something that was following it. Blue lights hallowed in green with little flecks of it across it iris narrowed as it captured and saw its target.

The ghost immediately ducked, the wind whistling as though something flew through the air. The ghost screamed in fear as they came into a clearing, sudden whips of air came and dropped in front of the ghost, effectively blocking it from its escape.

A large black scythe stood in front of the ghost, nothing of note to its design but only the tiny flecks of dark green stars across its blade. The ghost stared at the weapon in fear and apprehension as the moon sifting to the forest below slowly peeked around the clouds.

A shadow hovered and blocked the moonlight as the ghost stilled. Green eyes slowly looked up, following the handle of scythe and stopped at a figure above. Foot firmly placed on the handle of the scythe while still holding it, a boy looked down at the ghost.

Black whispy hair framed the boy's face, wind swept and frazzled from the chase. A long single white tuff of hair was partially hidden by a crocheted black and white headband, a striking difference to his dark hair. Blue eyes hallowed in neon green with flecks of different shaded oof green dancing in his eyes like stars as he stared the ghost down.

His face was framed by the moon as he slowly moved and pointed a modified ecto-gun to the ghost's head.

The ghost whispered "Azrael..."

___________________________________________

Notes:

Danny goes by 'Azrael' while Phantom is Phantom, the only one with a secret identity here is Danny and Valerie. No one knows who Danny moonlights as or that Danny for one is ghost hunting, so no Jazz, his parents and since the thrio aren't friends, they dont know too. I dont know about Valerie, Vlad or the ghost population yet as I haven't planned that out yet. The No One Knows tag can be applied here and his...accident too.

I have plans on Phantom but treat him as an independent character from Danny, while he does have a correlation with Danny (soul bonded) other than his looks being an invertion of Danny's (likes Danny therefore copied his human looks), they're not the same person.

___________________________________________

Phantom: We're soul bonded! :D

Danny (holding a gun and his scythe while staring at the local hero of Amity): ....

*silently cocks gun at phantom*

___________________________________________

Notes:

Anyways, Danny being a ghost hunter doesn't mean he doesn't sympathise with ghost. (He's liminal) that's also where the 'Azrael' name comes. He guides the dead, like a psychopomp, and also protects humans from the ghosts and vice versa.

I have more ideas for him but.... I won't share :)

All in due time.

___________________________________________

Danny was slowly stalking down the road near the forest, brushing his upper lip and his hand coming away bloody. His hands tightly clenched as he gritted his teeth and gave a low snarl.

"Fucking Dash Baxter and his stupid-" he hissed lowly as he kicked a can to the bushes. He huffed as he clutched his bag when suddenly he heard something. He looked around, a bit confused and wary when he saw nothing, he clutched his bag closer to him as he quickly opened it and took out a modified ecto-gun.

One of his latest projects in his sudden venture into ghost hunting, he was proud of how much he was able to customised it to his liking. He heard another sound and quickly aimed at where he heard it, the same bush he kicked the can at.

He slowly creeped up to it, prickles of unease all around his skin. He knew he wasn't a professional ghost hunter, he's still new to the whole thing. The world of Ghost hunters is a cruel and cold place, its either being lucky enough to not find a quack to ally with or lucky enough to survive until you changed careers. It's especially much more harder for an aspiring un-allied ghost hunter that sympathises with ghosts to learn the ropes. No back up and No supervision means that Danny has to always be in high alert in case for a ghost attack.

A melodic tune came from the bush as Danny crept closer. Using the muzzle to nudge the bush to the side as Danny immediately aimed.

He stared down at the wide green eyes of an amorphous blob ghost with a little white tuff of hair on its head as it gave a tiny squeaky tune.

"Beewp?"

[ohhgingersnaps]

ok i love the jonas brothers' 'waffle house' song. it's a bop and it speaks to a very specific part of my soul. however. i do really feel the need to clarify, for everyone who's not from the southeastern united states, so that y'all understand the vibes of the song properly

do you see this image?

this is not what the inside of a waffle house looks like.

to be clear, i'm not disparaging whoever designed this set, because they were very successful in their goal of making a classy hometown restaurant.

it's just that unfortunately their goal of "classy hometown restaurant" vibes is inherently at odds with "waffle house" vibes.

the exposed wooden beams on the ceiling? the non-orb-shaped pendant lights? the fancy, mahogany-looking counter? the spaciousness of the main seating area? the booths with full padding? the thin, breakable porcelain mug? the freaking fancy stone masonry on the far right? no. nonono. that's not a waffle house.

let me describe to you a waffle house.

do you remember what mcdonalds and burger king were like in the mid-90s? take that. line everything (everything) with tiles. make it a breakfast place. and then put a big diner counter in the center, and then put the grill, the chefs, and all of the other cooking-related things right behind the diner counter, so that the divide between the food-cooking space and where you sit is purely psychological and is maintained more by social convention than by anything else

and then throw a healthy layer of grease over all of that, and then go there at like two in the morning.

you slide into a booth. it's made almost entirely of hard plastic, with maybe a little pillow-shaped rectangle of padding if you're lucky. the waitress comes over and, standing in the liminal space between "kitchen" and "customer seating", reaches out and hands you a laminated menu over the divider. this menu is exactly the same as it was the first time you came here two decades ago.

the waitress puts in your order, and then you watch as the chef dumps grated potatoes and eggs and bacon out onto the flat surface of the grill. they sizzle. the waitress serves you a fresh mug of coffee in a nigh-indestructible ceramic diner mug. when your food comes, it's incredibly greasy, but it's two in the morning and you've had a very long day and in that moment this bacon egg and cheese sandwich is glorious and so are the hashbrowns

anyway this is the vibe of a waffle house

(image taken from here)

idk how to end this post but waffle house is very near and dear and beloved to my soul thank you for coming along on this waffle house journey with me

[djsmfbdvifneci]

idk about this one:

i didnt come to fall in love

i didnt come all this way just to fall in love

why keep good for better

but now i feel like falling in love

this citys so large its falling apart

i feel strange and unsafe 

even if i came for tattoos and scars

now i must feel myself falling in love

i k ow u want suffering for yourself and everyone else

ud do it uve done it for me its just never feels intentional 

wrapped in a struggle for pleasure and pain

i know what u want i too want to feel safe

this oxys like a gold rush 

but i know its all pain

striking dissonance when

its so prominent and vague

behind a mist of tears 

is a dam full of vain

u like me right? its only ten minutes left

i was drawn to all the bad things about u

u shouldve drawn them down my back

ten seconds left yea i like u too isabel

my brains all fog no air left to live

no oxygen so i become sth else

my thoughts are all static 

i can never touch them

but ur touch is so static

making me urs again

maybe we can just kill ourselves

maybe well kust kill ourselves

u might kill me

personally u couldve killed me right then

theres nothing in this space

cables hanging out the walls

ceramic tiles old and dark

gas from the stove

nothing here between us,

like animals were not,

except falling in love

on a drift so fast it chsnges it all

like perspective and mind

like love and illusion like

coming close or being far

like falling apart

like loving u loving us or loving s farce

i told u at least get angry at me

i wanna miss u 

pls let me miss u at least

its me and my slow songs

at least get angry at me

let me be angry at least

maybe u can just kill me

if u wont touch me

if ur gonna say nothing

at least u could just kill me isabel

[tinyshe]

Garden Report 23.01.07

So ... Happy New Year!

