#its definitely. normal for it. it just also momentarily freaks me out

[korattata]

god my laptop still manages to jumpscare me by turning the screen off for a few seconds every time i plug or unplug the charger

[sidespromptblog]

What to Do?: Chapter 9

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Ten

Warnings: Food mention, General Angst, Hurt/Comfort, and a difference of opinions.

Summary: Logan realizing that his first mistake was seeing the other sides as anything other than coworkers. They weren't a family. They didn't even like each other. How had he not realized sooner?

Word Count: 2,439

Roman paced anxiously in the hallway before Logan’s door, the paper in his hands had been wrinkled, smoothed out, and then wrinkled again before he had tried to smooth it out once more… this time less successfully. 

He had been more than a little surprised when Logan had come to him with a list of things he wanted Roman to pick out, normally when it came to getting anything done they had two totally different mindsets of what should be done when it came to Thomas. And once it came time to do things they would clash just as they always had, as Roman instinctively wanted Thomas to just have fun and follow his passions. Whereas Logan was the exact opposite of that, and he had always wanted Thomas to do the things he needed to do, whether they were fun or boring. Roman had always kind of hated him for that, for seemingly shooting down his every idea, for a more and more boring one that sucked the fun out of everything. 

But this new plan…

“You too huh?” Roman’s head snapped up in an instant, and locked eyes with Virgil who had his hands on his own version of a wrinkled set of papers. “Apparently Patton got one too, and the oth… the dark sides too.” 

A bolt of surprise leapt through Roman, so Logan wasn’t asking just them anymore? He was actually, well and truly, going to everyone to see what they wanted done. He could imagine that Remus must’ve been quite surprised to be asked such a thing from Logan of all people. Especially with how they had clashed just recently, or had Logan just given Janus the papers with the instruction to give it to Remus too. If that were the case… then Remus would have seen this as nothing more than homework to be done, and probably shredded it the moment that it landed in his hands. 

Or maybe not… 

Roman was smart enough to acknowledge that he didn’t exactly know his brother that well. That and Remus always tried to do what they least expected from him, as one big twist surprise ending towards them all.

He was annoying like that. 

Roman’s eyes snapped towards the door, and Virgil fidgeted in his place for some reason looking very uncomfortable at the prospect of entering. “Yeah…” He finally said, scratching the back of his head. “It definitely was kind of… interesting. I didn’t think he’d want to talk to me for a while, we didn’t exactly part well last time.” That was an understatement, he remembered yelling at Logan… and just being so angry before he had come to terms with it all. “I’m surprised that Logic even wants to see us and-” 

A snarl peeled off of Virgil’s lips, and Roman flinched in surprise.

“His name is Logan, Roman.” The anxious side snapped in an instant, his eyes dark like thunderclouds before a torrential downpour. “Not Logic. Do you understand?” He growled, suddenly looking quite on edge for someone who had just been looking so nervous in the face of Logan’s door. 

It felt a bit like whiplash. 

But even so Roman held his stance firmly, he was determined when it came to this and he wasn’t going to let one of Virgil’s temper tantrums get in the way of it. Not anymore, and not with everything that had happened recently. He was Logan’s shield, he had sworn that he would be that for him even if the logical side didn’t know it, and even if he never knew it. Roman was on his side, and he would remain on his side for as long as the logical side would have him. 

So he crossed his arms, “I think his name is whatever he chooses for it to be, Virgil.” He stressed the other side’s name, feeling only an inkling of guilt at how the anxious side stepped back for a second. “We don’t have the authority to tell him what he will or will not be called. If he wants to be called Logic, then Logic is what we’ll call him. It’s not up to you.” Roman stared at Virgil, meeting his eyes dead on and not breaking eye contact until the anxious side’s eyes darted away. “Got it?” He asked, feeling the tiniest bit of satisfaction in how he had turned the other’s words back on him. 

A beat of silence, and then…

“Thank you Creativity.” Both of the sides looked up in a hurry, their eyes locking onto the logical side who stood before them, his door previously shut tight was now wide open. He held his own stack of papers, all neatly pressed and without a single crease or line on them. “Both of you may come on in, if it so pleases you.”  

And just like that, he turned and disappeared into his room, leaving the other two sides to follow him. 

The atmosphere was… more than a little tense to say the least. 

The bedroom that had previously been Logan’s looked nothing like what it was now, to the point where it was almost night and day with the comparisons. The posters were gone, the string lights, the pictures of all of them, the bookcases, the crumpled up paper balls that had once been ideas, even the… the fanfiction that Roman used to help Logan write… it was all gone. It was like everything had just been stripped away, and a boring office cubicle had taken its place. The deep blue walls were now a pale cream color, and the lush carpet was now just bland grey tile worn with a path of someone who walked in the same place for years and years.  

Roman had thought that Logan’s room had been boring before, but this… 

This was a whole new ball game. 

And looking at the stark horror that was etched out onto Virgil’s face, he could very well tell that the anxious side was thinking the same thing that he was. 

“So…” Roman cleared his throat as his voice cracked almost immediately. “I’m.. I’m a…” He fumbled badly with his words, the shock he had just went through robbing him of what he had prepared himself to say. He’d been asked here for a specific reason, and if he failed the simplest thing he had been asked… then what good was he? “I’m sure that Thomas can do the things that you want him to. It shouldn’t be that ha-”      

Almost immediately Logan cut in, “Don’t aim too high,” The logical side suggested, rather politely. In a way that Roman could tell that what he was saying wasn’t necessarily out of malice or anything. Instead, it feels like Logan’s saying to be more helpful, almost like a coworker giving some good advice.

But Roman can only nod, the underlying message behind that advice all too clear for him. 

“I aimed too high.” It says, “And I got burned for it, so don’t do what I did. Save yourself.” 

The tension has not eased a single bit. 

And then, Logan lifts his cup up, taking a slow and steady sip from it, as if he was trying to ease the atmosphere by doing something. The warm brown liquid swirled around in Logan’s cup with the clinking of ice accompanying it, and Roman’s nose itched with the faintest smell of spices wafting off of it. He got the faintest whiff of cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and cloves. Had… had Logan completely given up coffee and switched over to having chai tea of all things? He would have expected that from someone like Patton, or even Virgil, to lessen the other’s anxiety.

But Logan?  

Roman had to bite his bottom lip at the mental image of Logan becoming one of those “dark academia” people that sat in the library and looked gloomy and so freaking cool all the time... kind of like Janus. Although Janus… Janus was more of a wine person, that much he could tell from miles away without even having to get close to that snake. 

“Don’t you normally drink coffee?” Virgil asked, wrinkling his nose at the spicey mixture in Logan’s cup, and Roman fought the urge to elbow him in the gut for his remark. “What’re you drinking?” 

Logan, to his credit, didn't even seem like he was going to get mad or anything at Virgil’s pure judgment and vitriol towards the drink of his choice. He merely took a longer sip than usual, licking the droplets that remained from his bottom lip when he pulled the cup away. He looked… calmer, before Logan would have vehemently defended his food choices against anyone who tried to question him. But at the same time, it felt more than a little wrong, Logan may have shifted towards the spicier drink, but where was his spice? Where was Logan’s sharp tangy flavor that made him so different from them? 

This Logan was like coffee now, bitter and… not at all to their taste. 

Logan just smiled that polite smile, and Roman had to force himself to smile back.

“I’ve found that drinking coffee isn’t exactly beneficial in the long run,” Logan explained, as he swirled the content of his cup around in a steady motion. “It’s been known to enhance anxiety attacks astronomically,” Virgil’s face gave a funny look for a moment, before Logan went on. “And it also lowers blood pressure too.” 

Roman swallowed down the words that he wanted to say, “That’s great Logic, good job on looking ahead.” The words felt sour and dull in his mouth, logically… Logan should have known that him drinking coffee over tea wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t impact Thomas in any way, and it wasn’t like Logan himself would drop dead over some high blood pressure. Logan had just taken away one more thing that the logical side liked, and turned it into something else. “You did good.” 

For a split second something in Logan’s face changed abruptly, a slight widening of his eyes and a crease in his forehead and lips. 

Something changed, and then… 

The room flashed briefly, but just out of the corner of Roman’s eye, it was so brief that he almost missed it entirely but he was certain that he had seen it. 

The cubicle styling of Logan’s room, just momentarily flashing back to how it was supposed to look. With all of his space posters, hanging lights, and the organized mess that Roman had seen Logan’s room as before. It was.. It was as if the new room only existed when they looked at it, and not a moment too soon or too late for them.

The very thought alone made Roman’s stomach drop.

He had promised himself that he wouldn’t intervene if this was what Logan had truly wanted for himself, but even so… it didn’t ease the sting of pain that was accompanied by every new thing that Logan was starting to do when it came to any of them. He had thought that he could handle it, and that the pain of this somehow would be lesser than the guilt he had felt towards this whole situation. But.. 

It wasn’t. 

If anything this felt worse, he had talked himself into giving in and giving this to Logan. All of this was almost too much for him, his legs itched to run and take him out of this room so that he wouldn’t have to witness anything like this anymore. But he held himself firm, and refused to move. He forced himself to look back at Logan, at the logical side who is steadily typing away on his computer, inputting the information that both he and Virgil had brought to the other side. 

Speaking of Virgil though…

The anxious side looked like he wanted to either scream or cry at Logan, the emotions clashing like a thunderstorm on his face as his eyeshadow darkened in color for a few brief moments. Until finally Virgil sucked in a deep breath, his eyeshadow returning to its normal, usually messy state as he seemed to calm down for now. 

Reaching into his pocket Virgil pulled out a folded piece of paper, “For your… office.” Virgil caught himself on the last word, almost wanting to say something else. The cubicle looked like a prison to him, nothing at all like Logan’s old room, and he could very much see why Logan hadn’t wanted him in here before. So he says the word almost bitterly, because this whole situation feels bitter to him. There’s not one bit of sweetness to be found in it.

He only softens the slightest bit when Logan takes the paper, unfolding the picture he had drawn for the logical side. And when Logan actually pins it to his cubicle wall, his movements are careful and precise so as to not damage the art Virgil had made for him. It remains on the wall, in plain view for the logical side to look at while he’s working. Then and only then does Virgil feel an intense sense of relief sweeping through him like a hurricane. It’s one more piece of evidence for the both of them that Logan doesn’t entirely hate them, but also that things also aren’t the same between them.

At least not yet. 

“Okay…” Virgil clears his throat, before tugging on Roman’s sleeve to pull him towards the door. “We’ll leave you to your work.. Logic. Let us know if there is any other paperwork you need from us, and we’ll get it done…” Virgil paused, but for just a moment. “I promise.” 

Logan stopped in his typing, his eyes glancing up from the computer they had been otherwise glued to. A look of… something passed over the logical side’s face, before it vanished entirely. 

“Thank you…” 

It was the only two words that were whispered back, so softly that Roman had almost missed them entirely. And before he could even think to ponder the words, he was pulled out by Virgil, his head full of ideas as he remained ever more determined to give Logan things to put up in his new “office”. His mind was wild with ideas of painting, charcoal sketches, and pastel drawings that he could give to Logan to pin up. Anything to make his new room, just the slightest bit more hospitable for the side who was constantly having to be in there. And anything to let Logan know that they still cared for him, even if he was doing all of this.  

While Virgil…

Virgil felt just the slightest bit better.

[ash-writies]

Nothing But Tongues and Teeth

A/n: This took a lot longer to write than I thought, about 2k words of angst, I hate writing serious moments but here I am :/ also happy father's day

Bolin X GN!Reader

There you were, seated across the table from a man whose name you didn’t even know. Your parents sat beside you and talked with him. Their words didn’t form into sentences as they hit your ears. Suddenly there was a hand on your shoulder.

“Have fun you two,” your mother called, her voice as sweet as honey to the untrained ear. Although you heard her truly, her venomous voice chiming like bells. What she meant was, “don’t mess this up.”

“So, y/n-” the man started. Before he could even finish his thought he caught your glare.

“There is nothing you can give me,” you began, keeping a porcelain smile on your face, “I’ve grown a mouth so sharp and cruel it’s all that I can give to you, my dear~” Venom hung in those last two words. He froze like a man caught in the path of a cobra, the snake ready to strike at any minute. You knew the severity of your words, if he left and never saw you again your parents would be unhappy. Anything was better than this though. Better than wasting your life serving a man who’d never truly care about you

“Excuse me?” the nameless man asked, mostly in confusion. His green eyes were fixed on your face, looking for something.

“I didn’t stutter,” you said, sipping from the drink placed in front of you. His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips for a moment.

“I’m Bolin,” he introduced himself, “I reckon you didn’t know that before?” An amused smile spread across his face. His smile was way different from the other smiles you saw. His smile stretched across his lips and infected his cheeks, it caused the lights in his eyes to dance, it even introduced its happiness to his eyebrows.

“Whatever,” you began, “I’m not marrying you and that’s it!” Your voice was stern and true. You caught a flicker of doubt taint his face, and for a moment you felt bad. Then the moment was gone.

“I don’t think that’s up to you,” he said coolly and leaned back in his chair.

“I’m not going to be the perfect housewife that you want,” you tried to counter, “and when you come in quick to steal a kiss my teeth will only cut your lips, my dear~” You leaned in after those words left your mouth.

He frowned, “I don’t need a housewife first of all. Secondly, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” You paused and took in what he said. If he didn’t want to control you then what was the point of this? Was this just some manipulation thing?

“I know that you mean so well, but I am not a vessel for your ‘good intents’”

“You’re right, but I still want to marry you,” He said, smiling at you. Everything was a blur after that. As soon as he finished his sentence, your parents returned to you both. They heard his last sentence and were more than happy to start discussing wedding plans.

As your wedding day came closer and closer, it felt that more and more was out of your hands. Most of your belongings were taken and packed up so it would be easy to move them right after your wedding. Your mother was quite the control freak throughout the whole process. Not that you cared, you didn’t want anything to do with this whole wedding ordeal anyway.

Finally the day of the wedding came, you looked stunning, and if this Bolin fella was there you bet he’d tell you.

“You look amazing,” a voice that sounded like his rang through the air. You sighed, thinking that it was bad luck to see your fiancé before the wedding or something.

“It’s not too late to call off the wedding you know, you said standing up. Time was dragging by at such a slow pace before he spoke,

“I don’t know why I would do such a thing.” He laughed, crossing his arms.

“You don’t know much about me, I will only break your pretty things, and I will only wring you dry of everything.” You walked towards him until your faces were only inches apart.

“But if you’re fine with that, you can be mine like that,” you looked at his lips and back at his eyes. There was something off in his eyes, you didn’t know if it was a good thing but that didn’t matter. You walked past him and continued down the hall to where your mother was waiting.

“Honey, let me fix your hair,” She sang, rushing to you. You sighed and let her pull the strand away from your face. “ I can’t believe my baby’s getting married!”

“You were the one who set this whole thing up,” you muttered, hoping she didn’t hear you.

“Good thing too!” she cheered, “if you’d have done this it would’ve definitely been a disaster. You sigh, not even bothering with a response.

The wedding goes on with blurs of tears and hollers. Colors void of saturation, voices void of emotions, and embraces void of warmth were all that flooded your memory of that joyous day. After that, days of moving your stuff to his place, days of your childhood being up-rooted and discarded, days of memories saying goodbye and being laid to rest. Once the movers left you and Bolin sat on the couch, you were a noticeable distance away from him.

He was the first to speak, “what do you want to eat y/n?” His voice was small and fragile.

“Anything really,” you shrugged, you didn’t do most of the moving so it didn’t really matter.

“How about some pizza then?” He exclaimed, jumping up and grabbed his phone and ordered some. You both ate in awkward silence.

“Let's unpack together,” he said once you were both done eating, trying to lift the mood.

“Sure,” you muttered. You both started on the living room which, for now, only consisted of a couch and a tv that sat on the floor. The first thing you both agreed on doing was building the ikea furniture. Whenever he saw you were getting frustrated he’d add in a joke or do something silly. At first you didn’t notice but after you’d accidentally skipped a step and he said, “this screw stupid won’t in go” that gave away his whole plan. The attempts after that were still kinda funny though.

Before bed he made moves trying to get closer to you. Moves that you tried to ignore at first but you couldn’t stop your outburst, “Abandon all your stupid dreams about the person I could’ve been,” you hesitated before adding in, “my dear~” in the same cynical voice you always say it in. The only good thing that came out of that was that he left you alone for the night.

For a while after that you tried your best to avoid him even though he kept trying to get to know you.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he whine-asked.

“Because in the night I know you burn with feelings I cannot return,” you answered, momentarily forgetting you were supposed to be ignoring him.

“Why can’t you return them?” he asked normally this time.

You pressed your lips together, “my parents had an arranged marriage and never fell in love, why should I have to?” he shrugged with a dumbfounded look on his face and you left before he could say something that’d make you want to completely confide in him. You ignored him and the way your face heated up for a bit longer. A month has passed since the wedding, and Bolin was desperate to get to know you, bothering you every hour of the day.

“What did you do today?” He asked

“Nothing really,” you lied, your daily life was rather eventful to make sure you never spent a moment resting unless it was planned.

“We should spend some time together sometime,” he suggested.

“You gotta know that this won’t last! Desperation will erase the fact: I’m keeping all of the answers in my cigarette box!” you said, for some reason. You didn’t even know why and you wanted to take it back as soon as you said it. Especially because of the look on his face. Which looked like a kicked puppy.

“If you need space I’ll give you some,” he started standing up, “but I won’t let you speak to me like that.” He was upset, rightfully. He went to your shared room and shut the door. You sat there for a minute. You put your head in your hands for a minute and thought about what you said. You didn’t want to take it back because then he’d want to stay with you. But would it really be bad to have him by your side? Just when you thought you couldn’t feel more conflicted he stepped out of the room with his duffel bag for gym full. Your heart sank but somehow you were comforted with the thought that you knew this was going to happen.

“I’m not leaving forever,” he said, reading your face, “just for a while so you can sort yourself out.

You rolled your eyes, “ You might as well never come back.”

“Why do you feel that way?” he stepped towards you.

“Why do you feel so entitled to me?”

He paused, The answer’s in the second before the other shoe drops,” y/n, I’m not- this was never about that- remember how you said, ‘if you’re blind to that’ well, I’m fine with that,”

You were so torn you were crying, “I will ruin you! I will poison all your happy thoughts, I will love you like the ashes in her cigarette box!” While tears streamed down your cheeks he just looked at you.

“‘Her’?” he asked. You felt your face heat up as he kept walking towards you. Once he reached you he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around you. “What is going through your head?” he asked.

You let out a choked sob, “why did you marry me?”

“Mostly for the money, but because I thought you’d be a fun person”

You chuckled, “the money?”

“Me and my brother weren’t well off,” he started, “I just wanted to make it so I could support him. Though it’s awful to use someone-”

You cut him off, “here I was thinking you had bad intentions,”

“You never answered my questions,” he swiftly changed the subject and your smile faded.

“I had a really nice dad who loved my mother,” you began, “she loved him too. One day he left, died, all without word or warning. Then my grandparents set my mother up and the next time we weren’t so lucky. There, that was the first question. My mother was distant after her first husband’s death. So yeah”

You really wanted it to end there and Bolin must’ve caught on somehow because he changed the topic again. “So since I’m fine with your many flaws, we can be together?” he said, your head still pressed against his chest.

You laughed, “yeah,”

Fin

[chibimyumi]

Autopsy of Weston Arc

A few days ago I visited a beloved friend @sweetbunny8, and we were bitching about the Boarding School Arc together. That friend is so incredibly smart, she brought up amazing points I never thought about... and so we spent the afternoon facepalming, discussing how many missed potentials there were. The below are the 5 points we talked about, on FIRE🔥🔥🔥!

1. The Arc owes us a thorough Power Dynamic Swap

I think the biggest draw of Kuroshitsuji is the unusual power dynamic between our protagonists. It would have been amazing to see a thoroughly explored power dynamic swap between master and servant.

The manga did touch upon this swap, and it gave us a delicious appetiser of what this Arc could have been. I really would love loved to see more of how Sebas and O!Ciel would deal with their cognitive dissonance of role.

Our Ciel

O!Ciel was raised in a world where the roles of servant vs master are very distinct. To O!Ciel it must have been very weird to now suddenly be subordinate to his servant. I would have loved to see if O!Ciel found it uncomfortable, or just really fun to try something new without stakes, or how his habits would slip through. In the Circus Arc we saw very clearly how both Sebas and O!Ciel still succumbed to their habits, thereby accidentally drawing unwanted attention.

Doing so in the Weston Arc would not have been a carbon copy of the Circus Arc, because unlike at the circus now O!Ciel would be performing in a more familiar environment with people of comparable status. I really wish we could have seen more of that.

Sebastian

Sebas would also have been a blast to see in a likely unprecedented role for him. In this post I argued how Sebas was probably never given opportunity to interact for real with humans on close proximity, and how he was probably not ever considered more than a mass-destruction weapon. It would have been very interesting to see how Sebas would handle suddenly being surrounded by people who don’t just interact, but are also subordinate to him as a teacher!

I find it unlikely Sebas ever had the experience of playing a superiour role to his own master. Sebas loves testing his limits with his master, and it would have been a blessing to see how Sebas could now “legally” exploit his own position of power over his master. I’m sure he would have gotten a kink out of it.

2. Planning and Calculation???

It would have been logical and responsible if the Queen just told her Watchdog what House Derek was in for O!Ciel to investigate. A “P.S. He’s in Red House according to the latest information btw, loves - Vicky” would not be too much asked. She knows Derek’s parents, and I can’t imagine the March of Arden being secretive about what House the kid is in. But even if Victoria didn’t do the efficient thing, we still would have loved it if O!Ciel had to discuss with Sebas and strategically choose a House to get into, rather than him just being planted in Blue House.

My friend thought O!Ciel would have chosen Red House regardless of whether he knew for sure where he’d be, because as the nephew of the Queen, Derek being in Red was the most logical. As an actual Lorded Earl himself, O!Ciel would have a decent chance holding down a position in Red House. And considering how Redmond has a talent for choosing awful personalities for fag, O!Ciel would have fit in perfectly too!

Then O!Ciel’s goal could still have been to become a prefect’s fag, but then the showdown with Maurice would at least have direct, immediate conflict, rather than... whatever it was the manga did. Maurice had NO reason to neutralise O!Ciel as long as they’re in different Houses! Maurice you... boring, inefficient, redundant twat...

3. Yana... is Edward a joke to you?

Why didn’t O!Ciel/Yana capitalise more on Edward being at Weston?! It would have been a perfect chance to develop Edward further and show O!Ciel’s interaction with family! I love Lizzie, but it would have been amazing to see Edward interacting with our protagonist without his sister being the reason for interaction. UGH 💔

Also, the cricket drag could have been shortened dramatically if O!Ciel had thought of using Edward. Edward has been at the Weston for longer, and he is a prefect’s fag to boot.

Sure, O!Ciel didn’t know that at first, but he finds out BEFORE the cricket was set up. The moment O!Ciel would learn that he’d need to win cricket to meet the principal, he should have gambled on Edward. If O!Ciel explained to Edward that he is investigating the disappearance of the Queen’s relative, I can’t imagine Edward not being willing to help by winning cricket in becoming “the chosen one” through gentlemanly play. That’d be what Edward would be aspiring to become, anyway.

4. Why Cricket ANYWAY!?

Even IF Edward for some reason refused to help, the cricket would still entirely have been unnecessary. It wouldn’t matter at all who would win, because as the prefect’s fag, Edward had the privilege to attend the Midnight Tea Party ANYWAY. All four prefect fags are present, as we all can see. O!Ciel would only have needed to ask Edward to act as his agent, and tadaaa.

Besides, even IF Edward didn’t exist in the arc it’d still be entirely fine, because all the prefects would SURELY have access to the Party. That is known. O!Ciel only needed to tell Sebas to keep an eye on where the definitive participants would be going, and track them. When push comes to shove, Sebas could just barge in like he did anyway (and bring O!Ciel even if he’s uninvited), and the case would still have unfolded the way it did.

5. PLOT HOLE!?

My friend also brought up a humongous plot hole so large it became a space on its own that I didn’t even notice it was a hole. Why did the prefects react so differently to Agares and Derek being “alive” respectively?

So, my friend and I both watched the musical adaptation as the last thing, and in the musical the prefects were all being totally chill about Agares being around, but shocked shitless to see Derek back. All four prefects were present during the killing of Derek AND Agares, so they should all know both are dead. It had not been addressed in the musical that the prefects have knowledge of corpse reanimation, so they shouldn’t have been able to act so normal next to Agares, but freak out about seeing Derek. (This is yet another example of WHO IS YOUR TARGET AUDIENCE, KUROMY21!?)

In the manga it had been addressed that the prefects have knowledge that reanimation of the dead is possible. And it seems like Redmond arranged for the reanimation of at least Agares. But why didn’t they arrange for the reanimation of Derek too? (@chibmib​ Thanks sis, for checking this for me so I didn’t have to suffer through it again)

Derek is the Queen’s relative, his disappearance would really have invited suspicion, as it indeed did. The reason the P4 didn’t arrange for Derek’s reanimation can’t be because the they considered Derek too evil to bring back. Agares was namely arguably worse; he was an adult and the vice-principal! It was his literal job to be responsible.

The P4 couldn’t have decided to not reanimate Derek for fear of him ratting them out for assault. There are plenty witnesses of Derek’s crimes, and the P4 would be first-hand witnesses too of Derek’s lying. If Derek told the authorities he was assaulted, all witnesses could have helped testify for the P4 against Derek.

The only reason I can make sense of the double standard in the P4′s reaction is that Undertaker told the P4 he only succeeded in reanimating Agares and not Derek, because the technology is still very young; which would have been true too. BUT THEN THE MANGA SHOULD HAVE ADDRESSED IT.

Even if that’s what happened though, the P4′s reaction shouldn’t have been such horrified surprise. They should be relieved to see the Queen’s relative alive, because then they wouldn’t have ‘murder of Queen’s relative’ on their résumé. All they had to do instead then is explain why they attacked Derek in a moment of lost control at the sight of a future-prefect being a lowlife. And again, the victims could have helped testify...

And this all would only have happened if we momentarily accept the unlikeliness of Sebas coincidentally having a plugged nose and not smelling Agares’ corpse stench the entire Arc.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

lip sync your way into my heart

( @thecomfortofoldstorries and I got into a fun head-cannon debate last night about Tik Tok POVs and this is what happened)

--- Jaskier has never really been in the loop when it comes to social media. He was behind the curve when he made his Tumblr and he was two years late to sign up for Twitter. It’s no surprise that he finally downloads Tik Tok and makes an account several months after it’s become a viral platform.

That also means all the good usernames are taken; Jaskier types in @buttercup-bard, sees that it’s available, and calls it a day. This isn’t an app he’s going to care about. It’s just to waste time during his forty minute commute to and from campus. 

Alas, he has ADHD...and this shit is addictive.

Especially, he hates to admit, the thirst-trap hotties who do weird, obscure, edgy POV videos. Jaskier knows they’re aimed primarily towards teen and young adult women but he’s a red-blooded Redanian gay. He’s horny. He can watch a few POV Tik Toks on the bus and thirst after pretty boys with big muscles...as a treat.

By Jaskier’s second week of classes he’s found a definite favorite Tik-Tokker (is that what they’re called? Or is it influencer? Jaskier doesn’t care). The guy is gorgeous. He has beautiful honey-gold eyes and long, silvery-white hair; which is appropriate since his handle is @whitehairdontcare. He makes a wide range of content, too. Perfect for Jaskier’s Concerta-focused tastes. There are some dances here and there and some Q&A videos, but for the most part he does POVs. 