Was out in the garden new years day feeling rather sad but the day was lovely and I wanted force myself Out. I worry about the ancient fruitless plum tree. There is a section of heartwood exposed and conks are thriving. We always talk about taking it out but might have to be the year to avoid liability. This year has just begun but it has been really difficult and I don’t want it. If nothing else, it has to be topped heavily. The little sapling next to it is budding up to bloom so it needs to happen soon if the weather allows.

This is going to be the year that there we some heavy pruning, so much so that I am thinking we might have to rent a chipper. I like chips and need chips (both wooden for the garden and potato-kind for my belly ;)  but that’s another avenue for discussion!).

I think I have tried everything possible under the sun and am reverting back to some older gardening styles. Mind you, this is all just in my head for now. I am wanting to take out the grow boxes but then again I want to raise them up higher. But, for navigation purposes, and not being boxed in (no pun intended) they are going. Most of the wooden box edges have rotted and all building materials are too expensive.  I think I am going to go with a perpetual hotbed with French intensive style of growing . I really feel this is going to be the best option for my location after everything I have tried. It will raise the ‘soil’ temperature, keep moisture in the soil on an even keel, keep compost in direct line to consumption of plants and hopefully, less work for higher yields ... and we all like those higher yields/less work ratios! I hate hugell mounds due to the vermin population tunneling and setting up housekeeping so I am hoping that a high hotbed will not have the same problems. Fingers crossed! Time will tell if I can get this project launched.

Garlic that we planted late is popping up just as wonderfully strong ... as if we weren’t late; it don’t care! its super garlic! old variety aka heirloom & robust. I really need to plant more garlic and onions because for some reason they are MIA at the grocers. Need more grow space -- Looking at perhaps taking out a pergola that is next to the area of the summer house. I hope that opens up more space for container growing if I can beat down the monster kiwi who came back From The Dead With Vengeance! The bamboo and kiwi are now courting cousins of the third kind and a bane to my sense of permaculture garden dwellers. I can yell Not In My Garden but obviously, yes, in my garden, in spades [cue theme song mash up Who Ya Gonna Call from Ghost Busters and Bad Boys from Cops].

Hens, I love my hens. For Christmas I got a ceramic art tile that says “I get by with a little help from my hens”. We jest that they are my therapy chickens but you know, its not far from the truth. Maybe I can get just a few more (chicks) and slowly integrate ... I’ve done that before but its like some of the ‘blended family’, they tolerate each other and pretend to play well with each other while being watched BUT technically have two micro flocks.

The Worm friends, I confess, I have neglected. I just have not been mobile enough to be fussing over them. They are probably happier that I am not disturbing them. They are hardy stock and don’t complain (unlike my vocal chickens!). When/if I do my hot mounds/hot beds I will introduce part of the population to those situations. I had divided my vermiculture holdings into two boxes so I will probably take the older box for the beds since that box will probably be composted the most (?) idk. Have to wait and assess.

I have my plastic ammo can of seeds that I keep my newest seeds in. I have my older seeds in a shoe box and need to Do-A-Dump garden which is kind of fun. I mix all my old seeds and broadcast sow into a single bed. If it grows, huzzah! If it don’t, it won’t and just nestles itself into the compost cycle of things. I have to do this every couple of years because saving, sharing and purchasing happens more than what I can use for my small patch at one time so it all sort of just gathers up and accumulates to a point of action is necessary ... I could make seed bombs but my experience it, they don’t do well. Cute idea, big on the feel good aspect but really not best situation for the germinating seeds. So we do the Do-A-Dump so they have a better chance of surviving.

So this is the update of the garden doings -- most of it just plans while we wait through the Winter months. Hope everyone is planning and dreaming of gardening, both big and small.

[crystalstar8]

Knights of the Night (ch. 4)

Chapter 4

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 3,100

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j  @daechwitad-2​ 

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

               “Jungkook, please don’t,” Catalina said from behind the counter. Jungkook was reaching for the unwrapped Kit Kat on the ground under a rack of “St. Briggs Lodge” sweatshirts.

               “Three second rule!” he said.

               “You found it there! You didn’t drop it!” said Catalina. She watched in horror as he picked it up and bit into it.

               “It’s fine. It’s not even old,” he said. Catalina groaned and put her head in her hands. The bell above the door rang as a customer walked in. Jungkook ran to join Catalina behind the counter as he stuffed the rest of the Kit Kat into his mouth. They tried to look busy folding the t-shirts in the box behind the counter. Catalina peeked at whoever it was that came in. Two people were browsing the ceramic fairy and dragon figurines. Two guys, one slightly taller than the other. Catalina couldn’t see their faces from where she was, but they looked like they might be hot.

               “Potential hottie alert,” Catalina whispered. Jungkook looked up and tried to catch a glimpse of them. The two men were chatting with each other quietly. One of them turned around. He was wearing sunglasses, but Catalina could tell he was definitely a hottie. When he came more into view, Catalina eyed him over more. His shoulders looked strong and his chest was muscular, she could tell even in his sweater…

               “Thighs,” Jungkook whispered. Catalina looked down at the tight jeans that hugged the man’s thighs perfectly.

               “Thighs,” Catalina agreed. The other man was just as beautiful; soft hair, lanky but strong looking figure, sharp jawline. This guy wore sunglasses too, red tinted aviators. “Who the hell are these guys?”

               Jungkook shrugged.

               “Thank you!” the red sunglasses guy said as the two men made their way out of the store.

               “Wow, what a treat,” Catalina said as soon as the door fell shut.

               “It’s not even winter yet,” said Jungkook. “And we’re already getting the hot tourists.”

               “Are the winter tourists usually hot?” asked Catalina.

               “A lot of the surfers from down south come up here in the winter to stay at the lodge, and they’re all these tanned, hot people from Los Angeles. It’s fun,” said Jungkook.

               “I’m sure. They didn’t really look like tourists though,” said Catalina.

               “No not really,” said Jungkook.

               “Hey, so I’ve been thinking,” said Catalina.

               “About?”

               “About that story you told at the bonfire,” said Catalina.

               “I think we’re thinking the same thing,” said Jungkook. “Okay, on three, let’s say what we’re thinking. One, two, three, let’s break into the house.”

               “I wanna see the house.”

               They looked at each other before laughing.

               “Well, I don’t wanna break in if someone’s living there, but I definitely want to see it,” said Catalina. “I had a dream about it last night.”

               “Did my scary story give you nightmares? That’s awesome,” said Jungkook.

               “I don’t know, I’ve been having the same dream for a few weeks now. But this time it was the house you described in your story,” said Catalina.

               “What are your dreams about?” asked Jungkook.

               “I don’t usually remember most of it, but I’m always being chased by this group of people who are supernaturally faster and stronger than me.”

               “That’s crazy. Maybe it means ghosts are real and your dreams are telling us we need to go ghost hunting in that house,” said Jungkook.

               “I don’t know how you got to that conclusion,” said Catalina. “But sure. Let’s do it.”

               “Oh my god, yes! I’m so excited. I have this camera that can do night vision, I’ve always wanted to do like a ghost hunting documentary,” said Jungkook. “We’ll come up with code names for the documentary. I’ll be JK Booker, a veteran ghost hunter who’s coming out of retirement for the job of a lifetime. You can be Claire Valdivant, a clairvoyant who can talk to spirits.”

               Catalina laughed until her stomach hurt.

               “How long have you thought about this?” she wheezed.

               “I just came up with it-“

               “Bullshit!”

               “I’ve been wanting to do this my whole life! Just let me live my dream!” he said.

               Catalina wiped a tear from her eye and said, “No, I’m totally in. Let’s do it. Hopefully, no one lives there, I really wanna make this documentary now.”

               “We can invite Jimin, since you guys are friends now,” said Jungkook. “I’ll have to come up with a character for him.”

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

                 “I’m Sergeant Vic, a former detective who quit the police force after witnessing a ghostly murder. Now I spend my days searching for the truth about the paranormal,” Jimin said. “You can call me Sarge.”

               “Wow, I wasn’t expecting you to be so into this,” said Catalina. The three of them were in Jungkook’s garage. He was packing his trunk with camera and sound equipment, along with rope, flares and flashlights. Catalina figured they wouldn’t need much else other than the flashlights, but she wasn’t about to say anything to ruin the fun. She was definitely ready for her role. She had wanted to get into character as much as she could so she wore a low riding skirt with a crocheted crop top. She even had a pair of round sunglasses resting on top of her head. Jimin had arrived in slacks, suspenders, a fedora, and a beige trench coat.

               “I like your fedora,” said Jungkook.

               “Thanks. It’s my brother’s. He went through a phase in high school,” said Jimin.

               “I thought that was you,” said Jungkook.

               “No, I had the muscle shirt phase,” said Jimin. “Equally as bad.”

               “Right. Well, I think we have everything we need,” said Jungkook. “We’ll park at the souvenir store and then walk from there. It shouldn’t be too far.”

               “Shotgun!” Catalina yelled as she ran for the passenger seat. Jimin sighed and went to the backseat.

               The forest flew past them as Jungkook drove them up into the mountains. They parked in the tiny parking lot next to the store, which was closed at this hour of the night. In the parking lot, before they started their hike, Jungkook attached lavaliers to their collars.

“Protect these things with your life. They’re expensive,” said Jungkook.

The sun was just about to set. They’d be doing their hike back in the dark. Catalina didn’t know how she felt about that, especially because of that kidnapper on the loose. But she had pepper spray in her fanny pack and Jungkook had a huge knife strapped to his utility vest, so she figured they’d be fine.

               The hike wasn’t too long. They managed to find the rocky crag Jungkook had described in his story, which looked intimidating, but Jungkook led the way through an easy path to the top. The trail led them to the cobblestone driveway and a gated property.

               “This is it?” asked Catalina.

               “This is it,” said Jungkook. “Holy shit, this is crazy. It looks exactly the same! Well, no, there’s flowers in the front now. It was all overgrown back then.”

               “There’s definitely someone living here,” said Catalina.

               “Let’s look for a side door,” said Jimin.

               Catalina sighed. “If we get arrested tonight, I am absolutely throwing you guys under the bus.”

               “Well, that’s rude. I wouldn’t do that to you,” said Jungkook. “I thought we were ride or die?”

               “Yeah, wait a second. Are we resorting to every man for himself if we get caught?” asked Jimin. “I don’t want to get arrested.”

               “We won’t get arrested. I don’t think there’s anyone living here. It still looks overgrown and abandoned,” said Jungkook. “We should probably figure this out before we go in. Ride or die? Or every man for himself?”

               “Ride or die,” said Catalina. “I trust you guys.”

               “Ride or die,” said Jimin.

               “Ride or die,” said Jungkook. “Let’s get it.”

               Jungkook pulled out his camera and started recording.

               “This is JK Booker here with Clair and Sarge,” Jungkook said, making his voice sound deep and gravelly. He turned the camera to Catalina and Jimin. “We’re here at the mountain mansion, famous for holding ancient spirits. Tonight, the three of us are going to talk to those spirits.”

               Catalina led the way as they walked to the side of the massive mansion, searching for a side door. Jungkook brought up the rear, in order to catch everything on camera. They came upon a cracked, overgrown patio which led to the glass door of what used to be a conservatory. The steps up to the patio were crumbled, so they had to climb up the side. The glass door opened easily. The three of them crept into the glass room, eyeing the broken and overturned pots spilling dusty soil across the tiled floor. At the other end of the conservatory was another door, presumably leading into the house.

               They entered into a kitchen. It was dark and there were cobwebs above the cupboards. It didn’t look like it had been abandoned for long. Maybe a year or two. Catalina wasn’t sure. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest. This was much more adventure than she’s ever had before. They went further into the house.

               “Here we are,” Jungkook whispered. “In the belly of the beast. Guys, keep your eyes peeled for any suspicious sounds or voices.”

               “Got it,” said Catalina. “Wait, I feel…a presence.”

               “Who is it, Claire?” asked Jimin. “Is it a spirit?”

               “It is a spirit,” said Catalina. She closed her eyes and held out her hands. “Someone is nearby. They have a strong energy. An angry energy.”

               “We’ll proceed with caution then. I’ve had my fair share of violent spirits,” said Jungkook.

               “Tell me about it,” said Jimin. “The things I’ve seen-“

               “Tae Tae, is that you?” a voice asked from somewhere up ahead. The three friends froze. A man came around the corner and saw them, immediately tripping and falling back, screaming at the top of his lungs. Catalina, Jimin and Jungkook also screamed at the top of their lungs. The man scrambled to his feet and ran away, screaming, “There’s people in the house and one of them has a huge knife!”

               “We need to get out of here,” said Jimin. Catalina looked at him and saw that his face was sheet white, eyes like saucers.

               Before they could get far though, the man came back, flicking on a light switch in the kitchen. He saw them and screamed again, flinging the IPhone from his hand, his back hitting the wall.

               “We’re not gonna hurt you!” said Catalina. “We’re sorry we broke in, we didn’t know someone lived here.”

               The man took a deep breath and looked at them again. Catalina thought he looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it.

               “I’m sorry, the knife is really making me nervous,” the man said. He was trying to make his voice sound brave but he was still cowering against the wall. “Put it on the ground and explain yourselves.”

               Jungkook hurried to take the knife off of his vest and set it on the ground. The man gulped and stood up straight.

               “My name is Catalina,” Catalina said in what she hoped was a calm voice. “This is Jungkook and Jimin. We thought this house was abandoned and haunted. We’re just some dumb college students who wanted to check it out. We’re really sorry for breaking in and scaring you.”

               “Why are you dressed like that?” the man asked.

               “We were making a ghost hunting documentary,” said Jungkook.