Jask and his roommates, Essi and Priscilla, have spent many happy hours poring over Mr. White Hair’s account, watching and re-watching their favorites from his vast repertoire of content. Essi loves his weird, edgy-boi shit. Stuff with titles like “POV: I fight the bully who insulted your haircut” or “POV: you make a deal with the devil for true love”. Stuff that Jaskier would have been into when he still listened to My Chemical Romance on the regular (okay, he still does, but don’t tell Essie). 

Priscilla is a huge fan of Tik Tok dances. She follows every challenge and ranks her favorites, compiling them into a YouTube series that’s more for her self-gratification than anything else. Mr. White Hair is generally towards the top of her list whenever he deigns to follow a trend that doesn’t involve badly applied makeup blood smears. The guy clearly works out and the definition of his body (and the movements of said really hot body) make the dances look so much more fluid and fun. Jaskier and Priscilla clearly share a brain-cell when it comes to appreciating Mr. White Hair’s hotness.

Jaskier’s favorites, of course, are the cute little POVs that lie scattered between all the edgy ones. Stuff made for the softies of Tik Tok. Stuff made for boys like Jaskier. “POV: I fix your car for you” is the one he’s probably re-watched the most. Mr. White Hair is lying on his back beneath a jacked-up blue car, oil smeared in a few strategic places on his face, chest, and arms. At the very end of the Tik Tok he moves the wrench out of the way of his face completely and winks directly into the camera.

Jaskier hates to admit it, even to himself, but no matter how many times he’s watched that stupid twenty-give second video, that wink drops his heart straight down into his shoes and fills his stomach with butterflies.

---

“Hey do you guys carry fake blood here?” an almost terrifyingly deep voice asks from behind him. Jaskier twirls around on his heel, Retail Smile firmly in place, and loses his shit the moment he sets eyes on his latest customer.

It’s Mr. White Hair.

Here. In the middle of the aisle of the Party City where Jaskier works every weekend. He’s either going to throw up or pass out or both. 

He doesn’t though. Instead, the Demon Lord of Retail possesses his body momentarily and nods, “Right over this way!” He leads the insanely attractive influencer over to the year-round section of Halloween FX makeup and gestures towards the shelf filled with various fake blood capsules, bottles, and packets. 

“Thanks,” Mr. White hair smiles. Jaskier nods again, silent, and drifts back towards the counter in a daze. He’s the only one on shift right now (it is not a very busy Party City) and he knows that he can’t pass out on the dirty tile floor or he’ll get fired (and perhaps tetanus). He just needs to power through the next few minutes and then he can crouch next to the helium tank and freak the fuck out.

But not until Mr. White Hair is gone.

Just as Jaskier is re-learning how to breathe normally, the sexy internet star makes his way towards the counter with an armful of products and the retail worker loses it again. Thank god for the ability to compartmentalize.

“So, just these for you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“No problem! I love your Tik Toks by the way,” Jaskier replies automatically. His eyes widen slightly. Why the fuck did I mention his Tik Toks!?

“Thanks,” the guy says and blushes. “I didn’t know they’d gotten so popular.”

“You have like two million followers?” Jaskier laughs. “I think that makes you pretty popular. Maybe even famous.”

“Oh yeah...right.” 

“Anyway, your total is going to be twenty-one fifty.”

Mr. White Hair pays and Jaskier bags all his fake blood, wondering the whole time exactly what kind of content he can look forward to seeing. More of Essi’s edgy shit, apparently. As he’s handing the plastic bag over the counter, Jaskier smiles and works up the courage to ask, “Is your hair naturally white? I don’t mean to pry, it’s just really pretty.”

Geralt’s face goes slightly pinker than before and he nods. “Yeah. Weird genetic thing. Thanks.”

“No problem. Right on,” Jaskier beams. “Well, it was nice meeting a famous person. Thanks for stopping in.”

“Thanks for helping me out,” the Tik Tokker replies. Jaskier watches him exit the store before ripping his phone from his pocket and dialing Essi. He needs to talk to her before he spirals into a giddy panic attack.

---

“Hey Jask have you seen that hot guy’s latest Tik Tok?” Priscilla asks, lounging across her futon like a queen. Jaskier looks up from his copy of The Collective History of Aedirnian Funeral Dirges and wrinkles his eyebrows in confusion.

“No, why?”

“You should go check your phone. I think you’ll be happily surprised.”

“Oh-kay,” Jaskier says, drawing out the ‘kay’ for as long as it takes him to get up from his seat on the floor and exit the room. He retrieves his phone from the charger in the kitchen and returns to Priscilla’s bedside. He opens his new favorite app and pulls up @whitehairdontcare’s page. There’s a new POV from earlier this morning and Jaskier taps on it. 

His eyes go round when he reads the caption: “POV: You’re the cute cashier at the Party City and I’m bad at flirting”. 

Mr. White Hair is staring into the camera with those beautifully golden eyes, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand while he lip syncs to whatever song is playing. He’s wearing a tight, navy blue v-neck and Jaskier can see the movement of every one of his ridiculously defined muscles as they flex. The silver wolf’s-head necklace Mr. White Hair always wears around his neck is in its usual place, dangling down between those perfect collarbones…

Jaskier takes a shaky breath and glances up at his friends, who are staring back at him with wide eyes. “It could be about anyone.”

“How many Party Cities do you think he went to yesterday?”

“I’m not going to get my hopes up,” Jaskier snorts. “He’s a social media influencer and I am one semester away from finishing my degree and my thesis. Why would he ever want to be with someone like me?”

Essi rolls her eyes and Jaskier goes back to his homework. 

---

Later that night, alone in his room, Jaskier plugs his earbuds into his phone and watches the Tik Tok over and over. He finds the song Geralt used and adds it to his Work Is Tough playlist, which he’s allowed to play over the loudspeakers at the store so long as he’s working a solo shift. 

He watches Mr. White Hair’s plush pink lips move around the words and dreams of kissing them someday, as far-fetched as that scenario is (because this video is definitely not for him, that’s impossible):

“My hopes are so high that your kiss might kill me.

So won't you kill me, so I die happy.

My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury,

or wear as jewelry; whichever you prefer.”

Fucking Dashboard Confessional. Of course. One of Jaskier’s favorite bands from his emo days in middle school. If this really was for Jaskier, if this really was a legitimate attempt at online flirtation by Mr. White Hair himself, it was working.

 Jaskier buries his head in his pillow and sighs. 

[kyber-kisses]

Cracked

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: spn level gore, cursing, I think that’s it-

Summary: When the reader gets knocked out by a powerful witch, Dean and Sam race to find a cure before it’s too late.

A/n: my first one-shot in who knows how long! I’m so happy I finally wrote something that didn’t turn into a series! Anyways I hope you enjoy and feedback is greatly appreciated! (also its hella long, ye be warned)

“Is she still out?”

“Yeah Dean, shes still out.”

Dean let out a string of curse words as he turned his attention back towards the road, his brother sitting in the back seat with a very unconscious Y/N in his arms.

“Dammit. Dammit. Dam-“

“Okay, dude you need to calm down. She still alive, she’s not dying.”

“But what if she is?!” Dean whipped his head around once more to stare at Sam, eyes full of panic. “We don’t know what that witch hit her with!”

“Well can you at least wait to freak out until we actually know what’s going on?”

Flexing his fingers on the steering wheel, Dean let out a huff before falling silent. He tried to push his worry down but as he got closer to Bobby’s house he only felt it rise. Every few seconds he brought his eyes to the rear view mirror, checking on both you and Sam. That witch had been harder than expected to kill and she had knocked you out with some sort of blast, now they were just waiting for whatever effects it brought on.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“She’s kinda getting warm. . . We need to get her back to Bobby’s.”

Clenching his jaw, Dean nodded. “I know, I know I’m trying.” Hissing through his teeth he pressed his foot further down on the gas, the impalas speedometer quickly rising right along with Deans worry.

*. *. *. *. *.

Ten minutes later Dean was practically kicking down the front door of the old hunters home, your body limp in his arms as he quickly moved over the threshold, Sam close behind.

“Bobby?!”

Normally at the sound of his name being called the man would have grumbled and whispered a what now under his breath, but the panic in Deans voice had him shooting out of his desk chair like it was on fire.

“Dean? Sam?”

Dean payed no attention to his name being called, instead moving past the startled old man so he could gently set you down on the old cot in the living room.

“Dammit, man. She’s burning up-“ Deans voice shaking as he pressed the back of his hand to your head.

“What the hell happened?! I thought you guys said the hunt was going fine?” Dropping his book back on the desk he moved across the room towards where you lay unconscious, practically having to pry Dean away from you so he could assess the situation.

“It’s was! And then the evil skank hit her with something and knocked her out cold!”

“And her temperatures been rising for the past ten minutes.” Sam added, dropping their gear bags on the already cluttered floor. “You have any idea what we can do?”

“Not really. Try and keep her fever down until we can figure out what exactly she hit her with?” Bobby shrugged with a sigh. “It’s kinda hard to help her when we don’t know what’s wrong.”

“Alright, yeah okay-“ Dena breathed, still slightly out of breath as he wiped the back of his forehead with his hand, already turning towards the kitchen and moving away.

Bobby watched him go with a confused look before turning to Sam. “Is he alright?”

The younger Winchester only shrugged. “I have no idea. He’s been acting like this ever since she went down. Full blown panic and all fidgety. It’s definitely not like him.”

“No. No it ain’t.” Bobby murmured, stepping out of the way as Dean came back, the two watching as he went straight to your bedside and took a seat next to you, putting cold compresses on your forehead and wrists.

It wasn’t exactly a secret that you and Dean weren’t particularly fond of each other. Enemies was too strong a word. . . It was more like you both just found the other to be mildly annoying. And seeing Dean so worried about you? Well that was not normal. Not normal at all.

“Dean, you doing okay?”

“Yeah, yeah why wouldn’t I be?” Quickly whipping his head around he stopped short at the facial expressions he was being given. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Shaking his head, Sam turned towards the hunter besides him. “We should probably start trying to figure out what the hell is happening.”

“I’ll stay here with Y/N, make sure her fever doesn’t spike.”

“Okay. . . We’ll be in the kitchen if you need us.” Nudging Sam forward, Bobby gave the older Winchester one last look before departing. The jade eyed hunter still seated at your side, only shifting once to wipe a loose strand of hair away from your face before slipping his hand into yours.

Not normal. Not normal at all

*. *. *. *. *. *.

When you woke up it was dark. . . And freezing. Hair rippled erect on your arms as you shivered, slowly blinking yourself into consciousness. Turning your head you quickly realized you were no longer in the witches home but instead in the messy study of one Bobby Singer, the only light either coming from the bay window next to you where a full moon shone bright or from the kitchen across the room.

A small groan escaped your lips as you tried to shift on the cot, a bolt of pain shooting through your head as you did. Falling back once more you peeled the cloth from your head, looking at it with confusion. What the hell had happened? And where was everyone?

Tossing the cloth away you took a deep breath. It was only after did you hear the hushed voices coming from the kitchen.

Up. You needed to get up.

You moved slowly this time, stretching out your body as you sat up. It felt like you were made of lead, every movement taking twice the effort that it normally did. Shrugging it off you swung your legs over the side of the cot, bracing yourself to get up. You shivered once more, this time feeling the cool perspiration on your skin, which was only cooled further when a soft breeze came through the open window.

Standing up slowly you flinched as your feet came into contact with the cold hardwood floors, the old wood squeaking ever so slightly under your weight. Other then that you crossed the room quietly, heading towards the hushed voices just around the corner. Your body felt like it was being weighed down with lead as you walked, a deep ache in your bones accompanying it.

You didn’t feel right. You felt off.

Using the wall as a somewhat support, you rounded the corner into the kitchen, halting in the doorway. Sam, Dean, and Bobby were seated at the small table, all three of their faces buried in books. It was easy to see they were working on something due to the mountains of lore scattered across the surface of the table.

“What are you guys doing?”

At the sound of your voice all work stopped, three heads looking up in unison in your direction.

“Y/N.”

“You’re up!”

Eyebrows knitting tightly together you gave the brothers a confused look. “Yeah, I’m up. What the hell happened?”

Instead of a clear answer, you watched as Sam suddenly stood up, moving across the room towards you. Once close enough he had the back of his hand pressed to your forehead.

“Her fevers gone, that’s good right?” He spoke, looking over his shoulder at his brother and the old hunter.

Swatting his hand away you took a step back. “I’m sorry, fever?”

“Y/N, you had a temperature of 104 for almost three hours.” Dean spoke up, closing the book in front of him so he could give you his attention.

“What?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

With a shrug you leaned your weight against the door frame. “We were in that house trying to find that witch.”

God, why did you feel so weird? It’s like your feet were encased in cement.

“So you don’t remember getting thrown across the room by her?”

“No. And so what if I did? What does me having a fever have to do with getting thrown by a witch?”

There was silence from the three as they looked between each other, clearly arguing silently over who should say something.

“You think she cursed me don't you?” Letting out a sigh, you pinched the bridge of your nose. You weren’t cursed. If you really had a fever that bad then that’s probably why you felt so off.

“How you feeling kid?” This time it was Bobby that spoke up, leaning back in his seat to look at you.

“A little dehydrated, but I’m fine.”

“You sure, cause I feel like you should still be in bed-“

“I’m fine, Dean!”

But clearly you weren’t fine, because not a second later you knees suddenly buckled, your hands reaching out for the door frame so you didn’t crash to the floor. There was a series of shouts and all of a sudden Dean was in front of you, and hoisting you up into his arms before you could fall to the wooden floor.

“I got ya, Sweetheart.”

“Dean! Let me go!”

“Would you just let me help you for once?! I’d rather not see you face plant on the floor.” He fired back, adjusting you in his arms as he carried you back the way you had just came, setting you back down on the cot.

A light switch was flicked on as Bobby and Sam followed behind. “What the hell was that?”

“Like I said, I’m probably just dehydrated.”

“I- I’ll go get you some water.” Dean nodded, hesitating for a moment before backing away and heading back towards the kitchen.

“That was not dehydration and you know it.”

The second he was out of earshot you looked up at the remaining people in the room, ignoring Sams comment.. “Okay, why is he being so nice to me?”

“Trust us, we’ve been asking that same question for the past several hours.” Sam sighed, looking back over his shoulder momentarily.

“No, seriously. Dean and I practically bicker 24/7. And now in the span of two minutes he’s picked me up bridal style and gone to get me water. Is he dying? Am I dying?”

“Ya ain’t dying. . . At least not yet.”

“Wow, thanks Bobby. I feel so much better.” Leaning back on the cot, you took a deep breath. It kinda felt like you were dying now that you thought about it. Your body felt heavier than normal, even your eyelids. You weren’t tired though, so that was out of the question.

“Uh here. Sorry it’s not cold.” Dean sighed, stepping back into the room before handing over a glass of water.

“It’s fine. Thank you, Dean.”

“You sure you’re feeling alright? You kinda scared us earlier.” Sinking down into the chair next to the cot, Dean crossed his arms.

You paused mid sip, lowering the glass from your lips. “I mean, I’m sore- like really, really sore but what else do you expect when you get thrown violently across a room?” Leaning down you put the glass next to the cot before resting your elbows on your knees. “But I also feel. . . God this is gonna sound so weird- I feel heavy.”

“Heavy?”

“Yeah, like my bones are encased in concrete. It’s probably nothi-“ your words suddenly died on your lips as you looked down at your lap, your elbows still resting on your knees.

“Y/N?”

Slowly sitting upright, your eyes widened as you suddenly patted down your thigh. You couldn’t feel it. You couldn’t feel your leg at all.

“Uhhh-“

Changing tactics as your panic quickly increased you tried squeezing the muscle, but nothing happened. You didn’t even feel the skin dip under the sudden pressure. It felt solid. Like glass or something.

“Y/N! What the hell is going on?!” Too preoccupied to notice the panic in Deans voice you leaned over to roll up the cuff of your pants.

The trio watched as your eyes widened, unable to clearly see what had you so shocked.

“AHhh!”

“What?”

“AHhH!” You repeated, lifting your leg up and into better lighting, gesturing wildly at your limb.

“What the-“

“Oh my god.”

“Holy shit.”

It was still your leg- but at the same time it wasn’t. The light reflected off of it like it was coated in some sort of gloss, and when you lightly tapped your knuckles against it you were met with la light clink.

The three hunters were crowding around you within seconds. Dean crouched down in front of you slowly, eyes going from your leg to your eyes. “Mind if I-“

You shook your head, allowing the hunter to gently lift your leg to get a better look.

“It looks like. . . Porcelain.” Sam mumbled, kneeling down next to his brother, eyes fixated on your leg. “Can you move it?”

“No.”

“Can you feel anything at all?” Dean tilted his head, running his palm over your solidified calf muscle. You shook your head again, eyes still transfixed on the glossy sheen of your leg.

“So I guess we figured out what kind of curse that witch put on you.”

“No shit, Bobby.”

“I’ll go through the lore, see if I can’t find something.” Sam nodded, popping back onto the heels of his feet before quickly moving back towards the kitchen table, Bobby not far behind.

“It doesn’t hurt or anything?” Dean asked quietly, gently putting your leg back down, your heel hitting the floor with a light clack.

“No.”

“We’re gonna fix this, don’t you worry.” He gave you a soft smile before rising to his feet and giving your hand a squeeze. . . Or at least he tried too. Instead his hand only felt cold porcelain, your hand stiff against his own. The two of you exchanging a worried look before looking down, your hand now the same as you leg.

“Yeah, I really don't want to turn into a fucking porcelain doll.”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Whatever curse was infecting you spread slowly, and thankfully; painlessly. The only way you could tell it was spreading was when the soreness in different parts of your body suddenly stopped. And sure enough when you looked, you skin was smooth and glossy. It was an odd thing to look at, normal skin slowly giving way to something else entirely.

In the last few hours it had completely taken both of your legs, the entirety of your left arm and most of your torso as well. Unable to move you were forced to stay on the cot, but thankfully Sam, Dean, and Bobby had moved their research into the study so they could keep an eye on you.

“This sucks ass.” You grumbled, using your one good hand to flip through the pages of one of Bobby’s books on hexs. “Please tell me one of you guys have something.”

“Nope, sorry Y/N.”

You let out another groan before slamming the book shut. “When I turn into a life size doll do me a favor and try not to turn me into some extravagant coat rack or mannequin.”

“Oh don’t worry, I was thinking more of a lawn ornament or scarecrow for you.”

“Haha. Your so funny Dean, really I’m crying from laughter.” You deadpanned, saluting him with a middle finger. “Maybe if I’m lucky and I stay like this I’ll be able to flip you off even in death.”

Turning your head away from the group, you chose to look out the window instead. Beyond the pane of glass rain was coming down in sheets, soaking every inch of the salvage yard. Every once in awhile a lightning strike would light up the sky, followed by claps of thunder that vibrated through your body. But it was really your reflection that got you.

It was beginning to spread to your face. Lucky your neck had yet to be taken by the witches curse allowing you a little mobility, but it was beginning to crawl up the side of your face, your cheeks reflecting the flash of lightning beyond the salvage yard. Using your one good hand, you delicately let your fingers dance across your face, the cool materiel beneath them unable to register the touch. Leaning forward to get a better look at your reflection you lightly pressed your cheekbone, hoping to feel something- anything.

Instead you were met with a sharp crack and you had to bite down on your tongue to keep from crying out in horror, your eyes widening as you quickly brought your hand away from your face.

No,no,no,no,no,no-

“Haha! I think I found something!” Dean exclaimed, hoisting whatever book he had in his lap up into the air, unaware of what had happened a few feet away from him.

“Good. . . Because I think you guys need to hurry.” Your voice was soft as you slowly turned your head to face the group, the tone of it catching everyone's attention.

You watched Sam’s eyes widen along with Bobby’s, Deans book dropping from his hands to loudly smack against the floor.

“Y/N, don’t move.”

“I’m trying not to.” You spoke softly, trying to minimize the movement of your face.

The only proper way to describe it was that you had cracked. Literally. Where your face was once unblemished was now a massive spider crack, the point of impact stemming from your cheekbone and spreading across your temple towards the center of your forehead, along with spreading out over the bridge of your nose and going down to meet the corner of your mouth. The cracks only stopping where porcelain ended and skin began.

Y/N, I’m gonna need you to be really still.” The caution in Deans voice adding to the tension as he slowly and very cautiously got up from his seat.

“N-no problem.” As you breathed in you swore you could feel air seeping through the cracks in your cheek. You shivered.

Slowly kneeling down in front of you, Dean allowed his hands to reach for your face, only to stop a moment later, calloused palms hovering millimeters away from your fractured skin. He was afraid that if he touched you in the slightest you would shatter.

“Sam, take a picture of the spell I found in that book. If you guys leave now you might be able to get all the ingredients in time.” Speaking over his shoulder Dean never took his eyes off you. He wanted to talk to you but he was afraid the movement might make the breakage worse. Instead he slid his hand into your good one. “One squeeze for yes, two for no. Does it hurt?”

Feeling the first tears fill your eyes you squeezed his hand twice, watching as he body relaxed slightly. You were scared. . .and deep down you knew Dean was too.

“Dean, I’ll keep an eye on her. You go with Sam.” Bobby suddenly spoke up, giving the hunters shoulder a squeeze.

“What? No! I can’t leave her here!”

“Son, I got her. You and Sam know your way around that witches house better than I would. You’ve already been there once.”

“But-“

“No buts. Get going, your brothers already out the door with the keys.” Bobby sighed, ushering the older Winchester to his feet.

He got him all the way to the doorway before Dean halted to look back at you.

You looked afraid. . . And he wasn’t used to seeing that in you. He didn’t like it. It made him feel sick.

“Look after her for me?”

“I got it, now get going! clocks a tickin.”

*  *   *   *   *

Sam and Dean has maybe been gone two hours when the old hunter finally spoke up again from his place behind his desk, looking up from whatever he was occupied with.

“That boy worries about you, you know that right?”

Letting out a light huff you rolled your eyes before looking back out the window. The curse had spread more over the past ten half hour, most of your face and neck now the same as the rest of your body.

“He does. Dean may be stubborn and hard to read at times, but it’s easy to see how much he cares about you.”

If your body would have allowed it you would have laughed. Instead you shot him an amused look. . . Or your best attempt at one.

Dean was the last person you would expect to worry about you. You had been nuances to each other for as long as you could remember.

“It took me a little while to see it.” He continued, leaning back in his seat behind his desk. “But I figured him out. You know he came busting in here like the place was on fire earlier, yelling for me with you limp in his arms. I don’t think I’ve seen that boy so afraid in awhile.”

You shook your head, unable to believe it. He was lying. There was no way Dean would be like that with you. That didn’t sound like him at all.

“At first Sam and I were confused as all get out. But like I said, I put two and two together. That idjit has fallen hard for you Y/N.”

A laugh rumbled in the back of your throat at that, you couldn’t help it. How much had that man had to drink?

“I’m serious. You know while you were unconscious he sat with you almost the entire time. Making sure your temperature stayed down, and all that. He held your hand the whole time too. . . Even if he thought Sam and I didn’t notice. That boy was worried beyond all get out.”

Titling your head you gave him an amused glare, one the clearly read old man, you’ve lost it but I find what you’re saying highly amusing.

“Fine, don’t believe an old drunk like me. Half this town thinks I’m crazy already.” He shrugged, reaching across the desk for his beer.

But that was the thing. You wanted to believe him, because deep down you knew you had feelings for the jade eyed hunter. You never found him annoying. . . If anything he was one of your favorite people.

It was maybe twenty minutes later that the front door was thrown open, a hectic Dean flying into the room with Sam hot on his heels.

“We got it! This should turn you back!” Lifting the small vial up he hurried across the room, his steps slightly faltering at the sight of you.

It had gotten worse since he left. The cracks head spread from your face to creep down your neck and collar bone and from what he could see the only parts that hadn’t turned to fine china were your eyes and part of your mouth, along with a little of your neck.

Shaking his head, he moved to sink down next to you on the mattress, unscrewing the lid of the vial. “Alright, tilt your head back, there we go.” Holding the back of you head he slowly emptied the contents of the vial into your parted lips, sending out a silent prayer that it worked.

Once empty he slowly stood up, backing away as he kept his eye on you. “Well, did it work? Is it working?” Turning towards his brother and Bobby in hopes of an answer. The two only shrugged.

“We’re gonna just have to wait and see. These things need time.”

The older Winchester let out a groan before taking his hand through his hair. “I- I can’t. I cant. I’ll be outside if you guys need me.”

Neither man interfered as they watched him turn and walk back out the way they had come. Dean was worried, and he had every right to be.

Dean only made it out the front door before sinking down onto the front steps of the porch. (Porch being way too nice a word since it was more like a few planks of wood resting on some old cinder blocks.) above him the porch light clicked off as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon to the east. It was only then that he realized he had been up all night, a yawn crawling up his throat. He needed you to be alright. If that cure didn't work-

The sky was beginning to shift to dusty shades of pink and orange when the front door clicked open behind him, the old wood wheezing as the person moved towards him.

“How’s she doing?”

“. . .I’m doing fine, thanks for asking.”

At the sound of your voice, Deans head whipped around at such a force he swore he heard his neck crack, his green eyes finding you instantly. A sigh of relief left his lips as you sunk down onto the steps besides him. The only sign that you had been cursed at all was the crack shaped bruises on your face and neck, other then that you looked unscathed.

“Y/N-“

“The bruises are fine, Dean.” You smiled, lightly tapping the purples lines on your face. “Feels like I just fell down a flight of stairs, but I am welcoming the soreness.”

Folding his hands in front of him, Dean sucked in a breath as he nodded, eyes fixed on the rising sun. “Good, good.”

There was a small band of silence before you spoke again. “Thank you for saving me. I really didn’t feel like becoming an antique.”

“It wasn’t just me. Bobby and Sam did most of the work.”

“I know, I heard you were too busy holding my hand to help go through the lore.” You grinned, watching as he tensed up besides you, eyes going wide as a deep pink the same color as the sunrise crept across his cheeks.

“Wh-what? No! Who told you that? That- that is crazy talk. I wasn’t holding your hand!”

“Well, if you were I don’t mind.” Casually looping your arm through his, you rested your head against his shoulder. “The sunrise is pretty. Glad I got to see it.”

“Yeah. We don’t watch too many of them do we?”

“No. No we don’t.” The two of you fell silent for awhile, the only sounds being the road off in the distance and birds starting to wake up. It was only then did you lift your head to look at the hunter. In that moment you swear you heart skipped several beats, because for the first time in a long time you saw a soft smile on Dean Winchesters lips, a content one. You were silent for another moment.

“Are you gonna kiss me or what?”

Pulling his eyes away from the horizon he looked at you with surprise. “What?”

“I said-“ you leaned forward, “are you gonna kiss me or what?” you repeated with more confidence.

“You want me to kiss you?”

“Mhmm. Because here’s the thing, I’ve kinda got these feelings for you.”

“You want to kiss me?” Dean repeated, dumbfounded at what you were saying.

“Well I don’t want to kiss Sam, and I certainly don’t want to kiss Bobby.” You laughed lightly, the corners of your eyes crinkling as you looked at him. For a moment Dean thought you were joking with him, but he knew how you played, and you weren’t playing.

“I think you have terrible taste-“ he murmured, suddenly and very slowly leaning in, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. You were like a magnet, pulling him in.

“I totally agree.” You smirked, heartbeat increasing as the distance closed..

“I thought you hated me.”

“Oh I do, I despise you to my very core.”

“Oh, then I guess I should leave.” Deans grin grew as he slowly began to lean away. This was the kind of playfulness he could get behind.

“How bout you shut up?”

“Mmm, sounds like a good idea. Why don’t you make m-“ the words died on his lips the second yours connected with his. And the first thing he realized was that they were soft and molded together perfectly. As if on autopilot his hands went to your face no longer afraid of shattering you,but still holding you gently because of the bruises. He let out a sigh of relief against your lips when they found skin and not porcelain.

“You can kiss me harder if you want.” You whispered, hands finding the back of his neck.