               The man sighed and said, “Oh, well the show must go on. I can go upstairs and bump around a bit for your movie. Maybe make some spooky voices. I’m good at voice acting.”

               “What’s happening right now?” Jimin whispered.

               Another set of footsteps could be heard running towards the kitchen. They stopped at the entrance and a head peeked in.

               “Hobi? What’s going on? Why were you screaming?” the new stranger asked. He looked over at the three friends who were still standing in the kitchen, terrified. “Oh, hello! I didn’t know we had guests.”

               He stepped into the kitchen and said, “My name is Kim Taehyung, this is Jung Hoseok.”

               Taehyung was probably one of the most beautiful people Catalina had ever seen. He had fluffy black hair, big eyes with a beauty mark under the left one, and full lips. He looked a little bit like a god maybe. The man who had first found them, who was picking his phone up off the ground, was also stunning. He had dark golden skin, a sharp jawline, pretty face, and silky parted hair. However, only for a moment did their beauty distract Catalina from noticing their eyes. Their eyes were red. Blood red.

               “They were making a ghost hunting documentary,” Hoseok explained. “They didn’t know people lived here.”

               “Oh! How fun! Can we help you finish your film?” Taehyung asked.

               “Uh, actually, we should probably just get going,” said Jimin. “We shouldn’t be out too late, we have classes early in the morning.”

               “Oh,” Taehyung’s face fell. “Well, we won’t keep you then.”

               “Actually, I guess we could-“ Jungkook started. 

               “Jungkook!” Jimin slapped a hand over Jungkook’s mouth. “Can we have a moment to talk real fast?”

               “Sure! Just let us know if you need anything,” said Hoseok. “We have water and I think soda. And if you’re hungry-“

               “Okay, thank you,” said Catalina, grabbing Jimin and Jungkook’s arms to drag them away. “We’re okay for now.”

               Hoseok and Taehyung stepped out of the kitchen and Catalina turned to look at the boys. Jimin still looked pale.

               “I say we let them help us make the doc,” said Jungkook.

               “Are you crazy?” asked Jimin. “Did you not see the way they were acting? They’re weird! This is weird!”

               “Sure, they’re a little creepy and their eyes are red, but maybe they’re just goth,” said Jungkook. “You never know.”

               “Hoseok was wearing a pastel windbreaker. No goth would ever touch that with a ten foot pole,” said Catalina.

               “True…But Taehyung looked so sad when we said we were leaving,” Jungkook said with a pout.

               “Yeah, I bet he wants us to stay because they’re serial killers or something. They want to trap us in the house,” said Jimin. Then he grabbed his hair and gasped. “Oh god, we’re gonna die in here. We didn’t even tell anyone where we were going.”

               “It’s fine guys, we’re not gonna die,” said Jungkook. “My knife is still within reach and Cat, you have pepper spray, right?”

               “Yeah, I do,” said Catalina. “It’ll be extra painful with their contacts.”

               “Exactly. I say, we just let them help us make the doc and then we can leave, potentially with new friends,” said Jungkook.

               “Oh Gukkie, you sweet baby,” said Catalina, shaking her head. “But…I suppose we could try.”

               “Well, I can’t act when I’m nervous, so I’m not gonna be playing Sergeant Vic anymore. You’re just gonna have to work with nervous Jimin,” said Jimin. “I hope you’re happy.”

               “I am!” said Jungkook, clapping his hands. “Taehyung, Hoseok, you can come back in!”

               They came back into the room with hopeful smiles on their faces.

               “You can help us make the video,” said Jungkook.

               “But no murdering us,” said Jimin, pointing his finger at them.

               “Yeah, no funny business,” said Catalina. “Because pepper spray is gonna be way more uncomfortable in those contacts of yours, and that’s all I gotta say about that.”

               “I don’t understand any of that,” said Taehyung with a huge smile on his face. “Oh, I’m so excited! I promise on my mother’s grave that there will be no murdering or funny business. Now, what do you want me to do for your film?”

               Jungkook directed everyone from there. They ended up getting some cool shots of Hoseok bumping around behind closed doors and standing creepily at the end of halls. They got an interview with Taehyung, who was acting as the scared owner of the house. Catalina staged a séance and Hoseok threw a chair into the wall from off screen.

               “I think that’s a wrap, guys!” said Jungkook.

               “I can’t believe I did that,” said Hoseok, eyeing the dent in the wall where the chair hit. “Why did I do that? We’re gonna have to fix this and repaint. We’ll have to repaint everything, we can’t get this wallpaper anywhere.”

               “Wow, that was actually really fun!” said Catalina. “Taehyung, you were a pretty good actor!”

               “Thank you,” said Taehyung. “I’ve always wanted to try acting. Maybe this film can be my debut.”

               As Jungkook started packing up his film equipment and Hoseok continued to fret over the mess of the broken chair and dented wall, Catalina watched Jimin. He didn’t seem scared anymore. He was happily chatting with Taehyung, joking and answering questions about his classes. Catalina didn’t feel nervous anymore either, despite how strange this whole situation was. Taehyung and Hoseok were both so friendly, and Hoseok was such a scaredy cat all throughout filming, Catalina really had no reason to be afraid of these guys.

               “Send me the link when you post this,” said Hoseok, handing his phone over to Jungkook, who put his number into the phone and handed it back. “Do you edit these yourself?”

               “Yeah, I just use Final Cut, it’s pretty easy, but it doesn’t have a lot of effects,” said Jungkook. “That’s okay though, I prefer using practical effects anyway. They always look better. Also, I can’t afford any of those effects programs right now.”

               “Are you in school right now for film?” asked Hoseok. Jungkook nodded. “Are you a student at the university too?” Hoseok asked Catalina.

               “Yeah, I’m majoring in dance,” she said. Hoseok’s entire face lit up. “So is Jimin.”

               “No way! I was also majoring in dance!” he said. “I miss it so much!”

               “You stopped dancing after college?” asked Catalina.

               “I didn’t have a choice,” Hoseok shrugged. “Bad circumstances and all that. I never even got to finish my degree.”

               “Come to the studio with us one of these days,” said Catalina. “We can put on a playlist and just mess around.”

               Hoseok actually looked like he might cry. “I would love that. That sounds awesome.”

               He and Catalina exchanged numbers and Catalina put them in a group chat with Jimin, calling it “Dance Crew”.

               “I wonder if Namjoon is around,” said Taehyung. “He would love to meet you guys.”

               “Who is that?” asked Catalina.

               “He’s our other roommate,” said Hoseok. Then he ran to the stairs and hopped up a few before shouting, “Namjoon-ah!!!”

               “What?” a voice answered from upstairs.

               “Come downstairs and meet our new friends!” said Hoseok.

[prettyboyporter]

Heyo!! Hope you're doing well! For a prompt, I was thinking Billy and Steve sitting in a bath together, maybe surrounded by candles. Billy's reading and Steve is washing Billy's hair very slowly and carefully (don't wanna get Billy's book wet!) and it's a whole lot of tenderness and peaceful silence.

Hey bb@ Doing as well as can be expected, lol. Thank you for the prompt -- it’s a gorgeous one

~*~

Billy arrives home from work bone-tired and tosses his keys into the ceramic bowl on the table by the door with a tink. He stretches with a groan, muscles sore from being cramped under cars all day. 

“Baby?” he calls. He smells the comforting scent of a roast coming from the kitchen.

“In here,” comes the answer from down the hall. 

Billy walks the few steps down the hall and catches the flickering soft white lights coming from the darkened bathroom. 

A smile tugs at his lips. 

When he turns the corner to the bathroom, Steve’s stepping carefully into the tub. Candles of different sizes flicker along the window skill and countertop. 

“Cmere,” Steve says, holding his hand out as he settles down in the tub. “We’ll eat later. Come sit with me first, though.” 

It’s been ten years but he still feels heat growing up his neck, pooling around his groin when he sees Steve naked. 

He’ll forever be Billy’s pin-up boy.

The water is warm around his legs, around his waist as he sinks down between Steve’s legs. The warm water soothes his muscles and Steve’s presence behind him is solid and comforting. 

“Brought this for you,” Steve says, handing Billy his book. 

“The fuck are you buttering me up for, Harrington?” Billy asks -- but he already knows the answer. There’s no one on the side. Steve’s just like this sometimes. 

Steve’s lips find their way to the delicate skin of Billy’s ear. “I want you to suck my dick so hard that my soul leaves my body.” And sure enough, Billy feels Steve’s dick twitch against his lower back.

“Don’t act like you weren’t gonna get that anyway.” Billy says as he opens the book. Warm water sluices over his shoulders as Steve moves a washcloth carefully over Billy’s body, washing where he can reach. Billy manages to finish a couple pages before Steve asks him to tip his head back. The cap pops open and there’s the wet squirt of some herbal smelling shampoo as Steve begins to massage it into Billy’s scalp -- some yuppie shit in a fancy bottle that Steve  shelled out far too much money.  A squirt of Head n Shoulders could do the job just as easily, Billy thinks -- but he really does enjoy the herby, woodsy smell of this stuff so he’s not gonna complain. 

Especially with how Steve works it into Billy’s hair, massaging gently. He rubs his fingertips up and down in small circles and this isn’t the first time this has happened -- Steve’s washed Billy’s hair before -- but every time it just feels so intimate. 

His body’s changed over the years -- scarred from the mindflayer, a little softer around the middle thanks to age, but his curls have always been his. A source of pride. Letting Steve do this feels even more intimate than when Steve fucks Billy open with his fingers, then with his cock, whispering filth and love into his ear all night. 

Not that the sex isn’t great. It is. 

But in the moment, Billy lets Steve pour a pitcher of water over his hair -- Steve’s index and middle finger on the delicate skin under Billy’s jaw, tipping his head back. 

Fragile as a Faberge egg is not a phrase that Billy had ever thought he’d use to describe himself, but that’s how he feels right now. Delicate. Laid bare. 

Steve kisses Billy’s forehead and Billy remembers the first time Steve had done this -- placed a soft kiss to his forehead one night in the Harrington’s hot tub, middle of winter, four beers and the watery soft white light flickering with Steve’s movement as he stood up to kiss Billy’s forehead. Then the bridge of his nose. Then his lips.

In the tub, Billy lifts his head back up, scoots back against Steve’s chest and reads a couple more pages before it’s time to get out of the tub and towel off. 

They eat the pot roast and talk about the mundane shit of their days -- bitch about people who annoy them, figure out what to get Max for her birthday. 

Billy sucks Steve off as he leans against the kitchen counter, dishes forgotten in the sink. 

The tile is cool on Billy’s knees as his mouth works with all of the well-familiar sensations: the stretch of his jaw, the weight of Steve’s dick on his tongue, the little panting sounds Steve makes right before he’s about to come. 

That night Billy curls around Steve’s back and falls asleep with his fingers ghosting through Steve’s chest hair. 

[bloodyjacksparrow]

currently obsessed with the idea of ghost!billy

maybe back in cali, Neil really did kill him.

maybe one day Max lets slip about did Billy's 'friend' give him that hickey hidden under the collar of his jean jacket.

maybe Neil overhears, gets home early or maybe Max forgets he's even home. he starts off calm, asking Max to go to her room, asking billy to shrug out of his jacket. both kids move with shaking, pale hands.

maybe max doesn't go to her room like Neil asks, she loiters outside the door, peering through a crack thats just wide enough to see Neil's knuckles fist in Billy's hair.

maybe she sees the cruel way Neil's lip has twisted, or the way the vein in his temple is purple and poping. or the way Billy's eyes are frozen, wide and icy blue.

maybe she stumbles a little on her way to the phone, fingers punching in the three numbers sloppily and shakily, the plastic slipping from her grip when she hears Billy grunt in pain, loud and clear over the harsh sounds.

maybe Max's eyes water as she talks to the person on the phone, biting through the address and her tongue when the smack of knuckles against soft flesh becomes too much.

maybe the sound of Billy's head bouncing off the ceramic of the kitchen sink churns her stomach and she chokes a little, bile burning her throat.

she might sob into the phone, knees shaking as she drops the handset, heading to the kitchen and sees the blood. the crimson on the white ceramic, dripping onto the tiled floor, puddling under Billy's curls. they'll matte in the blood, she thinks. he'll be so mad if he has to wash it out once it's dried, she thinks.

maybe Neil doesn't stop kicking the fetal curve of Billy's body until he hears the sirens, until the paramedics race up the stairs and haul him off his son's body.

maybe they move to indiana anyway. Neil's a coward, starts on Max. yells at her about nothing. about the books Hawkins high makes her read. about the way she cuts up her carrots. the way her eyes look like ice when the sunlight catches them just right.

maybe the first time Neil goes to grab her, he stumbles over the flat of the carpet. the door might open before Max has gotten a proper grip of the handle and her skateboard wheels seem to know the way to Steve's house while her knees barely keep her upright.

maybe she tells Steve a little about Billy. the music he liked, the way he took his coffee, how he could braid Max's hair so all the little baby hairs stayed flat against her head.

maybe while she shakes, curling into Steve's arm, she feels faint circles rub themselves into her spine, and she cant help but sob.

maybe she feels less alone a little more often, when they beg Steve to take them into the tunnels and Steve looses his balance, cracking his head against the doorframe, it feels like hands cover hers as she fucks with the steering wheel. as if "youre a goddamn idiot, Maxine" echos in her ears but the beamer stays smooth on the road.

maybe when she next gets stuck with english homework, one of her pens roll over the page, pointing at the quote with the awnser.

maybe next time Mike is being a complete dickwad, he trips over nothing, or his bikechain comes off.

idk ghost billy

[thedappleddragon]

haha here we go again

there's a lot of dumb ranting and 3 days worth of logs and a dream in here so im gonna spare evryone’s dashboard and just put it all under the cut.

tw bad memories, talk of unhealthy relations with food, and dreams about dead animals