“Don’t want to break you.” He mumbled, keeping his assault on your lips light and simple. He wanted to savor it, cherish it. It was you after all.

“You won’t.”

“Okay.”

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[dented-nado]

Well I mean, since you asked for requests - “If you want me, come and get me.” Maybe with the trinity? I can picture Bruce saying it as Diana and Clark try and force him to go to bed like a normal person 😂 or you know, whatever strikes your fancy!

[[HELL YES. Bruce is slightly ooc because he’s incredibly sleep deprived and I saw it as an opportunity for him to act a little loopy lol. That’s how I am at least when I’m very sleep deprived, so pulling from personal experience here. Enjoy!!]]

“It’s only been one night. Give me a break.”

“Bruce, Honey, I know its hard to tell in Gotham, especially in the winter, but it’s been several nights you haven’t been getting any sleep.” Diana pulled the chair Bruce was sitting in away from the bat-computer against Batman’s wishes.

Bruce was sure she and Clark were exaggerating, it couldn’t have been that long. Besides, he wasn’t even tired, not even a little bit.

“I’m fine, you two can stop clucking over me like hens, thanks.”

“I’ll cluck all I want when it comes to your sleeping schedule mister.” Clark declared firmly.

“Especially not after you convinced me that some humans can be ‘totally fine’ not sleeping for several days and making me feel like I wasn’t quite so weird for a split second before that all came crashing down.” Clark crossed his arms, pouting just a little bit. He didn’t seem actually that annoyed but…

Admittedly, he still felt a little bit bad about that.

“I know… I lied when I said some humans. I meant me, specifically, because I’m fine, I’m great, I’m good, I’m bursting with youthful vigor now both of you let me work. There’s crime afoot.” He declared, trying to pull his chair back forward, only to frown as he realized Diana still had an iron grip on it, so instead he stood up and walked back to the computer instead.

“Bruce, your being ridiculous… and you said "There’s crime afoot” out loud. You’re tired.“ Diana said exasperated with a hand on her head.

"Also, no offense sweet bean… but you look like you’ve been through hell, you have probably the most intense looking bags under your eyes I’ve ever seen.” Clark said, trying to be gentle but serious.

“I look fucking awesome.” Bruce protested in annoyance, not even sure what he was really doing on the computer outside of looking busy. “You’ve heard Harv, I’m a fucking pretty boy. And I feel fan-god-damn-tastic.”

Clark and Diana gave each other a look that said “Yep, he’s lost it.” That Bruce didn’t much appreciate.

He forgot what he was even doing, his new ultimate goal was to not go to sleep no matter what because he was f i n e dammit.

“Bruce, please come to bed. Besides, you know, we’ll be right there with you, we miss you.” Clark pleaded, giving Bruce very tempting puppy dog eyes.

“We can spend a little time tiring you out if you want Bat.” Diana said, soothingly rubbing his shoulder.

Tempting. But he was the god damn batman, so… “No, no bribing me doing the horizontal tango, I have a job to do.”

“The horizontal…” Diana began.

“T a n g o. Bruce, pl ea se , you need to sleep.” Clark finished.

“Why can’t I use creative words without you two thinking it means I’m tired, hmm? Clark’s called me a bean before, I am but a bean, let me live my bean life.” He momentarily felt a little dizzy and a little like he was loosing track of time and space, but regardless he made his way to the bat-mobile to go… somewhere…. who knows.

“Oh-ho-ho no, absolutely not, you are not driving like this.” Clark said immediately super-speeding in front of Bruce acting as a big warm teddy bear-like wall between Bruce and his car.

“I can do what I want. I’m rich, I’m bi, I’m batman, and I fight crime. Now ”scoot your boot.“ as they say where you come from.” Bruce said, trying to move around Clark who was so freaking fast for some reason.

“I have never said scoot your boot.” Clark said with raised eyebrows.

“Really?” Bruce asked somewhat deliriously. “Seems like a cowboy thing…” He  mumbled while moving the cowl up slightly so he could rub at his eye.

“…Would you come to bed if I dressed like a cowboy?”

Tempting. But not even saving a horse and riding a cowboy could get him to give up on his current stubborn crusade that he couldn’t even remember why he had to be on so bad… why had he been up in the first place??

“…No, so yeehaw your ass out of my  w a y .”

“No way, and your yee-haw-ing your a… s…… booty up to bed now,  you’re completely delirious.”

“Fine… maybe I don’t know what I’m doing, or where I’m going, or why right now, but I’m the world’s greatest detective, I’ll figure it out.” Bruce grumbled in annoyance.

He started walking back to his computer since he apparently couldn’t go to his car, but when he tried to sit back down he nearly yelped as it seemed Diana had thought ahead, so he had sat down right into her lap and now her very strong muscular arms were now wrapped around his waist.

“Gotcha.”

“Fu c k.” Bruce mumbled.

This was quite the predicament Batman had gotten himself into! Would he be able to figure out how to escape the strong arms of the Wonder Woman? Tune in next time, same bat-time, same bat-channel!

… Bruce squirmed for a moment grumbling before bowing his head.

“Fine… you’ve won, let’s go to bed…” Bruce conceded.

“That’s more like it” Diana said with a sigh as she gingerly let go.

That was when Bruce took his chance to escape with a triumphant and slightly evil laugh as he took off into the depths of the bat-cave.

“BruCE!” Diana chided.

Bruce just continued cackling, dropping a smoke bomb as he completely forgot that would do nothing against Clark’s super vision as he decided to head for the bat-plane. Good thing he had several bat-themed vehicles.

“Bruce get back here!” He heard Clark call sternly.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt!” Diana yelled.

“If you want me, come and get me!” Bruce taunted with an incredibly delirious smile, not realizing he was about to run into a wall.

He would have, if Clark had not been in front of him again in an instant, causing Bruce to collide with Clark’s chest rather than a rock hard wall. Clark scooped Bruce up into his arms despite the Bat’s protesting and flew him back over to where Diana had her arms crossed and was tapping her foot.

She softly flicked the tip of Bruce’s nose to get his attention and to stop flailing. “Now are you going to be a good bat and change out of the suit yourself, or are we going to have to rip you out of it kicking and screaming?”

Bruce frowned, before getting another idea and perking up slightly. “…There are other ways of getting me out of it~” He said putting on his flirtiest Brucie voice.

“Nice try B, but you blew your chance at the 'horizontal tango’ when you decided to bolt like that.” Clark said looking down at Bruce now with his own smirk on his face.

“Aw, nuts…” Bruce grumbled in surrender, going limp as Clark set him down, pulling off the cowl as he knew he was defeated.

“Your not getting any nuts B, keep up.” Clark said absolutely delighted.

Diana rolled her eyes. “You pick now to make a joke like that Kansas?”

Clark grinned. “Judging by how sleepy he is he won’t even remember that I made my first ever joke like that in front of him.”

“How devilish of you.” Diana commented with an amused smile.

Bruce grumbled as he stripped off the rest of the batsuit. “I wanted nuts though.” He mumbled. “nuts sound good. I like nuts… especially cashews.”

“Your right, he’s definitely not going to remember.” Diana commented, taking Bruce’s hand once he was down to the black undershirt and thin pants he wore under the suit.

Clark put his hand on Bruce’s back as the moved out of the cave. “Come on sleepy-head, off to an adventure called 'bed-time’.”

“But I wanted to fightttt…” Bruce slurred slightly.

“You can fight exaustion by sleeping.” Diana suggested.

“I’ll kick exaust-ian’s a s s.”

“That’s the spirit.” Clark laughed as he gingerly lifted the incredibly tired bat onto his bed before going to get ready for bed himself along with Diana.

“What are we going to do with that man?” Diana whispered, unable to help a small smile, after they had changed into their sleep clothes and came back to find Bruce completely zonked out , snoring slightly with his mouth hanging open.

“We’ll force him to have a normal sleep schedule yet.” Clark whispered, getting into bed and pulling Bruce close in order to spoon him.

Diana joined in on the other side, snuggling Bruce’s head against her chest and putting her arm around both him and Clark as she got settled.

“Our new mission?” Diana suggested.

“Our new mission, will kick ’'exaust-ian’s” butt.“ Clark whispered with a grin.

Diana had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

"You’ll make a joke about Bruce wanting 'nuts’ but you’ll never say the word "ass”, will you?“ She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Nope.”

They shared a quiet chuckle before settling in to fall asleep themselves, their very tired, but at least now very asleep bat cuddled between them.

[horrorkingdom]

Blindness

It’s true what they say – that when a person goes blind their other senses heighten in order to compensate. Knowing that, and thinking back on everything that happened to me, I still can’t come to a rational conclusion of how these events unfolded around me without my knowledge. Granted, I couldn’t actually see any of it happening, but I never suspected anything of this magnitude when judging solely on the minor oddities that I had experienced.

Sure, every once in a while I would hear noises, but my house was old and seemed to have a mind of its own. All of its pops and creaks had become just as familiar to me as navigating its interior without the benefit of sight. Even when things began to turn more bizarre, I always found a way to rationalize them away. Looking back, I ask myself, “How could I have been so…well, for lack of a better word, blind?”

My mother had tried to convince me not to move into the house alone. “Sarah, a young blind woman shouldn’t be living all by herself,” she’d said. But I wanted to – needed to. I needed to prove to myself that I was strong enough to do it. Besides that, as a twenty four year old, I didn’t want to live with my parents forever. And I sure didn’t want to wait around for a nice man to marry and move in with. That may never happen.

Having lost my sight at an early age due to a freak accident with industrial strength cleaning chemicals, I knew all too well the nuances of learning to create a mental map of my surroundings.

When I first moved into the old house I used my cane exclusively. I waved it back and forth in front of me with every step I took. I knew roughly where all of the furniture was since I was the one that directed the movers on where to put everything. I employed the cane for nearly a week, using its tip to develop a mental image of the layout. The learning process was slow and clumsy at first, but I eventually got to the point that I was able to shed my cane after several days and began walking cautiously with my arms extended. I progressed further and became familiar enough with the territory that by the end of the first month I was able to walk freely without the use of my cane, or arms or any other aid.

I became quite adept at moving throughout the house freely. Not only that, but the house was located in a somewhat urban area which made it convenient to walk to any place I had the need. The grocery was only three blocks away. There was a department store across the street from that, and a bank and coffee shop just a bit further on. I got used to listening to the flow of traffic and timing the lights in my head so I would know when the “Walk” and “Don’t Walk” signals were lit. Occasionally a kind stranger would offer to take my hand and lead me across. I would thank them and we would part ways once we were safely on the next sidewalk.

In those days I was working from home making phone calls to patients that had recently been discharged from the hospital. In essence, I was being paid by the hospital to administer surveys that were then used to improve their services. The hospital was kind enough to provide me with a laptop computer that contained several different voice-command software applications. I spent my days transcribing the recorded phone calls by speaking the customers’ answers into a microphone, and having the data fields automatically populate accordingly in the program.

The first odd event that I remember was on one particular day when I got up from my work desk for a lunch break. As I was headed into the kitchen, I kicked an object in the middle of the living room floor. I heard it slide a short distance on the carpet. I knew that I hadn’t left anything in the way of my path as I had just been through there not even an hour ago, and there was nothing on the floor.

I knelt down and patted around until I located the object. A book. By feeling its Braille title I recognized it as a book on national parks that I kept on my coffee table, some five feet away. I didn’t remember knocking the book off of the table. I stood there perplexed. The longer I thought about it though, the less frightening it became to me. I convinced myself that I must have simply forgotten about knocking the book to the floor, and I must have stepped over it or next to it during my other passes through the room. I returned the book to its place on the table and went about making my lunch.

That night, while lying in bed, I heard a sound that came from the kitchen. It was almost entirely masked by the usual sounds of the pops and creaks from the house settling, but I definitely heard it – faint as it was. It was a very light humming noise. So light, in fact, that an average person without enhanced hearing may not have heard it at all from this distance. I slowly got out of bed, listening intently, the sound increasing as I made my way down the hallway and through the living room.

As soon as I passed through the threshold into the kitchen I knew what the sound was. It was the compressor motor on the refrigerator, and it was substantially louder than usual. I approached the appliance and found that its door was standing wide open. I eased it shut and the hum returned to a normal volume.

“What on earth? Did I leave this open?” I questioned myself in a whisper. Maybe it didn’t close all the way the last time I swung it shut, I thought. I returned to bed, but had trouble finding sleep. My mind wandered and questioned how I could have overlooked the fallen book and the open fridge door when they’d first happened.

The next morning, I decided to go have breakfast at Espresso Express, the little coffee shop up the road. They served excellent coffee, and you could also get a ham & cheese croissant melt that was to die for. That alone was worth the effort of showering, dressing, and leaving the safety of the house to be plunged into a buzz of whizzing traffic, honking horns, and people clamoring on the sidewalks.

On that morning a gentle stranger helped guide me across the intersection just ahead of the coffee shop. I said, “Thank you!” as they released my arm, but there was no response. He or she was lost in the shuffle of people on cell phones, their conversations momentarily audible to me as they passed in front of and behind me. The tinny sound of a bicycle bell alarmed me, and I felt the breeze left behind when the rider whipped past. I entered the coffee shop to a much more serene environment and enjoyed my favorite breakfast at a seat near the plate glass window, bathed in the sunlight that washed in on me.

That afternoon I took a break from making phone calls to use the bathroom. As I was seated on the toilet, I heard something next to me. It was as if something had brushed against the sink – an ever so subtle sound. My heart rate rose and my brow furrowed as I strained to listen closer. All I could hear was my pulse throbbing in my ears. Suddenly a wall clock in the living room chimed four ‘o clock, startling me to the point that I jumped slightly while still seated there. I regained my composure, washed up and returned to the computer to transcribe the data from my phone surveys.

I closed the laptop and went to make dinner at 6:30. Over the years, I had learned to be extra careful when dealing with the hot oven and burners. Once I had accidentally set a plastic plate directly onto a burner that was still hot, resulting in a cloud of noxious fumes that lasted for days – long after I’d finished cleaning up the mess. I was lucky that it had burned itself out and the damage wasn’t any worse. After that close call, I bought a small fire extinguisher to keep on the countertop next to the oven.

On this particular night, I made my dinner without any risk of fire. However, the undertaking wasn’t completely without incident. As I proceeded to make dinner I discovered that the canned goods I needed for the recipe were missing from the cupboard. I have always kept my canned goods in very specific places on the shelves so that I would always know what was what without the benefit of being able to see the labels. I don’t remember using up the items I needed that night, but apparently I already had. So, I opted to make a casserole instead.

I sat at the dinner table enjoying the simple meal I had made. The television was playing in the background, filling me in on all of the day’s news headlines. I finished the first portion on my plate and reached to dip into the casserole dish once more. I scraped the inside of the dish, the sounds of metal on ceramic echoing throughout the kitchen. It was empty.

“I can’t believe it! I couldn’t have already eaten it all!” I said incredulously. I had thought for sure that I’d prepared a bigger portion than that, and I didn’t remember emptying the dish fully onto my plate. Thoughts ran through my head in an attempt to reason out the matter: Had it baked up to be less than I’d anticipated? Had I spilled some on the table while dishing it onto my plate?

In search of the missing food, I placed the palm of my hand on the tabletop and moved it steadily over the area within my reach. As I was doing so there was a distinct movement in front of me. I gasped and my heart rate immediately quickened. I felt the blood pulsing through my neck. This sound was not as subtle as the others I’d been hearing. It was obvious – a sudden motion of something moving across from me. I continued listening, but all I could hear was the much-too-chipper weather man on TV giving the forecast.

Suddenly I was overwhelmed with a feeling that I was no longer alone at the kitchen table. “Is someone there?” I called out, hoping there was no reply.

Silence.

I felt a shift in the air pressure as if something moved behind me followed by the creak of a floorboard. I froze. Something brushed against the back of my hair, gentle as a feather. I recoiled and let out a squeal.

I shot up out of my chair, made my way to the corner of the kitchen and turned to face the interior of the room. “Who’s there?” I demanded. No answer. By this time I was breathing heavily, practically hyperventilating. My chest and throat radiated heat as my heart raced inside, giving me the sensation of acute indigestion. I thought I might vomit.

I slowly made my way to the doorway leading into the living room. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity listening for something, anything that would explain the circumstance. Eventually I moved on and worked my way into the hallway bathroom. I locked the door behind me.

It took over an hour and a half for me to calm down. While in the locked bathroom, I wrestled with my thoughts. I reasoned with myself. I didn’t want to admit that my mother was right, but maybe I shouldn’t be living alone. It appeared to be taking its toll on me. On the other hand, all of these things could be logically explained, I told myself. If I wasn’t blind, I’d have seen whatever it was that caused the noises and it would be so obvious. I’d laugh about how ridiculous it was to be scared of it, I’m sure. At least that’s what I tried to convince myself.

What finally brought me out of the bathroom was the ringing of the telephone. I admit it startled me at first, but only because it had been so quiet for the last two hours. I cautiously opened the door and entered the hallway. My phone was in the living room. I approached it quickly and answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey Sarah, it’s Jill.”

Thank God, it was just my friend Jill. “Hi Jill, how’s it going?”

“Oh, I’m doing good. I saw you at Espresso Express today,” she said in a playful tone, which I didn’t understand initially.

“You did?”

“Mmm hmm. I saw you in the window when I walked by on the sidewalk.” Still in a playful tone.

“Well, why didn’t you come in and say, ‘hi’?” I asked.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Disturb me? Why would you be disturbing me?”

“Because, silly, I assumed you were on a date. Who’s the lucky guy that was sitting with you?”

My mouth slacked open. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t form words.

“Sarah?” Jill asked, “Are you okay?”

I dropped the phone. I could still hear Jill’s muffled voice even though the speaker was face down on the carpet. I frantically made my way around the house, arms flailing in front of me.

“Who are you?” I yelled into the house. “What do you want?”

I was terrified, but also angry. I felt violated. I didn’t necessarily want to encounter whatever it was, but I couldn’t go on hiding in my own house any longer. I spent hours searching every square inch of the property and found nothing. I finally went to bed after I was able to calm down, but I did not fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning.

A light rustling sound woke me not long after I fell asleep, still in the dark hours of early morning. I wasn’t sure at first if it was real or if I had dreamed the noise. As I was about to get up, I noticed that the sheets next to me were pulled back. I stretched out my right arm into the empty space beside me. It felt warm as if someone had been lying there with me. The events of the previous day flooded back into my memory. My sightless eyes welled up with tears as I began to question my own sanity. Frustrated, I bolted up and out of the bed. I threw on some old clothes and headed toward the front door with the intention of fleeing the house, unsure exactly where I was going to go – maybe Jill’s place. She lived fairly close.

I wanted to take my cane with me as I always did whenever I went outdoors. I searched the house frantically, unable to remember where I’d left it. I almost always left it propped against the wall by the front door, but it wasn’t there. I made my way along all of the perimeter walls, feeling desperately for the cane.

When I neared the kitchen I still had not found my walking aid, but I made a discovery of a much more startling nature – a barely detectable vertical crevice in the wall I had not known about previously. I used all my fingers to follow the crease up the wall, across the top, and down the other side. It was a doorway designed to fit perfectly flush within the wall. I leaned my weight inward against the panel and felt a slight give on its right side. I worked my fingers into the crevice on that side the best I could, eventually prying the panel free. It swung open to the left. I gasped in shock and my pulse quickened. A hidden room right in the center of my house.

How I wish that I would have had sight at that moment. I faced a completely unexplored territory inside my own house with the possibility that someone else was in there with me.

I entered slowly, arms extended. “Is someone in here?” I whispered, afraid to ask the question. There was no response. I stepped forward. To my right I discovered a flat surface – a tabletop. I ran my hands along its surface. On top of the table I was able to make out several unopened cans of food. No doubt these were the missing canned goods I’d been looking for. The table also contained silverware and a can opener that disappeared weeks ago.

My heart rate increased even more and my palms began to sweat. I worked my way forward until I came to a wall that I knew bordered the living room. I found a hole the size of a quarter at eye level. Sweat began to form on my brow as well. I found another similar hole on the next adjacent wall. This wall bordered the bathroom. Tears started to well up in my eyes. I was able to find two more holes on the two remaining walls bordering the kitchen and the bedroom.

I dropped to my knees in absolute horror and disbelief. How long had this person been watching me? How could I have not known? My hands were on the floor in front of me and I felt something soft. I investigated further with my fingertips. It was some sort of comforter or sleeping bag. At one end was a fluffy pillow.

At this point not only was I terrified beyond description, I was also furious. How dare someone spy on me covertly from within my own walls! I knew I had to run out of the house and get to safety immediately, with or without my cane. I decided I would go to Jill’s house and we’d call the police from there.

I made my way to where I remembered the hidden door to be, my arms sweeping the area ahead of me in a panic. Instead of the open door, my hands found the warm torso of a human, a male, standing silently in the doorway. He grabbed both my arms and pulled me out of the hidden room and into the house.

We struggled in the kitchen. I kicked at him and screamed as loud as I could into his ears. I was able to get one arm free and I used it to grasp for the fire extinguisher that I knew would be by the oven. He attempted to pull me away, but my fingers reached its nozzle. I swung it at him, feeling the metal cylinder connect with the back of his skull. He released my other arm and I pulled the trigger in his direction, enveloping him in a cloud of white foam.

I ran into the utility room off of the kitchen where I knew my only advantage existed – the fuse box. I found the box and tripped every lever I could find, eliminating all power from the house. If this perverted psycho wanted to kill me, he’d have to do it on an equal playing field – in the dark.

The intruder had not followed me into the utility room. The fire extinguisher must have dazed him. I remembered the toolbox I kept in that room, and I quickly retrieved the longest screwdriver I could find. I stood in the corner and listened carefully. If he was still conscious, he would not be able to move around in the pitch darkness without creating a noise. I would surely detect his movements.

I held the screwdriver against my chest, gripping its handle tightly with both hands. I felt my wildly beating heart against the side of my fist. After an eternity, I moved forward a bit. I may have knocked him out, or even killed him. I had to make sure.

I left the utility room and entered the kitchen. There was still no sound from anywhere in the house. I passed into the living room and headed toward the front door. Halfway through the room I could feel his presence. Something in the air around me had shifted. Without warning there was breath on the back of my neck followed by a deep whisper directly in my ear, “The showers were my favorite.”

I screamed and swung around, stabbing the screwdriver into empty air. I ran for the door. It was merely a few feet away, but I couldn’t reach it due to the resistance I met when the voyeuristic brute’s arms wrapped around my waist. He wrestled me to the floor and straddled me. I tightened my grip on the tool and plunged it as hard as I could into his side.

I shudder to think about it when I recount the feeling of the steel shaft separating two of his ribs. It was horrid, and I was only able to stomach it knowing that if I hadn’t acted, my life would have ended then.

The man winced in pain and let out a deep, growling grunt. He fell backward and rolled off of me. I turned over onto my chest and pushed up off of the floor, then crawled over to the couch and used it to get back onto my feet. I still held the screwdriver, a warm trickle of blood seeping onto my knuckle.

I could tell that the intruder was writhing around on the floor near the doorway. I would have to exit through the back door. From the opposite end of the living room, I entered the sun room where the door was located. I wasn’t as familiar with this entry point, causing me to fumble around with the deadbolt and screen door locks for longer than I would have liked.

I knew there were concrete stairs there leading to a flat patio. How many steps? Four? Five? I couldn’t remember. I proceeded slowly. The last thing I needed was to fall and twist my ankle. After navigating the steps, I came to the end of the patio, which emptied into a narrow alleyway between the shotgun-style houses behind mine.

My steps were slow and cautious. My hands told me there was a brick wall to my right, and a brick wall about five feet to my left. The sides of the two houses. I was entering unfamiliar territory without the benefit of my cane. My breathing was frantic and the tears continued to fill my useless eyes. I kicked something and nearly fell over. It felt plastic – a child’s toy maybe. I was moving much too fast compared to my level of comfort with the surroundings. But I had no choice as footsteps were approaching behind me.

I picked up the pace, waving the screwdriver out in front to buffer my impending collision with any obstacles. Ten more feet of forward progress and the screwdriver alerted me, with metallic clanging, to the presence of a chain link fence connecting the two houses.

I stopped and cried out, my voice breaking up through my tears, “No.” I turned around, my back to the fence. I began swinging the screwdriver violently.

“Leave me alone!” I screamed.

More hyperventilating.

More tears.

The man approached slowly, and then stopped just a few feet away from me. I got the feeling he could see what he was doing. Either there was an electric light in this alley or the dawn had already crested enough that ample ambient light was available. I didn’t know which one was the case because I had no idea what time it was.

Knowing I was about to die, I just wanted answers. “How long?” I managed to ask. “How long have you been in there?” My voice was angrier than I’d expected.

“Since before you lived there,” he replied calmly, his voice deep. “I got lucky with you – a blind girl. With the others I couldn’t come out in the open when they were home. I couldn’t sit and eat their dinner with them. I couldn’t stand over them while they worked at their computers. I couldn’t go to the coffee shop with them.” There was a pause as he moved even closer. “I couldn’t stand next to them in the bathroom.”

I cried uncontrollably in a whirlwind of emotions. I had never before felt so violated, so angry, and so terrified all at the same time. There was sudden movement again in front of me.

“Don’t touch me!” I demanded as I held up the screwdriver. I don’t know exactly how it happened. I don’t know if he didn’t see the tool or just didn’t care, knowing that he was caught. But as he lunged forward, he managed to impale himself on the screwdriver and pin me up against the fence. My hands were still gripping the handle, but it was so deep inside him that his shirt was touching my fist.

His breathing became gurgled, and his last words to me were, “I couldn’t snuggle next to them in bed either.”

We collapsed together as one unit. The fence tore at my back as we slid down onto the ground. His dead weight nearly crushed me, but I managed to push him off and crawl away. I crawled all the way back to my house, in through the back door and into the living room to my phone. I sobbed hysterically as I keyed in the digits 9-1-1 and fell to the floor.

Credit: moonlit_cove

[migila]

Fic time! Vampires, anyone?

SnK -fic, starring Vampire! Sasha and Her meal! Nikolo

Iron

It was irrational beyond belief, Nikolo knew, yet he still couldn’t help but stare at himself in the mirror, looking at the two small wounds on his shoulder. The bitemarks on his shoulder. And it wasn’t just any bitemarks; he had been bit by a vampire; he was sure of it.

He knew exactly how crazy it sounded, but he’d been thinking about it so much and it was the only explanation that made sense. The wounds he had looked exactly like the bitemarks he’d see in vampire fiction. They weren’t in the usual place but, aside from that, they matched. Also, he’d gotten them from the woman he encountered on his way home; there was no doubt about it. It had been dark and there had been no one else around. She’d been staggering and at first, Nikolo had thought she was just drunk, but as she got closer, he realized that something was off, that she wasn’t okay. And when he got to touching distance of her, trying to ask what was wrong, she had literally lunged at him. Nikolo had had no chance to defend himself, shock rooting him to the spot, as he heard his clothes ripping and felt teeth sinking in to his shoulder. It was only then that he’d tried to fight her off, but she’d been too strong, and soon he’d felt his consciousness slipping. When he had returned to his senses, he was lying on the street, his shirt partly shredded and shoulder hurting.

Naturally, he hadn’t told anyone. What could he even say? That a vampire attacked him? No one would believe him even if he showed the bitemarks.

“What’s going to happen to me? Does being bitten by a vampire have side effects?” that’s what he was worried about the most since he hadn’t died from blood loss. Didn’t people change in to vampires in some stories? “God, there’s no way that’s true, right?”

Nikolo shook his head, rebuttoning his shirt. Maybe everything would be fine; maybe nothing would happen and this would all end up being a weird, unreal feeling memory.

…Is what he thought until he turned around, seeing a young woman standing in front of his open window, staring at him.

“What the hell!?” Nikolo yelled. Why was there a woman he didn’t know in his apartment? Wait, how did she get in? This was the fifth floor!