I realized I kind of entirely forgot to write about what I did yesterday? I kind of did a lot. I know my mom wanted to work on getting tile laid out in front of her bathroom, so we worked together to scrub the concrete and wipe up all the dirt and dust and whatever was under the carpet and remove some of the nails in the floor and bring up a spiky metal strip between the bathroom door and where the carpet was. The other main thing I remember is deciding to continue work on my dress, sewing up the outer bodice, checking that the bodice and lining would fit together, deciding I’d rather have no different colored front panel, and working on the circle skirt. At first I tried cutting the fabric on my bed, but it wasn’t big enough and too lumpy. I contemplated asking my friends if I could borrow their dining table, but I ended up clearing off my own. After I traced and was in the middle of pinning, I accidentally knocked over a glass bowl that I had set on the chair. My mom heard it from the other room and had me come to her room to tell her what it was. She got angry at me, which I thought was fuckin stupid if it was an accident, but after some reflection while cleaning up the glass pieces, I kind of understood why. Mostly I got a little upset about 2 ceramic pieces I made during school breaking a little from the drop. One was a mushroom house from middle school that always makes me remember feeling like an asshole during peer review when I told my person to smooth their project more because I didn’t know “no improvement needed” was an option until I got back to my desk and saw my person saying it was good in all categories because everyone thought my project was great for some reason. The other was a bunch of flowers on a circle. It was the last project we did before quarantine hit, I think. That one is in less tough shape, just a couple flowers knocked off and a chip on one of them. They can both be glued back together, I guess. Then my mom called me back into her room to listen to her talk about wanting to eat huge amounts of food, because she’s clinically depressed with BPD and PTSD and DID and several other acronyms and her favorite coping mechanism is food, but her doctor put her on a diet so she can get her knees replaced, but recently she’s been getting into a zone where she talks about wanting to eat entire cakes and pizzas and buckets of kfc and a gallon of queso or whatever the fuck and she goes “doesn’t that sound GOOD?” And I have to laugh along and say “haha no that sounds bad actually” and get her a piece of ham or something. And every time she goes on her spiel the only thing I can think of is the greedy from the raggedy Ann and Andy musical. It’s just this horrible undulating orange blob that eats everything in sight and seeing it for the first time just made me think of mom and it made me very uncomfortable, with all the orange goo and hurling noises. Also reminds me of this horrible video game boss fight where it’s the apocalypse and a fat lady on a scooter took over the buffet and eats so much during her boss fight, during the defeat cutscene she projectile vomits everywhere and dies. My brother Greg showed me that thinking it was funny. I hated it, and I still do. He showed me a lot of things he thought were funny as a shitty little kid, and I remember several of them being very upsetting. It’s ok. I don’t want to dwell on it. But after cleaning the glass and talking to mom I brought my fabric to my room and called it a night. Oh wait my dad also helped me with some paperwork my coworker handed me so I could get on the payroll.

Today I woke up differently than I have in a long time. I set an alarm for 10 am so I could be at work by 11, but I woke up at 9 from a heavy sleep with dreams about hanging out with my friend in my room, worrying about my dirty house. I wanted to sleep longer, so I got up at 10 to have breakfast and get ready. I spent my shift changing the price tags all around the store, making everything more expensive. I’m gonna work again on Tuesday where I’ll learn how to use the register. I hope I don’t fuk it up, but I have a couple days to relax until then. Maybe I’ll work on my dress. My friends all want to go to prom together, so my new deadline will be March 2nd or a little before. I still need to buy a ticket, but I don’t have access to the link to buy one :( bleh I’m too tired right now to worry about this shit. I only worked 4 hours again today, but after I got home I felt like I could have worked longer if they gave me something else to do. The only price tags left to change were a bunch of grills and stuff I don’t know about but I don’t know if they had any other work for my to do. But I’m glad I went home tho because I was hungry and my feet hurt from standing lol. I did laundry and made myself dinner and washed my hair and drew a little bit and made the table and tbh the pacing of today has been so weird I don’t remember everything. It’s only 1am but I think I’m just gonna go to bed. my friends started talking about going to prom, and I really want to join them, but I can't figure out where/how to buy a ticket. my brain started being really mean to me, syaing that I was being annoying and pushy and that they didnt want me at prom for some reason, so I low-key almost made myself cry until my friend offered to let me be their platonic date since their partner couldn't go. 

last night I had a dream about a hard video game where when you played it, the black shadow enemies would fight you in real life, and one of them left imprints on my arm in the shape of lego bricks. they could only attack you so long as you played the game, and they tried to capture people and you were supposed to save them. I decided it was my time to play, and I walked into my garage that had turned into a cave with bat-people fused into the wall. I paid them no mind as I rescued a girl who was my irl brother, grabbing her hand and pulling her into another versoin of my garage which was uncorrupted and normal looking. she thanked me, and I said it was no problem. then I tricked her, telling her not to trust so easily, as I became one of the shadow enemies and engulfed her in a black sack, trapping her and leaving the room. I came back a couple minutes later, letting him free (now my brain told me he was my brother) telling him I just wanted to know if I was capable of tricking him, and didnt actually want to kill him or whatever.  another big chunk of my dream was taken up by me, my sister, and my dad visiting a run down petting zoo/gamestop. the petting zoo barn was very dark with low ceilings with lots of rabbits and pigs and hay. one of us accidentally killed either a pig or a tiger right next to the exit door, and I had to slink around the gamester trying to distract the owner and keep him from going in the barn and escaping at the same time. I dont remember how it ended, other than me waking up with a sore throat from breathing so deeply through my nose. I had slept on my stomach wit my pillow in my face so I could hardly breathe, and even after I woke up I felt like I wasnt getting enough air. I HATE that feeling, I always felt like I was suffocating in middle school for some reason. I thinkk somethings wrong with my airway but im not gonna do anything about it. im gonna continue to spend 80% of my day laying down so my resting heart rate and breathing speed is slower than an goddamn sloth. whatever.