“Hang on” Nikolo thought “How did I miss her reflection in the mirror?”

Dread filling him, the man glanced behind him, only to whip around completely as he saw nothing. Nothing, just his own reflection. The woman wasn’t reflected on the glass.

“What did the old stories say again?” he wondered as he slowly turned to face the woman again “They can’t handle garlic, sunlight or crosses, they have… no… reflection…”

Oh, dear lord.

There was a freaking vampire in his bedroom!

Nikolo backed up against the mirror, his wide eyes now completely on the vampire. How did she find him? …This was the same one that bit him earlier, right? Why was she here? Did she come to silence him!?

“Umm… hi?” the vampire spoke. Yes, spoke. It seems this thing could speak… hang on, should he reply to that?

“Sorry if I scared you” it continued, holding its hands up “I just need to talk to you.”

Talk to him? What would a vampire possibly want with him?

“This can’t be real… I must be dreaming; I must’ve been doing that for a while already” Nikolo deducted. He saw the vampire frown, probably because of his lack of answer, but it was fine. It was just a dream, right?

And yet, despite thinking that, when the vampire took a step forward, Nikolo downright fainted out of fear.

-----------

“Oh no no no no, what did I do!?” the young vampire, Sasha, panicked as the human male passed out right in front of her “Is he dead!?”

She went over, bending down and shaking him, but he didn’t react.

“Calm down; you’ve been taught about humans. They had this thing that you use to check if they’re alive… what was it again… pulse? Yeah, that’s the word… now where… neck?” Sasha tried the man’s neck, trying to feel something. And she… did? Yes, she was pretty sure she did. He was still alive, that was good.

“Okay…” she breathed out unsurely “What now?”

Should she go get help? …No, Connie would know what to do even less than she would. Jean would yell at her, and Sasha sure as hell didn’t want to face Mikasa’s silent fury. Eren was out of question; he’d just kill the human if he found out that Sasha had messed up. Armin? No, he’d do the same… she was on her own in this.

“Well, the whole mess is my fault to begin with” Sasha thought with a sigh. Normally, she would’ve messed with the human’s memories after her meal, but with this one, she had panicked after the bite as she’d realized something.

This human was badly anemic.

She wasn’t supposed to attack anemic or otherwise sick humans in the first place; her father had taught it to be immoral. However, she’d been so hungry that she didn’t pay proper attention to who she chose, and once she’d started her meal, it had taken her great effort to stop. He’d already fainted back then.

“Wiping his memory back then could’ve harmed him because of his condition… and now it’s too late anyway…” she just hoped he hadn’t told anyone he was attacked by a vampire; Sasha wouldn’t be able to handle it if their kind would be smoked out of hiding because of her “I need to get him to agree to stay quiet.”

------------

Nikolo felt a little groggy as he sat up in his bed, wondering when he got there in the first place.

“Was I out drinking? No no, I never drink that much…” what had happened again? He’d been looking at his wounds and… and… “That better have been a dream!”

“Are you okay?”

Seems like it wasn’t.

“Wah!” Nikolo backed up against his wall as far as he could when he spotted the brunette vampire kneeling at his bedside, looking worried. Oddly human too, save for her a bit too pale skin and the fangs peeking out.

“You don’t need to be scared; I’m not dangerous” the vampire girl tells him “I just wanted to talk.”

So, a vampire was telling him she was not dangerous? That there was no reason to be afraid?

“Got it, I’m going to die” Nikolo realized, still staring at the thing like a deer in headlights.

Realizing that the human wasn’t believing her in the slightest, Sasha sighed. What was she supposed to do now? She was in horrible trouble if someone found out about all this, and the whole vampire race would be in major trouble if the fact that they existed became a widely accepted fact among humans. Her uncontrollable hunger had gotten her in to some trouble before too, sure, but never to this extent.

Nikolo just stared, wide-eyed, only blinking when the vampire sniffed. Wait, did it really? His ears must be tricking him, or maybe it was his eyes and he was actually the one sniffing- no, definitely the vampire. Why? What did it have to be afraid of?

“It looks… pretty humanlike right now” he realized as he watched the sniffling thing, the sniffling girl “Should I… do something?”

“Uh… are you alright?” he asked, immediately wondering if it was a mistake. Maybe he should’ve used this chance to run the hell out and get help while he still could.

Well, it was too late. The vampire’s big, way too innocent looking eyes were already on him again.

“I’m fine… but I’ll get in trouble if someone finds out I messed up” she answers.

“Messed up?” Nikolo repeated, momentarily forgetting that he should be wary “What happened?”

The vampire kept sniffling for a while before saying: “If someone finds out I attacked a human without wiping away it’s memories afterwards, I’ll get in serious trouble. And if the word about vampires spreads among humans, we’ll all be in danger!”

Oh. Well, it seems she did have things to worry about… but wouldn’t everything be okay if she just got rid of him?

“Maybe she hasn’t realized that; she doesn’t seem very bright” Nikolo realized. He chose not to pry in to the subject, just in case he was right. Instead, he asked: “So… you came here to ask me to keep quiet?”

“Yup!” the vampire girl confirmed, clapping her hands together in a prayer “Could you please, please do so?”

“…Sure” what else could he say? Not that he didn’t mean it; after all, if he told someone they’d just think that he was crazy “But… if you’re able to erase memories, why didn’t you just do that in the first place instead of coming all the way here?”

“Oh yeah, that’s another thing I wanted to tell you about” Sasha remembered “It can only be done after a bite, and the memories can be taken away up to two hours at max, so it’s too late now. I didn’t do it back then because it was too risky.”

“Risky…?”

“Yeah!” the vampire says “There’s way too little iron in your blood!”

“…Huh?” that wasn’t something Nikolo expected to hear. First of all, he was pretty sure he ate properly, so him being anemic was weird. Secondly, did a vampire of all things just consider it important enough of a thing to come and inform him about?

“You know, iron. I was taught that it’s important for humans to have it in their bodies, but you clearly don’t have enough. The taste of your blood was off and,  now that I think about it, you smell kinda off too” the vampire rambled on, making Nikolo raise an eyebrow at the last part “Normally, I wouldn’t have bitten you ‘cause I would’ve smelled the problem, but I was so hungry that I wasn’t paying proper attention. Sorry about that, but anyway, you really should go see a doctor!”

“…”

“…” the vampire started to fidget uncomfortably as Nikolo just stared, so eventually he spoke: “…That’s all?”

“Yup” the chatty creature said, trying to fend of Nikolo’s hard gaze with an awkward smile “That’s about it.”

“Alright, now how do I get rid of this thing?” Nikolo wondered, still too cautious to flat out ask the vampire to leave “Surely it isn’t planning to stay around until sunlight?”

That would suck since sun had set only around two hours ago. Unfortunately, the vampire made no move to leave, still standing at his bedside.

“…Is there something you still need?”

“Eh? Well, no” the vampire said, fidgeting a little, and Nikolo was sure she blushed. That was weird “It’s just, well, I’ve never actually talked to a human. Or seen one up close when I or someone else wasn’t dining.”

That made sense, Nikolo supposed. He was familiar with cats and dogs, but never really spent any time with other types of animals, the ones he used for food.

…

“Don’t compare yourself to what you eat, idiot!” That’ll only give you a headache” Nikolo thought, forcing the thoughts away. Wanting something else to think about, he asked: “Is it okay for you to be talking to me in the first place?”

The vampire averted her gaze suddenly, which told Nikolo all he needed to know.

“Not really” she admitted “But I shouldn’t have come here in the first place, so if I get in trouble, it won’t be much worse than it would’ve been anyway.”

That made sense, in a way.

“Does the sun damage humans?” the vampire girl asked out of the blue, making Nikolo raise an eyebrow “What?”

“Does the sun damage humans? My friend says it can do so, but humans are active during daytime, so I don’t really believe it” the vampire explained. Nikolo just blinked, not quite believing his ears. Why did she even…? “Ugh, whatever. If I answer her questions, she’ll probably leave once her curiosity has dimmed.”

“If we’re exposed to it too much then yes, it does” Nikolo told her, and the vampire’s eyes widened in surprise “Really!?”

“Yes, really” Nikolo said, unable to keep himself from chuckling “If we’re exposed to sun too much, our skin will burn- ah, not literally, but it’ll get red and sensitive to touch.”

“Oh…” the vampire said in wonder “Has it happened to you?”

“Sure, many times” Nikolo admitted “It’s not exactly pleasant.”

“I can imagine; the sun’s painful” she said, and Nikolo kept himself from pointing out that it was probably way more painful for her than him “I’m Sasha by the way.”

“Huh?” Nikolo said once again. Did a vampire just introduce herself to him!?

“…Usually at this point, a vampire would answer with their own name” Sasha told, innocently tilting her head to the side “Do humans not do that?”

Unable to help himself, Nikolo blushed a bright shade of red.

“Your face got all red” Sasha innocently pointed out, leaning a little closer “Is that normal for humans? Does it hurt?”

“Ah, yeah… I mean, it’s normal and no, it doesn’t hurt” the man said, clearing his throat “I’m Nikolo.”

“It’s nice to meet you Nikolo!” Sasha beamed and, for some reason, Nikolo felt the damn blush returning “Say, can you tell me more about humans?”

“Like what, exactly?”

“Why do humans eat so many different things?”

Well, that was easy enough to answer, though Nikolo wasn’t sure how much the vampire would understand or if he should keep it as short as possible.

“She’ll interrupt me if I babble too much, won’t she?” with that in mind, he started telling her about humans’ needs for different vitamins and proteins, talked about the varying tastes and eventually even went to details about cooking. He was sure he was blabbing too much, but to his surprise the girl listened with rapt attention, occasionally asking a question or two. As time passed, Nikolo found himself completely relaxed, convenient that he wouldn’t get himself killed that night. He even dared to ask the creature of the night a few questions of his own, which she answered with the best of her ability. As Nikolo knew nothing of vampires he couldn’t be sure, but again he got the feeling that the girl wasn’t very bright.

Before either of them realized it, they had talked in to early morning, the sunrise only an hour away.

“Whoah, it’s getting late” Sasha was the first to realize as she looked out the window.

“Early, you mean” Nikolo corrected with a yawn “It’s not safe for you to move around in sunlight, right? Maybe you should go home.”

“Yeah, I probably should, least my boss locks me out of the house” Sasha shuddered “The shed would keep me alive, but the sunlight gets in a bit too much.”

Nikolo couldn’t keep himself from feeling a tiny bit of sympathy towards her.

“Anyway, go see a doctor, okay?” right, Nikolo had forgotten about that. He nodded, and Sasha smiled as she went over to the window “Farewell, Nikolo.”

“…Bye” was all Nikolo was able to say, surprised at how disappointed he felt by the idea that he’d never see the vampire girl again.

“Don’t be stupid; forget about her” he thought “She’d only bring you trouble anyway.”

--------------

Nikolo did go see the doctor, and it turned out he really was anemic. Nothing that some iron supplements couldn’t fix, but still.

“She was right after all” Nikolo thought, his mind trailing off to the vampire girl. It had been a week since she broke in to his home, and he hadn’t gotten her out of his mind ever since “C’mon, get a hold of yourself!”

Nikolo sighed as he unlocked his front door, ready to turn in for the night. His shift had been exhausting. Opening his bedroom door, he almost got a heart attack when he caught a familiar vampire going through his bookshelf.

“What the hell Sasha!?” he yelled, getting the girl’s attention.

“You’re back!” the girl cheered. Staring at her, Nikolo asked: “Just what are you doing here?”

Smiling sheepishly, Sasha said: “Well, I planned to not bother you anymore, but I just… I couldn’t help it; I wanna hear more!” Nikolo swore she was making a puppy face right now. He hadn’t known vampires could do that “Please?”

Nikolo stared. Farewell, was what she’d said. Back then it should’ve made him glad, but it didn’t. Now she was back again and it should’ve annoyed the hell out of him, but… it didn’t. He was glad she was here.

“Sure” so what if he hang around with her? Everyone had a weirdo or two as a friend; his weirdo just happened to be a vampire.

“Yay!”

They just had to make sure they didn’t get caught.

[shes-soparticular]

Darling, So it Goes

You take Shawn home for an American Thanksgiving. Your childhood bedroom gets more than it bargained for.

Warning(s): Heavy Smut.

A/N: A little fluff, a little smut. SlightlyOlder!Reader.

Words: 4440

It took months of begging, but you finally succumbed to your mother’s plea to make a trip home for Thanksgiving. You hadn’t been back to your hometown since your move to Toronto at the beginning of the year and you had to admit the nostalgia of an old-fashioned American holiday had gotten the best of you. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see your family, it was your apprehension about bringing your boyfriend home. They’d met Shawn before, sure, but always on your terms and while on their best behavior. You knew the atmosphere wouldn’t be quite the same once everyone was wine drunk around the dinner table, delving into political arguments and dredging up stories of your youthful fuckups. Not to mention, you’d never really brought anyone home before despite being well into your mid-twenties. There was no telling what kind of awkward, prying questions your mom might ask, what offensive jokes your dad would inflict, or the droning on of your older brother and dead stares from your sister-in-law. You chastised yourself internally for thinking of your family so negatively, but you just really, REALLY needed this holiday to go off without a hitch. Mostly for your own sanity. You knew deep down you had nothing to worry about – Shawn’s Canadian manners would dazzle everyone and he’d be a good sport about their neurotic behavior. But you still held your breath all the way through the pumpkin pie, until you could finally sneak off to your childhood bedroom with Shawn in tow.

You’d tried your hardest to book a hotel room for the weekend but after receiving the catholic guilt trip of the century from your mother, you begrudgingly agreed to stay with them. As you flipped on the light, you instantly felt regret churning in your stomach along with the turkey. The bright lavender walls, the stuffed animals arranged meticulously on your canopy bed, the numerous photos of every awkward stage you ever went through tacked to the walls. Jesus, the plastic glow in the dark stars were even still stuck to the ceiling after twenty plus years. Without needing to look at him, you already knew Shawn had the biggest smirk on his face. He was going to eat this up.

“So…this is…words escape me.” He brushes past you to pick up a Care Bear off your bed, taunting you with it. ShareBear looked so strange in Shawn’s tattooed grip, an odd juxtaposition of two things that brought you the most comfort. Granted, ShareBear really didn’t succeed at keeping you warm late at night.

“Give me that,” You say with a huff, reaching out to wrangle the bear away from him, tossing it unceremoniously on the floor. Throwing yourself on to your bed, you grimace at the squeaking of the springs. This was certainly mid-western “roughing it” at its most cliché. At some point you had become accustomed to the plush beds and obscenely high thread counts of high-end hotels. You’d become so spoiled that just the sight of your pill-y Beauty and the Beast sheets and bleach stained bath towels made you cringe. It also crossed your mind that you DEFINITELY weren’t sleeping in Disney sheets in high school and that your mother specifically chose those as a very rude, but very creative cockblocking measure. While you got to work kicking all of your stuffed animals off the bed, Shawn wandered about your room on his own. Quietly studying the photos of your middle school birthday parties, the saved movie stubs and concert tickets still stuck to your mirror, the participation trophies from JV volleyball. Suddenly, you felt a little vulnerable. When Shawn was in high school, he was already playing stadium tours with the likes of Taylor Swift. In your high school days, you were mostly consumed with binge watching Gossip Girl and eating raw cookie dough with your girlfriends. You had an exceedingly mediocre high school career and it felt glaringly evident as you saw your bedroom through Shawn’s eyes. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“Knowing you, it’s not what I was expecting. You were so…innocent.” He turns so that you can see his bemused expression. “I mean who is this girl? I don’t think I know her.”

“Open the closet. Back right corner. Cardboard box marked “books”.” You point him in the right direction, already grinning to yourself knowing what he’ll find there. Shawn quickly unearths the box, carrying it to your bed to dump out the contents. As you expected, a half empty bottle of Sailor Jerry’s rolls out, along with several ancient, unsmoked joints, and a few other odds and ends you’d stashed away. While you reach for one of the joints, his fingers snatch something else out of the pile.

“Is this a cherry flavored condom? You hate cherry.” If he looked bemused before, he looks downright delighted now.

“Hence it being in the pile, my love. Who in the world wants a dick to taste like cough medicine?” You hop off the bed, a joint and matchbook in hand, headed for your window. “All of the strawberry ones, on the other hand, are long gone.”

His eyebrows raise comically high and you can only imagine what he’s picturing in that moment. You know you shouldn’t be leading him to believe you were some unapologetic slut in high school, considering that’s fairly far from the truth, but messing with his head is your all-time favorite hobby. Considering there’s nothing else to do with the rest of the night, he won’t be getting a break from your mind games. Lighting up the joint, you take a long, satisfying drag, blowing the smoke out into the black night sky. You pass it to him while he continues to absent mindedly tour your room like it’s an ancient antiquities gallery at the Met.

“Who’s this loser?” You glance over to see Shawn holding a polaroid of you and a short-lived high school boyfriend. A guy you’re pretty sure still works the concession stand at the local movie theater and never stopped scamming on underage chicks.

“Ohhhh, Chad, what a blast from the past.” You snatch the photo from his hand, giving it a faux adoring look. “He fingerbanged me in a McDonald’s parking lot, it was the worst.”

“You’re telling me you were a freak even back then, eh?” His smirk is growing by the second, pulling open your underwear drawer to peruse all of the embarrassing cotton panties plastered with Victoria’s Secret Pink logos and phrases. The way the joint is dangling from his lips causes a familiar stir between your legs, but you quickly remind yourself that your parents room is right across the hall.

“It was prom. Everyone gets romantic on prom night.” You shrug your shoulders with an eyeroll, plucking the joint from his lips. Looking him in the eyes while you inhale, you rise on to your tip toes and pull his face towards yours to bridge the absurd height difference. Holding the smoke in your mouth momentarily, you press your lips to his softly, letting the smoke drift from your tongue to his. Shawn groans into your mouth, deepening the kiss and casually backing you towards your double bed. But the night is young and you wriggle out of his grasp before your back can hit those Beauty and the Beast sheets. “A guy pays for your limo, you throw him a fingerbang.”

“I’ve been in several limos with you and there have been zero parking lot fingerbangs.” He looks genuinely disappointed, as if you haven’t straight up fucked him in one of said limos. However, his expression changes as he holds up a pair of green panties with the words “Irish Boys Only” written across the ass. “Oh really? I beg to differ.” Balling them up in his hands, he tosses them overhand into the small waste basket across the room. “That’s where those belong.”

“Hey! I could have worn those to Niall’s next show.” You’re already laughing before you can finish the sentence, knowing you’re playing with fire by making such a statement. Shawn pretends not to hear you, but conveniently steps over to the waste basket to ash the spent joint over the discarded panties. Throwing you a heated glance in the process, eyes narrowed but still bright. He turns his attention back to your closet, thumbing through all of the old clothes that still hadn’t made it to Goodwill. When his fingers stop on a mass of pale pink tulle, you pray he’ll keep moving right along. Instead, he hands the joint back to you once more and reaches in to liberate the dress from the depths of your closet. You swear that monstrosity hasn’t seen the light of day since that McDonald’s parking lot.

“Oh god, I DARE you to put this on.” A deep chuckle escapes him, thanks in part to the weed, and he reaches out to grab your hip. “I can’t explain it, but I need to see you in this dress. It just. I can’t. Look at this thing!” No, you don’t know what you were thinking when you bought that dress. The strapless, fitted bodice has far, far too many rhinestones and the tulle skirt is obnoxiously large. It almost has a “Cinderella dressed by a Drag Queen” vibe and your cheeks go a little red just looking at it. Normally you’d refuse, but you’re just high enough, just content enough, that you’re willing to put on that hideous dress just to let your boyfriend have a laugh. He made it through an American Thanksgiving with your family, so if this is the least you can do to make his night, it’s worth it.

“Fine.” You throw him a pout as a last-ditch effort, but he stands firm. As the slightest bit of vengeance, you take your time peeling off your sweater and shimmying out of your jeans. “You’re going to have to help me with this demon, you know.” You reach out to unzip the back of the dress and then stand up straight in just your bra and panties, arms held up in the air, motioning for him to lower the dress on top of you. He obliges, despite a bit of difficulty, and your arms and head eventually clear the mess of tulle. You pull the bodice in place, adjusting your breasts into the right placement and then turn around. “Zip me up, please.” His fingertips are tentative against the zipper, his thumb brushing over the exposed skin at the small of your back and sending shivers up your spine. It seems to take an achingly long time, but he finally drags the zipper all the way up, hands dropping to your waist to slowly turn you around.

              “Let me see you, baby.” You’re not sure exactly how or why, but the energy in the room has markedly changed. It’s like by osmosis this dress delivered all of the nervous, tentative feelings you associated with being a teenage girl. Despite the yards of fabric, you felt naked under his gaze. His deep brown eyes traveled the length of you, his lips parted ever so slightly. Clearly, you’re not the only one being oddly affected by this dress. “You look…damn, I don’t know. This is making me weirdly soft?” He runs a hand through his hair, blowing out a deep breath as if you’re standing in front of him clad in dirty French lingerie rather than a Quinceañera reject. “Come here.” His strong hands pull you against him, moving up your sides and lifting your arms to bring them up over his shoulders. “Dance with me?”

              You’re about to comment on the fact that there’s no music and maybe move to grab your phone and find a song, but before you can give it a moment’s thought, his hands are back on your waist, his forehead pressed against yours. Ever so softly, he starts humming the familiar tune of Can’t Help Falling in Love, knowing full well what that song does to you. Your body just about melts into him as he starts singing the words into your ear, the two of you swaying in the middle of your lavender walled bedroom. All at once your heart feels as though it’s going to burst out of your chest, your rib cage incapable of suppressing the unnatural amount of love you have for this man. You must have been a saint in a past life, there’s no other way of explaining how you could be so fucking lucky. It’s nearly impossible for you to let him finish the song, your lips making a trail across his jaw before you finally rest your head in the crook of his neck. You would have never pictured this moment, would have never considered doing anything with that dress other than burning it, but here you are. And you swear you’ve never been more in love.

              As he finishes the song, you can’t decide whether you’re desperate to hear more of that beautiful voice or desperate to have his lips on yours. Instead, you leave it up to him to decide and aren’t entirely shocked when his lips meet yours. His kiss is balanced between tenderness and urgency, deeply reminiscent of the first kiss you two shared what feels like a lifetime ago. That’s what’s so surreal about standing in this bedroom, in this dress, talking about a time before Shawn. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it’s hard for you to feel connected to a time in your life before he was a part of it. You certainly weren’t the type of woman to judge your entire existence by a man, but you could at least admit to yourself (and to the entire world, if they really wanted to know) that you weren’t fully yourself until you had him by your side. The way he’s cradling you in his arms now, you know the feeling is mutual. Barely breaking the kiss, he sighs against your lips, “You really do look gorgeous in this dress.” Your cheeks blush a deep red, as if you’re hearing this from your middle school crush rather than a man that’s seen every inch of your body a few thousand times. “And you know what else?”

You finally pull away to look up into his eyes, that signature curl falling forward onto his forehead. “Hmmm?”

He raises his hands to tuck your hair behind your ears, thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “You deserved to have been made love to that night.” You don’t break your gaze, but you’re pretty fucking surprised your knees haven’t totally given out. It’s hard to believe that these words, these delicate touches, are coming from the same man that made you listen to him burp the alphabet the day before and sometimes insisted on doggy style so he could watch the Maple Leafs highlights. You almost don’t notice one hand dropping from your face to linger on the zipper to your dress. “May I?”

              You’re absolutely speechless, so a nod must suffice. He unzips the dress almost as slowly as he’d zipped it up not long before, taking his time, making you wait. As soon as the dress has fallen into a pink pool at your feet, he picks you up in one fell swoop, laying you gently on the bed that had been covered in stuffed animals not long before. He’s not far behind, hovering over you carefully, the springs of your bed whining in protest at the combined weight of your bodies. You ignore the sound and pull his face to yours anyways, alternating between slow, lingering kisses and the needier, hungrier variety. Oddly, as though you really have regressed to being teenaged again, you could absolutely settle for just an all-night makeout session. There’s something so intoxicating about the taste of his mouth and the feeling of his solid chest pressing against yours, you just never want that feeling to end. Of course, the fire between your legs vehemently disagrees with that sentiment, aching to be touched and filled in every possible way. As always, he manages to read your body (i.e. the way your hips keep arching into his seeking friction) and he responds in kind. His lips start making their descent down your throat, grazing across your collarbone, only stopping briefly at the top of the cups of your bra to rid you of the offending garment. Just as he’s about to take a nipple into his mouth, you stop him. “Your shirt. Can you take it off?” You’re itching for skin to skin contact, the pleading tone evident in your voice. Sitting up briefly, he pulls the henley over his head, your eyes immediately glued to his abs as they appear before you. Instinctively, your right hand slips down your stomach to touch yourself at the sight of him, but he catches your hand at the last possible second.

“Let me take care of you, honey,” He chuckles, knowing all too well how impatient you get. Kissing the back of your hand, he pins it above your head, resuming his pathway down your body. The warmth of his tongue encases your nipple, followed by the grazing of his teeth. It elicits a moan out of you, loud enough that you can barely hear his hushed voice. “Babe, you can’t be loud.” There’s a severity in his voice but you can see the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He lives to drive you wild, and even if he doesn’t want to clue your family in on what he’s doing to you, he can’t help but be satisfied with drawing those noises out of you. Seemingly in direct opposition to his warning, his fingers find their way under your panties, pulling them aside and running up and down your already slick folds and teasing your clit. It’s nearly impossible for you to keep your mouth shut, but somehow you manage, keeping it to a quiet gasp as his first finger enters you. You’re already wondering how the hell you’re going to stay quiet as his finger curls upwards inside of you, when you feel his tongue begin to trace your clit, adding insult to injury. Gritting your teeth, you swear you can feel him smiling against your pussy, already smug with how you’re coming undone before he’s really gotten started. You’re about to protest when he removes his finger, but he quickly replaces it with two, pumping them into you slowly, stretching you in preparation of what’s to come. His mouth continues its assault on your clit, alternating between gentle licks and sucking until your eyes roll back in your head. You’ve never talked about it, but you’re fairly certain he has a habit of tracing his name on your clit. His full name. Over and over. It isn’t long before you can feel your orgasm building, your throat almost burning as you try to stifle your moans. He holds your hips to the bed, his biceps bulging with the effort to keep your bucking at bay. While he may be able to squat 300lbs, he’s almost no match for your hips when his tongue is ravaging your clit that way. When it’s clear you can’t hold on any longer, he presses his fingers against that sacred place inside of you and ruthlessly sucks your clit, hard, until you come so hard your legs spasm and you have to bury your face into your pillow to stop from screaming out. Deviously, he flattens his tongue with one last lick as you start to come back down, causing a shudder to run through your entire body. Chest heaving, you glance down at him, shaking your head. “You’re such an asshole.” But the enormous, satisfied grin on your face contradicts your admonishment. “Get up here.” You crook your finger in a come-hither motion, already pulling at his arms to coax him back up your body. Ready to roll him over so that you can return the favor, he stops and pins your hands behind your head once more.

“You know how much I love that smart mouth of yours, but right now? I’m dying to be inside you.” Part of you wants to argue, wants the opportunity to showcase your own oral talents, but you can’t exactly deny that you’re equally as anxious to have him buried deep in your core. So instead, you nod a little too enthusiastically and frantically reach for his jeans. It’s a bit difficult to get rid of them, considering he’s already grinding into you and not allowing you much room to work with, but somehow you’re able to free him from all clothing. He manages to kick off his jeans and Calvins on to the pile of your discarded stuffed animals, quickly pulling your panties down to join them. Once again, you shamefully feel like a horny teenager, unable to keep your hormones in check. Surprisingly, he manages the restraint to slow down for a moment, one hand coming up to rest under your head. He gives you a long look, as though he’s trying to memorize your face in that moment, the placement of every freckle, the shape of your swollen lips, the dazed, post-orgasm look in your eyes. Pressing his forehead against yours, your lips barely brush. “I’m so in love with you. In case you didn’t know.” As you lift your chin to kiss him, you feel the slow, satisfying burn of him entering you. You have to swallow a moan as he inches his way inside, stopping only when he’d bottomed out. He stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust, before setting a slow and steady pace.