right now as im laying in bed typing this I feel utterly unpoductive but I KNOW I did SOME shit today. but yeah mostly I relaxed. I worked on my dress, removing and replacing the blue front panel. I lost my exacto knife somewhere so I went to dollar tree to get a knockoff, along with snacks for mom and my sister. the blades aren't as sharp as exacto, but I still know where the name brands blades are so maybe Ill try and see if they're compatible. when I open the package everything was oily and gross, so I washed everything off with soap and water before I used them to cut the threads of the panel seams. I could have used my seam ripper but I wanted to get a replacement craft knife anyway. its kinda neat that it came with 6 different shaped blades for different crafts :) but uhh I also cut out the other half of the circle skirt of the dress, and I have a bunch of extra fabric left over. probably enough to make a whole other bodess if I wanted too. I used my sewing machine to attach the new front panel, and I was hoping to get more sewing done tonight, but when I asked my sister if it was ok for me to use my sewing machine (it right next to the wall between our rooms so she can hear it from there) she said she was going to bed soon so I just attatched the front panel and called it a night. so that kinda sucked. I still have another day tomorrow before I have to work again, and I can still work on my dress on Tuesday after work. idk why my brain thinks that one 4 hour shift is gonna take up my entire day lmao. I just have to get the whole thing done by may 2nd. GOD that reminds me, im gonna be so busy next month. I have six events back to back happening like every other day, plus work. oof. I'll have to let my boss know, but idk If that's gonna make him mad. I've already got pretty comfortable with the lady in charge of the garden center who’s taken lead position while the manager is on vacation, but I dont think I;ll every understand my boss. he’s a sarcastic busy old man and NOT AT ALL approachable. whatever. really the only other tings I did today were drink a shit ton of water play harvest moon, spend too much time on tiktok, and sraw a couple dum things for my friends’ princess au. I fucking HATE the drawing I did for Anna, so I designed her a secondary outfit more inspired by sky pirate bohemian vibes, since she rules over the floating islands. idk if I'll replace her old outfit with the new one in the lineup or just re-draw her old one with better shapes and composition and match the style better or what. I just need it changed eventually becasuse it looks like ass. tbh now that ve taken a little bit of time away from the princess au, there are a couple designs im not 100% satisfied with. but I know that if I go back and make them more detailed or whatever the’ll be more of a hassle to draw and aslkdfhalksdf I dont know anymore. I'm still tied up about color pallets and trying to give everyone a distinct color, and im a little upset it doesn't quite work, and FUCK dude the edgy one’s lore and character are weird and I kind of want to revise it to make it a little nicer but its not my character and I need to stop shoving my dirty little mitts into everyone’s ocs and AHAGHRGHGARGHHG idk man. her power is necromancy and she has a skeleton army, which I think I kinda cool, but I also think it would be neat if her powers extended beyond just that to communing with the dead, helping them find rest, and THEN maybe it can branch into helping fallen soldiers fight again to help them with unfinished buisness. and then if she goes feral and starts abusing her powers, she ignores all the communication and concent with the dead and instead magically rips them from thr ground to do her bidding and they’re uncontrollable and violent and aimless, just like her mind slipping from the magical blight infecting her. idk man we’re till working on a lot of lore. her concept could be SO COOL with just that little bit of extra thought, but so far it’s just MY POWER IS DEATH IM SO EDGY. ugh I know its fuckin rude to bash your friends oc ideas and I might be too overbearing and controlling of this au but dammit im tired and im mean sometimes and my ego is through the goddamn roof and im so sexy and im always right and my meat is huge. ah shit I rpomised my friend I would help her with character design for the dead king but I was busy when she firat asked me and now im not busy but im not doing it ugh. im just frustrated right now because I spent wayyyy to fuckin long just laying in bed watching tikotks and youtube and playing harvest moon an doing jack shit all day. but hey at least I attempted to get a new social security card again today. and them promptly gave up when they said my adress was invalid. again. I feel like im in an uncomfortable medium between having no plans and worrying about the future and having too many plans all the time oh my god. ive been so focused on getting a job and then having a job and making this dress I completely forgot about college shit. thankfully there's no hard deadlines coming up that I haven't already finished. whatever I dont really want to worry about all this hit right now, im just gonna take it one day at a time. (haha it feels like my angel oc just stepped in. how nice of him :) )

[builder051]

Maybe something about Bucky's triggers could be interesting... like steve knows what they are and tries to avoid them at all costs without bucky realising and is kind of overprotective in a way- idk where it could lead imma just put it out there, could get angsty, fluffy whatever

Here’s what I came up with.  I like plot, so… yeah.  If this didn’t quite hit it for you, let me know and I can unleash a bunch of headcanons in non-story format as a sort of companion to the Stucky stories.

This is powers/no powers choose your own adventure.

___________________________

Steve glances sideways as he ticks up the speed on his treadmill.  He catches Bucky’s eye, and he can tell Bucky’s doing the same thing on his own machine.  Steve ticks the speed up another notch and pumps his arms at his sides, propelling his body to move faster.  Bucky’s already breaking into a sprint, his chest open forward and his quads gripping with visible musculature.

“What’s your distance at?” Steve pants, trying to see the display on Bucky’s treadmill without losing concentration on his own movements.

“Five point six,” Bucky reports.

“I’m at five point six one,” Steve says with a smile.

“Race you to six miles?” Bucky asks, raising his eyebrows and sending a bead of sweat down the side of his face.

“You’re on.”  Steve ups his speed again.  So does Bucky, and the sound of sneakers slapping against the treadmill belts increases to a frenetic pace.

At their speed, it only takes a couple minutes to finish the last mile.  Lactic acid burns through Steve’s legs.  The distance counter on his machine flicks to 6.00.  “Done,” he exhales, looking at Bucky again.

Barely one second later, Bucky echoes, “Done.”  They both slap the speed down and slow their sprints to a softer jogging pace.

“Ah.  You win,” Bucky concedes, wiping his forehead to displace the fine hairs that have escaped from his ponytail.

“Barely,” Steve breathes.  “You’re getting good.  I’m going to have to step up my training to stay ahead of you.”

“Naw,” Bucky says.  “I’m just happy to be in shape again…”

“I’d say it’s come back to you pretty easily,” Steve compliments.  “But then again, we’re here a lot.”  He gestures around at the small 24-hour gym, which, as always, is deserted at this hour.

“What time is it?” Bucky asks, slowing his treadmill to walking pace and looking over his shoulder for a clock.

“Almost five,” Steve replies, looking down at his watch.

“Fuck.”

“Well, we’ve been here since three,” Steve says with a shrug.

“The day has…too many hours.  Like no matter what I do, I can barely get time to pass,” Bucky mumbles.

Steve isn’t sure how to respond.  Bucky’s right.  When they’re up hours before sunrise to dampen the nightmares, first instinct is to expect the day to start.  But when work and other activities don’t start until at least seven or eight, something has to be done to goad the clock into moving forward.  The gym’s become their go-to activity following pre-dawn wakeup calls.  It gives Steve hope that Bucky has so much energy and drive, but it doesn’t take away the fact that he’s been shouting his way through paralyzing bad dreams almost nightly for the past few weeks.

Both of them have gotten stronger physically, but Steve can see the subtle wear and tear the schedule’s having on Bucky.  Faint shadows show beneath his eyes.  He’s quieter.  Twitchier.  His forehead sometimes wrinkles with what Steve knows is a headache and Bucky insists is nothing.

“Well,” Steve says, dropping his treadmill speed down to zero.  “You about done here?”  He steps to the carpeted floor and leans against the wall to stretch his calves.

“Yeah, I guess,” Bucky says.  He surfs his treadmill belt for a few seconds as the machine turns off.  The expression on his face looks upbeat enough, but Steve doesn’t like the pallor of Bucky’s cheeks or the micro tremble in his fingers.

Steve claps his hand down on Bucky’s stump shoulder.  “You doing ok?” he asks quietly, wanting to check in without being overbearing.

“Sure, yeah,” Bucky murmurs, a little distantly.

“Hungry?” Steve continues.  “I think we’re out of eggs.  But we could find something to eat at home, or we could go out.”

“What’s open this early?” Bucky asks, flipping up the hem of his shirt to wipe more sweat from his face.