Raising your legs to wrap around him, you let one hand tangle in his hair while whispering sweet words of admiration and encouragement in his ear. “God, you make me feel so good. So, so, so good.” These words urge him to increase his pace ever so slightly, but your childhood bed immediately objects, squeaking with all of its might. He freezes on top of you, using every ounce of strength not to return right back to his thrusts. “It’s okay, it’s okay. We just have to go slow.” He takes a deep breath and nods in agreement, returning to his former pace, trying to be as slow and deliberate as he can to appease your mattress. Several minutes pass as you grind into one another carefully, the friction still immensely gratifying. Regardless, you need more, you need to feel him pounding into you the way only he can. “Fuck this. Carpet?”

“Oh god, thank you,” He sighs in relief, picking you up without pulling out of you. Placing you carefully on the carpeted floor, he instantly plunges into you with the speed you’re both craving. Not expecting this, you cry out his name without thinking. This time he doesn’t stop his movements, but he does bring up a hand to cover your mouth. “If you do that, it defeats the purpose of us being on the floor.” Nevertheless, he thrusts directly into your g spot, knowing full well you’re not going to be able to keep your composure when he does that. Rather than letting out another cry, you stop yourself by sinking your teeth right into the swallow tattoo on the hand covering your mouth. Not hard enough to draw blood or leave a lasting mark, just enough to teach him a lesson. However, the joke is on you as the bite only spurs him on, his hips driving into yours with renewed energy.

Incidentally, you’ve reached a point of such reckless abandon that you don’t care who hears you. You couldn’t care less whether your screams woke up the entire family, or the entire neighborhood for that matter. Your parents could have easily let you stay in a hotel as you’d begged to. So truthfully, they were getting what they bargained for. What did they expect from their adult daughter and her fucking underwear model boyfriend? There was no way a noisy mattress and Beauty and the Beast sheets were ever going to stop you two from finding an opportunity to bang. Chanting Shawn’s name, quietly at first but growing louder, you dig your nails into his back hoping that will somehow stop you from full on shouting. You can tell by the way the veins in his biceps are pulsing and the set of his jaw that he’s not going to be able to hold out much longer. Needing release for both of you, he brings his thumb to your clit, massaging it in quick circles until he feels the telltale sign of your orgasm as your walls contract violently around him. That’s more than enough to bring his release, as your name falls from his lips with one long moan as he fills you. Weak, he lets himself collapse on top of you, still twitching inside of you as your sweaty chests heave together, desperate for air. Once you’ve both had a chance to breathe, you pull him in for a long, appreciative kiss. “I’m so in love with you too, in case you didn’t know.” He smiles against your lips, returning the kiss until you both hear someone shutting the bathroom door down the hallway.

“I’m not going to be invited back after this, am I?” He laughs quietly, reluctantly moving off of you and breaking your connection. Carefully, he pulls you up off the floor, taking a minute to inspect the rug burns on your back. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry, does it hurt?” As he gingerly runs his fingers down your reddened back, you try to hide a wince.

“It was worth it, trust me.” You reassure him with one more loving kiss before taking his hand to pull him back into bed with you. “And yes, you’ll be invited back. They know we’re a package deal now. They can’t deny that you make me very, very happy.” Curling up together in those old, scratchy sheets and looking upwards to the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, you can’t help but feel overwhelmingly thankful. Completely exhausted, you snuggle into his chest, letting out one last yawn as you prepare for sleep to overtake you.

“Babe?” You assumed he’d already fallen asleep, but you manage to let out a hum to let him know you’re still listening. “I think I love American Thanksgiving.” You can’t help but giggle softly into his chest, giving him a soft love bite.

“Oh yeah? Just wait until Fourth of July…”

tagging @fourtristattoos for boyfriend!week

[quietlypondering]

Timeless | Chapter Three

Read on A03 Ship: Prinxiety Summary:  In a society where superpowers are the new era on the horizon - Virgil is happy flying under the radar, as much as he can, with government issued blockers. Life was… Normal - Or, at least, as normal as he could be. Until one day, as cheesy as it sounds, a simple train ride would change his life forever. Word Count:  1642 Warnings: Suicide Mention, Blood mention, Anxiety mention, Angst with a happy ending, Temporary character death Tags: Superpower AU A/N: Thank you to everyone who’s reading and enjoying timeless so far!! I’ve literally had this in the backseat for a year I’m so glad it’s finally happening lmao. Also! A huge thank you to my beta reader @kolurise​ (who you should definitely go check out)

Start | Previous | Next Going forwards in time wasn’t a taboo per se, but it was certainly something that Virgil felt very strongly against, unless the circumstances were particularly dire. Understandably so -  because backwards in time was one thing - but forwards was… You never knew what would happen. Going forward was a lot more unpredictable, to say the least. It was damn near impossible to control. He could end up anywhere. It’s one of the few things he agreed on being far too dangerous to use unless it was a dire circumstance - what if he got stuck? What if he accidentally, unwittingly changed the future?

And sure - he’d done it before as a kid, back when his powers were first coming in. He vividly remembered his mother freaking out, thinking he’d gone missing, only for him to turn up the next day right next to her.

...The week following his escapade was spent almost completely bedridden.

And he’d come this far.

What’s another few rules to break? Virgil knew the consequences. 

He eyed Roman carefully - watching as he left for the audition, and taking a moment to ready himself. With a simple flick of the wrist, he was flung forward in time.

It’s important to note here, that the future is unforgiving. The past is the past - but the future knows things that you don’t. The future is harsh and terrifying, no matter what kind of future it is, no matter what you think might happen… The future is simply incomprehensible.

And Virgil could feel it. The seconds turning to minutes, then hours, thundering past him like a hurricane, forcing all air from his lungs. His fingers began to ache - and then his feet, his arms, his throat caught on the sound of a billion voices screaming into his skull.

He could turn back. 

He could stop - right now - he could leave everything as it was. Let a death be just another goddamn death.

But Virgil was just too stubborn.

He pushed on - the whirlwind of time forcing his eyes shut. He moved his sluggish arms - pressing his fingers over his ears to try and get rid of the loud sirens in his head.

As he awoke - and he did finally wake, his breathing was shaky and erratic - It was like something had literally, physically taken his breath away. He was winded, and nauseous, and Virgil felt himself dizzy as a new scene shifted into view. A police car zoomed down the road outside. 

“...Love?”

Something was holding his hand. He flinched, wrenching it away in momentary panic.

Virgil forced his eyes open; at first the light was bright, far too bright, but as they adjusted to the sun beaming in through some large windows, he realised he knew exactly who this was. Hair, curly and… longer. His eyes filled with a kind of worry he hadn’t seen directed at him in a long time.

“Roma-...? What day is it?” Virgil asked frantically, trying in vain to catch his breath.

“Uh. Saturday?”

“No, no I mean. Year. Month. I don’t have much-” He breathed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Oh- you said this would… Virgil, listen to me,” Roman, placed his hands reassuringly on Virgil’s shoulders. And Virgil recognised those eyes. He knew what would happen. “Virgil. You have to let me die.”

Virgil froze - his eyes shot straight up, right into Roman’s. It was the first time he’d looked straight at his eyes; not that he’d had a reason to before, but this was…

“Wh- What… the fuck?” This was insane.

“I’m serious! Just. Trust me.”

“No- I’m sorry, what?” He blinked a few times, before chewing nervously on his lip. Quietly, under his breath, he began mumbling, “If… this is the future… and you’re here… That means it… worked? I saved you?”

“Virgil-”

“But I-”

“Just let me die, Virge.” The sheer amount of urgency in his voice was enough to make anyone’s stomach lurch.

His hands began to go numb - and Virgil managed to get one last look at this future, before he got pulled god knows where. It was almost like a rollercoaster - he’d gotten all the way to the top, and there were only a few seconds left before--

...He’d always hated roller coasters.

The loud, incessant shrieking in the back of his skull certainly sounded a lot more shrill as he was flung backwards. Any amount of control he may have had was gone. Shit. He screwed his eyes shut, hoping for the vertigo to pass - but by the time it did, he was already back in that damn…

Virgil let out a low, irritable sound as he somehow, with whatever strength he had left, opened his heavy eyes.

Thankfully he didn’t have to deal with the sun digging its way into his eyes with the force of a monster truck. Virgil groaned, forcing his chest into a fit of coughing. 

He pulled his hand away, grimacing at the droplets of blood in the middle of his palm.

“Ah, shit…” Virgil croaked, staring blankly at the ceiling before pulling himself out of bed - struggling for a moment to steady himself.

It was fine, he thought, he’d had a whole night to sleep and then some.

God, he didn’t even care about the audition anymore. Rubbing his eyes, he surveyed the room - his blocker was… on the floor.

Where he had left it, just before he went to the audition. In the morning.

His eyes went wide, and Virgil scrambled to look at the date on his phone. His stomach dropped as he read 7:42 pm -- in the evening. He… had an hour.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Virgil kicked himself into gear. Pulling on a coat, he stuffed his phone deep into one of his pockets, and with everything he had in him - he burst through the door.

He didn’t understand-- He saved him. Virgil saw, with his own two eyes, Roman - sitting in front of him as if nothing had ever fucking happened.

And he had the gall to tell Virgil to do the exact opposite of what he was trying to do.

One life. That’s all he asked. One goddamn stupid freaking life. 

Oh, how those adults would be fawning over him now. “Putting your power to good use, I see!!” Fuck that. Fuck them.

For the first time in his life he could feel the wind in his hair as he raced against time.

He could feel his lungs protest against him as he sped down the street - passersby shot him odd glances that would usually cause him to withdraw - but he didn’t care.

The wind had messed up his hair as he ran, his feet stung, his lungs felt weak and numb but he was filled with a stubborn determination he didn’t have before.

It would take him, what, half an hour, at least? To catch a bus that may or may not even arrive in time, ride it to the station, and somehow get to Roman.

But it was the only choice he had.

He stood slumped against the bus shelter, practically vibrating with the anxious feeling creeping through his chest. As if on cue, a bus came barreling around the corner, its lights blinding him momentarily. He stuck his arm out, and once it had stopped, found his way to the back of the bus.

Virgil slumped down at a window seat in a daze - not caring about the odd looks he was receiving from nearby passengers. Instead, he lifted his hood over his head, and leant solemnly against the window. Watching the world go by.

He further curled into his hoodie, stuffing his hands in its large pockets. The lull in traffic movement was doing little to keep him calm; of course, public transport was never particularly reliable.

But it’s all he had.

Moving his head from the window, he leant his elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.

What the hell did ‘just let me die’ even mean.

He raised his head abruptly - what if. He’d messed with time?

It’s not like he’d ever attempted anything of this sort of scale before. What if it was his fault? What if Roman being there was somehow caused by his meddling with time?

He wrapped his arms around his waist, trying to hide the grimace forming on his lips.

It would make sense, right? If he, some time in the future, messed with the past... 

No. No that couldn’t be it.

...Could it?

He glanced out the window - his eyes widening as he rushed to press the bell. The bus came rocketing to a halt, and Virgil raced out the door and into the damp night. With a deep breath, he began to run.

Just a moment longer - another few blocks and the tracks would be visible. He bit his lip, so as to not cry out in frustration or pain or both - and then he saw it. Saw the tracks - and heard the distant screeching of a train traversing them.

Virgil took a deep breath, fighting to keep his feet going as he fought his way through an old, rusty gate that prevented too-adventurous children from accidentally getting hit.

“R-Roman!” He yelled, as loud as his voice would allow. He could see it. The orange headlights bathing everything in their path in a warm, fiery light-- and a shadow stood in front of it. “N-NO!”

He practically screamed, his voice giving one last push before it completely gave out. The train passed.

Roman was dead.

Again.

Virgil had been lucky enough to never hear a dying cat scream, but he was pretty sure that’s what he sounded like. Out of anger or frustration or -- something else.

“...Fuck,” he whispered into the cool night air, finally letting his knees give way.

He bit his lip.

He’s come all this way, right? He’d done so much for this damned person-- for. For Roman.

“Just let me die, Virge.”

“...Hah. Yeah fucking right.”

...

Something shifts by the tracks. Virgil is gone. //// TAGLIST //// @kolurise @royallyanxious 

[rainbowplaidvirgil]

Maybe today, it'll be better

Read me on AO3!

After having a fallout with his father, Virgil hasn't spoken to him in 10 years. Now, forced to confront him at Christmas dinner, what will he say? Meanwhile, a brother, a tenant turned son, and a dissafected teen try and fail to recreate the past. Can they fix the unfixable?

Words: 3639

Relationships: Familial CALMD

Warnings: sympathetic deceit, mentions of past trauma, mentions of mental illness, fainting

Written for @sanderssidesbang, and I can’t wait to see the art for this done by @skittlesun!

Virgil sighed, checking over his purple plaid overshirt for any lint once again. In reality, he was just procrastinating, but he didn’t want to admit that to himself. His twin brother stood in the doorway, looking fucking immaculate in a yellow button-down, black suit vest, and black slacks, as usual, watching Virgil fuss.

  “You nervous?” Dee asked, somewhat rhetorically. Of course Virgil was nervous. He was always nervous. But especially now.

  “You know, Dad isn’t gonna like, freak out at you if there's a piece of lint on your shirt.”

  “Shut up.”

  Dee let out a little hum, approaching him and picking a stray white thread off of his shirt and flicking it away. “You missed one.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “How come you haven’t talked to Dad in so long?”

  Virgil froze. He had been expecting the question, but it still knocked all of the air out of him. How did he explain that as much as he would love to have a relationship with his father, it wasn’t going to happen, because Patton didn’t want to talk to him?

  “Virgy?”

  The nickname was like a slap in the face to Virgil. It had been so long since Dee had called him that, it had to have been what, ten, fifteen years? It reminded them of when they had just moved in with their adopted father, and Virgil’s panic attacks got the best of him more often and not. God, how things have changed. But also, how they’ve stayed the same. He still feared that their father hated him in secret, but now, that fear was much more plausible. The thought was nauseating. How could he have been so stupid? He knew Patton didn't want to get help, why did he push it if he knew it was just going to make it worse?

  A hand on his shoulder jerked him out of his spiraling thoughts.

“Virgy. Virgil. Breathe, man. You’re okay.”

Virgil almost laughed. Ten years ago, those would have been fighting words from Dee. How Dee had changed too. Through years of therapy, he had stopped talking in opposites. The first time he spoke like a normal person, it threw Virgil for one hell of a loop. It almost made him motion sick just thinking about.

He took a deep breath in and offered his brother a watery smile. Dee squeezed his shoulder in response.

“Listen, you don’t- you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. But you should. Because whatever shit Dad decides to throw at you, I wanna be there for you, because you're my brother.”

“Its- its nothing Dad did, I’m just a dumbass who can’t keep his mouth shut,” Virgil ran a hand through his hair nervously, giving himself a glance in the mirror. He was gonna look a nervous wreck before they even got into the car at this rate. Nothing unusual, he supposed.

“I just- remember how Dad used to have all.those nervous breakdowns all the time but would just lock himself in his room instead of, I dunno, getting help? I tried to make him get help and he really didn't want to. We ended up getting into an argument about it and- I said some things I shouldn't have- and now he hates me. “

“Lie of omission,” Dee accused.

“Excuse me?”

“I think maybe you both said some things you shouldn't have said. I also don't think he hates you but that's a debate I don't want to get into. Now, I realize that there are way better times to bring this up, but there are two people you don't know that are gonna be there.”

  “What?” Virgil hissed, his eyes landing on Dee's face venomously. Dee held up his hands in surrender.

  “Yeah, they've been coming to Christmas for a few years. This guy that used to live in the building Dad owns and his son. The guy’s only a few years younger than us. Kid’s 17.”

  Virgil went to say something, then paused.

  “Wait… if he’s only a few years younger than-”

  “The kid’s adopted, forgot to mention that.”

  “Oh. Lie of omission.”

  “Shut up,” Dee gently shoved his twin brother, who just stuck out his tongue. “You almost ready to go?”

  Virgil took a deep breath, giving himself one last once-over in the mirror. He still thought Dee was dressed so much better than he was, but there was no changing that. Whatever he wore, Dee would look better than him in whatever he wore. Which was weird, because they were twins, but such was life, he supposed.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The car ride there was relatively silent. Dee fiddled with the radio every time they got to a stoplight, and normally Virgil would be fighting him about it, but all of his energy was currently focused on maintaining his thin veil of composure. He was not gonna freak out in the car, because if he did that they were gonna be late and he was not gonna stand for that shit one bit.

Dee glanced over at him nervously. He was catching on to the fact that Virgil was being weirder than normal. He turned the radio to some bubblegum pop station and Virgil felt his eye twitch, but he still didn't dare say anything. He was afraid he would snap at Dee if he did.

Dee’s expression grew more concerned when Virgil didn’t respond to the upbeat synthy hell that was blasting from the radio speakers. He ended up just turning the radio off, and they sat in suffocating silence for the rest of the drive. By the time they got to the familiar house, Dee’s grip on the steering wheel was white-knuckled, and Virgil was sitting his sadness on an elbow, staring out the window. He noticed there were two cars in the driveway already, Patton's familiar baby blue jeep, and another beat down red car. That must be the other guy and his son. Virgil felt himself bristling already and tried to shake it off. He hadn’t even met them yet and he already hated them. Hah. Just the way he felt about Dad when he met him. He didn’t know whether or not that was a good sign.

“We’re here,” Dee said.

“Mhm.”

Dee looked over at him, that look in his eyes again.

“You gonna be okay?”

“Maybe. Probably. I dunno. We’ll find out.” He got out of the car, seeing Patton’s silhouette behind the curtains, heading towards the door. He must have seen them.

The door opened quite forcefully, and there stood Patton, with the same general aesthetic he had had as long as the twins had known him. Cardigan tied around his shoulders, polo, khakis. He looked softer now, somehow. A little more grey hair, a little less hard around the edges. There were more smile lines.

“Boys!” Patton cried, laugh lines wrinkling at the corners of his eyes, “Come inside, you’re gonna be snowmen in minutes at this rate!”

Dee grabbed Virgil’s wrist and dragged him inside, clearly much happier than he had been just a minute ago. It was a small comfort to know that even after all this time, Dee was still excited to see Patton. But then again, Dee has always been the more optimistic of the two.

Patton pulled Dee into a tight hug, and Virgil hung back awkwardly, ignoring the pang of longing for that to be him. He wondered when things were gonna blow up again, or maybe, some small part of him dared hope, if they were gonna blow up again.

The house looked almost the same as it did ten years ago. It didn’t surprise him, Patton had never been one to let go of much. Bit of a hoarder, in private. He had a storage closet full of memories that Virgil knew he wasn't proud of having, but he just couldn't bring himself to let go of. It still had sort of suffocating coziness. More like a grandmother than a father.

He looked over at Patton and his brother, just in time for them to stop hugging and for Patton to then turn to him. Fuck. So this was happening now. They stared at each other for a few awkward moments, but to Virgil, they dragged out into eons. Patton looked like he was waiting for something, but whatever it was, Virgil wasn't sure he could give it to him. He had no idea where he would even start once he opened his mouth. An apology? An awkward hello? An “it's been so long?”

Luckily, Virgil was spared from having to make any big decisions by another man who came bouncing into the living room. This must have been the guy Dee mentioned earlier.

“Dee! It’s been forever since I’ve seen you! How’ve you been, bro?” The man shouted, quickly going over to envelop Dee in a hug, and Virgil felt jealousy rear its ugly head in the depths of his soul. Dee was his brother, not whoever the hell this douchebag was. That same bristling feeling from earlier washed over his body like a wave as he dragged Dee off into the kitchen. He definitely didn’t like that guy.

Now it was just him and Patton, standing in the living room in excruciating silence. You know what, fuck Dee too for leaving him. Keep him, mysterious douchebag. He’s all yours.

“Dee said he didn't know whether you would come this year,” Patton finally broke the silence.

“I wasn't sure either until yesterday.” Virgil conceded.

Patton nodded, and the conversation seemed to fizzle out as soon as it started. The awkwardness seemed to press on Virgil's chest, suffocating him. Patton didn't look any more comfortable than he did.

Well, he guessed it was his turn. Might as well start somewhere.

“... It's been a while.”

“Yeah,” Patton nodded to himself, “I'm glad you came. Christmas isn't the same without you.”

“Really? You seemed to replace me fast enough.”

Virgil resisted the urge to slap a hand over his mouth. Wow, he should not have said that, judging by the look of hurt that flashed momentarily over Patton’s face, being replaced with that same steady smile as though it were never there. Another thing that was the same.

“I didn't replace you, kiddo! Roman just is like another son to me! I have three sons!”

That pressing anxiety that was building in Virgil snapped, morphing like an animal into ugly, hot-blooded anger.

“Is that why you haven't invited me to Christmas dinner in ten years? And why Roman seems to know Dee so well he has no problem dragging him away and ignoring me? And you hugged Dee as soon as he got into the fucking door and didn't even acknowledge me until now? No matter how much I tried to fucking apologize for something that wasn't even my fault because I was just trying to help you before I lost another fucking parent! Is that why?!”

His face was hot and probably flushed. Patton stood stiffly in stunned silence. Dee and two other people popped their heads out of the kitchen, sharing nervous glances with each other. But Virgil didn't notice any of this. All he noticed was the way his chest was moving up and down a lot faster than it should and the fact that he just said a bunch of stuff that he shouldn't have said and that the floor was suddenly a lot closer to his face.

When he woke up- wait, when had he gone to sleep? Oh well- it took him a couple seconds to get his bearings. Because this was for fucking sure not his bedroom. It was bright and smelled too much like Patton's living room. That's because it was Patton's living room, he realized.

“Oh. He's awake.” Some teenager that he didn't recognize observed as he sat up. He looked like a nerd. Square framed glasses, necktie. Couldn’t be older than 17,18. He didn’t seem too concerned about anything.

“Who the fuck are you?” Is the first thing that came tumbling out of his mouth. Wow, his filter really turned off today huh. The back of his mind, some distant part that was still processing what happened immediately before he passed out, wondered where Patton was, but the rest of him was too numb to care. Maybe all the yelling had been cathartic.

“Ah. Pardon me, My name is Logan. I’m Roman’s son?”

“Hi Logan. I don’t know who Roman is so that tells me nothing. Is that my dad’s… ‘Other Son’?” He didn’t like saying those words out loud.  

“Yes. Speaking of, Patton told me to go get him when you awoke, so I suppose I should go do that,” he informed, getting up to leave as a bolt of panic shot through Virgil.

“Wait- kid. What happened after I…”

“Passed out?” Logan guessed. Virgil nodded. “Well, Patton screamed so loud I was shocked that none of the neighbors called the police, and then Uncle Dee was at your side so quickly I thought he had teleported for a second and he put you on the couch, and then pulled Patton into the other room and they’ve been talking ever since. About what I am not sure, but both of them seemed distraught. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go inform them you’re awake now.” And with that, he got up and left.

Patton burst in seconds later, bounding over to Virgil much too fast for someone his age and enveloping him in a hug. It was a little bone-crushing, but in a way that was almost comforting. He hadn't gotten a bone-crushing hug in a decade. His dad let go too soon.

“Virgil, you scared me so much!” He exclaimed. “One second you were screaming and crying and the next second you were on the floor! I didn’t know what to do.”

“Yeah, bro, you haven’t done that since like, sixth grade. I don't think Patton ever saw you do that. He was freaking out.” Dee walked over, a glass of water in his hand. He handed it to Virgil who took a sip gratefully.

“Now, I think you two should talk about some things,” Dee looked pointedly at both of them. They seemed to simultaneously curl into themselves. Like father like son, apparently.

“I’m gonna leave you two to talk this out. Logan, come on, I have a project I want your help on,” he commended and walked into the kitchen, the teen at his heels. It was just Virgil and Patton. Again. Virgil decided it would be a perfect time to study the Christmas tree. A fake one, obviously. Nobody in the family condoned the cutting down of a real tree. Half of the ornaments were family heirlooms, impossibly old and fragile looking. The other half were a hodgepodge mixture of cartoon references and ornaments Virgil had made when he got really stressed one holiday season and needed an outlet. Good to know Patton still kept those.

---

Dee ushered Logan into the kitchen, where Roman was already situated, rummaging through the cabinets and mumbling to himself.

“I know it’s here somewhere… Pops has never not had cinnamon in the house, as long as I’ve known him, at least.”

“Yeah, that one’s actually Virgil’s fault. He loved cinnamon when we were younger. Well, he still does, but you get it.”

“Aha, found it!” Roman produced a canister of cinnamon from the cabinet, eyes all aglow in triumph.

“Alright! What else do we need?” Dee flitted over to the open recipe book, the particular page he was looking for was dirtied from years of use, but the recipe was still legible. “Uh… Sugar?”

Roman lifted up a bag of Domino sugar. “Check.”

“Butter?”

“Yup.”

“Eggs.”

Roman slid over to the fridge and peeked inside.

“Affirmative.”

“Flour.”

“On the counter.”

“Baking powder?”

“Uh….”

“It’s also on the counter,” Logan interjected.

“Thanks, kid. Salt?”

“You’re gonna have to go in the living room for that.”

“Dad, I think that was a bit mean.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Sorry, Dee.”

“Its… fine? Anyway, that's all we really need, so let's get this party started, shall we?” Dee grinned.

“I wasn't aware we were having a party.”

“Expression, Logan.”

“Ah. I should write that down…”

---

“Did you really think I replaced you?” Patton’s voice was near inaudible, and his Cheshire smile faltered for a moment, before dropping entirely.

Virgil let out a breath, playing with the buttons on the sleeves of his flannel mindlessly. Did he? Part of him said yes, that he knew Patton didn't want him anymore so he got another son to replace him, but the rational part of his brain was saying that that was ridiculous. Which was probably right.

“I mean, rationally, no, that’s stupid, but also a little bit?” Virgil explained, staring at his hands as he spoke. “It has been ten years, Patton.”

“I thought you didn't want to be my son anymore.”

Virgil looked up, and Patton was staring at his hands, worrying his lower lip. He couldn't tell if Patton was about to cry, but he looked upset nonetheless.

“What?”

“We didn’t exactly leave off on good terms the last time we saw each other. We both said a lot of bad things and- the last thing you said to me was ‘I give up’ before you walked out the door and didn’t come back. I didn’t know how I was supposed to take that. And then you didn't call for a week so I just assumed that you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Dad-” It was Patton’s turn to look up in shock, and Virgil realized he’d been calling him Patton earlier. Weird. “I didn't call because I thought you didn't want me to talk to you. I thought you hated me. I really didn't blame you, either. We got pretty nasty but- I was just trying to help, you know?”

“Virgil- kiddo. I didn’t need help.”

Virgil ran a hand through his hair. To start this argument again and risk the shaky sort of progress he’d made? His dad had been suffering, clearly still was. He just wasn’t going to admit it without a lot of pushing.

“Dad, I thought that was a load of bull, and really, I still think it is. Dee used to do the same thing. That whole ‘Everything’s fine’ schtick. I saw it in you and you just- you weren't reaching out, and I could see it affecting you and I couldn’t just sit there and watch you fall apart inside. Because you and Dee are all I’ve got and if I don’t look out for you I couldn’t live with myself.”

Patton, gently, rolled his eyes. “Kiddo, I’m your dad! I look out for you, not the other way around. You don’t need to worry about my problems. I’m great, I promise.”

“If I don’t worry about you, who will? Because you really don’t seem to. Patton, I’m a grown adult, you really don't have to hide your feelings to spare me the worry.”

Patton looked taken aback, and Virgil worried that he had fucked up again. But then Patton spoke again.

“I suppose… you raise a good point, but I just… Feel bad. I don’t want to burden anyone else with my problems.”

An invisible weight lifted off of Virgil’s shoulders. He had admitted it. He had finally fucking admitted that not everything was fine. It was a start.

“Patton- Dad. You wouldn’t be burdening anyone by reaching out. We all have bad days, and we all get sad. But what makes the bad days and the sadness better is having people around you who love you and want to see you happy, and they’ll help you get there. Don't you realize? We want to help you. Because you’re important to us.”

He reached out and grabbed Patton’s hand, looking at him. “Dad, please, let us help you. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

Patton smiled, a real, genuine smile, before enveloping Virgil in a hug. It was nice. Virgil hadn't gotten that type of good hug from anyone other than Dee (and even then, it was rare. Dee wasn’t a fan of hugs;) for a while. He felt secure, like a rock climbing harness. Except that secureness wasn't preventing him from falling to a certain and brutally bloody death at the hands of a jagged cliff face. Virgil didn't like rock climbing.

Their hug was cut short by a loud crash coming from the kitchen. Both of them jumped back, looked at the kitchen, looked at each other, and rushed in.

The scene they were greeted with was an… interesting one. A cloud of cinnamon was settling over the stove, which was rapidly catching on fire despite Logan keeping a fire extinguisher trained on it. Dee was carefully mopping up about six eggs that were cracked on the floor, and roman was leaning dramatically against the wall, looking faint and crying.

“What the hell did you guys do!?” Virgil shouted, gesturing all around the kitchen.

“We tried-” Logan stopped the fire extinguisher, as that situation seemed to be fine now, “we were trying to bake cinnamon cookies I believe? Dee informed us that you enjoyed them so we collectively decided to take a metaphorical stab at them. We clearly were not successful.”

Virgil looked over at Patton, who has his head buried in his hands next to him. He didn't blame him. They basically ruined his kitchen.

“Kiddos, I appreciate the effort, but maybe never try this again, huh?”

They all nodded.

“Now.. to attempt saving the kitchen enough to actually have Christmas dinner.”

“Or we could just order pizza,” Virgil suggested.

“Yeah. Let’s just order pizza.”

[fullmetalirin]

Fullmetal Alchemist OG vs. Brotherhood: Return to Resembool (OG 17, BH 06)

Resembool breather episode.

Fullmetal Alchemist Episode 17: "House of the Waiting Family"

The Elrics and Armstrong all return to Resembool, meeting up with Pinako, who agrees to repair Ed in three days time. While the Elrics recuperate, Armstrong assists Winry and Pinako in work. The Elrics later reminisce about their childhood while at their mother's tombstone. Al seems to worry about having fading memories, but Armstrong breaks the tension. A few days later, receiving his replacement arm and leg, Ed uses his alchemy to rebuild Al's armored body from the shattered remains. Afterwards, the brothers and Armstrong head back to Central to find Marcoh's research.

We open with Pinako staring into the sky.

Ed says he hasn't been back to Resembool since he left. How'd he get new limbs, then? He's clearly grown since he was 12, and his automail leg is longer since the flashback. Did Winry keep hopping over to Central to make him new limbs?

Winry is not wearing goggles while she works.

Pinako calls Ed short, and we have the same insult-fu scene from BH 02. Way more appropriate here.

Armstrong is hilarious.

Winry throws a wrench at Ed, similarly to the scene where he transmutes his automail in BH 02.

Al gets cartoon face when being admonished by Winry.

There's a flashback to 03 when Ed visits the grave, but his line about bringing Trisha back is different. I hate when shows do that.

Trisha's epitaph is illegible.

Winry nerds out over Ed's watch. When he refuses to give it to her, she tries flirting with Armstrong, who immediately runs away. LOL.

Armstrong breaks the door when he barges in.

Ed calls Winry an automail nerd, and she calls him a transmutation nerd as payback.

Ed has to be sat down on a bed to ride out the pain of the reattachment.

Winry brings up the possibility of the automail stunting Ed's growth, and says she made the new ones lighter to help.

Armstrong's bishie sparkles fall down when Ed isn't impressed by him. LOL.

Al says it "feels great" when the armor is fixed. I thought he couldn't feel anything?

Ed and Al spar again once they're fixed. Winry realizes the Ed left his watch inside. Hohoho.

When Winry opens the watch, she sees the inscription. I think this is the first time we've seen it in OG.

FMA Brotherhood Episode 6: "Road of Hope"

While Armstrong escorts Edward and Alphonse back to Resembool by train, he spots a man named Tim Marcoh, the "Crystal Alchemist", at a nearby stop. He explains that Marcoh was a state alchemist and doctor during the Ishval civil war, and conducted research on biological alchemy before disappearing at the end of the war. They talk to Marcoh and learn that he was researching the philosopher's stone but only succeeded in creating an incomplete version. At first refusing to share his knowledge with Edward, Marcoh eventually provides a clue to the location of his research data. After they reach Resembool, Winry Rockbell and her grandmother Pinako Rockbell start working on Edward's automail. After receiving his replacement arm and leg, Edward uses his alchemy to rebuild Alphonse's suit of armor from the shattered remains. Afterwards, the Elric brothers, along with Armstrong, head back to Central to look for Marcoh's research.

We open with Hughes seeing them off on the train. We cover why Armstrong is escorting them as protection, but nothing else from OG 16 – no bit with Scar finding out where they're going, no mention that they think Scar was Nina's killer, no "excuse the left-hand salute" line; and while we get the same bit with Ed taking offense at being called a child, we don't get Al saying he appreciates it. Ed also behaves much more normally, with no indication that he's depressed or affected by what he learned last episode.

Armstrong shouts out Marcoh's name in a public train station for everyone to hear, because he's an idiot.

We learn more explicitly that Marcoh was studying healing alchemy. Boy, he sure must feel like an idiot in this continuity where their next-door neighbors already had that figured out for centuries.

Armstrong doesn't seem to know what happened to Marcoh after the war. So Mustang didn't tell him?

Ed only wants to find him because he thinks he could know a way to restore their bodies.

Oh my god Armstrong is showing sketches of Marcoh to everyone in the city. Because it's not like there's a terrifying military dictatorship after him or anything.

The scene where they meet Marcoh plays out similarly, but it's played for comedy, with Marcoh actually firing but Ed dodging out of the way with a cartoony expression. Wow. Wow. A traumatized enabler of war crimes is so terrified of the idea the fascist finally found him he's desperate enough to shoot children? What a barrel of laughs!

And Armstrong convinces him to stand down by crushing him with a suit of armor, which is of course framed for comedy. What is tone.

Maybe it's just a translation difference, but Marcoh doesn't mention wanting to take his own life, just that "I could give my whole life and still not atone". That's a lot weaker.

Armstrong doesn't know what Marcoh was researching? WTF?

Marcoh shows them the Stone instead of Ed having to find it.

Ed pokes it, and we see that it's gel-like.

Marcoh says it's awful that Ed's a State Alchemist knowing what they did in the Ishbalan war. Ed says he knows but he has to do it anyway. He makes a really fancy metaphor.

Marcoh is impressed Ed transmuted Al's soul. So I guess that's a thing in the manga as well.

Marcoh just gives them an ominous warning about the research and throws them out. We get a similar thing where Ed says he knows he could have taken it, but he wants to do the right thing and not deprive the town of Marcoh's help. I dunno, this just feels token to me here. I liked how Ed admitted his younger self definitely would have taken the Stone in OG, and the fact that we directly see Marcoh helping the people makes Ed's decision feel more real. Show, don't tell.

Marcoh gives them directions to his library outright, and says he hopes not only that they'll figure out the truth but that they'll get their bodies back. Uh, so he hopes they'll use his research to kill a ton of people. Why. I also don't see why he can't just tell Ed everything now, when he's not under duress. This is like the worst of all possible worlds for this – not only does he have no reason to fear his research will be either destroyed or exploited and therefore no reason to tell anyone, he also has no reason to not spill all the beans if that's what he really wants.

Lust is waiting for Marcoh when he comes back. So I guess the torture's going to happen to him here too. How did she find him, though? I guess she was spying on Ed? Not like they were making a secret of it, so it wouldn't be hard.

Pinako calls Ed a "regular customer", so Ed probably did visit in this continuity.

There's a funny bit where Pinako says Ed's grown smaller. It's actually pretty good, I'm sad we didn't get it in OG.

Same bit with Winry hitting him with the wrench.

They show Winry the smashed automail and she freaks out. Slapstick where she punches Ed for wrecking it. She kicks Al too.

They explicitly show him attaching the spare, and there's a bit where he initially has trouble finding his balance. Nice detail.

No scene where Al convinces Ed to visit the grave, we just cut to him doing it.

The townspeople don't talk to Ed, just wave.

Pinako explains more about her relationship to the Elrics. Hoenheim was her drinking buddy, apparently.

Pinako tells Armstrong about Winry's parents' deaths and they commiserate over the evils of war.

This is where we learn the Elrics burned down their house. Pinako explains their reasoning, which I think is weaker than hearing it from their own mouths.

We get more shots of Winry working on the automail. Ed keeps harassing her and asking when it will be done.

Reattachment is only momentarily painful, and played for laughs.

Similar bit where Winry explains the new automail is weaker, but it's cut off. She just says she added more chrome to prevent rusting, nothing about the growth-stunting and all that.

Al's repair is a lot choppier.

They reuse the animation of Pinako blowing smoke a lot.

The brothers don't spar with Armstrong.

Winry reflects on how awful it is someone as young as Ed will be a weapon in the military.

Nothing about the watch.

Conclusion

I actually like the second half of the Brotherhood episode! The pacing feels fine, for once. Spending a whole episode on the Rockbell interlude maybe was a bit too much. OG could have easily merged 16 and 17 and probably come out the better for it. We miss out on a few things, but we gain a few other things too, and Brotherhood's additional comedy and lightheartedness is, for once, totally at home with this breather sequence. I feel like they're both viable alternatives with their own strengths, rather than any one being definitively better.

But the Marcoh side of things is absolutely awful. OG actually engaged with the horror implied by Marcoh being so desperate not to return. Marcoh was fully integrated into the narrative, not just a convenient plot device to be stumbled across. It took its own premise seriously. Brotherhood did not.

What I take away from this is that Brotherhood is perfectly capable of making a good breather episode when it wants to, and is maybe even better at it than OG, but it doesn’t understand how to do serious plots at all. It's really a shame it doesn't seem to understand where its strengths lie, and keeps rushing through the breather sections to spend more time on action. It's honestly kind of sad, like it doesn't trust its audience to stick with it through slow bits. Although, given that's the most common complaint about OG, perhaps it's justified.

[hikertracks]

A Pilgrimage to the Northern Terminus

Usually, you only see visit this place after you’ve hiked an extremely long way.

My adventure was flawed long before I reached the trailhead. Its first setback came before I ever left home, when I ridiculously planned to drive all the way to the park from my hometown then hike all in the same day. This plan would not have been a bad plan, except I also planned to leave following a two hour physiotherapy appointment (to correct the whiplash which I was still healing from) and return to my homeland the very next day, giving me very little time to actually enjoy my destination, a thought which would plague me the entire trip. 

The day that my foray began, I was also incredibly silly, electing to stop for doughnuts (in my defense, they were extremely delicious ones from a very good local place,) then the bookstore, then after I had finally gotten my butt in gear, I stopped at another park on the way to my destination where I learned that it actually takes quite a long time to eat pitted olives.

Kentucky-Alleyne Provincial Park, which happens to be one of the most beautiful non-mountainous places in the interior of southern British Columbia. It sports two magnificent gem-like lakes and it’s a spectacular stopover on the way to more exciting places like E.C. Manning Provincial Park and the coast (if you’re coming from the east.)

Thus, it was quite late by the time that I actually arrived in E.C. Manning Provincial Park, but in this case, the seasons were with me - being July, the sun was still standing tall in the heavens. I got out of my new car, which had proven itself worthy of the memory of my previous on the drive there, rummaged through my pack, and immediately discovered that I would learn a little more about thru-hiking on this trip than I had bargained for.

I had forgotten a fuel canister.

Needing hot water in order to eat my dinner of Mountain House Macaroni and Cheese Product (the name is disgusting but the flavour is whoa,) I then went in a vain search for some, eventually giving up after an hour. Returning to the trailhead, I ditched my trusty Pocket Rocket and my beloved dinner into the backseat of my car, then set forth down the trail - the northernmost end of what is undeniably one of the most awesome trails in the world. the 4,265 kilometre (2,650 mile) long Pacific Crest Trail, or PCT.

If you haven’t figured out just with that sentence, well, when it comes to the PCT, I’m a big fan - so stepping onto any part of it, no matter how geographically minute, was a huge deal, even if that piece of PCT was very accessibly only four hours from where I live. Standing in front of the trailhead sign, which whispered only an impression of what could come gave me the shivers, and I gladly started down the trail, clad in improved gear from what I had taken on my recent thru-hike of the West Highland Way. This trip was a test - not just of my new backpack, an Osprey Eja 58, but of me - I had to know how healed I was, and whether my damaged neck could handle backpacking again. 

The somewhat unremarkable northern start to a trail which literally crosses a continent.

Just in case you wondered what this puny section of this epic looks like.

Despite the hour - five o’clock by the time I set out - the sun was still high when I left the trail, hiking along the edge of the Skagit River. The trail soon took me away from there, climbing up in lazy switchbacks which would have felt gentle, if not for the veritable horde of mosquitoes who accompanied me. Having stupidly elected to disdain insect repellent, (a decision I had previously lamented as dumb on the West Highland Way thanks to Scotland’s flourishing tick population,) I was forced to hike faster than my nippy friends could fly. This wasn’t hard, except for the fact that the wide trail was taking me very steadily uphill. My breaks consisted of brief pauses to get my heart rate down, then I would charge off again, fleeing my humming insect companions. 

A quick view of beautiful mountains peeking through the trees before fleeing Manning’s mosquitoes again.

Most of my views looked like this. Out of sight is the contingent of insects hovering around me.

Besieged by hot sun yet protected from its direct glare, I made my second most spectacular oops of the trip - I took my pink hat off. Then, possibly because of the healthy mosquito population pursuing me, I neglected to pause to put it away. This probably would not have been a problem for many people, but I happen to have a bizarre habit of forgetting when I am holding things. Normally, this isn’t at all an issue - normally, I don’t drop what I am holding, and I continue to aimlessly hold whatever is clutched in my hands. On that day, however, my hands apparently forgot to do what they were doing too, and I didn’t discover this fact until several kilometres had passed. The worst part was the flicker of forewarning of this happening which I had which I ignored - some part of me momentarily recognized that if I didn’t put my hat away, I’d lose it, but I was a ninny and ignored that cleverness. 

Me with my beloved pink Outdoor Research Sun Runner Hat in Garibaldi Provincial Park in August 2017. RIP, pink hat, hopefully purple hat will live up to your memory. Photo taken by my dad. (Black Tusk is in the background. I will return someday, Black Tusk, I swear it!)

The junction between a wide trail (practically a road,) and a much more fun thin winding one! (Which just happens to lead all the way to Mexico.)

Triumphantly reaching the junction of the Pacific Crest Trail and the markedly more popular looking Windy Joe Trail (which was at least a metre wide compared to the thin line of the PCT,) I noted that the sun was still in my favour. Knowing that I was close to camp, I decided to ascend Windy Joe and continued up the switchbacks, which were definitely somewhat steeper than the ones on the horse-friendly PCT (although not by much.) My mosquito friends accompanied me, taking care that my breaks were never longer than a few huffs (I found vindictive pleasure in an exposed outcropping of rocks which gave me some beautiful views where the wind gave them trouble,) and I plugged my way up to the top, where an old fire lookout still stands proud, if empty. Immediately taking advantage of its mosquito-proof properties, I went inside the building and finally took a well-earned break, enjoying the fine view of Manning which was presented.

What ho! Views! And wind!

Temporary relief from my parasitic winged companions.

Muahahaha, just try and bite me through glass, little bugs, just tryyyy.

I was apparently so desperate to escape the mosquitoes that I didn’t photograph my sanctuary until I stepped outside again.

Recuperated from the harassment of my insect friends and with my belly full of Clif Bar, I slung my pack back on then stepped outside, where the winged heathens had lain in wait for me. Giving the horrid things a sly look, I bolted from the stony top of the mountain - the mosquitoes may have had an edge on me going uphill, but going down I hike like a runaway freight train. Gravity on my side, I all but galloped back to the trail junction and with a much reduced insect pursuit, I continued onto the PCT, dropping from the little pass where the junction was into the deeper forest. The trail led me through a few twists and turns before finally dropping down to camp - the final camp on this continent-traversing epic of a track. Glad to be home, I happily noted that PCT Camp sported a bear locker (I wouldn’t have to try my skills at a bear hang,) and a better water source than the trickle which I had seen hiking in. 

Camp, sweet, camp in the fading light of the day.

All alone, I set up camp, stuffed bars into my mouth (while dearly missing the before-mentioned Macaroni and Cheese Product,) and went to bed, all the while slightly freaked out, because while there’s no bears in Scotland, I was in British Columbia, where every step you take is in bear country. This being a stupid thing to panic about (I had properly stored my food in the bear locker and I had not gotten any of it on myself or my gear, plus bears typically avoid humans,) I employed the magic of my cellphone as a soother, reading my own ridiculous prose off of it until finally passing out. 

The next morning, I woke up with my worries of the night before utterly vanished - what was there to stress about? I was in a beautiful place, I was alone and I was on the PCT - the world was suddenly my oyster. Let me just repeat that - I was alone. I know it sounds weird, but I couldn’t have been more gleeful. I didn’t have to talk to anybody - it was just me, the shifting trees, the squirrels, and the (unseen,) bears. I loaded up my reservoir with a fresh supply of filtered creek water then set off, determined to make it to the border and the official finish line of the PCT - the northern terminus. 

This was the first trip that I used my Katahdin BeFree on - I really liked its simplicity, but I think I need to test it more before writing a review.

The first of many deadfalls needing a visit from a chainsaw. As far as I can tell, the trail hadn’t seen spring maintenance yet when I was there.

Mountains!

Within metres the trail opened up, showing my views of craggy peaks which I couldn’t believe were visible from Manning (little did I know that later on in the year I would see even better on Manning’s Skyline II Trail.) The trail dipped steadily along the long flank of a mountain towards Castle Creek, becoming progressively more covered in deadfall as I went. Thanking the agility earned from a lifetime of hiking, I jumped, climbed, balanced and rerouted my way around the obstacles in my path until at last I saw a glimmer of water off to my left. Excited, I hurried forwards and at last looked upon something which I didn’t immediately realize was an obstacle - Castle Creek itself. It shone beneath the sun and I happily climbed up onto its bridge, only to stop in my tracks (the mosquitoes had apparently abandoned me overnight so I was fine with halting for a moment.) 

Um... what?

Something just isn’t the way that it is supposed to be! 

Oh my. (Note the broken support strut.)

I stared. I got back off of the bridge and contemplated, stared at the span, which was thoroughly twisted from whatever had besieged it over the stormy winter. One of its support struts was busted and the deck of the bridge with its railing was so warped that I didn’t dare cross it. I might have been safe, but I value my life, so my gaze fell upon the creek flowing below. 

So, I guess it’s time that I tested out all that stuff I read about stream crossings.

This is my ‘I wasn’t expecting to learn this firsthand so soon and I am hoping that I won’t die’ face.

I had never done a true stream crossing - I had picked my way across water bodies only a few centimetres deep, but I had never had to wade. Not wanting to be stopped short of my goal, I stepped closer to the bank, surveying the water and judging the risk it presented. Finally deciding that it appeared safe enough from years of experience wading in rocky Canadian lakes, I took off my shoes, stuffed my socks into my pockets, then began my crossing. The water was fiercely cold but the route I had charted from the bank proved as safe as I had thought it and with the help of my singular trekking pole, I reached the other side. Elated at my success, I re-adorned my footwear then climbed up the embankment and into the PCT’s border camp.

Castle Creek looking pretty and feeling extremely cold on the legs.

Safely on the other side.

Within a few hundred metres I had reached my destination - the heralded, slightly shabby and completely magnificent (bias is a glorious thing,) northern terminus. After reading so much about the trail over the years, seeing the few chunks of nationally flagged weather beaten wood in a deforested strip of land was like reaching a holy temple. I stood there, took a somewhat large collection of pictures and videos (so that my future self could revisit the moment, you see,) and cried a bit (because that’s what you do when you stand in the presence of sacred rotting wood.) After vowing tearfully that the next time I saw it I would earn the right to be in the withering monument’s presence (the monument which was quite promptly replaced by the PCTA, likely only a couple of weeks after I was there,) then staring longingly into Washington a bit (the trail calls,) I retraced my path back to PCT Camp to pack up my tent which I had left behind to save weight. 

Unseen in most terminus photos - the hideous metal border marker which hangs out right beside it.

Next time I see this thing I would like to feel significantly more accomplished.

Look! It’s Washington! I resisted the outstanding urge to investigate due to rules and laws and whatnot. (It’s illegal to pass over the border into the United States via the PCT which must be extremely annoying for southbound thru-hikers of the trail, since northbounders do not share their problem and can cross into Canada here just fine providing they have a permit to do so.)

Success after crossing back through Castle Creek; doing stream crossings barefoot usually isn’t advised, but I judged the creek bottom safe-ish for me. I’m going to have to pick up some stream crossing footwear for future adventures so that I don’t take this foolish risk again. Nothing can mess up your hike quite like injured feet, especially when you have no way of calling for help.

The rest of my hike was quite unremarkable, apart from the usual sightings of ill-prepared looking day hikers ruining my precious solitude. I attempted to spot my hot pink sun hat on the way out, but alas, my hat apparently didn’t love me anymore, because I never saw it. My hike was punctuated by encounters with pretty mushrooms, more day hikers headed up to Windy Joe, and a mama ruffed grouse and her brood of adorably fluffy babies. I returned to my car, dejected that I had to drive home (all the way home,) and promptly procrastinated by driving up to Cascade Lookout instead, deludedly thinking that I’d see a treasure trove of alpine wildflowers up there, but alas, all were dead. Finally admitting that it was time to drive home, I returned to the highway and left Manning, dreaming of the PCT all the way.

The slightly muddy-in-places steeplechase of the trail.

Mushrooms!

The mama ruffed grouse.

The Pacific Crest Trail (Canadian Portion):

- The Canadian end of the PCT, at 13 km (8 miles,) is barely a smidgeon of the trail’s total titanic length. It’s an easy trail, but expect lots of deadfall in spring, especially once you leave PCT Camp, and keep in mind that compared to other trails in E.C. Manning Provincial Park, it isn’t as scenic. If you’re coming to Manning for the first time, and you’re not a raving fan of the PCT like I am, then I’d probably give it a pass and hike the Skyline Trail II or Heather Trail instead. The trail is mostly a pretty green forest tunnel, with just a few peeking views of the mountains.

- If you do hike this trail, then Windy Joe may be worth a visit for some views (or for temporarily escaping the mosquitoes.) It’s also a good day hike, although I would hazard to say that the First Brother on the Heather Trail is a more scenic adventure with better views.  There are excellent maps on the official government Manning Provincial Park page to help you with this.

- That’s also where you need to go to buy your backcountry permit if you intend to spend the night out in the wilderness.

- You can also access Mount Frosty from this trail; it is reputedly quite a grueling hike, and I haven’t done it yet.

- As I mentioned, at PCT Camp there’s a bear locker and a creek for water; keep in mind that towards the end of summer, water sources can run thin or become non-existent. There’s no tent pads, but there’s plenty of space for your tents. There is a fire pit (only to be used when there’s no fire ban) and an outhouse (pit toilet.)

- PCT northbound thru-hikers usually pass through this final section of the trail in late summer and fall.

Getting There:

- Obviously, the easiest way to get there is by car. If you don’t have one, then it is best to rent one.

- The closest airport to Manning Provincial Park is in Penticton.

- There is currently no bus service to Manning as there once was, although it may be possible that the new Ebus will provide this.

When I Was There: Early July

Temperature Range I Experienced: 10 to 32 ºC

Always Remember: Be prepared! The mountains don’t listen to the weatherman - definitely look at the forecast, but take it as law to your folly. Always bring rain protection (at the very least a $2 plastic emergency poncho,) warm layers, food, water and a first aid kit, no matter what. Your first aid kit doesn’t have to be fancy - mine pretty much consists of leukotape, duct tape, pain killer, tiny scissors, a sewing needle, thread and vet wrap. Always study (and carry,) a map of your trail to predict availability of water and pay attention to trail reports - for example, on the Skyline Trail II there is very little available so it was important to carry extra, but on the northernmost end of the Pacific Crest Trail there’s water every few hundred metres, so extra water wasn’t necessary for that section. Similarly, there was copious water on the West Highland Way in Scotland, so carrying extra beyond the two litres which I was drinking daily there was the definition of silly - however hike somewhere hot like the Mohave Desert and you may find yourself having to carry several day’s worth of drinking water. Once again, be prepared!

[middleland]

Ill Wind by Dave Via Flickr:

We don't get hurricanes here in northern Ohio. But what we do get are long-duration wind events, usually triggered by the arrival of cold fronts associated with intense low pressure systems. That's the meteorological definition. The old guy with a camera definition is 'freaking awesome'. To be out in open areas when one of these systems sweeps in is totally immersive. I love the feeling of being physically buffeted by wind. Always have, even as a kid flying a kite. There's just something about being pushed around by an unseen force. Where it gets really wild is out in the meadows surrounded by tall grasses and reeds. The visual effect is one of being surrounded with every single thing in varying degrees of motion. The eye seeks out fixed objects and places of calm, but there aren't any. Coupled with the push of the wind along with its roar, it can be disorienting or even disconcerting. Sort of that funhouse effect where the normal view of the world becomes momentarily destabilized. It ties into my vision of experiencing ordinary places under extraordinary circumstances. On this particular day I hunkered down for a bit in tall weeds, now bleached and dry from the killing frost. The dry grasses rustled and swirled all about me, but also sheltered me from the extreme winds passing just a few feet overhead. An illusion of safe harbor in the middle of nowhere. I lingered for a while until the freezing wind cold became unbearable.

[purple-spring]

Apparitions - a SH fanfic

Author’s note: And so here it is, my labour of love and early Christmas present for the SH fandom - the sequel to ‘Tomorrow’ and ‘Coming Home’. I owe a debt of gratitude to so many people. To @jandjsalmon​, my beta/meta/co-pilot, thank you, as always, for reading and reworking and questioning and pushing this to become what it is now. Erin is my tribute to you. To @theatreofexpression​, who also read and beta’d and cheered me on, you are a gift, and I treasure our conversations. To @oleekingcole​, @gingerheel​ and @a92vm​ for all your support - I am grateful for our friendships.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. While it is based on a number of real-life events (Riverdale auditions, shooting of Riverdale 1.06, the SH San Francisco trip), it is purely speculative, and was not intended to upset or offend.

Summary: Lili is haunted by Cole, and by her fears. When the time comes to banish her ghosts, will she fold? Or will she follow her heart?

Read below, after the cut, or on Ao3. 

“Do you believe in ghosts, Lili?”

The voice that Cole put on was ridiculous, and Lili rolled her eyes at him to indicate that she thought as much. He laughed as he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her in against him, kissing the top of her head affectionately. He’d been in a good mood ever since they landed - gleeful, even. As though by simply moving away from the confines of Vancouver, the context of work, he was immediately freed to be this - happy, carefree, relaxed Cole.

Luggage in hand, they looked up at the gaudy pink facade of the Queen Anne Hotel - apparently one of San Francisco’s most haunted spots, which looked anything but spooky in the garish light of day.