“24-hour places.  IHOP,” Steve offers.

“Ok.  That sounds good.”

They’d walked to the gym, so they end up walking a few blocks out of the neighborhood to a street of restaurants and shops.  It’s still completely dark outside, further confusing the precarious concept of time.

Steve steps up under the IHOP’s blue canopy and holds the door open for Bucky.  A sleepy-looking hostess takes them to a booth in a windowed alcove and hands them menus that are slightly tacky to the touch.

“Two coffees,” Steve orders when the woman asks if she can get them started with drinks.  “And two waters, with no ice.”

Bucky’s absorbed with the menu, so Steve isn’t sure if he’s listening to the exchange.  Steve’s gotten good at avoiding Bucky’s triggers, even adopting some of the habits as his own just to make things easier.  Up until this most recent string of night terrors, Bucky’s been flourishing.  Navigating life easily as long as certain things are avoided.  They haven’t actually talked about it in a while, so Steve can’t say clearly whether or not his protectiveness is embarrassing to Bucky, but he has a feeling it probably is.

The dining room is empty except for a group of drunk-looking young people a few tables over.  Steve glances at them with a disapproving look for a moment, then he realizes it’s Saturday morning.  They’re probably the leftover stragglers from some Friday night party.  He remembers himself and Bucky doing things like that years ago, and a single sniff of a giggle escapes him as he turns his attention to the list of omelets.

“What?” Bucky asks, giving a confused smile at the look on Steve’s face.

“Was just thinking…” Steve says.  “About us as kids.  Going out drinking and stuff.”  That feels like so long ago, before the war came in as an unwelcome interruption.  Now, sitting face to face in the restaurant booth, it’s starting to feel overwhelmingly like a date despite their gym clothes and sweaty faces.  It feels like they’ve been together for a century.  But before the war, it was in the closet.  And now, it’s an awkward domesticity.  Steve can’t drudge up a single memory of them actually going out.

“God, I barely remember that far back,” Bucky says.  “We’ve gotten old.”

The waters and coffees arrive.  Steve sees to rehydrating himself with the clear fluid before attacking the caffeine.  Bucky takes one halfhearted sip of his water, then wraps both hands around his steaming mug. The water’s still cold even though it doesn’t have ice in it.  Steve makes a mental note to ask for room-temperature next time, even though it sounds nit-picky.

The waitress comes around a moment later, and Steve selects an omelet.  Bucky goes for plain pancakes with eggs and bacon, stuttering a little over his order and training his eyes downward.

“I bet you could make that,” Steve says, pointing at an advert on the wall for pumpkin French toast.  Now that his menu’s gone, Bucky’s picking at a crack in the tabletop, and Steve’s reaching to give him a distraction.  Bucky’s recent infatuation with the Food Network seems like a good choice.

“I bet it’s too sweet, though,” Bucky says, looking up at the pile of whipped cream and candied pecans topping the image of orange-brown toast triangles.

“But if you made it yourself, you could have it be however sweet you wanted,” Steve reminds him.

“Hm,” Bucky muses.  “Might be fun.  We could have breakfast for dinner, maybe for Halloween…”

“Yeah, I’d been meaning to ask, what do you want to do this year?  How’re you feeling about the doorbell and stuff?” Steve poses, draining his water glass.

Bucky looks into his coffee cup.  Last year, Steve’d tried putting up a sign imploring trick-or-treaters to skip their door.  He and Bucky’d ended up sitting against the wall in the master bedroom listening to the doorbell ring on and off for the entire evening.

“I don’t know…” Bucky says.  “I’m not…really wanting to do the same thing again.”

“I could ask Clint if they get a lot of traffic in their neighborhood.  Since it’s a lot more rural than here,” Steve suggests.  “Or we could get a hotel.”  He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Didn’t know it was that kind of holiday,” Bucky jokes.

Service is quick in the almost-empty restaurant, and their steaming breakfast plates arrive.  The waitress generously refills their coffee mugs and leaves a collection of ketchup and hot sauce on the edge of the table.  Steve adds some condiments to his hash browns, then tucks in.  The workout’s left him famished. Bucky’s slower in his attack on the eggs and bacon, but nods enthusiastically when Steve asks if his meal is good.

Bucky switches back and forth between his savory plate and his pancakes.  Steve directs him to the little cart of flavored syrups.  “The original’s probably the least sweet,” Steve says.  “But there are fruit-flavored ones, too.”

Bucky scoots down the length of the booth to investigate, accidentally knocking his napkin off the edge of the table as he moves.  He’s about to change directions and lean down to pick it up when one of the young men from the drunk table passes by, likely on his way to the bathroom.  His foot lands squarely on the white paper napkin, and he slips, reaching blindly for anything to break his fall.

It’s no use.  The young man hits the floor, along with the ketchup and Steve’s coffee cup.  The sound of glass shattering mixes with swearing, and the waitress rushes over to pull the kid off the floor and survey the damage.

Steve looks at Bucky, who’s wide-eyed and ghostly pale.  “I…what did…?  I didn’t mean…” Bucky’s stammer-whispering.  His gaze is trapped on the young man, who’s dabbing ketchup off his jeans, and the mass of glass and ceramic and muddled red-brown liquid on the tile below.

“Buck, it’s alright,” Steve says, reaching for Bucky’s hand across the table.

Bucky retracts, hunching his shoulders.  “I didn’t…I didn’t pull the trigger,” he mutters.

“You didn’t do anything,” Steve says firmly.  He rounds the table, trying to avoid the mess on the floor. Bucky’s covering half his pallid face with his hand, and Steve reaches for both shoulders.  “Come on.  Let’s go outside for a minute.  You’re safe.  It’s ok.”

He pulls Bucky out the front door and off to the side so they can lean against the building’s brick façade.

“I didn’t meant to…to shoot him,” Bucky breathes.

“You didn’t shoot anyone,” Steve firmly reminds him.  “That was a stupid drunk kid knocking stuff on the floor.”

“It’s my fault…”

“No,” Steve says, grounding Bucky with gentle pressure on his arm and stump.  “It was an accident.  That guy wasn’t paying attention.”

Bucky tips his head back against the wall and takes a gasping breath.

“Alright, get your breath back,” Steve encourages.  “You’re at the IHOP in Falls Church.  You’re close to home.  You’re with me.  You’re gonna be ok.”

“Steve,” Bucky mutters.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Steve says.  Bucky’s white face is illuminated blue with the glow of the restaurant’s sign. His jaw’s hanging slack; Steve wonders if he’s feeling sick.

“Sorry,” Bucky whispers.

“It’s ok.  Don’t worry about anything.  You’re gonna be fine.”

“Can we…please go home?”

“Yeah, of course,” Steve says.  “We’ll have to walk.  Are you feeling up to it?”

Bucky swallows hard and nods.

“Ok,” Steve says.  Then, “You sure you’re feeling alright?”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and seems to battle for coherency.  “Like…kind of sick, but…still really hungry?” he tries.

Steve chuckles at the honesty, relieved Bucky’s able to get in touch with his own feelings.  “How about we take breakfast to go?”