Cole turned to her. “You ready?” She nodded excitedly.

When he’d first suggested it for their weekend away, she was reluctant. Having been accustomed to their getaways in the wild woods of British Columbia, San Francisco felt like a strange, random choice. Throw in a haunted hotel, and it seemed downright bizarre. But Cole’s stubbornness, and his powers of persuasion, were the stuff of legend; he’d once spent three days locked in a bitter stalemate with Roberto over what breed Hot Dog should be, and lost, but just barely, and not for lack of trying.

While Lili was proud of the fact that she was less susceptible to Cole’s nagging (one of the advantages of being his actual girlfriend and being on the receiving end of his pleas all too often), she was certainly not immune to being swayed by a pair of piercing, pleading blue eyes and countless sleepy conversations in the morning while she was still enveloped in his arms. This, he knew, was totally unfair on his part: she was completely undone in his embrace.

“But it would be so good, Lils,” he said, nuzzling her bare belly with his nose, right where he knew it tickled. She giggled and kicked at him half-heartedly. He looked at her with a glint of mischief in his eye before biting down - gently, but firm enough to leave a mark - causing her to sit upright, cussing up a storm, before whacking him soundly with a pillow.

“Not cool,” she mumbled, rubbing gingerly at the spot where he’d bitten her, before lying back down. He smiled before bending down to kiss it apologetically, getting a sarcastic little pat on the cheek in return.

“Seriously, though,” he said, resting his cheek back on her stomach and looking up at her. “It would be intriguing, right?”

“I don’t know, Cole. I mean, why would I want to stay overnight at a haunted hotel? That’s just asking for it.”

“Asking for what, exactly?”

“Like, asking to be haunted, I guess?”

Cole’s head popped up as he gave her a skeptical look. “You don’t believe in that shit, do you?”

“Hey, might I remind you that your own brother believes in that shit? Remember when he freaked out at the Chateau Marmont?”

“Yeah, but that’s Dylan. Which reminds me, I need to send him my monthly text message asking him if he’s felt any more of that weird energy he was harping on about.” Lili smirked at that. Round infinity of the Sprouse Roast Battle. “As for you, though, I thought you’d be more of a skeptic about that sort of stuff.”

“Me?” Lili paused, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I’d say that I have a healthy dose of fear and superstition. Like, say, if someone read my tea leaves or something and said that they saw misfortune in my future? Eh. Whatever.”

Cole grinned at her, the dimples over his top lip deepening in the laugh that threatened to spill out of him. “Alright, ‘fess up, Lils. Who read your tea leaves? Was it Mads? It was totally Mads, right?”

“No!” Lili laughed. “She’s a vegan, Cole, not some earth goddess.”

“Oh, come on, like she wouldn’t be reading your tea leaves.”

“Okay. First of all, no-one read my tea leaves, I was making a point. Secondly, you know I don’t drink tea. It’s basically —“

“Flavoured hot water, yes, you’ve said so a million times.”

“Exactly. And thirdly, leave my beautiful precious vegan bean alone.” Cole laughed and settled his head back on her tummy. “Anyway, that sort of stuff, I wouldn’t sweat. But staying overnight at a hotel that’s actually known to be haunted? Come on. That’s some serious, next-level insanity.”

“I’m just saying,” he mumbled, face down on her bare skin. “It would be interesting.”

Lili narrowed her eyes. “Okay. Out with it, Sprouse. What’s your angle? Why are you pushing so hard for this?”

“No angle.” Cole slung his arm over her waist and looked up at her. “Just, you know, a fun weekend with my girl. And the pictures would be cool, don’t you think?”

She pushed a lock of hair away from his eyes. “There are cool pictures to be taken anywhere, and you of all people should know that.”

“Okay, fine then. It would be an adventure. And you love adventures, don’t you?”

Lili smiled, still bashful over his reference to her birthday greeting. “Yeah, but to somewhere that potentially houses a ghostly presence?”

He sat up and stared at her levelly. “Wow. You honestly don’t remember?”

She racked her brain desperately. Nothing stood out. “Sorry. I’m out.”

“Come on. The abandoned mental hospital? Season 1 shooting in Coquitlam?” He looked mildly hurt. “I thought you would’ve made the connection, Lils. It’s coming up to a year.”

Shit. Of course. Lili wanted to smack herself in the face. Did she really forget? Wait. That didn’t sound right. She made the calculations in her head.

“Cole, that was in November. We’re planning for this weekend in October.”

“It’s close.”

Lili laughed. “It’s barely close!”

“It’s close enough.”

“Well, you made me feel like shit for forgetting. And I didn’t.” Her eyes softened at the memory. “Come on. How could I forget that?”

Indeed, how could she? Riverview Hospital. Filming Episode 6. Cole, surrounded by the debris of a decrepit asylum, his hands cupping her face, the two of them emotional but also laughing at the absurdity of having a moment in the midst of an abandoned mental hospital, of all places.

As they now stood in front of the Queen Anne, his arm around her shoulder, hers wrapped around his waist, she recognised that perhaps it had slipped her mind momentarily because all of that felt like a whole lifetime ago. In that moment, as they lay in bed, caught up in travel plans and each other, those days of secrecy and second-guessing and sneaking kisses around the set seemed like ancient history.

It was his question, unintentionally, that brought it all back. It reminded her of the days when she was unsure about what she meant to him, or even what he meant to her. When he was nothing but an apparition that lurked in the corners of her mind and made her heart clench in its tender, invisible grip.

Do you believe in ghosts, Lili?

She sure did.

He was once one of hers.

…

It was at auditions for Riverdale that they’d first crossed paths. She’d been engrossed in her script, running over lines in her head with her earphones plugged in, barely conscious of the fact that some guy she had never met before had been nudging her foot repeatedly to get her attention. One last, hard nudge did it: she finally looked up, startled, as he motioned for her to remove her earphones.

“Hey, are you Lili?” She nodded and replied in the affirmative. “I think they’re calling your name.”

Her first thought was, oh, shit. She scrambled to get all her things together, willing herself to stay calm.

Her second thought, as she conversed briefly with Foot Nudge Guy, was, oh, hey. Kinda cute?

But she had no time to extend that thought as she hurriedly said goodbye to her friend Israel (who was trying out for both Archie and Jughead) and rushed off into her audition. It wasn’t until later when Israel came over to catch up and debrief over dinner that she realised who it was.

“You are bullshitting me.” She froze while rummaging in the kitchen drawer. “Cole Sprouse? Like, Cody Martin Cole Sprouse? You’re telling me that he was the guy who was nudging my foot?”

“Yeah, it was definitely him. They called his name out and everything,” replied Israel. He laughed suddenly. “Everyone in the room was falling all over themselves to get a glimpse of him, and you were literally the only person he spoke to, and you barely noticed him.”

Lili shrugged sheepishly. “Well, I was prepping for my audition.”

“Fair. Also, I think he might’ve been auditioning for Archie as well. Just my luck.”

“Aw, come on. You totally should’ve just psyched him out, Izzy. Stared him down, or pushed him as you walked past or something.”

Israel laughed. “Fuck, dude. Like I’m really gonna psych out Cole Sprouse. The guy’s been acting since he was in diapers.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lili paused thoughtfully. She thought of the guy that she saw at the audition - completely unassuming, determinedly normal - and felt a pang of sympathy for him, an actor who was just trying to book a job, but with all the added pressure of everyone staring and speculating and wanting a piece of him. “I wonder what drew him back to acting.”

“Who knows? Didn’t he and his brother go to college for a while?”

“That’s what I heard.”

Just then, Israel’s phone buzzed on the table. He gave Lili a nervous glance before picking it up. He read it quickly, then his face fell. “Shit. My agent. I didn’t get the part.”

“Aw, Iz.” She walked over and consoled him by patting his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Israel visibly relaxed. “Actually, you know what? This is good. I don’t think I told you - I auditioned for this other film, which went really well, and I was kinda nervous that I’d have to pick between that and Riverdale if I got this one, too.”

“That’s awesome. So I guess the universe made that decision for you, huh?”

“Totally.”

“And, you know, worse comes to worse, you’ve always got my famous curly fries to give you solace.”

“More like your frozen bag specialty curly fries.”

Lili beamed as the oven timer sounded. “Hey, don’t hate. Haters don’t get curly fries.”

She was pulling the fries out of the oven when her phone rang. Israel glanced at her. As working actors, they knew what a phone call meant, as opposed to a text message.

“Lils?”

“Yep. I know.” Lili took a deep breath and held her phone in her hand as it kept ringing. She faced away from the room, keeping her face close to one of the kitchen walls. Inhale, exhale. Repeat. She finally answered the call. “Hi, Lili here.”

The next few moments were a blur, out of which she could only remember the most mundane details. The heat emanating from the open oven. The tired, pale pink paint of the wall she was facing. The distinct smell of fries. And the way she looked down at her shirt to check if it was puffing out from how hard and fast her heart was beating.

She hung up and turned to Israel, tears in her eyes. He knew. And she would remember what he was about to say to her in that moment for a long time. She would mark it as the veil that divided her life into Before and After, foreshadowing not only Riverdale, but everything else - Vancouver, the long days and nights of shooting, the thrill and loneliness of her sudden skyrocket to fame, the comfort of unexpected friendships.

And, of course, Cole.

“Lils,” Israel said in a half-whisper. “I literally just watched your life change.”

…

That was the beginning. Back then, Cole had been a half-formed spectre that dipped its toe into her head every now and then, making the occasional ripple.

And then she took his jacket home by accident, and things started to change.

Roberto had called her not long after her agent did, warmly congratulating her on getting the part and looking to arrange a meeting with her and the guy who booked Jughead’s role.

“We haven’t confirmed it with him just yet,” Roberto said, laughing. “So we’ll hold off letting you know who it is for now. It’ll be a good surprise on the day.”

Despite the uncertainty, Lili was excited. She knew that the show had only been green-lit for a pilot episode at that point, but the prospect of working on a potentially big project - one that could mean a new life as a full-fledged working actress - thrilled her. And she was also excited to meet one of her future castmates.

Walking into the production office that day, Lili regretted not bringing a cardigan. It was an unusually hot spring day in LA, and as a result, the building was blasting its air conditioner at full strength. She’d dressed carefully for the meeting, mimicking an outfit she saw on Betty in one of the special edition Betty comics - a red, strappy sundress with yellow flowers printed on it. She found it at a thrift store, and couldn’t believe her luck. She knew that Roberto, being the creative director of the comics, would recognise it immediately and appreciate the reference.

What she wasn’t expecting was the fact that the guy playing Jughead would recognise it, too.

Or that said guy was Cole Sprouse.

What. The actual. Fuck. She recognised him and silently cursed Israel for getting the guy’s audition details wrong. He said Cole was auditioning for Archie! How am I supposed to deal with this now?

Cole was already seated and reading (she caught a glimpse of Hemingway on the book spine), and suddenly she feared doing something stupid or awkward as she walked into the reception area. Somehow, she managed not to trip over herself, or make a strange noise, or stare longer than necessary, and for that she quietly congratulated herself.

She couldn’t help it, though - she stole a quick glance. Lili realised that she had only been partially right about him seeming normal. Because while he did look the part - dressed as he was in dark khakis, a plain white shirt, worn tan jacket, with a large backpack sitting at his feet - her keen eyes recognised that he carried with him the aura and glow of difference, of being just a little more special than everyone else. It was in his eyes - they were bright, active, perpetually amused. They carried the playful air of a prince pretending to be a pauper.

Lili sat down two seats away from him, unsure whether she should initiate a conversation. As it turned out, she didn’t need to worry - he spoke to her first.

“Betty comics, number 12, 1994,” Cole said, startling her out of her apprehension. She looked up, and he was looking at her with a subtle, half-formed smile. “Right?”

“Uh, excuse me?”

“Your outfit. It’s Betty’s. From the special edition Betty spin-off.” He looked away and chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. “Or maybe it was number 11?”

“Number 13, actually. ‘Paper Caper.’” Lili smiled at him. “But good try.”

“Ah, damn it. Knew I should’ve crammed for the impromptu Archie universe quiz.” Cole leaned over and offered his hand. “I’m Cole, by the way.”

She took his hand and shook it. It was warm to the touch, and his handshake was firm while the skin was smooth, though slightly calloused at the knuckles. A craftsman’s hands. She remembered that he was a photographer now. “Hey, Cole. I’m — “

“Lili, yeah. From auditions. I remember.”

What the hell? He remembers me? She masked her surprise by laughing at the memory. “That’s right, I think I have you and your foot to thank for getting me to my audition in time.”

“Damn straight. My foot will now take a small cut of all future earnings as a token of your gratitude.”

She laughed. “Sweet. Does it take AMEX?”

“This is a cash-only operation, kid. Sorry.”

“Cash-only, huh? And here I was thinking this was completely legit.”

“Whoa, hey. Cole Sprouse, Foot and Co is a totally legitimate outfit.”

There it was. His name, his famous, well-known name - though couched within a joke - was now released into the ether. She felt it hanging in the air between them - an unwanted phantom reminding them that they weren’t just two random strangers who managed to hit it off immediately, that his fame made it a little more complicated than that. She could tell that he knew it, too, and that, like her, he was regretting the awkward halt to their spitfire banter. She decided to change the subject. “So... you know comics, huh?”

Cole beamed. Lili was touched to see his relief at the distraction. “Oh, yeah. I worked at this huge comic book store on Sunset Boulevard for a while.”

“You mean Meltdown?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” His eyes lit up. “You know it?”

“I do,” Lili said. “I, um, actually have this thing for special effects make-up, and I’ve been there a few times to pick up some inspiration.”

“No kidding. You got any pictures of your work?”

She felt shy all of a sudden. “Yeah. Did you wanna see them?”

Cole got up and settled into the seat right next to her. “I do, actually. I’d love to.”

She unlocked her phone, opening to the album containing all of her work before leaning over to show him. This close, she caught his scent; a mix of pine, laundry soap, and the faint undertone of cigarettes. She wasn’t sure why, but she consciously committed it to memory.

“So, um, these are a few that I did on some friends…”

She swiped through, showing him pictures of cosplay makeup she had done during Comic Con season, some prosthetic work (which fascinated Cole the most), and some Halloween looks she had experimented with. She was in the middle of showing him her 2D Wonder Woman look when he paused, seemingly intent on something, before gently placing his hand on her forearm.

It was a jolt to her senses. It was so sudden, yet so innocent and unassuming. She looked up at him, and their eyes met. They were close enough that she could take a closer look at him, count the freckles and moles that formed a constellation on his face.

“Goosebumps,” he announced matter-of-factly. “You’re cold.”

“Um, yeah,” she conceded. This close to him, she could barely think straight. “It’s freezing in here.”

Cole stood up and shrugged his jacket off. “Here, put this on.”

“What? Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly --”

“Lili. Honestly, it’s fine.” She felt a small, unexpected thrill at the sound of her name coming out of his lips. It sounded both foreign and familiar, as though he’d known how to say it his entire life, and she was hearing him say it for the first time today. “Besides, I’ve been numbed and hardened to the cold by many a bitter New York winter.” As he said this, he put on an old man voice, which cracked her up. “This jacket is purely for aesthetic purposes.”

She took the jacket from him and put it on. Aside from the extra bulk, it felt like a second skin - warm, well-worn, comfortable, protective. She looked down at her outfit. “Not much of a Betty now, though, am I?”

Cole shrugged and smiled. “Still looks good.”

Lili froze while her mind went overdrive. Was that a compliment? Wait, is he flirting with me? Are we FLIRTING? But before she had time to think this through, a door had opened and a PA was inviting them to step in. Cole picked his bag up and gave her a bemused look before gesturing ceremoniously towards the door.

“Well,” he said. “Shall we?”

The meeting was fairly casual, with Roberto wanting his first two co-stars to meet each other properly and to get a glimpse into the planned narrative arcs for their respective characters (if the pilot was successful). The entire process was fascinating to both of them - Cole had obviously been out of acting for a while, and Lili had never worked on anything as large-scale as Roberto was planning for Riverdale to be. A whirlwind of storyboards and script teases and sketches made time pass quickly, and soon Lili found herself being ushered back out to the waiting area with Cole. Both of them were buzzing with anticipation.

“Well…” Lili started. The sentence trailed off and finished in a grin. There was no other response, no words for how excited she felt about working on Riverdale.

“Yeah.” Cole nodded. He seemed to be in a daze as well. He caught her eye and she couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. He did, too. Out of pure mirth. As if they couldn’t believe their luck.

“This is crazy, right?” she said.

“Absolutely fucking crazy.” A short pause settled into their conversation as Cole seemed to mull something over. “Hey, you doing anything right now?”

Lili’s joyful mood dissolved as it gave way to nerves. Is he…? No. Don’t be ridiculous, Lili. Anyway, you’ve got something on. Gah. “Um… I am, actually,” she said. “I’m catching up with a friend over dinner. I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“Ah.” Cole nodded. “You live around here though, right? LA?”

“Yep. I’m an Ohio girl, though.”

“Awesome. We should hang out sometime.”

It was a statement, not a question, and from anyone else, at any other given time, it would’ve sounded arrogant. But not from Cole. Because Lili knew, as well as he did, that he was just following through to the natural conclusion of the afternoon they just had - the banter, the ease, the strong, natural pull between them. It was beyond chemistry. It felt… spiritual. Supernatural.

Still, given who he was and how closely they’d be working together in the next few months, she was naturally hesitant. And so she was surprised to hear herself replying:

“Yeah, we should.”

Lili knew, from the moment they exchanged numbers, from the way she watched the deft movement of his fingers as they entered her contact details into his phone. She knew when he pulled her in for a hug before saying goodbye and felt her body melting into his. She knew when she jumped into her Uber and realised, with a surprise, that she was still wearing his jacket. And that he didn’t ask for it back, either.

She knew. It was a foregone conclusion.

She was haunted by Cole.

...

The next few months passed by in a golden blur. Slowly, Lili’s days filled up with preparing for Riverdale. And with Cole. He texted her often, and called most nights. She met Dylan, as well as Cole’s entire social set from the West Coast, and soon became friends with them as well. He took her around to where he was staying in LA - at Debby’s - where they’d watch sunsets and pet her cats while talking about everything and nothing at all. He gave her unnecessarily detailed lectures on how to use her camera. She sent him memes.

At first, it was fine. She figured that whatever she felt for him at the production meeting was a fluke and would eventually dissolve with time. Except... they didn’t. Instead, she could feel something taking root in her heart. Whether it was infatuation or love, she couldn’t quite tell just yet. But it was there. And it made her panic.

When he told her how he felt for her, his confession whispered in the early hours of morning as they lay together on the couch at Debby’s place, that panic was replaced by euphoria, which was only heightened with each frenzied kiss, each extended ‘good night’ over the phone. They kept things between them for the time being, wanting to preserve and protect this still-undefined thing that they had, away from all the noise. They carefully avoided any talk of the future, living day to day just as Cole had promised: tomorrow, he had said. Tomorrow, you’ll still have me. And, faithfully, Lili held onto that.

But with each day that passed on the Riverdale set, the harsh black and white of reality slowly seeped into the technicolor dream that was her world with Cole. The hours were long, the schedule was gruelling, and she found herself mentally and physically exhausted by the demands of playing Betty Cooper. She started feeling more moody and brooding, despite Cole’s best efforts to make her laugh, as well as his constant insistence on pulling her into some unknown corner on set to sneak in a secret kiss. At first, she put it down to simple fatigue, and took naps whenever she could. But as the weeks wore on, she felt essentially the same, and it worried her.

One morning, after a night of tossing and turning, Lili turned up early to the Riverdale stages, where they were filming for the day. She’d woken up at 5 after finally drifting off to sleep only four hours prior to that. Frustrated at having gotten so little sleep, she threw off her covers and picked up her phone to check the time, and saw that she missed a text from Cole.

“KJ still shredding his guitar at 2 am. He claims that the apartment is sound-proof but clearly it’s not inconsideration-proof. Tempted to call cops on ourselves. Live with me? Please? KENETI SUX (don’t tell him I said that).”

It should have made Lili smile. Except that she noted the same strain of worry tugging at her, making her feel anxious. She tried to shrug it off, but as she got up to get ready for the day, she felt it sticking to her ribs and crowding her lungs.

“Lili?” Madelaine walked into out into living room, bleary-eyed and still in her pajamas. The two girls were sharing an apartment in Vancouver, which Lili was grateful for. They were both homebodies, happy to bunker down and watch old episodes of Friends while everyone else was out partying. “What the hell? Are we due on set this early?”

“No, babe. Go back to sleep. We’re due in at 9.” Lili got a mug out and starting spooning coffee granules into it. “I just woke up early, that’s all.”

Madelaine gave her a look as she eyed the coffee container in Lili’s hand. “Uh, Lils? You don’t drink coffee.”

“I know.”

“And that’s my organic, shade-grown, vegan-certified coffee.” She considered Lili carefully. “Are you okay?”

Lili picked up the container and looked at the label. “Huh. Didn’t realise. Should do me fine, though.”

Madelaine walked over to her. “Hey, look at me.” Lili turned, and Madelaine gasped in fake horror. “Okay, whoa, we are gonna need some face masks tonight because those eye bags are killing me, girl. Those are Cole level eye bags.” Lili gave a short, humourless laugh at that. “Honestly though, are you alright? You haven’t been yourself these past few days.”

“I know, Mads. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be sorry. That’s you, and that’s how you feel. Doesn’t matter what it’s about. Don’t apologise for that.” Madelaine rubbed her back, and Lili felt tears welling up in her eyes. She was tired and worried for no apparent reason, and Mads was being so kind and maternal, and it took all of her energy and willpower not to burst into frustrated tears. She turned to her and gave her a quick hug.

“Thanks. I’ll be okay. And, um…” Lili looked pointedly and regretfully at the mug of unmade vegan coffee.

Madelaine rolled her eyes and laugh. “Yep, I’ll get rid of this.”

Lili smiled and headed out the door. “Love you, Mads.”

“Love you too, Lils.”

Lili drove in to the studio lot. There was hardly anyone at the stages when she walked in. Britta, one of the series writers, waved at her happily and came over. “Hey, Lilibeth,” she said, using the crew’s favourite nickname for Lili. “Shit, what time is it? I didn’t know you guys were due to come in already.”

“Nah, you’re fine. I got up early, actually.” On cue, Lili stifled a yawn. “Thought I might as well come to set, get some prep work in.”

“Yeah, well, don’t work yourself too hard just yet. It’ll probably be a while before we start shooting. Have a walk around for now. Hair and makeup should be getting set up soon.”

“Thanks, Brit.”

“No problem. Oh, and hey, is Cole around?”

Lili went still. Why was she being asked about Cole ? Did they know? For some reason, this bothered her more than it should have. “Um, no...? Why?”

“Oh, I’ve just got something on script he needs to check. No biggie. I’ll catch you later, okay?”

Lili picked up a hot chocolate from craft services and walked around the stages, stopping to chat and say hi to people here and there. As sleep-deprived as she was, she was enjoying this - seeing the cameras rolled out across the floor, the set designers hard at work adding little details to each interior, the script supervisors flipping through the scripts and marking things off their lists.

This was the life she had chosen, since age 14. There was no Plan B for her - she decided that for herself a long time ago. It was going to be acting or nothing. And now here she was, in the midst of a dream come true, and yet something was niggling at her, and she couldn’t figure it out.

As Lili walked past the Cooper house stage, she slowed down.

She and Cole would be filming there the next day - their first onscreen kiss. She remembered, with a smile, how they had received the script and read over it together in her apartment, kiss included and all. He played the role of director too, joking that each kiss wasn’t good enough (“Come on, I’m just not FEELING it, Lili.” “Shut up, Cole.” “Make me.” And she did).

Standing here now, though, she felt none of that pure elation and only felt… apprehension. They had joked about it all week since reading the script, but now that they were coming up to it, Lili felt more and more nervous, almost as if…

Hang on.

She stopped in her tracks. The truth finally crashed over her.

It was simple. So simple she couldn’t believe that she hadn’t seen it coming. Her reaction to Cole’s text that morning, Britta’s innocent query regarding his whereabouts...

She was running scared.

It was staring her straight in the face, literally, as she faced the exterior of the Cooper house stage. Here, her work, her dreams, and all the sweat and toil she had invested into them, were about to intersect with a relationship that was still taking its first, tentative steps.

And she had no idea what was going to happen.

Because this wasn’t how the story was supposed to go. Not in her mind. Not when she started out on this path. She had landed the biggest role of her career and the trajectory of her life was meant to be straightforward and predictable from then on.

Cole, however, was an unexpected twist in the tale. She didn’t see him coming, and now that they had collided head-on, she was reeling from the impact.

The questions came to her mind, fast and unbidden.

What if we hold each other back?

What if this doesn’t work?

What happens when people find out?

What happens when we fight?

What if he loses his focus?

What if I lose mine?

And, most painful of all. What if I lose HIM?

Lili walked up the steps to the Cooper house in a half-daze, and she sat herself down on the doorstep to collect her thoughts. The euphoria and afterglow of being with Cole had kept all these questions at bay, but now, as reality was setting in, they were being unleashed, and she was powerless to stop them.

Suddenly, everything she took for granted in the past few months was overshadowed by the cold sting of fear.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure she wanted this kiss to happen.

…

Lili felt out of sorts for the rest of that day. Thankfully, it was a light day, shooting-wise - just a few filler scenes before they got around to the heavier sequences over the next few days.

Cole arrived on set later in the afternoon, just as Lili was finishing. He was on his way out of the makeup trailer when she stepped in for her clean-up. She was so lost in her thoughts that she bumped into him on the steps leading up.

“Whoa!” he said, laughing as he steadied her by the shoulders. “Has someone been drinking the acetone?”

“Cole,” she breathed out. She felt spooked seeing him, as if her thoughts had materialised this apparition standing in front of her.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Lili racked her brains for something, anything, to say. “So, ah, you’re shooting today?”

Cole gave her a funny look. ”Yeah. I work here, Lils. Not just a pretty face, you know.” He smirked at her, eyebrows raised, lips slightly puckered - a deliberate ‘pretty’ pose. Despite the fact that it was so ridiculous and put on, it still melted her.

“Of course, yeah. Stupid question.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Totally.” She forced herself to smile. “Oh. Hey. I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your text earlier.”

“Which one?”

“KJ shredding guitar at 2 am. Hang on, you sent me another one?” She slipped her hand into her pocket, looking for her phone.

“Yeah, just a few hours ago. I figured you’d be filming.” He chuckled at a sudden memory. “Oh, and as for KJ, I ended up throwing a carrot at his head. Not my most impressive enactment of a visual metaphor - because ‘carrot top’, of course - but it got the message across.”

“You guys actually have carrots at your place?”

Cole rolled his eyes. “KJ juices.”

“Oh. Right.” Despite herself, she giggled at the mental image she had conjured of KJ chopping up vegetables and throwing them into a blender (“Carrots. Pineapple. Ginger. Legends.”).

He smiled at the sight of her laughing. “Hey, so, the text I sent you. Apparently, this place we’re  shooting at in two days? Is haunted as fuck.”

“Really?” She slid the lock button on her screen to open his message, and there it was - a screenshot of an article he’d been reading on Atlas Obscura. She looked at the description and read it out loud. “’Riverview Hospital, historic insane asylum… what untold stories could be uncovered from the relics of an institution that has witnessed the torment of so many personal demons?’ Holy shit.”

“Right?” Cole looked as though all his dreams had come true. “So you in?”

“Am I in? For what?”

Cole gave an enigmatic little grin. “A little urban exploring adventure.”

On any given day, Lili would have jumped at the opportunity. But not today, not after her earlier revelation on the steps of the Cooper house. She wasn’t sure she could take some extended alone time with Cole right now. “Look. It sounds great. But honestly, I am way too much of a wuss for that.”

Cole scoffed. “You? Seriously? Come on. And anyway, I’ll be there. I’ll bring my camera and everything. It’ll be fun.”

“Cole.” Lili was starting to fret inside. She had to dissuade him somehow. This would be in two days. It was going to be the day after their kiss scene. She wasn’t sure how that was going to work, what the aftermath would be.

“What?” His face fell slightly. “You don’t wanna come?”

“Can I just… can I let you know closer to the day?”

Cole shrugged, obviously a little disappointed. “Alright then. Just let me know soon. I want you there, Lils.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “It won’t be much of an adventure without you.” He looked around quickly before swooping in to kiss her playfully on the cheek, and walked off in the direction of the stages.

Lili felt the outline of his lips on her skin as she watched him leave, and knew that it would stay there for a while.

Don’t do that, she thought. Don’t make me fall harder for you than I’m falling right now.

…

The morning drive felt like a meditation. Lili had woken up extra early to prepare herself for the scene, reading over her script again, reciting it out loud to herself, then repeating it without the paper in front of her.

But that was just a distraction. After all, she was always pretty good with memorising dialogue. On her drive to the set, she was focusing on an entirely different set of words.

It’s just another scene.

It’s just another scene.

It’s just another scene.

She repeated it to herself like a mantra as she drove, and if she had a little bit longer - an extra day, perhaps - she would have eventually believed it. But as she pulled into the parking lot, she felt her palms sweating on the steering wheel, her stomach filling with butterflies. She wondered whether Cole was feeling the same.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t messaged her that morning, hadn’t brought the kiss up in conversation in the past few days. Maybe I’m overthinking this. Maybe it would be fine.

But as she slipped on her costume for the day - Betty’s usual jeans paired with a light, cream-coloured V-neck sweater - she became aware of the same questions plaguing her mind from the day before. What if we hold each other back? What if this doesn’t work? What if I lose him?

It was going to be a long day.

Cole was already at the Cooper house stage when she arrived, drinking coffee and laughing with some of the film crew. He caught her eye as she walked in, and he gave her a soft smile and raised his cup at her by way of greeting. Looking to avoid him, she gave him a quick nod and a wave before finding a spot on a couch on the other side of the room, lying down and closing her eyes.

She wasn’t even aware that she’d dozed off until one of the crew tapped her on the shoulder. She got up, had her ponytail fixed quickly, and nervously ascended the stairs to Betty’s bedroom.

She didn’t even get a chance to speak to him properly before shooting started. Steven, their director, was at the bottom of the ladder outside Betty’s window, talking Cole through the scene. He did the same with her earlier, and as she waited, she stared at the bits of duct tape on the floor that marked her blocking cues. They had blocked the scene fairly quickly, and in that time, she and Cole were both bristling with a nervous energy that prevented them from saying too much to one another. They both sensed the significance of the scene. Roberto, who had written the episode, was taking a rare break from working through scripts and was standing next to one of the cameras, eager to see how the scene would pan out. It was a big day for the series: the birth of Bughead.

The scene as it was scripted would be fairly simple: Jughead would knock on the window, wait for Betty to open it, and say his line. He’d climb through, they’d have their exchange and turn to face each other. After that, it was onto the kiss - bold, swift and immediate, just as Roberto and Tessa had written it in the script. She’d be startled, she’d remember Jason’s car, and they’d end it with their sleuthing dialogue. Easy.

Well, easier said than done, Lili thought.

Soon enough, Steven was standing behind the camera, and the scene was ready to be filmed. “Quiet on the set!” someone yelled. Lili sat at Betty’s vanity, fiddling with her necklace. A chorus of voices signalled the start of shooting.

“Roll it— ”

“We’re rolling.”

“Thirty-three, take one, and—”

“Action!”

A tap on the window. Lili turned around, performing her first beat perfectly. Cole stepped through into Betty’s room, and they moved seamlessly through their blocking - Betty walking ahead of Jughead, turning to him every now and then as they went through their dialogue.

Betty was meant to be distracted in this scene, and Lili played that up, making sure to avoid looking at Cole. But as he said the line “they’re parents, they’re all crazy,” she couldn’t help it - she looked up briefly, and noticed that his own eyes were downcast. That they seemed to be avoiding her.

Well, that’s different. In rehearsals, Cole usually delivered the line straight, with a confident, knowing smirk. Here, Lili could feel a different energy emanating from him, but she couldn’t name it, couldn’t be distracted, not now when was being swept up in the mood of the scene.

“Also…”

Well. Here we are. Jughead’s big line. The prelude to the kiss. She braced herself.

“What?” she replied.

She looked expectantly at Cole. He should have been kissing her by now. Instead, his gaze flitted anxiously over her, his eyebrows drawn together as though in confusion.

Oh my god. Did he forget this part? The air thickened with tension. Lili grew nervous as she felt the room weighing in on them, and she racked her brain desperately, trying to think of what to do as the cameras kept rolling. She decided to cue him in again. It was technically off-script, but never mind - he’d thank her later for stepping in.

She repeated her line, a little more forcefully. “What?”

And then, there. In that flash of a second, she saw it.

Doubt. Hesitation. Fear.

All in his eyes. All mirroring her own.

In that moment, it shocked her. Cole - confident, self-assured Cole - was standing here in front of her in such vulnerability.

And she saw the truth that had eluded her in these past few days, the one she would’ve guessed at, had she been paying attention.

That she wasn’t the only who was afraid.

That he was haunted, too.

But before she could process any of this properly, she was startled back into the present as he visibly switched gears, stepping in swiftly to close the distance between their lips, right when she least expected it.

It was unlike anything they had ever rehearsed or even done in real life. It wasn’t what the script called for. It started out like a cymbal crash, but turned tenuous and tender - a quiet question mark rather than the decisive full stops or passionate exclamation marks that characterised her kisses with Cole.

And she was hopelessly lost, enveloped in this secret part of him that he was unknowingly letting her into. It felt intimate, to be staring into this fissure that he had exposed. It didn’t scare her; it felt right. It threw her into blissful relief, to feel the tentativeness in that kiss, to feel her own uncertainty mirrored and marked onto her lips by his own.

As they parted, she smiled, purely out of reflex. Cole’s hand was still cupping her face, and he released a deep sigh that seemed to take up his whole body.

“Cut.”

Steven’s voice was like a temple bell cutting through the transcendence of the moment, calling them all back to reality. Lili was confused. The scene wasn’t over yet. She turned to the crew and saw that they were all transfixed. Roberto’s eyes were misting over behind his glasses.

“Guys, that was….” He was momentarily lost for words. “That was it. That was the take.”

Britta, who was the script supervisor for the scene, cleared her throat. “Roberto, that wasn’t how you and Tessa planned it on the script here. You okay with that?”

“Am I okay with it?” Roberto shook his head in incredulity and turned to their director, who looked just as moved as the rest of the crew. “What do you think, Steve?”

Steven looked over to Cole and Lili, taking them in thoughtfully, as though he was seeing them in a new light. “I know we still had a few lines to go, but I had to stop it there because I wasn’t sure how you’d play the next beat, and quite frankly, I wanted to make sure that we preserved that on film.”

“Preserved what?” Lili asked.

Steven smiled at her. “Magic.”

…

Before Lili knew it, the scene had wrapped. She was desperate to speak to Cole, but Roberto had already cornered him in what appeared to be a fairly intense conversation. She loitered around for a few minutes, but gave up after they sat down on the couch, apparently settling in for a long discussion.

It was her only scene for the day. Lili made her way back to the makeup trailer in a pensive daze, watching her feet as they measured out her steps. She had no idea how she ended up seated in front of the mirror, with Erin, the head makeup artist on the show, handing her a cotton ball soaked in cleanser.

“Alright, you beauty,” she said, smiling. “Let’s get you cleaned up and on your way home.”

Lili complied, methodically wiping the makeup off her face. She loved this. For her, it was an important part of her day, this literal stripping away of character. And she especially loved doing it with Erin, who had become a close friend to her in the months that they’d been doing Riverdale together, and who was one of the few people who actually knew about her and Cole. Often, she’d sit in the chair long after her makeup had been taken off, having long talks with her and sharing skin care tips and chocolate.

Erin busied herself with cleaning her brushes while Lili wiped off her eye makeup. “So. Everything go alright with the big scene today?”

Lili paused, the cotton ball poised over her eyelid. “Yeah. It went really well, actually.”

“Great.” Erin smiled warmly at her before turning back to her brushes. This was another reason why Lili loved her. She knew when to leave her be.

They were both quiet for a few moments, with nothing but the sound of running water echoing in the empty trailer. Erin tapped the brushes dry over the sink, then turned around and smiled at Lili through the mirror. “All done, then?”

Lili nodded. Erin took the cotton ball from her and threw it in the bin, before handing her a warm towel.

Lili dangled it loosely in her hand, thinking to herself. “Erin?”

“Yes, lovely?”

“What do you do when…” Lili’s voice trailed off, and she pursed her lips, unsure of how to complete that sentence. Erin stood by, waiting patiently.

“What do you do,” she started again, “when you’re absolutely sure that you’re right where you want to be, and you want to move things forward, but for some reason… you’re just scared shitless?”

Erin pulled up a chair right next to her and sat down. “Are we talking about a certain young Jeep-driving photographer here?”

“Well… yes. Partially. But it’s to do with everything else as well.” Lili exhaled a long breath. “Riverdale. Our careers. Everything.”

“Okay.” Erin nodded. “What do you think is making you scared?”

“I don’t know. I keep running through all these questions in my head - questions that maybe I should have been asking myself months ago, but didn’t. Or couldn’t.” Because I was crazy about Cole and still am and everything feels irrelevant whenever he says my name or his hands are on my skin. “Either way, I think they’re all essentially asking the same thing.”

“And what’s that?”

Lili turned her gaze on Erin, her eyes full of worry. “What if this breaks us?” she asked, her voice small. “What if it breaks me? ”

Erin sighed, and took Lili’s hands in hers.

“Lili, how did you get started on all this?”

“What, on Cole?”

Erin chuckled. “No, not Cole, honey. We all know how that started. The boy is very charming. And he was always nuts about you.” Lili smiled at that. “I mean acting. Your career.”

“Well… a lot of auditioning. A lot of getting knocked back.”

“I mean before that. Why did you audition? Why did you keep getting up, even when you got knocked back?”

Lili gave a short laugh. “Because it was the only thing I was good at?”

Erin swatted her arm lightly. “That isn’t even remotely true and you know it. Come on. Tell me.”

Lili paused thoughtfully. “It was the only thing I ever really wanted to do. It’s where my heart was. Or is.” She sighed. “It’s where my heart is.”

“Well.” Erin patted her hand. “Isn’t that your answer, then?”

“My answer? How?”

“Lili. Think about it. Your heart led you to acting. In that process, did it ever betray you?”

“No.”

“Did it ever fail to warn you of danger? Or lead you to the wrong door?

“No.”

“Did it ever leave you high and dry? In all those times when you were auditioning and failing and starting over, did it ever leave you short of passion, or tell you to give up?”

“No.”

Erin leaned forward, making sure that she listened. “Then follow it, Lili. Trust it. It hasn’t led you astray yet, and it won’t start now.”

Suddenly, Lili knew what she had to do.

“Erin…” She had no words. She’ll just have to express her gratitude later. “I’ll be back.”

She stood up and hugged Erin fiercely, before running out of the trailer.

Lili ran to the parking lot, to check if Cole was still around. By sheer luck, she caught him just as he was opening the door to the driver’s seat.

“Cole!”

He turned around, startled. She sprinted to his car, which was on the far end of the parking lot. She hadn’t run for a long time, and soon her legs and lungs were on fire. But she couldn’t stop. Somehow, her body was pushing her forward, propelling her to the only person that mattered right now.

But what was she supposed to say? Now, as she stood in front of him, out of breath, all coherent thought abandoned her.

“I, um…” She put her hand to her chest to control her breathing.

“Lils.” His eyes were wide as he took her in. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just… give me a sec… one moment…”

Cole was caught between looking amused and worried. Wordlessly, he took out a water bottle from his car and offered it to her. She shook her head.

Lili straightened up after a while. “Sorry. Were you leaving?”

He shook his head. “I was just grabbing something out of the car.”

“Oh. Right.” She looked him in the eye, and she was suddenly nervous. “Um. Are you still exploring the abandoned asylum tomorrow?

He looked surprised. “Yeah, I am.”

“Is anyone else going with you?”

Cole smirked. “Nah, I think it’s just me and the ghouls tomorrow. Why’d you ask?”

“Just… I would love to come.” She said it tentatively, worried that things had changed since their scene earlier. “Does my invitation still stand?”

Cole looked surprised at that. “Yeah, of course.” She breathed a sigh of relief. They were fine. Thank god. “But… Lils, I thought you were scared?”

“No,” she replied, smiling. “I’m not scared. Not anymore.”

…

Riverview Hospital in Coquitlam was a sprawling expanse of old, decrepit buildings that extended over a wide acreage of land. It had served many purposes since its inception as The Hospital of the Mind, but had been largely abandoned since the mid-1990s, and was mostly used as a filming location.

Many of the Riverdale crew had already worked there at one point or another, and all of them agreed: while it looked beautiful on film, it was definitely haunted, and none of them liked going anywhere near it.

“Place gives me the creeps,” said one of the lighting guys to Cole as he assembled his camera. “I have no idea why you two are so crazy about going in there. It’s dripping with ghosts.”

But nothing could dissuade Cole, and Lili had her heart set on following him. So as the crew set up the shoot, they went poking about the place, looking for an entrance. Cole was accustomed to urban exploring, while Lili was not, so he ran on ahead of her, rattling various doors and looking for windows they could climb through. Finally, he found one, and Lili felt a rush of affection for him as he poked his head from behind a loose door, his face spread widely into a grin, his hair dishevelled with bits of debris in it.

The entrance he found had a slightly precarious drop, as most of the staircases had crumbled away over time. As Cole took Lili’s hand to help her step in, he said quietly, “You know, there’s like a billion spiders in here.”

Lili yanked her hand away and smacked him on the arm. “Fuck off. I’m out. Seriously, Sprouse. I’m done.”

“Jesus. I was kidding.” Cole’s laugh echoed throughout the empty room. “Anyway, I thought you weren’t scared.”

“Cole, you know I hate spiders.”

“Alright, I’m sorry.” He smiled at her, and she cursed him silently for that smile - that perfect, heartbreaker’s smile that made everything immaterial in its wake. “Shall we?”

Together, they stepped into the room and were hit by the decades-old funk of pent-up dust and refuse and god knows what else. She knew she should have been scared, but somehow she only felt a heavy sort of sadness for what had transpired in the place - this was a mental hospital, after all. Cole seemed to feel it, too, as he suddenly turned quiet and pensive. He lifted his camera and started shooting as they delved further into the building.

They walked through the hospital, exploring long hallways and empty rooms. Cole shot some beautiful images, which he showed her.

“These are brilliant, Cole.”

“You think?” He examined one that he had taken of her standing in a doorway. “Ah. I can do better than that.”

“You’re too hard on yourself.” She gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Honestly, these are beautiful. As always.”

Cole shrugged to himself, and she followed at a short distance behind him as he kept shooting away.

Now or never. She took a deep breath. “Cole?”

“Mmm?”  

“We, um… we never got to talk about our scene yesterday. The kiss.”

He lowered the camera, turning to look around at her. “What about it?”

“Well, for starters, that wasn’t how we rehearsed it.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, half-smiling. “Well, at one point we were rehearsing it on your couch, with you straddling my lap. So, yeah,” he laughed, “definitely not how we rehearsed it.”

She reddened and smiled at the memory. “You know what I mean. It was off-script. I had to cue you in twice, remember? I mean, it was definitely beautiful, and Roberto obviously loved it...” She crossed her arms. “But why? Why’d you play it differently?”

“I don’t know, I just...” He sighed and looked down. “It felt right, you know? It came out of what I was feeling at that exact, precise moment.”

“Which was…?”

“A whole fucking lot.” He laughed nervously while running his hands through his hair. “I mean, Jughead’s never kissed Betty, right? But you and me, we’ve kissed. We’ve done more than kiss. So, going into the scene, Steven and I were talking, and I realised that I had to access some part of myself that was in the same nervous, anxious place that Jug was at during that point.”

“And what place was that?”

“Can I be honest?” Lili nodded, encouraging him to go on. “It’s this.”

“What, me and you?”

“It is, but it’s more than that.” He scratched his cheek, frowning. “Look, the way I see it, shooting that scene was like a metaphor.”

That wasn’t what she was expecting. “A metaphor?”

“Yeah. For us. And for Riverdale.” He sighed. “There’s me and you, and that’s obviously surreal and incredible. But there’s also everything else - all the pressures of a schedule, the artifice of the set, the scrutiny of everyone around us. You know what I mean? All the noise.”

Lili nodded. Of course she knew what he meant. It was the same thing she’d brooded over on the steps of the Cooper house stage.

Cole went on. “I guess I was just hyper-aware of all of that heading in. The noise became a distraction, and suddenly what was supposed to be a fun scene where I got to kiss this gorgeous girl that I really liked turned into this overwhelming commotion.”

Despite the gravity of their conversation, Lili had to look down to suppress a smile. He called me gorgeous. It never got old.

“That’s why I hesitated, why you had to cue me in twice. I was just caught up in my own head.” He looked at her, his eyes filled with a soft tenderness. “But your voice called me out of that, Lili. When you cued me in the second time, it was... like air. Like breath. And suddenly there was this clarity amidst all the doubt and fear that was clouding my mind.”

Fear. There it was again, that word, lurking over them like a watchful spirit, waiting to see who’d slip up first. The truth, which she had guessed correctly in those tentative seconds after their lips parted, was that they were both scared. They were both calculating the risk, aware that with each day that they found themselves in each other’s arms again, the stakes were being raised, and the questions were stacking up. Is this worth it? Will this stick? Will it stay?

And she was done with it.

Today, she had the answer to silence all her questions. Here, of all places, where fear lived, she was banishing hers.

She took a step towards him, closing the gap between them. “Cole, I need you to listen to everything I have to say without stopping me. Okay? Because if you stop me, I don't know if I can say it all.”

He nodded, and they were both silent. Lili brought her hand up to touch his chest, to feel his heart beating in the palm of her hand. It was strange to see him so still. Cole was always in motion, always talking, always on the move. His heartbeat - steady, constant and faithful - was a reminder of that. But right now, she needed him to stay put.

“When you first told me how you felt about me, back in LA, I was afraid. I was scared of my own feelings, afraid of how much I felt for you, and terrified of where that would take me.”

Cole nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on her.

“But I shouldn’t have been, because every day with you since then has been an adventure. You’ve made me laugh. You’ve given me the craziest stories to tell. You’ve taken me to some of the most beautiful places I have ever seen.” She looked around them. “Except this. Honestly, this place is a mess, Cole.”

He laughed at that, and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer.

“A few days ago, I was afraid again, for all the same reasons that you were afraid. Because suddenly everything became real, right?” Cole nodded. “Yesterday’s kiss wasn’t just an onscreen kiss with some random guy. It was a kiss with you. And yes, we were professionals about it, and the scene turned out amazing, but still - the fear was there because I didn’t want any of that noise to get to us.”

She exhaled and looked up at him. “But the noise is always going to be there, right? If it’s not Riverdale, it’ll be something else. And so it’s pointless to be afraid, to run scared. Otherwise, we’d be running this whole time.

“I don’t have all the answers to my questions. And I can’t say that I’ve resolved everything in my mind and that everything will be fine. But... I’m okay with that now. Because being with you has only made me bolder, Cole. It’s given me more courage to be myself, to pursue my passions, to dream bigger dreams. And if I follow where that leads - where my heart leads - I know that it won’t lead me astray. Because it will only lead me to you.”

Lili was tempted to tuck her face into his chest, to look anywhere but into his eyes. But she forced herself to keep her gaze on him - two pools of black, ringed by ocean blue.

“I love you, Cole.” She spoke it in one, swift sentence, and paused as she felt his breath hitch against his ribs. “I think I have for a while now.”

Silence. She could feel the weight of it filling the room to the brim, light driving out darkness.

“This isn’t a bribe, or an ultimatum, or a bargain. You don’t need to say it back. I just…” She shrugged helplessly. “It can’t be helped, and it can’t be kept in. I wanted you to know. You deserve to know.

“So there. I love you. Out of this uncertain but hopeful heart... I love you.”

“Lili? Cole?”

Voices in the distance. They were due back for the scene. The moment was gone, the bubble had burst. Lili was a little disheartened, but grateful that she was able to express herself to him. Maybe it was best this way - to leave their little secret whispered into the walls of the asylum, never to be uncovered.

Except Cole had other plans.

He seized her hand, and before she could ask him what he was doing, they were sprinting down the hallway and further into the building, past rooms she had never seen, past crumbling walls of plaster, eerie chambers that echoed their racing footsteps, broken windows and splintered doors and emptied ceilings.

Finally, they came to a stop in the middle of a large, light-filled room. He turned to her, panting from the run, his ocean blue eyes raging with a passionate storm.

“Lili.” There was something about the way he whispered her name, between ragged breaths, that stirred something deep and urgent in her.

Who started what, they couldn’t tell. But it was Lili who pulled him in by his shirt and Cole who pushed her up against the wall, one hand leaning for support, another flush against the skin on the small of her back. When their lips crashed in the middle, it was anything but tentative or tenuous. It was bold and bruising, frenzied and desperate. It was driven by a need that was both body and soul.

He brought his hands up to hold her face, and she felt him shaking. It startled her. She pulled back and he looked down at her in protest at the lack of contact. She took his hands in her own and brought his palms to her lips, soothing and calming him, wanting to say that it was okay, that this was where fear ended, that she loved him, she loved him, she loved him.

She tilted her head up, closing her eyes, wanting to kiss him again, but she was met with nothing. She glanced up at him.

“What?”

“However long you’ve know,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “double it. Triple it.”

She stared at him. “Cole, what are you --”

“One day, I promise, I will make it up to you, for not saying it when I knew. For not being as fearless as you are.” He paused to take her in. “Because I love you, Lili Reinhart. I love you with every fucking thing I’ve got.”

His words crashed into her like a wave, pulling her under the current. This time, she was shaking. And crying.

Their small, tear-soaked kisses would gradually deepen into a longer, more searing one, and they stayed that way for a while - oblivious to time, unheeding of the space they were in. Until it felt like there was nothing left to give. Until they had filled themselves with each other. Until the same voices from earlier echoed in the distance, calling their names, calling them back to reality.

They looked at each other. “Well,” he said, “what now?”

She smiled at him. “I suppose we have to go and film.” She kissed the tip of his nose, and he wrinkled it at her. “After that? I don’t know. We’ll see.”

He smiled back at her, and he took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers.

As they walked back out, passing through the hallways of the abandoned asylum, she felt giddy like a teenager, wanting to etch their names into the walls. Maybe not their initials - too juvenile. But she understood the need: she wanted to mark this place as it marked them.

But what would she write?

Here lies fear, she thought. Here it lies, conquered by love.

…

“So, remind me again why we’re still awake at 3 am.”

Their room at the Queen Anne Hotel was darkened save for a small, antique lamp beside their bed, which illuminated Cole’s bare form next to her. He turned to face her, and as he moved, most of him became obscured by the shadows. But it didn’t matter. Lili had already memorised his face. In some ways, she knew it better than her own.

“Well,” Cole started, “besides the fact that someone wanted toast and eggs at 1 in the morning—”

“Which someone else also enjoyed, leaving me with only HALF of said toast and eggs.”

“True. But yes, besides that fact...” She could sense him smirking in the darkness. “Do I really need to provide a blow-by-blow account of what happened here?”

Lili rolled her eyes. “No, because you’re only going to be gross about it and I don’t want you to ruin my night.”

“Fine then, be boring,” he said. “But to actually answer your question - don’t you remember what I said yesterday? About the witching hour?”

Lili slid under his arm and closed her eyes as she settled her head against his hard, muscled shoulder. “No. Remind me.”

“You never listen to my stories,” he whined.

“Yes, I do. But the witching hour doesn’t sound like something I want to remember while trying to sleep in a notoriously haunted room.”

“Ha. Fair point.” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Okay, Lili, picture it. Prague, 2014. The days were glorious, and the dig was on—”

“And as much as I love a Golden Girls reference, I’m about to fall asleep and you’re about to lose me here.”

“Alright, geez.” He sat up, and forced her to sit up with him. She groaned, but complied. “So a guy I was working with on this archaeological dig in Prague, he’s from Ireland, right? Comes from an extremely superstitious family, whereas he was a little more enlightened. Anyway, on our last night in the lab, we’re both up until 3 in the morning bagging rocks--”

“Sounds like a real rock star lifestyle you had there.”

Cole paused. “Did you just… with that rock pun…? You know what, I’m gonna store that in the back of my mind and comment on its magnificence later. So we’re up at 3, in this dark, dank little lab, and he freaks out a little looking at the time. I asked him if he was okay, and he says to me--”

“Oh my god. Are you about to attempt an Irish accent? Please say yes.”

“Lili, no.” She giggled. “He says to me, ‘Sorry, man. I just get a little creeped out around this time - the witching hour, you see. My ma always went on about it. Kinda hard to get rid of the habit.’”

Lili yawned, but she was intrigued. “So what was it?”

“Apparently, the witching hour - between 3 and 4 am - was usually the most active time for witches, spirits and demons. Something to do with the absence of canonical prayers at that time. But I looked it up afterwards, and it’s a real thing - people swear by it. They say that most ghost sightings happen around that time.”

Lili could have slugged him. “So... you’re telling me... that you’re keeping me up at this ungodly hour... to see if we could sight a ghost?”

Cole smiled sheepishly. “You were up anyway…?”

“Cole!” She was freaking out now. “This isn’t funny!”

“It’s not meant to be!”

They were half arguing, half giggling themselves silly. Lili dove underneath the covers, and Cole followed her in, tickling her mercilessly as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

A loud thump from the other side of the wall terrified them, and they both froze. A series of mumbled swear words from another disgruntled guest put them at ease. Not a ghost. Lili sighed in relief.

“Surrender?” Cole asked.

“Surrender,” she conceded.

They lay back down on the bed, still breathless from laughing. He turned to her, and took her hand in his, holding it against his chest.

“Hey. I love you,” he breathed out. “You know that, right?”

Lili turned to look back at him, and smiled. A year of this, and still it gave her a small thrill. What is it about us and saying ‘I love you’ in haunted places? To anyone else, it would have seemed bizarre. But to her, it made perfect sense. Because when they first met, Cole had been nothing more than an apparition that haunted her dreams - a vague half-entity that she knew so little of, that held no form other than the jacket he left her with.

But as time went on, the apparition put on flesh, and he became more real with each memory they created, each adventure they embarked on, each kiss that they shared. And then it wasn’t him that haunted her, but the fear of the uncertain, which they banished with finality at the abandoned asylum.

And now, here they were, in another haunted spot, celebrating a milestone while waiting for actual ghosts. We are the weirdest, she thought. And I love us.

“Lili?”

She snapped out of her thoughts and turned to him. She brought her hand up to caress his face, marvelling that this was real - that it felt real to her beyond what her fingers could touch. That she could feel it in her lungs and in her heart and in her bones.

“Yeah, I know, Cole,” she finally replied. “I love you, too.”

He turned over so that he was looking down at her, then kissed her bare shoulder. “So you staying up with me for witching hour? Could be interesting, right?”

Lili chuckled. “I thought you said you didn’t believe in that shit.”

“I don’t,” he said. “But I’m a skeptic willing to be proven wrong. Just don’t tell Dylan.”

She laughed and nodded and pulled him down for a firm kiss. Why the hell not. “Sure,” she replied.

They snuggled underneath the covers, Cole rattling off anecdotes at random, Lili listening, willing herself to stay awake. Not to witness the supernatural, but to experience the tangible. To experience Cole.

Let the ghosts come, she thought, as he put his arms around her.

She had nothing left to fear.